“But what if they refuse?” said I.

“Do you refuse?” he asked.

“Nay!” said I.  “Nay, sahib!”

“Then why judge them?” said he.  So I went.

Can the sahib imagine it?  Two-hundred-and-three-and-thirty men, including non-commissioned officers, wet and muddy in the dark, beginning to be hungry, all asked at once to hand over all their pay if they be true men, but told to keep it if they be traitors!

No man answered a word, although their eyes burned up the darkness.  I called for a lantern, and a man brought one from the engine-room door.  By its light I spread out a cloth, and laid all my money on it on the deck.  The sergeant nearest me followed my example.  Gooja Singh laid down only half his money.

“Nay!” said I.  “All or none!  This is a test for true men!  Half-true and false be one and the same to-night!” So Gooja Singh made a wry face and laid down the rest of his money, and the others all followed him, not at all understanding, as indeed I myself did not understand, but coming one at a time to me and laying all their money on the cloth.  When the last man had done I tied the four corners of the cloth together (it was all wet with the rain and slush on deck, and heavy with the weight of coin) and carried it to Ranjoor Singh. (I forgot the four who stood guard over Tugendheim; they kept their money.)

“We are all true men!” said I, dumping it beside him.

“Good!” said he.  “Come!” And he took the bundle of money and ascended the bridge ladder, bidding me wait at the foot of it for further orders.  I stood there two hours without another sign of him, although I heard voices in the wheel-house.

Now the men grew restless.  Reflection without action made them begin to doubt the wisdom of surrendering all their money at a word.  They began to want to know the why and wherefore of the business, and I was unable to tell them.

“Wait and see!” said I, but that only exasperated them, and some began to raise their voices in anger.  So I felt urged to invent a reason, hoping to explain it away afterward should I be wrong.  But as it turned out I guessed at least a little part of Ranjoor Singh’s great plan and so achieved great credit that was useful later, although at the time I felt myself losing favor with them.

“Ranjoor Singh will bribe the captain of the ship to steam away before that regiment of Kurds can come on board,” said I.  “So we shall have the ship at our mercy, provided we make no mistakes.”

That did not satisfy them, but it gave them something new to think about, and they settled down to wait in silence, as many as could crowding their backs against the deck-house and the rest suffering in the rain.  I would rather have heard them whispering, because I judged the silence to be due to low spirits.  I knew of nothing more to say to encourage them, and after a time their depression began to affect me also.  Rather than watch them, I watched the water, and more than once I saw something I did not recognize, that nevertheless caused my skin to tingle and my breath to come in jerks.  Sikh eyes are keen.