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, farther 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 main-mast.
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 main-mast, 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?"