"No, she ain't. 'Ere's a taut rope. Belike she's fast."
Figures clinging to the boat, upturned, were bobbing about in the settling mist.
"She's fast to our line, nose aloft like a hooked fish!" from the decks.
"There's a H'english girl on board!" shouted the look out. "Didn't ye 'ear 'er yell?"
Sailors, ropes knotted under their arms, were dropped to the sea by their fellows.
"Them's Mexicans," sputtered a big salt rolling over the taffrail with his burden. "I've a Mex. kid 'ere, I fancy."
An elderly man, uniform gold-braided and gold-laced, came up.
The supposed Mexican lad threw off the enveloping folds of the oiled coat. Jauntily, hand raised as if in salute, Señora Valentino stepped forth, apparently as fresh as ever in her life, despite her dripping and clinging garments.
"Come on board, sir!"
"My God! Señora Valentino!"