“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 everyone 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 Château 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 newborn 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.
LXXIII
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
