Another spoke. ‘The worst thing that ever I went through was in the ⸺ valley. Will you ever forget it, Mike? We were going into action along one of those awful winding elephant tracks through grass above our heads—sort of maze, and you don’t know where you’ll find yourself next minute, perhaps back where you came from, or perhaps in a clearing, looking into the muzzle of a machine gun—can’t see a foot ahead. Suddenly the Boches opened fire, and at the very same moment we were attacked by a swarm of bees. Sounds funny, but I can tell you it wasn’t. There were millions of ’em, going for us all they were worth. The horses and pack-mules went near mad and there were we, blind and dazed, stumbling along trying to keep the brutes from our faces and the enemy’s fire dropping around. Pretty sights we were when they’d finished with us—my two eyes were bunged up so I’d just a slit to see through, and hands so stiff and swollen I could scarce bend my fingers.’ ‘My worst day,’ and another took up the tale, ‘was just when we were at our worst off for food—fair starved we were, and just at daybreak a family of rhinos came charging through our camp—Pa and Ma and a lot of rum little coves scooting after them. Well, thinks I, a slice of Pa would come in very handy grilled, so off I treks with two or three chaps after me, and there, far below the rise, was a vlei and a whole lot of rhinos standing round. Worse luck, as we got down, we found it just chock-a-block with crocodiles. You hardly see them at first, but just look close and you see a mud-bank sort of heave and here and there you’ll get the glimpse of a great wide jaw, the colour of the mud and as still, never moving an inch, but with eyes watching the rhinos all the time. I tell you we didn’t go any too close, but we were mortal hungry, so we tried to edge round to the rhinos, keeping well clear of the mud and slime. One huge awkward-looking brute was a bit away from the others and the swamp, so we let fly and brought him down, staggering and falling not very far from us—but by God, if these crocs hadn’t ripped out and got him before we had a show, and so we didn’t get dinner that day. As nasty brutes as you’d care to see, those crocs. A chap of ours shot one of ’em one day and cut it open, and inside he found an anklet ornament and a ring. How’s that for an ugly story? At another camp a horse went down to the river to drink all serene, no sign of another living thing—when sudden up comes a grinning jaw, and like a flash of light, it snaps on the poor beast’s nose and pulls him in, and there was an end of him.’