Stamboul was disillusionment--a city of rain and plagues and stinks!
The food in barracks was maggoty. We breathed foul air and yearned
for the streets; yet, once in the streets, we yearned to be back in
barracks. Aye, sahib, we saw more in one day of the streets than we
thought good for us, none yet understanding the breadth of Ranjoor
Singh's wakefulness. He seemed to us like a man asleep in good
opinion of himself--that being doubtless the opinion he wished the
German officers to have of him.

Part of the German plan became evident at once, for, noticing our
great enthusiasm at the prospect of being sent to Gallipoli,
Tugendheim, in the hope of winning praise, told a German officer we
ought to be paraded through the streets as evidence that Indian
troops really were fighting with the Central Powers. The German
officer agreed instantly, Tugendheim making faces thus and brushing
his mustache more fiercely upward.

So the very first morning after our arrival we were paraded early
and sent out with a negro band, to tramp back and forth through the
streets until nearly too weary to desire life. Ranjoor Singh marched
at our head looking perfectly contented, for which the men all hated
him, and beside him went a Turk who knew English and who told him
the names of streets and places.

It did not escape my observation that Ranjoor Singh was interested
more than a little in the waterfront. But we all tramped like dumb
men, splashed to the waist with street dirt, aware we were being
used to make a mental impression on the Turks, but afraid to refuse
obedience lest we be not sent to Gallipoli after all. One thought