"I won't!" declared Dab.
Jimmy Davis also was going to say, "I won't;" but he remembered that his pole was in the water, and refrained. He looked rebellious, though he said nothing.
There was now not only a conspiracy among the elements, but a mutiny among the crew. Dick sulked.
"Let her drift!" he said. "I don't care!"
"She won't drift long!" remarked Dab sarcastically. "The Great Emperor, that started to pick up somebody, is now going to be picked up by somebody."
Yes, the fishermen were pulling out from the shore. They picked up the boat, attached it to their own craft, and then laboriously rowed for the vessel in the hands of conspirators without and mutineers within.
"Where you chaps bound?" shouted Dan.
"Bound for the bottom of the sea," said Dick grimly.
"We'll stave that off," said Bill. "Here, take this rope! Now, we must try to git you ashore."
It was rather a queer tug-boat that did the towing---a fisherman's dory in which, sandwich fashion, alternated piles of codfish and oarsmen rowing; Bill, Dan, and Bart's rescuer. It was a singular fleet also that was towed ashore--the Great Emperor and Gran'sir Trafton's boat.