D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 188: what you’re looking at

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

The Grip of Porthos. 177 my service altogether,” observed he. “Why, my master, I thought that you had Father Neptune for your host, in his under-sea tavern of the Cod-on-the-Trent !”’ “And I deplored the same of you! As you see, while the sea does not always give up its dead, it grants the living a respite. I must be one of the reprobates to be spewed up after sinking so deep in the swirl!” “T was picked up next to lifeless,” resumed the other, in a tremulous voice. “What are those countless sail?” “A few I called together! Where the carrion is, the vultures gather! We ‘have old grudges, all of us, against this Spain, a ‘blasted’ whale, and we have come to cut her up and ‘try’ her sorely !” “But look there, landward!’ added D’Artagnan, “those are soldiers !’’ ‘More Spanish! but never fret! See, my men are landing, jumping out and wading up the sand. Those are Dutch, and they have their knives whetted for their old- time foe. They want to be at them the first! I have enough of them to spare off the decks to take San Se- bastian, if that was logged to do. See them swarm up the cliffs like rats abandoning an eaten-out grainship for a full one!” Indeed, the landed seamen rushed up the height and streamed out along the edge of the highland so menac- ingly that the Spanish bugles called a halt, and the on- comers mustered in a mass. A battle array had not been expected in this lonely spot. Hold them in check,” said Pedro, as if he had been a military general all this life, to several officers who came for instructions. ‘“‘No bloodshed, unless it is forced upon you. There are friends pressed into service against their country in those ranks. You will lose nothing in the long run, as I promised you. Fishes shall feed way up the inland rivers, and there will be a blush on Portugal soil as if all the vermillion of the Almaden mines painted it !”” “What are they? What are they?’ demanded D’Ar- tagnan, seeing, but unable to realize the fortuity. “Our Brothers of the Coast, of course, burning to singe the Lion’s muzzle a little!” (C©) CORNICLOOOKS