The next minute the smuggler lay perfectly inert at the bottom of the boat and Aleck was passing an oar over the stern and beginning to scull.
“Get another oar out, Tom,” he whispered, “or they’ll have us yet.”
“Ay, ay!” was growled, softly.
But it was too loud, for a voice close at hand shouted:
“Now, then, you in the boat, it’s of no use. Surrender, in the King’s name!”
The splashing made by the oars ceased, and Tom put his lips close to Aleck’s ear.
“You arn’t going to surrender, are yer, Master Aleck?”
“No; use your oar as a pole, and get us farther away.”
“Do you hear there?” cried another voice. “Heave-to, or I’ll fire.”
“All gammon, Master Aleck; I know. Don’t believe they’ve got any pistols.”