I remember one man who had had his left leg blown off by shrapnel sitting on a rock smoking a cigarette and great tears rolling down his cheeks. But he said no word. Not a groan or a cry of pain.
They ate little, and said little. But they were always extraordinarily polite and courteous to each other. They never neglected their prayers, even under heavy shell fire.
Once, when we were moving from the Salt Lake to "C" Beach, Lala Baba, the Indians moved all our equipment in their little two-wheeled carts.
They were much amused and interested in our sergeant clerk, who stood 6 feet 8 inches. They were joking and pointing to him in a little bunch.
Going up to them, I pointed up to the sky, and then to the Sergeant, saying: "Himalayas, Johnnie!"
They roared with laughter, and ever afterwards called him "Himalayas."
THE INDIAN TRANSPORT TRAIN
(Across the bed of the Salt Lake every night from the Supply Depot at Kangaroo Beach to the firing-line beyond Chocolate Hill, September, 1915.)
The Indian whallahs go up to the hills;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"[10]
They pass by the spot where the gun-cotton kills;
They shiver and huddle—they feel the night chills;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
With creaking and jingle of harness and pack;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
Where the moonlight is white and the shadows are black,
They are climbing the winding and rocky mule-track;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
By the blessing of Allah he's more than one wife;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
He's forbidden the wine which encourages strife,
But you don't like the look of his dangerous knife;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
The picturesque whallah is dusky and spare;
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
A turban he wears with magnificent air,
But he chucks down his pack when it's time for his prayer;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
When his moment arrives he'll be dropped in a hole;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
'Tis Kismet, he says, and beyond his control;
But the dear little houris will comfort his soul;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
The Indian whallahs go up to the hills;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
They pass by the spot where the gun-cotton kills;
But those who come down carry something that chills;—
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"