Alfred laughed and leaned into the lines at the edge of the boat, supporting his weight on them and twining his hand through one and probably making it all the harder for the crew of the small boat to do their job and actually rescue Pablo. "You've got me beat now, you know," he called back cheerfully. "I've never been wrecked at sea. Preferable to the mountains, you think, or not?" The Sycorax being a flying ship meant that during that voyage they'd gotten the worst of both; they'd gone through the storm at sea and dealt with the chaos of a shipwreck, but she'd still been able to limp back to South America before finally crashing in the mountains. Which was probably for the best, because if they'd been wrecked at sea they wouldn't have survived it, most likely. No one had known where they were when it happened, so no one would have been coming to their rescue.

One of his sailors made a vague gesture to try and get his attention, but Alfred wasn't paying much attention. At least, he wasn't until the boat started veering farther from Pablo's little rock, because he had his hand wrapped up in the line they needed to tighten in order to trim the sails appropriately to steer her in closer.

"Oh," Alfred said, jumping back from the lines as he realized. "I guess I ought to rescue you then, hm?" he yelled to Pablo, turning around to reorient himself to what was happening in the boat.