“Regular pirates!” agreed Frank. “Did you see that big fellow with the red beard?”
“You bet, and that thin one with the upturned blonde mustache! Gosh, he looked like the Crown Prince of Germany!”
“That dark man was the worst,” declared Frank. “That Indian or nigger or whatever he was—the one with the earrings. Gee, I’d hate to have them get us.”
“I never knew Russians were such ugly looking people,” said Tom, “and I thought they were all light. That fellow with the earrings was almost as black as Sam.”
“They’re not all Russians,” Frank reminded him. “Don’t you remember Mr. Henderson and your father saying they were ‘reds’ from every point of the world and that the big chief of the lot isn’t even a German although he worked for Germany. And there was that man that died in New York, he was Irish.”
“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Tom, “but say, let’s get out of here now. They’re gone and maybe we can sneak away. I don’t believe any one’s aboard the sub.”
“Well, I do,” replied Frank, “I vote we turn back and see if we can’t find another channel that leads out below here. We can tell the right way to go by the tide flowing.”
“Golly, that’s so,” assented Tom. “All right, but we’ve got to be careful.”
Unfastening the boat, the two boys pulled slowly up the creek against the current, searching the mangroves on either side for an opening through which the tide was flowing. At last they sighted one and with elated minds turned into it. As they pulled along, Tom noticed that the mangroves were giving place to other trees, that the soft mud banks had changed to sand and that the shores were getting higher.
“We must be getting out of the swamp,” declared Tom. “See! the banks are high and there are trees. We’ll soon be out.”