“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!”