194 TEAVEL, ADVENTUEE, AND SPOET. 



red and lurid in the light of the setting sun. Here, 

 then, was our position. A green plateau, girded with 

 pine-trees, and sheltered by a low rocky ridge which 

 ran laterally to its left, was the spot chosen for our 

 camp. A quiet little sequestered place, it soon be- 

 came a scene of bustle and movement, alive with 

 groups and figures of men, climbing trees, lopping 

 boughs, making fires, cooking, smoking, building 

 huts, chatting, skylarking. It seemed a sort of en- 

 chantment, so soon was the scene changed, the grassy 

 field covered with bower-like huts, irregular, fantastic, 

 and picturesque, and made motive with striking 

 tableaux. The distant sound of the French bands 

 mingled pleasantly also with the clang of axes, the 

 hum of voices, and snatches of song. As the light 

 faded, the picture melted into twilight hues. The 

 fierce, fitful blaze of the pines showed only the 

 few dusky figures which were still sitting or standing 

 by the watch-fires, or the shadowy forms of the 

 sentries looming in such gigantic outline on the ridge. 

 The sounds, too, had died away, save the crackling 

 of the fires, as fresh branches were thrown on them, 

 or the occasional note of a French bugle ; and he only 

 who has lain down under such circumstances knows 

 how solemn is the hush and silence caused by the sleep 

 of men ready to do or die. Scarce had the morn broke 

 ere our allies were afoot. They had taken the initi- 

 ative, and were pushing forward a regiment in skir- 

 mishing order across a plantation towards the broken 



