How Musqueton, after being very nearly roasted, had a Narrow Escape of being eaten.
A deep silence reigned for a long time in the boat after the fearful scene described.
The moon, which had shone for a short time, disappeared behind the clouds; every object was again plunged in the obscurity that is so awful in the deserts and still more so in that liquid desert, the ocean, and nothing was heard save the whistling of the west wind driving along the tops of the crested billows.
Porthos was the first to speak.
"I have seen," he said, "many dreadful things, but nothing that ever agitated me so much as what I have just witnessed.
Nevertheless, even in my present state of perturbation, I protest that I feel happy. I have a hundred pounds' weight less upon my chest. I breathe more freely." In fact, Porthos breathed so loud as to do credit to the free play of his powerful lungs.
"For my part," observed Aramis, "I cannot say the same as you do, Porthos. I am still terrified to such a degree that I scarcely believe my eyes. I look around the boat, expecting every moment to see that poor wretch holding between his hands the poniard plunged into his heart."
"Oh! I feel easy," replied Porthos. "The poniard was pointed at the sixth rib and buried up to the hilt in his body. I do not reproach you, Athos, for what you have done. On the contrary, when one aims a blow that is the regulation way to strike. So now, I breathe again -- I am happy!"
"Don't be in haste to celebrate a victory, Porthos," interposed D'Artagnan; "never have we incurred a greater danger than we are now encountering. Men may subdue men -- they cannot overcome the elements. We are now on the sea, at night, without any pilot, in a frail bark; should a blast of wind upset the boat we are lost."
Musqueton heaved a deep sigh.
"You are ungrateful, D'Artagnan," said Athos; "yes, ungrateful to Providence, to whom we owe our safety in the most miraculous manner. Let us sail before the wind, and unless it changes we shall be drifted either to Calais or Boulogne. Should our bark be upset we are five of us good swimmers, able enough to turn it over again, or if not, to hold on by it. Now we are on the very road which all the vessels between Dover and Calais take, 'tis impossible but that we should meet with a fisherman who will pick us up."
"But should we not find any fisherman and should the wind shift to the north?"
"That," said Athos, "would be quite another thing; and we should nevermore see land until we were upon the other side of the Atlantic."
"Which implies that we may die of hunger," said Aramis.
"'Tis more than possible," answered the Comte de la Fere.
Musqueton sighed again, more deeply than before.
"What is the matter? what ails you?" asked Porthos.
"I am cold, sir," said Musqueton.
"Impossible! your body is covered with a coating of fat which preserves it from the cold air."
"Ah! sir, 'tis this very coating of fat that makes me shiver."
"How is that, Musqueton?
"Alas! your honor, in the library of the Chateau of Bracieux there are a lot of books of travels."
"What then?"
"Amongst them the voyages of Jean Mocquet in the time of Henry IV."
"Well?"
"In these books, your honor, 'tis told how hungry voyagers, drifting out to sea, have a bad habit of eating each other and beginning with ---- "
"The fattest among them!" cried D'Artagnan, unable in spite of the gravity of the occasion to help laughing.
"Yes, sir," answered Musqueton; "but permit me to say I see nothing laughable in it. However," he added, turning to Porthos, "I should not regret dying, sir, were I sure that by doing so I might still be useful to you."
"Mouston," replied Porthos, much affected, "should we ever see my castle of Pierrefonds again you shall have as your own and for your descendants the vineyard that surrounds the farm."
"And you should call it `Devotion,'" added Aramis; "the vineyard of self-sacrifice, to transmit to latest ages the recollection of your devotion to your master."
"Chevalier," said D'Artagnan, laughing, "you could eat a piece of Mouston, couldn't you, especially after two or three days of fasting?"
"Oh, no," replied Aramis, "I should much prefer Blaisois; we haven't known him so long."
One may readily conceive that during these jokes which were intended chiefly to divert Athos from the scene which had just taken place, the servants, with the exception of Grimaud, were not silent. Suddenly Musqueton uttered a cry of delight, taking from beneath one of the benches a bottle of wine; and on looking more closely in the same place he discovered a dozen similar bottles, bread, and a monster junk of salted beef.
"Oh, sir!" he cried, passing the bottle to Porthos, "we are saved -- the bark is supplied with provisions."
This intelligence restored every one save Athos to gayety.
"Zounds!" exclaimed Porthos, "'tis astonishing how empty violent agitation makes the stomach."
And he drank off half a bottle at a draught and bit great mouthfuls of the bread and meat.
"Now," said Athos, "sleep, or try to sleep, my friends, and I will watch."
In a few moments, notwithstanding their wet clothes, the icy blast that blew and the previous scene of terror, these hardy adventurers, with their iron frames, inured to every hardship, threw themselves down, intending to profit by the advice of Athos, who sat at the helm, pensively wakeful, guiding the little bark the way it was to go, his eyes fixed on the heavens, as if he sought to verify not only the road to France, but the benign aspect of protecting Providence.
After some hours of repose the sleepers were aroused by Athos.
Dawn was shedding its pallid, placid glimmer on the purple ocean, when at the distance of a musket shot from them was seen a dark gray mass, above which gleamed a triangular sail; then masters and servants joined in a fervent cry to the crew of that vessel to hear them and to save.
"A bark!" all cried together.
It was, in fact, a small craft from Dunkirk bound for Boulogne.