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-