- end_line
- 9205
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.274Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 9177
- text
- And something like this it turned out. In ascending one of the narrow
ladders leading from the berth-deck to the gun-deck, the Most Noble
Marquis of Silva, in the act of elevating the Imperial coat-tails, so
as to protect them from rubbing against the newly-painted combings of
the hatchway, this noble marquis’s sword, being an uncommonly long one,
had caught between his legs, and tripped him head over heels down into
the fore-passage.
“Onde ides?” (where are you going?) said his royal master, tranquilly
peeping down toward the falling Marquis; “and what did you let go of my
coat-tails for?” he suddenly added, in a passion, glancing round at the
same time, to see if they had suffered from the unfaithfulness of his
train bearer.
“Oh, Lord!” sighed the Captain of the Fore-top, “who would be a Marquis
of Silva?”
Upon being assisted to the spar-deck, the unfortunate Marquis was found
to have escaped without serious harm; but, from the marked coolness of
his royal master, when the Marquis drew near to apologise for his
awkwardness, it was plain that he was condemned to languish for a time
under the royal displeasure.
Shortly after, the Imperial party withdrew, under another grand
national salute.
- title
- Chunk 2