"It can't hurt anyone in this country," he said. "Is there a human being within a thousand miles' now? The Lord, who started earth-making in this quarter of the globe, and never brought anything to perfection but reptiles and vermin, only knows."
And the Baker was on in front. If he had endured thirst less easily than Smith, it was evident that he could stand hunger better.
"I think 'unger's very much a matter of 'abit, Smith," he said encouragingly. "If you fill yerself up reg'lar three times a day, a bit of starvin' knocks the stuffin' right out of yer quick; but if you live 'ard and uncertain, you can go without a deuce of a time. And except when I was in a job, I never 'ave been very reg'lar. And I 'ad too much say at 'ome to keep a job long. I was too h'inderpendent, that's what I was. So now we're 'ere, that's where we are."
But all the same, to use his own picturesque expression, much nearer physiologic truth than he knew, "The flaps of 'is stummick was glued together and eating each other," and the pain he suffered was at times very intense. But he grunted little, and only stayed sometimes half-bent down, when an extra spasm of anguish got hold of him.
"I give in over thirst," he said to himself, "but, Mandy, my boy, you don't give in about 'unger."
So he talked with courage, though the mosquitoes robbed him of his blood, and perhaps planted malaria and ague as they bored. For Smith obviously suffered badly, though he never mentioned food and made no complaint. He continually drank water and chewed tobacco. But his face got thin and thinner, and deep anxiety sat within his eyes.
That night they had to make a dense smoke to keep away the mosquitoes, for they were surrounded by half-dried swamps, which bred these pests in millions. Till sundown they saw them swaying in long clouds under the trees, but when the sun went down some horrible ancient instinct in them cried out for blood, though in that desert these creatures of a day could not have tasted it for unnumbered generations, and they swept down upon them singing.
Yet their instincts were still true; they knew their work, and made the long, hot night an unutterable torture, and a ceaseless, bitter combat, in which victory was theirs. The two starving men fought against them till early dawn, and as they fell asleep, the mosquitoes had them at their will. They sat in the trees mere globules of red blood, rejoicing at a satisfaction granted to one in ten thousand.
When the two men woke, they felt as if their little tortured sleep had done them harm beyond reparation. They were ghastly and worn, and poor Mandeville was half-blind. But he did not growl.
They rolled up their blankets, though this day Smith left one of his upon the ground.