第81章

"Where are you going?" asked Dantes.

"To Leghorn."

"Then why, instead of tacking so frequently, do you not sail nearer the wind?""Because we should run straight on to the Island of Rion.""You shall pass it by twenty fathoms."

"Take the helm, and let us see what you know." The young man took the helm, felt to see if the vessel answered the rudder promptly and seeing that, without being a first-rate sailer, she yet was tolerably obedient, --"To the sheets," said he.The four seamen, who composed the crew, obeyed, while the pilot looked on."Haul taut." --They obeyed.

"Belay." This order was also executed; and the vessel passed, as Dantes had predicted, twenty fathoms to windward.

"Bravo!" said the captain.

"Bravo!" repeated the sailors.And they all looked with astonishment at this man whose eye now disclosed an intelligence and his body a vigor they had not thought him capable of showing.

"You see," said Dantes, quitting the helm, "I shall be of some use to you, at least during the voyage.If you do not want me at Leghorn, you can leave me there, and I will pay you out of the first wages I get, for my food and the clothes you lend me.""Ah," said the captain, "we can agree very well, if you are reasonable.""Give me what you give the others, and it will be all right," returned Dantes.

"That's not fair," said the seaman who had saved Dantes;"for you know more than we do."

"What is that to you, Jacopo?" returned the Captain."Every one is free to ask what he pleases.""That's true," replied Jacopo; "I only make a remark.""Well, you would do much better to find him a jacket and a pair of trousers, if you have them.""No," said Jacopo; "but I have a shirt and a pair of trousers.""That is all I want," interrupted Dantes.Jacopo dived into the hold and soon returned with what Edmond wanted.

"Now, then, do you wish for anything else?" said the patron.

"A piece of bread and another glass of the capital rum Itasted, for I have not eaten or drunk for a long time." He had not tasted food for forty hours.A piece of bread was brought, and Jacopo offered him the gourd.

"Larboard your helm," cried the captain to the steersman.

Dantes glanced that way as he lifted the gourd to his mouth;then paused with hand in mid-air.

"Hollo! what's the matter at the Chateau d'If?" said the captain.

A small white cloud, which had attracted Dantes' attention, crowned the summit of the bastion of the Chateau d'If.At the same moment the faint report of a gun was heard.The sailors looked at one another.

"What is this?" asked the captain.

"A prisoner has escaped from the Chateau d'If, and they are firing the alarm gun," replied Dantes.The captain glanced at him, but he had lifted the rum to his lips and was drinking it with so much composure, that suspicions, if the captain had any, died away.

"At any rate," murmured he, "if it be, so much the better, for I have made a rare acquisition." Under pretence of being fatigued, Dantes asked to take the helm; the steersman, glad to be relieved, looked at the captain, and the latter by a sign indicated that he might abandon it to his new comrade.

Dantes could thus keep his eyes on Marseilles.

"What is the day of the month?" asked he of Jacopo, who sat down beside him.

"The 28th of February."

"In what year?"

"In what year -- you ask me in what year?""Yes," replied the young man, "I ask you in what year!""You have forgotten then?"

"I got such a fright last night," replied Dantes, smiling, "that I have almost lost my memory.I ask you what year is it?""The year 1829," returned Jacopo.It was fourteen years day for day since Dantes' arrest.He was nineteen when he entered the Chateau d'If; he was thirty-three when he escaped.A sorrowful smile passed over his face; he asked himself what had become of Mercedes, who must believe him dead.Then his eyes lighted up with hatred as he thought of the three men who had caused him so long and wretched a captivity.He renewed against Danglars, Fernand, and Villefort the oath of implacable vengeance he had made in his dungeon.This oath was no longer a vain menace; for the fastest sailer in the Mediterranean would have been unable to overtake the little tartan, that with every stitch of canvas set was flying before the wind to Leghorn.