Chapter XXXI. The Silver Dish.

The journey passed off pretty well. Athos and his son traversed France

at the rate of fifteen leagues per day; sometimes more, sometimes less,

according to the intensity of Raoul’s grief. It took them a fortnight

to reach Toulon, and they lost all traces of D’Artagnan at Antibes. They

were forced to believe that the captain of the musketeers was desirous

of preserving an incognito on his route, for Athos derived from

his inquiries an assurance that such a cavalier as he described had

exchanged his horse for a well-closed carriage on quitting Avignon.

Raoul was much affected at not meeting with D’Artagnan. His affectionate

heart longed to take a farewell and received consolation from that heart

of steel. Athos knew from experience that D’Artagnan became impenetrable

when engaged in any serious affair, whether on his own account or on the

service of the king. He even feared to offend his friend, or thwart him

by too pressing inquiries. And yet when Raoul commenced his labor of

classing the flotilla, and got together the _chalands_ and lighters to

send them to Toulon, one of the fishermen told the comte that his boat

had been laid up to refit since a trip he had made on account of a

gentleman who was in great haste to embark. Athos, believing that this

man was telling a falsehood in order to be left at liberty to fish,

and so gain more money when all his companions were gone, insisted upon

having the details. The fisherman informed him that six days previously,

a man had come in the night to hire his boat, for the purpose of

visiting the island of St. Honnorat. The price was agreed upon, but the

gentleman had arrived with an immense carriage case, which he insisted

upon embarking, in spite of the many difficulties that opposed the

operation. The fisherman wished to retract. He had even threatened,

but his threats had procured him nothing but a shower of blows from the

gentleman’s cane, which fell upon his shoulders sharp and long. Swearing

and grumbling, he had recourse to the syndic of his brotherhood at

Antibes, who administer justice among themselves and protect each other;

but the gentleman had exhibited a certain paper, at sight of which

the syndic, bowing to the very ground, enjoined obedience from the

fisherman, and abused him for having been refractory. They then departed

with the freight.

“But all this does not tell us,” said Athos, “how you injured your

boat.”

“This is the way. I was steering towards St. Honnorat as the gentleman

desired me; but he changed his mind, and pretended that I could not pass

to the south of the abbey.”

“And why not?”

“Because, monsieur, there is in front of the square tower of the

Benedictines, towards the southern point, the bank of the _Moines_.”

“A rock?” asked Athos.

“Level with the water, but below water; a dangerous passage, yet one I

have cleared a thousand times; the gentleman required me to land him at

Sainte-Marguerite’s.”

“Well?”

“Well, monsieur!” cried the fisherman, with his _Provencal_ accent, “a

man is a sailor, or he is not; he knows his course, or he is nothing but

a fresh-water lubber. I was obstinate, and wished to try the channel.

The gentleman took me by the collar, and told me quietly he would

strangle me. My mate armed himself with a hatchet, and so did I. We had

the affront of the night before to pay him out for. But the gentleman

drew his sword, and used it in such an astonishingly rapid manner, that

we neither of us could get near him. I was about to hurl my hatchet at

his head, and I had a right to do so, hadn’t I, monsieur? for a sailor

aboard is master, as a citizen is in his chamber; I was going, then, in

self-defense, to cut the gentleman in two, when, all at once--believe me

or not, monsieur--the great carriage case opened of itself, I don’t know

how, and there came out of it a sort of a phantom, his head covered with

a black helmet and a black mask, something terrible to look upon, which

came towards me threatening with its fist.”

“And that was--” said Athos.

“That was the devil, monsieur; for the gentleman, with great glee, cried

out, on seeing him: ‘Ah! thank you, monseigneur!’”

“A most strange story!” murmured the comte, looking at Raoul.

“And what did you do?” asked the latter of the fisherman.

“You must know, monsieur, that two poor men, such as we are, could be

no match for two gentlemen; but when one of them turned out to be the

devil, we had no earthly chance! My companion and I did not stop to

consult one another; we made but one jump into the sea, for we were

within seven or eight hundred feet of the shore.”

“Well, and then?”

“Why, and then, monseigneur, as there was a little wind from the

southwest, the boat drifted into the sands of Sainte-Marguerite’s.”

“Oh!--but the travelers?”

“Bah! you need not be uneasy about them! It was pretty plain that one

was the devil, and protected the other; for when we recovered the boat,

after she got afloat again, instead of finding these two creatures

injured by the shock, we found nothing, not even the carriage or the

case.”

“Very strange! very strange!” repeated the comte. “But after that, what

did you do, my friend?”

“I made my complaint to the governor of Sainte-Marguerite’s, who brought

my finger under my nose by telling me if I plagued him with such silly

stories he would have me flogged.”

“What! did the governor himself say so?”

“Yes, monsieur; and yet my boat was injured, seriously injured, for the

prow is left upon the point of Sainte-Marguerite’s, and the carpenter

asks a hundred and twenty livres to repair it.”

“Very well,” replied Raoul; “you will be exempted from the service. Go.”

“We will go to Sainte-Marguerite’s, shall we?” said the comte to

Bragelonne, as the man walked away.

“Yes, monsieur, for there is something to be cleared up; that man does

not seem to me to have told the truth.”

“Nor to me either, Raoul. The story of the masked man and the carriage

having disappeared, may be told to conceal some violence these fellows

have committed upon their passengers in the open sea, to punish him for

his persistence in embarking.”

“I formed the same suspicion; the carriage was more likely to contain

property than a man.”

“We shall see to that, Raoul. The gentleman very much resembles

D’Artagnan; I recognize his methods of proceeding. Alas! we are no

longer the young invincibles of former days. Who knows whether the

hatchet or the iron bar of this miserable coaster has not succeeded in

doing that which the best blades of Europe, balls, and bullets have not

been able to do in forty years?”

That same day they set out for Sainte-Marguerite’s, on board a

_chasse-maree_ come from Toulon under orders. The impression they

experienced on landing was a singularly pleasing one. The island seemed

loaded with flowers and fruits. In its cultivated part it served as a

garden for the governor. Orange, pomegranate, and fig trees bent beneath

the weight of their golden or purple fruits. All round this garden, in

the uncultivated parts, red partridges ran about in conveys among the

brambles and tufts of junipers, and at every step of the comte and Raoul

a terrified rabbit quitted his thyme and heath to scuttle away to the

burrow. In fact, this fortunate isle was uninhabited. Flat, offering

nothing but a tiny bay for the convenience of embarkation, and under the

protection of the governor, who went shares with them, smugglers made

use of it as a provisional _entrepot_, at the expense of not killing the

game or devastating the garden. With this compromise, the governor was

in a situation to be satisfied with a garrison of eight men to guard his

fortress, in which twelve cannons accumulated coats of moldy green. The

governor was a sort of happy farmer, harvesting wines, figs, oil,

and oranges, preserving his citrons and _cedrates_ in the sun of his

casemates. The fortress, encircled by a deep ditch, its only guardian,

arose like three heads upon turrets connected with each other by

terraces covered with moss.

Athos and Raoul wandered for some time round the fences of the garden

without finding any one to introduce them to the governor. They ended by

making their own way into the garden. It was at the hottest time of

the day. Each living thing sought its shelter under grass or stone. The

heavens spread their fiery veils as if to stifle all noises, to envelop

all existences; the rabbit under the broom, the fly under the leaf,

slept as the wave did beneath the heavens. Athos saw nothing living but

a soldier, upon the terrace beneath the second and third court, who was

carrying a basket of provisions on his head. This man returned almost

immediately without his basket, and disappeared in the shade of his

sentry-box. Athos supposed he must have been carrying dinner to some

one, and, after having done so, returned to dine himself. All at once

they heard some one call out, and raising their heads, perceived in the

frame of the bars of the window something of a white color, like a

hand that was waved backwards and forwards--something shining, like a

polished weapon struck by the rays of the sun. And before they were able

to ascertain what it was, a luminous train, accompanied by a hissing

sound in the air, called their attention from the donjon to the ground.

A second dull noise was heard from the ditch, and Raoul ran to pick up

a silver plate which was rolling along the dry sand. The hand that

had thrown this plate made a sign to the two gentlemen, and then

disappeared. Athos and Raoul, approaching each other, commenced an

attentive examination of the dusty plate, and they discovered, in

characters traced upon the bottom of it with the point of a knife, this

inscription:

“_I am the brother of the king of France--a prisoner to-day--a madman

to-morrow. French gentlemen and Christians, pray to God for the soul and

the reason of the son of your old rulers_.”

The plate fell from the hands of Athos whilst Raoul was endeavoring

to make out the meaning of these dismal words. At the same moment they

heard a cry from the top of the donjon. Quick as lightning Raoul

bent down his head, and forced down that of his father likewise. A

musket-barrel glittered from the crest of the wall. A white smoke

floated like a plume from the mouth of the musket, and a ball was

flattened against a stone within six inches of the two gentlemen.

“_Cordieu!_” cried Athos. “What, are people assassinated here? Come

down, cowards as you are!”

“Yes, come down!” cried Raoul, furiously shaking his fist at the castle.

One of the assailants--he who was about to fire--replied to these cries

by an exclamation of surprise; and, as his companion, who wished to

continue the attack, had re-seized his loaded musket, he who had cried

out threw up the weapon, and the ball flew into the air. Athos and

Raoul, seeing them disappear from the platform, expected they would

come down to them, and waited with a firm demeanor. Five minutes had

not elapsed, when a stroke upon a drum called the eight soldiers of the

garrison to arms, and they showed themselves on the other side of

the ditch with their muskets in hand. At the head of these men was an

officer, whom Athos and Raoul recognized as the one who had fired the

first musket. The man ordered the soldiers to “make ready.”

“We are going to be shot!” cried Raoul; “but, sword in hand, at least,

let us leap the ditch! We shall kill at least two of these scoundrels,

when their muskets are empty.” And, suiting the action to the word,

Raoul was springing forward, followed by Athos, when a well-known voice

resounded behind them, “Athos! Raoul!”

“D’Artagnan!” replied the two gentlemen.

“Recover arms! _Mordioux!_” cried the captain to the soldiers. “I was

sure I could not be mistaken!”

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Athos. “What! were we to be shot

without warning?”

“It was I who was going to shoot you, and if the governor missed you, I

should not have missed you, my dear friends. How fortunate it is that

I am accustomed to take a long aim, instead of firing at the instant I

raise my weapon! I thought I recognized you. Ah! my dear friends, how

fortunate!” And D’Artagnan wiped his brow, for he had run fast, and

emotion with him was not feigned.

“How!” said Athos. “And is the gentleman who fired at us the governor of

the fortress?”

“In person.”

“And why did he fire at us? What have we done to him?”

“_Pardieu!_ You received what the prisoner threw to you?”

“That is true.”

“That plate--the prisoner has written something on it, has he not?”

“Yes.”

“Good heavens! I was afraid he had.”

And D’Artagnan, with all the marks of mortal disquietude, seized the

plate, to read the inscription. When he had read it, a fearful pallor

spread across his countenance. “Oh! good heavens!” repeated he.

“Silence!--Here is the governor.”

“And what will he do to us? Is it our fault?”

“It is true, then?” said Athos, in a subdued voice. “It is true?”

“Silence! I tell you--silence! If he only believes you can read; if he

only suspects you have understood; I love you, my dear friends, I would

willingly be killed for you, but--”

“But--” said Athos and Raoul.

“But I could not save you from perpetual imprisonment if I saved you

from death. Silence, then! Silence again!”

The governor came up, having crossed the ditch upon a plank bridge.

“Well!” said he to D’Artagnan, “what stops us?”

“You are Spaniards--you do not understand a word of French,” said the

captain, eagerly, to his friends in a low voice.

“Well!” replied he, addressing the governor, “I was right; these

gentlemen are two Spanish captains with whom I was acquainted at Ypres,

last year; they don’t know a word of French.”

“Ah!” said the governor, sharply. “And yet they were trying to read the

inscription on the plate.”

D’Artagnan took it out of his hands, effacing the characters with the

point of his sword.

“How!” cried the governor, “what are you doing? I cannot read them now!”

“It is a state secret,” replied D’Artagnan, bluntly; “and as you know

that, according to the king’s orders, it is under the penalty of death

any one should penetrate it, I will, if you like, allow you to read it,

and have you shot immediately afterwards.”

During this apostrophe--half serious, half ironical--Athos and Raoul

preserved the coolest, most unconcerned silence.

“But, is it possible,” said the governor, “that these gentlemen do not

comprehend at least some words?”

“Suppose they do! If they do understand a few spoken words, it does not

follow that they should understand what is written. They cannot even

read Spanish. A noble Spaniard, remember, ought never to know how to

read.”

The governor was obliged to be satisfied with these explanations, but he

was still tenacious. “Invite these gentlemen to come to the fortress,”

said he.

“That I will willingly do. I was about to propose it to you.” The

fact is, the captain had quite another idea, and would have wished his

friends a hundred leagues off. But he was obliged to make the best of

it. He addressed the two gentlemen in Spanish, giving them a polite

invitation, which they accepted. They all turned towards the entrance of

the fort, and, the incident being at an end, the eight soldiers returned

to their delightful leisure, for a moment disturbed by this unexpected

adventure.