CHAPTER XXII.
ON THE GREATER TESSON.
I turned for a look behind us and below.

At the foot of the slope, where daylight had just begun to touch the dark shadows, stood a line of mules--animals scarcely taller than the loads they carried, which a crowd of Portuguese had already begun to unpack; and already, on the plateau to the left of us half a dozen markers, with a quartermaster, were mapping out a camp for the 52nd.

They went to work so deliberately, and took such careful measurements with their long tapes, that even a tyro could no longer mistake this for an ordinary halt.
I looked at Sergeant Henderson.

Word had just been given to the ranks to dismiss, and he returned my look with a humorous wink.
"That'll do, eh ?" He nodded towards the markers.
"What does it mean ?" I asked.
"It means that we've done with cold baths, my son, and may leave 'em to the other divisions.

What else it means you'll discover before you sleep, maybe." He glanced up at the ridge, towards which at a dozen different points our sentries were creeping--some of them escorted by knots of officers--and ducking low as they neared the sky-line.
"May I go down and watch ?" I asked again, pointing at the plateau; for I was young enough to find all operations of war amusing.
"Ay--if you won't get in the way and trip over the pegs.