CHAPTER VII.

AN ENEMY IN THE CAMP.

The three tired boys went to sleep easily enough, and the snoring inside

their hut gave fair promise of a late waking the next day. But before

long Jack became restless in his sleep, and began to toss about a good

deal. Charley seemed to catch his restlessness, and presently he sat up

in the bunk and began to slap himself. This thoroughly aroused him, and

as Jack and Ned were tossing about uneasily he had no scruple in

speaking to them.

"I say, fellows, we're attacked."

"What's the matter?" muttered Ned, at the same time beginning to rub

himself vigorously, first on one part of the body, then on another.

"Mosquitoes," said Jack, violently rubbing his scalp.

"Worse than mosquitoes," said Charley; "they feel more like yellow

jackets or hornets, I should say; and they're inside our clothes too."

"Whew!" exclaimed Ned, leaping out of the bunk, "I didn't think of

that."

"What is it?" asked both the other boys in a breath.

"A swarm of sand-flies."

"Sand-flies! what are they?" asked Jack.

"Wait, and I'll show you," replied Ned, going out and stirring up the

fire so as to make a light. Meantime the boys rubbed and writhed and

turned themselves about in something like agony, for, though they

suffered no severe pain at any one spot, their whole bodies seemed to be

covered with red pepper. Every inch of their skins was inflamed, and the

more they rubbed the worse the irritation became.

When Ned had made a bright light, he showed his companions what their

tormentors were. Jack and Charley saw some very minute flying

insects--true flies indeed--not much larger than the points of pins.

There were millions of the creatures. The whole air seemed full of them

indeed, and wherever one rested for a moment upon the skin of its

victim, there was at once a pricking sensation, followed by the

intolerable burning and irritation already mentioned.

Charley was at first incredulous. "You don't mean to tell me," he said,

"that those little gnats have done all this."

"Yes, I do," answered Ned, "and more than that, I have known them to

kill a horse, tormenting him to death in a few hours. They'll get under

a horse's hair by millions and literally cover him, until you can see

the hair move with them. But they are not gnats."

"But, see here, Ned," said Jack; "when I barely touch one of the

creatures, it not only kills him but distributes him pretty evenly over

the surrounding surface. They haven't strength enough to hang together."

"Yes, I know," replied Ned; "what of that?"

"Why, how can such things bite so? and especially how can they force

their way through our blankets and clothes? I should think they'd tear

themselves to pieces in the attempt."

"So should I, if I didn't know better; but as a matter of fact they do

manage to get through without dulling their teeth, as we have proof."

"Have the creatures teeth?" asked Charley.

"No, of course not; but they have a sort of rasping apparatus which is

just as bad. They have an acrid kind of saliva too, which they put into

the wounds they make, and that is what smarts so. But come, this won't

do. We must make a good smudge."

"What's a smudge?" asked Jack.

"I'll show you presently," answered Ned, while he began to build a small

fire immediately in front of the tent. When it had burned a little, he

smothered it with damp leaves and moss, so that it gave off a dense

cloud of smoke which quickly filled the hut.

"Now the tent will soon be clear of them," said Ned.

"Sand-flies object to smoke, I suppose," said Jack.

"Very much indeed," answered Ned, "and it is customary here on the coast

to have a pair of smudge boxes in front of every house."

"I don't blame them for objecting," grumbled Charley, coughing and

wiping his smoke-inflamed eyes; "I can't say that I find smoke the most

delightful atmosphere myself. But what is a 'smudge box,' Ned?"

"Simply a shallow box of earth set upon a post, to build a smudge upon."

"I say, Ned," asked Jack, "what do you mean by saying that sand-flies

aren't gnats?"

"Simply that they aren't," said Ned.

"What are they, then?"

"Flies."

"Well, what is a small fly but a gnat?"

"And what is a gnat but a small fly?" added Charley.

"The two are not at all the same thing," answered Ned. "That is a

popular mistake. I have heard people say they could stand mosquitoes,

but couldn't endure gnats; and yet the mosquito is a gnat, and what

these people call gnats are not gnats at all, but simply small flies."

"What constitutes the exact difference?"

"The shape of the body. All flies are two-winged insects, and gnats are

flies in that sense, of course; but gnats are those flies that have long

bodies behind their wings, to balance themselves with. Mosquitoes are

our best example of them. These sand flies, you see, have very short

bodies."

"Yes, but very long bills, I fancy," said Charley.

"Well," said Jack, "all that is news to me."

"I suppose it is. Most people think a whale is a fish, too, but for all

that it is nothing of the kind. What are you doing, Charley?"

"Tossing up heads or tails for it," answered Charley, who had left the

tent and gone to the large fire.

"Tossing up for what?"

"To determine the method and manner of my death," answered Charley, with

profound gravity. "If I stay in the hut I shall die of suffocation in

the smoke, and if I stay out here the sand flies will kill me. I can't

quite make up my mind which death I prefer, so I'm tossing up for it."

"Good! there's a breeze," said Ned; "if it rises it'll relieve you of

the necessity of choosing."

"How? By blowing the smoke away, and so giving the sand flies a fair

field?"

"No; by blowing the sand flies away; they can't stand much of a breeze.

It is coming up, too, and we shall get some sleep after all."

The breeze did indeed rise after a time, but the dawn was almost upon

them before the boys really slept again, so severely were their skins

irritated by their small enemies.

They had learned a lesson, however, and during the rest of their stay on

the island they never neglected to make a smudge in front of the hut

before attempting to sleep. It was not often that the sand flies

appeared in such numbers as on this night, and hence it was not often

necessary to fill the tent too full of smoke for comfort.

The Wreck of the Red Bird: A Story of the Carolina Coast · 第 7 / 24 章