and from there, if it please God, to France, where, at
least, I understand the architecture of the houses.”
So, suiting the action to the word, D’Artagnan thrust the
remnant of his sword into its scabbard, picked up his hat
and ran down the stairs, followed by the others.
70
The Skiff “Lightning.”
Page 484
Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
D’Artagnan had judged correctly; Mordaunt felt that he had
no time to lose, and he lost none. He knew the rapidity of
decision and action that characterized his enemies and
resolved to act with reference to that. This time the
musketeers had an adversary who was worthy of them.
After closing the door carefully behind him Mordaunt glided
into the subterranean passage, sheathing on the way his now
useless sword, and thus reached the neighboring house, where
he paused to examine himself and to take breath.
“Good!” he said, “nothing, almost nothing — scratches,
nothing more; two in the arm and one in the breast. The
wounds that I make are better than that — witness the
executioner of Bethune, my uncle and King Charles. Now, not
a second to lose, for a second lost will perhaps save them.
They must die — die all together — killed at one stroke by
the thunder of men in default of God’s. They must disappear,
broken, scattered, annihilated. I will run, then, till my
legs no longer serve, till my heart bursts in my bosom but I
will arrive before they do.”
Mordaunt proceeded at a rapid pace to the nearest cavalry
barracks, about a quarter of a league distant. He made that
quarter of a league in four or five minutes. Arrived at the
barracks he made himself known, took the best horse in the
stables, mounted and gained the high road. A quarter of an
hour later he was at Greenwich.
“There is the port,” he murmured. “That dark point yonder is
the Isle of Dogs. Good! I am half an hour in advance of
them, an hour, perhaps. Fool that I was! I have almost
killed myself by my needless haste. Now,” he added, rising
in the stirrups and looking about him, “which, I wonder, is
the Lightning?”
At this moment, as if in reply to his words, a man lying on
a coil of cables rose and advanced a few steps toward him.
Mordaunt drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and tying a
knot at each corner — the signal agreed upon — waved it in
the air and the man came up to him. He was wrapped in a
large rough cape, which concealed his form and partly his
face.
“Do you wish to go on the water, sir?” said the sailor.
“Yes, just so. Along the Isle of Dogs.”
“And perhaps you have a preference for one boat more than
another. You would like one that sails as rapidly as —- ”
“Lightning,” interrupted Mordaunt.
“Then mine is the boat you want, sir. I’m your man.”
“I begin to think so, particularly if you have not forgotten
a certain signal.”
“Here it is, sir,” and the sailor took from his coat a
handkerchief, tied at each corner.
Page 485
Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
“Good, quite right!” cried Mordaunt, springing off his
horse. “There’s not a moment to lose; now take my horse to
the nearest inn and conduct me to your vessel.”
“But,” asked the sailor, “where are your companions? I
thought there were four of you.”
“Listen to me, sir. I’m not the man you take me for; you are
in Captain Rogers’s post, are you not? under orders from
General Cromwell. Mine, also, are from him!”
“Indeed, sir, I recognize you; you are Captain Mordaunt.”
Mordaunt was startled.
“Oh, fear nothing,” said the skipper, showing his face. “I
am a friend.”
“Captain Groslow!” cried Mordaunt.
“Himself. The general remembered that I had formerly been a
naval officer and he gave me the command of this expedition.
Is there anything new in the wind?”
“Nothing.”
“I thought, perhaps, that the king’s death —- ”
“Has only hastened their flight; in ten minutes they will
perhaps be here.”
“What have you come for, then?”