Frank dropped the terminals and looked up into the faces of the three boys, who were intently watching him.
"What's the matter?" inquired Jimmy. "Batteries?"
"Just that and nothing else. There isn't enough juice in the whole lot of them to light a grain of powder."
"Nice pickle we're in," grumbled Lewis. "Isn't it up to the captain to have his batteries all right?"
"Oh, shut up," commanded Jimmy. "It isn't Frank's fault that the old batteries are in trouble."
"No," said Frank; "I renewed them, you remember, only day before yesterday—six brand new ones, at twenty-five cents per. The rain must have got in somehow and short-circuited them. The shaking by the motor gave them life enough to carry us out here and then they died. See, there isn't a bit left." He tried again, rubbing the ends of the terminals together, but for all the result in the way of ignition they might as well have been made of wood.
"Well, never mind," said Jimmy, "we're drifting the right way. Look at us go! That's Seawall over there, and while we are going sideways, like a crab, we may fetch up all right."
"Sure thing," said Frank, "we are going sideways and fast, too. The tide here runs like a mill-race, but night is coming faster than we are going, and it's going to be as black as your shoes in ten minutes."
"That's an encouraging sign," said the Codfish, "for my shoes are yellow, and I don't mind yellow nights in the least." The Codfish was always cheerful under difficulties.
Not so Lewis. He grumbled and growled and blamed everybody for the plight in which they found themselves. "If I don't turn up by dark, mother will have a fit," he added.