I have been bitten myself, and I have seen another person suffering from the bite, which was ludicrous enough.
The sufferer was Corporal Phinn, of H.M.Fifteenth Regiment.

At that time he was one of Lieutenant de Montenach's servants, and accompanied his master on a hunting-trip to the Horton Plains.
Now Phinn was of course an Irishman; an excellent fellow, a dead hand at tramping a bog and killing a snipe, but (without the slightest intention of impugning his veracity) Phinn's ideality was largely developed.

He was never by himself for five minutes in the jungle without having seen something wonderful before his return; this he was sure to relate in a rich brogue with great facetiousness.
However, we had just finished dinner one night, and Phinn had then taken his master's vacant place (there being only one room) to commence his own meal, when up he jumped like a madman, spluttering the food out of his mouth, and shouting and skipping about the room with both hands clutched tightly to the hinder part of his inexpressibles.

"Oh, by Jasus! help, sir, help! I've a reptile or some divil up my breeches! Oh! bad luck to him, he's biting me! Oh! oh! it's sure a sarpint that's stinging me! quick, sir, or he'll be the death o' me!" Phinn was frantic, and upon lowering his inexpressibles we found the centipede about four inches long which had bitten him.

A little brandy rubbed on the part soon relieved the pain.
[1] An exceedingly active Moorman, who was my great ally in hunting..