After a few steps, this doubt vanished. His senses, sharpened by danger, had the same perception as has the wild boar who scents the pack of hounds trying to cross his tracks. At his right, was the water. At his left, men were prowling behind the mountains of freight, wishing to cut him off; behind were coming still others to prevent his retreat.
He might run, advancing toward those who were trying to hem him in. But ought a man to run with a revolver in his hand?… Those who were coming behind would join in the pursuit. A human hunt was going to take place in the night, and he, Ferragut, would be the deer pursued by the low crowds from the bar. "Ah, no!…" The captain recalled von Kramer galloping miserably in full daylight along the wharves of Marseilles…. If they must kill him, let it not be in flight.
He continued his advance with a rapid step, seeing through his enemies' plans. They did not wish to show themselves in that part of the harbor obstructed by mountains of cases, fearing that he might hide himself there. They would await him near his ship in a safe, hidden spot by which he would undoubtedly have to pass.
"Forward!" he kept repeating to himself. "If I have to die, let it be within sight of the Mare Nostrum!" The steamer was near. He could recognize now its black silhouette fast to the wharf. At that moment the dog on board began to bark furiously, announcing the captain's presence and danger at the same time.
He abandoned the shelter of a hillock of coal, advancing over an open space. He concentrated all his will power upon gaining his vessel as quickly as possible.
A swift flame flashed out, followed by a report. They were already shooting at him. Other little lights began to twinkle from different sides of the dock, followed by reports of a gun. It was a sharp cross-fire; behind him, they were firing, too. He felt various whistlings near his ears, and received a blow on the shoulder,—a sensation like that from a hot stone.
They were going to kill him. His enemies were too many for him. And, without knowing exactly what he was doing, yielding to instinct, he threw himself on the ground like a dying person.
Some few shots were still sounding. Then all was silent. Only on the nearby ship the dog was continuing its howling.
He saw a shadow advancing slowly toward him. It was a man, one of his enemies, coming out from the group in order to examine him at close range. He let him come close up to him, with his right hand grasping his revolver still intact.
Suddenly he raised his arm, striking the head that was bending over him. Two lightning streaks flashed from his hand, separated by a brief interval. The first flitting blaze of fire made him see a familiar face…. Was it really Karl, the doctor's factotum?… The second explosion aided his memory. Yes, it was Karl, with his features disfigured by a black gash in the temple…. The German pulled himself up with an agonizing shudder, then fell on his back, with his arms relaxed.