Also pay.

They make no other terms." "I guarantee them all of that," said Cunningham, loud enough for at least the nearest ranks to hear.
"On thine own honor, sahib ?" "On my word of honor!" "The promise is enough! Will you inspect them, sahib ?" "I'll take their salute first," said Cunningham.
"Pardon, bahadur!" Alwa filled his lungs and faced the unseen lines.
"Rangars!" he roared.

"Your leader! To Chota-Cunnigan-bahadur--son of Pukka-Cunnigan whom we all knew--general--salute--present--sabres!" There was sudden movement--the ring of whipped-out metal--a bird's wing-beat--as fifteen hundred hilts rose all together to as many lips--and a sharp intake of breath all down the line.
It wasn't bad.

Not bad at all, thought Cunningham.

It was not done as regulars would have worked it.