The sleeves were torn from George’s sacrificed shirt. The sleeves in turn were torn into strips and with these the rest of the shirt, or rather the flag, was tied securely to the pole.
“Hoist it up,” cried George. “I must say I never expected to have my shirt used for a flag on some deserted island though.”
“It makes a good one all right,” said Grant. “That ought to be visible for a good long distance.”
“Do you suppose any one would take the trouble to investigate if he did see it?” inquired John skeptically.
“Any one would certainly investigate a flag like that,” laughed George. “They’d think it was a Chinese laundry or something.”
“Maybe they’ll take it for a pirate flag,” suggested Fred.
“This island looks like a good place for pirates all right,” remarked John.
CHAPTER XII
A NEW HOME
That night the shipwrecked little band slept out in the open with nothing but the stars over their heads. In fact they had no other shelter, but the night was mild and clear and no one suffered any discomfort.