Chapter 60: The Island of Mystery: II
Thus Dantès, who just three months earlier had wanted nothing but freedom, now found freedom insufficient and hungered for wealth. The fault wasn’t in Dantès himself, but in providence, which limits human power while filling humans with boundless desires.
Meanwhile, through a crack between two rock walls, following a path carved by rushing water that no human foot had probably ever trod before, Dantès approached the spot where he believed the caves must exist. Moving along the shore and examining every tiny detail with serious attention, he thought he could make out marks made by human hands on certain rocks.
Time, which covers all physical things with its mossy cloak and shrouds all mental things in forgetfulness, seemed to have respected these signs. They appeared to have been made with some regularity and probably with a definite purpose. Sometimes the marks were hidden under clusters of myrtle bushes heavy with blossoms, or beneath parasitic lichens. Edmond had to push aside branches or brush away moss to see where the guide marks led.
The sight of these marks renewed Edmond’s fondest hopes. Could it have been the cardinal himself who first made them, so they might serve as a guide for his nephew in case of disaster, a disaster he couldn’t have foreseen would be so complete? This lonely place was perfectly suited for someone wanting to bury treasure. But might these revealing marks have attracted other eyes than those they were meant for? Had this dark and mysterious island truly kept its precious secret?
It seemed to Edmond, hidden from his comrades by the uneven ground, that about sixty paces from the harbor the marks stopped. They didn’t end at any cave, just at a large round rock placed solidly on its base. Edmond concluded that perhaps instead of reaching the end of the route, he’d only found its beginning, so he turned around and retraced his steps.
Meanwhile, his comrades had prepared the meal, gotten water from a spring, spread out fruit and bread, and cooked the goat. Just as they were taking the delicious meat from the spit, they saw Edmond leaping with the agility of a mountain goat from rock to rock, and they fired the agreed-upon signal.
The hunter immediately changed direction and ran quickly toward them. But even as they watched his daring progress, Edmond’s foot slipped. They saw him stagger on the edge of a rock and disappear. Everyone rushed toward him, despite his superiority, they all loved Edmond, but Jacopo reached him first.
He found Edmond lying face-down, bleeding and nearly unconscious. He’d fallen down a slope of twelve or fifteen feet. They poured a little rum down his throat, and this remedy, which had helped him before, had the same effect. Edmond opened his eyes, complaining of severe pain in his knee, a heavy feeling in his head, and sharp pains in his lower back.
They wanted to carry him to the shore, but when they touched him, even under Jacopo’s careful guidance, he cried out in agony that he couldn’t bear to be moved.
Naturally, Dantès wasn’t thinking about dinner now, but he insisted that his comrades, who didn’t have his reasons for fasting, should eat their meal. As for himself, he declared that he only needed a little rest, and when they returned he’d feel better. The sailors didn’t need much convincing, they were hungry, the roasted goat smelled delicious, and sailors aren’t particularly formal about such things.
An hour later they returned. All Edmond had managed to do was drag himself about a dozen paces forward to lean against a moss-covered rock.
But instead of feeling better, Dantès’ pain seemed to get worse. The old captain, who had to sail in the morning to deliver his cargo to the border between France and Italy, near Nice, urged Dantès to try getting up. Edmond made great efforts to comply, but with each attempt he fell back, moaning and turning pale.
"He’s broken his ribs," the commander said quietly. "No matter, he’s an excellent fellow, and we can’t leave him. We’ll try to carry him aboard the ship."
But Dantès declared that he’d rather die where he was than endure the agony that the slightest movement caused him.
"Well," said the captain, "whatever happens, it will never be said that we abandoned a good comrade like you. We won’t leave until evening."
This greatly surprised the sailors, though none opposed it. The captain was so strict that this was the first time they’d ever seen him give up an enterprise or even delay its execution. But Dantès wouldn’t allow such a violation of proper procedures to be made on his account.
"No, no," he said to the captain, "I was clumsy, and it’s only fair that I pay the penalty for my carelessness. Leave me a small supply of biscuits, a gun, powder and bullets to kill goats or defend myself if needed, and a pickaxe so I can build shelter if you’re delayed in coming back for me."
"But you’ll starve to death," said the captain.
"I’d rather do that," was Edmond’s reply, "than suffer the unbearable agony that the slightest movement causes me."
The captain looked toward his vessel, which was rolling on the swells in the little harbor with sails partially set, ready for sea once final preparations were complete.
"What should we do, Maltese?" asked the captain. "We can’t leave you here like this, but we can’t stay either."
"Go, go!" exclaimed Dantès.
"We’ll be gone at least a week," said the captain, "and then we’ll have to go out of our way to come back and pick you up."
"Listen," said Dantès, "if in two or three days you encounter any fishing boat, ask them to come get me. I’ll pay twenty-five coins for passage back to Leghorn. If you don’t find one, return for me."
The captain shook his head.
"Listen, Captain Baldi, there’s one way to settle this," said Jacopo. "You go, and I’ll stay to take care of the wounded man."
"And give up your share of the profits," said Edmond, "to stay with me?"
"Yes," said Jacopo without hesitation.
"You’re a good man and a kind-hearted friend," replied Edmond, "and heaven will reward you for your generous intentions. But I don’t want anyone to stay with me. A day or two of rest will fix me up, and I hope to find among these rocks certain herbs that are excellent for bruises."
A strange smile crossed Dantès’ lips. He squeezed Jacopo’s hand warmly, but nothing could shake his determination to remain, and remain alone.
The smugglers left Edmond what he’d requested and set sail, but not without turning back several times, each time making cordial farewell gestures, to which Edmond replied only with his hand, as if he couldn’t move the rest of his body.
When they had disappeared, he said with a smile, "It’s strange that among such men we find proof of friendship and devotion."
Then he carefully dragged himself to the top of a rock from which he had a full view of the sea. From there he watched the ship complete her preparations for sailing, weigh anchor, and gracefully set sail like a water bird taking flight. After an hour she was completely out of sight, at least, it was impossible for the wounded man to see her any longer from where he lay.
Then Dantès rose, more agile and light than the goats among the myrtles and shrubs of these wild rocks. He took his gun in one hand, his pickaxe in the other, and hurried toward the rock where the marks he’d noted ended.
"And now," he exclaimed, remembering the tale of the Arabian fisherman that Faria had told him, "now, open sesame!"