The man stationed himself in a corner, and, with bar and rope in his two hands, he leaned against one of the riders, braced himself on his legs, which seemed two steel posts; and livid, calm, tragic, as if rooted to the deck, he waited.

He waited for the cannon to pass by him.

The gunner knew his gun, and it seemed to him as if the gun ought to know him.  He had lived long with it.  How many times he had thrust his hand into its mouth!  It was his own familiar monster.  He began to speak to it as if it were his dog.

“Come!” he said.  Perhaps he loved it.

He seemed to wish it to come to him.

But to come to him was to come upon him.  And then he would be lost.  How could he avoid being crushed?  That was the question.  All looked on in terror.

Not a breast breathed freely, unless perhaps that of the old man, who was alone in the battery with the two contestants, a stern witness.

He might be crushed himself by the cannon.  He did not stir.

Beneath them the sea blindly directed the contest.

At the moment when the gunner, accepting this frightful hand-to-hand conflict, challenged the cannon, some chance rocking of the sea caused the carronade to remain for an instant motionless and as if stupefied.  “Come, now!” said the man.

It seemed to listen.

Suddenly it leaped toward him.  The man dodged the blow.

The battle began.  Battle unprecedented.  Frailty struggling against the invulnerable.  The gladiator of flesh attacking the beast of brass.  On one side, brute force; on the other, a human soul.

All this was taking place in semi-darkness.  It was like the shadowy vision of a miracle.

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.