Another gun had been fired outside. What could it mean?
“That’s the Nomad’s gun. They are attacking her and trying to make Ding-dong a prisoner!” cried Nat.
Bo-o-o-o-o-m!
The rusty throat of the old blunderbuss roared, and Joe was knocked clean off his feet by the accompanying “kick.”
At the same instant the door was blown into fragments, and a stentorian voice could be heard roaring out:
“Howling tornadoes! What’s that? A volcano?”
“Reckon somebody was taking a siesta on that door and old Mister Blunderbuss disturbed him,” grinned Nat, as he caught Joe in his arms.
“Forward!” yelled Mr. Tubbs, brandishing his cutlass in the manner made familiar by the heroes of naval pictures of the olden time.
The others caught the infection.
“Forward!” cried Nat, and, shoulder to shoulder, they plunged up the companionway, burst through the shattered doorway, and rushed pell-mell out upon the deck of the schooner.