“They call us ‘tiger-faces,’” he reflected; “they will call us ‘tiger-tails.’”
“A splendid fighter,” said Gerard, aloud, “like so many of these Amboinese. And nothing to be gained but death or unrecorded glory. God forgive the worthies at home, who care for no man’s soul or body as long as consols remain at par! If some of us didn’t love fighting for its own mad sake (which I certainly don’t) where would their Excellencies’ consols be?”
Then he lighted another cigarette, and once more told himself that really this time he must count his store. So he would—to-morrow.
He threw himself in his single rocking-chair and yawned. What should he do the live-long evening? What had he done through the creeping weeks and months? What could one do? It was the emptiness which tormented him—the not doing anything: he wanted to be with the invaders on ahead. He groaned over this misfortune for the five-hundredth time. Otherwise, Acheen was not half a bad place—much more spacious and much more mouvementé than Holland. Of course it was always horribly hot, and here where he lay, by the marsh, it was even especially unhealthy. Everybody sickened. But then, on the other hand, there were no duns. Gerard looked down at his lean, yellow fingers. Yes, he had altered.
But what matter? Who cared? Only he wished he had had something to show for it. He felt that the Home Government may send you to kill savages, but they ought to provide plenty of savages for you to kill.
In the military club at Kotta Radja he was popular. He would always be popular with brave men anywhere because of his unpretending unselfishness. And many of his comrades liked a fellow who was Baron van Helmont, you know, by George! and he never seems to remember, though, somehow, you never forget.
He devoutly wished himself in the club at this moment. They would be playing, and there would be unlimited tobacco.
“Werda?” He leaped to his feet. A swift brightness swept across the gloom outside. A signal rang clear. At his cabin door a sergeant met him.
“Friends, Lieutenant,” said the man.
Under the protection of a suddenly uplifted fire-ball, half a dozen soldiers in dark uniform were seen approaching the Benting, whistling a signal as they came. Gerard recognized a party from the neighboring fort, his companion in exile at their head. Greatly surprised, he went down to the gate.