King Stanislaus realized the utter futility of trying to overtake it with another sailing-vessel even if they had been the possessors of one. Dragonfel and his confederates had too much the start of them.
The only recourse left was to follow as quickly as they could by whatever means were at hand, and, after they reached their destination, to try to wrest the unfortunate Titania and her companions from the cruel clutches of their abductors.
King Stanislaus had pledged his word to Florimel that before morning they would be in hot pursuit.
A raft to the monarch’s shrewd, quick-thinking mind seemed to be the easiest kind of a craft to construct in the short space of time to do it in order to redeem the royal promise. The wind was right, so that it would waft them straight to Dragonfel’s country, just as it was now taking the galleon which soon disappeared beyond the horizon.
In crisp, curt tones which showed that he, if anyone, was able to cope with this most distressing situation His Majesty gave orders for the immediate building of the raft.
Then came a hurrying and scurrying of Brownies. Each of the little fellows was eager to do his share of the gigantic task, and no one shirked.
Hither and yon, and all about, they flew, a band of willing workers, and no one got in another’s way, so no time was lost. Wisely enough the king assigned to each what he was best adapted to do, and there was no grumbling or cavilling at orders, but a strict obedience in all things. And, wherever such a spirit is manifested, it is surprising what results can be achieved.
The axes rang out sharp and clear in forests, and big trees toppled down to be stripped in a trice of their leafy branches. Sweating, puffing, grunting Brownies pulled and tugged and strained at the logs into which they were cut, and pushed and shoved, or rolled them when they could, toward the sea-shore.