“You say that the chests my father took such care of are still in the cabin?”
“Yes; in the Professor’s stateroom.”
“Good. I’ve a notion they contain something that may prove valuable to us right now. Open them up and see if one of them contains some queer-looking guns. If it does, bring the weapons on deck right away, and—summon Captain Andrews.”
Ned retraced his steps and Jack ran swiftly up after Tom. On deck they found the sailors running about distractedly. The shot they had heard had carried away part of the foremast of the Sea King. The wreckage lay in a tangle, about which the seamen hovered confusedly.
While the boys still stood regarding the scene, hardly knowing for the moment what to do, a stoutly-built man, with an overcoat hastily thrown on over a suit of pajamas, joined them. It was Captain Andrews. The light from the incandescents fell on his bronzed, blonde-bearded face, and Jack felt, as he clasped the newcomer’s hand, that here was a man who could be relied on to the last ditch.
“Ned Bangs told me I would find you here,” he said. “I hastened on deck right away. I should have been out and about long ago; but——”
“That’s all right, captain,” spoke Jack swiftly, “you had earned your rest and no mistake. The thing is, what are we going to do now?”
“The rascal Herrera has attacked us, Ned told me.”
“Yes. His craft is in the offing now. He has shot away part of the foremast. The riding-light on it must have acted as a target for him.”
As the lad spoke a voice came cut of the darkness: