How?
Who am I that I should know?
The British guns, I suppose, from fear of slaying us, and the German guns from fear of slaying Germans; but as to how, I know not.

But the German star-shells continued bursting overhead, and by that weird light their oncoming infantry saw charging into them men they had never seen before out of a picture-book! God knows what tales they had been told about us Sikhs.

I read their faces as I rode.

Fear is an ugly weapon, sahib, whose hilt is more dangerous than its blade.

If our officers had told us such tales about Germans as their officers had told them about us, I think perhaps we might have feared to charge.
Numbers were as nothing that night.