PIKE'S PORTAGE 201 



Here we had a sudden and unexpected onset of black 

 flies; they appeared for the first time in numbers, 

 and attacked us with a ferocity that made the mos- 

 quitoes seem like a lot of baby butterflies in com- 

 parison. However, much as we may dislike the latter, 

 they at least do not poison us or convey disease (as 

 yet), and are repelled by thick clothing. The black 

 flies attack us like some awful pestilence walking in 

 darkness, crawling in and forcing themselves under 

 our clothing, stinging and poisoning as they go. They 

 are, of course, worst near the openings in our armour, 

 that is necks, wrists, and ankles. Soon each of us had 

 a neck like an old fighting bull walrus; enormously 

 swollen, corrugated with bloats and wrinkles, blotched, 

 bumpy, and bloody, as disgusting as it was painful. 

 All too closely it simulated the ravages of some fright- 

 ful disease, and for a night or two the torture of this 

 itching fire kept me from sleeping. Three days, 

 fortunately, ended the black fly reign, and left us with 

 a deeper sympathy for the poor Egyptians who on 

 account of their own or some other bodies' sins were 

 the victims of "plagues of flies." 



But there was something in the camp that amply 

 offset these annoyances; this was a spirit of kindness 

 and confidence. Old Weeso was smiling and happy, 

 ready at all times to do his best; his blundering about 

 the way was not surprising, all things considered, but 

 his mistakes did not matter, since I had Tyrrell's ad- 

 mirable maps. Billy, sturdy, strong, reliable, never 

 needed to be called twice in the morning. No matter 

 what the hour, he was up at once and cooking the break- 



