“Well said, Porthos,” replied d’Artagnan. “Let us go, then. You first, Mousqueton,” and he stopped his friends, directing the valets to go first, in order to test the plank leading from the pier to the boat.
The three valets passed without accident. Athos followed them, then Porthos, then Aramis. D’Artagnan went last, still shaking his head.
“What in the devil is the matter with you, my friend?” said Porthos. “Upon my word you would make Caesar afraid.”
“The matter is,” replied d’Artagnan, “that I can see upon this pier neither inspector nor sentinel nor exciseman.”
“And you complain of that!” said Porthos. “Everything goes as if in flowery paths.”
“Everything goes too well, Porthos. But no matter; we must trust in God.”
As soon as the plank was withdrawn the captain took his place at the tiller and made a sign to one of the sailors, who, boat-hook in hand, began to push out from the labyrinth of boats in which they were involved. The other sailor had already seated himself on the port side and was ready to row. As soon as there was room for rowing, his companion rejoined him and the boat began to move more rapidly.
“At last we are off!” exclaimed Porthos.
“Alas,” said Athos, “we depart alone.”
“Yes; but all four together and without a scratch; which is a consolation.”
“We are not yet at our destination,” observed the prudent d’Artagnan; “beware of misadventure.”
“Ah, my friend!” cried Porthos, “like the crows, you always bring bad omens. Who could intercept us on such a night as this, pitch dark, when one does not see more than twenty yards before one?”
“Yes, but tomorrow morning—”
“Tomorrow we shall be at Boulogne.”
“I hope so, with all my heart,” said the Gascon, “and I confess my weakness. Yes, Athos, you may laugh, but as long as we were within gunshot of the pier or of the vessels lying by it I was looking for a frightful discharge of musketry which would crush us.”
“But,” said Porthos, with great wisdom, “that was impossible, for they would have killed the captain and the sailors.”
“Bah! much Monsieur Mordaunt would care. You don’t imagine he would consider a little thing like that?”
“At any rate,” said Porthos, “I am glad to hear d’Artagnan admit that he is afraid.”
“I not only confess it, but am proud of it,” returned the Gascon; “I’m not such a rhinoceros as you are. Oho! what’s that?”
“The Lightning,” answered the captain, “our felucca.”
“So far, so good,” laughed Athos.
They went on board and the captain instantly conducted them to the berth prepared for them—a cabin which was to serve for all purposes and for the whole party; he then tried to slip away under pretext of giving orders to someone.
“Stop a moment,” cried d’Artagnan; “pray how many men have you on board, captain?”
“I don’t understand,” was the reply.
“Explain it, Athos.”
Groslow, on the question being interpreted, answered, “Three, without counting myself.”
D’Artagnan understood, for while replying the captain had raised three fingers. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “I begin to be more at my ease, however, whilst you settle yourselves, I shall make the round of the boat.”
“As for me,” said Porthos, “I will see to the supper.”
“A very good idea, Porthos,” said the Gascon. “Athos, lend me Grimaud, who in the society of his friend Parry has perhaps picked up a little English, and can act as my interpreter.”
“Go, Grimaud,” said Athos.
D’Artagnan, finding a lantern on the deck, took it up and with a pistol in his hand he said to the captain, in English, “Come,” (being, with the classic English oath, the only English words he knew), and so saying he descended to the lower deck.
This was divided into three compartments—one which was covered by the floor of that room in which Athos, Porthos and Aramis were to pass the night; the second was to serve as the sleeping-room for the servants, the third, under the prow of the ship, was under the temporary cabin in which Mordaunt was concealed.
“Oho!” cried d’Artagnan, as he went down the steps of the hatchway, preceded by the lantern, “what a number of barrels! one would think one was in the cave of Ali Baba. What is there in them?” he added, putting his lantern on one of the casks.
The captain seemed inclined to go upon deck again, but controlling himself he answered:
“Port wine.”
“Ah! port wine! ’tis a comfort,” said the Gascon, “since we shall not die of thirst. Are they all full?”
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
