tte was by no
means saved. The dilapidation of the vessel seemed irremediable. The sides
had five breaches, one of which, very large, was in the bow. Out of the
thirty carronades, twenty lay useless in their frames.

The carronade which had been captured and rechained was itself disabled;
the screw of the breech button was forced, and the leveling of the piece
impossible in consequence. The battery was reduced to nine pieces. The
hold had sprung a leak. It was necessary at once to repair the damages and
set the pumps to work.

The gun-deck, now that one had time to look about it, offered a terrible
spectacle. The interior of a mad elephant's cage could not have been more
completely dismantled.

However great the necessity that the corvette should escape observation, a
still more imperious necessity presented itself--immediate safety. It had
been necessary to light up the deck by lanterns placed here and there
along the sides.

But during the whole time this tragic diversion had lasted, the crew were
so absorbed by the one question of life or death that they noticed little
what was passing outside the scene of the duel. The fog had thickened; the
weather had changed; the wind had driven the vessel at will; it had got
out of its route, in plain sight of Jersey and Guernsey, farther to the
south than it ought to have gone, and was surrounded by a troubled sea.
The great waves kissed the gaping wounds of the corvette--kisses full of
peril. The sea rocked her menacingly. The breeze became a gale. A squall,
a tempest perhaps, threatened. It was impossible to see before one four
oars' length.

While the crew were repairing summarily and in haste the ravages of the
gun-deck, stopping the leaks and putting back into position the guns which
had escaped the disaster, the old passenger had gone on deck.

He stood with his back against the mainmast.

He had paid no attention to a proceeding which had taken place on the
vessel. The Chevalier La Vieuville had drawn up the marines in line on
either side of the mainmast, and at the whistle of the boatswain the
sailors busy in the rigging stood upright on the yards.

Count du Boisberthelot advanced toward the passenger.

Behind the captain marched a man, haggard, breathless, his dress in
disorder, yet wearing a satisfied look under it all. It was the gunner who
had just now so opportunely shown himself a tamer of monsters, and who had
got the better of the cannon.

The count