x--and the bottom was deep in dust, which, to a certain extent,
moderated the sharpness of ammunition pouches in the middle of one's
back. From the heaps of piled-up spoil above came irregular avalanches
of dust and dirt, and due care had to be taken to prevent it getting in
one's ears, eyes, nose and mouth. Still, notwithstanding these minor
discomforts, Mac had managed to get about an hour's sleep before
matters became trying. The artillery were immediately responsible for
it all--the artillery, for which, in spare moments from the firing
line, they had dug this communication trench and gun-pits beyond, and
had even dragged the pieces up. Now, at this infernal hour, they chose
to bring their ammunition up. Trains of mules arrived, halted close
alongside where Mac lay huddled against the bank, moved at right angles
across the sap, were relieved of their burdens and departed again, led
by their shadowy Indian muleteers.

Mac was hardened to being walked on by men, but mules laden with
eighteen-pounder shell...... Badly pinched and deeply angered, he
stuck it for a while. There was nothing to be gained by swearing, for
the mules and the Indians were equally indifferent. More mules were
followed by still more mules, which, as they turned, trampled on him
severely. Heavy hoofs were placed squarely on his shrinking person,
and he had at length to give them best. There was nowhere else to go,
so, leaning against the wall, he awaited brighter moments. Often he
cursed wrathfully, occasionally he smoked. This ruthless violation of
his valuable hours of sleep was a crime he would not readily forgive
the artillery, and he wished their bally guns had been shoved somewhere
else. The mules came and went for hours, occasional suspensions of
their comings and goings only creating in his breast false hopes.

Towards dawn he slept once more, only to be aroused again for the
purpose of swinging up towards the front line for support. No attack
came, and now, the sun rising above the eastern hills, he and his troop
trailed wearily back to their own bivouacs. His section four discussed
breakfast, the contents and limited possibilities of the larder, the
disappearance of firewood, which had been carried off by some person
during their absence, and the absolute non-existence of water.

"Breakfast be blowed!" said Mac. He crawled into his niche in the side
of the trench, covered himself in his grey blankets, head included, for