The savages came on with a rush, yelling at the top of their lungs. As they approached the water's edge they let fly a shower of arrows. But fortunately for our friends, all fell short of the mark.
As quickly as it could be accomplished, the rowboat was turned around and headed once more from the island. All who had been rowing were tired, but did their best to get the craft away from the shore.
As soon as the savages saw the boat leaving they set up another yell, and several rushed away to find those who were out in the canoes.
But the latter were on the other side of the island, and before they could be notified our friends had, for the time being, made good their escape.
Dave was all but exhausted, and at last dropped his oar and sank in a heap on the seat.
"Played out, eh?" came from Captain Broadbeam. "Well, I don't wonder. I'm about played out myself."
An hour went by and the rowboat rose and fell on the broad swells of the Pacific Ocean.
In vain they looked in all directions for the Swallow. The vessel was not to be seen.
All in the rowboat were exceedingly thirsty and would have given much for a drink of water.
Crouched on the seats, with poor Bob and Pat Stoodles beside them, Dave, the captain, and the doctor talked the situation over.