In a few minutes tripods were erected, the mules were put into slings,
guns and animals were then lowered one by one into the depths below
until landed on practicable ground. Here they were loaded up again and
got into their strings for climbing up the opposite mountains, and in
an incredibly short space of time both mules and infantry were to be
seen, like little lines of ants, climbing by all the available tracks
which could be found leading towards the ice fields above.
The actual results of the field day no longer interested me; I had
seen what I had come for--the special troops, their guns, their supply
and hospital arrangements, their methods of moving in this apparently
impassable country, and their maps and ways of signalling.
All was novel, all was practical. For example, on looking at one of
the maps shown to me, I remarked that I should have rather expected to
find on it every goat track marked, but the officer replied that there
was no need for that; every one of his men was born in this valley,
and knew every goat track over the mountain. Also a goat track did not
remain for more than a few weeks, or at most a few months, owing to
landslips and washouts; they are continually being altered, and to
mark them on a map would lead to confusion.
POSING AS AN ARTIST.
My mountain climbing came into use on another occasion of a somewhat
similar kind.
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