The official, Silverado, stood up in the stern gesticulating with energy, and evidently inciting his men to their best efforts at the oars.
"In a hurry to reach town, it seems," muttered Pat.
"In a tremendous hurry," said Dave. "So much so, that one of the men has leaped overboard, waded ashore, and is making a lickety-switch run across lots for the town."
Dave went at once to Captain Broadbeam and apprized him of the maneuvers of their recent visitors.
"That's all right, lad," chuckled the old mariner. "Let 'em squirm. We're safe out of their clutches."
"Not so safe," spoke Dave to his father, half an hour later. "Look there."
The officer Silverado had seemingly got word to the governor of the departure of the Swallow. A few minutes after the longboat had disappeared around a neck of land, the ironclad gunboat hove into view.
She was a saucy, spiteful little craft and a fast runner. She was headed direct for the Swallow.
"Are they coming for us, captain?" inquired Amos Fearless, somewhat anxiously.
"I hope not, for their own sakes," muttered Broadbeam quickly. Then he shouted some orders down the tube and the Swallow made a spurt.