You must not think of our _camp_ in the English sense of the
word. We have no tents. The men sleep tightly rolled in greatcoat and
blanket, stretched on the bare earth, with saddles for pillows. If
anything takes you about the camp at night, you might think you were
walking among thick strewn corpses after a fearful carnage, so stiff and
still the frosted bodies lie on the ground.
Now the great creature wakes for its next crawl. First its antennae, or
long feelers, are pushed out in front. Its scouts, that is, among which,
if you belong to our corps, you will probably find yourself, go
cantering on ahead. They pass the pickets on the hill, who promptly
shoulder blankets and turn back to camp, and break into extended order,
and throw out little feelers of their own in front and to the sides as
they enter an unexplored country. Following them come several companies
of infantry, a block of solid strength, marching at the top of the
column, and a battery or section of guns. Then comes the long line of
convoy waggons, piled high with provisions, fodder, and kit,
strengthened and protected at intervals by companies of infantry
marching at ease, with the two great cow-guns somewhere about the
middle. The tail of the column, like the head, is strengthened by a
considerable force of infantry, followed at an interval of a mile or so
by the mounted rearguard, which has scattered its scouts far and wide
across the track of the column, and withdraws them from point to point
as we advance.
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