ne with torpedo tubes. You invade our
harbor with it, and come up almost under my ship. You have forfeited
your right to the protection of your country, and I have no fear on
that score. You will be shot within three days. That is all. Remove
the prisoners."

Protests were in vain, and it was equally useless to struggle. The
prisoners were taken out on deck, for which they were thankful, for the
interior of the ship was close and hot, the weather being intensely
disagreeable. They were told to keep within a certain space on deck,
and a guard of sailors, all armed, was placed near them. From where
they were they could see their submarine floating on the surface of the
little bay, with several Brazilians on the small deck. 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. This was made manifest by the feeling
of hunger on the part of Tom and his friends.

"I wonder if they're going to starve us, the scoundrels?" asked Mr.
Sharp, when the irate lieutenant was beyond hearing. "It's not fair to
make us go hungry and shoot us in the bargain."

"That's so, they ought to feed us," put in Tom. As yet neith