In a few days he threw off the fever and was about again.

Hawk and I had lived for some weeks in this overgrown water-course. It
was a natural trench, and at one place Hawk had made a dug-out. He
picked and shovelled right into the hard, sandy rock until there was
quite a good-sized little cave about eight feet long and five deep.

The same sickness got me. It came over me quite suddenly. I was
fearfully tired. Every limb ached, and, like all the others, I began
to develop what I call the "stretcher-stoop." I just lay down in the
ditch with a blanket and went to sleep. Hawk sat over me and brought
me bovril, which we had "pinched" on Lemnos Island.

I felt absolutely dying, and I really wondered whether I should have
enough strength to throw the sickness off as Hawk had. I gave him just
the same sort of instructions about my notes and sketches as he had
given me about his little ration-bag.

"Get 'em back to England if you can," I said; "you're the man I'd
soonest trust here."

If Hawk hadn't looked after me and made me eat, I don't believe I
should have lived. I used to lie there looking at the wild-rose
tangles and the red hips; there were brambles, too, with poor, dried-
up blackberries. It reminded me of England. Little green lizards
scuttled about, and great black centipedes crawled under my blanket.
The sun was blazing at mid-day. Hawk used to rig me up an awning over
the ditch with willow-stems and a waterproof ground-sheet.