A Modern Telemachus. Yonge Charlotte Mary

bright in the morning light, coming up with a rapidity strange and fearful in its precision, like a hawk pouncing on its prey, for it did not depend on its sails alone, but was propelled by oars.

      The next moment Madame de Bourke was on deck, holding by the Abbé’s arm, and Estelle, her hair on her shoulders, clinging to her.  She looked very pale, but her calmness was in contrast to the Italian sailors, who were throwing themselves with gestures of despair, screaming out vows to the Madonna and saints, and shouting imprecations.  The skipper came to speak to her.  ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘I implore you to remain in your cabin.  After the first, you and all yours will be safe.  They cannot harm a French subject; alas! alas would it were so with us.’