CHAPTER 28
Smuggling
Two days after the events we have just related, and while
General Monk was expected every minute in the camp to which
he did not return, a little Dutch felucca, manned by eleven
men, cast anchor upon the coast of Scheveningen, nearly
within cannon-shot of the port. It was night, the darkness
was great, the tide rose in the darkness; it was a capital
time to land passengers and merchandise.
The road of Scheveningen forms a vast crescent; it is not
very deep and not very safe; therefore, nothing is seen
stationed there but large Flemish hoys, or some of those
Dutch barks which fishermen draw up on the sand on rollers,
as the ancients did, according to Virgil. When the tide is
rising, and advancing on land, it is not prudent to bring
the vessels too close inshore, for, if the wind is fresh,
the prows are buried in the sand; and the sand of that coast
is spongy; it receives easily, but does not yield so well.
It was on this account, no doubt, that a boat was detached
from the bark as soon as the latter had cast anchor, and
came with eight sailors, amidst whom was to be seen an
object of an oblong form, a sort of large pannier or bale.
The shore was deserted; the few fishermen inhabiting the
down were gone to bed. The only sentinel that guarded the
coast (a coast very badly guarded, seeing that a landing
from large ships was impossible), without having been able
to follow the example of the fishermen, who were gone to
bed, imitated them so far, that he slept at the back of his
watch-box as soundly as they slept in their beds. The only
noise to be heard, then, was the whistling of the night
breeze among the bushes and the brambles of the downs. But
the people who were approaching were doubtless mistrustful
people, for this real silence and apparent solitude did not
satisfy them. Their boat, therefore, scarcely as visible as
a dark speck upon the ocean, glided along noiselessly,
avoiding the use of their oars for fear of being heard, and
gained the nearest land.
Scarcely had it touched the ground when a single man jumped
out of the boat, after having given a brief order, in a
manner which denoted the habit of commanding. In consequence
of this order, several muskets immediately glittered in the
feeble light reflected from that mirror of the heavens, the
sea; and the oblong bale of which we spoke, containing no
doubt some contraband object, was transported to land, with
infinite precautions. Immediately after that, the man who
had landed first set off at a rapid pace diagonally towards
the village of Scheveningen, directing his course to the
nearest point of the wood. When there, he sought for that
house already described as the temporary residence -- and a
very humble residence -- of him who was styled by courtesy
king of England.
All were asleep there, as everywhere else, only a large dog,
of the race of those which the fishermen of Scheveningen
harness to little carts to carry fish to the Hague, began to
bark formidably as soon as the stranger's steps were audible
beneath the windows. But the watchfulness, instead of
alarming the newly-landed man, appeared, on the contrary, to
give him great joy, for his voice might perhaps have proved
insufficient to rouse the people of the house, whilst, with
an auxiliary of that sort, his voice became almost useless.
The stranger waited, then, till these reiterated and
sonorous barkings should, according to all probability, have
produced their effect, and then he ventured a summons. On
hearing his voice, the dog began to roar with such violence
that another voice was soon heard from the interior,
quieting the dog. With that the dog was quieted.
"What do you want?" asked that voice, at the same time weak,
broken, and civil.
"I want his majesty King Charles II., king of England," said
the stranger.
"What do you want with him?"
"I want to speak to him."
"Who are you?"
"Ah! Mordioux! you ask too much; I don't like talking
through doors."
"Only tell me your name."
"I don't like to declare my name in the open air, either;
besides, you may be sure I shall not eat your dog, and I
hope to God he will be as reserved with respect to me."
"You bring news, perhaps, monsieur, do you not?" replied the
voice, patient and querulous as that of an old man.
"I will answer for it, I bring you news you little expect.
Open the door, then, if you please, hein!"
"Monsieur," persisted the old man, "do you believe, upon
your soul and conscience, that your news is worth waking the
king?"
"For God's sake, my dear monsieur, draw your bolts; you will
not be sorry, I swear, for the trouble it will give you. I
am worth my weight in gold, parole d'honneur!"
"Monsieur, I cannot open the door till you have told me your
name."
"Must I, then?"
"It is by the order of my master, monsieur."
"Well, my name is -- but, I warn you, my name will tell you
absolutely nothing."
"Never mind, tell it, notwithstanding."
"Well, I am the Chevalier d'Artagnan."
The voice uttered an exclamation.
"Oh! good heavens!" said a voice on the other side of the
door. "Monsieur d'Artagnan. What happiness! I could not help
thinking I knew that voice."
"Humph!" said D'Artagnan. "My voice is known here! That's
flattering."
"Oh! yes, we know it," said the old man, drawing the bolts;
"and here is the proof." And at these words he let in
D'Artagnan, who, by the light of the lantern he carried in
his hand, recognized his obstinate interlocutor.
"Ah! Mordioux!" cried he: "why, it is Parry! I ought to have
known that."
"Parry, yes, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, it is I. What joy
to see you once again!"
"You are right there, what joy!" said D'Artagnan, pressing
the old man's hand. "There, now you'll go and inform the
king, will you not?"
"But the king is asleep, my dear monsieur."
"Mordioux! then wake him. He won't scold you for having
disturbed him, I will promise you."
"You come on the part of the count, do you not?"
"The Comte de la Fere?"
"From Athos?"
"Ma foi! no; I come on my own part. Come, Parry, quick! The
king -- I want the king."
Parry did not think it his duty to resist any longer; he
knew D'Artagnan of old; he knew that, although a Gascon, his
words never promised more than they could stand to. He
crossed a court and a little garden, appeased the dog, that
seemed most anxious to taste of the musketeer's flesh, and
went to knock at the window of a chamber forming the
ground-floor of a little pavilion. Immediately a little dog
inhabiting that chamber replied to the great dog inhabiting
the court.
"Poor king!" said D'Artagnan to himself, "these are his
body-guards. It is true he is not the worse guarded on that
account."
"What is wanted with me?" asked the king, from the back of
the chamber.
"Sire, it is M. le Chevalier d'Artagnan, who brings you some
news."
A noise was immediately heard in the chamber, a door was
opened, and a flood of light inundated the corridor and the
garden. The king was working by the light of a lamp. Papers
were lying about upon his desk, and he had commenced the
foul copy of a letter which showed, by the numerous
erasures, the trouble he had had in writing it.
"Come in, monsieur le chevalier," said he, turning around.
Then perceiving the fisherman, "What do you mean, Parry?
Where is M. le Chevalier d'Artagnan?" asked Charles.
"He is before you, sire," said M. d'Artagnan.
"What, in that costume?"
"Yes; look at me, sire; do you not remember having seen me
at Blois, in the ante-chambers of King Louis XIV.?"
"Yes, monsieur, and I remember I was much pleased with you."
D'Artagnan bowed. "It was my duty to behave as I did, the
moment I knew that I had the honor of being near your
majesty."
"You bring me news, do you say?"
"Yes, sire."
"From the king of France?"
"Ma foi! no, sire," replied D'Artagnan. "Your majesty must
have seen yonder that the king of France is only occupied
with his own majesty."
Charles raised his eyes towards heaven.
"No, sire, no," continued D'Artagnan. "I bring news entirely
composed of personal facts. Nevertheless, I hope your
majesty will listen to the facts and news with some favor."
"Speak, monsieur."
"If I am not mistaken, sire, your majesty spoke a great
deal, at Blois, of the embarrassed state in which the
affairs of England are."
Charles colored. "Monsieur," said he, "it was to the king of
France I related ---- "
"Oh! your majesty is mistaken," said the musketeer, coolly;
"I know how to speak to kings in misfortune. It is only when
they are in misfortune that they speak to me; once
fortunate, they look upon me no more. I have, then, for your
majesty, not only the greatest respect, but, still more, the
most absolute devotion; and that, believe me, with me, sire,
means something. Now, hearing your majesty complain of fate,
I found that you were noble and generous, and bore
misfortune well."
"In truth," said Charles, much astonished, "I do not know
which I ought to prefer, your freedoms or your respects."
"You will choose presently, sire," said D'Artagnan. "Then
your majesty complained to your brother, Louis XIV., of the
difficulty you experienced in returning to England and
regaining your throne for want of men and money."
Charles allowed a movement of impatience to escape him.
"And the principal object your majesty found in your way,"
continued D'Artagnan, "was a certain general commanding the
armies of the parliament, and who was playing yonder the
part of another Cromwell. Did not your majesty say so?"
"Yes, but I repeat to you, monsieur, those words were for
the king's ears alone."
"And you will see, sire, that it is very fortunate that they
fell into those of his lieutenant of musketeers. That man so
troublesome to your majesty was one General Monk, I believe;
did I not hear his name correctly, sire?"
"Yes, monsieur, but once more, to what purpose are all these
questions?"
"Oh! I know very well, sire, that etiquette will not allow
kings to be questioned. I hope, however, presently you will
pardon my want of etiquette. Your majesty added that,
notwithstanding, if you could see him, confer with him, and
meet him face to face, you would triumph, either by force or
persuasion, over that obstacle -- the only serious one, the
only insurmountable one, the only real one you met with on
your road."
"All that is true, monsieur: my destiny, my future, my
obscurity, or my glory depend upon that man; but what do you
draw from that?"
"One thing alone, that if this General Monk is troublesome
to the point your majesty describes, it would be expedient
to get rid of him or to make an ally of him."
"Monsieur, a king who has neither army nor money, as you
have heard my conversation with my brother Louis, has no
means of acting against a man like Monk."
"Yes, sire, that was your opinion, I know very well; but,
fortunately, for you, it was not mine."
"What do you mean by that?"
"That, without an army and without a million, I have done --
I, myself -- what your majesty thought could alone be done
with an army and a million."
"How! What do you say? What have you done?"
"What have I done? Eh! well, sire, I went yonder to take
this man who is so troublesome to your majesty."
"In England?"
"Exactly, sire."
"You went to take Monk in England?"
"Should I by chance have done wrong, sire?"
"In truth, you are mad, monsieur!"
"Not the least in the world, sire."
"You have taken Monk?"
"Yes, sire."
"Where?"
"In the midst of his camp."
The king trembled with impatience.
"And having taken him on the causeway of Newcastle, I bring
him to your majesty," said D'Artagnan, simply.
"You bring him to me!" cried the king, almost indignant at
what he considered a mystification.
"Yes, sire," replied D'Artagnan, the same tone, "I bring him
to you; he is down below yonder, in a large chest pierced
with holes, so as to allow him to breathe."
"Good God!"
"Oh! don't be uneasy, sire, we have taken the greatest
possible care of him. He comes in good state, and in perfect
condition. Would your majesty please to see him, to talk
with him, or to have him thrown into the sea?"
"Oh, heavens!" repeated Charles, "oh, heavens! do you speak
the truth, monsieur? Are you not insulting me with some
unworthy joke? You have accomplished this unheard-of act of
audacity and genius -- impossible!"
"Will your majesty permit me to open the window?" said
D'Artagnan, opening it.
The king had not time to reply, yes on no. D'Artagnan gave a
shrill and prolonged whistle, which he repeated three times
through the silence of the night.
"There!" said he, "he will be brought to your majesty."
