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George Robertson & Co.
BOOKSELLERS,
Publishers, and Commercial Stationers.
[Illustration: Decoration]
ACCOUNT BOOK MANUFACTURERS.
[Illustration: Decoration]
_Bookbinders_ _Letterpress Printers._
_Paper Rulers_ _Engravers_
_Lithographers_ _Die Sinkers_
_Embossers._
[Illustration: Decoration]
MELBOURNE--
384-390 Little Collins Street.
SYDNEY--
361-363 George Street.
ADELAIDE--
Freeman Street.
BRISBANE--
Elizabeth Street.
AND
LONDON--
17 Warwick Square. Paternoster Row, E.C.
[Illustration: Dunlop Tyres]
and
DUNLOP-WELCH RIMS
[Illustration: Decoration]
Were used by
MURIF
on his
_Transcontinental Ride from Adelaide to
Port Darwin_.
MURIF KNEW
Only too well that he must have Tyres and
Rims that would prove SPEEDY AND
RELIABLE if he was to accomplish his
pioneer undertaking--HENCE HIS CHOICE.
And the result showed that his confidence
was not misplaced--as his Tyres and Rims
came through the ordeal splendidly.
The DUNLOP PNEUMATIC TYRE CO., Ltd.,
247 SWANSTON STREET, MELBOURNE.
Also at . . .
Kent Street, Sydney. Franklin St., Adelaide.
King Street, Perth. And Christchurch, N.Z.
FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN
ACROSS A CONTINENT ON
A BICYCLE.
AN ACCOUNT OF A SOLITARY RIDE FROM ADELAIDE
TO PORT DARWIN
BY
JEROME J. MURIF.
George Robertson & Co.,
MELBOURNE, SYDNEY, ADELAIDE, BRISBANE
AND LONDON.
1897.
GEORGE ROBERTSON AND CO.
PRINTERS
MELBOURNE, SYDNEY, ADELAIDE, BRISBANE
AND LONDON
FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN.
A vague longing to do _something_ first flattered, then irritated, then
oppressed me. In vain I tried to argumentatively brush it aside, to
pooh-pooh it, to laugh it out of countenance. My arsenal of trite
well-worn sayings (so commonly the accompaniment of a weak argument) was
ransacked for ammunition to once and for all lay out this absurd
restlessness. For instance, I resolutely endeavored to persuade myself
that of course the maxim was true that "There is nothing new under the
sun." I argued that that was as absolutely convincing in my case as a
Maxim is in some others. Then I went to sleep, dreamily reflecting that
_that_ was settled, anyway. In the morning, I was witness that one
saying, at any rate, was true: I had convinced myself against my will,
and was in reality still longing for that formless _something_.
So I made a bargain with myself to strive to give my longing a local
habitation and a name--to set about discovering something to be done
that no man had yet even dared.
In my quest of a world to conquer, I bought a book of "Human Records"
(which is not to be confounded with "A Human Document") so I might know
what spheres had been already vanquished. There inscribed were the
names of the heroes who had sucked the most eggs, eaten the most
dumplings, drunk the most liquor, chopped the biggest tree, drawn the
most teeth, vaulted the most horses.
I passed these dizzy heights with a sigh. They were far above me.
Besides, _cui bono_?
And then, my mind revolving many things, speeding from one to the other,
passing as the bicycle-scorcher passes the mile posts on the road-side--
Of course! Why, what else could it be?
To cross Australia on a bicycle, piercing the very heart of a continent,
facing dangers, some known and more unknown--it was the very thing.
Now, looking back upon the task accomplished, I confess, with becoming
humility, that it was not from a splendid devotion to Science; it was
neither to observe an eclipse of the sun or the moon nor to scour
unknown country for the elusive diprotodon; not even in the interests of
British Commerce (as represented by Jones's factory or Brown's
warehouse), but simply to gratify this craving to do _something_ before
considerate people dropped me out of sight and out of mind--it was
simply for this that I resolved there and then to pedal from Ocean to
Ocean on a bicycle.
And when, a month after my task was completed, the Jubilee honors were
announced I did not search the list in the expectation of finding myself
down for even a peerage.
* * * *
The _something_ had at any rate taken shape at last; in the first blush
of delight the accomplishment seemed a trifling matter of detail. To do,
and to be the first to attempt the doing of it, was my object. If that
object was to be attained easily, all well. If, on the other hand, there
were many dangers and they were safely overcome, then better still.
All I now lay claim to having done was the little all I had the desire
to do: to travel a bicycle over every inch of the ground between
Glenelg, on a gulf of the Southern Ocean, and Port Darwin, on the
Arafura sea, a portion of the Indian Ocean--and to be the first to do
it. In no sense of the word has my machine been conveyed for me; neither
has any conveyance other than the bicycle with which I set out borne me
at any time over any part of the journey.
Nevertheless in the fulfilment of my purpose I availed myself of
whatever other aids offered. Thus I took full advantage of the hotels
_en route_; and when, later on, the region of hotels being passed--and
these benevolent institutions are pitched marvellously far out--I did
not ride off into the scrub whenever I suspected that people were ahead
of me on the track. Not even the thought that those persons might invite
me to a meal daunted me. The proffer of a blanket at night had no
terrors for me. And if in the morning my new-made friends could give me
some fresh directions, checking my own and serving as a safeguard, I
thought none the worse of them.
But we are not on the track yet. Not even in the dressing-room.
* * * *
As the first few to whom I in part confided my intention pooh-poohed the
notion, I consulted further with no one; and as I was not in a position
to pick up much information concerning the country to be traversed
without disclosing plans which were never mentioned but to be laughed at
or declared impracticable, I decided to go quietly at the first
opportunity, and to be my own "guide, philosopher, and friend."
Still, I was not angry with those who chided me. In common, I fancy,
with the majority of Australians, I knew but little of the northern part
of the continent; and I honestly believed that the journey was one which
it would be difficult to complete. They said impossible, I said
difficult--that was all the difference.
Men who knew the country led me in fancy into the centre of the
continent, broke my machine upon any one of the thousand unexpected
dangers of the open, trackless desert--and asked me to consider my
helplessness.
Yes; the journey was formidable. It had no attractions for me if it was
otherwise. I thanked my friends, began earnestly to regard the excursion
in a serious light, and held my tongue.
I smile benevolently now as I look back upon myself of those days. The
thing is done, it then remained to be done.
* * * *
Before this time, I had thought of securing a companion to share the
venture; and I wasted a good deal of time and money seeking such a one.
The number of people who had the expedition in mind surprised me--I met
them constantly.
"Ah, yes, great idea! D'ye know I've been thinking about tackling it for
some time?"
"Well, co'on."
Then there was an awkward pause.
Generally I had to see them about it in the morning. In the
morning--"Sorry, old fellow, awfully sorry, but can't manage to get away
just now. Great idea, though, isn't it?"
One whom I came to know intimately (we were, and continue, excellent
friends) was at first all eagerness to join. But he too gradually cooled
off and reluctantly and half abashed, but finally, backed out.
And in his case, why?
Not because of the expense, nor through reading or hearing of
treacherous blacks, of venomous snakes, of alligators and other
interesting things we had so eagerly looked forward to throwing stones
at. Not because of the certain hardships and probable perils to be
encountered; the likelihood of being stricken with fever; the danger of
getting bushed, and experiencing the terrors of thirst as well as the
horrors of hunger (for we knew we could carry precious little of either
water or food).
No; just this, half apologetically said, and then only with an effort
that did him credit--"The general impression seems to be that the thing,
you know, isn't to be done. When they hear of our starting out to try
it, what will the fellows say?"
And what talks we had had about our adventures in prospective! A rousing
change, too, was admittedly just the very thing he stood in need of. He
could well afford both the time and the money. An "adventure" he was the
one to thoroughly enjoy. But--the smile of the fellows left behind,
their laugh and jest in case of failure; it was more than a sensitive
man could bear to think of. And so he stayed at home.
Two could travel in safety where one might perish. If one machine broke
down, the other at least might bear food and water to the derelict
rider. But if the derelict rider were alone, stricken ill, fallen a
victim to accident far from any settlement--
Not a pleasant track--let us seek another.
There was the continent. No bicycle had crossed it. That was my
_something_, resolved upon long ago. And if it had to be done alone--it
might be misfortune. Who knows--it might also be the other thing!
* * * *
It was, then, to be a solitary ride. But that the _bona fides_ of it
could not very well be disputed, I had printed a many-paged book, ruled
vertically. The headings to the spaces were:--"Distance," "Date,"
"Time," "Presence vouched for at," "By," "Address," "Departure," with a
blank page opposite for "Mems _re_ road."
Being well aware that many people would certainly be averse to hurriedly
entering their names in the book of an entire stranger--a stranger, too,
who must resolutely decline to state his business, his object, or his
destination--I determined to call on and make known my intention to two
or three "leading men," foreseeing that, could I but obtain their
signatures to begin with, others would be only too pleased, or at least
would not refuse, to add theirs to the list.
Luckily the first of the notabilities I waited on took kindly to the
idea, and at once very courteously obliged me. To him my thanks are once
more repeated; and neither of the other two gentlemen next seen
demurred.
Yet even this task was not accomplished without the customary
kindly-intentioned warnings. Thus one of the three said:--"Do you know
you face Death in seriously attempting to do this journey?" What answer
could be more common-place than mine--"One has to die _some_ time, sir?"
"Death"!--the word, spoken generally with much unction, and I were grown
familiar.
Had the gentleman said--"Pooh! It's easy. You ought to do it without
hurting yourself, in so many weeks time,"--had he said that, I should
have been sadly disheartened.
* * * *
When in Adelaide previously I had sounded a cycle-agent as to the reward
he would be prepared to offer a man for undertaking the trip.
Like the others he ridiculed the notion--termed it preposterous, spoke
of crocodiles, and of the rider having to carry a spare set of tyres,
bags of flour, tanks of water, perhaps an extra machine. Nevertheless he
proposed that the hare-brained unknown one be got to purchase a bicycle
(on the sale of which I, of course, would be allowed a small
commission), "and should he get through," remarked the agent, with a
wink, "I would not mind returning him the purchase money."
"But, stay," he added, as an afterthought, climbing down yet lower,
"it's bound to be a failure, and failure does nobody any good, you know;
so I'd rather not have my name or one of my machines mixed up with the
thing at all."
As this might be the prevailing feeling among cycle-agents (and I have
good reasons now for believing that it was) I determined on acting
independently of them also. Than this resolution nothing in connection
with the undertaking has since given me greater satisfaction; nor was
anything more comforting during the ride than the feeling of complete
independence which flowed from it.
* * * *
I knew a little about bicycles, and did not pick one at random in the
first, second, or any other agency I entered. Besides being on the
look-out for a good mount, I was also seeking a firm which I could, if
occasion arose, recommend others to deal with.
At last my choice was made. I paid the money, said nothing of my plans,
and no embarrassing questions were asked.
Being now resolved to take upon my own shoulders all the consequences of
failure--if I should fail--I erased the maker's name and substituted my
own favorite word "Diamond" in its place.
If I broke down--well, a moral might be pointed on the evil results of
riding an unknown make of bicycle. If there came success--well, again, I
should have no objection to making my acknowledgment to civil people.
* * * *
The machine I chose and purchased came nearly up to my ideal for this
present purpose. Let us look at it.
A roadster; two 28 in. wheels; weight, 29lbs; gear, 62½; handy
interlocking arrangement; dust-proof caps over pedal bearings; bearings
not of complicated construction; tangent spokes; the sprocket and back
gear-wheels well set on their shafts.
I could not find fault with any part of the machine. Its general
appearance pleased me.
The new saddle came off, and an old and comfortable one, with an
appropriate tool bag, took its place. This tool bag was circular, and my
drinking vessel (a "pannikin," not to put too fine a point upon it)
fitted closely over its end. An old, tried, and trusty inflator was
added to this part of the equipment.
Then I ordered a more than ordinarily thick tandem tyre to be fitted on
the hind wheel in place of the one of the regular roadster pattern, and
an endless rubber strip to be solutioned on over the tread of the front
wheel.
As for the rest I did not look for gear case or cyclometer. If the
country to be traversed came up to expectations in point of roughness,
the former would be torn away--an objection which applied also to the
cyclometer, as the only reliable make I knew of when in use protruded
from the outside of one of the front forks. Neither was missed; and I
was glad I did not burden myself with them.
The brake was allowed to remain, and a bell was added. Both of these I
intended to throw away when the beaten roads were left behind.
The equipment was completed with a spare air tube, chain-link and
rivets, copper wire, file, spanners and plyers, solution and patching
rubber, a long length of strong cord, tooth brush, compass, and small
bottle of matches.
A pair of luggage-carriers were fitted to the handle bars; on these was
strapped a roll of light waterproof sheeting, 6½ feet by 4 feet,
containing a change of linen, pair of socks, handkerchief, soap, towel,
a small mirror--my extravagance!--a comb, and three small waterproof
bags in which to stow papers, etc., in the event of heavy rain falling.
A leather satchel slung over one shoulder, and so fastened that it could
not slip down, proved a handy receptacle for odds and ends. A rug and
other things of which I may have occasion to make mention later on were
forwarded to Hergott.
I had intended carrying front and back wheel duplicate shafts, but did
not.
A tin to hold one quart of water was strapped against the stays, between
the top of the rear wheel and the saddle.
A day was spent in riding through the hills near Adelaide with the
object of testing the new machine, and that I might adjust its chain and
bearings to my liking, learning the while what I could of its
peculiarities, if it had any disagreeable ones--in fact, to break it in.
* * * *
On the evening of my fourth day in Adelaide, my very few arrangements
being nearly complete, I rode down to Glenelg, obtained the local
post-master's promise of a signature, and spent the night at the Pier
Hotel. Next morning the P.M. walked down with me and stood on the
pier--smiling, I observed--while I cycled down the firm sandy beach into
the ocean; then, having turned about, found myself dramatically waving
my hat to the water.
That was the baptism of Diamond in the Southern Ocean.
The obliging officer entered a short statement in my voucher book to
the effect that he had been witness to the incomprehensible ceremony.
(The statement served as a preface, and so was written on the first
blank page inside the cover.)
And now northwards through a continent.
* * * *
Still having a little private business to transact in Adelaide, I
remained there for another night and well into the following forenoon.
Then the bicycle, loaded now for the expedition, was lifted downstairs;
I shook hands with the landlady (who "couldn't make me out nohow," I
dare say, good soul), told her I might not be back for tea and not to
keep it waiting, and quietly pedalled away on my glistening Diamond,
without a single person being by to see me off or wish me luck.
But there was the glorious sense of having resolutely acted an
independent part. A glad feeling of being alive, untrammelled, free. And
so we gaily sped along. It was a very dance on wheels.
We are on the track at last!
* * * *
Kapunda, 50 miles from Adelaide, gives us shelter for the night. To
Gawler is half the distance. The road is good only to four miles from
Adelaide, thence bumpy macadam, with clay stretches, to within five
miles of Gawler. To the right, the Flinders Ranges; flat country showing
to the left. Agriculture everywhere.
Beyond Gawler, I was advised to take the middle one of three roads,
known as the Freeling; but after trying it, cut off to the right and got
on to the Greenock road. Here was splendid running--down grades, too.
Metalled with ironstone--some grand patches. So good that I passed the
words "Post Office" at She-oak Log without dismounting to ask someone to
sign for me.
About and after She-oak Log was undulating country, with the ranges
showing now and again to the right. At a little place named Daveyston, I
halted to pick up a signature and a long drink. A resident put down the
one, I the other.
Arrived at Greenock. Visited madam the gracious post-mistress, and
obtained her signature. Prized, because it is the first in a lady's hand
in the book. Then on to Kapunda. Undulating country, with good riding
all the way. Arrived about 6 o'clock--hungry.
* * * *
This afternoon I met a cyclist seated in a spring dray, steadying his
machine with one hand and himself with the other. They were noisily
approaching at a jig-jog. We stopped.
"Good-day!"
"Good-day!"
"Accident?" I asked.
"No--only this is less like graft. And where are you bound for?"
"Head of the line if all goes well!"
"Oodnadatta?"
"Um."
"Mean it--on business?"
"Oh no, merely out for a ride."
But my new mount had betrayed me to this wheeling Sherlock Holmes.
"Ah, you'll get over that sort of thing by-an'-bye. Just after I'd
learned to stick on, I was like you--
The stiffest breeze was never too stiff,
Nor the highest hill too high.
Ha, ha! Not bad, is it? But as I was saying, I got over it. The bloom is
off the rye'-din. Ha, ha!"
"Oh, come now," I expostulated meekly.
"Never mind, no 'fence, you know. Bye-bye." Then to the driver--"S'pose
we see if we can't knock a sprint out of the old quad., eh? Ha, ha!"
And he laughed along the Greenock road.
* * * *
From Kapunda next morning. The road excellent, built up of ironstone,
broken small. Gentle inclines, and longish down-grades. Undulating
country, fertile and farmed. Before one quite reaches Waterloo, a
cemetery is seen away to the left, remindful of a battle field.
The track continues hilly and ironstony to Black Springs; soon after
that, at Stony Hut, a rivulet of brackish water crosses the road. Then
one gets amongst the highest rises yet encountered. Through these, known
as the Black Hills, winds the road, keeping fairly level for eight or
nine miles, and so into the Burra. Rather a pleasant ride those last few
miles, gums and peppermint or box trees picturesquely dotting the
landscape, until at the Burra the ruins of once famous copper-mining
works displease the eye.
From the Burra to Mount Bryan an excellent level metalled road keeps
close beside the railway line; but a couple of miles beyond Hallett, the
cyclist will come on unmade roads, so that he will have only fair riding
to Yarcowie and Terowie.
Tyre troubles cause a delay between Yarcowie and Terowie. Ahead are
cross-roads innumerable, and it being already sundown I reluctantly
decide to stay at Terowie the night. 145 miles from Adelaide.
* * * *
A drought lay heavily upon the land, giving the township in the eyes of
the skurrying passer-by an atmosphere of even greater somnolence than
usual. A church, a store (often also the post-office), a blacksmith's
shop, a hotel, a school-house, with half-a-dozen suburban tenements,
constitute a township. It is affirmed that there are inhabitants, that
on Sundays they go to church punctiliously, and that on one other given
day in the week the farmers come in from round about with their butter
and their eggs to the store, and then the township is "busy." Of the
other five days there is no record.
* * * *
An early start was made from Terowie on an absurdly round-about road to
Petersburg--unmade, too, but level, yet only middling for travelling on
Head winds, besides.
Breakfasted, and steered for Orroroo; this township appearing to be
right in the path of anyone making northwards. Much crossing and
re-crossing of the railway. At half-way, Blackrock is passed. A hard,
smooth road, running through the fertile Blackrock plains, now withered
and parched; high ranges showing afar off on either hand--and so to
Orroroo. Thence it is only a few miles to Walloway, where another
rivulet is come upon. To Eurelia the road is not good, but it improves
as one journeys towards Carrieton.
* * * *
In a blinding dust-storm blowing against us, a spring cart passed, whose
driver invited Diamond and me on board. This was the first offer of the
kind we had received, and it was thankfully declined.
My voucher-book was being signed readily. Only twice so far had it been
presented without result. One poor human agricultural implement looked
cunningly at me. A book canvasser had "had" him once, he said, and added
"I ain't a fool."
Disaster is a merciless mocker; it deceives its victims into believing
that it has sharpened their wits, whereas in general it has sadly dulled
them. Here was a case in point.
In the other case a pot boy, the only "inhabitant" on hand, was so
impertinently inquisitive that I did without his help. Perhaps another
case.
* * * *
The evening at Carrieton was more or less profitably occupied in
listening to a tap-room discussion of social, political and domestic
economy as represented by seed-wheat. No matter into what by-ways the
debate drifted, it came back inevitably to seed-wheat. There was
infinite pathos in the tales of helplessness of these drought-harried
men.
* * * *
There are abundant proofs as we steer out of Carrieton towards Cradock
that we are already on the outskirts of the kingdom of the bicycle. The
horses--bony apparitions mostly--have for the machine none of that
contempt which tells of its familiarity to the city horse. So the bell
is handy. Not so much to warn the equestrian as to soothe the
bicyclist's conscience. You ring your bell and by that simple act throw
on to other shoulders the full responsibility for all the frightened
horse may do.
* * * *
To Cradock from Carrieton next forenoon. Thirty miles. Strong head
winds. Near Yangarrie, cross a gum-lined creek of shallow running water.
Travelling stock and mail route all the way.
* * * *
And on this stage a slight mishap, and an incident. Before creeping
into a dam for a drink, I hung my satchel upon the fence. Having drunk,
a horse took my notice: it stood listlessly against the fence, on the
outside, in a paddock entirely destitute of feed--a sun-baked waste. But
for the support of the fence it must have fallen.
I remembered having somewhere seen such another animal described as a
barrel-hooped skeleton, held together by raw-hide.
In vain I tried to shift it. It quite frivolously whisked its tail--its
only token of animation. No persuasions, no beguilements could move it.
I was interested--in the cause of science, and of sport. I had inflated
my tyres a little, and now desired to ascertain whether a strong blast
from the air-pump would throw it _hors de combat_. Visions rose before
me. I should, if I could but succeed, tell a breathless people, ever
intent upon the amiable pursuit of killing one another and other more
harmless things, that when in the desert I had slaughtered every one of
a mob of horses with the help of a new and deadly air-gun.
To discover something so deadly--here was a Companionship of the Bath at
the least!
Thus murderously inclined, I approached with the weapon. The animal
raised its head, cast upon me a look of mingled sorrow and reproach,
lazily lifted its upper lip on seeing the threatening inflator,
and--tried to eat it!
Of such stuff are the dreams of the bush.
Thus moralising I rode off without my satchel. Had to race back four
miles. And there still leaning against the fence, apparently unmoved in
so much as a limb, stood the animal, a pitiful monument to the appalling
severity of the drought of '96-7.
* * * *
After you leave Cradock the ranges appear to be closing in in front. But
they are escaped somehow; and Hawker, 17 miles from the last township,
is reached. Of Hawker I have two memories: one of a barber; the other of
a "specially prepared" (_i.e._ warmed-up) dinner. Neither, I suspect, of
absorbing public interest.
In the evening, a strong head-wind having calmed down, rode to Hookina
(9 miles); thence, being disappointed there in the matter of
"accommodation," to a place known as "The White Well," seven miles
ahead.
Was it to be the first camp out? Darkness had fallen, and lone
travellers who can give no rational account of themselves must ever
labor under dark suspicion also. But, at a roadside cottage, the rare
bicycle served me as a talisman, and secured me a supper, bed, and
breakfast. For the day, 64 miles.
* * * *
The road to Hookina goes through the ranges, and for four miles there
are rough and very stony hills to traverse. I took to the railway-line
and rode alongside the rails; but the "metal" was destructively
sharp-cornered, and the riding unsafe, because of the steep embankments
and the frequency of culverts. There was also a tyre-tearing
levelling-peg protruding at every chain or so between the lines.
From Hookina the track winds through soft but fair riding and level
ground, with the high Arkaby ranges keeping well away to the east. Mount
Alice shows up most prominently.
* * * *
On examining Diamond by lamp-light--I made a practice of looking it over
every night--I was unpleasantly surprised to observe innumerable burrs
sticking in both tyres. The back one, being of more than ordinary
thickness, had successfully resisted their endeavors to get through into
the air tube, and the strip on the front tyre, being new, had also
dissuaded the attacking thorns from intruding too far.
These burrs, common to many of the agricultural districts of South
Australia, and especially prolific where the ground is sandy, are known
as "three cornered jacks." No matter how they lie upon the ground, one
hard and sharp spear points upwards. They are very plentiful in their
season from Hookina up so far as Parachilna.
* * * *
The breeze next morning, though light, was favorable. But the day was
Sunday. I debated with myself, in bed, which would be the greater
sin--to not avail oneself of an inviting breeze, or to continue
cycle-touring on the Sabbath. Being unable to answer the question quite
satisfactorily, I compromised, and made a late start.
To Parachilna (40 odd miles): Bad, bumpy road, stony and soft, or hard
and guttery. Dined here.
To Beltana (24 miles): Alongside the railway line--on which trains
travel occasionally, and even then for the most part only to Hergott.
Some stretches of good track, but most of it heavy travelling. Much
walking. Some very stony miles traversed over; country broken into low
hills.
By way of change, there was fresh-looking high saltbush in the vicinity
of Blackfellow's Creek--and also numbers of diamond sparrows.
Blackfellow's Creek, a wider stream than had been expected.
* * * *
I met the first aborigines when close to Beltana. There were four of
them, all females, fully dressed. They were walking towards me; and by
way of entertaining them I rang my bell and cavalierly doffed my cap.
For my entertainment doubtless they smiled, as only one of their kind
can, and made grimaces. So we parted the best of friends. "It may not
always be so," I thought; "the painful necessity may arise presently to
shoot some of your male distant relations."
Bush country is here fairly entered upon; the wheat-producing areas
ending about Hawker. The rainfall is too certainly uncertain further
north. To the south it certainly is uncertain also.
The everlasting hills yet last, to east and west.
The night at Beltana; 64 miles for the day; 354 miles from Adelaide. In
good fettle and with a healthy appetite.
The rough track had been very trying to my Diamond. But all was well.
Sunday cycling, too; yet no accidents! Resolved to cycle on the Sabbath
in future.
* * * *
From Beltana Monday morning. Hilly to Puttapa Pass. The latter the most
picturesque spot yet passed. Through a jutting rocky point, a railway
cutting runs at the base of a steep and rugged hill, and at the
cutting's end a lofty iron bridge of many spans runs out across a wide
and very stony creek, through whose bed for a mile or so the track winds
sinuously; then climbs the northern bank, and so on to country far from
good for cycling over.
Saw the first mob of kangaroos--a small one.
Much creek-crossing; also much walking--tiring and very slow. Still, I
was in such good condition that I frequently caught myself going at a
"Chinaman's trot" where I could not do any riding.
In flat country now. The track (over marshy alkaline-strewn ground)
faces towards several low flat-topped hillocks, and passes close to some
remarkable metalliferous-seeming ironstone mounds. Then to Leigh's
Creek, at about 25 miles. Here are a railway siding and a coal mine,
Adelaide owned, but the prospects are not bright.
* * * *
In front of a cottage somewhere about here I caught sight of--my first
snake. A small one, brown, about 3 feet long. A frocked child was
standing in the doorway keeping tight hold of a cotton-reel. To the
unrolled length of cotton was attached a crooked pin, baited with a
piece of bread. This precocious infant was fishing--when I chanced to
come along and frighten away his eel.
On my thoughtlessly telling the mother (who, it transpired, had been
having forty winks in a back room) she exclaimed, "Drat the boy!"
Informed me that "the kid was always getting 'imself into some
mischief--could never let things be," boxed the innocent little
fisherman's ears, and took from him his tackle. "I wondered what he was
awanting the bread for," she remarked by and bye; and when the child,
who had gone to a corner to have his cry out, walked over to bury his
face in her lap--"Lord bless his dirty little angel face," she said, as,
spitting on one corner of her apron, she wiped the little angel face
clean.
* * * *
From Leigh's Creek to Lyndhurst is very heavy road--now soft, now very
stony, so travelling is hard work. Thus it was right through to Farina,
60 miles from Beltana, where Diamond and I pulled up about 4 o'clock in
the afternoon.
An enthusiastic and almost intemperately hospitable wheelman, the only
one in the place, made me welcome; advised me of an excellent stretch of
road up to Hergott, 30 miles on; closed and locked his store door to
mark the occasion of a stranger-cyclist's arrival, and accompanied me
for two or three miles along the track.
Presently some railway-workmen's cottages are reached, and here kind
people provided an evening meal. And as I started somebody
remarked--"Look out for a bit of a rut when you get about 4 miles on."
One rut in four miles! Yet, _mirabile dictu_, the road to Hergott came
right up to expectations.
* * * *
Railway workmen up here console themselves for their miserable portion
by giving their residences high-sounding titles.
Somewhere up from Hawker, a row of tents occupy the site of an old camp.
A square tent standing at the top corner of the row is dubbed "No. 1,
Transcontinental Terrace." A round one further along, "Euchre-ville."
Here as everywhere is also a "Belle Vue House;" and likewise "The
Shamrock"--_in memoriam_ doubtless.
One with the name large-written over the entrance in painfully sprawling
capitals is "Marine View Cottage!" A strapping workman was at the door.
"Which way lies the marine scenery, mister?"
"Eh?" he questioned in return, not comprehending for a moment.
I pointed to the sign and repeated the question.
"Where's the marine scenery, is it!"
"If you please."
"Oh, everywhere within a rajus," sweeping his arm across the
refuse-littered waste. "Marines for yez, but"--with infinite
sadness--"all dead."
* * * *
At Hergott, 441 miles from Adelaide. Bleak and uninviting. Treeless,
save for some Government date palms; healthy looking plants, fringing an
artesian bore. The hotel people kindness personified. "Spelled" the
greater part of next day and overhauled the machine; cleaned the chain,
and located one or two puncturettes.
Found awaiting me here some wearables, a rug and other
likely-to-be-useful articles; but hearing of depots still ahead, I
re-addressed the parcel, minus the wearables, back to whence it came.
Although the nights were likely to be cold, the days are very warm; and
the bulk of the rug made it "impossible" in bad country. At night time,
for a while at any rate, when camping out I would try how sleeping
between two or half-a-dozen fires suits me.
* * * *
Oil was to be had at the telegraph stations. (Neatsfoot--I fancy for
this hot climate an oil of about the right consistency; sperm oil, such
as is used for sewing-machines, being to my mind too thin altogether,
while castor is, on the other hand, of course too thick.) As I had so
far used hardly a single feeder-full, I merely replenished my oil-feeder
and left the "reserve tin" behind. I had oiled each morning regularly,
perhaps using another drop or two on the main bearings during the day,
and had dropped a little on the chain after roughly cleaning it
occasionally. Some machines call for frequent re-oiling; others do well
with very little. Diamond luckily was among the latter.
* * * *
The consensus of opinion at Hergott was adverse to the success of my
project--for my intentions could no longer be completely hidden. So,
rather than endure possibly irritating remarks on the subject, I moved
on in the afternoon.
Several people southwards had told me of a cyclist who was coming
presently with the object of attempting to ride right through. (It had
got into the newspapers somehow--how I do not to this day know.) I was
so lightly loaded that few, if any, of them suspected that I was the
individual, "misguided," "rash" and many other things. Wherefore to me
they laughed more derisively about the coming visitor than they might
otherwise have done.
At one place, after obliging with his signature, a postmaster opened his
heart to me. (That "somewhere about the terminus of the railway" was my
destination I had permitted him to infer.) I ought to wait, he said,
till the expectantly-looked-for other fellow turned up. "He is bound to
come along this way," remarked the P.M., "and--unless you'd rather not,
of course--it would be company for both of you."
This officer added, cheering me on my way, that he knew the country
northwards well, and he ridiculed the idea of a bicycle being ridden
through it.
Ah! well, we shall see whether one cannot be pushed through in that
case, I thought; and so moved on.
* * * *
The road from Hergott was far from pleasant and there raged that
disheartening drawback to cycling, a head wind. All flat country; soft,
sandy loam, covered with loose stones of varying sizes, known as
"gibbers." We shall know them better presently.
Travelled only 21 miles, and camped at Canterbury waterhole. Here was a
Callanna sheep-station boundary rider's tent--a temporary shelter until
the water evaporated; and I was made welcome to tea, salt mutton and--my
first damper.
Before arriving at this waterhole I had to walk through a very soft,
marshy salt-lake; sometimes having to shoulder the bicycle, and
frequently sinking almost knee-deep into the mire. The subsequent sleep
beside that camp fire was a re-creation to remember.
* * * *
At a deserted hut a dozen or so miles from Hergott I met a "hard case"
of the bush who had been camped there for three days, and intended
remaining there for four or five more. He was "spelling," he told me. I
suggested that it was a strange place to recuperate.
"Well, 's this way," he said, in an access of confidence. "I heard ole
so-an'-so had sold 'is mine to a swindicate and was goin' to stand a
blow-out at the pub at Hergit. I might's well be in thet, I ses; but I
found I was a week ahead of it, and now I'm just waitin' here for
that----drunk. My oath, it _wus_ hard when I larnt I was to be a----week
out en them drinks; my throat's peelin'. You don't happen to have----"
I cut in that I didn't happen to have----
"Then d'ye happen to have a squib?"--(squib=revolver).
I looked at my friend. He observed the glance.
"Now, now, nuthin' like that about _me_," he said. "Fact is"--in another
burst of confidence--"I'm perishin' fer a bit of meat. There ain't no
harm in _thet_, I hope."
We chatted (confidentially still) about this strange life of his.
"And how do you get meat?" I asked in my simplicity.
"Why, y' know," he answered with a wink, "if we see a sheep we can't
stand quiet and let it bite us, now, can we? It wouldn't be human
natur'." And he chuckled at his joke.
* * * *
A late start was made the following morning. An entry presently made in
my note book has it thus: "Plugging away, barely moving, against a
viciously strong wind, over bleak, soft, treeless, and nearly flat
country, strewed with loose stones, and with a sand-hill now and again
by way of change, or the marshy bed of a salt lagoon to wade
through"--an experience to be forgotten as soon as possible.
Again: "There is no avoiding the badnesses. The railway line is near at
hand. Tried riding alongside the rails--useless, too soft. Between the
rails--too rough."
As the wind beat wildly into my face I heard it warningly cry "Go back!
Go back!" and in the lulls it droned and muttered chidingly--I knew not
why--"Obstinate, foolish fellow." Whereupon, as I wasn't taking any
warnings, I stooped, and in a short-lived sprint exerted all the
strength I had to bore a hole through the blast.
This sort of thing lasted to Bopuchie, where are some workmen's huts.
Here I was treated to bread and butter and tea by a couple of
kindly-dispositioned expatriated women, whose husbands were working
further up the line. I was also generously presented with a good clean
handkerchief, as I had been heard to deeply mourn the recent loss of my
own: the wind had whisked it out of my pocket. The same night Diamond
and I reached Lake Eyre cottages, where were the husbands and others, a
"flying-gang" of navvies on the (some-day-to-be) Transcontinental line.
Only 54 miles from Hergott. Heartbreaking work. Yet fed ravenously.
* * * *
After leaving Bopuchie, caught myself doing a cautious "Look out for
the Train," glancing warily up and down the line. Then I recollected
that a train came along only once in three weeks, and was reassured.
* * * *
Did you ever, travelling alone, make unexpected acquaintance with a bush
grave? The lonely land has been clothed as usual in "weird melancholy."
You are weary, and, perhaps, a little dispirited. And then, just behind
a mulga tree, you come upon a mound--and it is the length of a man. If
you are very weary you will sit upon it, and take off your hat, and
think; perhaps in a minute or two shudder a little. Whereupon you will
rub your eyes to try and satisfy yourself that you have been foolishly
dreaming. But you will not sit again; you will move on, faster than you
have been doing.
Between Hergott and Oodnadatta there are several rows of mounds. They
are the vouchers for part of the cost of the at present useless railway
line. For typhoid and dysentery played sad havoc in the navvies' camps.
* * * *
Leaving Lake Eyre cottages the track passes very close to the
southernmost end of the lake itself: within, say, half a mile. The bed
is 25 feet below sea level, and occupies an area of over 5000 square
miles. I would certainly have ridden across and cycled on it had I not
been told by the cottagers that the glaring, eye-paining, glistening
sheet of salt, stretching away to the horizon north and east, was merely
a frosted-over bog--all around near its barren, low, and stony banks, at
any rate. But when the creeks have ceased to flow it soon becomes dry,
firm under foot, and smooth--solid and ice-like in many respects. What a
skating-rink 'twould make!
* * * *
Stony table lands, wide expanses of level country, support Lake Eyre on
either side. Sand, stones, mirage, and sun--these are the "dominant
notes" here.
I had been told some stories of the cattle of the region: how, for
instance, an odd one had been known to chase a railway tricyclist along
the line for miles. Hunting after swagmen, so it was said, was a pastime
in which at every opportunity they freely indulged. I was now to have
personal experiences.
When a traveller comes within near sight of a quietly grazing mob, the
scattered units mass together; then nine times out of ten the amazed
animals race towards him in order to get out of his way. About this
proportion of times they decided to cross in front of my bicycle; and
the more I endeavored to prevent them doing so, by quickening pace, the
more wildly they rushed to succeed.
The ringing of the bell had a more startling and discomfiting effect on
them than the firing of a revolver shot.
Not far from Stuart's Creek I came upon a bull lying dead, with his
horns deeply imbedded in a mound which his shoulders also nearly
touched, his head being underneath between his front legs. I had been on
the look-out for this interesting spectacle, of which an explanation had
already been tendered.
A "sundowner" was tramping along one afternoon when the bull sighted him
and gave chase. The country was level almost as a billiard table, with
the single exception of this couple-of-feet-high mound. Towards this the
pair hurried. The chase was exciting. The bull gained rapidly, and was
within a few yards of the swagman by the time he reached the mound. Then
were some moments of supreme anxiety, till with an extra effort the man
stumbled over just as, head down, the bull came charging along, on
elevating thoughts intent. But not being in the habit of calculating
upon the occurrence of hills, the bull collided with the mound, and
broke his neck!
Each district has its own pet class of perjury. In the richer of
agricultural districts they lie about the size of pumpkins; in the
poorer ditto, about snakes; in the sheep country, about rabbits; here
the best liars devote themselves to wild cattle. They all do pretty
well.
* * * *
Occupied an hour as I rode along working out the (? musical) note educed
by a tyre flicking aside loose stones. Found it to be high D. ("Pung" in
cycling notation.)
When the stone is not flicked aside, but the machine passes over it, a
low D is emitted--by the rider.
* * * *
Road middling to the Blanche Cup and cluster of mound springs. These
remarkable features lie about two miles off the main track, to the left.
I cycled over--not cutting across at right angles, but gradually edging
away from the track on sighting them.
There are eight or ten of the cone-shaped, flat-topped rises, all within
a radius of half a mile. Roughly, I should say their average vertical
height is twenty feet. The summits of most of them are merely small
swamps decorated with rushes and bogged cattle in various stages of
decomposition. Little driblets of water trickle down the sides.
Two of them are well worth journeying far to see.
The Blanche itself is an elevated circular pond of good drinkable water.
On one side a lip has been worn through the impounding rock, and by this
passage the cup gently overflows. The water so escaping streams down the
sloping side, and forms into a shallow swampy creek.
The other is locally known as the Boiling Spring. Flowing much stronger
than the Blanche, it boils or bubbles at the centre, not from heat, but
because of the force with which the water is driven to the surface. The
temperature of the water is about 100° Fahrenheit. A circle of
sedimentary sand, three feet in diameter, is kept in constant motion
around the bubbling centre, and around this again spreads a wide circle
of perfectly clear water. Rushes fringe the water's edge, and the whole
is surrounded by a rim of whitish rock three feet wide. About once in
every half-hour the quickly settling sand so accumulates at the centre
as to choke back the ascending stream. Then to the observer a big thing
in bubbles heaves in sight; a low rumble is heard; a periodical
clearance has been effected, and the boiling spring boils bubblingly as
before.
The surrounding country is bleak and desolate--dreary in the extreme.
The average annual rainfall is about 7in. per annum.
* * * *
If one is not on the look-out, these mounds, in general appearance so
much alike, are apt to tantalise one. For my own part, moralising upon
nature's marvellous scheme of compensation, I found myself adrift. Yet,
pshaw! Bushed so soon--and a rail-track within three miles at most? It
was monstrous. Refused to consult my compass; and paid for my folly by
some few hours of hard labor.
A boggy little lake of salt water, its supply kept constant by one of
the mound springs, first intruded itself; and on rounding its northern
end I was amongst sandy undulations past which I could not see. Then a
wide but not gum-lined creek, the nearer bank low, and one point
occupied by half-a-dozen blacks' wurlies, like so many boats on end.
The further bank was high and steep; and climbing over this I marked a
course, which I judged would be due east, towards some bush-like objects
in the distance. But these objects proved to be a small mob of
wild-mannered cattle, which soon, racing towards me, pranced gaily
around with uplifted tails. It is not fair to ask a man to persist in a
due east course in such circumstances.
I grew fretful; looked at the time, the sun, and the shadows, but could
only make a guess at the east. The guess, however, happened to be
correct, and by evening I was in Coward, a township which consists
chiefly of a public-house and--an anomaly indeed!--an interesting bore.
The bore at the Coward is situated in the heart of the little township,
between the railway fences. The water wells up to the height of a dozen
or more feet above the surface, and, wide-spreading over the end of a
six-inch conducting pipe, feeds a tiny sparkling rivulet. This stream
runs for several chains, and finally gives back the water to the desert
ground.
* * * *
All these artesian waters are drinkable, but more or less brackish.
There, as at most of the other bores, blind fish come up out of the
artesian reservoirs--fish beyond a doubt, two or three inches long, but
exhibiting not even rudimentary eyes.
This total absence of eyes is a curious fact in natural history; in the
great dark caves of America the crayfish have eyes, though they are
sightless. So also elsewhere. But "eyes would be no use to them in the
blackness down under," the local cicerone says. Yet wherefore? Should
they not rather be provided with unusually good eyes?
(Happy thought: when all else fails I will come hither and inaugurate
the great Centralian Sardine industry.)
To the Blanche Springs and the Coward (a trifle over 500 miles) should
be an interesting holiday cycle-journey for Adelaideans. They could time
themselves to rail it back.
* * * *