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Sea StoriesThe Merchantman And The Pirate
North Latitude 23-1/2, Longitude East 113; the ti...
Adventures Of Captain Woodward And Five Seamen In The Island Of Celebes
In the year 1791, Woodward sailed from Boston in the ...
Loss Of The Halsewell
The catastrophe which is now about to be related made...
Shipwreck Of The French Ship Droits De L'homme
On the 5th of January, 1797, returning home on leave ...
Going To Sea A Hundred Years Ago
In the ordinary course of a commercial education, in ...
Toilers Of The Sea
Victor Hugo's "Toilers of the Sea" is a story of the Ch...
Fate Of The Castaways
My first determination was to seek a supply of breadfru...
The Man And The Cannon
One of the carronades of the battery, a twenty-four pounder, had
This is the most dangerous accident that can possibly take place on
shipboard. Nothing more terrible can happen to a sloop of war in open
sea and under full sail.
A cannon that breaks its moorings suddenly becomes some strange,
supernatural beast. It is a machine transformed into a monster. That
short mass on wheels moves like a billiard-ball, rolls with the
rolling of the ship, plunges with the pitching, goes, comes, stops,
seems to meditate, starts on its course again, shoots like an arrow,
from one end of the vessel to the other, whirls around, slips away,
dodges, rears, bangs, crashes, kills, exterminates. It is a battering
ram capriciously assaulting a wall. Add to this, the fact that the ram
is of metal, the wall of wood.
It is matter set free; one might say, this eternal slave was avenging
itself; it seems as if the total depravity concealed in what we call
inanimate things had escaped, and burst forth all of a sudden; it
appears to lose patience, and to take a strange mysterious revenge;
nothing more relentless than this wrath of the inanimate. This enraged
lump leaps like a panther, it has the clumsiness of an elephant, the
nimbleness of a mouse, the obstinacy of an axe, the uncertainty of the
billows, the zigzag of the lightning, the deafness of the grave. It
weighs ten thousand pounds, and it rebounds like a child's ball. It
spins and then abruptly darts off at right angles.
And what is to be done? How put an end to it? A tempest ceases, a
cyclone passes over, a wind dies down, a broken mast can be replaced,
a leak can be stopped, a fire extinguished, but what will become of
this enormous brute of bronze? How can it be captured? You can reason
with a bull-dog, astonish a bull, fascinate a boa, frighten a tiger,
tame a lion; but you have no resource against this monster, a loose
cannon. You cannot kill it, it is dead; and at the same time it lives.
It lives with a sinister life which comes to it from the infinite. The
deck beneath it gives it full swing. It is moved by the ship, which is
moved by the sea, which is moved by the wind. This destroyer is a toy.
The ship, the waves, the winds, all play with it, hence its frightful
animation. What is to be done with this apparatus? How fetter this
stupendous engine of destruction? How anticipate its comings and
goings, its returns, its stops, its shocks? Any one of its blows on
the side of the ship may stave it in. How foretell its frightful
meanderings? It is dealing with a projectile, which alters its mind,
which seems to have ideas, and changes its direction every instant.
How check the course of what must be avoided? The horrible cannon
struggles, advances, backs, strikes right, strikes left, retreats,
passes by, disconcerts expectation, grinds up obstacles, crushes men
like flies. All the terror of the situation is in the fluctuations of
the flooring. How fight an inclined plane subject to caprices? The
ship has, so to speak, in its belly, an imprisoned thunderstorm,
striving to escape; something like a thunderbolt rumbling above an
In an instant the whole crew was on foot. It was the fault of the gun
captain, who had neglected to fasten the screw-nut of the
mooring-chain, and had insecurely clogged the four wheels of the gun
carriage; this gave play to the sole and the framework, separated the
two platforms, and finally the breeching. The tackle had given way, so
that the cannon was no longer firm on its carriage. The stationary
breeching, which prevents recoil, was not in use at this time. A heavy
sea struck the port, the carronade insecurely fastened, had recoiled
and broken its chain, and begun its terrible course over the deck.
To form an idea of this strange sliding, let one image a drop of water
running over glass.
At the moment when the fastenings gave way, the gunners were in the
battery. Some in groups, others scattered about, busied with the
customary work among sailors getting ready for a signal for action.
The carronade, hurled forward by the pitching of the vessel, made a
gap in this crowd of men and crushed four at the first blow; then
sliding back and shot out again as the ship rolled, it cut in two a
fifth unfortunate, and knocked a piece of the battery against the
larboard side with such force as to unship it. This caused the cry of
distress just heard. All the men rushed to the companion-way. The gun
deck was vacated in a twinkling.
The enormous gun was left alone. It was given up to itself. It was its
own master, and master of the ship. It could do what it pleased. This
whole crew, accustomed to laugh in time of battle, now trembled. To
describe the terror is impossible.
Captain Boisberthelot and Lieutenant La Vieuville, although both
dauntless men, stopped at the head of the companion-way, and dumb,
pale, and hesitating, looked down on the deck below. Some one elbowed
past and went down.
It was their passenger, the peasant, the man of whom they had just
been speaking a moment before.
Reaching the foot of the companion-way, he stopped.
* * * * *
The cannon was rushing back and forth on the deck. One might have
supposed it to be the living chariot of the Apocalypse. The marine
lantern swinging overhead added a dizzy shifting of light and shade to
the picture. The form of the cannon disappeared in the violence of its
course, and it looked now black in the light, now mysteriously white
in the darkness.
It went on in its destructive work. It had already shattered four
other guns and made two gaps in the side of the ship, fortunately
above the water-line, but where the water would come in, in case of
heavy weather. It rushed frantically against the framework; the strong
timbers withstood the shock; the curved shape of the wood gave them
great power of resistance; but they creaked beneath the blows of this
huge club, beating on all sides at once, with a strange sort of
ubiquity. The percussions of a grain of shot shaken in a bottle are
not swifter or more senseless. The four wheels passed back and forth
over the dead men, cutting them, carving them, slashing them, till the
five corpses were a score of stumps rolling across the deck; the heads
of the dead men seemed to cry out; streams of blood curled over the
deck with the rolling of the vessel; the planks, damaged in several
places, began to gape open. The whole ship was filled with the horrid
noise and confusion.
The captain promptly recovered his presence of mind and ordered
everything that could check and impede the cannon's mad course to be
thrown through the hatchway down on the gun deck--mattresses, hammocks,
spare sails, rolls of cordage, bags belonging to the crew, and bales
of counterfeit assignats, of which the corvette carried a large
quantity--a characteristic piece of English villany regarded as
But what could these rags do? As nobody dared to go below to dispose
of them properly, they were reduced to lint in a few minutes.
There was just sea enough to make the accident as bad as possible. A
tempest would have been desirable, for it might have upset the cannon,
and with its four wheels once in the air there would be some hope of
getting it under control. Meanwhile, the havoc increased.
There were splits and fractures in the masts, which are set into the
framework of the keel and rise above the decks of ships like great,
round pillars. The convulsive blows of the cannon had cracked the
mizzen-mast, and had cut into the main-mast.
The battery was being ruined. Ten pieces out of thirty were disabled;
the breaches in the side of the vessel were increasing, and the
corvette was beginning to leak.
The old passenger, having gone down to the gun deck, stood like a man
of stone at the foot of the steps. He cast a stern glance over this
scene of devastation. He did not move. It seemed impossible to take a
step forward. Every movement of the loose carronade threatened the
ship's destruction. A few moments more and shipwreck would be
They must perish or put a speedy end to the disaster; some course must
be decided on; but what? What an opponent was this carronade!
Something must be done to stop this terrible madness--to capture this
lightning--to overthrow this thunderbolt.
Boisberthelot said to La Vieuville,--
"Do you believe in God, chevalier?"
La Vieuville replied: "Yes--no. Sometimes."
"During a tempest?"
"Yes, and in moments like this."
"God alone can save us from this," said Boisberthelot.
Everybody was silent, letting the carronade continue its horrible din.
Outside, the waves beating against the ship responded with their blows
to the shocks of the cannon. It was like two hammers alternating.
Suddenly, in the midst of this inaccessible ring, where the escaped
cannon was leaping, a man was seen to appear, with an iron bar in his
hand. He was the author of the catastrophe, the captain of the gun,
guilty of criminal carelessness, and the cause of the accident, the
master of the carronade. Having done the mischief, he was anxious to
repair it. He had seized the iron bar in one hand, a tiller-rope with
a slip-noose in the other, and jumped down the hatchway to the gun
Then began an awful sight; a Titanic scene; the contest between gun
and gunner; the battle of matter and intelligence, the duel between
man and the inanimate.
The man stationed himself in a corner, and with bar and rope in his
two hands, he leaned against one of the riders, braced himself on his
legs, which seemed two steel posts, and livid, calm, tragic, as if
rooted to the deck, he waited.
He waited for the cannon to pass by him.
The gunner knew his gun, and it seemed to him as if the gun ought to
know him. He had lived long with it. How many times he had thrust his
hands into its mouth! It was his own familiar monster. He began to
speak to it as if it were his dog.
"Come!" he said. Perhaps he loved it.
He seemed to wish it to come to him.
But to come to him was to come upon him. And then he would be lost.
How could he avoid being crushed! That was the question. All looked on
Not a breast breathed freely, unless perhaps that of the old man, who
was alone in the battery with the two contestants, a stern witness.
He might be crushed himself by the cannon. He did not stir.
Beneath, them the sea blindly directed the contest.
At the moment when the gunner, accepting this frightful hand-to-hand
conflict, challenged the cannon, some chance rocking of the sea caused
the carronade to remain for an instant motionless and as if stupefied.
"Come, now!" said the man. It seemed to listen.
Suddenly it leaped towards him. The man dodged the blow.
The battle began. Battle unprecedented. Frailty struggling against the
invulnerable. The gladiator of flesh attacking the beast of brass. On
one side, brute force; on the other, a human soul.
All this was taking place in semi-darkness. It was like the shadowy
vision of a miracle.
A soul--strange to say, one would have thought the cannon also had a
soul; but a soul full of hatred and rage. This sightless thing seemed
to have eyes. The monster appeared to lie in wait for the man. One
would have at least believed that there was craft in this mass. It
also chose its time. It was a strange, gigantic insect of metal,
having or seeming to have the will of a demon. For a moment this
colossal locust would beat against the low ceiling overhead, then it
would come down on its four wheels like a tiger on its four paws, and
begin to run at the man. He, supple, nimble, expert, writhed away like
an adder from all these lightning movements. He avoided a collision,
but the blows which he parried fell against the vessel, and continued
their work of destruction.
An end of broken chain was left hanging to the carronade. This chain
had in some strange way become twisted about the screw of the
cascabel. One end of the chain was fastened to the gun-carriage. The
other, left loose, whirled desperately about the cannon, making all
its blows more dangerous.
The screw held it in a firm grip, adding a thong to a battering-ram,
making a terrible whirlwind around the cannon, an iron lash in a
brazen hand. This chain complicated the contest.
However, the man went on fighting. Occasionally, it was the man who
attacked the cannon; he would creep along the side of the vessel, bar
and rope in hand; and the cannon, as if it understood, and as though
suspecting some snare, would flee away. The man, bent on victory,
Such things cannot long continue. The cannon seemed to say to itself,
all of a sudden, "Come, now! Make an end of it!" and it stopped. One
felt that the crisis was at hand. The cannon, as if in suspense,
seemed to have, or really had--for to all it was a living being--a
ferocious malice prepense. It made a sudden, quick dash at the gunner.
The gunner sprang out of the way, let it pass by, and cried out to it
with a laugh, "Try it again!" The cannon, as if enraged, smashed a
carronade on the port side; then, again seized by the invisible sling
which controlled it, it was hurled to the starboard side at the man,
who made his escape. Three carronades gave way under the blows of the
cannon; then, as if blind and not knowing what more to do, turned its
back on the man, rolled from stern to bow, injured the stern and made
a breach in the planking of the prow. The man took refuge at the foot
of the steps, not far from the old man who was looking on. The gunner
held his iron bar in rest. The cannon seemed to notice it, and without
taking the trouble to turn around, slid back on the man, swift as the
blow of an axe. The man, driven against the side of the ship, was
lost. The whole crew cried out with horror.
But the old passenger, till this moment motionless, darted forth more
quickly than any of this wildly swift rapidity. He seized a package of
counterfeit assignats, and, at the risk of being crushed, succeeded in
throwing it between the wheels of the carronade. This decisive and
perilous movement could not have been made with more exactness and
precision by a man trained in all the exercises described in Durosel's
"Manual of Gun Practice at Sea."
The package had the effect of a clog. A pebble may stop a log, the
branch of a tree turn aside an avalanche. The carronade stumbled. The
gunner, taking advantage of this critical opportunity, plunged his
iron bar between the spokes of one of the hind wheels. The cannon
stopped. It leaned forward. The man using the bar as a lever, held it
in equilibrium. The heavy mass was overthrown, with the crash of a
falling bell, and the man, rushing with all his might, dripping with
perspiration, passed the slip-noose around the bronze neck of the
It was ended. The man had conquered. The ant had control over the
mastodon; the pigmy had taken the thunderbolt prisoner.
The mariners and sailors clapped their hands.
The whole crew rushed forward with cables and chains, and in an
instant the cannon was secured.
The gunner saluted the passenger.
"Sir," he said, "you have saved my life."
The old man had resumed his impassive attitude, and made no reply.
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