A K-NOBBY APPEARANCE. 317 
not stand being eaten alive. It was utterly im- 
possible to work ; one’s whole time was occupied 
in slapping viciously at face, head, and body, 
stamping, grumbling, and savagely slaughtering 
hecatombs of mosquitos. Faces rapidly assumed 
an irregularity of outline anything but consonant 
with the strict lines of beauty; each one looked 
as if he had gone in for a heavy fight, and lost. 
Hands increased in size with painful rapidity, 
and—without intending a slang joke—one was 
in a k-nobby state from head to heel. 
The wretched mules and horses were driven 
wild, racing about like mad animals, dashing into 
the water and out again, in among the trees; 
but, go where they would, their persecutors stuck 
to them in swarms. The poor dogs sat and 
howled piteously, and, prompted by a wise instinct 
to avoid their enemies, dug deep holes in the 
earth; and backing in lay with their heads at the 
entrance, whining, snapping, and shaking their 
ears, to prevent the mosquitos from getting in 
at them. 
There was no help for it—our camp had to be 
abandoned ; we were completely vanquished and 
driven away—the work of about a hundred men 
stopped by tiny flies. Our only chance of escape 
was to retire into the hills, and return to complete 
