The Count of Monte Cristo
met has been a long and narrow boat, manned by six or eight men, who
have surprised and plundered it, some dark and stormy night, near some
desert and gloomy island, as bandits plunder a carriage in the recesses
of a forest.”
“But,” asked Franz, who lay wrapped in his cloak at the bottom of the
boat, “why do not those who have been plundered complain to the French,
Sardinian, or Tuscan governments?”
“Why?” said Gaetano with a smile.
“Yes, why?”
“Because, in the first place, they transfer from the vessel to their
own boat whatever they think worth taking, then they bind the crew hand
and foot, they attach to everyone’s neck a four-and-twenty-pound ball,
a large hole is chopped in the vessel’s bottom, and then they leave
her. At the end of ten minutes the vessel begins to roll heavily and
settle down. First one gun’l goes under, then the other. Then they lift
and sink again, and both go under at once. All at once there’s a noise
like a cannon—that’s the air blowing up the deck. Soon the water rushes
out of the scupper-holes like a whale spouting, the vessel gives a last
groan, spins round and round, and disappears, forming a vast whirlpool
in the ocean, and then all is over, so that in five minutes nothing but
the eye of God can see the vessel where she lies at the bottom of the
sea. Do you understand now,” said the captain, “why no complaints are
made to the government, and why the vessel never reaches port?”
It is probable that if Gaetano had related this previous to proposing
the expedition, Franz would have hesitated, but now that they had
started, he thought it would be cowardly to draw back. He was one of
those men who do not rashly court danger, but if danger presents
itself, combat it with the most unalterable coolness. Calm and
resolute, he treated any peril as he would an adversary in a
duel,—calculated its probable method of approach; retreated, if at all,
as a point of strategy and not from cowardice; was quick to see an
opening for attack, and won victory at a single thrust.
“Bah!” said he, “I have travelled through Sicily and Calabria—I have
sailed two months in the Archipelago, and yet I never saw even the
shadow of a bandit or a pirate.”
“I did not tell your excellency this to deter you from your project,”
replied Gaetano, “but you questioned me, and I have answered; that’s
all.”
“Yes, and your conversation is most interesting; and as I wish to enjoy
it as long as possible, steer for Monte Cristo.”
The wind blew strongly, the boat made six or seven knots an hour, and
they were rapidly reaching the end of their voyage. As they drew near
the island seemed to lift from the sea, and the air was so clear that
they could already distinguish the rocks heaped on one another, like
cannon balls in an arsenal, with green bushes and trees growing in the
crevices. As for the sailors, although they appeared perfectly tranquil
yet it was evident that they were on the alert, and that they carefully
watched the glassy surface over which they were sailing, and on which a
few fishing-boats, with their white sails, were alone visible.
They were within fifteen miles of Monte Cristo when the sun began to
set behind Corsica, whose mountains appeared against the sky, showing
their rugged peaks in bold relief; this mass of rock, like the giant
Adamastor, rose dead ahead, a formidable barrier, and intercepting the
light that gilded its massive peaks so that the voyagers were in
shadow. Little by little the shadow rose higher and seemed to drive
before it the last rays of the expiring day; at last the reflection
rested on the summit of the mountain, where it paused an instant, like
the fiery crest of a volcano, then gloom gradually covered the summit
as it had covered the base, and the island now only appeared to be a
gray mountain that grew continually darker; half an hour after, the
night was quite dark.
Fortunately, the mariners were used to these latitudes, and knew every
rock in the Tuscan Archipelago; for in the midst of this obscurity
Franz was not without uneasiness—Corsica had long since disappeared,
and Monte Cristo itself was invisible; but the sailors seemed, like the
lynx, to see in the dark, and the pilot who steered did not evince the
slightest hesitation.
An hour had passed since the sun had set, when Franz fancied he saw, at
a quarter of a mile to the left, a dark mass, but he could not
precisely make out what it was, and fearing to excite the mirth of the
sailors by mistaking a floating cloud for land, he remained silent;
suddenly a great light appeared on the strand; land might resemble a
cloud, but the fire was not a meteor.
“What is this light?” asked he.
“Hush!” said the captain; “it is a fire.”
“But you told me the island was uninhabited?”
“I said there were no fixed habitations on it, but I said also that it
served sometimes as a harbor for smugglers.”
“And for pirates?”
“And for pirates,” returned Gaetano, repeating Franz’s words. “It is
for that reason I have given orders to pass the island, for, as you
see, the fire is behind us.”
“But this fire?” continued Franz. “It seems to me rather reassuring
than otherwise; men who did not wish to be seen would not light a
fire.”
“Oh, that goes for nothing,” said Gaetano. “If you can guess the
position of the island in the darkness, you will see that the fire
cannot be seen from the side or from Pianosa, but only from the sea.”
“You think, then, this fire indicates the presence of unpleasant
neighbors?”
“That is what we must find out,” returned Gaetano, fixing his eyes on
this terrestrial star.
“How can you find out?”
“You shall see.”
Gaetano consulted with his companions, and after five minutes’
discussion a manœuvre was executed which caused the vessel to tack
about, they returned the way they had come, and in a few minutes the
fire disappeared, hidden by an elevation of the land. The pilot again
changed the course of the boat, which rapidly approached the island,
and was soon within fifty paces of it. Gaetano lowered the sail, and
the boat came to rest. All this was done in silence, and from the
moment that their course was changed not a word was spoken.
Gaetano, who had proposed the expedition, had taken all the
responsibility on himself; the four sailors fixed their eyes on him,
while they got out their oars and held themselves in readiness to row
away, which, thanks to the darkness, would not be difficult. As for
Franz, he examined his arms with the utmost coolness; he had two
double-barrelled guns and a rifle; he loaded them, looked at the
priming, and waited quietly.
During this time the captain had thrown off his vest and shirt, and
secured his trousers round his waist; his feet were naked, so he had no
shoes and stockings to take off; after these preparations he placed his
finger on his lips, and lowering himself noiselessly into the sea, swam
towards the shore with such precaution that it was impossible to hear
the slightest sound; he could only be traced by the phosphorescent line
in his wake. This track soon disappeared; it was evident that he had
touched the shore.
Everyone on board remained motionless for half an hour, when the same
luminous track was again observed, and the swimmer was soon on board.
“Well?” exclaimed Franz and the sailors in unison.
“They are Spanish smugglers,” said he; “they have with them two
Corsican bandits.”
“And what are these Corsican bandits doing here with Spanish
smugglers?”
“Alas,” returned the captain with an accent of the most profound pity,
“we ought always to help one another. Very often the bandits are hard
pressed by gendarmes or carbineers; well, they see a vessel, and good
fellows like us on board, they come and demand hospitality of us; you
can’t refuse help to a poor hunted devil; we receive them, and for
greater security we stand out to sea. This costs us nothing, and saves
the life, or at least the liberty, of a fellow-creature, who on the
first occasion returns the service by pointing out some safe spot where
we can land our goods without interruption.”
“Ah!” said Franz, “then you are a smuggler occasionally, Gaetano?”
“Your excellency, we must live somehow,” returned the other, smiling
impenetrably.
“Then you know the men who are now on Monte Cristo?”
“Oh, yes, we sailors are like freemasons, and recognize each other by
signs.”
“And do you think we have nothing to fear if we land?”
“Nothing at all; smugglers are not thieves.”
“But these two Corsican bandits?” said Franz, calculating the chances
of peril.
“It is not their fault that they are bandits, but that of the
authorities.”
“How so?”
“Because they are pursued for having made a stiff, as if it was not in
a Corsican’s nature to revenge himself.”
“What do you mean by having made a stiff?—having assassinated a man?”
said Franz, continuing his investigation.
“I mean that they have killed an enemy, which is a very different
thing,” returned the captain.
“Well,” said the young man, “let us demand hospitality of these
smugglers and bandits. Do you think they will grant it?”
“Without doubt.”
“How many are they?”
“Four, and the two bandits make six.”
“Just our number, so that if they prove troublesome, we shall be able
to hold them in check; so, for the last time, steer to Monte Cristo.”
“Yes, but your excellency will permit us to take all due precautions.”
“By all means, be as wise as Nestor and as prudent as Ulysses; I do
more than permit, I exhort you.”
“Silence, then!” said Gaetano.
Everyone obeyed. For a man who, like Franz, viewed his position in its
true light, it was a grave one. He was alone in the darkness with
sailors whom he did not know, and who had no reason to be devoted to
him; who knew that he had several thousand francs in his belt, and who
had often examined his weapons,—which were very beautiful,—if not with
envy, at least with curiosity. On the other hand, he was about to land,
without any other escort than these men, on an island which had,
indeed, a very religious name, but which did not seem to Franz likely
to afford him much hospitality, thanks to the smugglers and bandits.
The history of the scuttled vessels, which had appeared improbable
during the day, seemed very probable at night; placed as he was between
two possible sources of danger, he kept his eye on the crew, and his
gun in his hand.
The sailors had again hoisted sail, and the vessel was once more
cleaving the waves. Through the darkness Franz, whose eyes were now
more accustomed to it, could see the looming shore along which the boat
was sailing, and then, as they rounded a rocky point, he saw the fire
more brilliant than ever, and about it five or six persons seated. The
blaze illumined the sea for a hundred paces around. Gaetano skirted the
light, carefully keeping the boat in the shadow; then, when they were
opposite the fire, he steered to the centre of the circle, singing a
fishing song, of which his companions sung the chorus.
At the first words of the song the men seated round the fire arose and
approached the landing-place, their eyes fixed on the boat, evidently
seeking to know who the new-comers were and what were their intentions.
They soon appeared satisfied and returned (with the exception of one,
who remained at the shore) to their fire, at which the carcass of a
goat was roasting. When the boat was within twenty paces of the shore,
the man on the beach, who carried a carbine, presented arms after the
manner of a sentinel, and cried, “Who comes there?” in Sardinian.
Franz coolly cocked both barrels. Gaetano then exchanged a few words
with this man which the traveller did not understand, but which
evidently concerned him.
“Will your excellency give your name, or remain _incognito_?” asked the
captain.