Grimaud translated the question, and Groslow, who was wiping the
perspiration from off his forehead, answered:
"Some full, others empty."
D’Artagnan struck the barrels with his hand, and having ascertained that
he spoke the truth, pushed his lantern, greatly to the captain’s alarm,
into the interstices between the barrels, and finding that there was
nothing concealed in them:
"Come along," he said; and he went toward the door of the second
compartment.
"Stop!" said the Englishman, "I have the key of that door;" and he
opened the door, with a trembling hand, into the second compartment,
where Mousqueton and Blaisois were preparing supper.
Here there was evidently nothing to seek or to apprehend and they passed
rapidly to examine the third compartment.
This was the room appropriated to the sailors. Two or three hammocks
hung upon the ceiling, a table and two benches composed the entire
furniture. D’Artagnan picked up two or three old sails hung on the
walls, and meeting nothing to suspect, regained by the hatchway the deck
of the vessel.
"And this room?" he asked, pointing to the captain’s cabin.
"That’s my room," replied Groslow.
"Open the door."
The captain obeyed. D’Artagnan stretched out his arm in which he held
the lantern, put his head in at the half opened door, and seeing that
the cabin was nothing better than a shed:
"Good," he said. "If there is an army on board it is not here that it is
hidden. Let us see what Porthos has found for supper." And thanking the
captain, he regained the state cabin, where his friends were.
Porthos had found nothing, and with him fatigue had prevailed over
hunger. He had fallen asleep and was in a profound slumber when
D’Artagnan returned. Athos and Aramis were beginning to close their
eyes, which they half opened when their companion came in again.
"Well!" said Aramis.
"All is well; we may sleep tranquilly."
On this assurance the two friends fell asleep; and D’Artagnan, who was
very weary, bade good-night to Grimaud and laid himself down in his
cloak, with naked sword at his side, in such a manner that his body
barricaded the passage, and it should be impossible to enter the room
without upsetting him.
71. Port Wine.
In ten minutes the masters slept; not so the servants---hungry, and more
thirsty than hungry.
Blaisois and Mousqueton set themselves to preparing their bed which
consisted of a plank and a valise. On a hanging table, which swung to
and fro with the rolling of the vessel, were a pot of beer and three
glasses.
"This cursed rolling!" said Blaisois. "I know it will serve me as it did
when we came over."
"And to think," said Mousqueton, "that we have nothing to fight
seasickness with but barley bread and hop beer. Pah!"
"But where is your wicker flask, Monsieur Mousqueton? Have you lost it?"
asked Blaisois.
"No," replied Mousqueton, "Parry kept it. Those devilish Scotchmen are
always thirsty. And you, Grimaud," he said to his companion, who had
just come in after his round with D’Artagnan, "are you thirsty?"
"As thirsty as a Scotchman!" was Grimaud’s laconic reply.
And he sat down and began to cast up the accounts of his party, whose
money he managed.
"Oh, lackadaisy! I’m beginning to feel queer!" cried Blaisois.
"If that’s the case," said Mousqueton, with a learned air, "take some
nourishment."
"Do you call that nourishment?" said Blaisois, pointing to the barley
bread and pot of beer upon the table.
"Blaisois," replied Mousqueton, "remember that bread is the true
nourishment of a Frenchman, who is not always able to get bread, ask
Grimaud."
"Yes, but beer?" asked Blaisois sharply, "is that their true drink?"
"As to that," answered Mousqueton, puzzled how to get out of the
difficulty, "I must confess that to me beer is as disagreeable as wine
is to the English."
"What! Monsieur Mousqueton! The English--do they dislike wine?"
"They hate it."
"But I have seen them drink it."
"As a punishment. For example, an English prince died one day because
they had put him into a butt of Malmsey. I heard the Chevalier d’Herblay
say so."
"The fool!" cried Blaisois, "I wish I had been in his place."
"Thou canst be," said Grimaud, writing down his figures.
"How?" asked Blaisois, "I can? Explain yourself."
Grimaud went on with his sum and cast up the whole.
"Port," he said, extending his hand in the direction of the first
compartment examined by D’Artagnan and himself.
"Eh? eh? ah? Those barrels I saw through the door?"
"Port!" replied Grimaud, beginning a fresh sum.
"I have heard," said Blaisois, "that port is a very good wine."
"Excellent!" exclaimed Mousqueton, smacking his lips. "Excellent; there
is port wine in the cellar of Monsieur le Baron de Bracieux."
"Suppose we ask these Englishmen to sell us a bottle," said the honest
Blaisois.
"Sell!" cried Mousqueton, about whom there was a remnant of his ancient
marauding character left. "One may well perceive, young man, that you
are inexperienced. Why buy what one can take?"
"Take!" said Blaisois; "covet the goods of your neighbor? That is
forbidden, it seems to me."
"Where forbidden?" asked Mousqueton.
"In the commandments of God, or of the church, I don’t know which. I
only know it says, ’Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods, nor yet
his wife.’"
"That is a child’s reason, Monsieur Blaisois," said Mousqueton in his
most patronizing manner. "Yes, you talk like a child--I repeat the word.
Where have you read in the Scriptures, I ask you, that the English are
your neighbors?"
"Where, that is true," said Blaisois; "at least, I can’t now recall it."
"A child’s reason--I repeat it," continued Mousqueton. "If you had been
ten years engaged in war, as Grimaud and I have been, my dear Blaisois,
you would know the difference there is between the goods of others and
the goods of enemies. Now an Englishman is an enemy; this port wine
belongs to the English, therefore it belongs to us."
"And our masters?" asked Blaisois, stupefied by this harangue, delivered
with an air of profound sagacity, "will they be of your opinion?"
Mousqueton smiled disdainfully.
"I suppose that you think it necessary that I should disturb the repose
of these illustrious lords to say, ’Gentlemen, your servant, Mousqueton,
is thirsty.’ What does Monsieur Bracieux care, think you, whether I am
thirsty or not?"
"’Tis a very expensive wine," said Blaisois, shaking his head.
"Were it liquid gold, Monsieur Blaisois, our masters would not deny
themselves this wine. Know that Monsieur de Bracieux is rich enough to
drink a tun of port wine, even if obliged to pay a pistole for every
drop." His manner became more and more lofty every instant; then he
arose and after finishing off the beer at one draught he advanced
majestically to the door of the compartment where the wine was. "Ah!
locked!" he exclaimed; "these devils of English, how suspicious they
are!"
"Locked!" said Blaisois; "ah! the deuce it is; unlucky, for my stomach
is getting more and more upset."
"Locked!" repeated Mousqueton.
"But," Blaisois ventured to say, "I have heard you relate, Monsieur
Mousqueton, that once on a time, at Chantilly, you fed your master and
yourself by taking partridges in a snare, carp with a line, and bottles
with a slipnoose."
"Perfectly true; but there was an airhole in the cellar and the wine was
in bottles. I cannot throw the loop through this partition nor move with
a pack-thread a cask of wine which may perhaps weigh two hundred
pounds."
"No, but you can take out two or three boards of the partition,"
answered Blaisois, "and make a hole in the cask with a gimlet."
Mousqueton opened his great round eyes to the utmost, astonished to find
in Blaisois qualities for which he did not give him credit.
"’Tis true," he said; "but where can I get a chisel to take the planks
out, a gimlet to pierce the cask?"
"Trousers," said Grimaud, still squaring his accounts.
"Ah, yes!" said Mousqueton.
Grimaud, in fact, was not only the accountant, but the armorer of the
party; and as he was a man full of forethought, these trousers,
carefully rolled up in his valise, contained every sort of tool for
immediate use.
Mousqueton, therefore, was soon provided with tools and he began his
task. In a few minutes he had extracted three boards. He tried to pass
his body through the aperture, but not being like the frog in the fable,
who thought he was larger than he really was, he found he must take out
three or four more before he could get through.
He sighed and set to work again.
Grimaud had now finished his accounts. He arose and stood near
Mousqueton.
"I," he said.
"What?" said Mousqueton.
"I can pass."
"That is true," said Mousqueton, glancing at his friend’s long and thin
body, "you will pass easily."
"And he knows the full casks," said Blaisois, "for he has already been
in the hold with Monsieur le Chevalier d’Artagnan. Let Monsieur Grimaud
go in, Monsieur Mouston."
"I could go in as well as Grimaud," said Mousqueton, a little piqued.
"Yes, but that would take too much time and I am thirsty. I am getting
more and more seasick."
"Go in, then, Grimaud," said Mousqueton, handing him the beer pot and
gimlet.
"Rinse the glasses," said Grimaud. Then with a friendly gesture toward
Mousqueton, that he might forgive him for finishing an enterprise so
brilliantly begun by another, he glided like a serpent through the
opening and disappeared.
Blaisois was in a state of great excitement; he was in ecstasies. Of all
the exploits performed since their arrival in England by the
extraordinary men with whom he had the honor to be associated, this
seemed without question to be the most wonderful.
"You are about to see," said Mousqueton, looking at Blaisois with an
expression of superiority which the latter did not even think of
questioning, "you are about to see, Blaisois, how we old soldiers drink
when we are thirsty."
"My cloak," said Grimaud, from the bottom of the hold.
"What do you want?" asked Blaisois.
"My cloak--stop up the aperture with it."
"Why?" asked Blaisois.
"Simpleton!" exclaimed Mousqueton; "suppose any one came into the room."
"Ah, true," cried Blaisois, with evident admiration; "but it will be
dark in the cellar."
"Grimaud always sees, dark or light, night as well as day," answered
Mousqueton.
"That is lucky," said Blaisois. "As for me, when I have no candle I
can’t take two steps without knocking against something."
"That’s because you haven’t served," said Mousqueton. "Had you been in
the army you would have been able to pick up a needle on the floor of a
closed oven. But hark! I think some one is coming."
Mousqueton made, with a low whistling sound, the sign of alarm well
known to the lackeys in the days of their youth, resumed his place at
the table and made a sign to Blaisois to follow his example.
Blaisois obeyed.
The door of their cabin was opened. Two men, wrapped in their cloaks,
appeared.
"Oho!" said they, "not in bed at a quarter past eleven. That’s against
all rules. In a quarter of an hour let every one be in bed and snoring."
These two men then went toward the compartment in which Grimaud was
secreted; opened the door, entered and shut it after them.
"Ah!" cried Blaisois, "he is lost!"
"Grimaud’s a cunning fellow," murmured Mousqueton.
They waited for ten minutes, during which time no noise was heard that
might indicate that Grimaud was discovered, and at the expiration of
that anxious interval the two men returned, closed the door after them,
and repeating their orders that the servants should go to bed and
extinguish their lights, disappeared.
"Shall we obey?" asked Blaisois. "All this looks suspicious."
"They said a quarter of an hour. We still have five minutes," replied
Mousqueton.
"Suppose we warn the masters."
"Let’s wait for Grimaud."
"But perhaps they have killed him."
"Grimaud would have cried out."
"You know he is almost dumb."
"We should have heard the blow, then."
"But if he doesn’t return?"
"Here he is."
At that very moment Grimaud drew back the cloak which hid the aperture
and came in with his face livid, his eyes staring wide open with terror,
so that the pupils were contracted almost to nothing, with a large
circle of white around them. He held in his hand a tankard full of a
dark substance, and approaching the gleam of light shed by the lamp he
uttered this single monosyllable: "Oh!" with such an expression of
extreme terror that Mousqueton started, alarmed, and Blaisois was near
fainting from fright.
Both, however, cast an inquisitive glance into the tankard--it was full
of gunpowder.
Convinced that the ship was full of powder instead of having a cargo of
wine, Grimaud hastened to awake D’Artagnan, who had no sooner beheld him
than he perceived that something extraordinary had taken place. Imposing
silence, Grimaud put out the little night lamp, then knelt down and
poured into the lieutenant’s ear a recital melodramatic enough not to
require play of feature to give it pith.
This was the gist of his strange story:
The first barrel that Grimaud had found on passing into the compartment
he struck--it was empty. He passed on to another--it, also, was empty,
but the third which he tried was, from the dull sound it gave out,
evidently full. At this point Grimaud stopped and was preparing to make
a hole with his gimlet, when he found a spigot; he therefore placed his
tankard under it and turned the spout; something, whatever it was the
cask contained, fell silently into the tankard.
Whilst he was thinking that he should first taste the liquor which the
tankard contained before taking it to his companions, the door of the
cellar opened and a man with a lantern in his hands and enveloped in a
cloak, came and stood just before the hogshead, behind which Grimaud, on
hearing him come in, instantly crept. This was Groslow. He was
accompanied by another man, who carried in his hand something long and
flexible rolled up, resembling a washing line. His face was hidden under
the wide brim of his hat. Grimaud, thinking that they had come, as he
had, to try the port wine, effaced himself behind his cask and consoled
himself with the reflection that if he were discovered the crime was not
a great one.
"Have you the wick?" asked the one who carried the lantern.
"Here it is," answered the other.
At the voice of this last speaker, Grimaud started and felt a shudder
creeping through his very marrow. He rose gently, so that his head was
just above the round of the barrel, and under the large hat he
recognized the pale face of Mordaunt.
"How long will this fuse burn?" asked this person.
"About five minutes," replied the captain.
That voice also was known to Grimaud. He looked from one to the other
and after Mordaunt he recognized Groslow.
"Then tell the men to be in readiness--don’t tell them why now. When the
clock strikes a quarter after midnight collect your men. Get down into
the longboat."
"That is, when I have lighted the match?"
"I will undertake that. I wish to be sure of my revenge. Are the oars in
the boat?"
"Everything is ready."
"’Tis well."
Mordaunt knelt down and fastened one end of the train to the spigot, in
order that he might have nothing to do but to set it on fire at the
opposite end with the match.
He then arose.
"You hear me--at a quarter past midnight--in fact, in twenty minutes."
"I understand all perfectly, sir," replied Groslow; "but allow me to say
there is great danger in what you undertake; would it not be better to
intrust one of the men to set fire to the train?"
"My dear Groslow," answered Mordaunt, "you know the French proverb,
’Nothing one does not do one’s self is ever well done.’ I shall abide by
that rule."
Grimaud had heard all this, if he had not understood it. But what he saw
made good what he lacked in perfect comprehension of the language. He
had seen the two mortal enemies of the musketeers, had seen Mordaunt
adjust the fuse; he had heard the proverb, which Mordaunt had given in
French. Then he felt and felt again the contents of the tankard he held
in his hand; and, instead of the lively liquor expected by Blaisois and
Mousqueton, he found beneath his fingers the grains of some coarse
powder.
Mordaunt went away with the captain. At the door he stopped to listen.
"Do you hear how they sleep?" he asked.
In fact, Porthos could be heard snoring through the partition.
"’Tis God who gives them into our hands," answered Groslow.
"This time the devil himself shall not save them," rejoined Mordaunt.
And they went out together.
72. End of the Port Wine Mystery.
Grimaud waited till he heard the bolt grind in the lock and when he was
satisfied that he was alone he slowly rose from his recumbent posture.
"Ah!" he said, wiping with his sleeve large drops of sweat from his
forehead, "how lucky it was that Mousqueton was thirsty!"
He made haste to pass out by the opening, still thinking himself in a
dream; but the sight of the gunpowder in the tankard proved to him that
his dream was a fatal nightmare.
It may be imagined that D’Artagnan listened to these details with
increasing interest; before Grimaud had finished he rose without noise
and putting his mouth to Aramis’s ear, and at the same time touching him
on the shoulder to prevent a sudden movement:
"Chevalier," he said, "get up and don’t make the least noise."
Aramis awoke. D’Artagnan, pressing his hand, repeated his call. Aramis
obeyed.
"Athos is near you," said D’Artagnan; "warn him as I have warned you."
Aramis easily aroused Athos, whose sleep was light, like that of all
persons of a finely organized constitution. But there was more
difficulty in arousing Porthos. He was beginning to ask full explanation
of that breaking in on his sleep, which was very annoying to him, when
D’Artagnan, instead of explaining, closed his mouth with his hand.
Then our Gascon, extending his arms, drew to him the heads of his three
friends till they almost touched one another.
"Friends," he said, "we must leave this craft at once or we are dead
men."
"Bah!" said Athos, "are you still afraid?"
"Do you know who is captain of this vessel?"
"No."
"Captain Groslow."
The shudder of the three musketeers showed to D’Artagnan that his words
began to make some impression on them.
"Groslow!" said Aramis; "the devil!
"Who is this Groslow?" asked Porthos. "I don’t remember him."
"Groslow is the man who broke Parry’s head and is now getting ready to
break ours."
"Oh! oh!"
"And do you know who is his lieutenant?"
"His lieutenant? There is none," said Athos. "They don’t have
lieutenants in a felucca manned by a crew of four."
"Yes, but Monsieur Groslow is not a captain of the ordinary kind; he has
a lieutenant, and that lieutenant is Monsieur Mordaunt."
This time the musketeers did more than shudder--they almost cried out.
Those invincible men were subject to a mysterious and fatal influence
which that name had over them; the mere sound of it filled them with
terror.
"What shall we do?" said Athos.
"We must seize the felucca," said Aramis.
"And kill him," said Porthos.
"The felucca is mined," said D’Artagnan. "Those casks which I took for
casks of port wine are filled with powder. When Mordaunt finds himself
discovered he will destroy all, friends and foes; and on my word he
would be bad company in going either to Heaven or to hell."
"You have some plan, then?" asked Athos.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"Have you confidence in me?"
"Give your orders," said the three musketeers.
"Very well; come this way."
D’Artagnan went toward a very small, low window, just large enough to
let a man through. He turned it gently on its hinges.
"There," he said, "is our road."
"The deuce! it is a very cold one, my dear friend," said Aramis.
"Stay here, if you like, but I warn you ’twill be rather too warm
presently."
"But we cannot swim to the shore."
"The longboat is yonder, lashed to the felucca. We will take possession
of it and cut the cable. Come, my friends."
"A moment’s delay," said Athos; "our servants?"
"Here we are!" they cried.
Meantime the three friends were standing motionless before the awful
sight which D’Artagnan, in raising the shutters, had disclosed to them
through the narrow opening of the window.
Those who have once beheld such a spectacle know that there is nothing
more solemn, more striking, than the raging sea, rolling, with its
deafening roar, its dark billows beneath the pale light of a wintry
moon.
"Gracious Heaven, we are hesitating!" cried D’Artagnan; "if we hesitate
what will the servants do?"
"I do not hesitate, you know," said Grimaud.
"Sir," interposed Blaisois, "I warn you that I can only swim in rivers."
"And I not at all," said Mousqueton.
But D’Artagnan had now slipped through the window.
"You have decided, friend?" said Athos.
"Yes," the Gascon answered; "Athos! you, who are a perfect being, bid
spirit triumph over body. Do you, Aramis, order the servants. Porthos,
kill every one who stands in your way."
And after pressing the hand of Athos, D’Artagnan chose a moment when the
ship rolled backward, so that he had only to plunge into the water,
which was already up to his waist.
Athos followed him before the felucca rose again on the waves; the cable
which tied the boat to the vessel was then seen plainly rising out of
the sea.
D’Artagnan swam to it and held it, suspending himself by this rope, his
head alone out of water.
In one second Athos joined him.
Then they saw, as the felucca turned, two other heads peeping, those of
Aramis and Grimaud.
"I am uneasy about Blaisois," said Athos; "he can, he says, only swim in
rivers."
"When people can swim at all they can swim anywhere. To the boat! to the
boat!"
"But Porthos, I do not see him."
"Porthos is coming--he swims like Leviathan."
In fact, Porthos did not appear; for a scene, half tragedy and half
comedy, had been performed by him with Mousqueton and Blaisois, who,
frightened by the noise of the sea, by the whistling of the wind, by the
sight of that dark water yawning like a gulf beneath them, shrank back
instead of going forward.
"Come, come!" said Porthos; "jump in."
"But, monsieur," said Mousqueton, "I can’t swim; let me stay here."
"And me, too, monsieur," said Blaisois.
"I assure you, I shall be very much in the way in that little boat,"
said Mousqueton.
"And I know I shall drown before reaching it," continued Blaisois.
"Come along! I shall strangle you both if you don’t get out," said
Porthos at last, seizing Mousqueton by the throat. "Forward, Blaisois!"
A groan, stifled by the grasp of Porthos, was all the reply of poor
Blaisois, for the giant, taking him neck and heels, plunged him into the
water headforemost, pushing him out of the window as if he had been a
plank.
"Now, Mousqueton," he said, "I hope you don’t mean to desert your
master?"
"Ah, sir," replied Mousqueton, his eyes filling with tears, "why did you
re-enter the army? We were all so happy in the Chateau de Pierrefonds!"
And without any other complaint, passive and obedient, either from true
devotion to his master or from the example set by Blaisois, Mousqueton
leaped into the sea headforemost. A sublime action, at all events, for
Mousqueton looked upon himself as dead. But Porthos was not a man to
abandon an old servant, and when Mousqueton rose above the water, blind
as a new-born puppy, he found he was supported by the large hand of
Porthos and that he was thus enabled, without having occasion even to
move, to advance toward the cable with the dignity of a very triton.
In a few minutes Porthos had rejoined his companions, who were already
in the boat; but when, after they had all got in, it came to his turn,
there was great danger that in putting his huge leg over the edge of the
boat he would upset the little vessel. Athos was the last to enter.
"Are you all here?" he asked.
"Ah! have you your sword, Athos?" cried D’Artagnan.
"Yes."
"Cut the cable, then."
Athos drew a sharp poniard from his belt and cut the cord. The felucca
went on, the boat continued stationary, rocked only by the swashing
waves.
"Come, Athos!" said D’Artagnan, giving his hand to the count; "you are
going to see something curious," added the Gascon.
73. Fatality.
Scarcely had D’Artagnan uttered these words when a ringing and sudden
noise was heard resounding through the felucca, which had now become dim
in the obscurity of the night.
"That, you may be sure," said the Gascon, "means something."
They then at the same instant perceived a large lantern carried on a
pole appear on the deck, defining the forms of shadows behind it.
Suddenly a terrible cry, a cry of despair, was wafted through space; and
as if the shrieks of anguish had driven away the clouds, the veil which
hid the moon was cleated away and the gray sails and dark shrouds of the
felucca were plainly visible beneath the silvery light.
Shadows ran, as if bewildered, to and fro on the vessel, and mournful
cries accompanied these delirious walkers. In the midst of these screams
they saw Mordaunt upon the poop with a torch in hand.
The agitated figures, apparently wild with terror, consisted of Groslow,
who at the hour fixed by Mordaunt had collected his men and the sailors.
Mordaunt, after having listened at the door of the cabin to hear if the
musketeers were still asleep, had gone down into the cellar, convinced
by their silence that they were all in a deep slumber. Then he had run
to the train, impetuous as a man who is excited by revenge, and full of
confidence, as are those whom God blinds, he had set fire to the wick of
nitre.
All this while Groslow and his men were assembled on deck.
"Haul up the cable and draw the boat to us," said Groslow.
One of the sailors got down the side of the ship, seized the cable, and
drew it; it came without the least resistance.
"The cable is cut!" he cried, "no boat!"
"How! no boat!" exclaimed Groslow; "it is impossible."
"’Tis true, however," answered the sailor; "there’s nothing in the wake
of the ship; besides, here’s the end of the cable."
"What’s the matter?" cried Mordaunt, who, coming up out of the hatchway,
rushed to the stern, waving his torch.
"Only that our enemies have escaped; they have cut the cord and gone off
with the boat."
Mordaunt bounded with one step to the cabin and kicked open the door.
"Empty!" he exclaimed; "the infernal demons!"
"We must pursue them," said Groslow, "they can’t be gone far, and we
will sink them, passing over them."
"Yes, but the fire," ejaculated Mordaunt; "I have lighted it."
"Ten thousand devils!" cried Groslow, rushing to the hatchway; "perhaps
there is still time to save us."
Mordaunt answered only by a terrible laugh, threw his torch into the sea
and plunged in after it. The instant Groslow put his foot upon the
hatchway steps the ship opened like the crater of a volcano. A burst of
flame rose toward the skies with an explosion like that of a hundred
cannon; the air burned, ignited by flaming embers, then the frightful
lightning disappeared, the brands sank, one after another, into the
abyss, where they were extinguished, and save for a slight vibration in
the air, after a few minutes had elapsed one would have thought that
nothing had happened.
Only--the felucca had disappeared from the surface of the sea and
Groslow and his three sailors were consumed.
The four friends saw all this--not a single detail of this fearful scene
escaped them. At one moment, bathed as they were in a flood of brilliant
light, which illumined the sea for the space of a league, they might
each be seen, each by his own peculiar attitude and manner expressing
the awe which, even in their hearts of bronze, they could not help
experiencing. Soon a torrent of vivid sparks fell around them--then, at
last, the volcano was extinguished--then all was dark and still--the
floating bark and heaving ocean.
They sat silent and dejected.
"By Heaven!" at last said Athos, the first to speak, "by this time, I
think, all must be over."
"Here, my lords! save me! help!" cried a voice, whose mournful accents,
reaching the four friends, seemed to proceed from some phantom of the
ocean.
All looked around; Athos himself stared.
"’Tis he! it is his voice!"
All still remained silent, the eyes of all were turned in the direction
where the vessel had disappeared, endeavoring in vain to penetrate the
darkness. After a minute or two they were able to distinguish a man, who
approached them, swimming vigorously.
Athos extended his arm toward him, pointing him out to his companions.
"Yes, yes, I see him well enough," said D’Artagnan.
"He--again!" cried Porthos, who was breathing like a blacksmith’s
bellows; "why, he is made of iron."
"Oh, my God!" muttered Athos.
Aramis and D’Artagnan whispered to each other.
Mordaunt made several strokes more, and raising his arm in sign of
distress above the waves: "Pity, pity on me, gentlemen, in Heaven’s
name! my strength is failing me; I am dying."
The voice that implored aid was so piteous that it awakened pity in the
heart of Athos.
"Poor fellow!" he exclaimed.
"Indeed!" said D’Artagnan, "monsters have only to complain to gain your
sympathy. I believe he’s swimming toward us. Does he think we are going
to take him in? Row, Porthos, row." And setting the example he plowed
his oar into the sea; two strokes took the bark on twenty fathoms
further.
"Oh! you will not abandon me! You will not leave me to perish! You will
not be pitiless!" cried Mordaunt.
"Ah! ah!" said Porthos to Mordaunt, "I think we have you now, my hero!
and there are no doors by which you can escape this time but those of
hell."
"Oh! Porthos!" murmured the Comte de la Fere.
"Oh, pray, for mercy’s sake, don’t fly from me. For pity’s sake!" cried
the young man, whose agony-drawn breath at times, when his head went
under water, under the wave, exhaled and made the icy waters bubble.
D’Artagnan, however, who had consulted with Aramis, spoke to the poor
wretch. "Go away," he said; "your repentance is too recent to inspire
confidence. See! the vessel in which you wished to fry us is still
smoking; and the situation in which you are is a bed of roses compared
to that in which you wished to place us and in which you have placed
Monsieur Groslow and his companions."
"Sir!" replied Mordaunt, in a tone of deep despair, "my penitence is
sincere. Gentlemen, I am young, scarcely twenty-three years old. I was
drawn on by a very natural resentment to avenge my mother. You would
have done what I did."
Mordaunt wanted now only two or three fathoms to reach the boat, for the
approach of death seemed to give him supernatural strength.
"Alas!" he said, "I am then to die? You are going to kill the son, as
you killed the mother! Surely, if I am culpable and if I ask for pardon,
I ought to be forgiven."
Then, as if his strength failed him, he seemed unable to sustain himself
above the water and a wave passed over his head, which drowned his
voice.
"Oh! this is torture to me," cried Athos.
Mordaunt reappeared.
"For my part," said D’Artagnan, "I say this must come to an end;
murderer, as you were, of your uncle! executioner, as you were, of King
Charles! incendiary! I recommend you to sink forthwith to the bottom of
the sea; and if you come another fathom nearer, I’ll stave your wicked head in with this oar." |
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