The sun, which we were so glad to see uncluttered by the moist, confused, jungle shadows, is terrible and we long for the protections of those same shadows. The men march all day slouched nearly double under the merciless weight of packs and arms, their sweat dripping off them, flies buzzing black all over them, crawling thick in their sweat. They have given up brushing them away, they only settle again immediately. The cavalry regiments are a little better off, they pile their kit on their saddles, strap it securely, and feel free to brush away the flies without losing too much strength and patience.

The inexperienced troops grumble terribly; the comparatively few brigades of veterans have had to be split up from their comrades and distributed among the rest of the army to keep its spirits up. This was done to a certain extent at the very outset, but not to such a degree as the General advised, and the changing-around at this late date is causing more trouble among the men resentful at being parted from old friends and regiments.

The river is barely worthy of the name. It is narrow and muddy and mainly stagnant, humming with hovering fogs of insects. The places where more or less pure water runs are few and far between. Water is rationed out carefully but the young troops will not believe it when they are told they must force themselves to drink as little as possible. As soon as they begin to sweat they gulp down their water, and then feel very ill—with nothing in their bottles to console them later. They receive little sympathy from their officers or from the veterans.

The ground is arid and sandy with no shade for miles and miles on end. At night, wrapped in their blankets, the men nearly go mad from the ceaseless attacks of huge hairy fleas which live in the sand. Some men and animals have caught fever from the insect-clouds over the bad reaches of the river.

My mistress complains dreadfully of the insects which find their way into her tent. I spend all my spare time trying to swat them with an ineffectual little bat she proudly plaited for the purpose. It is absurd work, as no matter how many are killed there are always more. I would do anything in the world for a bath.

Early this morning I hung around till she had finished her bath. Then I ran to prevent the slave taking away the tub of used water. “Princess, let me use the tub,” I pleaded. She tinned with raised brows. She does this if one speaks without being spoken to first. “I will certainly not have a slave using my private bath,” she said.

“Madam, I would not contaminate it quite as much as a slave would. I’m dying for a bath, so I must remind you I happen to be an honourably given hostage—”