Sitting in Alencon Barre's room an hour later, Shorland told him in
substance the result of his conference with Gabrielle, and begged his
consideration for Luke if the worst should happen. Alencon Barre gave
his word as a man of honour that the matter should be sacred to him.
As they sat there, a messenger came from the commandant to say that the
detachment was to start that afternoon for Bompari. Then a note was
handed to Shorland from Governor Rapont offering him a horse and a native
servant if he chose to go with the troops. This was what Shorland had
come for--news and adventure. He did not hesitate, though the shadow of
the twenty-fifth was hanging over him. He felt his helplessness in the
matter, but determined to try to be back in Noumea on that date. Not
that he expected anything definite, but because he had a feeling that
where Gabrielle was on that day he ought to be.
For two days they travelled, the friendship between them growing hourly
closer. It was the swift amalgamation of two kindred natures in the
flame of a perfect sincerity, for even with the dramatic element so
strongly developed in him, the Englishman was downright and true.
His friendship was as tenacious as his head was cool.
On the evening of the third day Shorland noticed that the strap of his
spur was frayed. He told his native servant to attend to it. Next
morning as they were starting he saw that the strap had not been mended
or replaced. His language on the occasion was pointed and confident.
The fact is, he was angry with himself for trusting anything to a
servant. He was not used to such a luxury, and he made up his mind to
live for the rest of the campaign without a servant, as he had done all
his life long.
The two friends rode side by side for miles through the jungle of fern
and palm, and then began to enter a more open but scrubby country. The
scouts could be seen half a mile ahead. Not a sign of natives had been
discovered on the march. More than once Barre had expressed his anxiety
at this. He knew it pointed to concentrated trouble ahead, and, just as
they neared the edge of the free country, he rose in his saddle and
looked around carefully. Shorland imitated his action, and, as he
resumed his seat, he felt his spur-strap break. He leaned back, and drew
up the foot to take off the spur. As he did so, he felt a sudden twitch
at his side, and Barre swayed in his saddle with a spear in the groin.
Shorland caught him and prevented him falling to the ground. A wild cry
rose from the jungle behind and from the clearing ahead, and in a moment
the infuriated French soldiers were in the thick of a hand-to-hand fray
under a rain of spears and clubs. The spear that had struck Barre would
have struck Shorland had he not bent backward when he did. As it was the
weapon had torn a piece of cloth from his coat.
A moment, and the wounded man was lifted to the ground. The surgeon
shook his head in sad negation. Death already blanched the young
officer's face. Shorland looked into the misty eyes with a sadness only
known to those who can gauge the regard of men who suffer for each other.
Four days ago this gallant young officer had taken risk for him, had
saved him from injury, perhaps death; to-day the spear meant for him
had stricken down this same young officer, never to rise again. The
vicarious sacrifice seemed none the less noble to the Englishman because
it was involuntary and an accident. The only point clear in his mind was
that had he not leant back, Barre would be the whole man and he the
wounded one.
"How goes it, my friend?" said Shorland, bending over him.
Alencon Barre looked up, agony twitching his nostrils and a dry white
line on his lips. "Ah, mon camarade," he answered huskily, "it is in
action--that is much; it is for France, that is more to me--everything.
They would not let me serve France in Paris, but I die for her in New
Caledonia. I have lived six-and-twenty years. I have loved the world.
Many men have been kind, and once there was a woman--and I shall see her
soon, quite soon. It is strange. The eyes will become blind, and then
they will open, and--ah!" His fingers closed convulsively on those of
Blake Shorland. When the ghastly tremor, the deadly corrosions of the
poisoned spear passed he said: "So--so! It is the end. C'est bien,
c'est bien!"
All round them the fight raged, and French soldiers were repeating
English bravery in the Soudan.
"It is not against a great enemy, but it is good," said the wounded man
as he heard the conquering cries of a handful of soldiers punishing ten
times their numbers. "You remember Prince Eugene and the assegais?"
"I remember."
"Our Houses were enemies, but we were friends, he and I. And so, and so,
you see, it is the same for both."
Again the teeth of the devouring poison fastened on him, and, when it
left him, a grey pallor had settled upon the face.