“Better plunder and burn!” said he.  “If a man stole my dinner I might let him run; but if he stole my horse, he and I and death would play hide-and-seek!  We need forgetfulness, not angry memories, behind us!  Keep thou a good eye on Tugendheim!”

So I fell to the rear, where I could see all the men, Tugendheim included!  In a very few minutes we had lost the station buildings in the rain behind us and then Ranjoor Singh began to lead in a wide semicircle, so that before long I judged we were marching about southeastward.  At the end of an hour or so he changed direction to due east, and presently we saw another telegraph line.  I overtook him again and suggested that we cut it.

“Nay!” said he.  “If that line works and we are not believed drowned, too many telegrams will have been sent already!  To cut it would give them our exact position!  Otherwise—­why make trouble and perhaps cause pursuit?”

So we marched under the telegraph wire and took a course about parallel to it.  At noon it ceased raining and we rested, eating the bread, of which every man had brought away three loaves.  After that, what with marching and the wind and sun our clothes began to dry and we became more cheerful—­all, that is to say, except the ammunition bearers, who abused Gooja Singh with growing fervency.  Yet he was compelled to drive them lest he himself be court martialed and reduced to the ranks.

Cheerfulness and selfishness are often one, sahib, for it was not what we could see that raised our spirits.  We marched by village after village that had been combed by the foragers for Turkish armies,—­and saw only destitution to right and left, behind and before.  The only animals we saw were dead ones except the dogs hunting for bones that might have marrow in them still.

We saw no men of military age.  Only very old men were left, and but few of those; they and the women and children ran away at sight of us, except a very few who seemed careless from too much misery.  One such man had a horse, covered from head to foot with sores, that he offered to sell to Ranjoor Singh.  I did not overhear what price he asked, but I heard the men scoffing at such avarice as would rob the vultures.  He went away saying nothing, like a man in stupor, leaving the horse to die.  Nay, sahib, he had not understood the words.

We slept that first night in a village whose one street was a quagmire and a cesspool.  There was no difficulty in finding shelter because so many of the houses were deserted; but the few inhabitants of the other houses could not be persuaded to produce food.  Ranjoor Singh took their money away from, the four men whom I had overlooked when we all gave up our money on the steamer, and with that, and Tugendheim for extra argument, he went from house to house.  Tugendheim used no tenderness, such being not his manner of approach, but nothing came of it.  They may have had food hidden, but we ate stale bread and gave them some of it, although Ranjoor Singh forbade us when he saw what we were doing.  He thought I had not been looking when he gave some of his own to a little one.