I was careful to say nothing.  When men questioned me, “Nay,” said I.  “I am one and ye are many.  Choose ye!  Could I lead you against your wills?” They murmured at that, but silence is easier to keep than some men think.

Why did I say nothing?  In the first place, sahib, because my mind was made at last.  With all my heart now, with the oath of a Sikh and the truth of a Sikh I was Ranjoor Singh’s man.  I believed him true, and I was ready to stand or fall by that belief, in the dark, in the teeth of death, against all odds, anywhere.  Therefore there was nothing I could say with wisdom.  For if they were to suspect my true thoughts, they would lose all confidence in me, and then I should be of little use to the one man who could help all of us.  I judged that what Ranjoor Singh most needed was a silent servant who would watch and obey the first hint.  Just as I had watched him in battle and had herded the men for him to lead, so would I do now.  There should be deeds, not words, for the foundation of a new beginning.

In the second place, sahib, I knew full well that if Gooja Singh or any of the others could have persuaded me to advance an opinion it would have been pounced on, and changed out of all recognition, yet named my opinion nevertheless.  This altered opinion they would presently adopt, yet calling it mine, and when the outcome of it should fail at last to please them they would blame me.  For such is the way of the world.  So I had two good reasons, and the words I spoke that night could have been counted without aid of pen and paper.

The long and short of it was that morning found them undecided.  There was one opinion all held—­even Gooja Singh, who otherwise took both sides as to everything—­that above all and before all we were all true men, loyal to our friends, the British, and foes of every living German or Austrian or Turk so long as the war should last.  The Germans had bragged to us about the Turks being in the war on their side, and we had thought deeply on the subject of their choice of friends.  Like and like mingle, sahib.  As for us, my grandfather fought for the British in ’57, and my father died at Kandahar under Bobs bahadur.  On that main issue we were all one, and all ashamed to be prisoners while our friends were facing death.  But dawn found almost no two men agreed as to Ranjoor Singh, or in fact on any other point.

Not long after dawn, came the Germans again, with new arguments.  And this time they began to let us feel the iron underlying their persuasion.  Once, to make talk and gain time before answering a question, I had told them of our labor in the bunkers on the ship that carried us from India.  I had boasted of the coal we piled on the fire-room floor.  Lo, it is always foolish to give information to the enemy—­always, sahib—­always!  There is no exception.

Said they to us now:  “We Germans are devoting all our energy to prosecution of this war.  Nearly all our able-bodied men are with the regiments.  Every man must do his part, for we are a nation in arms.  Even prisoners must do their part.  Those who do not fight for us must work to help the men who do fight.”