p. 205

The Mosquito

A hot climate pest, a nasty-little-humming,
drumming-[I'm?]-coming-gnat-like-insect, their bites
cause inflammation and very hard words to be used.
I suffered severely from their stings, chiefly on the
wrists, backs of the hands and insteps, which were
much swollen, and some of our men had very bad
sores the result of their bites, a little oil was the
only thing that would allay the irriation from the
wound. mosquito curtains are the only protection but
if one gains an entrance sleep is out of the question.

The Mosquito Hunt

Not a sound was heard but a terrible hum,
As around the chamber we hurried
In search of mosquito, whose trumpet and drum -
Our delectable slumbers had worried.

We sought it darkly, at dead of night,
Our coverlet carefully turning
By the struggling moonbeams' misty light
And the candle dimly burning.

No useless garment confined our breast,
But in simple night dress and slippers,
We wandered about like spirits distressed,
On the sails of piratical skippers

Short and few were the words we let fall,
Lest the sound should disturb the mosquito;
But we stedfastly gazed on the whitewashed wall,
And thought how we had been [underlined] bit [end underline], oh!

But half an hour seemed to elapse,
Ere we met with the wretch that had bit us,
And raising our boots, gave some terrible slaps,
And made the mosquito [underlined] quietus [end underline].

Quickly and sadly we turned from the dead,
And left him all smashed and gory,
We blew out the candle and popped into bed
Determined to tell you the story.

[underlined] American paper [end underline]