Then came realistically home to them the shortage of British officers. Twelve was the total war complement per battalion—twelve marked white men; nobly these and the gallant Indians did their duty, but the tempest was on them and the British officers were practically blotted out. The Indian officers and men fought fiercely, but notwithstanding that the other British troops of all classes around them were setting a deathless example of glory, the fact remained that the Indians were fast losing the officers who knew them and whom they trusted beyond all things; and of the strangers there were none who could talk their language or understand them. Those who take up the pen to criticise should first put themselves in the place of these men, who had crossed the seas to fight for England, without any personal cause in the quarrel, and inspired alone by the duty they owed their King-Emperor because they had eaten his salt. It is a story of loyalty never surpassed in the annals of history, but the narration of these events will follow in the next chapter. I returned to Marseilles, and was in Orleans a few days later; here the two Divisions and all their belongings were being concentrated and moved on, as equipped with mechanical and horse transport. The French General in Command of the District was greatly interested in the troops and witnessed a march past after an inspection parade. The Indians were much impressed by the statue of Joan of Arc, which stands in a large square of the town; they had just heard the story of the Maid, and I saw them assembled in groups round the statue, and some companies which happened to be passing came to attention and turned their faces towards it. Could the Maid have ever dreamed that the Aryans from the far waters of the Indus and the slopes of the great Himalayas would one day learn to honour her as her own countrymen would do? But every day in France in 1914–15 was a lesson in psychology. The mechanical transport handed over to us at Orleans was a revelation. The great retreat from Mons had taken its terrible toll, England was being called on to face difficulties of sea and land transport undreamed of but a few months previously; our armies were fighting for dear life, and these must needs of course be supplied first, and yet that great organiser Lord Kitchener had found it possible to send us motor transport sufficient for our immediate needs, and all up to time. Indeed it was we who had to hurry to keep pace with the urgent call from the trenches. Had the mechanical transport been the sole difficulty, that had already been solved, but with the horse vehicles it was a totally different affair. No need to dilate on this; we knew they were doing their best for us and we meant to do our best with what was given us; but in truth the medley of carts of every description that met my eye the first morning at Orleans was enough to turn one’s hair grey.