Saturday 19 November 1836

Saturday, 19th November.

Poor Jacob, a good-hearted but unsophisticated companion of ours, is in a peck of trouble having met with a chapter of accidents in the night. About 1 a.m. he came in his shirt and night-cap to my tent to borrow a loaded gun to shoot the other native dog which he said had been several times into his tent. Hardy, who was sleeping in my tent, happened to have his gun loaded and lent it to him. We shortly after heard the report and soon after poor Jacob, muttering to himself, made his appearance quite broken hearted, for lo instead of the native dog, he had killed a favourite little bitch, heavy with pup, belonging to Hardy and to make things worse had broken the borrowed gun and has been obliged to purchase it. His misfortune did not end here for in his flurry he tumbled over, or through, a chair belonging to another Officer. The Ghost of Hamlet is a fool to the figure, long pale Jacob cut on entering our tent in the above-named costume with the moon shining on his white visage and a huge naked sword preceding him at arm’s length all ready for assault and battery.