Books: Hira Singh
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Talbot Mundy >> Hira Singh
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So we answered him we were on our way to Berlin to teach the kaiser
his new creed. One man threw a lump of coal at him and he
disappeared, but presently we heard him shouting to the men on the
ship behind. They truly were Muhammadans, but they jeered at him as
loud as we.
After that our officers set us to leading horses up and down the
deck in relays, partly, no doubt, to keep us from talking with other
men on shore, but also for the horses' sake. I remember how flies
came on board and troubled the horses very much. At sea we had
forgotten there were such things as flies, and they left us again
when we left the canal.
At Port Said, which looks like a mean place, we stopped again for
coal. Naked Egyptians--big black men, as tall as I and as straight--
carried it up an inclined plank from a float and cast it by
basketfuls through openings in the ship's side. We made up a purse
of money for them, both officers and men contributing, and I was
told there was a coaling record broken.
After that we steamed at great speed along another sea, one ship at
a time, just as we left the canal, our ship leading all those that
bore Indian troops. And now there were other war-ships--little ones,
each of many funnels--low in the water, yet high at the nose--most
swift, that guarded us on every hand, coming and going as the sharks
do when they search the seas for food.
A wonder of a sight, sahib! Blue water--blue water--bluest ever I
saw, who have seen lake water in the Hills! And all the ships
belching black smoke, and throwing up pure white foam--and the last
ship so far behind that only masts and smoke were visible above the
sky-line--but more, we knew, behind that again, and yet more coming!
I watched for hours at a stretch without weariness, and thought
again of Ranjoor Singh. Surely, thought I, his three campaigns
entitled him to this. Surely he was a better man than I. Yet here
was I, and no man knew where he was. But when I spoke of Ranjoor
Singh men spat, so I said nothing.
After a time I begged leave to descend an iron ladder to the bowels
of the ship, and I sat on the lowest rung watching the British
firemen at the furnaces. They cursed me in the name of God, their
teeth and the whites of their eyes gleaming, but their skin black as
night with coal dust. The sweat ran down in rivers between ridges of
grime on the skin of their naked bellies. When a bell rang and the
fire doors opened they glowed like pictures I have seen of devils.
They were shadows when the doors clanged shut again. Considering
them, I judged that they and we were one.
I climbed on deck again and spoke to a risaldar. He spoke to Colonel
Kirby. Watching from below, I saw Colonel Kirby nod--thus, like a
bird that takes an insect; and he went and spoke to the captain of
the ship. Presently there was consultation, and a call for
volunteers. The whole regiment responded. None, however, gave me
credit for the thought. I think that risaldar accepted praise for
it, but I have had no opportunity to ask him. He died in Flanders.
We went down and carried coal as ants that build a hill, piling it
on the iron floor faster than the stokers could use it, toiling
nearly naked like them lest we spoil our uniforms. We grew grimy,
but the ship shook, and the water boiled behind us. None of the
other ships was able to overtake us, although we doubted not they
all tried.
There grew great good will between us and the stokers. We were
clumsy from inexperience, and they full of laughter at us, but each
judged the spirit with which the other labored. Once, where I stood
directing near the bunker door, two men fell on me and covered me
with coal. The stokers laughed and I was angry. I had hot words
ready on my tongue, but a risaldar prevented me.
"This is their trade, not ours," said he. "Look to it lest any laugh
at us when the time for our own trade comes!" I judged that well
spoken, and remembered it.
There came at last a morning when the sun shone through jeweled
mist--a morning with scent in it that set the horses in the hold to
snorting--a dawn that smiled, as if the whole universe in truth were
God's. A dawn, sahib, such as a man remembers to judge other dawns
by. That day we came in sight of France.
Doubtless you suppose we cheered when we saw Marseilles at last. Yet
I swear to you we were silent. We were disappointed because we could
see no enemy and hear no firing of great guns! We made no more
commotion than the dead while our ship steamed down the long harbor
entrance, and was pushed and pulled by little tugs round a corner to
a wharf. A French war-ship and some guns in a fort saluted us, and
our ship answered; but on shore there seemed no excitement and our
hearts sank. We thought that for all our praying we had come too
late.
But the instant they raised the gangway a French officer and several
British officers came running up it, and they all talked earnestly
with Colonel Kirby on the upper bridge--we watching as if we had but
an eye and an ear between us. Presently all our officers were
summoned and told the news, and without one word being said to any
of us we knew there was neither peace as yet, nor any surpassing
victory fallen to our side. So then instantly we all began to speak
at once, even as apes do when sudden fear has passed.
There were whole trains of trucks drawn up in the street beside the
dock and we imagined we were to be hurried at once toward the
fighting. But not so, for the horses needed rest and exercise and
proper food before they could be fit to carry us. Moreover, there
were stores to be offloaded from the ships, we having brought with
us many things that it would not be so easy to replace in a land at
war. Whatever our desire, we were forced to wait, and when we had
left the ship we were marched through the streets to a camp some
little distance out along the Estagus Road. Later in the day, and
the next day, and the next, infantry from the other ships followed
us, for they, too, had to wait for their stores to be offloaded.
The French seemed surprised to see us. They were women and children
for the most part, for the grown men had been called up. In our
country we greet friends with flowers, but we had been led to
believe that Europe thinks little of such manners. Yet the French
threw flowers to us, the little children bringing arms full and
baskets full.
Thenceforward, day after day, we rode at exercise, keeping ears and
eyes open, and marveling at France. No man complained, although our
very bones ached to be on active service. And no man spoke of
Ranjoor Singh, who should have led D Squadron. Yet I believe there
was not one man in all D Squadron but thought of Ranjoor Singh all
the time. He who has honor most at heart speaks least about it. In
one way shame on Ranjoor Singh's account was a good thing, for it
made the whole regiment watchful against treachery.
Treachery, sahib--we had yet to learn what treachery could be!
Marseilles is a half-breed of a place, part Italian, part French.
The work was being chiefly done by the Italians, now that all able-
bodied Frenchmen were under arms. And Italy not yet in the war!
Sahib, I swear to you that all the spies in all the world seemed at
that moment to be Italian, and all in Marseilles at once! There were
spies among the men who brought our stores. Spies who brought the
hay. Spies among the women who walked now and then through our lines
to admire, accompanied by officers who were none too wide-awake if
they were honest. You would not believe how many pamphlets reached
us, printed in our tongue and some of them worded very cunningly.
There were men who could talk Hindustanee who whispered to us to
surrender to the Germans at the first opportunity, promising in that
case that we shall be well treated. The German kaiser, these men
assured us, had truly turned Muhammadan; as if that were anything to
Sikhs, unless perhaps an additional notch against him! I was told
they mistook the Muhammadans in another camp for Sikhs, and were
spat on for their pains!
Nor were all the spies Italians, after all. Our hearts went out to
the French. We were glad to be on their side--glad to help them
defend their country. I shall be glad to my dying day that I have
struck a blow for France. Yet the only really dangerous man of all
who tried to corrupt us in Marseilles was a French officer of the
rank of major, who could speak our tongue as well as I. He said with
sorrow that the French were already as good as vanquished, and that
he pitied us as lambs sent to the slaughter. The part, said he, of
every wise man was to go over to the enemy before the day should
come for paying penalties.
I told what he had said to me to a risaldar, and the risaldar spoke
with Colonel Kirby. We heard--although I do not know whether it is
true or not--that the major was shot that evening with his face to a
wall. I do know that I, in company with several troopers, was cross-
examined by interpreters that day in presence of Colonel Kirby and a
French general and some of the general's staff.
There began to be talk at last about Ranjoor Singh. I heard men say
it was no great wonder, after all, that he should have turned
traitor, for it was plain he must have been tempted cunningly. Yet
there was no forgiveness for him. They grew proud that where he had
failed they could stand firm; and there is no mercy in proud men's
minds--nor much wisdom either.
At last a day came--too soon for the horses, but none too soon for
us--when we marched through the streets to entrain for the front. As
we had marched first out of Delhi, so we marched first from
Marseilles now. Only the British regiments from India were on ahead
of us; we led the Indian-born contingent.
French wives and children, and some cripples, lined the streets to
cheer and wave their handkerchiefs. We were on our way to help their
husbands defend France, and they honored us. It was our due. But can
the sahib accept his due with a dry eye and a word in his throat?
Nay! It is only ingratitude that a man can swallow unconcerned. No
man spoke. We rode like graven images, and I think the French women
wondered at our silence. I know that I, for one, felt extremely
willing to die for France; and I thought of Ranjoor Singh and of how
his heart, too, would have burned if he had been with us. With such
thoughts as swelled in my own breast, it was not in me to believe
him false, whatever the rest might think.
D Squadron proved in good fortune that day, for they gave us a train
of passenger coaches with seats, and our officers had a first-class
coach in front. The other squadrons, and most of the other
regiments, had to travel in open trucks, although I do not think any
grumbled on that score. There was a French staff officer to each
train, and he who rode in our train had an orderly who knew English;
the orderly climbed in beside me and we rode miles together, talking
all the time, he surprising me vastly more than I him. We exchanged
information as two boys that play a game--I a move, then he a move,
then I again, then he.
The game was at an end when neither could think of another question
to ask; but he learned more than I. At the end I did not yet know
what his religion was, but he knew a great deal about mine. On the
other hand, he told me all about their army and its close
association between officers and men, and all the news he had about
the fighting (which was not so very much), and what he thought of
the British. He seemed to think very highly of the British, rather
to his own surprise.
He told me he was a pastry cook by trade, and said he could cook
chapatties such as we eat; and he understood my explanation why
Sikhs were riding in the front trains and Muhammadans behind--
because Muhammadans must pray at fixed intervals and the trains must
stop to let them do it. He understood wherein our Sikh prayer
differs from that of Islam. Yet he refused to believe I am no
polygamist. But that is nothing. Since then I have fought in a
trench beside Englishmen who spoke of me as a savage; and I have
seen wounded Germans writhe and scream because their officers had
told them we Sikhs would eat them alive. Yes, sahib; not once, but
many times.
The journey was slow, for the line ahead of us was choked with
supply trains, some of which were needed at the front as badly as
ourselves. Now and then trains waited on sidings to let us by, and
by that means we became separated from the other troop trains, our
regiment leading all the others in the end by almost half a day. The
din of engine whistles became so constant that we no longer noticed
it.
But there was another din that did not grow familiar. Along the line
next ours there came hurrying in the opposite direction train after
train of wounded, traveling at great speed, each leaving a smell in
its wake that set us all to spitting. And once in so often there
came a train filled full of the sound of screaming. The first time,
and the second time we believed it was ungreased axles, but after
the third time we understood.
Then our officers came walking along the footboards, speaking to us
through the windows and pretending to point out characteristics of
the scenery; and we took great interest in the scenery, asking them
the names of places and the purposes of things, for it is not good
that one's officers should be other than arrogantly confident.
We were a night and a day, and a night and a part of a day on the
journey, and men told us later we had done well to cross the length
of France in that time, considering conditions. On the morning of
the last day we began almost before it was light to hear the firing
of great guns and the bursting of shells--like the thunder of the
surf on Bombay Island in the great monsoon--one roar without
intermission, yet full of pulsation.
I think it was midday when we drew up at last on a siding, where a
French general waited with some French and British officers. Colonel
Kirby left the train and spoke with the general, and then gave the
order for us to detrain at once; and we did so very swiftly, men,
and horses, and baggage. Many of us were men of more than one
campaign, able to judge by this and by that how sorely we were
needed. We knew what it means when the reenforcements look fit for
the work in hand. The French general came and shook hands again with
Colonel Kirby, and saluted us all most impressively.
We were spared all the business of caring for our own baggage and
sent away at once. With a French staff officer to guide us, we rode
away at once toward the sound of firing--at a walk, because within
reasonable limits the farther our horses might be allowed to walk
now the better they would be able to gallop with us later.
We rode along a road between straight trees, most of them scarred by
shell-fire. There were shell-holes in the road, some of which had
been filled with the first material handy, but some had to be
avoided. We saw no dead bodies, nor even dead horses, although
smashed gun-carriages and limbers and broken wagons were everywhere.
To our right and left was flat country, divided by low hedges and
the same tall straight trees; but far away in front was a forest,
whose top just rose above the sky-line. As we rode toward that we
could see the shells bursting near it.
Between us and the forest there were British guns, dug in; and away
to our right were French guns--batteries and batteries of them. And
between us and the guns were great receiving stations for the
wounded, with endless lines of stretcher-bearers like ants passing
to and fro. By the din we knew that the battle stretched far away
beyond sight to right and left of us.
Many things we saw that were unexpected. The speed of the artillery
fire was unbelievable. But what surprised all of us most was the
absence of reserves. Behind the guns and before the guns we passed
many a place where reserves might have sheltered, but there were
none.
There came two officers, one British and one French, galloping
toward us. They spoke excitedly with Colonel Kirby and our French
staff officer, but we continued at a walk and Colonel Kirby lit a
fresh cheroot. After some time there came an aeroplane with a great
square cross painted on its under side, and we were ordered to halt
and keep quite still until it went away. When it was too far away
for its man to distinguish us we began to trot at last, but it was
growing dusk when we halted finally behind the forest--dusky and
cloudy, the air full of smoke from the explosions, ill-smelling and
difficult to breathe. During the last three-quarters of a mile the
shells had been bursting all about us, but we had only lost one man
and a horse--and the man not killed.
As it grew darker the enemy sent up star-shells, and by their light
we could sometimes see as plainly as by daylight. British infantry
were holding the forest in front of us and a road that ran to right
of it. Their rifle-fire was steady as the roll of drums. These were
not the regiments that preceded us from India; they had been sent to
another section of the battle. These were men who had been in the
fighting from the first, and their wounded and the stretcher-bearers
were surprised to see us. No word of our arrival seemed to reach the
firing line as yet. Men were too busy to pass news.
Over our heads from a mile away, the British and French artillery
were sending a storm, of shells, and the enemy guns were answering
two for one. And besides that, into the forest, and into the trench
to the right of it that was being held by the British infantry there
was falling such a cataract of fire that it was not possible to
believe a man could live. Yet the answering rifle-fire never paused
for a second.
I learned afterward the name of the regiment in the end of the
trench nearest us. With these two eyes in the Hills I once saw that
same regiment run like a thousand hares into the night, because it
had no supper and a dozen Afridi marksmen had the range. Can the
sahib explain? I think I can. A man's spirit is no more in his belly
than in the cart that carries his belongings; yet, while he thinks
it is, his enemies all flourish.
We dismounted to rest the horses, and waited behind the forest until
it grew so dark that between the bursting of the star-shells a man
could not see his hand held out in front of him. Now and then a
stray shell chanced among us, but our casualties were very few. I
wondered greatly at the waste of ammunition. My ears ached with the
din, but there seemed more noise wrought than destruction. We had
begun to grow restless when an officer came galloping at last to
Colonel Kirby's side and gave him directions with much pointing and
waving of the arm.
Then Colonel Kirby summoned all our officers, and they rode back to
tell us what the plan was. The din was so great by this time that
they were obliged to explain anew to each four men in turn. This was
the plan:
The Germans, ignorant of our arrival, undoubtedly believed the
British infantry to be without support and were beginning to press
forward in the hope of winning through to the railway line. The
infantry on our right front, already overwhelmed by weight of
artillery fire, would be obliged to evacuate their trench and fall
back, thus imperiling the whole line, unless we could save the day.
Observe this, sahib: so--I make a drawing in the dust. Between the
trench here, and the forest there, was a space of level ground some
fifty or sixty yards wide. There was scarcely more than a furrow
across it to protect the riflemen--nothing at all that could stop a
horse. At a given signal the infantry were to draw aside from that
piece of level land, like a curtain drawn back along a rod, and we
were to charge through the gap thus made between them and the
forest. The shock of our charge and its unexpectedness were to serve
instead of numbers.
Fine old-fashioned tactics, sahib, that suited our mind well! There
had been plenty on the voyage, including Gooja Singh, who argued we
should all be turned into infantry as soon as we arrived, and we had
dreaded that. Each to his own. A horseman prefers to fight on
horseback with the weapons that he knows.
Perhaps the sahib has watched Sikh cavalry at night and wondered how
so many men and horses could keep so still. We had made but little
noise hitherto, but now our silence was that of night itself. We had
but one eye, one ear, one intellect among us. We were one! One with
the night and with the work ahead!
One red light swinging near the corner of the forest was to mean BE
READY! We were ready as the fuse is for the match! Two red lights
would mean that the sidewise movement by the infantry was under way.
Three lights swinging together were to be our signal to begin.
Sahib, I saw three red lights three thousand times between each
minute and the next!
The shell-fire increased from both sides. Where the British infantry
lay was such a lake of flame and din that the very earth seemed to
burst apart; yet the answering rifle-fire was steady--steady as the
roll of drums. Then we truly saw one red light, and "EK!" said we
all at once. EK means ONE, sahib, but it sounded like the opening of
a breech-block. "Mount!" ordered Colonel Kirby, and we mounted.
While I held my breath and watched for the second light I heard a
new noise behind me, different from the rest, and therefore audible-
-a galloping horse and a challenge close at hand. I saw in the light
of a bursting shell a Sikh officer, close followed by a trooper on a
blown horse. I saw the officer ride to Colonel Kirby's side, rein in
his charger, and salute. At that instant there swung two red lights,
and "DO!" said the regiment. DO means TWO, sahib, but it sounded
like the thump of ordnance. "Draw sabers!" commanded Colonel Kirby,
and the rear ranks drew. The front-rank men had lances.
By the light of a star-shell I could plainly see the Sikh officer
and trooper. I recognized the charger--a beast with the devil in him
and the speed of wind. I recognized both men. I thought a shell must
have struck me. I must be dead and in a new world. I let my horse
edge nearer, not believing--until ears confirmed eyes. I heard
Colonel Kirby speak, very loud, indeed, as a man to whom good news
comes.
"Ranjoor Singh!" said he; and he took him by the hand and wrung it.
"Thank God!" he said, speaking from the heart as the British do at
times when they forget that others listen. "Thank God, old man!
You've come in the nick of time!"
So I was right, and my heart leapt in me. He was with us before the
blood ran! Every man in the squadron recognized him now, and I knew
every eye had watched to see Colonel Kirby draw saber and cut him
down, for habit of thought is harder to bend than a steel bar. But I
could feel the squadron coming round to my way of thinking as
Colonel Kirby continued talking to him, obviously making him an
explanation of our plan.
"Join your squadron, man--hurry!" I heard Colonel Kirby say at last,
for taking advantage of the darkness I had let my horse draw very
near to them. Now I had to rein back and make pretense that my horse
had been unruly, for Ranjoor Singh came riding toward us, showing
his teeth in a great grin, and Captain Fellowes with a word of
reproof thrown back to me spurred on to meet him.
"Hurrah, Major Ranjoor Singh!" said Captain Fellowes. "I'm damned
glad to see you!" That was a generous speech, sahib, from a man who
must now yield command of the squadron, but Captain Fellowes had a
heart like a bridegroom's always. He must always glory in the
squadron's luck, and he loved us better than himself. That was why
we loved him. They shook hands, and looked in each other's eyes.
Ranjoor Singh wheeled his charger. And in that same second we all
together saw three red lights swinging by the corner.
"TIN!" said we, with one voice. Tin means three, sahib, but it
sounded rather like the scream of a shell that leaves on its
journey.
My horse laid his ears back and dug his toes into the ground. A
trumpet sounded, and Colonel Kirby rose in his stirrups:
"Outram's Own!" he yelled, "by squadrons on number One--"
But the sahib would not be interested in the sequence of commands
that have small meaning to those not familiar with them. And who
shall describe what followed? Who shall tell the story of a charge
into the night, at an angle, into massed regiments of infantry
advancing one behind another at the double and taken by surprise?
The guns of both sides suddenly ceased firing. Even as I used my
spurs they ceased. How? Who am I that I should know? The British
guns, I suppose, from fear of slaying us, and the German guns from
fear of slaying Germans; but as to how, I know not. But the German
star-shells continued bursting overhead, and by that weird light
their oncoming infantry saw charging into them men they had never
seen before out of a picture-book!
God knows what tales they had been told about us Sikhs. I read their
faces as I rode. Fear is an ugly weapon, sahib, whose hilt is more
dangerous than its blade. If our officers had told us such tales
about Germans as their officers had told them about us, I think
perhaps we might have feared to charge.
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