Acting under the lad’s instructions. Captain Andrews summoned some of the interested sailors to him. There were twelve of the guns “and a chest full of ammunition below,” whispered Ned. Eight of the men were given a gas-gun each. Their faces expanded in grins as they learned the nature of the novel weapons. “First time I ever heard of knocking a feller out with a gas pill,” said one of them in an undertone. The serving out of the gas-guns had hardly been completed when the voice from the _Tarantula_ hailed them again: “Five minutes is up,” it said; “we’re going to board you.” At the same instant the _Tarantula_ began to range in alongside. Evidently those on board her did not fear resistance, for as she drew closer her decks blazed with light, and those on board the _Sea King_ could see that her machine guns were trained full on the yacht. Under Jack’s orders the armed portion of the _Sea King’s_ company had dropped behind the bulwarks, aiming their guns through scupper holes. Thus, of course, all that was revealed to the enemy was a group of flurried-looking sailors standing about the wreckage of the mast forward. Hardly ten yards separated the two vessels when Jack gave the whispered command: “Fire!” What followed, so Tom described it afterward to the author, “was like watching a moving picture.” There was no sound as the triggers on the gas-guns were pulled, but as the collapsible globes struck the _Tarantula’s_ decks and superstructure and burst with a soft, pattering sound, her crew began to roll about like drunken men. As the stupefying vapors impregnated the air with their fumes, one after another the men began to drop like flies. The resistance of the stoutest didn’t endure for more than a space of five minutes. Herrera himself, the last to succumb, fell beside the wheel house as he was shouting at the helmsman to withdraw from the infected air. The young inventors’ wonderful gas-guns had received their first real test, and had surely not been found wanting in efficiency. The _Tarantula_, a few moments since the scene of feverish activity, now lay a drifting hulk. Her engines were still slowly revolving, but there was no hand to govern them. Several of the gas globes had been aimed at the engine-room hatches, which were open. Deflecting thence they had burst into the machinery space, stupefying the force at work there. The victory was complete and sweeping. CHAPTER X—DRAWING A RASCAL’S FANGS “Well, what next?” It was Tom who spoke, and his voice broke the spell that had held all hands as they gazed at the silent craft drifting away from them into the darkness. “We must overhaul the _Tarantula_ and set my father and yours free, Tom, if they are still there,” came from Jack. “A good suggestion; but how are we to do it?” inquired Captain Andrews, who was not aware of the readiness of the _Vagrant_ to be placed in active service at once.