“The next moment Le Clere cried, ‘On guard, gentlemen!’ and I heard the click of the blades as they met. I had my hands full, and was soon aware of Le Clere’s skill. I was, however, as agile as a cat, and he less clever with his legs than his arm. Nor do I think he desired to make the affair serious. In a few minutes—it seemed longer—I heard an oath, and, alarmed for Hugh, cast a glance in his direction. I saw his foe fall back, his sword flying some feet away. My indiscretion gave my man his chance. His blade caught in my rolled-up sleeve, bent, and, as I drove my own through his shoulder, passed clean through the left side of my neck. With a great jet of blood, I fell, and for a little knew no more.”
This account from Jack’s journal is a better statement of this sad business than I could have set down. I saw with horror Jack and Le Clere salute, and then was too full of business to see more, until I had disarmed Mr. Woodville, badly wounding his sword-hand, a rare accident. And here was my Jack dead, as I thought. I think I can never forget that scene; Mr. Le Clere, gaunt and thin, lifting his late foe, the surgeon kneeling and busy, my own man hot and wrathful, cursing like mad, and wrapping his hand about with a handkerchief, clearly in pain, and I waiting for the word of death or life.
At last the doctor said, “It is bad—bad, but not fatal. How came it, Le Clere? You told me that neither you nor Mr. Woodville meant anything serious.”
I was kneeling by Jack, and was not intended to hear what all were too hot and excited to guard by bated breath.
“Damn it, doctor!” returned Le Clere. “It is no use to talk. I never imagined that youngster would take me at my word.”
“You will be in hot water here,” said the doctor. “I would advise you to get away, and soon.”
“And we shall supply amusement to every mess in the army,” said Woodville, with an abundance of bad language. “Quakers indeed!”
Jack’s eyes opened, and he said, “Thou art not hurt, Hugh?”
“No, no!” I answered, and, relieved a little, turned to Mr. Le Clere: “We shall, I fear, have to ask thy chaise of thee. We came afoot. I will send it back at once.”
Le Clere said, “Of course; with all my heart.”