by Talbot Mundy
“And the alternative is the mines?” said I.
“No, no!” said the chief of them. “You must not misunderstand. Your present destination is the coal mines, where you are to earn your keep. But the suggestion is made to you that you might care to apply for leave to fight on our side. In that case we would not send you to the coal mines until at least your application had been considered. It is practically certain it would be considered favorably.”
The conversation was in English as usual and many of the men had not quite understood. Those on the outside had not heard properly. So I bade four men lift me, and I shouted to them in our own tongue all that the German had said. There fell a great silence, and the four men let me drop to the earth between them.
“So is this the trap Ranjoor Singh would lead us into?” said the trooper nearest me, and though he spoke low, so still were we all that fifty men heard him and murmured. So I spoke up.
Said I, “We will answer when we shall have spoken again with Ranjoor Singh. He shall give our answer. It is right that a regiment should answer through its officer, and any other course is lacking discipline!”
Sahib, I have been surprised a thousand times in this war, but not once more surprised than by the instant effect my answer had. It was a random answer, made while I searched for some argument to use; but the German spokesman turned at once and translated to the officers in uniform. Watching them very closely, I saw them laugh, and it seemed to me they approved my answer and disapproved some other matter. I think they disapproved the civilian method of mingling with us in a mob, for a moment later the order was given us in English to fall in, and we fell in two deep. Then the civilian Germans drew aside and one of the officers in uniform strode toward the entrance gate. We waited in utter silence, wondering what next, but the officer had not been gone ten minutes when we caught sight of him returning with Ranjoor Singh striding along beside him.
Ranjoor Singh and he advanced toward us and I saw Ranjoor Singh speak with him more emphatically than his usual custom. Evidently Ranjoor Singh had his way, for the officer spoke in German to the others and they all walked out of the compound in a group, leaving Ranjoor Singh facing us. He waited until the gate clanged shut behind them before he spoke.
“Well?” said he. “I was told the regiment asked for word with me. What is the word?”
“Sahib,” said I, standing out alone before the men, not facing him, but near one end of the line, so that I could raise my voice with propriety and all the men might hear. He backed away, to give more effect to that arrangement. “Sahib,” I said, “we are in a trap. Either we go to the mines, or we fight for the Germans against the British. What is your word on the matter?”
“Ho!” said he. “Is it as bad as that? As bad as that?” said he. “If ye go to the mines to dig coal, they will use that coal to make ammunition for their guns! That seems a poor alternative! They fight as much with ammunition as with men!”
“Sahib,” said I, “it is worse than that! They seek to compel us to sign a paper, forswearing our allegiance to Great Britain and claiming allegiance to them! Should we sign it, that makes us out traitors in the first place, and makes us amenable to their law in the second place. They could shoot us if we disobeyed or demurred.”
“They could do that in the mines,” said he, “if you failed to dig enough coal to please them. They would call it punishment for malingering — or some such name. If they take it into their heads to have you all shot, doubt not they will shoot!”
“Yet in that case,” said I, “we should not be traitors.”
“I will tell you a story,” said he, and we held our breath to listen, for this was his old manner. This had ever been his way of putting recruits at ease and of making a squadron understand. In that minute, for more than a minute, men forgot they had ever suspected him.
“When I was a little one,” said he, “my mother’s aunt, who was an old hag, told me this tale. There was a pack of wolves that hunted in a forest near a village. In the village lived a man who wished to be headman. Abdul was his name, and he had six sons. He wished to be headman that he might levy toll among the villagers for the up-keep of his sons, who were hungry and very proud. Now Abdul was a cunning hunter, and his sons were strong. So he took thought, and chose a season carefully, and set his sons to dig a great trap. And so well had Abdul chosen — so craftily the six sons digged — that one night they caught all that wolf-pack in the trap. And they kept them in the trap two days and a night, that they might hunger and thirst and grow amenable.
“Then Abdul leaned above the pit, and peered down at the wolves and began to bargain with them. ‘Wolves,’ said he, ‘your fangs be long and your jaws be strong, and I wish to be headman of this village.’ And they answered, ‘Speak, Abdul, for these walls be high, and our throats be dry, and we wish to hunt again!’ So he bade them promise that if he let them go they would seek and slay the present headman and his sons, so that he might be headman in his place. And the wolves promised. Then when he had made them swear by a hundred oaths in a hundred different ways, and had bound them to keep faith by God and by earth and sky and sea and by all the holy things he could remember, he stood aside and bade his six sons free the wolves.
“The sons obeyed, and helped the wolves out of the trap. And instantly the wolves fell on all six sons, and slew and devoured them. Then they came and stood round Abdul with their jaws dripping with blood.
“‘Oh, wolves,’ said he, trembling with fear and anger, ‘ye are traitors! Ye are forsworn! Ye are faithless ones!’
“But they answered him, ‘Oh, Abdul, shall he who knows not false from true judge treason?’ and forthwith they slew him and devoured him, and went about their business.
“Now, which had the right of that — Abdul or the wolves?”
“We are no wolves!” said Gooja Singh in a whining voice. “We be true men!”
“Then I will tell you another story,” Ranjoor Singh answered him. And we listened again, as men listen to the ticking of a clock. “This is a story the same old woman, my mother’s aunt, told me when I was very little.
“There was a man — and this man’s name also was Abdul — who owned a garden, and in it a fish-pond. But in the fish-pond were no fish. Abdul craved fish to swim hither and thither in his pond, but though he tried times out of number he could catch none. Yet at fowling he had better fortune, and when he was weary one day of fishing and laid his net on land he caught a dozen birds.
“‘So-ho!’ said Abdul, being a man much given to thought, and he went about to strike a bargain. ‘Oh, birds,’ said he, ‘are ye willing to be fish? For I have no fishes swimming in my pond, yet my heart desires them greatly. So if ye are willing to be fish and will stay in my good pond and swim there, gladdening my eyes, I will abstain from killing you but instead will set you in the pond and let you live.’
“So the birds, who were very terrified, declared themselves willing to be fish, and the birds swore even more oaths than he insisted on, so that he was greatly pleased and very confident. Therefore he used not very much precaution when he came to plunge the birds into the water, and the instant he let go of them the birds with feathers scarcely wet flew away and perched on the trees about him.
“Then Abdul grew very furious. ‘Oh, birds,’ said he, ‘ye are traitors. Ye are forsworn! Ye are liars — breakers of oaths — deceitful ones!’ And he shook his fist at them and spat, being greatly enraged and grieved at their deception.
“But the birds answered him, ‘Oh, Abdul, a captive’s gyves and a captive’s oath are one, and he who rivets on the one must keep the other!’ And the birds flew away, but Abdul went to seek his advocate to have the law of them! Now, what think ye was the advocate’s opinion in the matter, and what remedy had Abdul?”
Has the sahib ever seen three hundred men all at the same time becoming conscious of the same idea? That is quite a spectacle. There was no whispering, nor any movement except a little shifting of the feet. There was nothing o
n which a watchful man could lay a finger. Yet between one second and the next they were not the same men, and I, who watched Ranjoor Singh’s eyes as if he were my opponent in a duel, saw that he was aware of what had happened, although not surprised. But he made no sign except the shadow of one that I detected, and he did not change his voice — as yet.
“As for me,” he said, telling a tale again, “I wrote once on the seashore sand and signed my name beneath. A day later I came back to look, but neither name nor words remained. I was what I had been, and stood where the sea had been, but what I had written in sand affected me not, neither the sea nor any man. Thought I, if one had lent me money on such a perishable note the courts would now hold him at fault, not me; they would demand evidence, and all he could show them would be what he had himself bargained for. Now it occurs to me that seashore sand, and the tricks of rogues, and blackmail, and tyranny perhaps are one!”
Eye met eye, all up and down both lines of men. There was swift searching of hearts, and some of the men at my end of the line began talking in low tones. So I spoke up and voiced aloud what troubled them.
“If we sign this paper, sahib,” said I, “how do we know they will not find means of bringing it to the notice of the British?”
“We do not know,” he answered. “Let us hope. Hope is a great good thing. If they chained us, and we broke the chains, they might send the broken links to London in proof of what thieves we be. Who would gain by that?”
I saw a very little frown now and knew that he judged it time to strike on the heated metal. But Gooja Singh turned his back on Ranjoor Singh.
“Let him sign this thing,” said he, “and let us sign our names beneath his name. Then he will be in the same trap with us all, and must lead us out of it or perish with us!”
So Gooja Singh offered himself, all unintentionally, to be the scapegoat for us all and I have seldom seen a man so shocked by what befell him. Only a dozen words spoke Ranjoor Singh — yet it was as if he lashed him and left him naked. Whips and a good man’s wrath are one.
“Who gave thee leave to yelp?” said he, and Gooja Singh faced about like a man struck. By order of the Germans he and I stood in the place of captains on parade, he on the left and I on the right.
“To your place!” said Ranjoor Singh.
Gooja Singh stepped back into line with me, but Ranjoor Singh was not satisfied.
“To your place in the rear!” he ordered. And so I have seen a man who lost a lawsuit slink round a corner of the court.
Then I spoke up, being stricken with self-esteem at the sight of Gooja Singh’s shame (for I always knew him to be my enemy).
“Sahib,” said I, “shall I pass down the line and ask each man whether he will sign what the Germans ask?”
“Aye!” said he, “like the carrion crows at judgment! Halt!” he ordered, for already I had taken the first step. “When I need to send a havildar,” said he, “to ask my men’s permission, I will call for a havildar! To the rear where you belong!” he ordered. And I went round to the rear, knowing something of Gooja Singh’s sensations, but loving him no better for the fellow-feeling. When my footfall had altogether ceased and there was silence in which one could have heard an insect falling to the ground, Ranjoor Singh spoke again. “There has been enough talk,” said he. “In pursuance of a plan, I intend to sign whatever the Germans ask. Those who prefer not to sign what I sign — fall out! Fall out, I say!”
Not a man fell out, sahib. But that was not enough for Ranjoor Singh.
“Those who intend to sign the paper, — two paces forward, — march!” said he. And as one man we took two paces forward.
“So!” said he. “Right turn!” And we turned to the right. “Forward! Quick march!” he ordered. And he made us march twice in a square about him before he halted us again and turned us to the front to face him. Then he was fussy about our alignment, making us take up our dressing half a dozen times; and when he had us to his satisfaction finally he stood eying us for several minutes before turning his back and striding with great dignity toward the gate.
He talked through the gate and very soon a dozen Germans entered, led by two officers in uniform and followed by three soldiers carrying a table and a chair. The table was set down in their midst, facing us, and the senior German officer — in a uniform with a very high collar — handed a document to Ranjoor Singh. When he had finished reading it to himself he stepped forward and read it aloud to us. It was in Punjabi, excellently rendered, and the gist of it was like this:
We, being weary of British misrule, British hypocrisy, and British arrogance, thereby renounced allegiance to Great Britain, its king and government, and begged earnestly to be permitted to fight on the side of the Central Empires in the cause of freedom. It was expressly mentioned, I remember, that we made this petition of our own initiative and of our own free will, no pressure having been brought to bear on us, and nothing but kindness having been offered us since we were taken prisoners.
“That is what we are all required to sign,” said Ranjoor Singh, when he had finished reading, and he licked his lips in a manner I had never seen before.
Without any further speech to us, he sat down at the table and wrote his name with a great flourish on the paper, setting down his rank beside his name. Then he called to me, and I sat and wrote my name below his, adding my rank also. And Gooja Singh followed me. After him, in single file, came every surviving man of Outram’s Own. Some men scowled, and some men laughed harshly, and if one of our race had been watching on the German behalf he would have been able to tell them something. But the Germans mistook the scowls for signs of anger at the British, and the laughter they mistook for rising spirits, so that the whole affair passed off without arousing their suspicion.
Nevertheless, my heart warned me that the Germans would not trust a regiment seduced as we were supposed to have been. And, although Ranjoor Singh had had his way with us, the very having had destroyed the reawakening trust in him. The troopers felt that he had led them through the gates of treason. I could feel their thoughts as a man feels the breath of coming winter on his cheek.
When the last man had signed we stood at attention and a wagonload of rifles was brought in, drawn by oxen. They gave a rifle to each of us, and we were made to present arms while the German military oath was read aloud. After that the Germans walked away as if they had no further interest. Only Ranjoor Singh remained, and he gave us no time just then for comment or discontent.
The mauser rifles were not so very much unlike our own, and he set us to drilling with them, giving us patient instruction but very little rest until evening. During the longest pause in the drill he sent for knapsacks and served us one each, filled down to the smallest detail with everything a soldier could need, even to a little cup that hung from a hook beneath one corner. We were utterly worn out when he left us at nightfall, but there was a lot of talking nevertheless before men fell asleep.
“This is the second time he has trapped us in deadly earnest!” was the sum of the general complaint they hurled at me. And I had no answer to give them, knowing well that if I took his part I should share his condemnation — which would not help him; neither would it help them nor me.
“My thought, of going to the mines and being troublesome, was best!” said I. “Ye overruled me. Now ye would condemn me for not preventing you! Ye are wind blowing this way and that!”
They were so busy defending themselves to themselves against that charge that they said no more until sleep fell on them; and at dawn Ranjoor Singh took hold of us again and made us drill until our feet burned on the gravel and our ears were full of the tramp — tramp — tramp, and the ek — do — tin of manual exercise.
“Listen!” said he to me, when he had dismissed us for dinner, and I lingered on parade. “Caution the men that any breach of discipline would be treated under German military law by drum-head court martial and sentence of death by shooting. Advise them to avoid indiscretions of any kind,” said he.
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So I passed among them, pretending the suggestion was my own, and they resented it, as I knew they would. But I observed from about that time they began to look on Ranjoor Singh as their only possible protector against the Germans, so that their animosity against him was offset by self-interest.
The next day came a staff officer who marched us to the station, where a train was waiting. Impossible though it may seem, sahib, to you who listen, I felt sad when I looked back at the huts that had been our prison, and I think we all did. We had loathed them with all our hearts all summer long, but now they represented what we knew and we were marching away from them to what we knew not, with autumn and winter brooding on our prospects.
Not all our wounded had been returned to us; some had died in the German hospitals.. Two hundred-and-three-and-thirty of us all told, including Ranjoor Singh, lined up on the station platform — fit and well and perhaps a little fatter than was seemly.
Having no belongings other than the rifles and knapsacks and what we stood in it took us but a few moments to entrain. Almost at once the engine whistled and we were gone, wondering whither. Some of the troopers shouted to Ranjoor Singh to ask our destination, but he affected not to hear. The German staff officer rode in the front compartment alone, and Ranjoor Singh rode alone in the next behind him; but they conversed often through the window, and at stations where the two of them got out to stretch their legs along the platform they might have been brothers-in-blood relating love-affairs. Our troopers wondered.
“Our fox grows gray,” said they, “and his impudence increases.”
“Would it help us out of this predicament,” said I, “if he smote that German in the teeth and spat on him?”
They laughed at that and passed the remark along from window to window, until I roared at them to keep their heads in. There were seven of us non-commissioned officers, and we rode in one compartment behind the officers’ carriage, Gooja Singh making much unpleasantness because there was not enough room for us all to lie full length at once. We were locked into our compartment, and the only chance we had of speaking with Ranjoor Singh was when they brought us food at stations and he strode down the train to see that each man had his share.