the wounded boy. "The shot went right past my head, too!"
"Make a light, somebody," called out Fred. "Songbird, you've got some matches."
The poet of the Hall lit a match, and by this faint light the boys first of all looked at Larry's damaged hand. Fortunately the charge of shot had merely grazed the thumb and middle finger, and it was found that Larry was more frightened than hurt. The hand was bound up in a couple of handkerchiefs.
"When we get back to the boat you'll want to wash the wounds well," said Dick.
Tom had picked up the electric pocket light, but found he could not make it work. Again they were in darkness until another match was lit.
"We can't reach that door, with the stairs down," was Dick's comment. "Let us break out a window."
This was easily accomplished, and one after another the cadets crawled forth from the cellar. It was a tight squeeze, especially for Fred, who was rather large at the waist line.
"I guess those fellows who ran away thought we couldn't get through that window," said Songbird.
"If it had been an inch smaller I should have been stuck," answered Fred.
