All
the men rushed to the ladder. The gun-deck was empty in the twinkling
of an eye.
The monstrous gun was left to itself. It was its own mistress, and
mistress of the ship. It could do with it whatsoever it wished. This
crew, accustomed to laugh in battle, now trembled. It would be
impossible to describe their terror.
Captain Boisberthelot and Lieutenant la Vieuville, brave men though
they were, paused at the top of the ladder, silent, pale, and
undecided, looking down on the deck. Some one pushed them aside with
his elbow, and descended. It was their passenger, the peasant, the man
about whom they were talking a moment ago.
Having reached the bottom of the ladder he halted.
* * * * * *
The cannon was rolling to and fro on the deck. It might have been
called the living chariot of the Apocalypse. A dim wavering of lights
and shadows was added to this spectacle by the marine lantern, swinging
under the deck. The outlines of the cannon were indistinguishable, by
reason of the rapidity of its motion; sometimes it looked black when
the light shone upon it, then again it would cast pale, glimmering
reflections in the darkness.
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