Chapter 59: The Island of Mystery: I
After years of suffering under cruel fate, Dantès finally had his chance. Fortune had smiled on him at last and he would reach the mysterious island through simple, natural means without raising any suspicion. Just one more night, and he’d be on his way.
That night was torture. Dantès tossed and turned, his mind racing with wild visions of good and evil. When he closed his eyes, he saw the cardinal’s letter blazing like fire across his vision. When he dozed, impossible dreams haunted him. He wandered through caves lined with emeralds, their walls studded with rubies, diamond formations hanging from the ceiling like frozen stars. Pearls dropped like rain around him as he filled his pockets with glittering treasures.
But when he returned to daylight in his dream, everything had turned to worthless pebbles. Desperately, he tried to find his way back to those magical caves, but they vanished like smoke. The paths twisted into an endless maze, the entrance disappeared, and no matter how hard he tried to remember the magic words that had opened the treasure caves in the old stories, nothing worked. The riches slipped away, returning to whatever supernatural forces had guarded them.
Dawn finally came, almost as fevered as the night had been. But daylight brought clarity to his scattered thoughts, and Dantès could finally organize the vague plans that had been swirling in his mind. When evening arrived with preparations for departure, the activity helped mask his nervous energy.
Over time, Dantès had gained such authority over his fellow smugglers that he was practically their commander. His orders were always clear and easy to follow, so his companions obeyed him quickly and happily. Even the old captain didn’t interfere, he recognized that Dantès was naturally superior to both the crew and himself. The captain saw the young man as his successor and wished he had a daughter to bind Edmond to him through marriage.
At seven o’clock, everything was ready. Ten minutes later, they passed the lighthouse just as its beacon flared to life. The sea was calm, and with a fresh southeast wind, they sailed under a brilliant blue sky where stars began to twinkle like distant worlds. Dantès told the crew they could all rest while he took the wheel.
When the crew heard this, they called him "the Maltese", that was enough. Everyone went to their bunks contentedly. This happened often. After years of isolation, Dantès frequently craved solitude, and what could be more complete than steering a ship alone on the dark sea under the vast sky?
Now his solitude filled with racing thoughts, the night lit up by his fantasies, the silence alive with anticipation. When the captain woke up, the ship was flying forward with every sail catching the wind perfectly. They were making nearly ten knots per hour, and Monte Cristo Island loomed large on the horizon.
Dantès handed control back to the captain and tried to rest in his hammock, but despite his sleepless night, he couldn’t close his eyes for even a moment. Two hours later, he returned to the deck as they approached the Island of Elba. They were passing near several smaller islands, and Monte Cristo’s peak glowed red in the burning sunlight against the azure sky.
Dantès ordered the helmsman to adjust course around one of the smaller islands, knowing this would save them two or three nautical miles. Around five in the evening, the island became distinct and everything on it clearly visible in that crystal-clear light that comes just before sunset.
Edmond stared intensely at the mass of rocks that displayed every color of twilight, from brilliant pink to deep blue. His cheeks flushed, his forehead darkened, and his vision blurred with emotion. No gambler betting his entire fortune on a single roll of the dice had ever felt the agony that Edmond experienced in his moments of desperate hope.
Night fell, and at ten o’clock they dropped anchor. Their ship, La Jeune Amélie, was first at the rendezvous point. Despite his usual self-control, Dantès couldn’t contain his excitement. He was the first to jump ashore, and if he’d dared, he would have kissed the ground like ancient heroes returning home.
It was dark, but at eleven o’clock the moon rose over the ocean, turning every wave to silver and casting pale light on the rocky hills of this legendary island.
The crew of La Jeune Amélie knew the island well, it was one of their regular stops. But while Dantès had sailed past it on previous voyages, he’d never actually landed here. He questioned Jacopo, one of the sailors.
"Where will we spend the night?" he asked.
"Why, on board the ship," Jacopo replied.
"Wouldn’t we be better off in the caves?"
"What caves?"
"The caves, the island’s caves."
"I don’t know of any caves," Jacopo said.
Cold sweat broke out on Dantès’ forehead.
"What? There are no caves on Monte Cristo?" he demanded.
"None."
For a moment, Dantès couldn’t speak. Then he remembered that these caves might have been filled in by accident, or deliberately sealed for security by Cardinal Spada. The key was finding the hidden entrance. It would be useless to search at night, so Dantès postponed his investigation until morning.
Besides, a signal from a ship half a league out at sea, answered by La Jeune Amélie with a similar signal, indicated that business was about to begin. The approaching boat, assured by the answering signal that all was well, soon appeared like a white phantom and anchored within a cable’s length of shore.
Then the real work began. As Dantès labored, he thought about the shout of joy he could cause among all these men with a single word, if he revealed the secret that consumed his heart. But far from sharing this precious knowledge, he worried that he’d already said too much. His restlessness, constant questions, careful observations, and obvious preoccupation might arouse suspicion.
Fortunately, his painful past had marked his face with permanent sadness, and any glimpses of happiness beneath that cloud were brief and fleeting. No one suspected anything.
The next day, taking a hunting rifle, powder, and shot, Dantès announced his intention to hunt some of the wild goats that could be seen leaping from rock to rock. Everyone assumed this was either a love of sport or a desire for solitude. However, Jacopo insisted on coming along, and Dantès didn’t object, fearing that resistance might cause suspicion.
They’d barely gone a quarter-mile when, after killing a young goat, Dantès asked Jacopo to take it back to their comrades and have them cook it. When it was ready, they should signal him by firing a gun. Along with some dried fruit and a flask of wine, this would be their meal.
Dantès continued alone, glancing behind and around him constantly. After reaching the summit of a high rock, he could see his companions a thousand feet below. Jacopo had rejoined them, and they were all busy preparing the feast that Edmond’s marksmanship had enhanced with fresh meat.
Edmond watched them for a moment with the sad, gentle smile of someone who felt superior to his fellows. "In two hours," he said to himself, "these people will leave, each fifty coins richer, only to risk their lives again trying to earn fifty more. Then they’ll return with a fortune of six hundred francs and waste this treasure in some city, living like sultans with the arrogance of princes. Right now, hope makes me despise their wealth, which seems contemptible to me.
Yet perhaps tomorrow disappointment will affect me so strongly that I’ll consider such contemptible possessions the height of happiness. Oh no!" he exclaimed. "That won’t happen. The wise, infallible Faria couldn’t be wrong about this one thing. Besides, it would be better to die than continue leading this low and wretched life."