many
caves in the hillside, and hundreds of little huts made of earth and
wood under the sheltering trunks and branches of the trees. It was in
one of these huts that Pen and Aleck, together with four of their
comrades, were billeted. It was not long after their arrival before
hastily built fires were burning, and coffee, hot and fragrant, was
brewing, to refresh the tired bodies of the men, until the arrival of
the provision trains should supply them with a more substantial
breakfast. There was plenty of straw, however, and on that the weary
troops threw themselves down and slept.

At this camp the battalion remained until the middle of June. There
were drills, marching and battalion maneuvers by day, such recreation
in the evenings as camp life could afford, sound sleeping on beds of
straw at night, and always, from the distance, sometimes loud and
continuous, sometimes faint and occasional, the thunder of the guns.
And always, too, along the muddy high-road at the foot of the slope, a
never-ending procession of provision and munition trains laboring
toward the front, and the human wreckage of the firing line, and
troops released from the trenches, passing painfully to the rear. No
wonder the men grew impatient and longed for the activities of the
front even though their ears were ever filled with tales of horror
from the lips of those who had survived the ordeal of battle.

But, soon after the middle of June, their desires were realized.
Orders came to break camp and prepare to march, to what point no one
seemed to know, but every one hoped and expected it would be to the
trenches. There was a day of bustle and hurry. The men stocked up
their haversacks, filled their canteens and cartridge-boxes, put their
guns in complete readiness, and at five o'clock in the afternoon were
assembled and began their march. The road was ankle-deep with mud,
for there had been much rain, and it was congested with endless
convoys. There were many delays. A heavy mist fell and added to the
uncertainty, the weariness and discomfort. But no complaint escaped
from any man's lips, for they all felt that at last they were going
into action. Four hours of marching brought them into the neighborhood
of the British heavy artillery concealed under branches broken from
trees or in mud huts, directing their fire on the enemy's lines by the
aid of signals from lookouts far in advance or in the air. The noise
of these big guns was terrific, but in