The captain, who had rapidly recovered his self-possession, had given
orders to throw down the hatchway all that could abate the rage and
check the mad onslaught of this infuriated gun; mattresses, hammocks,
spare sails, coils of rope, the bags of the crew, and bales of false
assignats, with which the corvette was laden,--that infamous stratagem
of English origin being considered a fair trick in war.

But what availed these rags? No one dared to go down to arrange them,
and in a few moments they were reduced to lint.

There was just sea enough to render this accident as complete as
possible. A tempest would have been welcome. It might have upset the
cannon, and which its four wheels once in the air, it could easily have
been mastered. Meanwhile the havoc increased. There were even
incisions and fractures in the masts, that stood like pillars grounded
firmly in the keel, and piercing the several decks of the vessel. The
mizzen-mast was split, and even the main-mast was damaged by the
convulsive blows of the cannon. The destruction of the battery still
went on. Ten out of the thirty pieces were useless. The fractures in
the side increased, and the corvette began to leak.

The old passenger, who had descended to the gun-deck, looked like one
carved in stone as he stood motionless at the foot of the stairs and
glanced sternly over the devastation. It would have been impossible to
move a step upon the deck.

Each bound of the liberated carronade seemed to threaten the
destruction of the ship. But a few moments longer, and shipwreck would
be inevitable.