Short stories, French -- Translations into English
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 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 began its
terrible course over the deck.
To form an idea of this strange sliding, let one imagine a drop of water
running over a 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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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