“Be ready, men!” said Ludlow, in a low but firm voice, retaining his elevated post on the poop, while he motioned to his companion to return to the main-deck.  “Fire at his flash!”

Intense expectation succeeded.  The two graceful fabrics sailed steadily on, and came within hail.  So profound was the stillness in the Coquette, that the rushing sound of the water she heaped under her bows was distinctly audible to all on board, and might be likened to the deep breathing of some vast animal, that was collecting its physical energies for some unusual exertion.  On the other hand, tongues were loud and clamorous among the cordage of la Fontange.  Just as the ships were fairly abeam, the voice of young Dumont was heard, shouting through a trumpet, for his men to fire.  Ludlow smiled, in a seaman’s scorn.  Raising his own trumpet, with a quiet gesture to his attentive and ready crew, the whole discharge of their artillery broke out of the dark side of the ship, as if it had been by the volition of the fabric.  The answering broadside was received almost as soon as their own had been given, and the two vessels passed swiftly without the line of shot.

The wind had sent back their own smoke upon the English, and for a time it floated on their decks, wreathed itself in the eddies of the sails, and passed away to leeward, with the breeze that succeeded to the counter-current of the explosions.  The whistling of shot, and the crash of wood, had been heard amid the din of the combat.  Giving a glance at his enemy, who still stood on, Ludlow leaned from the poop, and, with all a sailor’s anxiety, he endeavored to scan the gear aloft.

“What is gone, Sir?” he asked of Trysail, whose earnest face just then became visible through the drifting smoke.  “What sail is so heavily flapping?”

“Little harm done, Sir—­little harm—­bear a hand with the tackle on that fore-yard-arm, you lubbers! you move like snails in a minuet!  The fellow has shot away the lee fore-top-sail-sheet, Sir; but we shall soon get our wings spread again.  Lash it down, boys, as if it were butt-bolted;—­so; steady out your bowline, forward.—­Meet her, you can; meet her you may—­meet her!”

The smoke had disappeared, and the eye of the captain rapidly scanned the whole of his ship.  Three or four top-men had already caught the flapping canvas, and were seated on the extremity of the fore-yard, busied in securing their prize.  A hole or two was visible in the other sails, and here and there an unimportant rope was dangling in a manner to show that it had been cut by shot.  Further than this, the damage aloft was not of a nature to attract his attention.