ate, and the news of the
decease of his father, the late Bishop of Norwich, depressed him
beyond the power of recovery. This was not the only melancholy
incident connected with the _Rattlesnake's_ voyage. Mr Kennedy's
expedition had proved a most disastrous failure. The party, as we have
seen, had landed in Rockingham Bay, and commenced their journey
northwards, with a well-appointed caravan of carts, horses, and men,
all in high spirits. But more than a month elapsed before they could
extricate themselves from the swamps and scrub which cover that part
of the country; and at the beginning of November, five months later,
they had not advanced more than 400 miles in a direct line: nineteen
of the horses were dead, and the stock of provisions nearly exhausted.
Mr Kennedy then determined on pushing forwards, with a light party,
for Cape York, 150 miles distant, whence relief was to be sent to the
eight individuals who were left behind, nearly worn out with fatigue
and exhaustion. This party consisted of the leader; Jackey Jackey, a
faithful and intelligent native; and three of the strongest of the
men. One of the latter accidentally shot himself, and the other two
became so weak, that they also were left at an encampment, with as
large a supply of provisions as could be spared. After incredible
hardships, Mr Kennedy and his companion reached Escape River, twenty
miles from Cape York, where they were attacked by a party of natives,
while entangled in a scrub, and the gallant leader of the expedition
fell a victim to their ferocity. Three spears had entered his body,
and Jackey Jackey, in simple but touching words, describes his last
moments. 'Mr Kennedy,' he asked, after having carried the wounded man
out of sight of the natives, 'are you going to leave me?' 'Yes, my
boy, I am going to leave you,' was the reply of the dying man. 'I am
very bad, Jackey. You take the books, Jackey, to the captain; but not
the big ones: the governor will give anything for them.' 'I then tied
up the papers. He then said: "Jackey, give me paper, and I will
write." I gave him paper and pencil, and he tried to write; and he
then fell back and died, and I caught him as he fell back, and held
him, and I then turned round myself, and cried. I was crying a good
while, until I got well; that was about an hour, and then I buried
him, I dug up the ground with a tomahawk, and covered him over with
logs, then grass, and my shirt and trousers. That night I l