# Terence O'Rourke/Part 1/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII
HE RESPECTS A FLAG OF TRUCE
Within fifteen minutes after the return of O'Rourke to the beach, all were aboard the Eirene, and over the sandhills reigned a silence as profound as though they had not been the scene of a furious skirmish half an hour before.
The commander of the yacht deemed it advisable to keep up a peppering of the desert with the machine guns at intervals throughout the night, but O'Rourke decided against this measure.
"Ye'll hear no more of the Tawareks," he told Lemercier confidently—"for a while, at least. I rather fancy we've taught them a lesson that they will not be quick to forget. But the morning will decide that; then we can go ashore and look over the battle-ground." He laughed, as a tried soldier might, at his dignifying of the conflict with the name of battle.
"For the rest of the night," he continued, "'twill be sufficient to arm the watch and keep them on the lookout. Also, 'twould be advisable to continue the use of the searchlight; 'twill do no manner of harm, and may do good. The rockets frightened them; the searchlight may keep up the good work."
"Convey my orders to that effect to the captain," responded le petit Lemercier, who had by now recovered from his fright. "In half an hour, monsieur, I shall expect you to attend a council of war in the saloon."
"I'll be wid yez, your majesty," promised O'Rourke, ​himself still gay—laughing as a man will, half-intoxicated with the wine of war. "Faith," he told himself, "'tis O'Rourke who is not sorry that he's here!"
But perhaps the light he had seen in the eyes of Madame la Princesse had somewhat to do with his self-satisfaction.
He saw the captain, and later hurried off to the sick ward to see primarily what could be done for Danny; afterwards he was concerned for the other wounded.
Two dead and eight wounded were the casualties which had been sustained by the little army of occupation. Four men had been wounded but slightly, among them the man Soly, whom O'Rourke had disciplined at Las Palmas; a bullet had plowed a furrow across his shoulder, which proved painful, but not serious.
Of the four others, however, one was expected to die—an ex-Spahi, whose chest had been torn open; one other must wear his arm in splints, for a time, perforce of a shattered forearm, and another would have to lie upon his back for weeks pending the healing of a hole in his lungs.
As for Danny, the poor fellow was unconscious; the shot of the Tawarek had taken effect in the back of his head, near the base of his brain—perilously near.
O'Rourke cursed himself for his stupidity, not only in ordering the man into certain danger, but for another more serious oversight; he, upon whom had devolved the bulk of the military preparations, had neglected securing the services of a surgeon.
But, like most veterans, he had some slight knowledge, himself, of the treatment of wounds and the care of the wounded; and with the assistance of Chambret—always willing to do what he termed "his possible"—and of the yacht's medicine chest, which happened by good chance, to ​be well stocked, the Irishman was able to accomplish much toward alleviating the sufferings of the stricken.
Two of them he relieved of lodged bullets; and concerning the remainder his mind was at rest with the double exception of Danny and the man with the torn chest. For them he knew not what to do; Danny's wound was so close upon the delicate regions of the brain that he dared not probe for the bullet; and the other was beyond help.
He told Chambret this, turning a face to the Frenchman that was lined deep with his mental trouble and with sorrow for the plight of his countryman.
"In sober truth," he declared, "I don't know what the divvle to do for them. 'Tis meself that's no angel to soothe their agonies."
Chambret, who had watched with growing admiration the Irishman as he moved about attending to the sufferers with a sympathy that seemed almost womanly and with hands as soft and gentle as a child's, smiled sadly, and shook his head.
"You have my sympathy, mon ami," he assured him; "but the fatal mistake lay in not bringing a surgeon."
"Faith, then," cried O'Rourke, "we'll just have to go for one!"
"Comment?" demanded Chambret, wondering if O'Rourke was out of his senses to suggest obtaining a surgeon's services in that howling wilderness.
"I say," repeated O'Rourke, "that these men shall have proper attention. If Monsieur l'Empereur"—he sneered slightly—"is to found his empire in the hearts of his servants he'll be obliged to turn the Eirene back to Las Palmas."
Chambret whistled.
"I prophesy trouble, monsieur, if that is the advice you will give his majesty."
​"Me soul! Trouble? If he denies me, 'tis himself who'll have all the trouble he desires!"
Again the Frenchman made a sign of dissent.
"It will not be his majesty who will deny you, but—" he shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"Monsieur le Prince?"
"You have said it, monsieur."
The Irishman snapped his fingers angrily.
"That for the whelp!" he declared.
"You do not fear him?"
"Fear—him? Mon ami, ye do not know me."
"You are a bold man, monsieur, to think of defying his highness."
"I suppose he will think so," said O'Rourke shortly, preparing to leave the sick bay. "But, come, Monsieur Chambret. Ye attend the conference?"
"If you seriously purpose to advance your proposition, monsieur, wild horses would not serve to keep me away."
The Frenchman joined arms with O'Rourke, laughing.
"A bold man!" he repeated. "Bold, indeed, to brave the displeasure of Monsieur le Prince, Felix de Grandlieu! I have told you that he is a noted duelist?"
"A noted coward, Chambret!" O'Rourke muttered an impolite Anglo-Saxon epithet that appealed to him as highly applicable to the character of Prince Felix. "If he does me the honor," he growled, "of calling me out, I'll take all the pleasure in life in blowing his ugly head off his shoulders."
Again Chambret laughed.
"Decidedly, monsieur," he said lightly, "when we come to settle our affair I must be on my guard!"
"Our affair! I thought ye had forgotten that."
"Non, monsieur; the blow I can forgive you, now that I ​know you. But there are other things." He paused meaningly.
O'Rourke disengaged his arm.
"As to what?" he demanded sharply.
"As to—madame."
It was O'Rourke's turn to whistle. "Lies the wind that way, d'ye tell me? There, indeed, have we cause for disagreement, mon ami!"
"All in good time," returned Chambret patiently; "wait until this chimera of empire is dissipated. Then, by the grace of God, I shall balance accounts with monsieur. For the present, we are—what you say?—partners."
"Faith, 'tis yourself has a queer way of showing it!"
They were now on deck, walking aft toward the main saloon. The yacht was as silent as a dream ship, with but the faintest of lapping under her quarters as she rose and fell upon the tide. They ceased their conversation, suddenly, under the spell of the night's beauty; and that was supreme, resplendent with the multitude of high, clear, wonderful stars that cluster above the desert; a black night and cold—nipping cold as are all nights upon the Sahara.
Upon the shore the long, deliberate surge of the Atlantic broke monotonously, beating prolonged rolls that merged with and became a part of the stillness; only the occasional hiss and splutter of the searchlight in the bows actually disturbed the quiet as its fierce, white, glaring lance wheeled and veered out over the desert or darted skywards, clearly defined in the dust-laden air, like a sword of wrath trembling over the heads of the Tawareks.
Here and there one of the watch leaned idly upon the rail, his carbine ready to his hand, his eyes fixed undeviatingly upon the shore line; and presently the two, the Gaul and the ​Celt, united in war and divided in love, came upon le petit Lemercier himself, standing by the rail, and talking in low tones with his familiar dæmon, Monsieur le Prince.
He looked around and nodded as they approached, continuing his conversation in a somewhat higher pitch, as a man will when improvising talk to cover some awkward contretemps.
O'Rourke remarked this, and nodded significantly to Chambret, whose eyes likewise showed his comprehension of the situation—that Monsieur le Prince had been caught in the act of poisoning the mind of the emperor against one or both of the allies.
"Here," invented the Lemercier, "will be our harbor—widened and deepened by dredging. Here, also, we will build long quays of stone and iron out into the ocean, making it an ideal port for the desert caravans, who shall here bring their gums, their ivory, their gold and rich stuffs, and here obtain their supplies, sold them at cost by a paternal government."
"Here, by all means," echoed the intriguing prince.
"And now, messieurs," continued the emperor, turning, "to our conference, since you are ready."
He looked toward O'Rourke, or rather toward the place where O'Rourke had been; but his lieutenant-general was gone, running up the deck as though fear itself were treading close upon his heels.
Chambret stood staring after him with mouth agape; in his surprise the emperor took a couple of steps after the hurrying man, then halted, amazed.
He saw the Irishman leap suddenly and fall upon the shoulders of one of the watch, whose carbine promptly slipped from his grasp, and splashed in the waters of the harbor.
​"Not that, ye damn fool!" he cried. "D'ye want to ruin us all?"
The man squirmed, spluttering with surprise, choking with explanations. Lemercier arrived just in time to place a staying hand upon the infuriated Irishman's arm, and to secure the release of the hapless sentry.
"What are you about, monsieur?" he demanded angrily.
"About?" roared the Irishman. "Look ye there! And this fool would have killed him had I not happened to see him raise his gun!"
His majesty glanced in the direction the Irishman had indicated; he noticed that the searchlight was holding steady, unswerving; and there, upon the beach, in the center of the disk of illumination, was the figure of a Tawarek, standing, alone, erect, motionless, wrapped about with a burnoose of crimson and gold, masked in black to his eyes, disdainful and dignified despite the nature of his errand.
In one hand, outstretched, he bore a long lance; a cloth of white dangled from its tip.
"A flag of truce!" cried O'Rourke. "He has come as art envoy to make peace with ye, Monsieur l'Empereur! And this—this blockhead would have spoiled it all!"
"I will have, no dealings with him," announced le petit Lemercier, haughtily turning his shoulder to O'Rourke, "Let the man fire."
"Your majesty," protested O'Rourke, "that is madness—"
"They attacked us," persisted the emperor coldly.
"They rule the desert," expostulated the Irishman. "Ye were speaking of opening a port for the caravan trade. Without the cooperation of these desert pirates ye will gain nothing; if they oppose ye they will never permit one caravan to pass into your territories!"
​"That is so," counseled Monsieur le Prince. "The advice of Monsieur le Colonel is good, your majesty."
"Very well," le petit Lemercier gave in, regretfully; "have him aboard, then, and see what he wants."
He swung upon his heel, and went into the saloon, apparently highly offended by this disputation of his wishes. But the Irishman was too elated by the victory to care aught for le petit Lemercier's humor. He turned to the sentry, and caught him by the shoulders.
"When ye've served under me another minute, me boy," he told the man, "ye'll know better than to fire without orders. What's that ye say?"
"Monsieur," declared the man, "I have served long with the camel corps in Algeria. Our orders were to shoot a Tawarek on sight."
"Well, then, there's some excuse for ye. But in the future be careful. Now, go and find me a man who speaks the language of these devils."
The soldier saluted, and went off hurriedly, glad to escape further reprimand. As he did so, the man Soly slipped forward, out of the obscurity of the night, and saluted.
"Monsieur," he said humbly, avoiding O'Rourke's eye, "I was passing and heard what you desired."
"Well?"
"I speak Tamahak—the language of the Tawareks, mon général."
"Very well. Hail that fellow and find out what he wants."
The former member of the sans souci went to the rail and cupped his hands about his mouth; the next moment a thin, wailing cry, nearly the counterpart of that which had been the signal for the shooting of Danny, trembled upon the stillness.
​The Tawarek moved slightly—for the first time since he had appeared upon the beach; he waved his lance, making the flag of truce flutter, and answered the call. Again Soly hailed him, and again he replied.
"Well? Well?" demanded O'Rourke impatiently.
"He says that he is come to arrange peace," interpreted the man; "that you are to send a boat to bring him aboard."
"The nerve of him!" muttered O'Rourke.
Nervetheless, he gave orders to have the boat lowered and manned by a heavily armed crew; at the same time he directed that the deck guns should be trained upon the shore.
"Tell him," he ordered Soly, "that we will send for him, but that at the first sign of treachery we'll blow him into eternity!"
Soly complied readily, but the Tawarek preserved a dignified silence.
While the boat was making for the shore the Irishman ordered that the searchlight should sweep the surrounding desert, following its path with his binoculars; they showed to him no further sign of the enemy—naught, in fact, save that solitary, gorgeous figure, waiting patiently upon the beach.