Following them was another boat containing a motley assortment of Arabs and part-Arabs, who might, or might not be associated with them.
On the beach still, surrounded yet by a swarm of longshoremen who yelled and fought, Lady Isobel Saffren Waldon and her Syrian maid stood at bay.

Her two Swahili men-servants were overwhelmed and already being carried to a boat.

Her luggage was being borne helter-skelter after them, and another boat waited for her just beyond the belt of surf, the rowers standing up to yell encouragement at the sweating pack that dared not close in on its victims.

Lady Isobel Saffren Waldon appeared to have no other weapon than a parasol, but she had plainly the upper hand.
"She has a way with her with natives," said the senior officer present.
"It's a pity," said Monty.

"I mean, one scarcely likes to use this wharf and watch that." "Quite so.