which spread into large bushes laden with blossoms, or beneath
parasitical lichen. So Edmond had to separate the branches or brush
away the moss to know where the guide-marks were. The sight of
marks renewed Edmond fondest hopes. Might it not have been the
cardinal himself who had first traced them, in order that they
might serve as a guide for his nephew in the event of a
catastrophe, which he could not foresee would have been so
complete. This solitary place was precisely suited to the
requirements of a man desirous of burying treasure. Only, might not
these betraying marks have attracted other eyes than those for whom
they were made? and had the dark and wondrous island indeed
faithfully guarded its precious secret?
It seemed, however, to Edmond, who was hidden from his comrades
by the inequalities of the ground, that at sixty paces from the
harbor the marks ceased; nor did they terminate at any grotto. A
large round rock, placed solidly on its base, was the only spot to
which they seemed to lead. Edmond concluded that perhaps instead of
having reached the end of the route he had only explored its
beginning, and he therefore turned round and retraced his
steps.
Meanwhile his comrades had prepared the repast, had got some
water from a spring, spread out the fruit and bread, and cooked the
kid. Just at the moment when they were taking the dainty animal
from the spit, they saw Edmond springing with the boldness of a
chamois from rock to rock, and they fired the signal agreed upon.
The sportsman instantly changed his direction, and ran quickly
towards them. But even while they watched his daring progress,
Edmond's foot slipped, and they saw him stagger on the edge of a
rock and disappear. They all rushed towards him, for all loved
Edmond in spite of his superiority; yet Jacopo reached him
first.
He found Edmond lying prone, bleeding, and almost senseless. He
had rolled down a declivity of twelve or fifteen feet. They poured
a little rum down his throat, and this remedy which had before beena little rum down his throat, and this remedy which had before been
so beneficial to him, produced the same effect as formerly. Edmond
opened his eyes, complained of great pain in his knee, a feeling of
heaviness in his head, and severe pains in his loins. They wished
to carry him to the shore; but when they touched him, although
under Jacopo's directions, he declared, with heavy groans, that he
could not bear to be moved.
It may be supposed that Dantes did not now think of his dinner,
but he insisted that his comrades, who had not his reasons for
fasting, should have their meal. As for himself, he declared that
he had only need of a little rest, and that when they returned he
should be easier. The sailors did not require much urging. They
were hungry, and the smell of the roasted kid was very savory, and
your tars are not very ceremonious. An hour afterwards they
returned. All that Edmond had been able to do was to drag himself
about a dozen paces forward to lean against a moss-grown rock.
But, instead of growing easier, Dantes' pains appeared to
increase in violence. The old patron, who was obliged to sail in
the morning in order to land his cargo on the frontiers of Piedmont
and France, between Nice and Frejus, urged Dantes to try and rise.
Edmond made great exertions in order to comply; but at each effort
he fell back, moaning and turning pale.
"He has broken his ribs," said the commander, in a low voice.
"No matter; he is an excellent fellow, and we must not leave him.
We will try and carry him on board the tartan." Dantes declared,
however, that he would rather die where he was than undergo the
agony which the slightest movement cost him. "Well," said the
patron, "let what may happen, it shall never be said that we
deserted a good comrade like you. We will not go till evening."
This very much astonished the sailors, although, not one opposed
it. The patron was so strict that this was the first time they had
ever seen him give up an enterprise, or even delay in itsever seen him give up an enterprise, or even delay in its
execution. Dantes would not allow that any such infraction of
regular and proper rules should be made in his favor. "No, no," he
said to the patron, "I was awkward, and it is just that I pay the
penalty of my clumsiness. Leave me a small supply of biscuit, a
gun, powder, and balls, to kill the kids or defend myself at need,
and a pickaxe, that I may build a shelter if you delay in coming
back for me."
"But you'll die of hunger," said the patron.
"I would rather do so," was Edmond reply, "than suffer the
inexpressible agonies which the slightest movement causes me." The
patron turned towards his vessel, which was rolling on the swell in
the little harbor, and, with sails partly set, would be ready for
sea when her toilet should be completed.
"What are we to do, Maltese?" asked the captain. "We cannot
leave you here so, and yet we cannot stay."
"Go, go!" exclaimed Dantes.
"We shall be absent at least a week," said the patron, "and then
we must run out of our course to come here and take you up
again."
"Why," said Dantes, "if in two or three days you hail any
fishing-boat, desire them to come here to me. I will pay
twenty-five piastres for my passage back to Leghorn. If you do not
come across one, return for me." The patron shook his head.
"Listen, Captain Baldi; there's one way of settling this," said
Jacopo. "Do you go, and I will stay and take care of the wounded
man."
"And give up your share of the venture," said Edmond, "to remain
with me?"
"Yes," said Jacopo, "and without any hesitation."
"You are a good fellow and a kind-hearted messmate," replied
Edmond, "and heaven will recompense you for your generous
intentions; but I do not wish any one to stay with me. A day or two
of rest will set me up, and I hope I shall find among the rocks
certain herbs most excellent for bruises."
A peculiar smile passed over Dantes' lips; he squeezed Jacopo's
hand warmly, but nothing could shake his determination to remain —hand warmly, but nothing could shake his determination to remain —
and remain alone. The smugglers left with Edmond what he had
requested and set sail, but not without turning about several
times, and each time making signs of a cordial farewell, to which
Edmond replied with his hand only, as if he could not move the rest
of his body. Then, when they had disappeared, he said with a smile,
— "'Tis strange that it should be among such men that we find
proofs of friendship and devotion." Then he dragged himself
cautiously to the top of a rock, from which he had a full view of
the sea, and thence he saw the tartan complete her preparations for
sailing, weigh anchor, and, balancing herself as gracefully as a
water-fowl ere it takes to the wing, set sail. At the end of an
hour she was completely out of sight; at least, it was impossible
for the wounded man to see her any longer from the spot where he
was. Then Dantes rose more agile and light than the kid among the
myrtles and shrubs of these wild rocks, took his gun in one hand,
his pickaxe in the other, and hastened towards the rock on which
the marks he had noted terminated. "And now," he exclaimed,
remembering the tale of the Arabian fisherman, which Faria had
related to him, "now, open sesame!"