than a little show of possessing a repeating pistol. So that Gooja
Singh made great to-do about military compliments, rebuking several
troopers in loud tones for not standing quickly to attention, and
shouting to me to be more strict. I let him have his say.

Angrily as a gathering thunder-storm Ranjoor Singh ordered us to
fall in, and we scrambled out through the doorway like a pack of
hunting hounds released. No word was spoken to us by way of
explanation, Ranjoor Singh continuing to scowl with folded arms
while the German officer went back to look the quarters over,
perhaps to see whether we had done damage, or perhaps to make
certain nothing had been left. He came out in a minute or two and
then we were marched out of the barrack in the dimming light, with
Tugendheim in full marching order falling into step behind us and
the senior German officer smoking a cigar beside Ranjoor Singh. A
Kurdish soldier carried Tugendheim's bag of belongings, and
Tugendheim kicked him savagely when he dropped it in a pool of mud.
I thought the Kurd would knife him, but he refrained.

I think I have said, sahib, that the weather was vile. We were glad
of our overcoats. As we marched along the winding road downhill we
kept catching glimpses of the water-front through driving rain,
light after light appearing as the twilight gathered. Nobody noticed
us. There seemed to be no one in the streets, and small wonder!

Before we were half-way down toward the water there began to be a
very great noise of firing, of big and little cannon and rifles.
There began to be shouting, and men ran back and forth below us. I
asked Tugendheim what it all might mean, and he said probably a
British submarine had shown itself. I whispered that to the nearest