On our way to the camp the French had pitched for us we passed through reenforcements coming from another section of the front, who gave us the right of way, and we took the salute of two divisions of French infantry who, I suppose, had been told of the service we had rendered.

Said I to Gooja Singh, who sat on my horse's rump, his own beast being disemboweled, "Who speaks now of a poor beginning ?" said I.
"I would rather see the end!" said he.

But he never saw the end.
Gooja Singh was ever too impatient of beginnings, and too sure what the end ought to be, to make certain of the middle part.

I have known men on outpost duty so far-seeing that an enemy had them at his mercy if only he could creep close enough.

And such men are always grumblers.
Gooja Singh led the grumbling now--he who had been first to prophesy how we should be turned into infantry.