“And hate him like poison,” Captain Brace said bitterly.
But they did not show their hatred, if Brace was right; and no officer rode out to parade in better trim than Barton.
One hot day, as I was seated panting at my shuttered window, I saw that Barton’s way of treating the syces was imitated by his subordinates, for one of the Serjeants, for some reason or another, raised his hand to strike a white-clothed figure across the enclosure, but altered his mind, and kicked him instead, with the result that the man shrank away, but made no sign, and I could not help thinking what a tyrant the white man was to the conquered black.
I don’t know how it was, but as I lay back in my chair weary after a heavy morning drill, and drowsy from the effects of a good breakfast, I kept my eyes on the white-clothed figure whom the serjeant had kicked. He had stood like a statue till the serjeant had gone into the barracks, but as soon as the officer’s back was turned, I saw him glance round sharply, and then he appeared to be speaking to the natives near him in a quick excited way.
From where I lay back, it was like looking at some photograph, every figure stood out so sharply in the bright sunshine, and I was just thinking that I did not feel so indignant at what had taken place as I had when I had first witnessed such a thing, when I half sleepily noticed that the native had left the group of syces by the open doorway which looked black on the white walls. Then he appeared to be crossing the great barrack square, and passed out of my sight, while my eyes closed, and I was dropping off to sleep, when I started wide-awake again listening.
The sound which had aroused me was repeated close to the open window, and it was a sharp hissing drawing in of the breath, as of one in pain; and directly after the syce who had crossed over to my side of the square, passed my window, halting slightly, and with a strange expression on his face, which impressed me even then. As I watched him it passed away, and he drew himself up, walking as usual, and salaaming to some one approaching in the opposite direction, and Major Lacey and Captain Brace sauntered by, while I lay thinking about the syce’s expression, and the patient way in which he had hidden the pain from which he was suffering. I had recognised him, too, as the tall, handsome native who had been struck by Barton—a man who, ever since, had saluted me with a grave, gentle smile.
“It’s too bad,” I was saying to myself; and then, in my listless weariness, I was dropping off to sleep again, as I generally did after a hard drill, when my black servant entered silently, and presented me with a little packet.
“What is it?” I said lazily.
“No know, sahib. Ny Deen bring, and say tell master dhoby man keep it and couldn’t get back.”
I opened the packet, which smelt most fragrantly, and found first some white flowers, and beneath them, very carefully washed, ironed, and scented, a pocket-handkerchief.