Chapter XVIII

THE ISLE OF MONTE CRISTO

At seven o’clock the next evening all was ready, at ten minutes past seven they rounded the lighthouse just as the beacon was kindled. The sea was calm with a fresh wind blowing from the south-east; they sailed under a sky of azure where God was also lighting up his lanterns, each one of which is a world.

The vessel skimmed merrily over the water under full sail: there was not a rag of cloth that was not bellied in the wind.

The Isle of Monte Cristo loomed large on the horizon.

Toward five o’clock they saw a complete view of the island. They could see the smallest objects, thanks to the clearness of atmosphere peculiar to the light that is shed by the rays of the sun at sunset. Edmond gazed and gazed on this mass of rocks, which was tinged with all the colours of twilight, from bright pink to deep blue; at times his face would become a deep red, and a blue mist passed before his eyes. Never did a gamester, whose whole fortune was staked on one throw of the dice, experience the anguish that Dantès felt.

Night came. They landed at ten o’clock. The Jeune Amélie was first at the rendezvous. Notwithstanding his usual self-restraint, Dantès could control himself no longer: he jumped on to the shore and, like Brutus, he would have kissed the earth if he had dared. It was already dark night, but at eleven o’clock the moon rose over the ocean, silvering every little ripple, and, as she ascended, began to play on the mass of rocks casting white cascades of light on this second Pelion.^ao

Dantès’ every thought was concentrated on finding Spada’s grotto. It was useless to search for it during the night, so he put off all investigations until the next day. Besides, a signal hoisted half a league out at sea, to which the Jeune Amélie immediately answered with a similar signal, indicated that it was time to set to work.

The late-comer, reassured by the signal that all was well, soon came in sight, silent and pale as a phantom, and cast anchor within a cable’s length of the shore. Then the work of unloading began. While working, Dantès continually reflected upon the shout of joy which one word of his would draw from the throats of all these men if he were to express aloud the thought that was incessantly in his mind. But far from revealing his precious secret, he feared he had already said too much, and that he had, by his comings and goings and his repeated questions, minute observations, and continual preoccupation, aroused suspicion.

This was not the case, however, and when he took a gun and some powder and shot the next day, and manifested a desire to go and shoot some of the numerous wild kids they could see jumping from rock to rock, they attributed his proposed excursion to nothing more than a love of sport or a desire for solitude.

Thus Dantès who, three months previously, had desired nothing more than liberty, was now no longer satisfied with that alone and aspired after riches. He started forth. Lost to view between two walls of rock, he followed a path hollowed out by continuous torrents and which, in all probability, no human foot had ever trodden before. He approached the spot where he supposed the grottos to be situated. Following the coast and examining the most minute objects with serious attention, he thought he noticed on several rocks incisions that had been made by man.

Time which casts its mantle of moss on all things material, and its mantle of oblivion on all things mortal, seemed to have respected these marks, which were made with a certain regularity, no doubt to indicate some trail; now and then, however, they disappeared beneath tufts of myrtle which grew in large clusters laden with flowers, and beneath parasitical lichen. Then Edmond was obliged to raise the branches or remove the moss to find the marks which were to lead him to this labyrinth. The marks had filled him with new hope. Surely it must have been the Cardinal who had traced them, so that in the event of a catastrophe, which even he had not foreseen would be so complete, they would serve as a guide to his nephew. This isolated spot was a most appropriate place for burying a treasure. But had these unfaithful signs not already attracted the attention of other eyes than those for which they were meant? Or had the isle of gloomy marvels faithfully kept its precious secret?

About sixty yards from the harbour, it seemed to Dantès, who was still hidden from his companions by the inequalities of the ground, that the incisions ceased. There was no grotto! A large round rock, perched on a solid base, seemed the only goal to which they led. He thought that, instead of having arrived at the end, he was perhaps only at the beginning, so he turned round and retraced his steps.

In the meantime his companions were preparing breakfast and when it was ready they fired a shot as a signal. Edmond at once came running toward them. Just as they were all watching him jumping like a chamois from rock to rock, his foot gave way under him. They saw him stagger at the edge of a rock and disappear. They all rushed toward him with one bound, for, in spite of his superiority, they all loved him. They found him lying bleeding and half conscious. They forced some rum down his throat, and this remedy, which had been so beneficial to him before, had the same good effect on him now. Edmond opened his eyes, complained of a sharp pain in his knee, a feeling of heaviness in his head, and unbearable pain in his back. They wanted to carry him to the beach, but, directly they touched him, he declared, with groans, that he had not the strength. The old skipper urged Dantès to rise, for he was obliged to leave in the morning to deposit his cargo on the frontiers of Piedmont and France, between Nice and Fréjus. Edmond made a superhuman effort to comply with his wishes, but, turning very white, he fell back each time with a moan.

“He has broken his back,” the skipper said in a low voice. “No matter, we will not forsake him. Let us carry him on board.”

But Dantès declared that he would sooner die where he was than bear the agonizing pain that the slightest movement caused him.

“Very well,” said the skipper, “come what may, it shall not be said that we have deserted such a good shipmate as you. We will not leave till this evening.”

This proposal was a cause of great astonishment to the sailors though no one opposed it. Dantès, however, would not allow such a serious violation of the rules of discipline on his behalf. “No,” he said, “I have been clumsy and it is only right that I should pay the penalty. Leave me a supply of biscuit, a gun, some powder and shot for killing some kids or maybe to use in my own defence, also a pickaxe so that I can make myself some sort of shelter in case you should be delayed in returning to fetch me.”

“But you will die of hunger,” replied the skipper. “We cannot leave you like this, and on the other hand we cannot stay.”

“Leave me! Go!” Dantès cried out.

Nothing could shake Dantès’ determination to remain and to remain alone. The smugglers gave him all he had asked for and left him. He dragged himself cautiously to the top of a rock which afforded him full view of the sea, whence he watched the tartan making ready to sail; he saw her weigh anchor and, balancing herself as gracefully as a gull ere it takes wing, put out to sea.

At the end of an hour she had completely disappeared from his view, and rising, more agile and light of limb than the kids jumping about these rugged rocks among myrtle-and mastic-trees, Dantès took his gun in one hand, the pickaxe in the other, and ran toward the rock on which the incisions terminated.

“Now,” he exclaimed, thinking of the story of the Arabian fisherman which Faria had related to him. “Now, open, Sesame!”