spat upon the ground the sergeant's foot covered, and made an evil-
smiling remark. Thereupon Connor laid siege to the white-toothed, wild-
bearded Sikh with words which suddenly came to renown, and left not a
shred of glory to the garment of vanity the hillman wore.

He insinuated that the Sikh's horse was wounded at Hashin from behind by
backing too far on the Guards' Brigade on one side and on the Royal
Mounted Infantry on the other. This was ungenerous and it was not true,
for William Connor knew well the reputation of the Sikhs; but William's
blood was up, and the smile of the Subadar was hateful in his eyes. The
truth was that the Berkshire Regiment had had its chance at Dihilbat Hill
and the Sikhs had not. But William Connor refused to make a distinction
between two squadrons of Bengal Cavalry which had been driven back upon
the Guards' square and the Sikhs who fretted on their bits, as it were.

The Berkshire Regiment had done its work in gallant style up the steep
slopes of Dihilbat, had cleared the summit of Osman Digna's men, and
followed them with a raking fire as they retreated wildly into the mimosa
bushes on the plain. The Berkshires were not by nature proud of stomach,
but Connor was a popular man, and the incident of the Sick Horse Depot,
as reported by Corporal Bagshot, who kept a diary and a dictionary,
tickled their imagination, and they went forth and swaggered before the
Indian Native Contingent, singing a song made by Bagshot and translated
into Irish idiom by William Connor. The song was meant to humiliate the
Indian Native Contingent, and the Sikhs writhed under the raillery and
looked black-so black that word was carried to McNeill himself, who sent
orders to the officers of the Berkshire Regiment to give the offenders a
dressing down; for the Sikhs were not fellaheen, to be heckled with
impunity.