with the Captain of the Lushkar team,
who was wondering how many of Dirkovitch's Cossacks his own dark wiry
down-country-men could account for in a fair charge. But one does not
speak of these things openly.

[Illustration: '_Rung ho_, Hira Singh!'--P. 85.]

The talk rose higher and higher, and the regimental band played
between the courses, as is the immemorial custom, till all tongues
ceased for a moment with the removal of the dinner-slips and the first
toast of obligation, when an officer rising said, 'Mr. Vice, the
Queen,' and little Mildred from the bottom of the table answered, 'The
Queen, God bless her,' and the big spurs clanked as the big men
heaved themselves up and drank the Queen upon whose pay they were
falsely supposed to settle their mess-bills. That Sacrament of the
Mess never grows old, and never ceases to bring a lump into the throat
of the listener wherever he be by sea or by land. Dirkovitch rose with
his 'brothers glorious,' but he could not understand. No one but an
officer can tell what the toast means; and the bulk have more
sentiment than comprehension. Immediately after the little silence
that follows on the ceremony there entered the native officer who had
played for the Lushkar team. He could not, of course, eat with the
mess, but he came in at dessert, all six feet of him, with the blue
and silver turban atop, and the big black boots below. The mess rose
joyously as he thrust forward the hilt of his sabre in token of fealty
for the Colonel of the White Hussars to touch, and dropped in a vacant
chair amid shouts of: '_Rung ho_, Hira Singh' (which being translated
means 'Go in and win'). 'Did I whack you over the knee, old man?'
'Ressaidar Sahib, what the devil made you play that kicking pig of a
pony in the last ten minutes?' '_Shabash_, Ressaidar Sahib!' Then the
voice of the Colonel, 'The health of Ressaidar Hira Singh!'

After the shouting had died away Hira Singh rose to reply, for he was
the cadet of a royal house, the son of a king's son, and knew what
was due on these occasions. Thus he spoke in the vernacular:--'Colonel
Sahib and officers of this regiment. Much honour have you done me.
This will I remember. We came down from afar to play you. But we were
beaten' ('No fault of yours, Ressaidar Sahib. Played on our own ground
y' know. Your ponies were cramped from the railway. Don't apologise!')
'Therefore perhaps we will come again if it be so ordained.' ('Hear!
Hear! Hear, in