lowly, repeatedly taking aim, but never daring to
fire. He reached the top of the pass and Captain Walters, the Assistant
Intelligence Officer, was able to make a most valuable sketch of
the country beyond. It was a bold act and succeeded more through its
boldness than from any other cause; for, had the tribesmen once opened
fire, very few of the party could have got down alive. Making a detour
to avoid the village, which it was undesirable to traverse a second
time, the squadron returned and arrived at the camp at Ghosam as the sun
was setting.

The service camp of an Anglo-Indian brigade is arranged on regular
principles. The infantry and guns are extended in the form of a square.
The animals and cavalry are placed inside. In the middle is the camp of
the Headquarters staff, with the tent of the brigadier facing that of
the general commanding the division. All around the perimeter a parapet
is built, varying in height according to the proximity and activity of
the enemy. This parapet not only affords cover from random shots, but
also makes a line for the men to form on in case of a sudden attack.
Behind it the infantry lie down to sleep, a section of each company, as
an inlying picket, dressed and accoutred. Their rifles are often laid
along the low wall with the bayonets ready fixed. If cavalry have to be
used in holding part of the defences, their lances can be arranged in
the same way. Sentries every twenty-five yards surround the camp with a
line of watchers.

To view the scene by moonlight is alone an experience which would
repay much travelling. The fires have sunk to red, glowing specks. The
bayonets glisten in a regular line of blue-white points. The silence of
weariness is broken by the incessant and uneasy shuffling of the animals
and the occasional neighing of the horses. All the valley is plunged in
gloom and the mountains rise high and black around. Far up their sides,
the twinkling watch-fires of the tribesmen can be seen. Overhead is the
starry sky, bathed in the pale radiance of the moon. It is a spectacle
that may inspire the philosopher no less than the artist. The camp is
full of subdued noises. Here is no place for reflection, for quiet or
solemn thought. The day may have been an exciting one. The morrow may
bring an action. Some may be killed, but in war-time life is only lived
in the present. It is sufficient to be tired and to have time to rest,
and the camp, if all the various items that compo