of rifle-firing and artillery we caught presently the thunder of new
regiments advancing at the double. Thousands of our Indian infantry-
-those who had been in the trains behind us--were coming forward at
a run! God knows that was a night--to make a man glad he has lived!

It was not only the Germans who had not expected us. Now, sahib, for
the first time the British infantry began to understand who it was
who had come to their aid, and they began to sing--one song, all
together. The wounded sang it, too, and the stretcher-bearers. There
came a day when we had our own version of that song, but that night
it was new to us. We only caught a few words--the first words. The
sahib knows the words--the first few words? It was true we had come
a long, long way; but it choked us into silence to hear that
battered infantry acknowledge it.

Color and creed, sahib. What are color and creed? The world has
mistaken us Sikhs too long for a breed it can not understand. We
Sikhs be men, with the hearts of men; and that night we knew that
our hearts and theirs were one. Nor have I met since then the fire
that could destroy the knowledge, although efforts have been made,
and reasons shown me.

But my story is of Ranjoor Singh and of what he did. I but tell my
own part to throw more light on his. What I did is as nothing. Of
what he did, you shall be the judge--remembering this, that he who
does, and he who glories in the deed are one. Be attentive, sahib;
this is a tale of tales!