We were at sea almost before the horses were stalled properly, and presently there were officers and men and horses all sick together in the belly of the ship, with chests and bales and barrels broken loose among us.  The this-and-that-way motion of the ship caused horses to fall down, and men were too sick to help them up again.  I myself lay amid dung like a dead man—­yet vomiting as no dead man ever did—­and saw British officers as sick as I laboring like troopers.  There are more reasons than one why we Sikhs respect our British officers.

The coverings of the ship were shut tight, lest the waves descend among us.  The stench became worse than any I had ever known, although I learned to know a worse one later; but I will speak of that at the proper time.  It seemed to us like a poor beginning and that thought put little heart in us.

But the sickness began to lessen after certain days, and as the movements grew easier the horses were able to stand.  Then we became hungry, who had thought we would never wish to eat again, and double rations were served out to compensate for days when we had eaten nothing.  Then a few men sought the air, and others—­I among them—­ went out of curiosity to see why the first did not return.  So, first by dozens and then by hundreds, we went and stood full of wonder, holding to the bulwark for the sake of steadiness.

It may be, sahib, that if I had the tongue of a woman and of a priest and of an advocate—­three tongues in one—­I might then tell the half of what there was to wonder at on that long journey.  Surely not otherwise.  Being a soldier, well trained in all subjects becoming to a horseman but slow of speech, I can not tell the hundredth part.

We—­who had thought ourselves alone in all the sea—­were but one ship among a number.  The ships proceeded after this manner—­see, I draw a pattern—­with foam boiling about each.  Ahead of us were many ships bearing British troops—­cavalry, infantry and guns.  To our right and left and behind us were Sikh, Gurkha, Dogra, Pathan, Punjabi, Rajput—­many, many men, on many ships.  Two and thirty ships I counted at one time, and there was the smoke of others over the sky-line!

Above the bulwark of each ship, all the way along it, thus, was a line of khaki.  Ahead of us that was helmets.  To our right and left and behind us it was turbans.  The men of each ship wondered at all the others.  And most of all, I think, we wondered at the great gray war-ships plunging in the distance; for none knew whence they had come; we saw none in Bombay when we started.  It was not a sight for the tongue to explain, sahib, but for a man to carry in his heart.  A sight never to be forgotten.  I heard no more talk about a poor beginning.

We came to Aden, and stopped to take on coal and water.  There was no sign of excitement there, yet no good news.  It was put in Orders of the Day that the Allies are doing as well as can be expected pending arrival of re-enforcements; and that is not the way winners speak.  Later, when we had left Aden behind, our officers came down among us and confessed that all did not go well.  We said brave things to encourage them, for it is not good that one’s officers should doubt.  If a rider doubts his horse, what faith shall the horse have in his rider?  And so it is with a regiment and its officers.