All this darkness was favorable.

  The intention of the pilot, Gacquoil, was to leave Jersey on the left and Guernsey on the right, and by a bold course between the Hanois and the Douvres to make for a bay somewhere on the shore of Saint-Malo, not so short a route as by the Minquiers, but safer, because the French cruisers had standing orders to keep especial watch between Saint-Hélier and Granville.

  If the wind were favorable, if nothing unexpected occurred, and by setting all sails, Gacquoil hoped to reach the French coast by daybreak.

  All was going well; the corvette had just passed Gros-Nez; about nine o'clock it began to grow sulky, as the sailors say, and there was some wind and sea; but the wind was favorable, and the sea strong without being violent. However, occasionally a heavy sea swept over the bow of the vessel.

  The "peasant" when Lord Balcarras had called "general," and to whom the Prince of la Tour d' Auvergne had said, "Cousin" had sea-legs had walked the deck with calm unconcern. He did not seem to notice that the vessel was very much tossed about. Now and then he drew out of his pocket a cake of chocolate, broke off a piece and ate it; although his hair was white, he had all his teeth.

  He spoke to no one, except occasionally a few words in a low tone to the captain, who listened with deference, and seemed to consider this passenger more the commander than himself.

  The "Claymore," skilfully piloted, sailed, unnoticed in the fog, by the long northern cliff of Jersey, hugging the shore on account of the dangerous reef Pierres-de-Leeq, in the middle of the straits between Jersey and Sark. Gacquoil, standing at the helm signalling la Grève de Leeq, Gros-Nez, and Plimont in turn, guided the vessel through these chains of reefs, groping his way, as it were, but still with the certainty of a man who is at home and knows his way on the ocean. The corvette had no light forward, for fear of betraying its passage in these guarded waters. They congratulated themselves on having the fog. They reached the Grande-Etape; the fog was so thick that the outline of the tall pinnacle could hardly be discerned. Ten o'clock sounded from the tower of Saint-Ouen, a sign that the wind was still abaft. All continued to go well; the sea grew more tempestuous as they drew near to la Corbière.

  A little after ten, the Count de Boisberthelot, and the Chevalier de la Vieuville accompanied the man in peasant's garb to his cabin, which was the captain's stateroom. Just as he was about to enter it, lowering his voice, he said to them,—

  "You know, gentlemen, the important secret. Be silent till the moment the explosion occurs. You two are the only ones here who know my name."

  "We will carry it to the grave," replied Boisberthelot. "As for me," replied the old man, "if I were to die, I would not utter it."

  And he entered his cabin.

  CHAPTER III.

  NOBLE AND PLEBEIAN IN ALLIANCE.

  The commander and the second officer went up on deck again and began to talk together, walking side by side. They were evidently speaking about their passenger, and this is very nearly the conversation that the wind scattered in the darkness.

  Boisberthelot muttered low in la Vieuville's ear,—

  "We shall see if he is a leader."

  La Vieuville replied: "At any rate, he is a prince."

  "Almost."

  "A nobleman in France, but a prince in Brittany."

  "Like the la Trémoilles, and like the Rohans."

  "To whom he is related."

  Boisberthelot continued: "In France and in the king's coaches, he is a marquis, as I am a count and as you are a chevalier."

  "The coaches are far off!" exclaimed la Vieuville. "We are more likely to ride in a tumbril."

  A silence ensued.

  Boisberthelot went on,—

  "For want of a French prince, they take a Breton prince."

  "For want of a thrush—no, for want of an eagle—they take a crow."

  "I should prefer a vulture," said Boisberthelot.

  And la Vieuville replied: "Of course! a beak and talons."

  "We shall see."

  "Yes," replied la Vieuville, "it is time there was a leader. I am of Tinténiac's opinion: 'A leader and powder!' Wait, commander, I know nearly all the leaders, possible and impossible; those of to-day, of yesterday, and to-morrow; but not one is the figure-head needed. In this devilish la Vendée, a general is needed who is at the same time an attorney; he must annoy the enemy, dispute the mills, the thickets, the ditches, the pebbles with them, have serious quarrels with them, take advantage of everything, be constantly on the watch, make examples of them; he must neither sleep nor show pity. At the present time, there are heroes in this army of peasants, but there are no captains. D'Elbée is nobody; Lescure is ill, Bonchamps is tender-hearted, he is good, he is stupid; La Rochejacquelin is a splendid sub-lieutenant; Silz is an officer for the open field, unequal to a war of expedients; Cathelineau is an innocent wagoner; Stoffier is a tricky gamekeeper; Bérard is silly; Boulainvilliers is absurd; Charette is horrible; and I will say nothing at all of Gaston the barber. For, by thunder! what is the good of a revolution, and what difference is there between the republicans and ourselves, if we are to let noblemen be commanded by wig-makers?"

  "This beastly revolution has taken hold of us, as well."

  "An itch that France has caught!'"

  "Itch of the Third Estate," replied Boisberthelot.

  "England alone can save us from it."

  "She will do it without doubt, captain."

  "At any rate, it is hideous."

  "Certainly, louts everywhere! The monarchy which has Stoffiet for general-in-chief, M. de Maulevrier's gamekeeper, has nothing to envy the republic, with Pache, son of the Duke de Castries's porter, for minister. What counterparts in this war of la Vendée! On one side Santerre, the brewer; on the other, Gaston, the hairdresser!"

  "My dear la Vieuville, I make an exception of this Gaston. He hasn't acted badly in his command at Guéménée. He shot three hundred Blues very prettily, after making them dig their own graves."

  "Very good; but I could have done just as well myself."

  "Indeed, without doubt. And so could I."

  "The great deeds of war," continued la Vieuville, "require nobility in those who accomplish them. These are matters for chevaliers, not for wig-makers."

  "Still in this Third Estate," replied Boisberthelot, "there are estimable men. Take, for example, the clockmaker Joly. He was a sergeant in the Flanders regiment; he becomes a Vendéan chief; he commands a company on the coast; he has a son, who is a republican, and while the father serves with the Whites, the son serves with the Blues. They meet. Battle. The father takes his son prisoner, and blows his brains out."

  "That is good," said la Vieuville.

  "A royalist Brutus," replied Boisberthelot.

  "That doesn't prevent it from being intolerable to be commanded by a Coquereau, a Jean-Jean, a Moulins, a Focart, a Bouju, a Chouppes!"

  "My dear chevalier, the indignation is the same on both sides. We are full of bourgeois ; they are full of nobles. Do you suppose that the sans-culottes are content to be commanded by the Count de Canclaux, the Viscount de Miraud, the Viscount de Beauharnais, the Count de Valence, the Marquis de Custine, and the Duke de Biron!"

  "What slop!"

  "And the Duke de Chartres!"

  "Son of Egalité. Ah, when will he be king, that fellow? Never!"

  "He is on his way to the throne. His crimes assist him."

  "And his vices hinder him," said Boisberthelot.

  Again there was a silence, and Boisberthelot went on to say,—

  "He wished, however, for a reconciliation. He came to see the king. I was there at Versailles, when they spat on his back."

  "From the grand staircase?"

  "Yes."

  "They did well."

  "We called him, Bourbon le Bourbeaux."

  "He is bald, he has pimples, he is a regicide. Bah!"

  And la Vieuville added: "I was with him at Ouessant."

  "On the 'Saint-Esprit'?"

  "Yes."

  "If he had obeyed the signal that Admiral d'Orvilliers gave him to keep to the windward, he would have hindered the English from passing."

  "Certainly."

  "Is it true that he hid himself in the hold?"

  "No, but we must say so, all the same."

  And la Vieuville burst out laughing.

  Boisberthelot continued: "There are some fools yet. Take this Boulainvilliers, of whom you were speaking, M. Vieuville; I knew him, I have seen him near to. At first the peasants were armed with pikes; if he didn't get it into his head to make pikemen of them! He wanted to teach them the exercise de la pique-en-biais et de la pique-trainante-le-fer-devant! He dreamed of transforming these savages into soldiers of the line. He pretended to teach them how to mass battalions, and to form battalions into hollow squares. He jabbered to them in the old military language; for chief of a squad, he said ' cap d'escade,' a term applied to corporals under Louis XVI. He was determined to form a regiment with all these poachers; he had regular companies, the sergeants of which formed a circle every evening, receiving the countersign from the colonel's sergeant; he repeated it to the sergeant of the lieutenants, and he repeated it to his neighbor, who passed it to the one nearest, and so on from ear to ear, till the last. He cashiered an officer for not rising with head uncovered to receive the word of command from the mouth of the sergeant. You can judge how that succeeded. This booby couldn't understand that peasants like to be led in peasant-fashion, and that you can't make drilled soldiers out of backwoodsmen. Yes, I know that Boulainvilliers."

  They walked on a few steps, each busied with his own thoughts.

  Then the conversation continued,—

  "By the way, is it true that Dampierre has been killed?"

  "Yes, commander."

  "Before Condé?"

  "In the camp of Pamaro; by a cannon-ball."

  Boisberthelot sighed.

  "The Count de Dampierres. Another one of us, who was on their side!"

  "A pleasant journey to him!" said la Vieuville.

  "And the ladies, where are they?"

  "At Trieste."

  "Still?"

  "Still."

  "And la Vieuville exclaimed: "Oh, this republic! What havoc to so little purpose! To think that this revolution has come about from the deficit of a few millions!"

  "Look out for insignificant beginnings."

  "Everything is going wrong," replied la Vieuville.

  "Yes, la Rouarie is dead; du Dresnay, an idiot. What melancholy leaders all these bishops are: this Coucy, bishop of la Rochelle; this Beaupoil Saint-Aulaire, bishop of Poitiers; this Mercy, bishop of Luçon, Mme. de l'Eschasserie's lover—"

  "Her name is Servanteau, you know, commander: l'Eschasserie is the name of her estate."

  "And that false bishop of Agra, who is the curate of I don't know what!"

  "Of Dol. His name is Guillot de Folleville. He is brave, however, and he fights."

  "Priests when we want soldiers! Bishops, who are no bishops! Generals who are no generals!"

  La Vieuville interrupted Boisberthelot.

  "Commander, have you the Moniteur in your cabin?"

  "Yes."

  "What are they playing in Paris, now?"

  "'Adèle,' 'Paulin' and the 'Cavern.'"

  "I should like to see that."

  "You will see it. We shall be in Paris in a month."

  Boisberthelot thought a moment and added,—

  "At the latest. Mr. Windham has told Lord Hood so."

  "Then, commander, everything is not going so badly?"

  "Gracious! All would go well, if only the war in Brittany were well conducted."

  La Vieuville shook his head.

  "Commander," he asked, "shall we land the marines?"

  "Yes, if the coast is for us; no, if it be hostile. Sometimes war has to break open the doors, sometimes she slips through. Civil war should always have a false key in her pocket. Everything possible will be done. The most important thing is the chief."

  And Boisberthelot added thoughtfully,—

  "La Vieuville, what would you think of the Chevalier de Dieuzie?"

  "The young man?"

  "Yes."

  "For a commander?"

  "Yes."

  "That he, again, is an officer for the open field, and for pitched battles. The thicket only knows the peasant."

  "Then resign yourself to General Stoffiet and to General Cathelineau."

  La Vieuville considered a moment and said,—

  "We need a prince—a prince of France—a prince of the blood—a real prince."

  "Why? He who names a prince——"

  "Names a coward. I know it, commander. But it is for the effect on the great, stupid eyes of the louts."

  "My dear chevalier, princes would not come."

  "We can dispense with them."

  Boisberthelot made that mechanical movement of rubbing the forehead with the hand, as if expecting to bring out an idea.

  He continued: "At last, let us consider the present general."

  "He is a great nobleman."

  "Do you believe that he will answer?"

  "If he is strong!" said la Vieuville.

  "That is to say, cruel," said Boisberthelot.

  The count and the chevalier looked at each other.

  "Monsieur du Boisberthelot, you have spoken the word. Cruel. Yes that is what we need. This is a merciless war. It is the time for bloodthirsty men. Regicides have cut off Louis XVI.'s head; we will tear the four limbs from the regicides. Yes, the general necessary is General Inexorable. In Anjou and upper Poitou the chiefs play the magnanimous; they flounder in generosity, nothing succeeds. In the Marais and in the Retz country, the chiefs are terrible, everything moves on. It is because Charette is cruel that he holds out against Parrein. Hyena against hyena."

  Boisberthelot had no time to reply to la Vieuville. La Vieuville was suddenly cut short by a cry of despair, and at the same time a noise was heard wholly unlike any other sound. This cry and these sounds came from within the vessel.

  The captain and lieutenant rushed towards the gun-deck, but could not get down. All the gunners were pouring up in dismay. Something terrible had just happened.

  CHAPTER IV.

  TORMENTUM BELLI.

  One of the carronades of the battery, a twenty-four pounder, had broken loose.

  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, frightened 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 earthquake.

  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 began 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.