Candles were lit and some of the men sat up and searched their clothes.  I was conscious of a slight irritation, but was so tired and depressed that I resolved to ignore it and postpone my usual search to the following day.

But as I lay still, trying hard to fall asleep, the irritation increased.  At last it became so maddening that I started up in bitter rage.  I lit my candle and pulled off my shirt.

“Chatty [lousy] are yer?” said someone in an amused tone.

“I’ve got a big one crawling about somewhere,” I answered.  None of us ever admitted that we had more than one or two, even when we knew we had a great many.  It was also considered less disreputable to have one “big one” than two small ones.

“It’s the Gink’s fault—­’e swarms with ’em.  I was standin’ be’ind ’im in the ranks the other day an’ I saw three of ’em crorlin’ out of ’is collar up ’is neck.  ’E never washes and never changes ’is clothes, so what can yer expect?”

The “Gink” flared up at once: 

“Yer god-damn son of a bitch—­it’s youss guys that never washes.  I bet yer me borram dollar I ant got a god-damn chat on me....”

A long wrangle ensued.  Wild threats and foul insults were flung about.  But the quarrel, like nearly all our quarrels, did not go beyond violent words.

I began to search and soon found a big swollen louse.  I crushed it with my thumb-nail so that the blood spurted out.  I heard several faint cracks coming from the opposite side of the tent and knew that others were also hunting for vermin.

I examined the seams of my shirt and found two or three more.  Then, to my dismay, I discovered several eggs.  They are so minute that some are sure to escape the most careful scrutiny.  The presence of eggs is always a warning that many nights of irritation will have to pass by before the young grow sufficiently big to be discovered easily.

I thought I had looked at every square inch of my shirt, but I looked at it a second time in order to make sure.  I soon found a whitish elongated body clinging tightly to the cloth.  Then I found another wedged into the seam.

Meanwhile, my neighbour, who had been tossing about restlessly and scratching himself and sighing with desperate vexation, lit his candle and began to search busily.  The sound of an occasional crack showed how successful he was.

The night was warm and sultry.  A storm threatened and it was necessary to close the tent flap.  I blew out my candle and wrapped myself in my blankets.  I was unable to stretch my legs because others were in the way.  I was hemmed and pressed in on all sides.  I felt an impulse to kick out savagely, but was able to control myself.

The stifling heat became unbearable, and at the same time the cold, clammy moisture from the soft sodden mud underneath began to penetrate ground-sheet and blankets.

The irritation recommenced.  A louse so big that I could feel it crawling along stopped and drew blood.  I tried in vain to go to sleep.  I heard my neighbour scratching himself steadily.  Nor could he find a comfortable position to lie in and kept twisting and turning and moaning.  The other men were snoring or fidgeting restlessly.