By Victor Hugo
La vieuville was suddenly cut short by a cry of despair， andat the same time a noise was heard wholly unlike any othersound. The cry and sounds came from within the vessel.
The captain and lieutenant rushed toward the gun-deckbut could not get down. All the gunners were pouring up indismay.
Something terrible had just happened.
One of the carronades of the battery， a twenty-four pounder，had broken loose.
This is the most dangerous accident that can possibly takeplace on shipboard. Nothing more terrible can happen to asloop of was in open sea and under full sail.
A cannon that breaks its moorings suddenly becomes somestrange， supernatural beast. It is a machine transformed into amonster. That short mass on wheels moves like a billiard-ball，rolls with the rolling of the ship， plunges with the pitchinggoes， comes， stops， seems to meditate， starts on its courseagain， shoots like an arrow from one end of the vessel to theother， whirls around， slips away， dodges， rears， bangs， crashes，kills， exterminates. It is a battering ram capriciously assaultinga wall. Add to this the fact that the ram is of metal， the wall ofwood.
It is matter set free； one might say， this eternal slave wasavenging itself； it seems as if the total depravity concealed inwhat we call inanimate things has escaped， and burst forth allof a sudden； it appears to lose patience， and to take a strangemysterious revenge； nothing more relentless than this wrath ofthe inanimate. This enraged lump leaps like a panther， it hasthe clumsiness of an elephant， the nimbleness of a mouse， theobstinacy of an ox， the uncertainty of the billows， the zigzag ofthe lightning， the deafness of the grave. It weighs ten thousandpounds， and it rebounds like a child’s ball. It spins and thenabruptly darts off at right angles.
And what is to be done？ How put an end to it？ A tempestceases， a cyclone passes over， a wind dies down， a broken mastcan be replaced， a leak can be stopped， a fire extinguished， butwhat will become of this enormous brute of bronze. How canit be captured？ You can reason with a bulldog， astonish a bull，fascinate a boa， frighten a tiger， tame a lion； but you have noresource against this monster， a loose cannon. You can not killit， it is dead； and at the same time it lives. It lives with a sinisterlife which comes to it from the infinite. The deck beneath itgives it full swing. It is moved by the ship， which is moved bythe sea， which is moved by the wind. This destroyer is a toy. Theship， the waves， the winds， all play with it， hence its frightfulanimation. What is to be done with this apparatus？ How to fetterthis stupendous engine of destruction？ How to anticipate itscomings and goings， its returns， its stops， its shocks？ Any one ofits blows on the side of the ship may stave it in. How to foretellits frightful meanderings？ It is dealing with a projectile， whichalters its mind， which seems to have ideas， and changes itsdirection every instant. How to check the course of what must beavoided？ The horrible cannon struggles， advances， backs， strikesright， strikes left， retreats， passes by， disconcerts expectation，grinds up obstacles， crushes men like flies. All the terror ofthe situation is in the fluctuations of the flooring. How fight aninclined 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 faultof the gun captain， who had neglected to fasten the screwnutof the mooring-chain， and had insecurely clogged the fourwheels of the gun carriage； this gave play to the sole and theframework， separated the two platforms， and the breeching.
The tackle had given way， so that the cannon was no longerfirm on its carriage. The stationary breeching， which preventsrecoil， was not in use at this time. A heavy sea struck the port，the carronade， insecurely fastened， had recoiled and broken itschain， and began its terrible course over the deck.
To form an idea of this strange sliding， let one imagine adrop of water running over a glass.
At the moment when the fastenings gave way， the gunnerswere in the battery， some in groups， others scattered about，busied with the customary work among sailors getting readyfor a signal for action. The carronade， hurled forward by thepitching of the vessel， made a gap in this crowd of men andcrushed four at the first blow； then sliding back and shot outagain as the ship rolled， it cut in two a fifth unfortunate， andknocked a piece of the battery against the larboard side withsuch force as to unship it. This caused the cry of distress justheard. All the men rushed to the companion-way. The gundeckwas 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 whatit pleased. This whole crew， accustomed to laugh in time ofbattle， now trembled. To describe the terror is impossible.
Captain Boisberthelot and Lieutenant la Vieuville， althoughboth dauntless men， stopped at the head of the companionwayand， dumb， pale， and hesitating， looked down on the deckbelow. Some one elbowed past and went down.
It was their passenger， the peasant， the man of whom theyhad 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 theApocalypse. The marine lantern swinging overhead added adizzy shifting of light and shade to the picture. The form of thecannon disappeared in the violence of its course， and it lookednow black in the light， now mysteriously white in the darkness.