_ Dantes, although stunned and almost suffocated, had
sufficient presence of mind to hold his breath, and as his
right hand (prepared as he was for every chance) held his
knife open, he rapidly ripped up the sack, extricated his
arm, and then his body; but in spite of all his efforts to
free himself from the shot, he felt it dragging him down
still lower. He then bent his body, and by a desperate
effort severed the cord that bound his legs, at the moment
when it seemed as if he were actually strangled. With a
mighty leap he rose to the surface of the sea, while the
shot dragged down to the depths the sack that had so nearly
become his shroud.
Dantes waited only to get breath, and then dived, in order
to avoid being seen. When he arose a second time, he was
fifty paces from where he had first sunk. He saw overhead a
black and tempestuous sky, across which the wind was driving
clouds that occasionally suffered a twinkling star to
appear; before him was the vast expanse of waters, sombre
and terrible, whose waves foamed and roared as if before the
approach of a storm. Behind him, blacker than the sea,
blacker than the sky, rose phantom-like the vast stone
structure, whose projecting crags seemed like arms extended
to seize their prey, and on the highest rock was a torch
lighting two figures. He fancied that these two forms were
looking at the sea; doubtless these strange grave-diggers
had heard his cry. Dantes dived again, and remained a long
time beneath the water. This was an easy feat to him, for he
usually attracted a crowd of spectators in the bay before
the lighthouse at Marseilles when he swam there, and was
unanimously declared to be the best swimmer in the port.
When he came up again the light had disappeared.
He must now get his bearings. Ratonneau and Pomegue are the
nearest islands of all those that surround the Chateau d'If,
but Ratonneau and Pomegue are inhabited, as is also the
islet of Daume, Tiboulen and Lemaire were therefore the
safest for Dantes' venture. The islands of Tiboulen and
Lemaire are a league from the Chateau d'If; Dantes,
nevertheless, determined to make for them. But how could he
find his way in the darkness of the night? At this moment he
saw the light of Planier, gleaming in front of him like a
star. By leaving this light on the right, he kept the Island
of Tiboulen a little on the left; by turning to the left,
therefore, he would find it. But, as we have said, it was at
least a league from the Chateau d'If to this island. Often
in prison Faria had said to him, when he saw him idle and
inactive, "Dantes, you must not give way to this
listlessness; you will be drowned if you seek to escape, and
your strength has not been properly exercised and prepared
for exertion." These words rang in Dantes' ears, even
beneath the waves; he hastened to cleave his way through
them to see if he had not lost his strength. He found with
pleasure that his captivity had taken away nothing of his
power, and that he was still master of that element on whose
bosom he had so often sported as a boy.
Fear, that relentless pursuer, clogged Dantes' efforts. He
listened for any sound that might be audible, and every time
that he rose to the top of a wave he scanned the horizon,
and strove to penetrate the darkness. He fancied that every
wave behind him was a pursuing boat, and he redoubled his
exertions, increasing rapidly his distance from the chateau,
but exhausting his strength. He swam on still, and already
the terrible chateau had disappeared in the darkness. He
could not see it, but he felt its presence. An hour passed,
during which Dantes, excited by the feeling of freedom,
continued to cleave the waves. "Let us see," said he, "I
have swum above an hour, but as the wind is against me, that
has retarded my speed; however, if I am not mistaken, I must
be close to Tiboulen. But what if I were mistaken?" A
shudder passed over him. He sought to tread water, in order
to rest himself; but the sea was too violent, and he felt
that he could not make use of this means of recuperation.
"Well," said he, "I will swim on until I am worn out, or the
cramp seizes me, and then I shall sink;" and he struck out
with the energy of despair.
Suddenly the sky seemed to him to become still darker and
more dense, and heavy clouds seemed to sweep down towards
him; at the same time he felt a sharp pain in his knee. He
fancied for a moment that he had been shot, and listened for
the report; but he heard nothing. Then he put out his hand,
and encountered an obstacle and with another stroke knew
that he had gained the shore.
Before him rose a grotesque mass of rocks, that resembled
nothing so much as a vast fire petrified at the moment of
its most fervent combustion. It was the Island of Tiboulen.
Dantes rose, advanced a few steps, and, with a fervent
prayer of gratitude, stretched himself on the granite. which
seemed to him softer than down. Then, in spite of the wind
and rain, he fell into the deep, sweet sleep of utter
exhaustion. At the expiration of an hour Edmond was awakened
by the roar of thunder. The tempest was let loose and
beating the atmosphere with its mighty wings; from time to
time a flash of lightning stretched across the heavens like
a fiery serpent, lighting up the clouds that rolled on in
vast chaotic waves.
Dantes had not been deceived -- he had reached the first of
the two islands, which was, in fact, Tiboulen. He knew that
it was barren and without shelter; but when the sea became
more calm, he resolved to plunge into its waves again, and
swim to Lemaire, equally arid, but larger, and consequently
better adapted for concealment.
An overhanging rock offered him a temporary shelter, and
scarcely had he availed himself of it when the tempest burst
forth in all its fury. Edmond felt the trembling of the rock
beneath which he lay; the waves, dashing themselves against
it, wetted him with their spray. He was safely sheltered,
and yet he felt dizzy in the midst of the warring of the
elements and the dazzling brightness of the lightning. It
seemed to him that the island trembled to its base, and that
it would, like a vessel at anchor, break moorings, and bear
him off into the centre of the storm. He then recollected
that he had not eaten or drunk for four-and-twenty hours. He
extended his hands, and drank greedily of the rainwater that
had lodged in a hollow of the rock.
As he rose, a flash of lightning, that seemed to rive the
remotest heights of heaven, illumined the darkness. By its
light, between the Island of Lemaire and Cape Croiselle, a
quarter of a league distant, Dantes saw a fishing-boat
driven rapidly like a spectre before the power of winds and
waves. A second after, he saw it again, approaching with
frightful rapidity. Dantes cried at the top of his voice to
warn them of their danger, but they saw it themselves.
Another flash showed him four men clinging to the shattered
mast and the rigging, while a fifth clung to the broken
rudder.
The men he beheld saw him undoubtedly, for their cries were
carried to his ears by the wind. Above the splintered mast a
sail rent to tatters was waving; suddenly the ropes that
still held it gave way, and it disappeared in the darkness
of the night like a vast sea-bird. At the same moment a
violent crash was heard, and cries of distress. Dantes from
his rocky perch saw the shattered vessel, and among the
fragments the floating forms of the hapless sailors. Then
all was dark again.
Dantes ran down the rocks at the risk of being himself
dashed to pieces; he listened, he groped about, but he heard
and saw nothing -- the cries had ceased, and the tempest
continued to rage. By degrees the wind abated, vast gray
clouds rolled towards the west, and the blue firmament
appeared studded with bright stars. Soon a red streak became
visible in the horizon, the waves whitened, a light played
over them, and gilded their foaming crests with gold. It was
day.
Dantes stood mute and motionless before this majestic
spectacle, as if he now beheld it for the first time; and
indeed since his captivity in the Chateau d'If he had
forgotten that such scenes were ever to be witnessed. He
turned towards the fortress, and looked at both sea and
land. The gloomy building rose from the bosom of the ocean
with imposing majesty and seemed to dominate the scene. It
was about five o'clock. The sea continued to get calmer.
"In two or three hours," thought Dantes, "the turnkey will
enter my chamber, find the body of my poor friend, recognize
it, seek for me in vain, and give the alarm. Then the tunnel
will be discovered; the men who cast me into the sea and who
must have heard the cry I uttered, will be questioned. Then
boats filled with armed soldiers will pursue the wretched
fugitive. The cannon will warn every one to refuse shelter
to a man wandering about naked and famished. The police of
Marseilles will be on the alert by land, whilst the governor
pursues me by sea. I am cold, I am hungry. I have lost even
the knife that saved me. O my God, I have suffered enough
surely! Have pity on me, and do for me what I am unable to
do for myself."
As Dantes (his eyes turned in the direction of the Chateau
d'If) uttered this prayer, he saw off the farther point of
the Island of Pomegue a small vessel with lateen sail
skimming the sea like a gull in search of prey; and with his
sailor's eye he knew it to be a Genoese tartan. She was
coming out of Marseilles harbor, and was standing out to sea
rapidly, her sharp prow cleaving through the waves. "Oh,"
cried Edmond, "to think that in half an hour I could join
her, did I not fear being questioned, detected, and conveyed
back to Marseilles! What can I do? What story can I invent?
under pretext of trading along the coast, these men, who are
in reality smugglers, will prefer selling me to doing a good
action. I must wait. But I cannot ---I am starving. In a few
hours my strength will be utterly exhausted; besides,
perhaps I have not been missed at the fortress. I can pass
as one of the sailors wrecked last night. My story will be
accepted, for there is no one left to contradict me."
As he spoke, Dantes looked toward the spot where the
fishing-vessel had been wrecked, and started. The red cap of
one of the sailors hung to a point of the rock and some
timbers that had formed part of the vessel's keel, floated
at the foot of the crag. It an instant Dantes' plan was
formed. he swam to the cap, placed it on his head, seized
one of the timbers, and struck out so as to cut across the
course the vessel was taking.
"I am saved!" murmured he. And this conviction restored his
strength.
He soon saw that the vessel, with the wind dead ahead, was
tacking between the Chateau d'If and the tower of Planier.
For an instant he feared lest, instead of keeping in shore,
she should stand out to sea; but he soon saw that she would
pass, like most vessels bound for Italy, between the islands
of Jaros and Calaseraigne. However, the vessel and the
swimmer insensibly neared one another, and in one of its
tacks the tartan bore down within a quarter of a mile of
him. He rose on the waves, making signs of distress; but no
one on board saw him, and the vessel stood on another tack.
Dantes would have shouted, but he knew that the wind would
drown his voice.
It was then he rejoiced at his precaution in taking the
timber, for without it he would have been unable, perhaps,
to reach the vessel -- certainly to return to shore, should
he be unsuccessful in attracting attention.
Dantes, though almost sure as to what course the vessel
would take, had yet watched it anxiously until it tacked and
stood towards him. Then he advanced; but before they could
meet, the vessel again changed her course. By a violent
effort he rose half out of the water, waving his cap, and
uttering a loud shout peculiar to sailers. This time he was
both seen and heard, and the tartan instantly steered
towards him. At the same time, he saw they were about to
lower the boat.
An instant after, the boat, rowed by two men, advanced
rapidly towards him. Dantes let go of the timber, which he
now thought to be useless, and swam vigorously to meet them.
But he had reckoned too much upon his strength, and then he
realized how serviceable the timber had been to him. His
arms became stiff, his legs lost their flexibility, and he
was almost breathless.
He shouted again. The two sailors redoubled their efforts,
and one of them cried in Italian, "Courage!"
The word reached his ear as a wave which he no longer had
the strength to surmount passed over his head. He rose again
to the surface, struggled with the last desperate effort of
a drowning man, uttered a third cry, and felt himself
sinking, as if the fatal cannon shot were again tied to his
feet. The water passed over his head, and the sky turned
gray. A convulsive movement again brought him to the
surface. He felt himself seized by the hair, then he saw and
heard nothing. He had fainted.
When he opened his eyes Dantes found himself on the deck of
the tartan. His first care was to see what course they were
taking. They were rapidly leaving the Chateau d'If behind.
Dantes was so exhausted that the exclamation of joy he
uttered was mistaken for a sigh.
As we have said, he was lying on the deck. A sailor was
rubbing his limbs with a woollen cloth; another, whom he
recognized as the one who had cried out "Courage!" held a
gourd full of rum to his mouth; while the third, an old
sailer, at once the pilot and captain, looked on with that
egotistical pity men feel for a misfortune that they have
escaped yesterday, and which may overtake them to-morrow.
A few drops of the rum restored suspended animation, while
the friction of his limbs restored their elasticity.
"Who are you?" said the pilot in bad French.
"I am," replied Dantes, in bad Italian, "a Maltese sailor.
We were coming from Syracuse laden with grain. The storm of
last night overtook us at Cape Morgion, and we were wrecked
on these rocks."
"Where do you come from?"
"From these rocks that I had the good luck to cling to while
our captain and the rest of the crew were all lost. I saw
your vessel, and fearful of being left to perish on the
desolate island, I swam off on a piece of wreckage to try
and intercept your course. You have saved my life, and I
thank you," continued Dantes. "I was lost when one of your
sailors caught hold of my hair."
"It was I," said a sailor of a frank and manly appearance;
"and it was time, for you were sinking."
"Yes," returned Dantes, holding out his hand, "I thank you
again."
"I almost hesitated, though," replied the sailor; "you
looked more like a brigand than an honest man, with your
beard six inches, and your hair a foot long." Dantes
recollected that his hair and beard had not been cut all the
time he was at the Chateau d'If.
"Yes," said he, "I made a vow, to our Lady of the Grotto not
to cut my hair or beard for ten years if I were saved in a
moment of danger; but to-day the vow expires."
"Now what are we to do with you?" said the captain.
"Alas, anything you please. My captain is dead; I have
barely escaped; but I am a good sailor. Leave me at the
first port you make; I shall be sure to find employment."
"Do you know the Mediterranean?"
"I have sailed over it since my childhood."
"You know the best harbors?"
"There are few ports that I could not enter or leave with a
bandage over my eyes."
"I say, captain," said the sailor who had cried "Courage!"
to Dantes, "if what he says is true, what hinders his
staying with us?"
"If he says true," said the captain doubtingly. "But in his
present condition he will promise anything, and take his
chance of keeping it afterwards."
"I will do more than I promise," said Dantes.
"We shall see," returned the other, smiling.
"Where are you going?" asked Dantes.
"To Leghorn."
"Then why, instead of tacking so frequently, do you not sail
nearer the wind?"
"Because we should run straight on to the Island of Rion."
"You shall pass it by twenty fathoms."
"Take the helm, and let us see what you know." The young man
took the helm, felt to see if the vessel answered the rudder
promptly and seeing that, without being a first-rate sailer,
she yet was tolerably obedient, --
"To the sheets," said he. The four seamen, who composed the
crew, obeyed, while the pilot looked on. "Haul taut." --
They obeyed.
"Belay." This order was also executed; and the vessel
passed, as Dantes had predicted, twenty fathoms to windward.
"Bravo!" said the captain.
"Bravo!" repeated the sailors. And they all looked with
astonishment at this man whose eye now disclosed an
intelligence and his body a vigor they had not thought him
capable of showing.
"You see," said Dantes, quitting the helm, "I shall be of
some use to you, at least during the voyage. If you do not
want me at Leghorn, you can leave me there, and I will pay
you out of the first wages I get, for my food and the
clothes you lend me."
"Ah," said the captain, "we can agree very well, if you are
reasonable."
"Give me what you give the others, and it will be all
right," returned Dantes.
"That's not fair," said the seaman who had saved Dantes;
"for you know more than we do."
"What is that to you, Jacopo?" returned the Captain. "Every
one is free to ask what he pleases."
"That's true," replied Jacopo; "I only make a remark."
"Well, you would do much better to find him a jacket and a
pair of trousers, if you have them."
"No," said Jacopo; "but I have a shirt and a pair of
trousers."
"That is all I want," interrupted Dantes. Jacopo dived into
the hold and soon returned with what Edmond wanted.
"Now, then, do you wish for anything else?" said the patron.
"A piece of bread and another glass of the capital rum I
tasted, for I have not eaten or drunk for a long time." He
had not tasted food for forty hours. A piece of bread was
brought, and Jacopo offered him the gourd.
"Larboard your helm," cried the captain to the steersman.
Dantes glanced that way as he lifted the gourd to his mouth;
then paused with hand in mid-air.
"Hollo! what's the matter at the Chateau d'If?" said the
captain.
A small white cloud, which had attracted Dantes' attention,
crowned the summit of the bastion of the Chateau d'If. At
the same moment the faint report of a gun was heard. The
sailors looked at one another.
"What is this?" asked the captain.
"A prisoner has escaped from the Chateau d'If, and they are
firing the alarm gun," replied Dantes. The captain glanced
at him, but he had lifted the rum to his lips and was
drinking it with so much composure, that suspicions, if the
captain had any, died away.
"At any rate," murmured he, "if it be, so much the better,
for I have made a rare acquisition." Under pretence of being
fatigued, Dantes asked to take the helm; the steersman, glad
to be relieved, looked at the captain, and the latter by a
sign indicated that he might abandon it to his new comrade.
Dantes could thus keep his eyes on Marseilles.
"What is the day of the month?" asked he of Jacopo, who sat
down beside him.
"The 28th of February."
"In what year?"
"In what year -- you ask me in what year?"
"Yes," replied the young man, "I ask you in what year!"
"You have forgotten then?"
"I got such a fright last night," replied Dantes, smiling,
"that I have almost lost my memory. I ask you what year is
it?"
"The year 1829," returned Jacopo. It was fourteen years day
for day since Dantes' arrest. He was nineteen when he
entered the Chateau d'If; he was thirty-three when he
escaped. A sorrowful smile passed over his face; he asked
himself what had become of Mercedes, who must believe him
dead. Then his eyes lighted up with hatred as he thought of
the three men who had caused him so long and wretched a
captivity. He renewed against Danglars, Fernand, and
Villefort the oath of implacable vengeance he had made in
his dungeon. This oath was no longer a vain menace; for the
fastest sailer in the Mediterranean would have been unable
to overtake the little tartan, that with every stitch of
canvas set was flying before the wind to Leghorn. _