The worst of it
is those tiresome bees, as soon as the rain is over, come in
hundreds after the rum, and frighten me continually. The worthless
wretches get intoxicated on what they can suck from round the cork,
and then they stagger about on the ground buzzing malevolently.
When the boys have had the chop and a good smoke, we turn to and
make up the loads for to-morrow's start up the mountain, and then,
after more hot tea, I turn in on my camp bed - listening to the soft
sweet murmur of the trees and the pleasant, laughing chatter of the
men.
September 25th. - Rolled off the bed twice last night into the bush.
The rain has washed the ground away from under its off legs, so that
it tilts; and there were quantities of large longicorn beetles about
during the night - the sort with spiny backs; they kept on getting
themselves hitched on to my blankets and when I wanted civilly to
remove them they made a horrid fizzing noise and showed fight -
cocking their horns in a defiant way. I awake finally about 5 A.M.
soaked through to the skin. The waterproof sheet has had a label
sewn to it, so is not waterproof, and it has been raining softly but
amply for hours.
About seven we are off again, with Xenia, Head man, Cook, Monrovia
boy and a labourer from Buea - the water-carriers have gone home
after having had their morning chop.
