Some of the Indians, contrary to my expectations, developed a taste for learning French. Their efforts frequently led to amusing incidents. On one occasion I was passing an officer’s private servant, who was ordinarily a strict Musalman, and would of course never eat meat that had not been _hallaled_, _i.e._ killed in the orthodox style by having its throat cut. I observed that his platter contained some beef, which was not then part of the Indian ration, and asked him how he came by it. “Oh, I bought it at a French butcher’s.” “But,” I said, “it has not been _hallaled_; how can you eat it?” My friend, however, explained that he had picked up some French, and that the “Miss Sahib” (young lady) in the shop had told him it was, and proceeded to repeat the conversation. “I went into the shop and said, ‘Beef, Miss,’ and she said, ‘Oui.’ I then put my finger to my throat and ran it across to explain that it must be _hallal_, and she at once said, ‘Oh, oui, oui,’ so you see it has been properly killed.” That Indian was not for being too orthodox in a foreign land, and that young lady had evidently learned something of Oriental customs; but the story got about and less meat was purchased from the stall after that. At first the Indians found it very difficult to distinguish between French and the German deserters, or prisoners captured. A story is told, which I believe is absolutely true, of a German deserter who managed to crawl through our front line, and finding himself among Indians, lay hidden till dusk and then warily proceeded along a path towards our rear in the hope of coming across a Britisher. He was afraid the Indians would, according to what he had been taught by his own officers, soon make mincemeat of him; however, his luck, as he explained, was all out, and as he walked along he saw two Gurkhas coming from the opposite direction. Bracing himself up for the tragedy he imagined was on the point of being enacted, he approached with as much _sang froid_ as he could muster, but to his surprise the two men, taking no notice whatever of him, passed on. Our friend breathed once more and felt sure the next man he met would be a Britisher; but no, his luck was still out, and he beheld to his dismay a solitary Gurkha, by whose side hung the terrible _kukry_, the weapon with which according to German ideas these lusty inhabitants of Nepal were wont to carve up their victims, or decapitate them with a single stroke.