march never would end; and at daybreak, when halt was sounded, everybody was glad indeed.
But what a panorama that was as the sun rose. It was well worth staying awake for. Yonder, below the slope up which the night's march had led, there appeared the camps of the two other divisions, near the little village in a level bottom or valley. The river issued from a gorge in the mountains and flowed rapidly down past the village, on the left or south. There were precipices and high hills on both sides of it; and on the right or north the National Road, obliquing from the river and village, zigzagged up into the hills, and crossed the mountains.
This was the Pass of Cerro Gordo. The highest crest—a huge round-topped hill—four miles distant in the midst of the other hills along the road, was Cerro Gordo itself: Big Mountain, or Telegraph Hill. The officers said that with their glasses they could see the Mexican flags floating from its very summit, over batteries, and over a stone tower.
"Gin'ral Scott, he got to shed his coat an' get to work, I reckon," declared Pompey, who had appeared at each night's camp. "How we-all gwine to trabbel on with dose Mexicans rollin' rocks down on us? An' dar ain't no road 't all odder side the ribber. 'Spec' we mought have to make wings an' fly ober dose mountings. Don't see no odder way."
Aha! The troops below were already in motion. At any rate, one column was moving out, and filing into the hills on the north of the road. Marched like Regulars; must be the Second Division! Was the battle about to begin, before the First Division received orders? But when, after a hasty breakfast,
