Books: Hira Singh
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Talbot Mundy >> Hira Singh
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Whatever Ranjoor Singh had been saying to the men he had them back
under his thumb for the time being; for when I told him of my
discovery of the hut he called them to attention, turned them to the
right, and marched them off as obedient as a machine, Tugendheim
following like a man in a dream between his four guards and
struggling now and then to loose the wet thongs that were beginning
to cut into his wrists. He had not been trussed over-tenderly, but I
noticed that Ranjoor Singh had ordered the gag removed.
The hut stood alone, clear on all four sides, and after he had
looked at it, Ranjoor Singh made the men line up facing the door,
with himself and me and Tugendheim between them and the hut.
Presently he pushed Tugendheim into the hut, and he bade me stand in
the door to watch him.
"Now the man who wishes to ask questions may," he said then, and
there was a long silence, for I suppose none wished to be accused of
impudence and perhaps made an example for the rest. Besides, they
were too curious to know what his next intention might be to care to
offend him. So I, seeing that he wished them to speak, and
conceiving that to be part of his plan for establishing good
feeling, asked the first question--the first that came into my head.
"What shall we do with this Tugendheim?" said I.
"That I will show you presently," said he. "Who else has a question
to ask?" And again there was silence, save for the rain and the
grinding and pounding on the beach.
Then Gooja Singh made bold, as he usually did when he judged the
risk not too great. He was behind the men, which gave him greater
courage; and it suited him well to have to raise his voice, because
the men might suppose that to be due to insolence, whereas Ranjoor
Singh must ascribe it to necessity. Well I knew the method of Gooja
Singh's reasoning, and I knitted my fists in a frenzy of fear lest
he say the wrong word and start trouble. Yet I need not have
worried. I observed that Ranjoor Singh seemed not disturbed at all,
and he knew Gooja Singh as well as I.
"It seems for the time being that we have given the slip to both
Turks and Germans," said Gooja Singh; and Ranjoor Singh said, "Aye!
For the time being!"
"And we truly stand on Asia?" he asked.
"Aye!" said Ranjoor Singh,
"Then why did we not put those Turks ashore, and steam away in their
ship toward Gallipoli to join our friends?" said he.
"Partly because of submarines," said Ranjoor Singh, "and partly
because of gun-fire. Partly because of mines floating in the water,
and partly again from lack of coal. The bunkers were about empty. It
was because there was so little coal that the Germans trusted us
alone on board."
"Yet, why let the Turks have the steamer?" asked Gooja Singh, bound,
now that he was started, to prove himself in the right. "They will
float about until daylight and then send signals. Then will come
Turks and Germans!"
"Nay!" said Ranjoor Singh. "No so, for I sank the steamer! I myself
let the sea into her hold!"
Gooja Singh was silent for about a minute, and although it was dark
and I could not see him. I knew exactly the expression of his face--
wrinkled thus, and with the lower lip thrust out, so!
"Any more questions?" asked Ranjoor Singh, and by that time Gooja
Singh had thought again. This time he seemed to think he had an
unanswerable one, for his voice was full of insolence.
"Then how comes it," said he, "that you turned those Turks loose in
their small boats when we might have kept them with us for hostages?
Now they will row to the land and set their masters on our tracks!
Within an hour or two we shall all be prisoners again! Tell us why!"
"For one thing," said Ranjoor Singh, without any resentment in his
voice that I could detect (although THAT was no sign!), "I had to
make some sort of bargain with them, and having made it I must keep
it. The money with which I bribed the captain and his mate would
have been of little use to them unless I allowed them life and
liberty as well."
"But they will give the alarm and cause us to be followed!" shouted
Gooja Singh, his voice rising louder with each word.
"Nay, I think not!" said Ranjoor Singh, as calmly as ever. "In the
first place, I have a written receipt from captain and mate for our
money, stating the reason for which it was paid; if we were made
prisoners again, that paper would be found in my possession and it
might go ill with those Turks. In the second place, they will wish
to save their faces. In the third place, they must explain the loss
of their steamer. So they will say the steamer was sunk by a
submarine, and that they got away in the boats and watched us drown.
The crew will bear out what the captain and the mate say, partly
from fear, partly because that is the custom of the country, but
chiefly because they will receive a small share of the bribe. Let us
hope they get back safely--for their story will prevent pursuit!"
For about two minutes again there was silence, and then Gooja Singh
called out: "Why did you not make them take us to Gallipoli?"
"There was not enough coal!" said I, but Ranjoor Singh made a
gesture to me of impatience.
"The Germans wished us to go to Gallipoli," said he, "and I have
noticed that whatever they may desire is expressly intended for
their advantage and not ours. In Gallipoli they would have kept us
out of range at the rear, and presently they would have caused a
picture of us to be taken serving among the Turkish army. That they
would have published broadcast. After that I have no idea what would
have happened to us, except that I am sure we should never have got
near enough to the British lines to make good our escape. We must
find another way than that!"
"We might have made the attempt!" said Gooja Singh, and a dozen men
murmured approval.
"Simpletons!" came the answer. "The Germans laid their plans for the
first for photographs to lend color to lies about the Sikh troops
fighting for them! Ye would have played into their hands!"
"What then?" said I, after a minute, for at that answer they had all
grown dumb.
"What then?" said he. "Why, this: We are in Asia, but still on
Turkish soil. We need food. We shall need shelter before many hours.
And we need discipline, to aid our will to overcome! Therefore there
never was a regiment more fiercely disciplined than this shall be!
From now until we bring up in a British camp--and God knows when or
where that may happen!--the man who as much as thinks of
disobedience plays with death! Death--ye be as good as dead men
now!" said he.
He shook himself. A sense of loneliness had come on me since he told
us we were in Asia, and I think the men felt as I did. There had
been nothing to eat on the steamer, and there was nothing now.
Hunger and cold and rain were doing their work. But Ranjoor Singh
stood and shook himself, and moved slowly along the line to look in
each man's face, and I took new courage from his bearing. If I could
have known what he had in store for us, I would have leaped and
shouted. Yet, no, sahib; that is not true. If he had told me what
was coming, I would never have believed. Can the sahib imagine, for
instance, what was to happen next?
"Ye are as good as dead men!" he said, coming back to the center and
facing all the men. "Consider!" said he. "Our ship is sunk and the
Turks, to save their own skins, will swear they saw us drown. Who,
then, will come and hunt for dead men?"
I could see the eyes of the nearest men opening wider as new
possibilities began to dawn. As for me--my two hands shook.
"And we have with us," said he, "a hostage who might prove useful--a
hostage who might prove amenable to reason. Bring out the prisoner!"
said he.
So I bade Tugendheim come forth. He was sitting on the straw where
the guards had pushed him, still working sullenly to free his hands.
He came and peered through the doorway into darkness, and Ranjoor
Singh stood aside to let the men see him. They can not have seen
much, for it was now that utter gloom that precedes dawn. Nor can
Tugendheim have seen much.
"Do you wish to live or die?" asked Ranjoor Singh, and the German
gaped at him.
"That is a strange question!" he said.
"Is it strange," asked Ranjoor Singh, "that a prisoner should be
asked for information?"
"I am not afraid to die," said Tugendheim.
"You mean by rifle-fire?" asked Ranjoor Singh, and Tugendheim
nodded.
"But there are other kinds of fire," said Ranjoor Singh.
"What do you mean?" asked Tugendheim.
"Why," said Ranjoor Singh, "if we were to fire this hut to warm
ourselves, and you should happen to be inside it--what then?"
"If you intend to kill me," said Tugendheim, "why not be merciful
and shoot me?" His voice was brave enough, but it seemed to me I
detected a strain of terror in it.
"Few Germans are afraid to be shot to death," said Ranjoor Singh.
"But what have I done to any of you that you should want to burn me
alive?" asked Tugendheim; and that time I was positive his voice was
forced.
"Haven't you been told by your officers," said Ranjoor Singh, "that
the custom of us Sikhs is to burn all our prisoners alive?"
"Yes," said Tugendheim. "They told us that. But that was only a tale
to encourage the first-year men. Having lived in India, I knew
better."
"Did you trouble yourself to tell anybody better?" asked Ranjoor
Singh, but Tugendheim did not answer.
"Then can you give me any reason why you should not be burned alive
here, now?" asked Ranjoor Singh.
"Yes!" said Tugendheim. "It would be cruel. It would be devil's
work!" He was growing very uneasy, although trying hard not to show
it.
"Then give me a name for the tales you have been party to against us
Sikhs!" said Ranjoor Singh; but once more the German refrained from
answering. The men were growing very attentive, breathing all in
unison and careful to make no sound to disturb the talking. At that
instant a great burst of firing broke out over the water, so far
away that I could only see one or two flashes, and, although that
was none too reassuring to us, it seemed to Tugendheim like his
death knell. He set his lips and drew back half a step.
"Can you wish to live with the shame of all those lies against us on
your heart--you, who have lived in India and know so much better?"
asked Ranjoor Singh.
"Of course I wish to live!" said Tugendheim.
"Have you any price to offer for your life?" asked Ranjoor Singh,
and stepping back two paces he ordered a havildar with a loud voice
to take six men and hunt for dry kindling. "For there is not enough
here," said he.
"Price?" said Tugendheim. "I have a handful of coins, and my
uniform, and a sword. You left my baggage on the steamer--"
"Nay!" said Ranjoor Singh. "Your baggage came ashore in one of the
boats. Where is it? Who has it?"
A man stepped forward and pointed to it, lying in the shadow of the
hut with the rain from the roof dripping down on it.
"Who brought it ashore?" asked Ranjoor Singh.
"I," said the trooper.
"Then, for leaving it there in the rain, you shall carry it three
days without assistance or relief!" said Ranjoor Singh. "Get back to
your place in the ranks!" And the man got back, saying nothing.
Ranjoor Singh picked up the baggage and tossed it past Tugendheim
into the hut.
"That is all I have!" said Tugendheim.
"If you decide to burn, it shall burn with you," said Ranjoor Singh,
"and that trooper shall carry a good big stone instead to teach him
manners!"
"GOTT IN HIMMEL!" exclaimed Tugendheim, losing his self-control at
last. "Can I offer what I have not got?"
"Is there nothing you can do?" asked Ranjoor Singh.
"In what way? How?" asked the German.
"In the way of making amends to us Sikhs for all those lies you have
been party to," said Ranjoor Singh. "If you were willing to offer to
make amends, I would listen to you."
"I will do anything in reason," said Tugendheim, looking him full in
the eye and growing more at ease.
"I am a reasonable man," said Ranjoor Singh.
"Then, speak!" said Tugendheim.
"Nay, nay!" said Ranjoor Singh, "it is for you to make proposals,
and not for me. It is not I who stand waiting to be burned alive!
Let me make you a suggestion, however. What had we Sikhs to offer
when we were prisoners in Germany?"
"Oh, I see!" said Tugendheim. "You mean you wish me to join you--to
be one of you?"
"I mean," said Ranjoor Singh, "that if you were to apply to be
allowed to join this regiment for a while, and to be allowed to
serve us in a certain manner, we would consider the proposal.
Otherwise--is my meaning clear?"
"Yes!" said Tugendheim.
"Then--?' said Ranjoor Singh.
"I apply!" said Tugendheim; and at that moment the havildar and his
men returned with some straw they had found in another tumble-down
hut. They had it stuffed under their overcoats to keep it dry. "Too
late!" said Tugendheim with a grimace, but Ranjoor Singh bade them
throw the straw inside for all that.
"In Germany we were required to set our names to paper," he said,
and Tugendheim looked him in the eyes again for a full half minute.
"Do you expect better conditions than were offered us?" asked
Ranjoor Singh.
"I will sign!" said Tugendheim.
"What will you sign?" asked Ranjoor Singh.
"Anything in reason," answered Tugendheim.
"Let me tell you what I have here, then," said Ranjoor Singh, and he
groped in his inner pocket for a paper, that he brought out very
neatly folded, sheltering it from the rain under his cape. "This,"
said he, "is signed by the Turkish captain and mate of that sunken
steamer. It is a receipt for all our money, to be taken and divided
equally between you--mentioned by name--and them--mentioned also by
name, on condition that the ship be sunk and we be let go. If you
will sign the paper--here--above their signatures--it will entitle
you to one-third of all that money. They would neither of them dare
to refuse to share with you!"
"What if I refuse to sign?" asked Tugendheim, making a great savage
wrench to free his wrists, but failing.
"The suggestion is yours," said Ranjoor Singh. "You have only your
own judgment for a guide."
"If I sign it, will you let me go?" he asked.
"No," said Ranjoor Singh, "but we will not burn you alive if you
sign. Here is a fountain-pen. Your hands shall be loosed when you
are ready."
Tugendheim nodded, so I went and cut his hands loose; and when I had
chafed his wrists for a minute or two he was able to write on my
shoulder, I bending forward and Ranjoor Singh watching like a hawk
lest he tear the paper. But he made no effort to play tricks.
When Ranjoor Singh had folded the paper again he said: "Those two
Turks quite understood that you were to be asked to sign as well. In
fact, if there is any mishap they intend to lay all the blame on
you. But it is to their interest as much as yours to keep us from
being captured."
"You mean I'm to help you escape?" asked Tugendheim.
"Exactly!" said Ranjoor Singh. "Now that you have signed that, I am
willing to bargain with you. We intend to find Wassmuss."
Tugendheim pricked up his ears and began to look almost willing.
"We have heard of this Wassmuss, and have taken quite a fancy to
him. Your friends proposed to send us to the trenches, but we have
already had too much of that work and we intend to find Wassmuss and
take part with him. Let your business be to obey me implicitly and
to help us reach Wassmuss, and on the day we reach our goal you
shall go free with this paper given back to you. Disobey me, and you
shall sample unheard-of methods of repentance! Do we understand each
other?"
"I understand you!" said Tugendheim.
"I, too, wish to understand," said Ranjoor Singh.
"It is a bargain," said Tugendheim. But I noticed they did not shake
hands after European fashion, although I think Tugendheim would have
been willing. He was a hearty man in his way, given to bullying, but
also to quick forgetfulness; and I will say this much for him, that
although he was ever on the lookout for some way of breaking his
agreement, he kept it loyally enough while a way was lacking. I have
met men I liked less.
It was growing by that time to be very nearly dawn, and the weather
did not improve. The rain came down in squalls and sheets and the
wind screamed through, it, and we were famished as well as wet to
the skin--all, that is to say, except Tugendheim, who had enjoyed
the shelter of the hut. The teeth of many of the men were
chattering. Yet we stood about for an hour more, because it was too
dark and too dangerous to march over unknown ground. I suspect
Ranjoor Singh did not dare squander what little spirit the men had
left; if they had suspected him of losing them in the dark they
might have lost heart altogether.
But at last there grew a little cold color in the sky and the sea
took on a shade of gray. Then Ranjoor Singh told off the same four
men who had first arrested him to guard our prisoner by day and
night, taking turns to pretend to be his servant, with orders to
give instant alarm should his movements seem suspicious. After that
Tugendheim was searched, but, nothing of interest being found on
him, his money and various little things were given back.
"Had he no pistol?" asked Ranjoor Singh.
"Yes," said I, "but I took it when we bound and gagged him on the
steamer." And I drew it out and showed it, feeling proud, never
having had such a weapon--for the law of British India is strict.
"Why did you not tell me?" he asked, and I was silent. "Give it
here!" said he, and I gave it up. He examined it, drew out the
cartridges, and passed it to Tugendheim, who pocketed it with a
laugh. It was three days before he spoke to Tugendheim and caused
him to give me the pistol back. I think the men were impressed, and
I was glad of it, although at the time I felt ashamed.
Presently Ranjoor Singh himself chose an advance guard of twenty men
and put me in command of it.
"March eastward," he ordered me. "According to my map, you should
find a road within a mile or two running about northeast and
southwest; turn to the left along it. Halt if you see armed men, and
send back word. Keep a lookout for food, for the men are starving,
but loot nothing without my order! March!" said he.
"May I ask a question, sahib," said I, still lingering.
"Ask," said he.
"Would you truly have burned the German alive?" said I, and he
laughed.
"That would have been a big fire," said he. "Do you think none would
have come to investigate?"
"That is what I was thinking," said I.
"Do such thoughts burn your brain?" said he. "A threat to a bully--
to a fool, folly--to a drunkard, drink--to each, his own! Be going
now!"
So I saluted him and led away, wondering in my heart, the weather
growing worse, if that were possible, but my spirits rising. I knew
now that my back was toward Gallipoli, where the nearest British
were, yet my heart felt bold with love for Ranjoor Singh and I did
not doubt we would strike a good blow yet for our friends, although
I had no least idea who Wassmuss was, nor whither we were marching.
If I had known--eh, but listen, sahib--this is a tale of tales!
CHAPTER V
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!
--RANJOOR SINGH
That dawn, sahib, instead of lessening, the rainstorm grew into a
deluge that saved us from being seen. As I led my twenty men forward
I looked back a time or two, and once I could dimly see steamers and
some smaller boats tossing on the sea. Then the fiercest gust of
rain of all swept by like a curtain, and it was as if Europe had
been shut off forever--so that I recalled Gooja Singh's saying on
the transport in the Red Sea, about a curtain being drawn and our
not returning that way. My twenty men marched numbly, some seeming
half-asleep.
By and by, with heels sucking in the mud, we came to the road of
which Ranjoor Singh had spoken and I turned along it. It had been
worn into ruts and holes by heavy traffic and now the rain made
matters worse, so we made slow progress. But before long I was able
to make out dimly through the storm what looked like a railway
station. There was a line of telegraph poles, and where it crossed
our road there were buildings enough to have contained two
regiments. I could see no sign of men, but in that light, with rain
swirling hither and thither, it was difficult to judge. I halted,
and sent a man back to warn Ranjoor Singh.
We blew on our fingers and stamped to keep life in ourselves, until
at the end of ten minutes he came striding out of the rain like a
king on his way to be crowned. My twenty were already speechless
with unhappiness and hunger, but he had instilled some of his own
spirit into the rest of the regiment, for they marched with a swing
in good order. He had Tugendheim close beside him and had inspired
him, too. It may be the man was grinning in hope of our capture
within an hour, and in that case he was doomed to disappointment. He
was destined also to see the day when he should hope for our escape.
But from subsequent acquaintance with him I think he was
appreciating the risk we ran and Ranjoor Singh's great daring. I say
this for Tugendheim, that he knew and respected resolution when he
saw it.
When I had pointed out what I could see of the lay of the land,
Ranjoor Singh left me in charge and marched away with Tugendheim and
Tugendheim's four guards. I looked about for shelter, but there was
none. We stood shivering, the rain making pools at our feet that
spread and became one. So I made the men mark time and abused them
roundly for being slack about it, they grumbling greatly because our
prisoner was marched away to shelter, whereas we must stand without.
I bullied them as much as I dared, and we stamped the road into a
veritable quagmire, as builders tread mud for making sun-dried
bricks, so that when three-quarters of an hour had passed and a man
came running back with a message from Ranjoor Singh there was a
little warmth in us. I did not need to use force to get the column
started.
"Come!" said the trooper. "There is food, and shelter, and who knows
what else!"
So we went best foot first along the road, feeling less than half as
hungry and not weak at all, now that we knew food was almost within
reach. Truly a man's desires are the vainest part of him. Less
hungry we were at once, less weary, and vastly less afraid; yet, too
much in a hurry to ask questions of the messenger!
Ranjoor Singh came out of a building to meet us, holding up his
hand, so I made the men halt and began to look about. It was
certainly a railway station, with a long platform, and part of the
platform was covered by a roof. Parallel to that was a great shed
with closed sides, and through its half-open door I could smell hay-
-a very good smell, sahib, warming to the heart. To our right,
across what might be called a yard--thus--were many low sheds, and
in one there were horses feeding; in others I could see Turkish
soldiers sprawling on the straw, but they took no notice of us.
Three of the low sheds were empty, and Ranjoor Singh pointed to
them.
"Let all except twenty men," said he, "go and rest in those sheds.
If any one asks questions, say only 'Allah!' So they will think you
are Muhammadans. If that should not seem sufficient, say 'Wassmuss!'
But unless questioned many times, say nothing! As you value your
lives, say nothing more than those two words to any one at all!
Rather be thought fools than be hanged before breakfast!"
So all but twenty of the men went and lay down on straw in the three
empty sheds, and I took the twenty and followed him into the great
shed with closed sides. Therein, besides many other things, we
beheld great baskets filled with loaves of bread,--not very good
bread, nor at all fresh, but staff of life itself to hungry men. He
bade the men count out four loaves for each and every one of us, and
then at last, he gave me a little information.
"The Germans in Stamboul," he said, "talked too loud of this place
in my hearing." I stood gnawing a loaf already, and I urged him to
take one, but he would eat nothing until all the men should have
been fed. "They detrain Dervish troops at this point," said he, "and
march them to the shore to be shipped to Gallipoli, because they
riot and make trouble if kept in barracks in Skutari or Stamboul.
This bread was intended for two train-loads of them."
"Then the Dervishes will riot after all!" said I, and he laughed--a
thing he does seldom.
"The sooner the better!" said he. "A riot might cover up our tracks
even better than this rain."
"Is there no officer in charge here?" I asked him,
"Aye, a Turkish officer," said he. "I heard the Germans complain
about his inefficiency. A day or two later and we might have found a
German in his place. He mistakes us for friends. What else could we
be?" And he laughed again.
"But the telegraph wire?" said I.
"Is down," he said, "both between here and Skutari, and between here
and Inismid. God sent this storm to favor us, and we will praise God
by making use of it."
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