"By hookey, the boy is right!" exclaimed Captain Akers. "I once scared off a band of Patagonians in that way when a ship I commanded ran ashore."
"We'll have to look sharp," said Nat, taking one of the rockets. They were big ones, intended for signaling at sea. The sticks were already fitted.
"Lucky that they will be just as effective skimming over the ground as if they went straight up in the air," exclaimed Nat.
He laid one in the bow of the boat, where it came to a point, and lost no time in applying a match to it.
As the flame blazed up a yell apprised him that the savages, who had been baffled for an instant, had sighted them.
With ferocious, blood-curdling cries, the Polynesians charged on the boat, waving their weapons in hideous significance.
"Yell away," gritted out Cal. "You'll squall louder yet in a minute, my pesky, yaller coyotes."
The first of the savages, a huge, gaunt fellow, was within fifty feet of the boat when the rocket, with a loud "fi-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z!" tore loose. Straight as an arrow it sped, driven by its tail of fire.
The next instant It struck the advancing savage in the breast. With a howl of terror, he fell flat, and the rocket, deflected from its course, went hissing and roaring like a devouring serpent among his followers.
Before they could make a move to avoid the mysterious fiery peril, it exploded with a terrific "bang!"