There came plausible men who knew our tongue and the argument was bluntly put to us that we ought to let expediency be our guide in all things.  Yet we were expected to trust the men who gave us such advice!

Our sense of justice was not courted once.  They made appeal to our bellies—­to our purses—­to our lust—­to our fear—­but to our righteousness not at all.  They made for us great pictures of what German rule of the world would be, and at last I asked whether it was true that the kaiser had turned Muhammadan.  I was given no answer until I had asked repeatedly, and then it was explained how that had been a rumor sent abroad to stir Islam; to us, on the other hand, nothing but truth was told.  So I asked, was it true that our Prince Pertab Singh had been hanged, and they told me yes.  I asked them where, and they said in Delhi.  Yet I knew that Pertab Singh was all the while in London.  I asked them where was Ranjoor Singh all this while, and for a time they made no answer, so I asked again and again.  Then one day they began to talk of Ranjoor Singh.

They told us he was being very useful to them, in Berlin, in daily conference with the German General Staff, explaining matters that pertained to the intended invasion of India.  Doubtless they thought that news would please us greatly.  But, having heard so many lies already, I set that down for another one, and the others became all the more determined in their loyalty from sheer disgust at Ranjoor Singh’s unfaithfulness.  They believed and I disbelieved, yet the result was one.

At night Gooja Singh held forth in the hut where he slept with twenty-five others.  He explained—­although he did not say how he knew—­that the Germans have kept for many years in Berlin an office for the purpose of intrigue in India—­an office manned by Sikh traitors.  “That is where Ranjoor Singh will be,” said he.  “He will be managing that bureau.”  In those days Gooja Singh was Ranjoor Singh’s bitterest enemy, although later he changed sides again.

The night-time was the worst.  By day there was the camp to keep clean and the German officers to talk to; but at night we lay awake thinking of India, and of our dead officer sahibs, and of all that had been told us that we knew was lies.  Ever the conversation turned to Ranjoor Singh at last, and night after night the anger grew against him.  I myself admitted very often that his duty had been to lead us to our death.  I was ashamed as the rest of our surrender.

After a time, as our wounded began to be drafted back to us from hospital, we were made to listen to accounts of alleged great German victories.  They told us the German army was outside Paris and that the whole of the British North Sea Fleet was either sunk or captured.  They also said that the Turks in Gallipoli had won great victories against the Allies.  We began to wonder why such conquerors should seek so earnestly the friendship of a handful of us Sikhs.  Our wounded began to be drafted back to us well primed, and their stories made us think, but not as the Germans would have had us think.