下载掌阅APP，畅读海量书库
立即打开
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， pursued it.
Such things can not 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， it 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 slipnoose around the bronze neck of the subdued monster.
It was ended. The man had conquered. The ant had control over the mastodon； the pygmy 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.
The man had conquered， but the cannon might be said to have conquered as well. Immediate shipwreck had been avoided， but the corvette was not saved. The damage to the vessel seemed beyond repair. There were five breaches in her sides， one， very large， in the bow； twenty of the thirty carronades lay useless in their frames. The one which had just been captured and chained again was disabled； the screw of the cascabel was sprung， and consequently leveling the gun made impossible. The battery was reduced to nine pieces. The ship was leaking. It was necessary to repair the damages at once， and to work the pumps.
The gun—deck， now that one could look over it， was frightful to behold. The inside of an infuriated elephant's cage would not be more completely demolished.
However great might be the necessity of escaping observation， the necessity of immediate safety was still more imperative to the corvette. They had been obliged to light up the deck with lanterns hung here and there on the sides.
However， all the while this tragic play was going on， the crew were absorbed by a question of life and death， and they were wholly ignorant of what was taking place outside the vessel. The fog had grown thicker； the weather had changed； the wind had worked its pleasure with the ship； they were out of their course， with Jersey and Guernsey close at hand， further to the south than they ought to have been， and in the midst of a heavy sea. Great billows kissed the gaping wounds of the vessel—kisses full of danger. The rocking of the sea threatened destruction. The breeze had become a gale. A squall， a tempest， perhaps， was brewing. It was impossible to see four waves ahead.
While the crew were hastily repairing the damages to the gun—deck， stopping the leaks， and putting in place the guns which had been uninjured in the disaster， the old passenger had gone on deck again.
He stood with his back against the mainmast.
He had not noticed a proceeding which had taken place on the vessel. The Chevalier de la Vieuville had drawn up the marines in line on both sides of the mainmast， and at the sound of the boatswain's whistle the sailors formed in line， standing on the yards.
The Count de Boisberthelot approached the passenger.
Behind the captain walked a man， haggard， out of breath， his dress disordered， but still with a look of satisfaction on his face.
It was the gunner who had just shown himself so skilful in subduing monsters， and who had gained the mastery over the cannon.
The count gave the military salute to the old man in peasant's dress， and said to him：
“General， there is the man.”
The gunner remained standing， with downcast eyes， in military attitude.
The Count de Boisberthelot continued：
“General， in consideration of what this man has done， do you not think there is something due him from his commander？”
“I think so，” said the old man.
“Please give your orders，” replied Boisberthelot.
“It is for you to give them， you are the captain.”
“But you are the general，” replied Boisberthelot.
The old man looked at the gunner.
“Come forward，” he said.
The gunner approached.
The old man turned toward the Count de Boisberthelot， took off the cross of Saint—Louis from the captain's coat and fastened it on the gunner's jacket.
“Hurrah！” cried the sailors.
The mariners presented arms.
And the old passenger， pointing to the dazzled gunner， added：
“Now， have this man shot.”
Dismay succeeded the cheering.
Then in the midst of the death—like stillness， the old man raised his voice and said：
“Carelessness has compromised this vessel. At this very hour it is perhaps lost. To be at sea is to be in front of the enemy. A ship making a voyage is an army waging war. The tempest is concealed， but it is at hand. The whole sea is an ambuscade. Death is the penalty of any misdemeanor committed in the face of the enemy. No fault is reparable. Courage should be rewarded， and negligence punished.”
These words fell one after another， slowly， solemnly， in a sort of inexorable metre， like the blows of an axe upon an oak.
And the man， looking at the soldiers， added：
“Let it be done.”
The man on whose jacket hung the shining cross of Saint—Louis bowed his head.
At a signal from Count de Boisberthelot， two sailors went below and came back bringing the hammock—shroud； the chaplain， who since they sailed had been at prayer in the officers' quarters， accompanied the two sailors； a sergeant detached twelve marines from the line and arranged them in two files， six by six； the gunner， without uttering a word， placed himself between the two files. The chaplain， crucifix in hand， advanced and stood beside him. “March，” said the sergeant. The platoon marched with slow steps to the bow of the vessel. The two sailors， carrying the shroud， followed. A gloomy silence fell over the vessel. A hurricane howled in the distance.
A few moments later， a light flashed， a report sounded through the darkness， then all was still， and the sound of a body falling into the sea was heard.
The old passenger， still leaning against the mainmast， had crossed his arms， and was buried in thought.
Boisberthelot pointed to him with the forefinger of his left hand， and said to La Vieuville in a low voice：
“La Vendee has a head.”
life is too short for a long story.
时间太少，小说太长，不如读一篇短故事。
波澜壮阔的汪洋之中，是人和机器的存亡较量；广袤无际的荒野之上，是人与野兽的生死搏斗；是谁为了金制的王冠，前仆后继在所不惜？是谁为了美惠的王后，孤身一人历尽艰难？
顶天立地的豪迈气魄，履险如夷的无畏精神。雨果、吉卜林、伏尔泰、布雷特·哈特……文学大家带来5个精彩短篇，加上全新的译文诠释，邀读者一起踏上冒险征途，领略两种语言的魅力。
（全书完）