Evening ca, and Dantès watched the island fade into twilight shadows before disappearing into darkness. While it vanished from everyone else’s sight, his prison-trained eyes continued to see it long after the others had looked away. He remained alone on deck, the last witness to its presence.
The next morning broke off a different coast. They spent the day sailing along the shoreline, and that evening spotted signal fires on land. These were clearly landing coordinates, because a ship’s lantern was raised on their mast instead of the usual flag, and they moved to within cannon range of the shore.
Dantès noticed that as they approached land, the captain had mounted two small cannons, not particularly loud, but capable of firing four-ounce cannonballs over considerable distances. However, this precaution proved unnecessary, and everything proceeded with perfect smoothness and courtesy.
Four small boats approached their ship almost silently. In acknowledgnt of this respectful approach, La Jeune Amélie lowered her own boat, and the five vessels worked so efficiently that by two in the morning, all cargo had been transferred from ship to shore.
That sa night, with the punctuality typical of La Jeune Amélie’s captain, profits were divided. Each crew mber received a hundred Tuscan coins, roughly equivalent to eighty francs. But the voyage wasn’t over, they turned toward Sardinia to pick up a replacent cargo.
The second operation proved as successful as the first. La Jeune Amélie was on a lucky streak. This new cargo was destined for the Duchy of Lucca’s coastline and consisted almost entirely of premium cigars, sherry, and Spanish wines.
But this ti they encountered trouble with the customs duties. The revenue service was, in truth, the eternal enemy of La Jeune Amélie’s captain. A brief but violent skirmish erupted. One customs officer was killed, and two sailors were wounded, Dantès among them, taking a bullet in his left shoulder.
Dantès was almost glad for this confrontation, nearly pleased to be wounded. These were harsh lessons teaching him how calmly he could face danger and how much suffering he could endure. He had looked danger in the eye with a smile, and when wounded, had echoed the words of ancient philosophers: "Pain, you are not truly evil."
Moreover, he had watched the customs officer die, and whether from the heat of battle or the cooling of human compassion, the sight had made little impression on him. Dantès was becoming the man he needed to be, moving toward his goal, and his heart was slowly turning to stone.
Jacopo, seeing him fall, thought he’d been killed and rushed to help, tending to him with the devotion of a true comrade. This world wasn’t as perfect as so optimists claid, but neither was it as wicked as Dantès had co to believe. Here was a man who had nothing to gain from his friendship except a share of prize money, yet showed genuine grief when he saw him wounded.
Fortunately, Dantès’ injury was minor. With certain herbs gathered in season and sold to smugglers by old island won, the wound healed quickly. Dantès decided to test Jacopo’s character and offered to share his prize money as paynt for the care, but Jacopo refused indignantly.
This sympathetic devotion that Jacopo had shown from the beginning moved Dantès to a degree of genuine affection. This was enough for Jacopo, who instinctively sensed that Dantès had a right to superiority, a superiority Dantès had hidden from everyone else. From that point forward, whatever kindness Dantès showed was sufficient for the brave sailor.
During the long days at sea, when the ship glided securely over blue waters needing only a helmsman’s touch thanks to favorable winds, Dantès beca Jacopo’s instructor, just as the poor priest had once been his teacher. He showed him coastal navigation, explained compass variations, and taught him to read that vast book written overhead, the sky, where divine hands wrote in blue with diamond letters.
When Jacopo asked, "What’s the point of teaching all this to a simple sailor like ?" Dantès replied, "Who knows? You might captain your own vessel soday. Your fellow Corsican, Bonaparte, beca emperor." We should ntion that Jacopo was indeed from Corsica.
Two and a half months passed in these trading runs, and Dantès had beco as skilled a coastal navigator as he was a seasoned sailor. He’d ford connections with smugglers all along the coast and learned the secret signals these half-pirates used to recognize each other. He had passed and repassed his Island of Monte Cristo twenty tis, but never found an opportunity to land there.
Finally, he ford a plan. As soon as his contract with La Jeune Amélie’s captain ended, he would hire a small vessel with his own money, he’d saved up a hundred silver coins during his voyages, and find so excuse to land on Monte Cristo Island. Then he’d be free to conduct his search, though probably not entirely alone, as he’d likely be watched by whoever accompanied him.
But in this world, sotis you have to take risks. Prison had made Dantès cautious, and he preferred to avoid unnecessary dangers. Yet no matter how he racked his fertile imagination, he couldn’t devise a plan to reach the island without companions.
Dantès was wrestling with these doubts and desires when the captain, who had great confidence in him and desperately wanted to keep him in service, took him by the arm one evening. He led him to a tavern on Via del’ Oglio, where Leghorn’s leading smugglers gathered to discuss business matters.
Dantès had visited this mariti exchange two or three tis before. Seeing all these bold free-traders who supplied nearly two hundred leagues of coastline, he’d wondered what power a man might wield if he could unite all these independent, conflicting minds under his will.
This ti, they were discussing sothing major: a ship loaded with Turkish carpets, Middle Eastern fabrics, and cashre. They needed to find neutral ground for an exchange, then attempt to land these goods on the French coast. If successful, the profit would be enormous, fifty or sixty silver coins for each crew mber.
La Jeune Amélie’s captain proposed the Island of Monte Cristo as a landing spot. Being completely deserted, with neither soldiers nor revenue officers, it seed to have been placed in the middle of the ocean by the gods themselves, a perfect location for rchants and rogues, categories that modern tis had separated but ancient wisdom had grouped together.
At the ntion of Monte Cristo, Dantès nearly jumped with excitent. He stood to hide his emotion, taking a casual walk around the smoky tavern where languages from across the known world mixed into a universal trader’s dialect.
When he rejoined the conversation, the decision had been made. They would stop at Monte Cristo and depart the following night. When asked for his opinion, Dantès agreed that the island offered perfect security, and that great enterprises should be executed quickly.
Nothing in the plan was changed. Orders were given to set sail the next night and, weather permitting, reach the neutral island by the following day.
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