thers' faces dimly, and they all
clustered in a rough ring, some kneeling, some standing, and the centre
of the throng was the man with the match. Near him, second only in
importance, was the man with the newspaper, and kneeling near was a
third who stirred up the loose brushwood below the heaped fuel which had
been gathered and hoarded for a month past for a Christmas fire.

'Here's a dry pebble,' said one man, pressing solicitously forward, and
proffering his midnight find to the man with the match. 'Strike her on
that, and for God's sake hold your breath, boys.'

The human centre of interest, the man with the match, took the pebble
and polished it to complete dryness on the lining of his overcoat. Then
he struck the match, which emitted a faint phosphorescent glow, and went
dark again.

In those days, when a Russian gunner felt aweary, and found a lack of
interest in the crawling hours of darkness, he would let bang a gun
from the Redoubt, simply _pour passer le temps_; and at this minute the
skipping 'zip' of a shot, a splutter of earth, and then the sullen boom
of the discharge came to give variation to the scene. The lucifer match,
however, was the all-absorbing centre of interest just then, and the
scratch on the pebble was a much more important sound than any bellow
of cannon from the fort. The lucifer was barely equal to its duties, and
half-a-dozen times it gave its feeble spark of phosphorescent light in
vain; but at last it struck, and the blue and yellow sulphur bubbled and
crackled into flame. The man with the newspaper was ready, and
caught the fire. The wet twigs smoked pungently, and there was one
heart-sinking moment when the last chance seemed to have vanished; but
then the fire sparkled up merrily, and the blaze lit the earthen side
of the trench and the silky-bearded, bronzed, unwashed faces, and the
stalwart, tattered figures of the crowd, with a flickering changeful
brightness.

'That's all right, boys,' said the Honourable Patrick Erroll, Private
of Dragoons. 'And now, Sergeant darlin', give me half-a-dozen rank and
file, and, please God, well have a meal for Christmas morning.'

'Now, I'm just as keen as any one of you,' said Sergeant Jervase, 'and
just as hungry; but be very quiet about the business, Paddy, and don't
have a row with the Bashis, for the Lord's sake.'

'Trust me, Sergeant,' said the Honourable Mr. Erroll, 'and nurse the
fire whilst we're away.'

Out of the blank darkness