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 in shore, 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, gilded 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 with 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."
