If a man stole my dinner, I might let him run; but if he stole my
horse, he and I and death would play hide-and-seek!--RANJOOR SINGH
That dawn, sahib, instead of lessening, the rainstorm grew into a
deluge that saved us from being seen. As I led my twenty men forward
I looked back a time or two, and once I could dimly see steamers and
some smaller boats tossing on the sea. Then the fiercest gust of
rain of all swept by like a curtain, and it was as if Europe had
been shut off forever--so that I recalled Gooja Singh's saying on
the transport in the Red Sea, about a curtain being drawn and our
not returning that way. My twenty men marched numbly, some seeming
half-asleep.
By and by, with heels sucking in the mud, we came to the road of
which Ranjoor Singh had spoken and I turned along it. It had been
worn into ruts and holes by heavy traffic and now the rain made
matters worse, so we made slow progress. But before long I was able
to make out dimly through the storm what looked like a railway
station. There was a line of telegraph poles, and where it crossed
our road there were buildings enough to have contained two
regiments. I could see no sign of men, but in that light, with rain
swirling hither and thither, it was difficult to judge. I halted,
and sent a man back to warn Ranjoor Singh.
We blew on our fingers and stamped to keep life in ourselves, until
at the end of ten minutes he came striding out of the rain like a
king on his way to be crowned. My twenty were already speechless
with unhappiness and hunger, but he had instilled some of his own
spirit into the rest of the regiment, for they marched with a swing
in good order. He had Tugendheim close beside him and had inspired
him, too. It may be the man was grinning in hope of our capture
within an hour, and in that case he was doomed to disappointment. He
was destined also to see the day when he should hope for our escape.
But from subsequent acquaintance with him I think he was
appreciating the risk we ran and Ranjoor Singh's great daring. I say
this for Tugendheim, that he knew and respected resolution when he
saw it.
When I had pointed out what I could see of the lay of the land,
Ranjoor Singh left me in charge and marched away with Tugendheim and
Tugendheim's four guards. I looked about for shelter, but there was
none. We stood shivering, the rain making pools at our feet that
spread and became one. So I made the men mark time and abused them
roundly for being slack about it, they grumbling greatly because our
prisoner was marched away to shelter, whereas we must stand without.
I bullied them as much as I dared, and we stamped the road into a
veritable quagmire, as builders tread mud for making sun-dried
bricks, so that when three-quarters of an hour had passed and a man
came running back with a message from Ranjoor Singh there was a
little warmth in us. I did not need to use force to get the column
started.
"Come!" said the trooper. "There is food, and shelter, and who knows
what else!"
So we went best foot first along the road, feeling less than half as
hungry and not weak at all, now that we knew food was almost within
reach. Truly a man's desires are the vainest part of him. Less
hungry we were at once, less weary, and vastly less afraid; yet, too
much in a hurry to ask questions of the messenger!
Ranjoor Singh came out of a building to meet us, holding up his
hand, so I made the men halt and began to look about. It was
certainly a railway station, with a long platform, and part of the
platform was covered by a roof. Parallel to that was a great shed
with closed sides, and through its half-open door I could smell hay--a
very good smell, sahib, warming to the heart. To our right,
across what might be called a yard--thus--were many low sheds, and
in one there were horses feeding; in others I could see Turkish
soldiers sprawling on the straw, but they took no notice of us.
Three of the low sheds were empty, and Ranjoor Singh pointed to
them.
"Let all except twenty men," said he, "go and rest in those sheds.
If any one asks questions, say only 'Allah!' So they will think you
are Muhammadans. If that should not seem sufficient, say 'Wassmuss!'
But unless questioned many times, say nothing! As you value your
lives, say nothing more than those two words to any one at all!
Rather be thought fools than be hanged before breakfast!"
So all but twenty of the men went and lay down on straw in the three
empty sheds, and I took the twenty and followed him into the great
shed with closed sides. Therein, besides many other things, we
beheld great baskets filled with loaves of bread,--not very good
bread, nor at all fresh, but staff of life itself to hungry men. He
bade the men count out four loaves for each and every one of us, and
then at last, he gave me a little information.
"The Germans in Stamboul," he said, "talked too loud of this place
in my hearing." I stood gnawing a loaf already, and I urged him to
take one, but he would eat nothing until all the men should have
been fed. "They detrain Dervish troops at this point," said he, "and
march them to the shore to be shipped to Gallipoli, because they
riot and make trouble if kept in barracks in Skutari or Stamboul.
This bread was intended for two train-loads of them."
"Then the Dervishes will riot after all!" said I, and he laughed--a
thing he does seldom.
"The sooner the better!" said he. "A riot might cover up our tracks
even better than this rain."
"Is there no officer in charge here?" I asked him,
"Aye, a Turkish officer," said he. "I heard the Germans complain
about his inefficiency. A day or two later and we might have found a
German in his place. He mistakes us for friends. What else could we
be?" And he laughed again.
"But the telegraph wire?" said I.
"Is down," he said, "both between here and Skutari, and between here
and Inismid. God sent this storm to favor us, and we will praise God
by making use of it."
"Where is Tugendheim?" said I, but it was some minutes before he
answered me, for, since the loaves were counted he went to see them
distributed, and I followed him.
"Tugendheim," he said at last, "has driven the Turkish officer to
seek refuge in seclusion! I used the word 'Wassmuss,' and that had
effect; but Tugendheim's insolence was our real passport. Nobody
here doubts that we are in full favor at Stamboul. Wassmuss can keep
for later on."
"Sahib," said I, seeing he was in good humor now, "tell me of this
Wassmuss."
"All in good time!" he answered. And when he has decided it is not
yet time to answer, it is wisest to be still. After fifteen or
twenty minutes with the men, I followed him across the yard and
entered the station waiting-room--a pretentious place, with fancy
bronze handles on the doors and windows.
Lo, there sat Tugendheim, with his hands deep in his pockets and a
great cigar between his teeth. His four guards stood with bayonets
fixed, making believe to wait on him, but in truth watching him as
caged wolves eye their dinner. Ranjoor Singh was behaving almost
respectfully toward him, which filled me with disgust; but presently
I saw and understood. There was a little window through which to
sell tickets, and down in one corner of it the frosting had been
rubbed from off the glass.
"There is an eye," said I in an undertone, "that I could send a
bullet through without difficulty!" But Ranjoor Singh called me a
person without judgment and turned his back.
"When do we start?" asked Tugendheim.
"When the men have finished eating," he answered, and at that I
stared again, for I knew the men's mood and did not believe it
possible to get them away without a long rest, nor even in that case
without argument.
"What if they refuse?" said I, and Ranjoor Singh faced about to look
at me.
"Do you refuse?" he asked. "Go and warn them to finish eating and be
ready to march in twenty minutes!"
So I went, and delivered the message, and it was as I had expected,
only worse.
"So those are his words? What are words!" said they. "Ask him
whither he would lead us!" shouted Gooja Singh. He had been talking
in whispers with a dozen men at the rear of the middle hut.
"If I take him such dogs' answers," said I, "he will dismiss me and
there will be no more a go-between."
"Go, take him this message," shouted Gooja Singh. "But for his
sinking of our ship we should now be among friends in Gallipoli!
Could we not have seized another ship and plundered coal? Tell him,
therefore, if he wishes to lead us he must use good judgment. Are we
leaves blown hither and thither for his amusement? Nay! We belong to
the British Army! Tell him we will march toward Gallipoli or
nowhither! We will march until opposite Gallipoli, and search for
some means of crossing."
"I will take that as Gooja Singh's message, then," said I.
"Nay, nay!" said he. "That is the regiment's message!" And the dozen
men with whom he had been whispering nodded acquiescence. "Is Gooja
Singh the regiment?" I asked.
"No," said he, "but I am OF the regiment. I am not a man running
back and forth, false to both sides!"
I was not taken by surprise. Something of that sort sooner or later
I knew must come, but I would have preferred another time and place.
"Be thou go-between then, Gooja Singh!" said I. "I accepted only
under strong persuasion. Gladly I relinquish! Go thou, and carry thy
message to Ranjoor Singh!" And I sat down in the entrance of the
middle hut, as if greatly relieved of heavy burdens. "I have
finished!" I said. "I am not even havildar! I will request reduction
to the ranks!"
For about a minute I sat while the men stared in astonishment. Then
they began to rail at me, but I shook my head. They coaxed me, but I
refused. Presently they begged me, but I took no notice.
"Let Gooja Singh be your messenger!" said I. And at that they turned
on Gooja Singh, and some of them went and dragged him forward, he
resisting with arms and feet. They set him down before me.
"Say the word," said they, "and he shall be beaten!"
So I got on my feet again and asked whether they were soldiers or
monkey-folk, to fall thus suddenly on one of their number, and he a
superior. I bade them loose Gooja Singh, and I laid my hand on his
shoulder, helping him to his feet.
"Are we many men with many troubles, or one regiment?" said I.
At that most of them grew ashamed, and those who had assaulted Gooja
Singh began to make excuses, but he went back to the rear to the men
who had whispered with him. They drew away, and he sat in silence
apart, I rejoicing secretly at his discomfiture but fearful
nevertheless.
"Now!" said I. "Appoint another man to wait on Ranjoor Singh!"
But they cried out, "Nay! We will have none but you. You have done
well--we trust you--we are content!"
I made much play of unwillingness, but allowed them to persuade me
in the end, yielding a little at a time and gaining from them ever
new protestations of their loyalty until at last I let them think
they had convinced me.
"Nevertheless," said they, "tell Ranjoor Singh he must lead us
toward Gallipoli!" They were firm on that point.
So I went back to the waiting-room and told Ranjoor Singh all that
had happened, omitting nothing, and he stood breaking pieces from a
loaf of bread, with his fingers, not burying his teeth into the loaf
as most of us had done. He asked me the names of the men who had so
spoken and I told him, he repeating them and considering each name
for a moment or two.
"Have they finished eating?" he asked at last, and I told him they
had as good as finished. So he ate his own bread faster.
"Come," he ordered presently, beckoning to Tugendheim and the four
guards to follow.
It was raining as hard as ever as we crossed the station yard, and
the men had excuse enough for disliking to turn out. Yet they
scented development, I think, and none refused, although they fell
in just not sullenly enough to call for reprimand. Ranjoor Singh
drew the roll from his inner pocket and they all answered to their
names. Then, without referring to the list again, he named those who
I had told him used high words to me, beginning at Gooja Singh and
omitting none.
"Fall out!" he ordered. And when they had obeyed, "Fall in again
over there on the left!"
There were three-and-twenty of them, Gooja Singh included, and they
glared at me. So did others, and I wondered grimly how many enemies
I had made. But then Ranjoor Singh cleared his throat and we
recognized again the old manner that had made a squadron love him to
the death at home in India--the manner of a man with good legs under
him and no fear in his heart. All but the three-and-twenty forgot
forthwith my part in the matter.
"Am I to be herdsman, then?" said he, pitching his voice against
wind and rain. "Are ye men--or animals? Hunted animals would have
known enough to eat and hurry on. Hunted animals would be wise
enough to run in the direction least expected. Hunted animals would
take advantage of ill weather to put distance between them and their
foe. Some of you, then, must be less than animals! Men I can lead.
Animals I can drive. But what shall be done with such less-than-animals
as can neither be led nor driven?"
Then he turned about half-left to face the three-and-twenty, and
stood as it were waiting for their answer, with one hand holding the
other wrist behind his back. And they stood shifting feet and
looking back at him, extremely ill-at-ease.
"What is the specific charge against us?" asked Gooja Singh, for the
men began to thrust him forward. But Ranjoor Singh let no man draw
him from the main point to a lesser one.
"You have leave," said he, "to take one box of cartridges and go!
Gallipoli lies that way!" And he pointed through the rain.
Then the two-and-twenty forgot me and began at once abusing Gooja
Singh, he trying to refute them, and Ranjoor Singh watching them all
with a feeling, I thought, of pity. Tugendheim, trying to make the
ends of his mustaches stand upright in the rain, laughed as if he
thought it a very great joke; but the rest of the men looked
doubtful. I knew they were unwilling to turn their backs on any of
our number, yet afraid to force an issue, for Ranjoor Singh had them
in a quandary. I thought perhaps I might mediate.
"Sahib," said I.
"Silence!" he ordered. So I stepped back to my place, and a dozen
men laughed at me, for which I vowed vengeance. Later when my wrath
had cooled I knew the reprimand and laughter wiped out suspicion of
me, and when my chance came to take vengeance on them I refrained,
although careful to reassert my dignity.
After much argument, Gooja Singh turned his back at last on the
two-and-twenty and saluted Ranjoor Singh with great abasement.
"Sahib," said he, "we have no wish to go one way and you another. We
be of the regiment."
"Ye have set yourselves up to be dictators. Ye have used wild words.
Ye have tried to seduce the rest. Ye have my leave to go!" said
Ranjoor Singh.
"Nay!" said Gooja Singh. "We will not go! We follow the regiment!"
"Will ye follow like dogs that pick up offal, then?" he asked, and
Gooja Singh said, "Nay! We be no dogs, but true men! We be faithful
to the salt, sahib," said he. "We be sorry we offended. We be true
men--true to the salt."
Now, that was the truth. Their fault had lain in not believing their
officer at least as faithful as they and ten times wiser. Every man
in the regiment knew it was truth, and for all that the rain poured
down in torrents, obscuring vision, I could see that the general
feeling was swinging all one way. If I had dared, I would have
touched Ranjoor Singh's elbow, and have whispered to him. But I did
not dare. Nor was there need. The instant he spoke again I knew he
saw clearer than I.
"Ye speak of the salt," said he.
"Aye!" said Gooja Singh. "Aye, sahib! In the name of God be good to
us! Whom else shall we follow?"
"Aye, sahib!" said the others. "Put us to the test!"
The lined-up regiment, that had been standing rigid, not at
attention, but with muscles tense, now stood easier, and it might
have been a sigh that passed among them.
"Then, until I release you for good behavior, you three-and-twenty
shall be ammunition bearers," said Ranjoor Singh. "Give over your
rifles for other men to carry. Each two men take a box of
cartridges. Swiftly now!" said he.
So they gave up their rifles, which in itself was proof enough that
they never intended harm, but were only misled by Gooja Singh and
the foolishness of their own words. And they picked up the cartridge
boxes, leaving Gooja Singh standing alone by the last one. He made a
wry face. "Who shall carry this?" said he, and Ranjoor Singh
laughed.
"My rank is havildar!" said Gooja Singh.
Ranjoor Singh laughed again. "I will hold court-martial and reduce
you to the ranks whenever I see the need!" said he. "For the
present, you shall teach a new kind of lesson to the men you have
misled. They toil with ammunition boxes. You shall stride free!"
Gooja Singh had handed his rifle to me, and I passed it to a
trooper. He stepped forward now to regain it with something of a
smirk on his fat lips.
"Nay, nay!" said Ranjoor Singh, with another laugh. "No rifle, Gooja
Singh! Be herdsman without honor! If one man is lost on the road you
shall be sent back alone to look for him! Herd them, then; drive
them, as you value peace!"
There being then one box to be provided for, he chose eight strong
men to take turns with it, each two to carry for half an hour; and
that these might know there was no disgrace attached to their task,
they were placed in front, to march as if they were the band. Nor
was Gooja Singh allowed to march last, as I expect he had hoped; he
and his twenty-two were set in the midst, where they could eat
shame, always under the eyes of half of us. Then Ranjoor Singh
raised his voice again.
"To try to reach Gallipoli," he said, "would be as wise as to try to
reach Berlin! Both shores are held by Turkish troops under German
officers. We found the one spot where it was possible to slip
through undetected. We must make the most of that. Moreover, if they
refuse to believe we were drownd last night, they will look for us
in the direction of Gallipoli, for all the German officers in
Stamboul knew how your hearts burned to go thither. It was a joke
among them! Let it be our business to turn the joke on them! There
will be forced marches now--long hungry ones--Form fours!" he
ordered. "By the right--Quick march!" And we wheeled away into the
rain, he marching on the flank. I ran and overtook him.
"Take a horse, sahib!" I urged. "See them in that shed! Take one and
ride, for it is more fitting!"
"Better plunder and burn!" said he. "If a man stole my dinner I
might let him run; but if he stole my horse, he and I and death
would play hide-and-seek! We need forgetfulness, not angry memories,
behind us! Keep thou a good eye on Tugendheim!"
So I fell to the rear, where I could see all the men, Tugendheim
included! In a very few minutes we had lost the station buildings in
the rain behind us and then Ranjoor Singh began to lead in a wide
semicircle, so that before long I judged we were marching about
southeastward. At the end of an hour or so he changed direction to
due east, and presently we saw another telegraph line. I overtook
him again and suggested that we cut it.
"Nay!" said he. "If that line works and we are not believed drowned,
too many telegrams will have been sent already! To cut it would give
them our exact position! Otherwise--why make trouble and perhaps
cause pursuit?"
So we marched under the telegraph wire and took a course about
parallel to it. At noon it ceased raining and we rested, eating the
bread, of which every man had brought away three loaves. After that,
what with marching and the wind and sun our clothes began to dry and
we became more cheerful--all, that is to say, except the ammunition
bearers, who abused Gooja Singh with growing fervency. Yet he was
compelled to drive them lest he himself be court martialed and
reduced to the ranks.
Cheerfulness and selfishness are often one, sahib, for it was not
what we could see that raised our spirits. We marched by village
after village that had been combed by the foragers for Turkish
armies,--and saw only destitution to right and left, behind and
before. The only animals we saw were dead ones except the dogs
hunting for bones that might have marrow in them still.
We saw no men of military age. Only very old men were left, and but
few of those; they and the women and children ran away at sight of
us, except a very few who seemed careless from too much misery. One
such man had a horse, covered from head to foot with sores, that he
offered to sell to Ranjoor Singh. I did not overhear what price he
asked, but I heard the men scoffing at such avarice as would rob the
vultures. He went away saying nothing, like a man in stupor, leaving
the horse to die. Nay, sahib, he had not understood the words.
We slept that first night in a village whose one street was a
quagmire and a cesspool. There was no difficulty in finding shelter
because so many of the houses were deserted; but the few inhabitants
of the other houses could not be persuaded to produce food. Ranjoor
Singh took their money away from, the four men whom I had overlooked
when we all gave up our money on the steamer, and with that, and
Tugendheim for extra argument, he went from house to house.
Tugendheim used no tenderness, such being not his manner of
approach, but nothing came of it. They may have had food hidden, but
we ate stale bread and gave them some of it, although Ranjoor Singh
forbade us when he saw what we were doing. He thought I had not been
looking when he gave some of his own to a little one.
We were up and away at dawn, with all the dogs in Asia at our heels.
They smelled our stale bread and yearned for it. It was more than an
hour before the last one gave up hope and fell behind. They are hard
times, sahib, when the street dogs are as hungry as those were.
Hunger! We met hunger day after day for eight days--hunger and
nothing else, although it was good enough land--better than any I
have seen in the Punjab. There was water everywhere. The air, too,
was good to breathe, tempting us to fill our lungs and march like
new men, yet causing appetite we could not assuage. We avoided
towns, and all large villages, Ranjoor Singh consulting his map
whenever we halted and marching by the little compass the Germans
had given him. We should have seen sheep or goats or cattle had
there been any; but there was none. Utterly not one! And we Sikhs
are farmers, not easily deceived on such matters; we knew that to be
grazing land we crossed. It was a land of fruit, too, in the proper
season. There had been cattle by the thousand, but they were all
gone--plundered by the Turks to feed their armies.
Ranjoor Singh did his best to make us husband our stale loaves, but
we ate the last of them and became like famished wolves. Some of us
grew footsore, for we had German boots, to which our feet were not
yet thoroughly accustomed, but he gave us no more rest than he
needed for his own refreshment--and that was wonderfully little. We
had to nurse and bandage our feet as best we could, and
march--march--march! He had a definite plan, for he led unhesitatingly, but
he would not tell us the plan. He was stern when we begged for
longer rests, merciless toward the ammunition bearers, silent at all
times unless compelled to give orders or correct us. Most of the
time he kept Tugendheim marching beside him, and Tugendheim, I
think, began to regard him with quite peculiar respect; for he
admired resolution.
Most of us felt that our last day of marching was upon us, for we
were ready to drop when we skirted a village at about noon on the
eighth day and saw in the distance a citadel perched on a rocky hill
above the sky-line. We were on flat land, but there was a knoll
near, and to that Ranjoor Singh led us, and there he let us lie. He,
weary as we but better able to overcome, drew out his map and spread
it, weighting the four corners with stones; and he studied it chin
on hand for about five minutes, we watching him in silence.
"That," said he, standing at last and pointing toward the distant
citadel, "is Angora. Yonder" (he made a sweeping motion) "runs the
railway whose terminus is at Angora. There are many long roads
hereabouts, so that the place has become a depot for food and stores
that the Turks plunder and the Germans despatch over the railway to
the coast. The railway has been taken over by the Germans."
"Are we to storm the town?" asked a trooper, and fifty men mocked
him. But Ranjoor Singh looked down kindly at him and gave him a word
of praise.
"No, my son," he said. "Yet if all had been stout enough to ask
that, I would have dared attempt it. No, we are perhaps a little
desperate, but not yet so desperate as that."
He began sweeping the horizon with his eyes, quartering the
countryside mile by mile, overlooking nothing. I saw him watch the
wheeling kites and look below them, and twice I saw him fix his gaze
for minutes at a time on one place.
"We will eat to-night!" he said at last. "Sleep," he ordered. "Lie
down and sleep until I summon you!" But he called me to his side and
kept me wakeful for a while yet.
"Look yonder," said he, and when I had gazed for about two minutes I
was aware of a column of men and animals moving toward the city. A
little enough column.
"How fast are they moving?" he asked me, and I gazed for several
minutes, reaching no decision. I said they were too far away, and
coming too much toward us for their speed to be accurately judged.
Yet I thought they moved slowly.
Said he, "Do you see that hollow--one, two, three miles this side of
them?" And I answered yes. "That is a bend of the river that flows
by the city," said he. "There is water there, and fire-wood. They
have come far and are heading toward it. They are too far spent to
reach Angora before night. They will not try. That is where they
will camp."
"Sahib," I said, considering his words as a cook tastes curry, "our
men be overweary to have fight in them."
"Who spoke of fighting?" said he. So I went and lay down, and fell
asleep wondering. When he came and roused me it was already growing
late. By the time I had roused the men and they were all lined up we
could no longer see Angora for the darkness; which worked both
ways--those in Angora could not see us.
"If any catch sight of us," said Ranjoor Singh, speaking in a loud
voice to us all, "let us hope they mistake us for friends. What Turk
or German looks for an enemy hereabouts? The chances are all ours,
but beware! Be silent as ye know how! Forward!"
It was a pitiable effort, for our bellies yearned and our feet were
sore and stiff. We stumbled from weariness, and men fell and were
helped up again. Gooja Singh and his ammunition bearers made more
noise than a squadron of mounted cavalry, and the way proved twice
as long as the most hopeless had expected. Yet we made the circuit
unseen and, as far as we knew, unheard--certainly unchallenged.
Doubtless, as Ranjoor Singh said afterward, the Turks were too
overriden by Germans and the Germans too overconfident to suspect
the presence of an enemy.
At any rate, although we made more noise than was expedient, we
halted at last among low bushes and beheld nine or ten Turkish
sentries posted along the rim of a rise, all unaware of us. Two were
fast asleep. Some sat. The others drowsed, leaning on their rifles.
Ranjoor Singh gave us whispered orders and we rushed them, only one
catching sight of us in time to raise an alarm. He fired his rifle,
but hit nobody, and in another second they were all surrounded and
disarmed.
Then, down in the hollow we saw many little campfires, each one
reflected in the water. Some Turks and about fifty men of another
nation sat up and rubbed their eyes, and a Turkish captain--an
upstanding flabby man, came out from the only tent to learn what the
trouble might be. Ranjoor Singh strode down into the hollow and
enlightened him, we standing around the rim of the rise with our
bayonets fixed and rifles at the "ready." I did not hear what
Ranjoor Singh said to the Turkish captain because he left me to
prevent the men from stampeding toward the smell of food--no easy
task.
After five minutes he shouted for Tugendheim, and the German went
down the slope visibly annoyed by the four guards who kept their
bayonets within a yard of his back. It was a fortunate circumstance
for us, not only then but very many times, that Tugendheim would
have thought himself disgraced by appealing to a Turk. Seeing there
was no German officer in the hollow, he adopted his arrogant manner,
and the Turkish officer drew back from him like a man stung. After
that the Turkish captain appeared to resign himself to impotence,
for he ordered his men to pile arms and retired into his tent.
Then Ranjoor Singh came up the slope and picked the twenty men who
seemed least ready to drop with weariness, of whom I regretted to be
one. He set us on guard where the Turkish sentries had been, and the
Turks were sent below, where presently they fell asleep among their
brethren, as weary, no doubt, from plundering as we were from
marching on empty bellies. None of them seemed annoyed to be
disarmed. Strange people! Fierce, yet strangely tolerant!
Then all the rest of the men, havildars no whit behind the rest,
swooped down on the camp-fires, and presently the smell of toasting
corn began to rise, until my mouth watered and my belly yearned.
Fifteen or twenty minutes later (it seemed like twenty hours,
sahib!) hot corn was brought to us and we on guard began to be new
men. Nevertheless, food made the guard more sleepy, and I was hard
put to it walking from one to another keeping them awake.
All that night I knew nothing of what passed in the camp below, but
I learned later on that Ranjoor Singh found among the Syrians whose
business was to load and drive carts a man named Abraham. All in the
camp who were not Turks were Syrians, and these Syrians had been
dragged away from their homes scores of leagues away and made to
labor without remuneration. This Abraham was a gifted man, who had
been in America, and knew English, as well as several dialects of
Kurdish, and Turkish and Arabic and German. He knew better German
than English, and had frequently been made to act interpreter.
Later, when we marched together, he and I became good friends, and
he told me many things.
Well, sahib, after he had eaten a little corn, Ranjoor Singh
questioned this man Abraham, and then went with him through the
camp, examining the plunder the Turks had seen fit to requisition.
It was plain that this particular Turkish officer was no paragon of
all the virtues, and Ranjoor Singh finally entered his tent
unannounced, taking Abraham with him. So it was that I learned the
details later, for Abraham told me all I asked.
On a box beside the bed Ranjoor Singh found writing-paper,
envelopes, and requisition forms not yet filled out, but already
signed with a seal and a Turkish signature. There was a map, and a
list of routes and villages. But best of all was a letter of
instructions signed by a German officer. There were also other
priceless things, of some of which I may chance to speak later.
I was told by Abraham that during the conversation following Ranjoor
Singh's seizure of the papers the word Wassmuss was bandied back and
forth a thousand times, the Turk growing rather more amenable each
time the word was used. Finally the Turk resigned himself with a
shrug of the shoulders, and was left in his tent with a guard of our
men at each corner.
Then, for all that the night was black dark and there were very few
lanterns, the camp began to be turned upside down, Ranjoor Singh
ordering everything thrown aside that could not be immediately
useful to us. There were forty carts, burdened to the breaking
point, and twenty of them Ranjoor Singh abandoned as too heavy for
our purpose. Most of the carts had been drawn by teams of six mules
each, but ten of them had been drawn by horses, and besides the
Turkish captain's horse there were four other spare ones. There were
also about a hundred sheep and some goats.
Ranjoor Singh ordered all the corn repacked into fourteen of the
carts, sheep and goats into four carts, and ammunition into the
remaining two, leaving room in each cart for two men so that the
guard who had stood awake all night might ride and sleep. That left
him with sixty-four spare horses. Leaving the Turkish officer his
own horse, but taking the saddle for himself, he gave Tugendheim
one, me another, the third to Gooja Singh--he being next
non-commissioned officer to me in order of seniority, and having had
punishment enough--and the fourth horse, that was much the best one,
he himself took. Then he chose sixty men to cease from being
infantry and become a sort of cavalry again--cavalry without saddles
as yet, or stirrups--cavalry with rifles--cavalry with aching
feet--but cavalry none the less. He picked the sixty with great wisdom,
choosing for the most part men who had given no trouble, but he
included ten or twelve grumblers, although for a day or two I did
not understand why. There was forethought in everything he did.
The sheep that could not be crowded into the carts he ordered
butchered there and then, and the meat distributed among the men;
and all the plunder that he decided not to take he ordered heaped in
one place where it would not be visible unless deliberately looked
for. The plundered money that he found in the Turk's tent he hid
under the corn in the foremost cart, and we found it very useful
later on. The few of our men who had not fallen asleep were for
burning the piled-up plunder, but he threatened to shoot whoever
dared set match to it.
"Shall we light a beacon to warn the countryside?" said he.
A little after midnight there began to be attempts by Turkish
soldiers to break through and run for Angora. But I had kept my
twenty guards awake with threats of being made to carry
ammunition--even letting the butt of my rifle do work not set down in the
regulations. So it came about that we captured every single
fugitive. They were five all told, and I sent them, tied together,
down to Ranjoor Singh. Thereupon he went to the Turk, and promised
him personal violence if another of his men should attempt to break
away. So the Turk gave orders that were obeyed.
Then, when all the plunder in the camp had been rearranged, and the
mules and horses reapportioned, four hours yet before dawn, Ranjoor
Singh took out his fountain-pen and executed the stroke of genius
that made what followed possible. Without Abraham I do not know what
he would have done. I can not imagine. Yet I feel sure he would have
contrived something. He made use of Abraham as the best tool
available, and that is no proof he could not have done as well by
other means. I have learned this: that Ranjoor Singh, with that
faith of his in God, can do anything. Anything. He is a true man,
and God puts thoughts into his heart.
Among the Turk's documents were big sheets of paper for official
correspondence, similar to that on which his orders were written.
Ranjoor Singh ascertained from Abraham that he who had signed those
orders was the German officer highest in command in all that region,
who had left Angora a month previously to superintend the
requisitioning.
So Ranjoor Singh sent for Tugendheim, whose writing would have the
proper clerical appearance, and by a lantern in the tent dictated to
him a letter in German to the effect that this Turkish officer, by
name Nazim, with all his men and carts and animals, had been
diverted to the aid of Wassmuss. The letter went on to say that on
his way back to Angora this same high German officer would himself
cover the territory thus left uncared for, so that nothing need be
done about it in the meanwhile. (He wrote that to prevent
investigation and perhaps pursuit by the men in Angora who waited
Nazim and his plunder.)
At the foot of the letter Abraham cleverly copied the signature of
the very high German officer, after making many experiments first on
another sheet of paper.
Tugendheim of course protested vehemently that he would do no such
thing, when ordered to write. But Ranjoor Singh ordered the barrel
of a Turkish soldier's rifle thrust in the fire, and the German did
not protest to the point of permitting his feet to be singed. He
wrote a very careful letter, even suggesting better phraseology--his
reason for that being that, since he was thus far committed, our
total escape would be the best thing possible for him. The Germans,
who are so fond of terrifying others, are merciless to their own who
happen to be guilty of weak conduct, and to have said he was
compelled to write that letter would have been no excuse if we were
caught. Henceforward it was strictly to his interest to help us.
Finally, when the letter had been sealed in its envelope, there came
the problem of addressing it, and the Turk seemed ignorant on that
point, or else stupid. Perhaps he was wilfully ignorant, hoping that
the peculiar form of the address might cause suspicion and
investigation. But what with Tugendheim's familiarity with German
military custom, and Ranjoor Singh's swift thought, an address was
devised that served the purpose, judging by results.
Then came the problem of delivering the letter. To have sent one of
the Turkish soldiers with it would have been the same thing as
marching to Angora and surrendering; for of course the Turk would
have told of what happened in the night, and where it happened, and
all about it. To have sent one of the half-starved Syrians would
probably have amounted to the same thing; for the sake of a
bellyful, or from fear of ill-treatment the wretched man would very
likely tell too much. But Abraham was different. Abraham was an
educated man, who well understood the value to us of silence, and
who seemed to hate both Turks and Germans equally.
So Ranjoor Singh took Abraham aside and talked with him five
minutes. And the end of that was that a Turkish soldier was
compelled to strip himself and change clothes with Abraham, the Turk
taking no pleasure at all in the exchange. Then Abraham was given a
horse, and on the outside of the envelope in one corner was written
in German, "Bearer should be supplied with saddle for his horse and
sent back at once with acknowledgment of receipt of this."
There and then Ranjoor Singh gave Abraham the letter, shook hands
with him, helped him on the horse, and sent him on his way--three
hours before dawn. Then promptly he gave orders to all the other
Syrians to strike camp and resume their regular occupation of
driving mules.
The Turkish officer, although not deprived of his horse, was not
permitted to ride until after daybreak, because of the difficulty
otherwise of guarding him in the dark. The same with Tugendheim;
although there was little reason for suspecting him of wanting to
escape, with that letter fresh in his memory, he was nevertheless
compelled to walk until daylight should make escape impossible.
The Turkish officer was made to march in front with his four-and-forty
soldiers, who were given back their rifles but no bayonets or
ammunition. Gooja Singh, whose two-and-twenty were ready by that
time to pull his beard out hair by hair, was given fifty men who
hated him less fiercely and set to march next behind the Turks. Then
came the carts in single column, and after them Tugendheim and the
remainder of our infantry. Behind the infantry rode the cavalry, and
very last of all rode Ranjoor Singh, since that was for the present
the post of chiefest danger.
As for me, I tumbled into a cart and fell asleep at once, scarcely
hearing the order shouted to the Turk to go forward. The men who had
been on guard with me all did the same, falling asleep like I almost
before their bodies touched the corn.
When I awoke it was already midday. We had halted near some trees
and food was being served out. I got under the cart to keep the sun
off me, and lay there musing until a trooper had brought my meal.
The meal was good, and my thoughts were good--excellent! For had we
not been a little troop of lean ghosts, looking for graves to lie
in? The talk along the way had been of who should bury us, or who
should bury the last man, supposing we all died one by one! Had we
not been famished until the very wind was a wall too heavy to
prevail against? And were we not now what the drill-book calls a
composite force, with full bellies, carts, horses and equipment? Who
thought about graves any longer? I lay and laughed, sahib, until a
trooper brought me dinner--laughed for contempt of the Germans we
had left behind, and for the Turks whose plunder we had stolen,--laughed
like a fool, like a man without brain or experience or judgment.
Not until I had eaten my fill did I bethink me of Ranjoor Singh.
Then I rose lazily, and was astonished at the stiffness in my
ankles. Nevertheless I contrived to stride with military manner, in
order that any Turk or Syrian beholding me might know me for a man
to be reckoned with, the added pain and effort being well worth
while.
Nor did I have far to look for Ranjoor Singh. The instant I raised
my eyes I saw him sitting on a great rock beneath the shadow of a
tree, with his horse tied below him eating corn from a cloth spread
on the ground. In order to reach him with least inconvenience, I
made a circuit and approached from the rear, because in that
direction the rock sloped away gradually and I was in no mood to
climb, nor in condition to climb with dignity.
So it happened that I came on him unaware. Nevertheless, I was
surprised that his ears should not detect my footfall. The horse,
six feet below us, was aware of me first and snorted, yet Ranjoor
Singh did not turn his head.
"Sahib!" said I; but he did not move.
"Sahib!" I said, going a step nearer and speaking louder. But he
neither moved nor answered. Now I knew there was no laughing matter,
and my hand trembled as I held it out to touch his shoulder. His
arms were folded above his knees and his chin rested on them. I
shook him slightly, and his chin fell down between his knees; but he
did not answer. Now I knew beyond doubt he was not asleep, for
however weary he would ever awake at a touch or the lightest
whisper. I began to fear he was dead, and a feeling of sickness
swept over me as that grim fear took hold.
"Sahib!" I said again, taking his shoulders with both hands. And he
toppled over toward me, thus, like a dead man. Yet he breathed. I
made certain he was breathing.
I shook him twice or thrice, with no result. Then I took him in my
arms, thus, one arm under the knees and one under his armpits, and
lifted him. He is a heavy man, all bone and sinew, and my stiff
ankles caused me agony; but I contrived to lay him gently full
length in the shadow of the tree-trunk, and then I covered him with
his overcoat, to keep away flies. I had scarcely finished that when
Gooja Singh came, and I cursed under my breath; but openly I
appeared pleased to see him.
"It is well you came!" said I. "Thus I am saved the necessity of
sending one to bring you. Our sahib is asleep," I said, "and has
made over the command to me until he shall awake again."
"He sleeps very suddenly!" said Gooja Singh, and he stood eying me
with suspicion.
"Well he may!" said I, thinking furiously--as a man in a burning
house--yet outwardly all calm. "He has done all our thinking for us
all these days; he has borne alone the burden of responsibility. He
has enforced the discipline," said I with a deliberate stare that
made Gooja Singh look sullen, "and God knows how necessary that has
been! He has let no littlest detail of the march escape him. He has
eaten no more than we; he has marched as far and as fast as we; he
has slept less than any of us. And now," said I, "he is weary. He
kept awake until I came, and fell asleep in my arms when he had
given me his orders."
Gooja Singh looked as if he did not believe me. But my words had
been but a mask behind which I was thinking. As I spoke I stepped
sidewise, as if to prevent our voices from disturbing the sleeper,
for it seemed wise to draw Gooja Singh to safer distance. Now I sat
down at last on the summit of the rock exactly where Ranjoor Singh
was sitting when I spied him first, hoping that perhaps in his place
his thoughts would come to me. And whether the place had anything to
do with it or not I do not know, but certainly wise thoughts did
come. I reached a decision in that instant that was the saving of
us, and for which Ranjoor Singh greatly commended me later on.
Because of it, in the days to come, he placed greater confidence in
my ability and faithfulness and judgment.
"What were his orders?" asked Gooja Singh. "Or were they secret
orders known only to him and thee?"
"If you had not come," said I, "I would have sent for you to hear
the orders. When he wakes," I added, "I shall tell him who obeyed
the swiftest."
I was thinking still. Thinking furiously. I knew nothing at all yet
about Abraham, and that was good, for otherwise I might have decided
to wait there for him to overtake us.
"Have the men finished eating?" I asked, and he answered he was come
because they had finished eating.
"Then the order is to proceed at once!" said I. "Send a cart here
under the rock and eight good men, that we may lower our sahib into
it. With the exception of that one cart let the column proceed in
the same order as before, the Turk and his men leading."
"Leading whither?" asked Gooja Singh.
"Let us hope," said I, "to a place where orders are obeyed in
military manner without question! Have you heard the order?" I
asked, and I made as if to go and wake our officer.
Without another word Gooja Singh climbed down from the rock and went
about shouting his commands as if he himself were their originator.
Meanwhile I thought busily, with an eye for the wide horizon,
wondering whether we were being pursued, or whether telegrams had
not perhaps been sent to places far ahead, ordering Turkish
regiments to form a cordon and cut us off. I wondered more than ever
who Wassmuss might be, and whether Ranjoor Singh had had at any time
the least idea of our eventual destination. I had no idea which
direction to take. There was no track I could see, except that made
by our own cart-wheels. On what did I base my decision, then? I will
tell you, sahib.
I saw that not only Ranjoor Singh's horse, but all the cattle had
been given liberal amounts of corn. It seemed to me that unless he
intended to continue by forced marches Ranjoor Singh would have
begun by economizing food. Moreover, I judged that if he had
intended resting many hours in that spot he would have had me
summoned and have gone to sleep himself. The very fact that he had
let me sleep on seemed to me proof that he intended going forward.
Doubtless, he would depend on me to stand guard during the night. So
I reasoned it. And I also thought it probable he had told the Turk
in which direction to lead, seeing that the Turk doubtless knew more
of that countryside than any. Ahead of us was all Asia and behind us
was the sea. Who was I that I should know the way? But by telling
the Turk to lead on, I could impose on him responsibility for
possible error, and myself gain more time to think. And for that
decision, too, Ranjoor Singh saw fit to praise me later.
They brought the cart, and with the help of eight men, I laid
Ranjoor Singh very comfortably on the corn, and covered him. Then I
bade those eight be bodyguard, letting none approach too close on
pain of violence, saying that Ranjoor Singh needed a long deep sleep
to restore his energy. Also, I bade them keep that cart at the rear
of the column, and I myself chose the rear place of all so as to
keep control, prevent straggling, and watch against pursuit.
Pursued? Nay, sahib. Not at that time. Nevertheless, that thought of
mine, to choose the last place, was the very gift of God. We had
been traveling about three parts of an hour when I perceived a very
long way off the head of a camel caravan advancing at swift pace
toward us--or almost toward us. It seemed to me to be coming from
Angora. And it so happened that at the moment when I saw it first
the front half of our column had already dipped beyond a rise and
was descending a rather gentle slope.
I hurried the tail of the column over the rise by twisting it, as a
man twists bullocks' tails. And then I bade the whole line halt and
lie down, except those in charge of horses; them I ordered into the
shelter of some trees, and the carts I hurried behind a low ridge--all
except Ranjoor Singh's cart; that I ordered backed into a hollow
near me. So we were invisible unless the camels should approach too
close.
The Turks and Tugendheim I saw placed in the midst of all the other
unmounted men, and ordered them guarded like felons; and I bade
those in charge of mules and horses stand by, ready to muzzle their
beasts with coats or what-not, to prevent neighing and braying. Then
I returned to the top of the rise and lay down, praying to God, with
a trooper beside me who might run and try to shake Ranjoor Singh
back to life in case of direst need.
I lay and heard my heart beat like a drum against the ground,
praying one moment, and with the next breath cursing some hoof-beat
from behind me and the muffled reprimand that was certain to follow
it. The men were as afraid as I, and the thing I feared most of all
was panic. Yet what more could I do than I had done? I lay and
watched the camels, and every step that brought them nearer felt
like a link in a chain that bound us all.
One thing became perfectly evident before long. There were not more
than two hundred camels, therefore in a fight we should be able to
beat them off easily. But unless we could ambuscade them (and there
was no time to prepare that now) it would be impossible to kill or
capture them all. Some would get away and those would carry the
alarm to the nearest military post. Then gone would be all hope for
us of evading capture or destruction. But it was also obvious to me
that no such caravan would come straight on toward us at such speed
if it knew of our existence or our whereabouts. They expected us as
little as we expected them.
So I lay still, trembling, wondering what Ranjoor Singh would say to
me, supposing he did not die in the cart there--wondering what the
matter might be with Ranjoor Singh--wondering what I should do
supposing he did die and we escaped from this present predicament. I
knew there was little hope of my maintaining discipline without
Ranjoor Singh's aid. And I had not the least notion whither to lead,
unless toward Russia.
Such thoughts made me physically sick, so that it was relief to turn
away from them and watch the oncoming caravan, especially as I began
to suspect it would not come within a mile of us. Presently I began
to be certain that it would cross our track rather less than a mile
away. I began to whisper to myself excitedly. Then at last "Yes!"
said I, aloud.
"Yes!" said a voice beside me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin,
"unless they suspect the track of our cart-wheels and follow it up,
we are all right!"
I looked round into the eyes of Ranjoor Singh, and felt my whole
skin creep like a snake's at sloughing time!
"Sahib!" said I.
"You have done well enough," said he, "except that if attacked you
would have hard work to gather your forces and control them. But
never mind, you did quite well enough for this first time!" said
Ranjoor Singh.
"Sahib!" I said. "But I thought you were in a cart, dying!"
"In a cart, yes!" he said. "Dying, no--although that was no fault of
somebody's!"
I begged him to explain, and while we watched the camels cross our
track--(God knows, sahib, why they did not grow suspicious and
follow along it)--he told me how he had sat on the great rock, not
very sleepy, but thinking, chin on knee, when suddenly some man
crawled up from behind and struck him a heavy blow.
"Feel my head," said he, and I felt under his turban. There was a
bruise the size of my folded fist. I swore--as who would not? "Is it
deep?" I said, still watching the camels, and before he answered me
he sent the trooper to go and find his horse.
"Superficial," he said then. "By the favor of God but a water
bruise. My head must have yielded beneath the blow."
"Who struck it?" said I, scarcely thinking what I said, for my mind
was full of the camels, now flank toward us, that would have served
our purpose like the gift of God could we only have contrived to
capture them.
"How should I know?" he answered. "See--they pass within a half-mile
of where I sat. Is not that the rock?" And I said yes.
"Had you lingered there," he said, "word about us would have gone
back to Angora at top camel speed. What possessed you to come away?"
"God!" said I, and he nodded, so that I began to preen myself. He
noticed my gathering self-esteem.
"Nevertheless," he said, aloud, but as if talking to himself, yet
careful that I should hear, "had this not happened to me I should
have seen those camels on the sky-line. Did you count the camels?"
"Two hundred and eight," said I.
"How many armed men with them?" he asked. "My eyes are yet dim from
the blow."
"One hundred and four," said I, "and an officer or two."
He nodded. "The prisoners would have been a nuisance," he said, "yet
we might have used them later. What with camels and what with
horses--and there is a good spot for an ambuscade through which they
must pass presently--I went and surveyed it while they cooked my
dinner--never mind, never mind!" said he. "If you had made a mistake
it would have been disastrous. Yet--two hundred and eight camels
would have been an acquisition--a great acquisition!"
So my self-esteem departed--like water from a leaky goatskin, and I
lay beside him watching the last dozen camels cross our trail, the
nose of one tied to the tail of another, one man to every two. I lay
conjecturing what might have been our fate had I had cunning enough
to capture that whole caravan, and not another word was spoken
between us until the last two camels disappeared beyond a ridge.
Then:
"Was there any man close by, when you found me?" asked Ranjoor
Singh.
"Nay, sahib," said I.
"Was there any man whose actions, or whose words, gave ground for
suspicion?" he asked.
"Nay, sahib," I began; but I checked myself, and he noticed it.
"Except--?" said he.
"Except that when Gooja Singh came," I said, "he seemed unwilling to
believe you were asleep."
"How long was it before Gooja Singh came?" he asked.
"He came almost before I had laid you under the tree and covered
you," said I.
"And you told him I was asleep?" he said.
"Yes," said I; and at that he laughed silently, although I could
tell well enough that his head ached, and merriment must have been a
long way from him.
"Has Gooja Singh any very firm friend with us?" he asked, and I
answered I did not know of one. "The ammunition bearers who were his
friends now curse him to his face," I said.
"Then he would have to do his own dirty work?" said he.
"He has to clean his own rifle," I answered. And Ranjoor Singh
nodded.
Then suddenly his meaning dawned on me. "You think it was Gooja
Singh who struck the blow?" I asked. We were sitting up by that
time. The camels were out of sight. He rose to his feet and beckoned
for his horse before he answered.
"I wished to know who else might properly be suspected," he said,
taking his horse's bridle. So I beckoned for my horse, and ordering
the cart in which he had lain to be brought along after us, I rode
at a walk beside him to where our infantry were left in hiding.
"Sahib," I said, "it is better after all to shoot this Gooja Singh.
Shoot him on suspicion!" I urged. "He makes only trouble and
ill-will. He puts false construction on every word you or I utter. He
misleads the men. And now you suspect him of having tried to kill
you! Bid me shoot him, sahib, and I obey!"
"Who says I suspect him?" he answered. "Nay, nay, nay! I will have
no murder done--no drumhead tyranny, fathered by the lees of fear!
Let Gooja Singh alone!"
"Does your head not ache?" I asked him.
"More than you guess!" said he. "But my heart does not ache. Two
aches would be worse than one. Come silently!"
So I rode beside him silently, and making a circuit and signaling to
the watchers not to betray our presence, we came on our hiding
infantry unsuspected by them. We dismounted, and going close on foot
were almost among them before they knew. Gooja Singh was on his feet
in their midst, giving them information and advice.
"I tell you Ranjoor Singh is dead!" said he. "Hira Singh swears he
is only asleep, but Hira Singh lies! Ranjoor Singh lies dead on top
of the corn in the cart in yonder gully, and Hira Singh--"
I know not what more he would have said, but Ranjoor Singh stopped
him. He stepped forward, smiling.
"Ranjoor Singh, as you see, is alive," he said, "and if I am dead,
then I must be the ghost of Ranjoor Singh come among you to enforce
his orders! Rise!" he ordered. "Rise and fall in! Havildars, make
all ready to resume the march!"
"Shoot him, sahib!" I urged, taking out my pistol, that had once
been Tugendheim's. "Shoot him, or let me do it!"
"Nay, nay!" he said, laughing in my face, though not unkindly. "I am
not afraid of him."
"But I, sahib," I said. "I fear him greatly!"
"Yet thou and I be two men, and I command," he answered gently. "Let
Gooja Singh alone."
So I went and grew very busy ordering the column. In twenty minutes
we were under way, with a screen of horsemen several hundred yards
ahead and another little mounted rear-guard. But when the order had
been given to resume the march and the carts were squeaking along in
single file, I rode to his side again with a question. I had been
thinking deeply, and it seemed to me I had the only answer to my
thoughts.
"Tell me, sahib," I said, "our nearest friends must be the Russians.
How many hundred miles is it to Russia?"
But he shook his head and laughed again. "Between us and Russia lies
the strongest of all the Turkish armies," he said. "We could never
get through."
"I am a true man!" I said. "Tell me the plan!" But he only nodded,
and rode on.
"God loves all true men," said he.