The Shares of Planchet and Company rise again to Par
During the passage, Monk only spoke to D’Artagnan in cases of urgent
necessity. Thus, when the Frenchman hesitated to come and take his
meals, poor meals, composed of salt fish, biscuit, and Hollands gin,
Monk called him, saying,—“To table, monsieur, to table!”
This was all. D’Artagnan, from being himself on all great occasions
extremely concise, did not draw from the general’s conciseness a
favorable augury of the result of his mission. Now, as D’Artagnan had
plenty of time for reflection, he battered his brains during this time
in endeavoring to find out how Athos had seen King Charles, how he had
conspired his departure with him, and lastly, how he had entered Monk’s
camp; and the poor lieutenant of musketeers plucked a hair from his
mustache every time he reflected that the horseman who accompanied Monk
on the night of the famous abduction must have been Athos.
At length, after a passage of two nights and two days, the patron
Keyser touched at the point where Monk, who had given all the orders
during the voyage, had commanded they should land. It was exactly at
the mouth of the little river, near which Athos had chosen his abode.
Daylight was waning, a splendid sun, like a red steel buckler, was
plunging the lower extremity of its disc beneath the blue line of the
sea. The felucca was making fair way up the river, tolerably wide in
that part, but Monk, in his impatience, desired to be landed, and
Keyser’s boat set him and D’Artagnan upon the muddy bank, amidst the
reeds. D’Artagnan, resigned to obedience, followed Monk exactly as a
chained bear follows his master; but the position humiliated him not a
little, and he grumbled to himself that the service of kings was a
bitter one, and that the best of them was good for nothing. Monk walked
with long and hasty strides; it might be thought that he did not yet
feel certain of having reached English land. They had already begun to
perceive distinctly a few of the cottages of the sailors and fishermen
spread over the little quay of this humble port, when, all at once,
D’Artagnan cried out,—“God pardon me, there is a house on fire!”
Monk raised his eyes, and perceived there was, in fact, a house which
the flames were beginning to devour. It had begun at a little shed
belonging to the house, the roof of which had caught. The fresh evening
breeze agitated the fire. The two travelers quickened their steps,
hearing loud cries, and seeing, as they drew nearer, soldiers with
their glittering arms pointing towards the house on fire. It was
doubtless this menacing occupation which had made them neglect to
signal the felucca. Monk stopped short for an instant, and, for the
first time, formulated his thoughts into words. “Eh! but,” said he,
“perhaps they are not my soldiers, but Lambert’s.”
These words contained at once a sorrow, an apprehension, and a reproach
perfectly intelligible to D’Artagnan. In fact, during the general’s
absence, Lambert might have given battle, conquered, and dispersed the
parliament’s army, and taken with his own the place of Monk’s army,
deprived of its strongest support. At this doubt, which passed from the
mind of Monk to his own, D’Artagnan reasoned in this manner: “One of
two things is going to happen; either Monk has spoken correctly, and
there are no longer any but Lambertists in the country—that is to say,
enemies, who would receive me wonderfully well, since it is to me they
owe their victory; or nothing is changed, and Monk, transported with
joy at finding his camp still in the same place, will not prove too
severe in his settlement with me.” Whilst thinking thus, the two
travelers advanced, and began to mingle with a little knot of sailors,
who looked on with sorrow at the burning house, but did not dare to say
anything on account of the threats of the soldiers.
Monk addressed one of these sailors:—“What is going on here?” asked he.
“Sir,” replied the man, not recognizing Monk as an officer, under the
thick cloak which enveloped him, “that house was inhabited by a
foreigner, and this foreigner became suspected by the soldiers. They
wanted to get into his house under pretense of taking him to the camp;
but he, without being frightened by their number, threatened death to
the first who should cross the threshold of his door, and as there was
one who did venture, the Frenchman stretched him on the earth with a
pistol-shot.”
“Ah! he is a Frenchman, is he?” said D’Artagnan, rubbing his hands.
“Good!”
“How good?” replied the fisherman.
“No, I don’t mean that.—What then—my tongue slipped.”
“What then, sir—why, the other men became as enraged as so many lions:
they fired more than a hundred shots at the house; but the Frenchman
was sheltered by the wall, and every time they tried to enter by the
door they met with a shot from his lackey, whose aim is deadly, d’ye
see? Every time they threatened the window, they met with a pistol-shot
from the master. Look and count—there are seven men down.
“Ah! my brave countryman,” cried D’Artagnan, “wait a little, wait a
little. I will be with you, and we will settle with this rabble.”
“One instant, sir,” said Monk, “wait.”
“Long?”
“No; only the time to ask a question.” Then, turning towards the
sailor, “My friend,” asked he with an emotion which, in spite of all
his self-command, he could not conceal, “whose soldiers are these, pray
tell me?”
“Whose should they be but that madman, Monk’s?”
“There has been no battle, then?”
“A battle, ah, yes! for what purpose? Lambert’s army is melting away
like snow in April. All come to Monk, officers and soldiers. In a week
Lambert won’t have fifty men left.”
The fisherman was interrupted by a fresh discharge directed against the
house, and by another pistol-shot which replied to the discharge and
struck down the most daring of the aggressors. The rage of the soldiers
was at its height. The fire still continued to increase, and a crest of
flame and smoke whirled and spread over the roof of the house.
D’Artagnan could no longer contain himself. “Mordioux!” said he to
Monk, glancing at him sideways: “you are a general, and allow your men
to burn houses and assassinate people, while you look on and warm your
hands at the blaze of the conflagration? Mordioux! you are not a man.”
“Patience, sir, patience!” said Monk, smiling.
“Patience! yes, until that brave gentleman is roasted—is that what you
mean?” And D’Artagnan rushed forward.
“Remain where you are, sir,” said Monk, in a tone of command. And he
advanced towards the house, just as an officer had approached it,
saying to the besieged: “The house is burning, you will be roasted
within an hour! There is still time—come, tell us what you know of
General Monk, and we will spare your life. Reply, or by Saint
Patrick——”
The besieged made no answer; he was no doubt reloading his pistol.
“A reinforcement is expected,” continued the officer; “in a quarter of
an hour there will be a hundred men around your house.”
“I reply to you,” said the Frenchman. “Let your men be sent away; I
will come out freely and repair to the camp alone, or else I will be
killed here!”
“Mille tonnerres!” shouted D’Artagnan; “why that’s the voice of Athos!
Ah, canailles!” and the sword of D’Artagnan flashed from its sheath.
Monk stopped him and advanced himself, exclaiming, in a sonorous voice:
“Hola! what is going on here? Digby, whence this fire? why these
cries?”
“The general!” cried Digby, letting the point of his sword fall.
“The general!” repeated the soldiers.
“Well, what is there so astonishing in that?” said Monk, in a calm
tone. Then, silence being re-established—“Now,” said he, “who lit this
fire?”
The soldiers hung their heads.
“What! do I ask a question, and nobody answers me?” said Monk. “What!
do I find a fault, and nobody repairs it? The fire is still burning, I
believe.”
Immediately the twenty men rushed forward, seizing pails, buckets,
jars, barrels, and extinguishing the fire with as much ardor as they
had, an instant before employed in promoting it. But already, and
before all the rest, D’Artagnan had applied a ladder to the house
crying, “Athos! it is I, D’Artagnan! Do not kill me my dearest friend!”
And in a moment the count was clasped in his arms.
In the meantime, Grimaud, preserving his calmness, dismantled the
fortification of the ground-floor, and after having opened the door,
stood with his arms folded quietly on the sill. Only, on hearing the
voice of D’Artagnan, he uttered an exclamation of surprise. The fire
being extinguished, the soldiers presented themselves, Digby at their
head.
“General,” said he, “excuse us; what we have done was for love of your
honor, whom we thought lost.”
“You are mad, gentlemen. Lost! Is a man like me to be lost? Am I not
permitted to be absent, according to my pleasure, without giving formal
notice? Do you, by chance, take me for a citizen from the city? Is a
gentleman, my friend, my guest, to be besieged, entrapped, and
threatened with death, because he is suspected? What signifies that
word, suspected? Curse me if I don’t have every one of you shot like
dogs that the brave gentleman has left alive!”
“General,” said Digby, piteously, “there were twenty-eight of us, and
see, there are eight on the ground.”
“I authorize M. le Comte de la Fere to send the twenty to join the
eight,” said Monk, stretching out his hand to Athos. “Let them return
to camp. Mr. Digby, you will consider yourself under arrest for a
month.”
“General——”
“That is to teach you, sir, not to act, another time, without orders.”
“I had those of the lieutenant, general.”
“The lieutenant has no such orders to give you, and he shall be placed
under arrest, instead of you, if he has really commanded you to burn
this gentleman.”
“He did not command that, general; he commanded us to bring him to the
camp; but the count was not willing to follow us.”
“I was not willing that they should enter and plunder my house,” said
Athos to Monk, with a significant look.
“And you were quite right. To the camp, I say.” The soldiers departed
with dejected looks. “Now we are alone,” said Monk to Athos, “have the
goodness to tell me, monsieur, why you persisted in remaining here,
whilst you had your felucca——”
“I waited for you, general,” said Athos. “Had not your honor appointed
to meet me in a week?”
An eloquent look from D’Artagnan made it clear to Monk that these two
men, so brave and so loyal, had not acted in concert for his abduction.
He knew already it could not be so.
“Monsieur,” said he to D’Artagnan, “you were perfectly right. Have the
kindness to allow me a moment’s conversation with M. le Comte de la
Fere?”
D’Artagnan took advantage of this to go and ask Grimaud how he was.
Monk requested Athos to conduct him to the chamber he lived in.
This chamber was still full of smoke and rubbish. More than fifty balls
had passed through the windows and mutilated the walls. They found a
table, inkstand, and materials for writing. Monk took up a pen, wrote a
single line, signed it, folded the paper, sealed the letter with the
seal of his ring, and handed over the missive to Athos, saying,
“Monsieur, carry, if you please, this letter to King Charles II., and
set out immediately, if nothing detains you here any longer.”
“And the casks?” said Athos.
“The fisherman who brought me hither will assist you in transporting
them on board. Depart, if possible, within an hour.”
“Yes, general,” said Athos.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried Monk, from the window. D’Artagnan ran up
precipitately.
“Embrace your friend and bid him adieu, sir; he is returning to
Holland.”
“To Holland!” cried D’Artagnan; “and I?”
“You are at liberty to follow him, monsieur, but I request you to
remain,” said Monk. “Will you refuse me?”
“Oh, no, general; I am at your orders.”
D’Artagnan embraced Athos, and only had time to bid him adieu. Monk
watched them both. Then he took upon himself the preparations for the
departure, the transportation of the casks on board, and the embarking
of Athos; then, taking D’Artagnan by the arm, who was quite amazed and
agitated, he led him towards Newcastle. Whilst going along, the general
leaning on his arm, D’Artagnan could not help murmuring to
himself,—“Come, come, it seems to me that the shares of the firm of
Planchet and Company are rising.”