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 rock beneath which he lay trembling; the waves, dashing themselves against the granite rock, wetted him with their spray. In safety as he was, he felt himself become giddy in the midst of this war 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 her moorings, and bear him off into the center 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 rain water that had lodged in a hollow of the rock. As he rose, a flash of lightning, that seemed as if the whole of the heavens were opened, illuminated the darkness. By its light, between the Isle of Lemaire and Cape Croiselle, a quarter of a league distant, Dantes saw, like a specter, a fishing boat driven rapidly on by the force of the winds and waves. A second after he saw it again approaching nearer. 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, doubtless, 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 away, 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. Perched on the summit of the rock, Dantes saw by the lightning the vessel in pieces: and amongst the fragments were visible the agonized features of the unhappy sailors. Then all became dark again. Dantes ran down the rocks at the risk of being himself dashed to pieces; he listened, he strove to examine, but he heard and saw nothing- all human cries had ceased; and the tempest alone 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 silent and motionless before this vast spectacle; for since his captivity he had forgotten it. He turned towards the fortress, and looked both at the sea and the land. The gloomy building rose from the bosom of the ocean with that imposing majesty of inanimate objects, that seems at once to watch and to command. It was about five o'clock; the sea continued to grow 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 passage will be discovered, the men who cast me into the sea, and who must have heard the cry I uttered, will be questioned. The 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! 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 appear at the extremity of the Isle of Pomegue, like a bird skimming over the sea, a small bark, that the eye of a sailor alone could recognize as a Genoese tartane. 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. This story will pass current, for there is no one left to contradict me." As he spoke, Dantes looked towards 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 beams that had formed a part of the vessel's keel floated at the foot of the crags. In an instant Dantes' plan was formed. He swam to the cap, placed it on his head, seized one of the beams, and struck out so as to cross the line the vessel was taking. "I am saved," murmured he. And this conviction restored his strength. He soon perceived the vessel, which, having the wind right ahead, was tacking between the Chateau d'If and the tower of Planier. For an instant he feared lest the bark, instead of keeping inshore, should stand out to sea; but he soon saw by her maneuvers that she wished to 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 bark approached within a quarter of a mile of him. He rose on the waves, making signs of distress, but no one on board perceived him; and the vessel stood on another tack. Dantes would have cried out, but he reflected that the wind would drown his voice. It was then he rejoiced at his precaution in taking the beam, 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, although almost sure as to what course the bark would take, had yet watched it anxiously until it tacked and stood towards him. Then he advanced; but, before they had met, the vessel again changed her direction. By a violent effort, he rose half out of the water, waving his cap, and uttering a loud shout peculiar to sailors. This time he was both seen and heard, and the tartane steered instantly 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 abandoned the beam, which he thought now useless, and swam vigorously to meet them. But he had reckoned too much upon his strength, and then he felt how serviceable the beam had been to him. His arms grew stiff, his legs had lost their flexibility, and he was almost breathless. He uttered a second cry. 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, supporting himself by one of those desperate efforts a drowning man makes, uttered a third cry, and felt himself sink again, as if the fatal bullet were again tied to his feet. The water passed over his head and the sky seemed livid. A violent effort again brought him to the surface. He felt as if something seized him by the hair; but he saw and heard nothing. He had fainted. When he opened his eyes, Dantes found himself on the deck of the tartane. His first care was to see what direction they were pursuing. They were rapidly leaving the Chateau d'If behind. Dantes was so exhausted that the exclamation of joy he uttered was taken for a sigh. As we have said, he was lying on the deck; a sailor was rubbing his limbs with a woolen cloth; another, whom he recognized as the one who had cried out "Courage!" held a gourd full of rum to his mouth; whilst the third, an old sailor, 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, whilst 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 Morigon, and we were wrecked on these rocks." "Where do you come from?" "From these rocks, that I had the good luck to cling to whilst our captain and the rest of the crew were all lost. I saw your ship, and fearful of being left to perish on the desolate island, I swam off on a fragment of the vessel in order to try and gain your bark. 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 my eyes blinded." "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. "Then why, instead of tacking so frequently, do you not sail nearer to 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, ascertaining by a slight pressure if the vessel answered the rudder, and seeing that, without being a first-rate sailor, she yet was tolerably obedient. "To the braces," said he. The four seamen who composed the crew obeyed, whilst 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 the right. "Bravo!" said the captain. "Bravo!" repeated the sailors. |