Our Turkish officer prisoner was always put with his forty men to march in front--behind our advance guard but in front of the carts and infantry.

Thus there was no risk of his escaping, because for one thing he had no saddle and rode with much discomfort and so unsafely that he preferred to march on foot more often than not; and for another, that arrangement left him never out of sight of nearly all of us.

One of us daffadars would generally march beside him, and some of the Syrian muleteers had learned English either in Egypt or the Levant ports, so that there was no lack of interpreters.

I myself have marched beside the Turk for miles and miles on end, with Abraham translating for us.
"Why not loot?
Who can prevent you?
Who shall call you to account ?" was the burden of the Turk's song.
And Tugendheim, who spoke our tongue fluently, marched as a rule among the men, or rode with the mounted men, watched day and night by the four troopers who had charge of him--better mounted than he, and very mindful of their honor in the matter.

He made himself as agreeable as he could, telling tales about his life in India--not proper tales to tell to a sahib, but such as to make the troopers laugh; so that finally the things he said began to carry the weight that goes with friendliness.