"Submarine, Advance, from New Jersey," replied Tom. "Who are you?"
"Brazilian cruiser San Paulo," was the reply. "Where are you bound?" went on the officer.
"On pleasure," answered Captain Weston quickly. "But why do you ask? We are an American ship, sailing under American colors. Is this Brazilian territory?"
"This island is—yes," came back the answer, and by this time the small boat was at the side of the submarine. Before the adventurers could have protested, had they a desire to do so, there were a number of officers and the crew of the San Paulo on the small deck.
With a flourish, the officer who had done the questioning drew his sword. Waving it in the air with a dramatic gesture, he exclaimed:
"You're our prisoners! Resist and my men shall cut you down like dogs! Seize them, men!"
The sailors sprang forward, each one stationing himself at the side of one of our friends, and grasping an arm.
"What does this mean?" cried Captain Weston indignantly. "If this is a joke, you're carrying it too far. If you're in earnest, let me warn you against interfering with Americans!"
"We know what we are doing," was the answer from the officer.
The sailor who had hold of Captain Weston endeavored to secure a tighter grip. The captain turned suddenly, and seizing the man about the waist, with an exercise of tremendous strength hurled him over his head and into the sea, the man making a great splash.