going forward.
"Come, come!" said Porthos; "jump in."
"But, monsieur," said Musqueton, "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 Musqueton.
"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 Musqueton 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, Musqueton," he said, "I hope you don't mean to desert
your master?"
"Ah, sir," replied Musqueton, 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, Musqueton leaped into the sea headforemost.
A sublime action, at all events, for Musqueton looked upon
himself as dead. But Porthos was not a man to abandon an old
servant, and when Musqueton 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."
"D'Artagnan! D'Artagnan!" cried Athos, "my son, I entreat
you; the wretch is dying, and it is horrible to let a man
die without extending a hand to save him. I cannot resist
doing so; he must live."
"Zounds!" replied D'Artagnan, "why don't you give yourself
up directly, feet and hands bound, to that wretch? Ah! Comte
de la Fere, you wish to perish by his hands! I, your son, as
you call me -- I will not let you!"
'Twas the first time D'Artagnan had ever refused a request
from Athos.
Aramis calmly drew his sword, which he had carried between
his teeth as he swam.
"If he lays his hand on the boat's edge I will cut it off,
regicide that he is."
"And I," said Porthos. "Wait."
"What are you going to do?" asked Aramis.
"Throw myself in the water and strangle him."
"Oh, gentlemen!" cried Athos, "be men! be Christians! See!
death is depicted on his face! Ah! do not bring on me the
horrors of remorse! Grant me this poor wretch's life. I will
bless you -- I ---- "
"I am dying!" cried Mordaunt, "come to me! come to me!"
D'Artagnan began to be touched. The boat at this moment
turned around, and the dying man was by that turn brought
nearer Athos.
"Monsieur the Comte de la Fere," he cried, "I supplicate
you! pity me! I call on you -- where are you? I see you no
longer -- I am dying -- help me! help me!"
"Here I am, sir!" said Athos, leaning and stretching out his
arm to Mordaunt with that air of dignity and nobility of
soul habitual to him; "here I am, take my hand and jump into
our boat."
Mordaunt made a last effort -- rose -- seized the hand thus
extended to him and grasped it with the vehemence of
despair.
"That's right," said Athos; "put your other hand here. "And
he offered him his shoulder as another stay and support, so
that his head almost touched that of Mordaunt; and these two
mortal enemies were in as close an embrace as if they had
been brothers.
"Now, sir," said the count, "you are safe -- calm yourself."
"Ah! my mother," cried Mordaunt, with eyes on fire with a
look of hate impossible to paint, "I can only offer thee one
victim, but it shall at any rate be the one thou wouldst
thyself have chosen!"
And whilst D'Artagnan uttered a cry, Porthos raised the oar,
and Aramis sought a place to strike, a frightful shake given
to the boat precipitated Athos into the sea; whilst
Mordaunt, with a shout of triumph, grasped the neck of his
victim, and in order to paralyze his movements, twined arms
and legs around the musketeer. For an instant, without an
exclamation, without a cry for help, Athos tried to sustain
himself on the surface of the waters, but the weight dragged
him down; he disappeared by degrees; soon nothing was to be
seen except his long, floating hair; then both men
disappeared and the bubbling of the water, which, in its
turn, was soon effaced, alone indicated the spot where these
two had sunk.
Mute with horror, the three friends had remained
open-mouthed, their eyes dilated, their arms extended like
statues, and, motionless as they were, the beating of their
hearts was audible. Porthos was the first who came to
himself. He tore his hair.
"Oh!" he cried, "Athos! Athos! thou man of noble heart; woe
is me! I have let thee perish!"
At this instant, in the midst of the silver circle illumined
by the light of the moon the same whirlpool which had been
made by the sinking men was again obvious, and first were
seen, rising above the waves, a wisp of hair, then a pale
face with open eyes, yet, nevertheless, the eyes of death;
then a body, which, after rising of itself even to the waist
above the sea, turned gently on its back, according to the
