That done, he made use of his authority to back up his subordinates, claiming no credit for himself but always seeing to it that they got theirs.
The result was that he was simultaneously despised and loved-- despised by the self-advertising school, of which there are plenty in every army, and loved--with something like fanaticism by his junior officers and men.
"I agree to that," he said simply, screwing in his monocle.

Then he turned and instructed the Sikhs in their own language.
"You follow last," he said to me.

"Now--all ready ?" He had a pistol in one hand and a flashlight in the other, but had to stow them both away again in order to crawl in the tunnel.
Grim had no weapon in sight.

The two Sikhs who were to lead had stripped themselves of everything that might make a noise, but the others kept both boots and rifles, with bayonets fixed, for it did not much matter what racket they made.

In fact, the more noise we, who followed, made, the better, since that would draw attention from the Sikhs in front.