Foolishly they had imagined that mosquitoes were
things of the past, and no nets were put up, with the result that one
and all soon learnt that for fresh blood and newcomers there was a
plethora of these little demons waiting with their irritating song,
sting, and bite: from some of the party we learn complaints of other
songs, more human, and more nasal, and it is believed that it was Our
Guest who was heard at midnight to be murmuring the chorus of a
favourite song, viz., "Hush, boys! No noise! Silence ebryting! Listen,
and you'll hear de little angels sing." At least it says "angels" in the
song, but the word Our Guest used sounded like "demons," but probably he
was dreaming of the "ping" of bullets and the roar of battle as the
snores resounded through the room, or, one might almost say, through the
house. Very early this morning there were cries for The Chaperon: he was
wanted to tell the time; he was wanted to bring water for ablutions; he
was wanted to tell us when breakfast would be ready; he was wanted to
give advice or remedies for mosquito bites, and, in general, for a short
space of time, he justified his existence. When at last the members of
the party had collected themselves from all sorts of odd corners,
coffee (with the addition of bacon and eggs, and several other things)
was served, and the interval, before the order "All aboard" was issued,
was chiefly occupied in observing and discussing the effects of our
first night's experience of bichos.
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