D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER XV. UNDER THE DUCAL CROWN. “TI think the salt water has made my eyes weak,” apol- ogetically said the lieutenant, blinking. In the circle of friendship one forgets statecraft, minis- terial imbroglios, cabals and even, though warriors, com- mon prudence. Fortunately, there were none but French- men about. The Messter’s survivors looked guardedly at the pair so marvelously united, divining that the newcomer was at least as important as the one charged to them by the highest authority of their country. But the two, on conversing—since D’Artagnan rapidly recovered—did so in a low tone; steering clear of the spar and its dead passengers the boat was directed to the shore by the resuscitated, who was the faultless pilot. Once they stopped; a corpse blocked their path. The musketeer eyed it curiously. It was none of his ac- quaintance; it was a galley slave, in fact. How came it so far, to float cheek-by-jowl with him? Who can tell? Storms have these grotesque surprises. They touched shore under the bluff, where the smoothed sand was soft as down, yet had abraded ada- mantine rocks over night. “Orders, sir?’ asked the coxswain, ruefully, after all were out of the boat and stamping to supple their limbs. “Finish the food and spirits, but be sparing of the lat- ter till you have eaten. We must find out the fate of our ship, first thing. Haul up the boat out of reach of the back-wash, and, as soon as we can, we will make a search along shore.” D’Artagnan was greatly restored, but it was thank- fully that he leaned on his friend’s arm. “Stay, lieutenant,” said he, quietly but firmly, “this is a hostile shore, truces and treaties to the contrary! Any castaways from your warship become prisoners of war by, Gomicbdoo <Sii