oever they were, that brought the bees into the business.

It was my duty to set the sight, and as I did so, each time, the bees
would attack my hands and head, and in trying to attend to the sight and
wipe the bees off at the same time, my work was harder than can well be
imagined; but poor Billy's case was even harder, he had to keep a steady
hold of his range drum with both hands and he couldn't budge to brush
off his attackers, as it was absolutely necessary to hold dead steady to
enable us to do our shooting accurately.

"Grant, for God's sake knock this bee off my neck," he pleaded; "it's
stinging hell out of me"; but every time I made a move to help him, the
Major roared, "Get that angle on, Grant; get your range on, McLean." And
we had to take our medicine. Parker, who was passing shells, was in the
same plight as the rest of us; his hands were covered with the sugary
fluid that had settled between the copper splinters of the driving bands
on the shells and the slivers were slitting his hands. This is a
necessary accompaniment that the men passing the shells into the gun
have to contend with, and ordinarily it is a sore and painful piece of
business, but in conjunction with the swarm of the bees it was simply
hellish.

A change of angle was momentarily expected from the observer; we had
been looking for it for some minutes, and the Major was beginning to
rave and rant, very much like a theater manager when the star has not
yet put in her appearance and the impatient audience on the outside are
giving vent to catcalls. He could stand it no longer and ran as fast as
his legs would carry him over to the telephonist's hut; there he found
Graham crouching alongside of his telephone in the folds of a blanket
over his head and face. It was the usual field telephone that we used,
in conjunction with a telegraph buzzer, and Graham was endeavoring to
deliver his messages and fight off the bees at the same time, while
bringing to his aid the smoke of a fag that he was endeavoring to puff
into the faces of his antagonists in the hope that it would help some.

The Major bellowed, "You damned jackass! take off that blanket. What do
you mean?" Graham threw off the blanket and started working his buzzer,
but the bees had as little regard for the rank of the Major as they did
for that of Sergeant Graham, and three or four of them kept pinging away
at him, but as long as the Major was there his splendid discipline
enabled him