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 _détour_.
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 by 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' labored
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.
The guide, now in his own territory, selected the muddiest opening and
plunged down it. For two hundred yards or so he continued serenely upon
his way, with the air of one exhibiting the metropolis to a party of
country cousins. He passed numerous turnings. Then, once or twice, he
paused irresolutely; then moved on. Finally he halted, and proceeded to
climb out of the trench.
"What are you doing?" demanded Ayling suspiciously.
"We got to cut across the open 'ere, sir," said the youth glibly.
"Trench don't go no farther. Keep as low as you can."
With resigned grunts the weary pilgrims hoisted themselves and their
numerous burdens out of their slimy thoroughfare, and followed their
conductor through the long grass in single file, feeling painfully
conspicuous against the whitening sky. Presently they discovered, and
descended into, another trench--all but the man with the tripod, who
descended into it before he discovered it--and proceeded upon their
dolorous way. Once more the guide, who had been refreshingly but
ominously silent for some time, paused irresolutely.
"Look here, my man," said Ayling, "do you, or do you not, know where
you are?"