Part 38

— But you were sixteen!

— Ten are dead, Biscarrat is in the cavern, and here we are, five.

— So Biscarrat is a prisoner?

— Probably.

— No, for there he is; look.

Indeed, Biscarrat appeared at the opening of the cave.

— He is signaling us to come, said the officers. Let us go!

— Let us go! repeated the whole troop.

— Sir, said the captain, addressing Biscarrat, I am told that you know who the men are who are in this cave and who are putting up this desperate defense. In the name of the king, I summon you to declare what you know.

— My captain, said Biscarrat, you no longer need to summon me; my word was just now restored to me, and I come in the name of those men.

— To tell me they surrender?

— To tell you they are resolved to defend themselves to the death, if fair terms are not granted them.

— How many are there, then?

— There are two, said Biscarrat.

— They are two, and would impose conditions on us?

— They are two, and have already killed ten men, said Biscarrat.

— What sort of men are they? giants?

— Better than that. Do you remember the story of the Bastion Saint-Gervais, my captain?

— Yes, where four of the king's musketeers held out against a whole army?

— Well! those two men were among those musketeers.

— You call them?...

— At that time, they were called Porthos and Aramis. Today, they are called M. d'Herblay and M. du Vallon.

— And what interest have they in all this?

— They are the ones who held Belle-Île for M. Fouquet.

A murmur ran through the soldiers at those two words. "Porthos and Aramis."

— The musketeers! the musketeers! they repeated.

And, among all those brave young men, the idea that they were about to have to struggle against two of the oldest glories of the army sent a shiver through them, half enthusiasm, half terror.

For indeed those four names, d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis, were venerated by all who bore a sword, as in antiquity the names of Hercules, Theseus, Castor and Pollux were venerated.

— Two men! cried the captain, and they have killed ten officers with two volleys. That is impossible, M. Biscarrat.

— Eh! my captain, replied the latter, I do not say they do not have with them two or three men such as the musketeers of the Bastion Saint-Gervais had with them three or four servants; but believe me, captain, I have seen those men, I was taken by them, I know them; they alone would suffice to destroy a whole army corps.

— That is what we shall see, said the captain, and that shortly. Attention, gentlemen!

At this reply, no one moved any more, and each prepared to obey.

Biscarrat alone risked a final attempt.

— Sir, he said in a low voice, believe me, let us go our way; those two men, those two lions who are about to be attacked, will defend themselves to the death. They have already killed ten men; they will kill twice as many more, and will end by killing themselves rather than surrender. What shall we gain by fighting them?

— We shall gain, sir, the conscience of not having made eighty of the king's guards recoil before two rebels. If I listened to your counsel, sir, I should be a dishonored man, and, in dishonoring myself, I should dishonor the army. Forward, you others!

And he marched first to the opening of the cave.

Arrived there, he halted.

This halt had the purpose of giving Biscarrat and his companions time to describe the interior of the cave to him. Then, when he believed he had sufficient knowledge of the place, he divided the company into three bodies, which were to enter successively, keeping up a heavy fire in all directions. No doubt, in this attack, five men would be lost, perhaps ten; but certainly the rebels would be taken in the end, since there was no exit, and, all told, two men could not kill eighty.

— My captain, asked Biscarrat, I ask to march at the head of the first platoon.

— So be it! answered the captain. You have all the honor of it. It is a gift I make you.

— Thank you! answered the young man with all the firmness of his breed.

— Take your sword, then.

— I shall go as I am, my captain, said Biscarrat; for I go not to kill, but to be killed.

And, placing himself at the head of the first platoon, his brow uncovered and his arms crossed:

— Let us march, gentlemen! said he.

Chapter CCLV — A Song of Homer

It is time to pass to the other camp and to describe at once the combatants and the field of battle.

Aramis and Porthos had entered the cave of Locmaria to find there the skiff all moored, as well as the three Bretons their helpers, and they had at first hoped to pass the boat through the small outlet of the underground passage, thus concealing their labors and their flight. The arrival of the fox and the hounds had forced them to remain hidden.

The cave extended for about a hundred fathoms, up to a small slope overlooking a creek. Formerly a temple of pagan divinities, when Belle-Île was still called Calonèse, this cave had seen more than one human sacrifice accomplished in its mysterious depths.

One penetrated into the first funnel of this cavern by a gentle slope, above which heaped rocks formed a low arch; the interior, uneven of ground, dangerous by the rocky inequalities of the vault, subdivided into several compartments, which commanded one another and dominated one another by means of some rough, broken steps, welded right and left into enormous natural pillars.

At the third compartment, the vault was so low, the corridor so narrow, that the boat would hardly have passed touching the two walls; nevertheless, in a moment of despair, wood grows supple, stone becomes complaisant under the breath of human will.

Such was the thought of Aramis, when, after having engaged in combat, he decided upon flight, flight assuredly dangerous, since all the assailants were not dead, and since, admitting the possibility of putting the boat to sea, one would have fled in broad daylight, before the vanquished, so interested, in recognizing their small number, in having their victors pursued.

When the two volleys had killed ten men, Aramis, accustomed to the windings of the underground passage, went to examine them one by one, counted them, for the smoke prevented him from seeing outside, and forthwith commanded that the skiff be rolled to the great stone, closure of the liberating outlet.

Porthos gathered his strength, took the skiff in his two arms and lifted it, while the Bretons ran the rollers rapidly.

They had descended into the third compartment, they had arrived at the stone that walled up the outlet.

Porthos seized this gigantic stone at its base, leaned his robust shoulder against it, and gave a blow that made the wall crack. A cloud of dust fell from the vault with the ashes of ten thousand generations of sea birds, whose nests clung like cement to this rock.

At the third shock, the stone gave way, it oscillated for a minute. Porthos, leaning against the neighboring rocks, made of his foot a prop that drove the block out of the calcareous heaps that served it as hinges and fastenings.

The stone fallen, daylight appeared, radiant, which precipitated itself into this underground passage through the frame of the exit, and the blue sea showed itself to the enchanted Bretons.

They then began to mount the boat upon this barricade. Twenty fathoms more and it could slide into the ocean.

It is during this time that the company arrived, was drawn up by the captain and disposed for the escalade or for the assault.

Aramis supervised everything to favor the labors of his friends.

He saw this reinforcement, he counted the men, he convinced himself with a single glance of the impassable peril into which a new combat was about to engage them.

To flee upon the sea at the moment when the underground passage was about to be invaded, impossible!

Indeed, the daylight, which had just illuminated the two last compartments, would have shown the soldiers the boat rolling toward the sea, the two rebels within musket range, and one of their volleys would have riddled the boat, if it did not kill the five navigators.

Besides, granting all, if the boat escaped with the men who manned it, how would the alarm not be given? how would notice not be sent to the royal shallops? how would the poor skiff, hunted upon the sea and watched upon the land, not succumb before the end of the day? Aramis, ragingly tearing his graying hair, invoked the assistance of God and the assistance of the demon.

Calling Porthos, who worked alone more than rollers and rollers:

— Friend, said he very low, a reinforcement has just arrived to our adversaries.

— Ah! said Porthos tranquilly; what is to be done then?

— To begin the combat again, said Aramis, is still a chance.

— Yes, said Porthos, for it is difficult that, being two, they should not kill one of us, and certainly, if one of us were killed, the other would get himself killed too.

Porthos said these words with that heroic naturalness which, in him, grew with all the forces of matter.

Aramis felt like a spur-stroke at his heart.

— We shall be killed neither one nor the other if you do what I am going to tell you, friend Porthos.

— Speak.

— Those people are going to descend into the cave.

— Yes.

— We shall kill some fifteen of them, but no more.

— How many are there in all? asked Porthos.

— There has arrived to them a reinforcement of seventy-five men.

— Seventy-five and five, eighty... Ah! ah! said Porthos.

— If they fire together, they will riddle us with balls.

— Assuredly.

— Not to mention, added Aramis, that the detonations may occasion cave-ins in the cavern.

— Just now, indeed, said Porthos, a splinter of rock tore my shoulder a little.

— You see!

— But it is nothing.

— Let us take a course quickly. Our Bretons will continue to roll the skiff toward the sea.

— Very well.

— We two, we shall keep here the powder, the balls and the muskets.

— But the two of us, dear Aramis, we shall never fire three volleys together, said Porthos naively; the means of musketry is a bad one.

— Then find another.

— I have found one! suddenly cried the giant. I am going to place myself in ambush behind the pillar with this iron bar, and, invisible, unassailable, when they have entered in waves, I let my bar fall upon the skulls thirty times a minute! Eh! what do you say to the plan? does it please you?

— Excellent, dear friend, perfect! I approve strongly; only, you will frighten them, and half will remain outside to take us by famine. What we need, my good friend, is the entire destruction of the troop; a single man left standing ruins us.

— You are right, my friend; but how to draw them in, pray?

— By not moving, my good Porthos.

— Let us not move; but, when they are all well gathered?...

— Then, leave it to me, I have an idea.

— If it is so, and your idea is good... and it must be good, your idea... I am easy.

— In ambush, Porthos, and count all those who enter.

— But you, what will you do?

— Do not trouble yourself about me; I have my task.

— I hear voices, it seems to me.

— It is they. To your post!... Keep within reach of my voice and my hand.

Porthos took refuge in the second compartment, which was absolutely black.

Aramis slipped into the third; the giant held in his hand an iron bar weighing fifty pounds. Porthos handled with a marvelous ease this lever which had served to roll the boat.

During this time, the Bretons pushed the skiff to the cliff.

In the lighted compartment, Aramis, bent, hidden, occupied himself with a mysterious maneuver.

A command uttered in a loud voice was heard. It was the last order of the commanding captain. Twenty-five men leaped from the upper rocks into the first compartment of the cave, and, having landed, they began to fire.

The echoes roared, whistlings streaked the vault, an opaque smoke filled the space.

— To the left! to the left! cried Biscarrat, who, in his first assault, had seen the passage of the second chamber, and who, animated by the smell of powder, wished to guide his soldiers in that direction.

The troop precipitated itself indeed to the left; the corridor kept narrowing; Biscarrat, his hands outstretched, devoted to death, marched ahead of the muskets.

— Come! come! he cried, I see daylight!

— Strike, Porthos! cried the sepulchral voice of Aramis.

Porthos uttered a sigh, but he obeyed.

The iron bar fell squarely upon the head of Biscarrat, who was killed without having finished his cry. Then the formidable lever rose and fell ten times in ten seconds and made ten corpses.

The soldiers saw nothing; they heard cries, sighs; they trod upon bodies, but had not yet understood, and climbed stumbling one upon another.

The implacable bar, ever falling, annihilated the first platoon without a single sound having warned the second, which advanced tranquilly.

Only, this second platoon, commanded by the captain, had broken a meager fir tree which grew upon the cliff, and of its resinous branches, twisted together, the captain had made himself a torch.

On arriving at this compartment where Porthos, like the exterminating angel, had destroyed all he had touched, the front rank recoiled in horror. No musketry had answered the musketry of the guards, and yet one struck against a heap of corpses, one marched literally in blood.

Porthos was still behind his pillar.

The captain, lighting with the trembling light of the flaming fir this frightful carnage whose cause he sought in vain, recoiled to the pillar behind which Porthos was hidden.

Then a gigantic hand came out of the shadow, pressed itself to the throat of the captain, who uttered a hollow rattle; his arms extended beating the air, the torch fell and was extinguished in the blood.

A second after, the body of the captain fell near the extinguished torch, and added one more corpse to the heap of corpses which barred the way.

All this had been done mysteriously like a magical thing. At the rattle of the captain, the men who accompanied him had turned; they had seen his open arms, his eyes starting from their sockets; then, the torch fallen, they had remained in obscurity.

By an unreflecting, instinctive, mechanical movement, the lieutenant cried:

— Fire!

Immediately a volley of musket shots crackled, thundered, howled in the cavern, tearing enormous pieces from the vaults.

The cavern lit up an instant at this musketry, then immediately reentered into an obscurity made yet more profound by the smoke.

There was then a great silence, troubled only by the steps of the third brigade, which entered the underground passage.

Chapter CCLVI — The Death of a Titan

At the moment when Porthos, more accustomed to the darkness than all those men coming from the daylight, looked around him to see if, in this night, Aramis would not make him some signal, he felt himself gently touched upon the arm, and a voice weak as a breath murmured very low in his ear:

— Come.

— Oh! said Porthos.

— Hush! said Aramis still lower.

And, amid the noise of the third brigade which continued to advance, amid the imprecations of the guards left standing, of the dying rattling their last sigh, Aramis and Porthos glided unperceived along the granitic walls of the cave.

Aramis led Porthos into the next-to-last compartment, and showed him, in a recess of the wall, a powder barrel weighing sixty to eighty pounds, to which he had just attached a fuse.

— Friend, said he to Porthos, you are going to take this barrel, whose fuse I am going to light, and you will throw it into the midst of our enemies: can you do it?

— Of course! replied Porthos.

And he lifted the little cask with one hand.

— Light it.

— Wait, said Aramis, until they are well all massed, and then, my Jupiter, launch your thunder into their midst.

— Light it, repeated Porthos.

— I, continued Aramis, am going to join our Bretons and help them put the skiff to sea. I shall await you on the shore; launch firmly and run to us.

— Light it, said Porthos a last time.

— You have understood? said Aramis.

— Of course! said Porthos again, laughing a laugh he did not even try to stifle; when one explains to me, I understand; go, and give me the fire.

Aramis gave the burning tinder to Porthos, who offered him his arm to clasp for want of his hand.

Aramis clasped Porthos's arm with both hands and withdrew to the outlet of the cave, where the three rowers waited.

Porthos, left alone, bravely approached the tinder to the fuse.

The tinder, faint spark, first principle of an immense conflagration, shone in the obscurity like a flying glowworm, then came to weld itself to the fuse which it inflamed, and whose flame Porthos quickened with his breath.

The smoke had somewhat dissipated, and, by the light of this crackling fuse, one could, for a second or two, distinguish objects.

It was a short but splendid spectacle, that of this giant, pale, bloody and his face illuminated by the fire of the fuse burning in the shadow.

The soldiers saw him. They saw that barrel which he held in his hand. They understood what was about to happen.

Then, those men, already full of dread at the sight of what had been accomplished, full of terror in thinking of what was about to be accomplished, all at once uttered a yell of agony.

Some tried to flee, but they met the third brigade which barred their way; others, mechanically, took aim and fired with their discharged muskets; others finally fell to their knees.

Two or three officers cried to Porthos to promise him liberty if he gave them life.

The lieutenant of the third brigade cried to fire; but the guards had before them their terrified companions who served as a living rampart to Porthos.

We have said, this light produced by the breath of Porthos upon the tinder and the fuse lasted but two seconds; but, during those two seconds, here is what it illuminated: first the giant growing in the obscurity; then, ten paces from him, a mass of bloody bodies, crushed, ground, amid which still lived a last quiver of agony, which lifted the mass, as a last respiration lifts the flanks of a shapeless monster expiring in the night. Each breath of Porthos, in reviving the fuse, sent upon this heap of corpses a sulfurous tone, cut with broad slices of purple.

Apart from this principal group, scattered in the cave, according as the hazard of death or the surprise of the blow had laid them, some isolated corpses seemed to threaten by their gaping wounds.

Above this soil kneaded of a mire of blood, rose, mournful and scintillant, the squat pillars of the cavern, whose shades, warmly accented, pushed forward the luminous parts.

And all this was seen by the trembling fire of a fuse attached to a powder barrel, that is to say to a torch, which, in lighting the past death, showed the coming death.

As I have said, this spectacle lasted but one or two seconds. During this short space of time, an officer of the third brigade gathered eight guards armed with muskets, and, through a breach, ordered them to fire upon Porthos.

But those who received the order to shoot trembled so that at this discharge three men fell, and the five other balls went whistling to graze the vault, furrow the earth or dig the walls of the cavern.

A burst of laughter answered this thunder; then the arm of the giant swung, then one saw pass through the air, like a shooting star, the trail of fire.

The barrel, launched thirty paces, cleared the barricade of corpses, and went to fall into a yelling group of soldiers who threw themselves flat on their bellies.

The officer had followed in the air the brilliant trail; he wished to precipitate himself upon the barrel to tear away the fuse before it reached the powder it concealed.

Useless devotion: the air had quickened the flame attached to the conductor; the fuse, which, at rest, would have burned five minutes, was devoured in thirty seconds, and the infernal work exploded.

Furious whirlwinds, hissings of sulfur and saltpeter, devouring ravages of fire which hollows, frightful thunder of the explosion, such is what this second, which followed the two seconds we have described, saw burst forth in this cavern, equal in horrors to a cavern of demons.

The rocks split like boards of fir under the ax. A jet of fire, of smoke, of debris, sprang from the middle of the grotto, widening as it rose. The great walls of flint inclined to lie down in the sand, and the sand itself, instrument of pain launched from its hardened layers, went to riddle the faces with its myriad wounding atoms.

Cries, yells, imprecations and existences, all was extinguished in an immense crash; the three first compartments became a gulf into which fell back one by one, according to its weight, each vegetable, mineral or human fragment.

Then the sand and the ash, lighter, fell in their turn, extending like a grayish and smoking shroud upon these lugubrious funerals.

And now, seek in this burning tomb, in this underground volcano, seek the king's guards in their blue coats laced with silver.

Seek the officers brilliant with gold, seek the arms upon which they had counted to defend themselves, seek the stones which killed them; seek the ground which bore them.

A single man has made of all that a chaos more confused, more shapeless, more terrible than the chaos which existed an hour before God had the idea of creating the world.

Nothing remained of the three first compartments, nothing that God himself could recognize as his work.

As for Porthos, after having launched the powder barrel into the midst of the enemies, he had fled, according to Aramis's counsel, and gained the last compartment, into which entered, by the opening, the air, the daylight and the sun.

Thus, scarcely had he turned the angle which separated the third compartment from the fourth, than he perceived at a hundred paces from him the boat rocked by the waves; there were his friends; there was liberty; there was life after victory.

Six more of his formidable strides, and he was out of the vault; out of the vault, two or three vigorous springs, and he touched the skiff.

Suddenly, he felt his knees bend: his knees seemed empty, his legs grew soft beneath him.

— Oh! oh! he murmured astonished, here is my fatigue returning; here is that I can no longer walk. What does this mean?

Through the opening, Aramis perceived him and did not understand why he thus stopped.

— Come, Porthos! cried Aramis, come! come quickly!

— Oh! answered the giant making an effort which uselessly tensed all the muscles of his body, I cannot.

In saying these words, he fell upon his knees; but, with his robust hands, he clung to the rocks and rose again.

— Quick! quick! repeated Aramis bending toward the shore, as if to draw Porthos with his arms.

— Here I am, stammered Porthos uniting all his forces to make one step more.

— In the name of Heaven! Porthos, arrive! arrive! the barrel is going to burst!

— Arrive, my lord, cried the Bretons to Porthos, who struggled as in a dream.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”