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