A bamboo grove grew close at hand, and with Saloo’s knowledge and the ship-carpenter’s skill, a large life-preserver was soon set afloat on the water of the lagoon. It was at once paddled to the islet, and shortly after came back again bearing with it a precious freight—a beautiful young girl rescued by an affectionate father, and restored to an equally affectionate brother.
Long before the raft had grounded against the shore, Henry, plunging into the shallow water, had gone to meet it, and mounting upon the buoyant bamboos, had flung his arms around the form of his little sister.
How tender that embrace, how fond and affectionate, how different from the harsh hostile hug of the monster, whose long hairy arms had late so cruelly encircled her delicate form!
As the child was still weak—her strength prostrated more by her first alarm when seized, than by aught that had happened afterwards—Captain Redwood would have deemed it prudent to make some stay upon the shore of the lagoon.
But the place seemed so dismal, while the air was evidently damp and unhealthy, to say naught of the unpleasant thoughts the scene suggested, he felt desirous to escape from it as soon as possible.
In this matter the Malay again came to his assistance, by saying they could soon provide a litter on which the child might be transported with as much ease to herself as if she were travelling in the softest sedan-chair that ever carried noble lady of Java or Japan.
“Construct it then,” was the reply of Captain Redwood, who was altogether occupied in caressing his restored child.
Saloo needed no further directions: he only requested the assistance of Murtagh, along with what remained to him of his tools; and these being as freely as joyfully furnished, a score of fresh bamboos soon lay prostrate on the ground, out of which the palanquin was to be built up.
Lopped into proper lengths, and pruned of their great leaf-blades, they were soon welded into the shape of a stretcher, with a pair of long handles projecting from each end.
The palanquin was not yet complete, and by rights should have had a roof over it to shelter its occupant from rain or sun; but as there was no appearance of rain, and certainly no danger of being scorched by the sun in a forest where its glowing orb was never seen nor its rays permitted to penetrate, a roof was not thought necessary, and Saloo’s task was simplified by leaving it a mere stretcher.