He
lifted off the top, with the bees flying all around, and handed me the
top to hold while he inserted his hand and took out a comb, which he
passed over to me, saying, "Take this till I get another, the damned
bees are stinging me." Thousands were around him. I took it and started
on the dead run for my billet, about 400 yards away, and in a minute or
two Mac followed with another comb. The fellows greeted us with
exclamations of delight and surprise; many of us had been two years in
the battle line without ever having seen, let alone tasted, such a
delicious morsel. Every man in the billet fell to, munching the honey
with expressions of sheer joy; every fellow in the bunch had his face
and hands littered with the sticky joy like so many kids munching taffy.
In the midst of our feasting, visitors called; the robbed bees came
flying into the room after their treasure. McLean, by this time, had
been stung about twenty times, and I had about a dozen nips on my hands
and face, and in the very heat of our argument with our visitors, "Stand
to!" was sounded, and honey, bees and everything else was dropped as we
raced for the guns.
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