“Up, get up! Those blow pipe things may be poisoned!” cried Captain Sprowl.
He snatched up a rifle and in a minute some of the Indians would have paid the penalty of their attack, but that Mr. Chadwick caught the irate mariner’s arm.
“Don’t shoot. They know no better,” he exclaimed.
“Then they ought to be taught,” grunted the angry captain. “Look there, will you? That’s all the harm they mean!”
As he spoke, the Indians retired behind the trees and began to pour in a rain of arrows.
But luckily, Tom and the rest had by this time recovered their wits. The metal panels used to make the Wondership a water-tight craft were slid into place and locked, making the craft a cigar-shaped stronghold which no arrow could pierce.
In the sides of the rounded panels were portholes of thick glass through which they could witness the amazement of the Indians at this move. The darts and arrows, and now and then a spear, pattered and rattled against the metal like hail, but for all the damage they did they might as well not have been thrown. The tough metal turned their points like armored steel.
“Talk about bein’ snug!” cried the skipper admiringly. “Why this craft could go any place without gettin’ harmed.”
“We meant these panels to keep out water in rough weather,” said Jack, “but they do just as well as a protection against Indians. I never thought they’d be put to this use, though.”
“All ready to go up,” he said presently.