The Advance had been anchored, and was surrounded by a
flotilla of the native boats, the brown-skinned paddlers
gazing curiously at the odd craft.
"Well, this is tough luck!" murmured Tom. "How do you
feel, dad?"
"As well as can be expected under the circumstances," was
the reply. "What do you think about this, Captain Weston?"
"Not very much, if I may be allowed the expression," was
the answer.
"Do you think they will dare carry out that threat?" asked
Mr. Sharp.
The captain shrugged his shoulders. "I hope it is only a
bluff," he replied, "made to scare us so we will consent to
giving up the submarine, which they have no right to
confiscate. But these fellows look ugly enough for
anything," he went on.
"Then if there's any chance of them attempting to carry it
out," spoke Tom, "we've got to do something."
"Bless my gizzard, of course!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "But
what? That's the question. To be shot! Why, that's a
terrible threat! The villains--"
"Silenceo!" shouted Lieutenant Drascalo, coming up at that
moment.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Escape
Events had happened so quickly that day that the gold-
hunters could scarcely comprehend them. It seemed only a
short time since Mr. Swift had been discovered lying
disabled on the dynamo, and what had transpired since seemed
to have taken place in a few minutes, though it was, in
reality, several hours.
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