That was why, twenty-four hours after the offending song was made, it was
suppressed; and in the sergeants' mess William Connor told the story how,
an hour before, he had met Subadar Goordit Singh in the encampment, and
the Subadar in a rage at the grin on Connor's face had made a rush at
him, which the Irishman met with his foot, spoiling his wind. That had
ended the incident for the moment, for the Sikh remembered in time, and
William Connor had been escorted "Berkshire way" by Corporal Bagshot and
Henry Withers. As the tale was told over and over again, there came
softly from the lips of the only other Irishman in the regiment, Jimmy
Coolin, a variant verse of the song that the great McNeill had stopped:

"Where is the shame of it,
Where was the blame of it,
William Connor dear?"

It was well for Graham, Hunter, McNeill, and their brigades that William
Connor and the Berkshires and the Subadar Goordit Singh had no idle time
in which to sear their difficulties, for, before another khamsin gorged
the day with cutting dust, every department of the Service, from the
Commissariat to the Balloon Detachment, was filling marching orders.
There was a collision, but it was the agreeable collision of preparation
for a fight, for it was ordained that the Berkshires and the Sikhs should
go shoulder to shoulder to establish a post in the desert between Suakim
and Tamai.

"D'ye hear that, William Connor dear?" said Private Coolin when the
orders came. "An' y'll have Subadar Goordit Singh with his kahars and
his bhistis and his dhooly bearers an' his Lushai dandies an' his
bloomin' bullock-carts steppin' on y'r tail as ye travel, Misther
Connor!"