“Larboard your helm,” cried the captain to the steersman. Dantès glanced that way as he lifted the gourd to his mouth; then paused with hand in midair.
“Hollo! what’s the matter at the Château d’If?” said the captain.
A small white cloud, which had attracted Dantès’ attention, crowned the summit of the bastion of the Château 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 Château d’If, and they are firing the alarm gun,” replied Dantès. 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.
“Pretty strong rum!” said Dantès, wiping his brow with his sleeve.
“At any rate,” murmured he, “if it be, so much the better, for I have made a rare acquisition.”
Under pretence of being fatigued, Dantès 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. Dantès 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?”