understand that peasants have to be led peasant fashion, and that it is impossible to transform rustics into soldiers. Yes, I have known Boulainvilliers."
They walked along a few steps, each one engrossed in his own thoughts.
Then the conversation was resumed: —
"By the way, has the report of Dampierre's death been confirmed?"
"Yes, commander."
"Before Condé?"
"At the camp of Pamars; he was hit by a cannon-ball."
Boisberthelot sighed.
"Count Dampierre, – another of our men, who took sides with them."
"May he prosper wherever he may be!" said Vieuville.
"And the ladies, – where are they?"
"At Trieste."
"Still there?"
"Yes."
"Ah, this republic!" exclaimed La Vieuville. "What havoc from so slight a cause! To think that this revolution was the result of a deficit of only a few millions!"
"Insignificant beginnings are not always to be trusted."
"Everything goes wrong," replied La Vieuville.
"Yes; La Rouarie is dead. Du Dresnay is an idiot. What wretched leaders are all those bishops, – this Coucy, bishop of La Rochelle; Beaupoil Saint-Aulaire, bishop of Poitiers; Mercy, bishop of Luzon, a lover of Madame de l'Eschasserie – "
"Whose name is Servanteau, you know, commander. Eschasserie is the name of an estate."
"And that false bishop of Agra, who is a curé of I know not what!"
"Of Dol. His name is Guillot de Folleville. But then he is brave, and knows how to fight."
"Priests when one needs soldiers! bishops who are no bishops at all! generals who are no generals!"
La Vieuville interrupted Boisberthelot.
"Have you the 'Moniteur' in your state-room, commander?"
"Yes."
"What are they giving now in Paris?"
"'Adèle and Pauline' and 'La Caverne.'"
"I should like to see that."
"You may. We shall be in Paris in a month." Boisberthelot thought a moment, and then added:
"At the latest, – so Mr. Windham told Lord Hood."
"Then, commander, I take it affairs are not going so very badly?"
"All would go well, provided that the Breton war were well managed."
De Vieuville shook his head.
"Commander," he said, "are we to land the marines?"
"Certainly, if the coast is friendly, but not otherwise. In some cases war must force the gates; in others it can slip through them. Civil war must always keep a false key in its pocket. We will do all we can; but one must have a chief."
And Boisberthelot added thoughtfully, —
"What do you think of the Chevalier de Dieuzie, La Vieuville?"
"Do you mean the younger?"
"Yes."
"For a commander?"
"Yes."
"He is only good for a pitched battle in the open field. It is only the peasant who knows the underbrush."
"In that case, you may as well resign yourself to Generals Stofflet and Cathelineau."
La Vieuville meditated for a moment; then he said, —
"What we need is a prince, – a French prince, a prince of the blood, a real prince."
"How can that be? He who says 'prince' – "
"Says 'coward.' I know it, commander. But we need him for the impression he would produce upon the herd."
"My dear chevalier, the princes don't care to come."
"We will do without them."
Boisberthelot pressed his hand mechanically against his forehead, as if striving to evoke an idea. He resumed, —
"Then let us try this general."
"He is a great nobleman."
"Do you think he will do?"
"If he is one of the right sort," said La Vieuville.
"You mean relentless?" said Boisberthelot.
The count and the chevalier looked at each other.
"Monsieur Boisberthelot, you have defined the meaning of the word. Relentless, – yes, that's what we need. This is a war that shows no mercy. The bloodthirsty are in the ascendant The regicides have beheaded Louis XVI.; we will quarter the regicides. Yes, the general we need is General Relentless. In Anjou and Upper Poitou the leaders play the magnanimous; they trifle with generosity, and they are always defeated. In the Marais and the country of Retz, where the leaders are ferocious, everything goes bravely forward. It is because Charette is fierce that he stands his ground against Parrein, – hyena pitted against hyena."
Boisberthelot had no time to answer. Vieuville's words were suddenly cut short by a desperate cry, and at the same instant they heard a noise unlike all other sounds. This cry and the unusual sounds came from the interior of the vessel.
The captain and the lieutenant rushed to the gun-deck, but were unable to enter. All the gunners came running up, beside themselves with terror.
A frightful thing had just happened.
IV
TORMENTUM BELLI
One of the carronades of the battery, a twenty-four pound cannon, had become loose.
This is perhaps the most dreadful thing that can take place at sea. Nothing more terrible can happen to a man-of-war under full sail.
A cannon that breaks loose from its fastenings is suddenly transformed into a supernatural beast. It is a monster developed from a machine. This mass runs along on its wheels as easily as a billiard ball; it rolls with the rolling, pitches with the pitching, comes and goes, stops, seems to meditate, begins anew, darts like an arrow from one end of the ship to the other, whirls around, turns aside, evades, rears, hits out, crushes, kills, exterminates. It is a ram battering a wall at its own pleasure. Moreover, the battering-ram is iron, the wall is wood. It is matter set free; one might say that this eternal slave is wreaking its vengeance; it would seem as though the evil in what we call inanimate objects had found vent and suddenly burst forth; it has the air of having lost its patience, and of taking a mysterious, dull revenge; nothing is so inexorable as the rage of the inanimate. The mad mass leaps like a panther; it has the weight of
