Hawkins. Why, Bill Carvell! Is it you? What’s all this stir and curiosity about? They are firing salutes, and cheering, in the offing. (Rounds of cheers, firing of salutes, and hoisting of flags by the cruizers echoes along the shore by the people.)
Carvell. It is only that poor cripple limping into the harbour, with broken legs. She is tattered, and torn, wounded and weak; and no mistake whether by storm or battle.
2nd Sailor. Not so overweak, that she cloud not take her own part, in case of need. She has a dammed rakish look about her, like some broken down gentle-woman, whose rank no poverty can conceal! I can see her pride and high spirit, though all her rags. See how she answers the helm, and takes the windward of that great Flemish bark!
3rd Sailor, (with a knowing emphasis and nod). She’s off a long voyage, and carries no freight; unless perhaps, it may be a dust or so of the precious metals. I’m mistaken if she’s not in fighting gear, as well as sailing trim.
4th Sailor. She has passed through a heavy gale, her rigging is sadly mawled.
3rd Sailor. Gale be damned! It has been a thunder storm with iron for hail! No wind or waves ever did that damage. Those bulwarks have shot holes in them, man. Some Spaniard has got the worst of it, with that Falcon.
Hawkins. What think you of her, Bill Carvell? Have you any guess?
Carvell. I am quite out of my reckoning, and yet I think she is no stranger. But you see her spars are so handled, and the main is only a jury mast.
Hawkins. I imagine somehow, I know the sheer of her gunwale, and the manner in which the foremost is stepped, (Aside to himself), can it be? (Shouts of “The Judith, The Judith.” Tremendous cheering). Yes it is! It is the Judith and Francis Drake, if he is alive.
The cheering and rushing about increases. Shouts of hurrah for the Judith. Hurrah for Drake. Hurrah for Hawkins! Down with the Spaniards.