slopes was nerve-breaking.

You could see the thin lines of the wireless station and little groups
of white bell-tents dotted here and there.

Robinson Crusoe wasn't in it. Sand and flies and sun; sun and flies
and sand.

"Wot 'ave we struck 'ere, Bill?"

"Some d---d desert island, I reckon!"

"A blasted heath . . ."

"Gordlummy, look at the d---d flies!"

"Curse the ---- sun; sweat's trickling down me back."

"And curse all the d---d issue . . ."

"What the holy son of Moses did we join for?"

We growled and groaned and cursed our luck. The sweat ran down under
our pith helmets and soaked in a stream from under our armpits. We
trudged to our camping-place along the shore. One or two Greek natives
followed us about with melons to sell. Parched and choked with sand,
we were only too glad to buy these water-melons for two or three
leptas.

The rind was green like a vegetable marrow, but the inside was yellow