Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; France -- History -- Louis XIII, 1610-1643 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Swordsmen -- Fiction
“You are stupid, friend Porthos. Why should we load ourselves with a
useless burden?”
“I don’t find a good musket, twelve cartridges, and a powder flask very
useless in the face of an enemy.”
“Well,” replied Athos, “have you not heard what D’Artagnan said?”
“What did he say?” demanded Porthos.
“D’Artagnan said that in the attack of last night eight or ten
Frenchmen were killed, and as many Rochellais.”
“What then?”
“The bodies were not plundered, were they? It appears the conquerors
had something else to do.”
“Well?”
“Well, we shall find their muskets, their cartridges, and their flasks;
and instead of four musketoons and twelve balls, we shall have fifteen
guns and a hundred charges to fire.”
“Oh, Athos!” said Aramis, “truly you are a great man.”
Porthos nodded in sign of agreement. D’Artagnan alone did not seem
convinced.
Grimaud no doubt shared the misgivings of the young man, for seeing
that they continued to advance toward the bastion—something he had till
then doubted—he pulled his master by the skirt of his coat.
“Where are we going?” asked he, by a gesture.
Athos pointed to the bastion.
“But,” said Grimaud, in the same silent dialect, “we shall leave our
skins there.”
Athos raised his eyes and his finger toward heaven.
Grimaud put his basket on the ground and sat down with a shake of the
head.
Athos took a pistol from his belt, looked to see if it was properly
primed, cocked it, and placed the muzzle close to Grimaud’s ear.
Grimaud was on his legs again as if by a spring. Athos then made him a
sign to take up his basket and to walk on first. Grimaud obeyed. All
that Grimaud gained by this momentary pantomime was to pass from the
rear guard to the vanguard.
Arrived at the bastion, the four friends turned round.
More than three hundred soldiers of all kinds were assembled at the
gate of the camp; and in a separate group might be distinguished M. de
Busigny, the dragoon, the Swiss, and the fourth bettor.
Athos took off his hat, placed it on the end of his sword, and waved it
in the air.
All the spectators returned him his salute, accompanying this courtesy
with a loud hurrah which was audible to the four; after which all four
disappeared in the bastion, whither Grimaud had preceded them.
Chapter XLVII.
THE COUNCIL OF THE MUSKETEERS
As Athos had foreseen, the bastion was only occupied by a dozen
corpses, French and Rochellais.
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, who had assumed the command of the expedition,
“while Grimaud spreads the table, let us begin by collecting the guns
and cartridges together. We can talk while performing that necessary
task. These gentlemen,” added he, pointing to the bodies, “cannot hear
us.”
“But we could throw them into the ditch,” said Porthos, “after having
assured ourselves they have nothing in their pockets.”
“Yes,” said Athos, “that’s Grimaud’s business.”
“Well, then,” cried D’Artagnan, “pray let Grimaud search them and throw
them over the walls.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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