In the meantime Martin Harris procured several pails of water and a long-handled swab and with these did what he could to extinguish the fire on the sails. Several of the others joined in, and inside of ten minutes all danger of a conflagration was past.
"That's the worst yet!" growled the old sailor, as he surveyed the mainsail, which had two holes in it each is large as a barrel. "I'd like to wring the neck of the fellow as did it, yes I would," and he shook his head determinedly.
"That's the end of that light," said Sergeant Brown. "What are you going to do next?"
"I think I can get that searchlight to work," put in Dick. "But will it be of any use? They may start to shooting again."
"We've got to have some kind of a light, even if it's only a tallow candle," grumbled Harris.
"If we haven't got a light some coastwise steamer may run us down."
He set to work to rig up a temporary light, and in the meantime
Dick returned to the cabin to experiment with the electric light.
He found Sam on the couch, bathing his leg with oil to take away
the sting of the bum.
"How is it, Sam—hurt much?"
"I suppose it might be worse," was the younger brother's reply.
"I wonder who fired that shot?"
"One of the Baxters, more than likely. They are a cold-blooded pair."