Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

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 every one 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!”

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“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

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, 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

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.”

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“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