“The coals is hame, right enough!” comments Private Tosh.

Instantly our guns reply, and we become the humble spectators of an artillery duel.  Of course, if the enemy gets tired of “searching” the countryside for our guns and takes to “searching” our trenches instead, we lose all interest in the proceedings, and retire to our dug-outs, hoping that no direct hits will come our way.

But guns are notoriously erratic in their time-tables, and fickle in their attentions.  It is upon Zacchaeus and Unter den Linden—­including Minnie—­that we mainly rely for excitement.

As already recorded, we took over these trenches a few days ago, in the small hours of the morning.  In the ordinary course of events, relieving parties are usually able to march up under cover of darkness to the reserve trench, half a mile in rear of the firing line, and so proceed to their appointed place.  But on this occasion the German artillery happened to be “distributing coal” among the billets behind.  This made it necessary to approach our new home by tortuous ways, and to take to subterranean courses at a very early stage of the journey.  For more than two hours we toiled along a trench just wide enough to permit a man to wear his equipment, sometimes bent double to avoid the bullets of snipers, sometimes knee-deep in glutinous mud.

Ayling, leading a machine-gun section who were burdened with their weapons and seven thousand rounds of ammunition, mopped his steaming brow and inquired of his guide how much farther there was to go.

“Abart two miles, sir,” replied the youth with gloomy satisfaction.  He was a private of the Cockney regiment whom we were relieving; and after the manner of his kind, would infinitely have preferred to conduct us down half a mile of a shell-swept road, leading straight to the heart of things, than waste time upon an uninteresting but safe detour.

At this Ayling’s Number One, who was carrying a machine-gun tripod weighing forty-eight pounds, said something—­something distressingly audible—­and groaned deeply.

“If we’d come the way I wanted,” continued the guide, much pleased with the effect of his words upon his audience, “we’d a’ been there be now.  But the Adjutant, ’e says to me—­”

“If we had come the way you wanted,” interrupted Ayling brutally, “we should probably have been in Kingdom Come by now.  Hurry up!” Ayling, in common with the rest of those present, was not in the best of tempers, and the loquacity of the guide had been jarring upon him for some time.

The Cockney private, with the air of a deeply-wronged man, sulkily led on, followed by the dolorous procession.  Another ten minutes’ laboured progress brought them to a place where several ways met.

“This is the beginning of the reserve trenches, sir,” announced the guide.  “If we’d come the way I—­”

“Lead on!” said Ayling, and his perspiring followers murmured threatening applause.