How far the gun of the Coquette was subject to the influence of these causes, or how far the desire of her captain to protect those whom he believed to be on board the brigantine, had an effect on the direction taken by its shot, will probably never be known. It is certain, however, that when the stream of fire, followed by its curling cloud, had gushed out upon the water, fifty eyes sought in vain to trace the course of the iron messenger among the sails and rigging of the Water-Witch. The symmetry of her beautiful rig was undisturbed, and the unconscious fabric still glided over the waves, with its customary ease and velocity. Ludlow had a reputation, among his crew, for some skill in the direction of a gun. The failure, therefore, in no degree aided in changing the opinions of the common men concerning the character of the chase. Many shook their heads, and more than one veteran tar, as he paced his narrow limits with both hands thrust into the bosom of his jacket, was heard to utter his belief of the inefficacy of ordinary shot, in bringing-to that brigantine. It was necessary, however to repeat the experiment, for the sake of appearances. The gun was several times discharged, and always with the same want of success. “There is little use in wasting our powder, at this distance, and with so heavy a sea,” said Ludlow, quitting the cannon, after a fifth and fruitless essay. “I shall fire no more. Look at your sails, gentlemen, and see that everything draws. We must conquer with our heels, and let the artillery rest.—Secure the gun.” “The piece is ready, sir;” observed its captain, presuming on his known favor with the commander, though he qualified the boldness by taking off his hat, in a sufficiently respectful manner—“’Tis a pity to balk it!” “Fire it, yourself, then, and return the piece to its port;” carelessly returned the captain, willing to show that others could be as unlucky as himself. The men quartered at the gun, left alone, busied themselves in executing the order. “Run in the quoin, and, blast the brig, give her a point-blanker!” said the gruff old seaman, who was intrusted with a local authority over that particular piece. “None of your geometry calculations, for me!” The crew obeyed, and the match was instantly applied. A rising sea, however, aided the object of the directly-minded old tar, or our narration of the exploits of the piece would end with the discharge, since its shot would otherwise have inevitably plunged into a wave, within a few yards of its muzzle. The bows of the ship rose with the appearance of the smoke, the usual brief expectation followed, and then fragments of wood were seen flying above the top-mast-studding-sail-boom of the brigantine, which, at the same time, flew forward, carrying with it, and entirely deranging, the two important sails that depended on the spar for support.