AN OF THE SOUTH

When Blake Shorland stepped from the steamer Belle Sauvage upon the quay
at Noumea, he proceeded, with the alertness of the trained newspaper
correspondent, to take his bearings. So this was New Caledonia, the home
of outcast, criminal France, the recent refuge of Communist exiles, of
Rochefort, Louise Michel, Felix Rastoul, and the rest! Over there to
the left was Ile Nou, the convict prison; on the hill was the Governor's
residence; below, the Government establishments with their red-tiled
roofs; and hidden away in a luxuriance of tropical vegetation lay the
houses of the citizens. He stroked his black moustache thoughtfully
for a moment, and put his hand to his pocket to see that his letters of
introduction from the French Consul at Sydney to Governor Rapont and his
journalistic credentials were there. Then he remembered the advice
of the captain of the Belle Sauvage as to the best hotel, and started
towards it. He had not been shown the way, but his instincts directed
him. He knew where it ought to be, according to the outlines of the
place.

It proved to be where he thought, and, having engaged rooms, sent for
his luggage, and refreshed himself, he set out to explore the town.
His prudent mind told him that he ought to proceed at once to Governor
Rapont and present his letters of commendation, for he was in a country
where feeling was running high against English interference with the
deportation of French convicts to New Caledonia, and the intention of
France to annex the New Hebrides. But he knew also that so soon as
these letters were presented, his freedom of action would be
restricted, either by a courtesy which would be so constant as to become
surveillance, or by an injunction having no such gloss. He had come to
study French government in New Caledonia, to gauge the extent of the
menace that the convict question bore towards Australia, and to tell his
tale to Australia, and to such other countries as would listen. The task
was not pleasant, and it had its dangers, too, of a certain kind. But
Shorland had had difficulty and peril often in his life, and he borrowed
no trouble. Proceeding along the Rue de l'Alma, and listening to the
babble of French voices round him, he suddenly paused abstractedly, and
said to himself "Somehow it brings back Paris to me, and that last night
there, when I bade Freeman good-bye. Poor old boy, I'm glad better days
are coming for him. Sure to be better, if he m