So it was. The island of Serendib was but a foot or so above the level of the water, and completely grown over with willow osiers (their blue gum), the spaces between the stoles being choked with sedges and reed-grass, vast wild parsnip stalks or “gix,” and rushes, in which mass of vegetation the water-fowl delighted. They had been undisturbed for a very long time, and they looked on Serendib as theirs; they would not move till Pan was in the midst of them.
“We must bring the matchlock,” said Mark. “But we can’t swim with it. Could we do it on the catamarans?”
“They’re awkward if you’ve got anything to carry,” said Bevis, remembering his dip. “I know—we’ll make a raft.”
“Then we can go to all the islands,” said Mark, “that will be ever so much better; why we can shoot all round them everywhere.”
“And go up the river,” said Bevis, “and go on the continent, the mainland, you know, and see if it’s China, or South America—”
“Or Africa or Australia, and shoot elephants—”
“And rabbits and hares and peewits, and pick up the pearls on Pearl Island, and see what there is at the other end of the world up there,” pointing southwards.
“We’ve never been to the end yet,” said Mark. “Let’s go back and make the raft directly.”
“The catamaran planks will do capital,” said Bevis, “and some beams, and I’ll see how Ulysses made his, and make ours like it—he had a sail somehow.”
“We could sail about at night,” said Mark, “nobody would see us.”