He was thinking of his men. One of them, an Amboinese, had got himself killed that morning through sheer temerity and disobedience. There were a couple of these insubordinates in the Benting, who, wearying of inaction, had broken out once before on the spree—that is to say, on the hunt for a grinning, long-haired devil with a klewang. He had punished them, of course, but at daybreak this morning Adja had slipped away alone, and had fallen into the hands of friendly Achinese. Gerard knew what that meant. Death by the most prolonged of cruelties, a slow chopping away of all parts except such as keep life extant. He sighed as he thought of the poor fellow’s fate, and the inevitable reprisals, and all the official bother and blame.
And he reflected on certain instructions issued not long ago. The army, whose women and children were daily exposed to fiendish barbarities, had been reminded that every Achinese was a man and a brother, and must be treated as such. Kindness to prisoners (even if they owned to having boiled your envoy); kindness to villagers (even if they potted you as you passed their houses)—these were of the elements of Christian warfare. It was quite true. And, moreover, the good people at home that write, in their slippers, to the newspapers never pardoned an act of cruelty, unless practised by the foe.
“I must speak to the other fellow, I suppose,” said Gerard. “I wonder how he takes it? Sergeant, send Popa along,” and he passed into his hut, that the interview might seem more imposing under the yellow glare of the lamp. The hut certainly had nothing impressive about it, with its bamboo walls and uneven furniture. There was a small rug by the bed, a red blot on the planks which alone distinguished this abode from the mud-floored homes of the soldiery. And two or three of the articles scattered about bespoke the refinement of their owner.
Popa presented himself, a lithe little fellow, brown and fierce. He saluted.
“Popa, you know what has happened to Adja?”
“Tjingtjang, Lieutenant,” replied Popa, saluting again.[L]
“You may be thankful that you didn’t accompany him this time. If you had—” He paused, and looked at the man.
“Perhaps—forgive me that I say it—we should not have been caught, Lieutenant.”
“In that case your punishment would have awaited you here. You understand that any attempt at insubordination will henceforth be repressed with the utmost severity. I will not have it. You can go.”
Popa saluted again, and tripped off. His heart was hot within him for the loss of his comrade.