When Ranjoor Singh came back from his talk with Captain Fellowes he sent me to the right wing under our other risaldar, and after he was killed by a grenade I was in command of the right wing of our trench.

The three days that followed have mostly gone from memory, that being the way of evil.  If men could remember pain and misery they would refuse to live because of the risk of more of it; but hope springs ever anew out of wretchedness like sprouts on the burned land, and the ashes are forgotten.  I do not remember much of those three days.

There was nothing to eat.  There began to be a smell.  There was worse than nothing to drink, for thirst took hold of us, yet the water in the trench was all pollution.  The smell made us wish to vomit, yet what could the empty do but desire?  Corpses lay all around us.  No, sahib, not the dead of the night before’s fighting.  Have I not said that the weather was cold?  The bombardment by our own guns preceding our attack had torn up graves that were I know not how old.  When we essayed to re-bury some bodies the Germans drove us back under cover.

That night, and the next, several attempts were made to rush us, but under Ranjoor Singh’s command we beat them off.  He was wakeful as the stars and as unexcited.  Obedience to him was so comforting that men forgot for the time their suspicion and distrust.  When dawn came there were more dead bodies round about, and some wounded who called piteously for help.  The Germans crawled out to help their wounded, but Ranjoor Singh bade us drive them back and we obeyed.

Then the Germans began shouting to us, and Ranjoor Singh answered them.  If he had answered in English, so that most of us could have understood, all would surely have been well; I am certain that in that case the affection, returning because of his fine leadership, would have destroyed the memory of suspicion.  But I suppose it had become habit with him to talk to the enemy in German by that time, and as the words we could not understand passed back and forth even I began to hate him.  Yet he drove a good bargain for us.

Instead of hand-grenades the Germans began to throw bread to us—­ great, flat, army loaves, Ranjoor Singh not showing himself, but counting aloud as each loaf came over, we catching with great anxiety lest they fall into the water and be polluted.  It took a long time, but when there was a good dry loaf for each man, Ranjoor Singh gave the Germans leave to come and carry in their wounded, and bade us hold our fire.  Gooja Singh was for playing a trick but the troopers near him murmured and Ranjoor Singh threatened him with death if he dared.  He never forgot that.

The Germans who came to fetch the wounded laughed at us, but Ranjoor Singh forbade us to answer, and Captain Fellowes backed him up.

“There will be another attack from our side presently,” said Captain Fellowes, “and our friends will answer for us.”