r him. It was pitch-dark by that
time and the only light was that of a lantern by which the German
officer stood, eying us one by one as we passed. Tugendheim came
last, and he talked with Tugendheim for several minutes. Then he
went away, but presently returned with, I should say, half a company
of Kurdish soldiers, whom he posted all about the dock. Then he
departed finally, with a wave of his cigar, as much as to say that
sheet of the ledger had been balanced.

It was a miserable steamer, sahib. We stood about on iron decks and
grew hungry. There were no awnings--nothing but the superstructure
of the bridge, and, although there were but two-hundred-and-thirty-four
of us, including Tugendheim, we could not stow ourselves so
that all could be sheltered from the rain and let the mud cake dry
on our legs and feet. There was a little cabin that Tugendheim took
for himself, but Ranjoor Singh remained with us on deck. He stood in
the rain by the gangway, looking first at one thing, then at
another. I watched him.

Presently he went to the door of the engine-room, opened it, and
looked through. I was about to look, too, but he shut it in my face.

"It is enough that they make steam?" said he; and I looked up at the
funnel and saw steam mingled with the smoke. In a little wheel-house
on the bridge the Turkish captain sat on a shelf, wrapped in his
shawl, smoking a great pipe, and his mate, who was also a Turk, sat
beside him staring at the sky. I asked Ranjoor Singh whether we
might expect to have the whole ship to ourselves. Said I, "It would
not be difficult to overpower those two Turks and their small crew
and make them do our bidding!" But he answered that a regiment of
Kurds was expected to keep us company at dawn. Then he went up to
the bridge to have word with the Turkish captain, and I went to the
ship's side to stare about. Over my shoulder I told the men about
the Kurds who were coming, and they were not pleased.

Peering into the dark and wondering that so great a city as Stamboul
should show so few lights, I observed the Kurdish sentinels posted
about the dock.

"Those are to prevent us from going ashore until their friends
come!" said I, and they snarled at me like angry wolves.

"We could easily rush ashore and bayonet every one of them!" said
Gooja Singh.

But not a man would have gone ashore again for a commission in the
German army. Gallipoli was written in their hearts. Yet I could
think of a hundr