trout I had caught at midday, "this pays for all the hard work."

Undoubtedly Hubbard was in fine fettle that evening, and as we lay
before the fire with that delicious feeling of languor which comes
from conscientious toil, he entertained George and me with
quotations from his favourite author, Kipling, while we puffed
comfortably upon our pipes. One verse he dwelt upon, as it seemed
particularly appropriate to our position. It was:

When first under fire, if you're wishful to duck,
Don't look or take heed of the man that is struck;
Be thankful you're living and trust to your luck,
And march to your front like a soldier."




V. STILL IN THE AWFUL VALLEY

The next day (Wednesday, July 22) was by far the most disheartening
of our journey up the valley of the Susan. We portaged all day
through gullies and swamps and over rough ridges, covering in all
about two miles and a half. All of us were overcome by the hard
work in the burning sun and the poisonous bites of the flies. I
was the most susceptible to the attacks of the flies; for ten days
I was fairly sick from the poison they instilled. The faces,
bands, and wrists of all of us were badly swollen and very sore.
My face was so swollen I could scarcely see.

In the morning when we started forward the temperature was down to