Despite all this, the man fought. He even attacked the cannon at
times, crawling along by the side of the ship and clutching his
handspike and the rope; the cannon seemed to understand his movements,
and fled as though suspecting a trap. The man, nothing daunted,
pursued his chase.

Such a struggle must necessarily be brief. Suddenly the cannon seemed
to say to itself: Now, then, there must be an end to this. And it
stopped. A crisis was felt to be at hand. The cannon, as if in
suspense, seemed to meditate, or--for to all intents and purposes it
was a living creature--it really did meditate, some furious design.
All at once it rushed on the gunner, who sprang aside with a laugh,
crying out, "Try it again!" as the cannon passed him. The gun in its
fury smashed one of the larboard carronades; then, by the invisible
sling in which it seemed to be held, it was thrown to the starboard,
towards the man, who escaped. Three carronades were crushed by its
onslaught; then, as though blind and besides itself it turned from the
man, and rolled from stern to stem, splintering the latter, and causing
a breach in the walls of the prow. The gunner took refuge at the foot
of the ladder, a short distance from the old man, who stood watching.
He held his handspike in readiness. The cannon seemed aware of it, and
without taking the trouble to turn, it rushed backward on the man, as
swift as the blow of an axe. The gunner, if driven up against the side
of the ship, would be lost.

One cry arose from the crew.

The old passenger--who until this moment had stood motionless--sprang
forward more swiftly than all those mad swirls. He had seized a bale