A few months after this campaign I heard that he was shot
while out hunting; no doubt, at the instigation of his unnatural parent,
who preferred his death to his continuing in league with white men.
Leaving Fort Andrews, I now pushed onward to Deadman's Bay. The country
we passed through was much the same as I have before described; the
journey took us the better part of two days. On the way we saw a herd of
wild cattle, which scoured the plain in consternation on espying our
party; urging on our horses, we tried to bring one down, but they
outstripped us. Some miles farther on, and near a thick hammock, about a
quarter of a mile a-head, a huge black bear stood snuffing the air; we
again put spurs to our horses to try to intercept his retreat, but he
was too quick for us, and made at his utmost speed (a sort of shambling
trot) for the coppice or jungle, which he soon entered, and disappeared
from our sight. At nightfall, a pack of ravenous wolves, headed by a
large white one, serenaded us, and came near enough to our camp-fire to
seize a small terrier belonging to one of the party.
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