"The sahib would like to hear a story?" The speaker is a jemadar of the
59th. "So be it. Know then, sahib, that I and twelve men of my company
were cut off by the _German-log_, and I, even I only, am left. It was in
this wise. My comrades advanced too far beyond the trenches, and we lost
our way. And the _German-log_ make signs to us to surrender, but it is
not our way and we still advance. And they open fire with a
machine-gun--so!" The speaker makes sounds as a man who stutters. "And
we are all hit--killed and wounded, and fall like ripe corn to the
sickle. And I am wounded in the leg and I fall. And the German officer,
he come up and hitted me in the buttock to see if I were dead. But I lay
exceeding still and hold my breath. And they pull me by the leg" (can it
be that the jemadar is pulling mine?), "a long way they pull me but
still I am as one dead. And so I escaped." He looks round for approval.

"That was well done, jemadar." His lustrous eyes flash with pleasure.
"And how is it with your food?"

"Good" ("_Bahout accha_"), comes a chorus of voices. "The exalted
Government has done great things. We have _ghee_"--a clarified butter
made of buffalo or cow's milk--"and _goor_"--unrefined sugar. "And we
have spices for our _dhal_--ginger and garlic and chilli and turmeric.
Yea, and fruits also--apricots, date-palms, and sultanas. What more can
man want?"

"It is well." But it is time for me to go. Smith is still talking to the
Mahratta, whose eyes never leave his face. "Come on, old man," I say,
"it is time to go." Smith turns reluctantly away. As I looked over my
shoulder the Mahratta was weeping softly.