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 left him,
near dark.'

Jackey contrived to evade the pursuers, and a week afterwards got on
board the schooner, which was lying in Port Albany, Cape York, waiting
the arrival of Mr Kennedy's expedition. On learning the fatal result,
the captain sailed, in the hope of saving the men who had been left
behind. Of the two who had belonged to the advanced party, nothing was
discovered except some articles of clothing, and it was believed they
had perished. Of the eight first left near Weymouth Bay, two were
still alive, but in the last stage of exhaustion, having endured
privations and hardships almost without a parallel.

The brig _Freak_ was subsequently despatched from Sydney, for the
purpose of securing any papers or documents, or the mortal remains of
any of the unfortunate expedition. Jackey Jackey was on board, and by
means of his remarkable sagacity, led the way to the respective camps.
The bones of two of the men were found; also some of Mr Kennedy's
instruments, portions of his clothing, and his manuscript journal,
which had been hidden in the hollow of a tree; but after a minute
search for the place where his body had been buried, it could not be
discovered.

We might extend this painful narrative did our space permit; but we