The talk rose higher and higher, and the regimental band played
between the courses, as is the immemorial custom, till all tongues
ceased for a moment with the removal of the dinner-slips and the
first toast of obligation, when an officer rising said, "Mr. Vice,
the Queen," and little Mildred from the bottom of the table
answered, "The Queen, God bless her," and the big spurs clanked as
the big men heaved themselves up and drank the Queen upon whose
pay they were falsely supposed to settle their mess-bills. That
Sacrament of the Mess never grows old, and never ceases to bring a
lump into the throat of the listener wherever he be by sea or by
land. Dirkovitch rose with his "brothers glorious," but he could
not understand. No one but an officer can tell what the toast
means; and the bulk have more sentiment than comprehension.
Immediately after the little silence that follows on the ceremony
there entered the native officer who had played for the Lushkar
team. He could not, of course, eat with the mess, but he came in
at dessert, all six feet of him, with the blue and silver turban
atop, and the big black boots below. The mess rose joyously as he
thrust forward the hilt of his sabre in token of fealty for the
colonel of the White Hussars to touch, and dropped into a vacant
chair amid shouts of: "Rung ho, Hira Singh!" (which being
translated means "Go in and win "). "Did I whack you over the
knee, old man?" "Ressaidar Sahib, what the devil made you play
that kicking pig of a pony in the last ten minutes?" "Shabash,
Ressaidar Sahib!" Then the voice of the colonel, "The health of
Ressaidar Hira Singh!"

After the shouting had died away Hira Singh rose to reply, for he
was the cadet of a royal house, the son of a king's son, and knew