Twenty years after
conceal your face, so that you cannot be recognized by them.”
“Never fear.”
“There’s ten o’clock striking at Greenwich.”
Groslow, then, having given the sailor on duty an order to be on the
watch with more than usual vigilance, went down into the longboat and
soon reached Greenwich. The wind was chilly and the jetty was deserted,
as he approached it; but he had no sooner landed than he heard a noise
of horses galloping upon the paved road.
These horsemen were our friends, or rather, an avant garde, composed of
D’Artagnan and Athos. As soon as they arrived at the spot where Groslow
stood they stopped, as if guessing that he was the man they wanted.
Athos alighted and calmly opened the handkerchief tied at each corner,
whilst D’Artagnan, ever cautious, remained on horseback, one hand upon
his pistol, leaning forward watchfully.
On seeing the appointed signal, Groslow, who had at first crept behind
one of the cannons planted on that spot, walked straight up to the
gentlemen. He was so well wrapped up in his cloak that it would have
been impossible to see his face even if the night had not been so dark
as to render precaution superfluous; nevertheless, the keen glance of
Athos perceived at once it was not Rogers who stood before them.
“What do you want with us?” he asked of Groslow.
“I wish to inform you, my lord,” replied Groslow, with an Irish accent,
feigned of course, “that if you are looking for Captain Rogers you will
not find him. He fell down this morning and broke his leg. But I’m his
cousin; he told me everything and desired me to watch instead of him,
and in his place to conduct, wherever they wished to go, the gentlemen
who should bring me a handkerchief tied at each corner, like that one
which you hold and one which I have in my pocket.”
And he drew out the handkerchief.
“Was that all he said?” inquired Athos.
“No, my lord; he said you had engaged to pay seventy pounds if I landed
you safe and sound at Boulogne or any other port you choose in France.”
“What do you think of all this?” said Athos, in a low tone to
D’Artagnan, after explaining to him in French what the sailor had said
in English.
“It seems a likely story to _me_.”
“And to me, too.”
“Besides, we can but blow out his brains if he proves false,” said the
Gascon; “and you, Athos, you know something of everything and can be
our captain. I dare say you know how to navigate, should he fail us.”
“My dear friend, you guess well. My father meant me for the navy and I
have some vague notions about navigation.”
“You see!” cried D’Artagnan.
They then summoned their friends, who, with Blaisois, Mousqueton and
Grimaud, promptly joined them, leaving Parry behind them, who was to
take back to London the horses of the gentlemen and of their lackeys,
which had been sold to the host in settlement of their account with
him. Thanks to this stroke of business the four friends were able to
take away with them a sum of money which, if not large, was sufficient
as a provision against delays and accidents.
Parry parted from his friends regretfully; they had proposed his going
with them to France, but he had straightway declined.
“It is very simple,” Mousqueton had said; “he is thinking of Groslow.”
It was Captain Groslow, the reader will remember, who had broken
Parry’s head.
D’Artagnan resumed immediately the attitude of distrust that was
habitual with him. He found the wharf too completely deserted, the
night too dark, the captain too accommodating. He had reported to
Aramis what had taken place, and Aramis, not less distrustful than he,
had increased his suspicions. A slight click of the tongue against his
teeth informed Athos of the Gascon’s uneasiness.
“We have no time now for suspicions,” said Athos. “The boat is waiting
for us; come.”
“Besides,” said Aramis, “what prevents our being distrustful and going
aboard at the same time? We can watch the skipper.”
“And if he doesn’t go straight I will crush him, that’s all.”
“Well said, Porthos,” replied D’Artagnan. “Let us go, then. You first,
Mousqueton,” and he stopped his friends, directing the valets to go
first, in order to test the plank leading from the pier to the boat.
The three valets passed without accident. Athos followed them, then
Porthos, then Aramis. D’Artagnan went last, still shaking his head.
“What in the devil is the matter with you, my friend?” said Porthos.
“Upon my word you would make Cæsar afraid.”
“The matter is,” replied D’Artagnan, “that I can see upon this pier
neither inspector nor sentinel nor exciseman.”
“And you complain of that!” said Porthos. “Everything goes as if in
flowery paths.”
“Everything goes too well, Porthos. But no matter; we must trust in
God.”
As soon as the plank was withdrawn the captain took his place at the
tiller and made a sign to one of the sailors, who, boat-hook in hand,
began to push out from the labyrinth of boats in which they were
involved. The other sailor had already seated himself on the port side
and was ready to row. As soon as there was room for rowing, his
companion rejoined him and the boat began to move more rapidly.
“At last we are off!” exclaimed Porthos.
“Alas,” said Athos, “we depart alone.”
“Yes; but all four together and without a scratch; which is a
consolation.”
“We are not yet at our destination,” observed the prudent D’Artagnan;
“beware of misadventure.”
“Ah, my friend!” cried Porthos, “like the crows, you always bring bad
omens. Who could intercept us on such a night as this, pitch dark, when
one does not see more than twenty yards before one?”
“Yes, but to-morrow morning——”
“To-morrow we shall be at Boulogne.”
“I hope so, with all my heart,” said the Gascon, “and I confess my
weakness. Yes, Athos, you may laugh, but as long as we were within
gunshot of the pier or of the vessels lying by it I was looking for a
frightful discharge of musketry which would crush us.”
“But,” said Porthos, with great wisdom, “that was impossible, for they
would have killed the captain and the sailors.”
“Bah! much Monsieur Mordaunt would care. You don’t imagine he would
consider a little thing like that?”
“At any rate,” said Porthos, “I am glad to hear D’Artagnan admit that
he is afraid.”
“I not only confess it, but am proud of it,” returned the Gascon; “I’m
not such a rhinoceros as you are. Oho! what’s that?”
“The _Lightning_,” answered the captain, “our felucca.”
“So far, so good,” laughed Athos.
They went on board and the captain instantly conducted them to the
berth prepared for them—a cabin which was to serve for all purposes and
for the whole party; he then tried to slip away under pretext of giving
orders to some one.
“Stop a moment,” cried D’Artagnan; “pray how many men have you on
board, captain?”
“I don’t understand,” was the reply.
“Explain it, Athos.”
Groslow, on the question being interpreted, answered, “Three, without
counting myself.”
D’Artagnan understood, for while replying the captain had raised three
fingers. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “I begin to be more at my ease, however,
whilst you settle yourselves, I shall make the round of the boat.”
“As for me,” said Porthos, “I will see to the supper.”
“A very good idea, Porthos,” said the Gascon. “Athos lend me Grimaud,
who in the society of his friend Parry has perhaps picked up a little
English, and can act as my interpreter.”
“Go, Grimaud,” said Athos.
D’Artagnan, finding a lantern on the deck, took it up and with a pistol
in his hand he said to the captain, in English, “Come,” (being, with
the classic English oath, the only English words he knew), and so
saying he descended to the lower deck.
This was divided into three compartments—one which was covered by the
floor of that room in which Athos, Porthos and Aramis were to pass the
night; the second was to serve as the sleeping-room for the servants,
the third, under the prow of the ship, was under the temporary cabin in
which Mordaunt was concealed.
“Oho!” cried D’Artagnan, as he went down the steps of the hatchway,
preceded by the lantern, “what a number of barrels! one would think one
was in the cave of Ali Baba. What is there in them?” he added, putting
his lantern on one of the casks.
The captain seemed inclined to go upon deck again, but controlling
himself he answered:
“Port wine.”
“Ah! port wine! ’tis a comfort,” said the Gascon, “since we shall not
die of thirst. Are they all full?”
Grimaud translated the question, and Groslow, who was wiping the
perspiration from off his forehead, answered:
“Some full, others empty.”
D’Artagnan struck the barrels with his hand, and having ascertained
that he spoke the truth, pushed his lantern, greatly to the captain’s
alarm, into the interstices between the barrels, and finding that there
was nothing concealed in them:
“Come along,” he said; and he went toward the door of the second
compartment.
“Stop!” said the Englishman, “I have the key of that door;” and he
opened the door, with a trembling hand, into the second compartment,
where Mousqueton and Blaisois were preparing supper.
Here there was evidently nothing to seek or to apprehend and they
passed rapidly to examine the third compartment.
This was the room appropriated to the sailors. Two or three hammocks
hung upon the ceiling, a table and two benches composed the entire
furniture. D’Artagnan picked up two or three old sails hung on the
walls, and meeting nothing to suspect, regained by the hatchway the
deck of the vessel.
“And this room?” he asked, pointing to the captain’s cabin.
“That’s my room,” replied Groslow.
“Open the door.”
The captain obeyed. D’Artagnan stretched out his arm in which he held
the lantern, put his head in at the half opened door, and seeing that
the cabin was nothing better than a shed:
“Good,” he said. “If there is an army on board it is not here that it
is hidden. Let us see what Porthos has found for supper.” And thanking
the captain, he regained the state cabin, where his friends were.
Porthos had found nothing, and with him fatigue had prevailed over
hunger. He had fallen asleep and was in a profound slumber when
D’Artagnan returned. Athos and Aramis were beginning to close their
eyes, which they half opened when their companion came in again.
“Well!” said Aramis.
“All is well; we may sleep tranquilly.”
On this assurance the two friends fell asleep; and D’Artagnan, who was
very weary, bade good-night to Grimaud and laid himself down in his
cloak, with naked sword at his side, in such a manner that his body
barricaded the passage, and it should be impossible to enter the room
without upsetting him.
Chapter LXXI.
Port Wine.
In ten minutes the masters slept; not so the servants—-hungry, and more
thirsty than hungry.
Blaisois and Mousqueton set themselves to preparing their bed which
consisted of a plank and a valise. On a hanging table, which swung to
and fro with the rolling of the vessel, were a pot of beer and three
glasses.
“This cursed rolling!” said Blaisois. “I know it will serve me as it
did when we came over.”
“And to think,” said Mousqueton, “that we have nothing to fight
seasickness with but barley bread and hop beer. Pah!”
“But where is your wicker flask, Monsieur Mousqueton? Have you lost
it?” asked Blaisois.
“No,” replied Mousqueton, “Parry kept it. Those devilish Scotchmen are
always thirsty. And you, Grimaud,” he said to his companion, who had
just come in after his round with D’Artagnan, “are you thirsty?”
“As thirsty as a Scotchman!” was Grimaud’s laconic reply.
And he sat down and began to cast up the accounts of his party, whose
money he managed.
“Oh, lackadaisy! I’m beginning to feel queer!” cried Blaisois.
“If that’s the case,” said Mousqueton, with a learned air, “take some