On running up, we saw our comrade doing battle with a young devil of a boar, as black as night, whose snout had been partly torn away.

Firing when the game was in full career, and coming directly toward him, Shorty had been assailed by the enraged brute; it was now crunching the breech of the musket, with which he had tried to club it; Shorty holding fast to the barrel, and fingering his waist for a knife.
Being in advance of the others, I clapped my gun to the boar's head, and so put an end to the contest.
Evening now coming on, we set to work loading our carriers.

The cattle were so small that a stout native could walk off with an entire quarter; brushing through thickets, and descending rocks without an apparent effort; though, to tell the truth, no white man present could have done the thing with any ease.

As for the wild hogs, none of the islanders could be induced to carry Shorty's; some invincible superstition being connected with its black colour.

We were, therefore, obliged to leave it.