The carburetor was rapidly adjusted. The rough tossing about the Flying Fish had received had jammed the needle valve, but that was all. Presently all was in readiness to get under way once more with the little boat's proper motive power. The "jury rig" was speedily dismantled Merritt swung the flywheel over two or three times, and a welcome "chug, chug!" responded.
"Hurray! she's working," cried Hiram.
"As well as ever," responded Merritt. "Now for the shore. By the way," he broke off in a dismayed tone, "where is the shore?"
"I know now," rejoined Tubby in a confident tone. "Off there to the right. You see, that steamer was hugging the coast preparatory to heading seaward—at least, I'm pretty sure she was, and that would put the shore on her port side, or on our starboard."
They chugged off in the direction Tubby indicated, and before long a joyful cry from Hiram announced the sudden appearance of lights.
"What are they?" asked Merritt.
"Don't know—they look like bonfires," rejoined the other lad. "I wonder if we have been lucky enough to pick up Topsail Island?"
As they drew nearer the lads soon saw that it was the island that they were approaching, and that the lights they had seen were campfires ignited by order of the anxious young Patrol leader to guide them back.
In a short time they had anchored the Flying Fish opposite the camp, and jumped into the dinghy left at her moorings when they embarked.
"A fine scare you've given us," cried Rob, as they landed and flung down their afternoon's catch. "We were afraid for a time that you were lost in that black squall—it blew two of our tents down, and we were mighty anxious about you, I can tell you."