𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 74
How Mousqueton 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."
Mousqueton 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.
Mousqueton sighed again, more deeply than before.
"What is the matter? what ails you?" asked Porthos.
"I am cold, sir," said Mousqueton.
"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, Mousqueton?
"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.
