ame all
the more determined in their loyalty from sheer disgust at Ranjoor
Singh's unfaithfulness. They believed and I disbelieved, yet the
result was one.

At night Gooja Singh held forth in the hut where he slept with
twenty-five others. He explained--although he did not say how he
knew--that the Germans have kept for many years in Berlin an office
for the purpose of intrigue in India--an office manned by Sikh
traitors. "That is where Ranjoor Singh will be," said he. "He will
be managing that bureau." In those days Gooja Singh was Ranjoor
Singh's bitterest enemy, although later he changed sides again.

The night-time was the worst. By day there was the camp to keep
clean and the German officers to talk to; but at night we lay awake
thinking of India, and of our dead officer sahibs, and of all that
had been told us that we knew was lies. Ever the conversation turned
to Ranjoor Singh at last, and night after night the anger grew
against him. I myself admitted very often that his duty had been to
lead us to our death. I was ashamed as the rest of our surrender.

After a time, as our wounded began to be drafted back to us from
hospital, we were made to listen to accounts of alleged great German
victories. They told us the German army was outside Paris and that
the whole of the British North Sea Fleet was either sunk or
captured. They also said that the Turks in Gallipoli had won great
victories against the Allies. We began to wonder why such conquerors
should seek so earnestly the friendship of a handful of us Sikhs.
Our wounded began to be drafted back to us well primed, and their
stories made us think, but not as the Germans would have had us
think.

Week after week until the spring came we listened to their tales by
day and talked them over among ourselves at night; and the more they
assured us Ranjoor Singh was working with them in Berlin, the more
we prayed for opportunity to prove our hearts. Spring dragged along
into summer and there began to be prayers for vengeance on him. I
said less than any. Understanding had not come to me fully yet, but
it seemed to me that if Ranjoor Singh was really playing traitor,
then he was going a tedious way about it. Yet it was equally clear
that if I should dare to say one word in his behalf that would be to
pass sentence on myself. I kept silence when I could, and was
evasive when they pressed me, cowardice struggling with new
conviction in my heart.

There came one night