"Si, señora."
The Mexicans plied their oars yet more diligently.
Miles slipped away.
"Boat, ahoy!" called the lookout on the flagship.
"Ship, ahoy!" in reply from the señora. "I'm coming on board with a message for the Admiral."
Without warning a fragment of storm-beaten sea, tearing toward the harbor, caught alike fisher-boat and man-of-war.
"Fend off, men! Fend off! Our suction'll swamp you," shouted the lookout to the fishermen.
Oars were useless against the onrush.
The leaning masts of the warship overhung the struggling fisher-boat, wheeled upward, then away. Into the maelstrom drew the little craft. Sailors under hurried orders scurried about the decks of the listing man-of-war. Ropes whisked over the sides down to the water which was overclouded by foam and spray.
"The little chap's sunk!" sounded from the man-of-war.