IMPRISONED IN THE CASTLE D’IF.
There was a great deal of the boy left in Captain Griffith, as Kit had
long suspected; though he attended so thoroughly to his business that
it did not often have a chance to show itself. But having made up his
mind to enjoy a little holiday at the Castle d’If, he entered fully
into the spirit of it. His ordering the longboat lowered was sufficient
indication that he intended to sail out to the island, for it would
have taken six or eight men to row it against the heavy sea, and it was
the only one of the ship’s boats that was fitted with a mast and sail.
“We can hardly be back in time for dinner,” the Captain said, looking
at his watch. “Put us up a good big basket of lunch, steward--enough
for five or six men, for I must have some passengers along for ballast,
in this breeze. Suppose you step up and ask the chief engineer whether
he would like to go out to the castle, Silburn; and you can bring your
friend Haines too, if he likes to come. I will take you along, Henry,
to look after the lunch.”
The little trip to the castle was developing into a regular picnic,
much to Kit’s delight. With the Captain and Tom Haines and Harry along,
they were sure to have a lively time. Both the chief engineer and Tom
Haines were glad to go, and in a few minutes they were all ready for
the start.
“Now let me see,” said the Captain, before he went down the ladder to
the little boat, in which the mast had been stepped. “We must have
everything we are likely to need, for there’s no telling how we may
find things out there. The island belongs to the government, and they
used to keep a man there to show the castle to visitors, but I don’t
know how it is now. Plenty of lunch in the basket, steward?”
“Enough for twice as many, sir,” the steward answered, “and dishes too.
You’ll not go hungry, sir.”
“Then I don’t know of anything else we want.”
“Water, sir?” Kit suggested; “hadn’t we better take some water along?”
“There’s always a keg of water in the boat,” the Captain answered.
“See that it’s full, Henry. Besides, there is a big well or tank in
the castle, enough to supply a whole garrison. But we may need some
candles, for some of those dungeons are so dark you can hardly see your
hand before your face. Put a good package of candles in the basket,
steward.”
The steward ran back to the cabin for the candles, and in another
minute they were off, the five men making just about a proper ballast
for the boat when the sail began to draw. The Captain took the helm
and the main sheet, Harry and Tom Haines were sent up forward to keep
her a little down by the head, and Kit and the chief engineer seated
themselves amidships.
“This is Fort St. John on the right,” the Captain said, as they sped
through the harbor entrance, “and on the left is Fort St. Nicholas. Now
look at this big building on the high point to the left--the one that
stands in the handsome park. They call that the Château de Pharo. It
belonged to the Emperor Napoleon III., and he presented it to the city.
In the great cholera epidemic of 1885 they used it for a hospital,
and it has since been turned into a medical school with a hospital
attached. That is the handsomest site in Marseilles; trust an emperor
for picking out the choice spots. Now look out for a little tossing
when we round the point.”
It was more than “a little tossing” that they got when they were once
out in the big bay. Great waves chased their stern, and occasionally
the boat tumbled down from the crest of a billow with a violent slap.
But there was no fear in any of the party to mar the pleasure of the
sail. They not only felt perfectly safe with the Captain at the helm,
but knew, too, that he would not have taken them out if there had been
any danger in so stanch a boat.
“Now you have a fine view of Marseilles,” he said, when they were well
out. “Off to the left there the breakwater runs so far that you can
barely see the end of it. And to the right of the point is what they
call ‘the Corniche.’ That is a long, smooth, winding drive along the
shore, and one of the handsomest places to be found anywhere. When you
go out there two or three miles you come to the end of the Prado; and
by turning into that you come to the heart of the city again.”
“See how old Notre-Dame stands out on the hilltop,” he went on. “You
would hardly think that statue of the Virgin, on the summit, was
thirty feet high, would you? But it is. They have to gild it every
few years to keep it bright, and it costs twelve thousand dollars to
cover it with gold-leaf. It is so windy up there that they have to
build a little house around it for the painters to work in. That is the
favorite church with the Marseilles sailors. Many of them go up there
to say their prayers before setting out on a voyage. Then when they are
in danger at sea they promise an offering to the Virgin if their lives
are saved, and when they get back to port they present a little toy
ship to the church, or a tablet to be put on the walls. It is full of
such things.”
“Don’t you think, sir, it would be better for them to give their
attention to navigating their ship, when they are in danger?” Haines
asked.
“Well, that is their form of religion,” the Captain answered; “we must
not ridicule them for living up to their faith. But what do you think
of this boat for a sailer, boys? It is two miles from the port out
to the castle, and we shall be there in five minutes more. Why, she
deserves to be taken up to Nice and entered in the spring regattas.”
At this mention of the castle they all looked toward it and saw that
it was a large and very old building of stone, with battlements on the
top, and a high tower rising far above the rest, the whole standing
upon a great rock that rose from the water’s edge to a height of thirty
or forty feet.
“That must have been a very strong place before the days of heavy
guns,” Kit suggested.
“It was one of the strongest forts in France,” the Captain replied.
“For centuries the most important political prisoners were confined
here. There was not the least chance for them to escape or for their
friends to rescue them. Do you see that high battlement that runs up
almost straight from the water? That is where Monte Cristo, according
to the story, was thrown into the sea when he pretended to be dead and
was sewn up in a sack. And if I’m not mistaken he was no wetter then
than we are going to be before we get ashore, for there is a heavy sea
running against this rock.
“There is the landing-place, just at the foot of that rocky path,”
he continued, standing up in the stern to look about. “It is a wharf
of natural rock, with three or four fathoms of water. But there’s no
landing there to-day, with this sea breaking over it. We must get
around to leeward and try to find a bit of beach.”
The island offers very little in the way of beach, but on the sheltered
side they found a smooth slope that answered their purpose, and in a
few minutes they were safely on shore and had dragged the boat well up
out of harm.
“Now this way,” the Captain directed. “One of you youngsters help Henry
carry the basket. We’ve got to get around to that path we saw, for the
gate at the top of it is the only entrance.”
By scrambling over the rocks they soon reached the path, and followed
it over rough and slippery rocks, up a steep incline, to the heavy
gate, which was closed, but not locked. Once through the gate, the path
showed more evidences of care, though it was still rough and difficult,
rising in a sort of rude stairway, with a step followed by four or
five feet of steep incline, then another step and another incline. On
the right was a thick stone wall, with long narrow slanting slits for
firing muskets through.
Up and up the path led, growing rougher the nearer it approached the
castle, till it ran across a large open yard and ended at the moat,
over which a heavy wooden drawbridge was lowered.
“There’s a sample of old times for you,” the Captain said, when they
reached the drawbridge and paused for breath. “Two or three days’ work
would make a good path of that; but in two or three centuries not one
commander of the place had ambition enough to repair it.”
Crossing the bridge over the dry and rocky and weedy moat, they reached
the entrance to the castle proper, where the massive doors stood
hospitably open, and they walked in without challenge or hindrance. It
was soon evident that there was no other person on the island, for they
hallooed and shouted, but received no reply.
“Strange that they leave such a historical place without any one to
take care of it,” said the chief engineer. And it did look odd, but the
fact was that the man in charge had gone ashore on some errand, and the
heavy sea had prevented his return.
Having passed through the main portal, they were in a large stone-paved
courtyard, nearly in the centre of which stood an old-fashioned
well-curb. A heavy stone stairway on the opposite side led to a solid
gallery of iron and stone running completely around the court, both
stairs and gallery having a strong rail of wrought iron. Numerous doors
opened from both the ground floor and the gallery, some closed and some
standing open, and over several of the doors were small signs bearing
the names of their former occupants.
“Put your lunch basket here in the corner,” the Captain directed
Harry. “There doesn’t seem to be any one here to disturb it. But get
out some candles, and we’ll have a look at these lower dungeons first.
Nearly every one of these solid doors leads to a dungeon, I suppose
you understood, and some of them to a series of dungeons. Silburn is
anxious to see Monte Cristo’s late residence, I am sure. Do you see his
name on the sign there under the stairway, Silburn?”
“Yes, sir, I saw that the first thing,” Kit answered. “But there is
so much to see here a fellow hardly knows where to look. It is like
going back two or three hundred years at a single step. Even in the old
buildings of London I saw nothing like this. It is a regular feudal
castle, such as we see sometimes in pictures.”
“It adds a little to the romance of the thing to have the place
entirely to ourselves,” said the Captain. “We are as safe from
intrusion as if we raised the drawbridge and bolted the big doors, for
you may be sure none of the French boatmen will come out in this sea.
Now, then, if you are all ready, we will visit Monte Cristo first. Give
me a candle, and I will lead the way.”
With a lighted candle in his hand the Captain went through a broad but
low arched doorway, followed by all the others, into a small dark cell,
paved with stone, to which a few faint rays of light were admitted by
a slit a foot long and about two inches wide in the upper part of one
wall.
“And did Monte Cristo spend fourteen years in such a dark hole as
this!” Kit exclaimed, with a shudder.
“No, indeed,” the Captain answered; “he was in a far worse place than
this. Now look out for your footing on this slant and for your heads in
the low doorway.”
He led the way to another and smaller doorway in the darkest corner,
not high enough to stand erect under, and reached by going down a dark
and dangerous incline of a few feet.
“This,” said he, “is Monte Cristo’s dungeon. You see it is lower than
the other, and even darker. Here on the side is the hole that he cut
through into the priest’s cell. Do you see where a large stone has been
removed? We could crawl through there into the other cell, but it is
not worth while, as they are much the same. Well, Mr. Supercargo, how
do you like this sort of a residence?”
“Terrible!” Kit answered. “The only good thing I see about it is that
it is entirely dry. There does not seem to be any of the dampness that
we expect in a dungeon.”
“That is because these dungeons are all above ground, and founded on
rock,” the Captain explained. “And this Monte Cristo cell is the worst
of all. It is not more than ten or twelve feet square, you see, and the
ceiling is low. In fact, it is no better than a dark cellar. But in the
upper tier there are some fine cells. Occasionally they caught a king
or prince and caged him here, you know, and they had better quarters.”
“Then let us go and see them!” the chief engineer exclaimed. “It’s
enough to give a man the shivers to look at such holes as these.”
Cautiously they crawled out of the lower dungeons and went to the
stairway. As they passed the well-curb, Harry stopped and raised the
lid and looked down.
“Water!” he cried; “I should say so. Here’s a big square tank with
water enough to float a ship.”
[Illustration: “‘HERE--IS THE HOLE HE CUT THROUGH INTO THE PRIEST’S
CELL.’”]
They went up the broad, heavy stairs to the gallery, and the Captain
paused before a door that was marked “Louis-Philippe, 1792.”
“Hello!” Kit cried; “did they have Louis-Philippe in here? Why, he was
one of the kings of France!”
“This was not the king, if I remember rightly,” the Captain replied,
“but the Duke of Orleans, and father of the king of the same name. You
will see a very different cell here from Monte Cristo’s, if the door is
not locked.”
The huge door opened readily, and they stepped into a large and lofty
room, moderately well lighted by a window that overlooked the court,
but that was not quite wide enough to offer a chance of escape. The
stone floor and heavy stone walls gave the apartment, to be sure,
something of the air of a prison; but it was eighteen or twenty feet
square, and on one side was a handsome fireplace, with a broad stone
seat on each side, and a carved mantel of stone that evidently had once
been a work of art, but that was badly chipped and broken by time,
perhaps with the assistance of some of the royal prisoners. When they
looked up the chimney, through which they had a glimpse of the scudding
clouds, they saw that although the opening was nearly four feet across,
it was not more than five or six inches wide, so that a prisoner could
not escape through it.
“You see they had better quarters for their distinguished prisoners
than they gave to poor sailors like Monte Cristo,” the Captain said.
“Just imagine this room fitted up with rugs and hangings and handsome
furniture, as no doubt it was when Louis-Philippe occupied it. A man
could hardly want a better place. There are more such rooms on this
tier, that you can look at later on. Some of them were occupied by
Albert del Campo, Bernardot, a rich armorer of Marseilles who was mixed
up with the Duc de Richelieu. The Man in the Iron Mask, the Count de
Mirabeau, the Abbé Peretti, and a great many more famous men of their
times. Now if you want a good view of the bay, come up to the top of
the tower.”
The Captain led the way up the iron stairs of the tower, all the
others following. But before Kit and Harry Leonard, who brought up the
rear, reached the top, they heard an exclamation of surprise from the
Captain, who hurriedly began to descend the steps.
“Make for the boat, boys, as fast as you can!” he cried. “The wind has
shifted, and the sea is tumbling in on that side hard enough to break
her to pieces. We must get her further up in a hurry, or we’ll lose a
good boat.”
The party made a scramble down the stairs, across the court, and down
the rough steps outside, then along the jagged rocks, till they reached
the boat, which, by their united strength, was soon dragged out of
reach of the waves. But the spot where they had landed in comparatively
smooth water was now beaten by heavy seas that wet them with their
spray.
“That was a narrow escape!” Kit exclaimed. “It wouldn’t have taken many
minutes to break her up, where she lay. But she’s all right now.”
“Yes, the boat is all right now,” Captain Griffith answered; “but
that’s about all we can say. There’s no such thing as launching her
from these rocks while the wind holds in this quarter. We’re as safely
imprisoned in Castle d’If as ever Monte Cristo was. We are in for a
night of it here, at any rate; you can make up your minds to that.”
“Hurrah!” Harry Leonard cried, waving his arms. “Ain’t that a jolly
lark! We have plenty of provisions and lights and a big tank of water,
and I wish the Mistral would last a week.”
But the Captain gave him such a look that Harry suddenly made his face
as serious as if the voice had come from the blackened rocks.
“It would make bad work for us if this wind should hold too long,” the
Captain said. “But I think we can look for a change in the night; and
for the present we have no great cause to complain. We may consider
it settled, at any rate, that we must spend the night in the castle.
Chief, you and Haines bring along the sail and hang it somewhere to
dry; we may need it to-night to lie on. And we will all go back to the
court till I organize you into a proper garrison and set the watches.
“Now I am going to establish a headquarters,” he went on, when they
were in the court again. “Shall we be romantic and take Monte Cristo’s
cell, or be comfortable and camp in Louis-Philippe’s big room?”
“Let us be kings while we can,” the chief engineer answered, as the
Captain looked at him for a reply. “It looks a little rheumatic in
Monte Cristo’s place, and the other is a fine large room.”
“Very well, then,” the Captain decided; “headquarters established in
room No. 14, formerly the residence of the Duke of Orleans. Henry, you
are appointed quartermaster; you and Silburn bring up the provisions.”
He led the way again to Louis-Philippe’s cell, and looked about to see
what they most needed.
“Chief,” he soon said, “I am going to put you in charge of a foraging
expedition. If you will take Haines and Henry with you down to the
big yard across the moat, you will find the remains of an old shed or
something that has collapsed there. I noticed it as we came in. Let
them bring up a good stock of the old boards. It will be cold to-night,
and we shall need a fire, and some of them can be made into seats.”
The departure of the other three left Kit and the Captain alone in the
cell.
“This is more of an adventure than we bargained for, sir,” Kit said. “I
didn’t think when I was reading that story, that I should be a prisoner
myself in Castle d’If. None of us will forget it in a hurry, and I
think I am rather glad it has happened.”
“So am I, to tell the truth,” said the Captain. “It won’t do us any
harm if the weather lets us away in the morning. I don’t go in for this
sort of thing very often; but now that we _are_ in for it, we may
as well enjoy it.”
Within the next hour the big cell bore a more homelike look than it
had had for many a day. With two of the boards a rough table was
made between the chimney-place and the inner wall. More boards were
converted into two rough benches; still others were arranged slantingly
against a wall to make a springy bed; and by resting one end of the
remainder on the stone seats and jumping upon them they were soon
converted into a formidable heap of firewood.
“How many candles, Mr. Quartermaster?” the Captain asked.
“Eleven, sir,” Harry answered, “besides one that was partly burned when
we were in Monte Cristo’s cell.”
“Very good. The fire will give us light enough most of the time. And
the provisions?”
“I’ll see, sir,” Harry replied; and taking the napkin from the top of
the basket he spread it upon the improvised table and began to lay the
food out upon it.
“Here’s more than half of a boiled ham, sir,” he began, “and a roast
chicken, and three loaves of bread and some rolls, butter, pickles,
some cold roast beef, a big pot of cold coffee, pepper and salt, and a
lot of dishes and knives and forks. That’s all, sir.”
“All!” the Captain laughed. “The castle is provisioned for a siege.
It’s a good thing the _North Cape_ has such a liberal-minded
steward. I was afraid we might only have enough for one meal; but if
we take a good sandwich apiece now, we will have plenty for supper and
breakfast. Make us five big ham sandwiches, Mr. Quartermaster.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Harry replied. He was so excited over being at once a
shipwrecked mariner and a prisoner in a celebrated old castle, that it
was well for him to have something to do.
With the sandwiches in their hands they strolled among the dismal
cells, finding something on every hand to interest them. Afterward they
went out to explore the island outside the castle walls, and found
caves made by the angry water, and in several places steps cut in the
rock, where small boats could land passengers. When the first signs of
dusk appeared they returned to the castle; and Kit in wandering about
found two things that excited his curiosity.
“There are some locked doors down on the ground tier,” he said to the
Captain, “that may lead to places of interest. And I have found a very
small narrow cell, hardly high enough for a man to stand up in, without
any window at all. I wonder what that can have been for.”
“I don’t know about the locked doors,” the Captain answered, “but most
likely they lead to the rooms occupied by the people who take care of
the place. There must be somebody in charge of it, and they may have
gone ashore and been kept there by the storm. It is very natural that
they should lock the doors of their rooms on going away. The small dark
cell that you have discovered, however, was the death chamber. When a
prisoner was condemned to death he was taken there without any warning,
generally in the night or early morning. A guillotine was set up there,
and the man never came out alive. I suppose this castle could tell some
terrible tales if it could talk. But we must be thinking of supper.
Haines, you and Henry bring up a few more loads of boards first; that
light wood burns up very rapidly, and it is growing chilly.”
The bare old cell soon looked quite cheerful, with a rousing blaze in
the fireplace, and its five occupants seated on the benches, eating a
good supper and drinking coffee that they had heated over the fire. The
Captain announced during the meal that Silburn was to stand watch from
six to ten, Haines from ten to two, and Harry Leonard from two till six.
“And the watchman must take care of the fire,” he added, “and keep an
eye on the weather. If the wind shifts, I am to be called immediately.”
Kit’s watch carried them through one of the most enjoyable evenings
he had ever spent. With the benches drawn up in front of the fire the
Captain began to spin sea-yarns, and told them tales of adventure and
hairbreadth escape in many seas in various parts of the world. The
chief engineer, too, had a good stock of such stories; and Haines spun
two or three yarns that kept them in roars of laughter.
“I can’t do my share at this business,” Kit lamented. “I’ve hardly seen
a real gale yet, much less had any adventures.”
“That would be no drawback, if you were a real Jack Tar instead of
a supercargo,” the Captain said, laughing. “When Jack is short of
adventures he invents a few. Some of the imaginary yarns are better
than the true ones, too. But you can spin a real yarn some time about
the night you were imprisoned in the Castle d’If.”
By ten o’clock the stories were pretty much all told, the sail, now
thoroughly dry, was spread over the bed of boards, and all but Haines,
the next watch, prepared for sleep. There was no covering, to be sure;
but the blazing fire promised to give them a warm and comfortable
night. Before turning in, the Captain went to the top of the tower, and
found the night intensely dark, but no change in the weather.
When two o’clock came, and Haines aroused Harry Leonard to relieve
him on watch, the others were all fast asleep; but the slight noise
woke the Captain, and he went out quietly to look at the sky, without
finding any change in the wind.
Harry began his watch by putting on more wood, and making a blaze that
illuminated the stone cell beautifully. But about four o’clock the
watchful Captain stirred, turned over, raised his head, and asked:
“Any change yet in the weather, Henry?”
The cell was dark and chilly, the fire burned down, and no answer came
from the watch.
Thoroughly awake in an instant, the Captain sprang up and found Harry
sitting sound asleep on one of the stone seats in the chimney-place.
Surprised and angered at this disobedience of orders, he stepped to
the door to look at the sky again before awaking the watchman in the
emphatic way that he contemplated. He put his thumb on the heavy
wrought-iron latch and pushed against the door, but it would not open.
He pushed harder and shook the door, but instead of its opening, the
shaking only gave him a still greater surprise. He could tell by the
feel and the rattling that the door was held fast by the heavy bolt on
the outside. Somebody or something had shot the bolt!
He went to the window and looked out, but all was black as ink. Then,
hardly able to believe his senses, he returned to the door and shook it
again.
It was so plain that he had to believe it. The bolt was shot, and they
were all securely imprisoned in the cell of Louis-Philippe, in the
Castle d’If.