"Let's go!" the Lamp-post suggested. "We're not doing any good here; we can carry boxes all right."
They found the Commander, who gave them leave. "Be careful," he said; "and you're not to stop up there."
They scrambled to their right, to the foot of the gully, and found the stacked ammunition-boxes by marking the line of men who came from them carrying boxes on their shoulders.
They seized a box between them. A small man—it was the Beach-master's servant—was trying to lift one on his shoulder. The three of them took the two between them—Bubbles gripping a loop of each box—and together they "lugged" them up the gully.
At the top stood someone shouting out: "You go straight on along the edge of the cliff.—Keep along the Turks' trench there, as far as you can go; that'll take you right.—You go straight up the slope, away from the sea.—You get along to the left, as far as you can go—keep going uphill."
As the Lamp-post, Bubbles, and the little servant came panting up, he sent them along the edge of the cliff, in the lighthouse direction. "Hurry along!" he called after them. "Keep along the trench."
Off they went as fast as they could; an ill-assorted trio, for the Lamp-post's long legs and the servant's short ones did not keep step. The little man panted in the rear, but kept on bravely; Bubbles's two hands soon began to be cramped.
They found the trench and followed it. The night was almost pitch-dark; but the rifle-firing ahead, to the left of them, gave an unsteady light, just sufficient for them to see the dark line of the trench. On their right, the cool wind blew gently up from the sea and the edge of the cliffs; it seemed to be humming with bullets. People kept meeting them—appearing out of the darkness, bumping into them, and disappearing; all had the same cry—"Hurry up!" as they dashed down for more ammunition.
"How much farther?" Bubbles, whose hands were so cramped that he could not now feel his fingers, called to a passing soldier.
"A hundred yards," the man shouted as he ran past.