When the inflammation was
completely subdued I applied a wet cloth to the wound, and every now and
then steeped the foot in cold water during the day, and at night again
applied a poultice. The wound was now healing fast, and in three weeks from
the time of the accident nothing but a scar remained: so that I again
sallied forth sound and joyful, and said to myself:
I, pedes quo te rapiunt et aurae
Dum favet sol, et locus, i secundo
Omine, et conto latebras, ut olim,
Rumpe ferarum.
Now this contus was a tough, light pole eight feet long, on the end of
which was fixed an old bayonet. I never went into the canoe without it: it
was of great use in starting the beasts and snakes out of the hollow trees,
and in case of need was an excellent defence.
In 1819 I had the last conversation with Sir Joseph Banks. I saw with
sorrow that death was going to rob us of him. We talked much of the present
mode adopted by all museums in stuffing quadrupeds, and condemned it as
being very imperfect: still we could not find out a better way, and at last
concluded that the lips and nose ought to be cut off and replaced with wax,
it being impossible to make those parts appear like life, as they shrink to
nothing and render the stuffed specimens in the different museums horrible
to look at.
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