It was only as she sank into the water, in stemming a swell, that anything like foam could be seen under her forefoot.

A long line of swift-receding bubbles, however, marked her track, and she no sooner came abreast of any given group of spectators than she was past it--resembling the progress of a porpoise as he sports along a harbor.
Ten minutes after passing the palace, or the pitch of the promontory, the lugger opened another bay, one wider and almost as deep as that on which Porto Ferrajo stands, and here she took the breeze without the intervention of any neighboring rocks, and her speed was essentially increased.

Hitherto, her close proximity to the shore had partially becalmed her, though the air had drawn round the promontory, making nearly a fair wind of it; but now the currents came fully on her beam, and with much more power.

She hauled down her tacks, flattened in her sheets, luffed, and was soon out of sight, breasting up to windward of a point that formed the eastern extremity of the bay last mentioned.
All this time the Proserpine had not been idle.

As soon as she discovered that the lugger was endeavoring to escape, her rigging was alive with men.