Fortunately, as d'Artagnan had thought, it was not dangerous.

The point of the sword had touched a rib, and glanced along the bone.

Still further, his shirt had stuck to the wound, and he had lost only a few drops of blood.
D'Artagnan was worn out with fatigue.

A mattress was laid upon the deck for him.

He threw himself upon it, and fell asleep.
On the morrow, at break of day, they were still three or four leagues from the coast of England.