About A Week After This Had Happened, A Native Came Up From The Low
Country With The Intelligence That The Dogs Had Brought The Buck To Bay
In The River Close To The Village Of Perewelle, And That The Inhabitants
Had Killed The Elk And Driven The Dogs Away.
The remaining portion of
this man's story filled me with rage and horror.
Merriman would not
leave the body of the elk: the natives thought that the dog might be
discovered in their village, which would lead to the detection of the
theft of the elk; they, therefore, tied this beautiful hound to a tree,
knocked his brains out with a hatchet, and threw his body into the
river. This dog was a favourite with everyone who knew the pack. The
very instant that I heard the intelligence, I took a good stick, and, in
company with my brother, three friends, and my informant, we started to
revenge Merriman. Perewelle is twelve miles from my house across
country: it was six P.M. when we started, and we arrived at a village
within two miles of this nest of villains at half-past eight. Here we
got further information, and a man who volunteered to point out three
men who were the principal actors in murdering the dog. We slept at this
village, and, rising at four o'clock on the following morning, we
marched towards Perewelle to surprise the village and capture the
offenders.
It was bright moonlight, and we arrived at the village just at break of
day.
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