CHAPTER LXXV.

AFTER BEING IN DANGER OF ROASTING, MOUSQUETON HAS A NARROW ESCAPE OF BEING EATEN. A profound silence prevailed in the boat for a long time after the terrible scene just described. The moon, which had shone for a short time, disappeared behind the clouds: every object was again plunged in that obscurity so awful in deserts, and still more so in that liquid desert, the sea, and nothing was heard, save the whistling of the west wind driving along the tops of the crested billow. Porthos was the first to speak. "I hav…