D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 114: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Third Lash. W103 praise this congener for his profundity of statecraft, for the sea horses were once more galloping down. Again that bellow on high, which was the more terri- ble as the lightning did not show through the mass of clouds; the wave advanced like a tidal one; the line was not perfect this time, for each crested billow seemed in- tent on outstripping its fellow by tumbling over it. ‘Columns of rain gyrated twenty feet high and resem- bled Scythians standing on their horses in a mad charge. ‘Brother,’ said the skipper, with humor, “my poor, pickle-herring brother, it is none too soon to be packed up in your cask!” Spite of all, the curious puncheon had remained by their side, secured, though the fastenings could be re- lieved instanter, with seaman’s accuracy. “Not me—you!” expostulated the Frenchman. “No, you have the wit—the power to redeem poor Portugal! ‘Save yourself to save her!’ “We should draw for it, then!” Pedro picked up two ropes’ ends, severed by the storm as by shears. He ‘held them in this closed hand, the ends protruding. D’Artagnan drew, with emotion. “You have won, my French gallant!” cried the other, merrily. “And you will win, as I should not! Into the cask of salvation!” “Inasmuch as there are no spikes,’ stammered the musketeer. “For, as the clothes I scantily retain, are riddled and frayed, a few more rips and I should appear indecently before Queen Amphitrite !” He plunged feet foremost into the odd buoy, like an Eskimo entering his night pajamas, whereupon Pedro closed ithe slit with the knittle, or drawing-string. He clapped the sonorous bulge merrily, and rolled it into the side where the careening made it a-wash. As he launched it, or rather had but to let go for it to tumble off, he vociferated. “Bon voyage, monsieur !” D’Artagnan did not reply, for he would not have been heard. Besides, he was beaten down into the wallow as if Niagara had descended on his singular life-pre- serving case. | Pedro could not wait for its reappearance. At that CORNICE OOOKS (€(0) im