This afternoon as Reuben Nobbs was out in the mountains shooting goats his foot slipped and he let fall his musket which exploded and wounded him severely. The ball entered a very little below the hip joint and passing down wards came through on the inside of the thigh about half way between the groin and the knee. Providentially some persons were within call who immediately ran to his assistance and tore up their shirts to stanch the blood which was pouring forth profusely. A lad was despatched to the village with the melancholy tidings and in a very few minutes the whole of the inhabitants, capable of going were on their way to afford relief, headed by his affectionate mother, almost frantic with grief. In about an hour they returned bearing him in a canoe which they had taken out for that purpose. After some difficulty the blood was stanched and the lad suffered but little pain.
Every person was anxious to render assistance. The greater part of the male inhabitants remained all night ready at a moments notice to do any thing that might be required. Towards midnight he fell asleep & so ends this melancholy day.