Lieut. Maharaja Kumar Gopal Saran Narain Singh of Tikari served with the Corps Signal Company and was a most versatile man, always ready to turn his hand to any job. Cheery and energetic, I had many opportunities of observing his work. Lieut. Malik Mumtaz Mahomed Khan, Native Indian Land Forces, was with the Staff of the Secunderabad Cavalry Brigade; and Captain Shah Mirza Beg, Jodhpore Lancers, was an A.D.C. in the same Brigade. Last, but by no means least, was one of the best soldiers I ever met, Risaldar Khwaja Mahomed Khan, Sirdar Bahadur, I.D.S.M., of the Guides Cavalry, my Indian A.D.C. He had served as A.D.C. to Lord Kitchener when he was Commander-in-Chief, and twice with me on frontier expeditions in 1908. Brave, loyal to the core; hard as nails; always cheerful and very hard working, it was a pleasure to serve with such a real gentleman. He was invaluable in France, for although he knew but little English and very little French he was liked by all, British and Allies. He was the connecting link between me and all our Indian officers, and by his tact arranged many matters of considerable local importance to us. The Indian Government owes him a debt of gratitude; I hope they will not forget it. No one who knew _The Khwaja_, as he was familiarly known, could fail to see in him the best type of Indian officer; and in his remote village of Hamza Kot in the Yousafzai plain beneath the shadow of the Buner hills, he will often recall the bleak but stirring days we worked together from Givenchy and Festubert to Neuve Chapelle. At Marseilles the Indian troops were camped in various localities either in or within a few miles of the town. We had our field service tents, and except for the surroundings and the awful state of the ground from incessant rain, one might have been back in Northern India. But in those early days of the war everything was new to all ranks, and no matter what the discomforts it was a sudden drop into dreamland. Take a look at the race-course by the sea. Leaning on the rails are twenty or thirty French, men, women, and children, watching our Indian soldiers cooking their evening meal; these have doffed their khaki uniform and are now clothed in the scantiest of garments. They exchange words, French and Hindustani; a French child offers one of them a sweet, the Indian gives a chapatty in return; cigarettes are offered by a passer-by; a Mahomedan pulls out from his haversack a bamboo flute and plays a ditty; all laugh heartily. The West has already conquered the East; the East has sown a seed which gradually grew until within a few months Indians in Flanders were entering shops, bargaining and buying as if they were to the manner born, and the vendors were even more civil to them than to Europeans, and that is saying much for those fine people the French.