The relief at this order was impossible to describe.  Their spirits rose meteorically.  They scarcely succeeded in hiding their joy from the cavalry who were to be left in their trenches, and when they set off towards Poussey there was a wonderful swing in their step.

In an hour’s time they were back in their old billets, and the Officers opened a bottle of wine, on the strength, as some one said, of getting out of an “extraordinarily awkward position.”

“Well,” said the Captain, with a half-full tumbler in his hand, “here’s hoping that our wonderful luck keeps in.”

They drank in silence, and soon after adjourned to the outhouse.

CHAPTER XXX

THE JAWS OF DEATH

The next morning they learned that their turn of duty as Local Reserve was over, and that they were “to take over” a line of trenches that evening.  The Captain went alone to be shown round in the morning.

They wrote letters all morning, had an early dinner, and retired early to the outhouse to put in a few hours sound sleep in anticipation of several “trying” nights.

At about five o’clock they awoke, and found that the Captain had returned in the meantime.  He explained the position to them as they drank their tea.

“The trenches are just in the edge of a wood,” he said.  “It is extraordinarily thick.  It would be absolutely impossible to retire.  The field of fire is perfect.  The skyline is only two hundred yards away, and there wouldn’t be an inch of cover for them, except a few dead cows.”

“I shouldn’t think dead cows were bullet-proof, should you?” asked the Senior Subaltern.

“There’s one thing you will have to watch.  There are any amount of spies about, and they let the Germans know, somehow, when the reliefs are coming up the road, and then the road gets searched.  They don’t know exactly where you are, you see.  They have the road on the map, and plaster it on the off chance.  If you see a shell burst on the road, the only thing to do is to get clear of it.  Give it about forty yards’ grace, and you will be safe enough.”

Soon after they set out along a road that they had never travelled before, leading directly up the hill in front of Souvir.  About half-way up, they almost stumbled into the holes that the German shells had eaten deep into the road.  Evidently, however, the spies in Souvir had not succeeded in informing the enemy of their approach.  There was perfect quietness.

It was a stiff hill to climb, and they halted alongside of a battery of artillery to take breath.  There was a deep cave in the rock, which the gunners had turned into a very comfortable “dug-out.”  The Subaltern envied them very sincerely.  He felt he would have given anything to have been a “gunner.”  They had such comfortable dug-outs—­horses to ride—­carriages to keep coats and things in.  Above all, there could not be that terrible strain of waiting—­waiting.