Then the Germans began shouting to us, and Ranjoor Singh answered
them. If he had answered in English, so that most of us could have
understood, all would surely have been well; I am certain that in
that case the affection, returning because of his fine leadership,
would have destroyed the memory of suspicion. But I suppose it had
become habit with him to talk to the enemy in German by that time,
and as the words we could not understand passed back and forth even
I began to hate him. Yet he drove a good bargain for us.

Instead of hand-grenades the Germans began to throw bread to us--
great, flat, army loaves, Ranjoor Singh not showing himself, but
counting aloud as each loaf came over, we catching with great
anxiety lest they fall into the water and be polluted. It took a
long time, but when there was a good dry loaf for each man, Ranjoor
Singh gave the Germans leave to come and carry in their wounded, and
bade us hold our fire. Gooja Singh was for playing a trick but the
troopers near him murmured and Ranjoor Singh threatened him with
death if he dared. He never forgot that.

The Germans who came to fetch the wounded laughed at us, but Ranjoor
Singh forbade us to answer, and Captain Fellowes backed him up.

"There will be another attack from our side presently," said Captain
Fellowes, "and our friends will answer for us."

I shuddered at that. I remembered the bombardment that preceded our
first advance. Better die at the hands of the enemy, thought I. But
I said nothing. Presently, however, a new thought came to me, and I
called to Ranjoor Singh along the trench.