“Yes, and you do the same,” panted the young soldier. He was working with might and main to move the fire-boat further from the shore. “Do you see anything of another boat?”
“Not yet. But it can’t be that there are none somewhere about,” went on the sharpshooter.
Presently they beheld what looked like several torches flashing through the night. They were a dozen or more feet apart.
“By Joseph! but I don’t like that!” cried Silvers.
“Don’t like what?” queried Henry.
Scarcely had he spoken when he understood what the sharpshooter meant. There was a whizzing, and the flaming arrows—for they were nothing less—flew all around the fire-boat. One touched the straw, but Silvers caught it instantly and hurled it into the water.
“They mean to fire the boat!” gasped Henry. “If one of them plants itself in that pitch——”
He got no further, for at that moment came another flight of the flaming arrows, seven or eight in number. Four fell on the boat, one in the very spot where the pitch had overflowed upon the straw.
The pair on the craft did their best to put out the flames, and two of the arrows went overboard the instant they landed. But the others could not be removed, and in two seconds more there was a flash and a roar, and the fire-boat burst into flames from end to end!