272 COLLECTOR'S RAMBLES 



The news almost stunned me. My heart seemed to 

 stop beating, everything grew dark about me, and I 

 nearly fell to the ground. It was some moments before 

 I could speak. Shelley told me, between his sobs, how 

 it happened. 



The party had gone a long way inland, where father 

 had contracted the fever ; and after they started back, 

 two more were also taken sick, the natives carrying 

 them many miles on stretchers. They finally reached 

 a small town named Berrigabadi, where father died at 

 seven o'clock in the evening, Sunday, August 26, 1883. 

 The very day he died, we were at Shugary, only fif- 

 teen miles away, and could have seen him alive had we 

 known where he was. 



Almost heart-broken, we went up to the town, where 

 Armit, reduced nearly to a skeleton, told us the sad 

 story. 



Father was buried on the mountain-side by Hunter, 

 with a few of the natives to help ; and the earth was 

 heaped above the remains to make a mound. 



Shelley and I never saw his grave ; but we have 

 heard from a recent traveller that the place is still 

 well remembered by the natives, and that they have 

 built a fence about it. We reached the sea-coast the 

 day after hearing the sad news, and left the country by 

 the first boat we could take to reach Australia, from 

 which place we started 011 our long and tedious jour- 

 ney home. 



