Teeth had been eating away at Jean Valjean's ankle when it happened.
Above him, a sailor furling the sail lost his balance upon the yard and tumbled backwards, flipping over himself like a lopsided doll. His hands splayed open for any sort of salvation, but only found the rising depths of the sea in answer. He managed to grasp the man-ropes as he fell, hands spasming as the force of his descent and the wind swung him to and fro.
Valjean vaulted over to the officer of the watch, chain in hand as the man hung there, a living corpse at the end of a noose.
"Sir," he pleaded, "Permit me to save this man." The officer turned towards his request amidst the chaos. Sailors shivered and this fellow crew shook and rattled in their chains like ghouls risen from the confides of the sea.
A curt nod was returned and with that, Valjean seized a hammer and blasted through the chain attached to his ankle. He tossed the hammer and snatched up a length of rope and surged towards the main mast. Feet slapping upon the moist wood, Valjean leapt upon its rigging and clambered up.
A dull chattering rose from the crowd of gawkers as their attention was captured by his appearance. But it wasn't strong enough to remove the roar of blood that pressed upon his ears as he levelled with the dangling man. He glanced over and caught a glimpse of the man's face. He had hoped never to see the agony of a person between the threshold of death and live ever again.
The ropes twisted and burnt through the rough callous on his hands as he scrambled to the top. Upon arrival at the round-top, his hat was quickly snatched off his head by the blustery gale. His long white locks pricked at his eyes as he assessed the yard. The man had started contorting as if fending off an unwanted embrace.
Valjean swallowed, and raised his eyes towards heaven. He mouthed a small prayer and took a step forward.
The crowd remained hushed below; only the wind breathed heavily amongst the pressed mouths and pinched lips.
The yard felt like land beneath his feet. With that reassurance, he flew to the edge, slicing through the air. Stooping down, he quickly wrapped the rope around an iron ring, jerked it taut, and threw it overboard.
The Orion groaned as it was buffeted with gale and foam. Froth lapped at the belly of this monstrous golem as it rocked in its efforts to extricate the two lives that hung to her. Yet the tenacity of the living is not one to mock: Valjean hand-over-hand repelled down his makeshift lifeline.
The sweat of the ocean mixed with his own as he slid down the rough hemp. His teeth began to ache as his jaw clenched and his brow remained furrowed.
He reached the seaman whose twisting features set him at once to his task of securing him. The deft hands tied the rope around the man's waist before knotting it to his own. As soon as the convict tested the rigidity of his handicraft, the seaman went limp as a rag tossed upon a rail.
His stomach clenched.
A collective gasp dissipated as the knot held true.
He took a deep breath and uncoiled the anger that constricted his muscles. They loosened and reassembled themselves for the climb once more.
Hair whipping about his eyes, Valjean reascended once more to the yard and hauled the sailor as one would a particularly plump fish. He brought the man to sit upon the yard to regain both wits and strength before he lifted him in his arms.
For a sailor, he was remarkably light, Valjean remarked. The man's eyes were closed as he took great, shuddering gasps that rocked his frame. His left arm convulsed against Valjean's chest; the right had lost all movement.
Despite the rocking of the boat that brought it dangerously close to the frigate moored close by, Jean Valjean walked with the confidence of one who had traversed more perilous paths.
When he had reached the round-top, a cacophony of suppressed emotion erupted and they were engulfed in a dozen flailing arms of the awaiting mess-mates. They removed their friend from Valjean's arms and helped him stand upon his wobbling legs. Burly arms gingerly wrapped around shoulders wrung from hard labour and blunt fingers ruffled through russet and white. Down below, women hugged each other, and old men wept. The roar of applause leant a colouring emphasis to the fervour that chorused, "This man must be pardoned!"
At this, Valjean started.
"My good man, that feat was amazing!" shouted a sailor, doffing his cap.
"We sure do 'preciate what you did fer Anton here," said another as he glanced down the rigging where Anton was inching his way back down to solid ground.
"I did what no other man could do. Nothing more." Valjean took in the crowd below as it swallowed Anton in a midst of open arms and mouths. "Please permit me to leave, there's work to be done below."
"Aw, he can't have that!" roared a muscular man, whose build was almost a direct reflection of his own. He punched Valjean in the shoulder. "You go and save Anton from that jealous mistress and you talk of work?"
Valjean shook his head and gestured to his red shirt, "I cannot."
The man crossed his arms and raised a burnt brow.
"Well, we will go down together then, as we all are bound for the same destination."
Valjean threw a look out towards the lower yard and turned back to the sailor. He was the only one left, and he stood there, the seafaring Hercules ready to do battle with his lion.
Valjean bowed his head and immediately jerked as a massive hand smacked his back.
"There, that wasn't so bad!" yelled the man jovially. "We are all brothers in life and death."
Startled, Valjean regarded the man. "What?"
The man silently motioned towards the rigging, waiting for him to start climbing. As soon as he began his descent, the man joined him.
"No one that puts his life in the hand of Fate for another deserves it kept locked away," replied the man, his blue eyes solemn against his leathered face and raspy hair.
Valjean's throat convulsed and he looked straight ahead at the bobbing horizon, rising higher and higher.
"You can't judge without all the pieces," he murmured into the wind.
"But one can make a pretty good assumption based on the pieces he has."
They neared the deck and the people moved back, like oil upon water. When his feet embraced the ground once more, a deafening roar erupted rivalling the ones provided for that year's May Day. His comrade disappeared into the press of bodies. Women fought to glimpse him and men pointed and made wild gestures.
Alone, Valjean began walking to search for his officer. He compressed his arms against his sides and hunched over, but to no avail.
Hands slapped, picked, patted, and interrupted Valjean as he ambled his way through the crowd. His head bowed beneath the onslaught of verbiage that assaulted him through his march. Drying salt chafed his skin and his tongue fought the stale taste of it.
He found his keeper at the same place he had left him. The officer of the watch clamped a hand upon the convict's shoulder and led him away.
The wagging of tongues kept the story ablaze long after Valjean left the site. Every step he took ignited a fresh conversation about his adventure upon the Orion. Like oil, his very presence trailed the story after him until he arrived once again at the Bagne of Toulon. Once there, a great conflagration swept through the tight prison cells, setting both guards and prisoners alight with excitement and speculation.
Throughout the winter, this particular tale kept Toulon warm with its incredulous reality and flavoured retellings. There wasn't a traveller to this port town who hadn't heard of convict 9430 and his grand adventure. When they left with their goods and wares, this spectacular story was packaged and carried along, dispersed like seeds among every tavern and inn they stopped at.
It wasn't until Valjean was at work upon the shipyard, on Easter Sunday, that he received the letter. And with that, this small city exploded once more in a frenzy of excitement and activity.
Toulon had kept their promise to see their hero pardoned.