to tread water, in order to rest himself; but the sea was too
violent, and he felt that he could not make use of this means of
recuperation.
"Well," said he, "I will swim on until I am worn out, or the
cramp seizes me, and then I shall sink;" and he struck out with the
energy of despair.
Suddenly the sky seemed to him to become still darker and more
dense, and heavy clouds seemed to sweep down towards him; at the
same time he felt a sharp pain in his knee. He fancied for a moment
that he had been shot, and listened for the report; but he heard
nothing. Then he put out his hand, and encountered an obstacle and
with another stroke knew that he had gained the shore.
Before him rose a grotesque mass of rocks, that resembled
nothing so much as a vast fire petrified at the moment of its most
fervent combustion. It was the Island of Tiboulen. Dantes rose,
advanced a few steps, and, with a fervent prayer of gratitude,
stretched himself on the granite, which seemed to him softer than
down. Then, in spite of the wind and rain, he fell into the deep,
sweet sleep of utter exhaustion. At the expiration of an hour
Edmond was awakened by the roar of thunder. The tempest was let
loose and beating the atmosphere with its mighty wings; from time
to time a flash of lightning stretched across the heavens like a
fiery serpent, lighting up the clouds that rolled on in vast
chaotic waves.
Dantes had not been deceived — he had reached the first of the
two islands, which was, in fact, Tiboulen. He knew that it was
barren and without shelter; but when the sea became more calm, he
resolved to plunge into its waves again, and swim to Lemaire,
equally arid, but larger, and consequently better adapted for
concealment.
An overhanging rock offered him a temporary shelter, and
scarcely had he availed himself of it when the tempest burst forth
in all its fury. Edmond felt the trembling of the rock beneath
which he lay; the waves, dashing themselves against it, wetted him
with their spray. He was safely sheltered, and yet he felt dizzy inwith their spray. He was safely sheltered, and yet he felt dizzy in
the midst of the warring of the elements and the dazzling
brightness of the lightning. It seemed to him that the island
trembled to its base, and that it would, like a vessel at anchor,
break moorings, and bear him off into the centre of the storm. He
then recollected that he had not eaten or drunk for four-and-twenty
hours. He extended his hands, and drank greedily of the rainwater
that had lodged in a hollow of the rock.
As he rose, a flash of lightning, that seemed to rive the
remotest heights of heaven, illumined the darkness. By its light,
between the Island of Lemaire and Cape Croiselle, a quarter of a
league distant, Dantes saw a fishing-boat driven rapidly like a
spectre before the power of winds and waves. A second after, he saw
it again, approaching with frightful rapidity. Dantes cried at the
top of his voice to warn them of their danger, but they saw it
themselves. Another flash showed him four men clinging to the
shattered mast and the rigging, while a fifth clung to the broken
rudder.
The men he beheld saw him undoubtedly, for their cries were
carried to his ears by the wind. Above the splintered mast a sail
rent to tatters was waving; suddenly the ropes that still held it
gave way, and it disappeared in the darkness of the night like a
vast sea-bird. At the same moment a violent crash was heard, and
cries of distress. Dantes from his rocky perch saw the shattered
vessel, and among the fragments the floating forms of the hapless
sailors. Then all was dark again.
Dantes ran down the rocks at the risk of being himself dashed to
pieces; he listened, he groped about, but he heard and saw nothing
— the cries had ceased, and the tempest continued to rage. By
degrees the wind abated, vast gray clouds rolled towards the west,
and the blue firmament appeared studded with bright stars. Soon a
red streak became visible in the horizon, the waves whitened, a
light played over them, and gilded their foaming crests with gold.
It was day.light played over them, and gilded their foaming crests with gold.
It was day.
Dantes stood mute and motionless before this majestic spectacle,
as if he now beheld it for the first time; and indeed since his
captivity in the Chateau d'If he had forgotten that such scenes
were ever to be witnessed. He turned towards the fortress, and
looked at both sea and land. The gloomy building rose from the
bosom of the ocean with imposing majesty and seemed to dominate the
scene. It was about five o'clock. The sea continued to get
calmer.
"In two or three hours," thought Dantes, "the turnkey will enter
my chamber, find the body of my poor friend, recognize it, seek for
me in vain, and give the alarm. Then the tunnel will be discovered;
the men who cast me into the sea and who must have heard the cry I
uttered, will be questioned. Then boats filled with armed soldiers
will pursue the wretched fugitive. The cannon will warn every one
to refuse shelter to a man wandering about naked and famished. The
police of Marseilles will be on the alert by land, whilst the
governor pursues me by sea. I am cold, I am hungry. I have lost
even the knife that saved me. O my God, I have suffered enough
surely! Have pity on me, and do for me what I am unable to do for
myself."
As Dantes (his eyes turned in the direction of the Chateau d'If)
uttered this prayer, he saw off the farther point of the Island of
Pomegue a small vessel with lateen sail skimming the sea like a
gull in search of prey; and with his sailor's eye he knew it to be
a Genoese tartan. She was coming out of Marseilles harbor, and was
standing out to sea rapidly, her sharp prow cleaving through the
waves. "Oh," cried Edmond, "to think that in half an hour I could
join her, did I not fear being questioned, detected, and conveyed
back to Marseilles! What can I do? What story can I invent? under
pretext of trading along the coast, these men, who are in reality
smugglers, will prefer selling me to doing a good action. I must