In Another Instant He Was At The Diahbeeah; But I Met Him With A Ball In The Top Of His Head Which Sent Him Rolling Over And Over, Sometimes On His Back, Kicking With His Four Legs Above The Surface, And Again Producing Waves Which Rocked The Diahbeeah.

In this helpless manner he rolled for about fifty yards down the stream, and we all thought him killed.

To our amazement he recovered, and we heard him splashing as he moved slowly along the river through the high grass by the left bank. There he remained snorting and blowing, and as the light of the moon was of no service in the dark shadows of the high grass, we waited for a considerable time and then went to bed, with the rifle placed in readiness on deck.

In a short time I heard louder splashing. I again got up, and I perceived him about eighty yards distant, walking slowly across the river in the shallows. Having a fair shot at the shoulder, I fired right and left with the No. 8 Reilly rifle, and I distinctly heard the bullets strike. He nevertheless reached the right bank, when he presently turned round and attempted to re-cross the shallow. This gave me a good chance at the shoulder, as his body was entirely exposed. He staggered forward at the shot, and fell dead in the shallow flat of the river.

He was now past recovery. It was very cold: the thermometer was 54 degrees Fahrenheit, and the blankets were very agreeable, as once more all hands turned in to sleep.

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