already sore from the persistent attentions of swarming, irritating
flies. Dinner; and then still northwards.
The Coward track, speaking generally, proved bad. Sand, loose stones;
very rough, and ill defined. Terribly trying on the bicycle; but Diamond
is staunch. We are fast friends already; and in the oppressive silence I
find myself familiarly addressing the steel-ribbed skeleton with words
of comfort and encouragement.
By the time I arrived at some cottages (The Beresford or Strangways
Springs) it wanted only a couple of hours or so to sundown. Beyond
loomed up sandhills, continuing, according to local accounts, in "an
unbroken chain for fully five miles." As William Creek was my proposed
destination for the day--or, rather, night--I went on, after having
enjoyed the proverbial hospitality of another "travelling gang" of
navvies.
When the railway cuttings were being put through these rolling hills, it
was prophesied that in a very short time the loose sand would blow in
again, and that its removal would be a constant source of expense. But
by fencing off three chains or so on either side, cattle and horses were
prevented from cutting up the surface; herbage grew, and the sand now
shifts but little.
* * * *
Here snakes breed unmolested. I saw several as I dragged myself and
Diamond along. On coming to a particularly steep hill, I resolved to
keep on the railway metal, rather than go up. To my pleased surprise the
ballast was of the gravelly sort for a few hundred yards, and I was able
to mount and ride through the cutting between the rails.
Outside the cutting began a steep embankment, with a culvert so close to
me that I was just about to dismount and lead the machine across, when a
dark streak, stretching at right angles to the front wheel, filled my
eye.
It seemed to me in the shadow (the sun was low down in the horizon, and
out of sight behind the sandhills) that a rabbit had from the centre
kicked the loose pebbly material over the rails on either side; and not
till I was within a foot of the thing did I make it out to be what it
really was--a long snake.
I was too close to sprint. Of course I dared not stop. I had time only
to mechanically lift on high both feet before I was on and over it. The
next moment Diamond's front wheel struck one of the rails, and I was
toppling down the embankment.
I was scratched and bruised, my clothes were torn, and I felt (as no
doubt I was) pale. But on raising myself my first thought was for the
bicycle. It had remained behind. There it was, lying contentedly on the
side, with only the saddle and handle-bars showing over the embankment.
Another yard further, and we should both have been precipitated over the
culvert.
With what anxiety, with what eagerness, did I examine my companion! And
what blessings were poured upon it when it proved staunch still--save
that the handle-bars had turned a little in the socket. Not until I had
taken all this in did it occur to me that I could only limp myself.
Pitch dark now, and no hope of moving on. A little faint, too; yet with
no drop to drink. The need to camp; yet no shelter.
But I was callously weary, and without difficulty persuaded myself that
I really didn't much care: the morrow would see me somewhere else.
At present I judged we were somewhere about Irrappatana.
* * * *
We moved on at daybreak and reached William Creek before that depot was
astir. Depot! Alas, there was no bread here and no flour, and no corn in
William Creek! But at the "accommodation house" some dough was standing
to rise; it would not be baked, though, till mid-day. My supplications
prevailed, however; some of the dough was mixed up into an inedible
batter, and cooked with some chops.
Without delay we detoured to Anna Creek, a sheep station, which was
reached before noon. The proprietor's invitation to dinner was accepted;
for wherefore had I come to Anna Creek? I was ravenous. And the tea!
Strong, rich, milk-toned tea! A feast, a feast for the gods!
Such cups I had never seen. Cups which, once having been drunk from by a
famishing cyclist, would ever after figure in his happiest dreams. "Not
so very large," protested my liberal host, deprecatingly; "they each
hold only a quart." Yet I remember being asked "Try a little more tea?"
as the meal progressed, and--fancy having answered "Ah, thanks!"
* * * *
At the Anna Creek homestead interesting experiments in irrigation are
being carried out. Water is pumped by a windmill into tanks fixed on an
elevated platform over a well, and thence circulated through convenient
iron piping all round the dwelling house, and into the garden. Fruit
trees, grapes, melons, &c., are grown luxuriantly. An oasis in the
desert. A fore-runner, it may be, of great things.
The track was fairly good for a few miles, as it had also been on the
other side of Warrina; but soon it became bad again, and so continued
all the way to Mount Dutton. The wind, as usual, was also unfavorable.
* * * *
Towards Warrina (615 miles from Adelaide) there are some picturesque
spots along the creek, going northwards. Then the track again becomes
terribly stony--so demoniacally vile that, although I riskingly
"cantered" over much of it, saying fervently in my bitterness "Get thee
behind me," I nevertheless failed to reach Warrina that night.
Diamond was now little less than animate, and there really seemed need
of excuses to it for my rough manner of proceeding. It might be best for
both of us, in the long run, if it was severely tested before we left
the vicinity of our cheery friends, the iron rails, I remarked
propitiatingly; then fondly fed its bearings (of me and my fortunes
also, I reflected) with an extra drop of soothing neatsfoot oil.
We camped at some deserted huts, foodless, yet contented--thanks to Anna
Creek. And at 9.30 next morning the voucher book was signed at Warrina.
After leaving Warrina the track keeps close by the railway line; and a
ganger, who was starting out on his tricycle, obligingly offered to give
the bicycle and me a lift for a mile or two. This was my second and last
chance to avail myself of such a suggestion. Of course, in view of my
fixed determination, I again gratefully declined to act upon it.
At Algebuckina I said good-bye to the last of the "travelling gangs";
and a quarter of a mile on led Diamond over the high and otherwise
remarkable bridge which spans Neale's River--a bridge said to be the
longest in South Australia. Built of iron, 1900 ft. from end to end, in
nineteen spans of one hundred feet each.
Please don't write to say that the Murray Bridge is longer: it may be.
At Mount Dutton railway siding is a most excellently-finished ground
tank of fresh water. The road also from here to Wondellina is excellent.
(To this latter homestead I had been advised to now shape a course.)
Here at Wondellina are several natural springs of water, fresh as the
memory of the station manager's welcome; bountiful as his splendid
hospitality.
My intentions were well known now; and in view of that, and because of
the handsome treatment which I had latterly received on the strength of
the enterprise in which I was engaged, I felt that, no matter what
happened, I could not turn back now. So reflecting I rode to Oodnadatta,
tormented by the flies that by this time had almost blinded me. So it
was "Spell-oh!" for four or five days to court recovery.
* * * *
Oodnadatta, the (some-day-to-be) Transcontinental Railway Terminus, is
distant 688 miles from Adelaide. The township becomes visible, as a
speck on a vast plain, long before the traveller arrives at it. It
contains, besides a few dwelling houses, a fairly commodious hotel, two
general stores, a smithy, and a butcher's shop. The water from the
artesian bore, about half a mile out, is quite drinkable, and is said to
possess curative properties. A small creek is formed by the overflow,
wherein, as the water reaches the surface at a very high temperature, a
resident or visitor may indulge in a hot, tepid or cold bath at his
pleasure.
Some people have termed Oodnadatta "a howling wilderness." But to-day
the wilderness is hidden beneath a carpet of upspringing green.
Camels and Afghans are amongst its distinguishing features. Most of the
whites are horsey or camely men. I heard some swearing.
Blackfellows are numerous; some of them are employed to perform menial
duties at the houses in the township. Lubras make at the most two
garments (one covering the upper, the other the lower parts of the body)
suffice for a complete costume. There are always several wurlies and
camps of blacks in the vicinity. The employed blacks share their wages,
tobacco, old clothes, and tucker with the unemployed; the latter also
providing further for themselves as best they can.
* * * *
Caterpillars were plentiful. The blacks gather up tins full, and,
roasting them, evolve a very succulent dish. A small nut-like root,
found wherever grass was growing, was also greatly sought after. As
they walk along the lubras are continually stooping, or darting ahead or
aside to pick up something--lizards, caterpillars, seeds, roots,
eatables of various kinds, which they secrete or stow away in pouches,
pockets, or tin cans. The male nigger prefers to stay at home and keep
the fire alight.
From Oodnadatta northwards niggers are to be seen wherever white men
are, as well as at intermediate places.
The clothes worn by them become fewer by degrees if not beautifully less
the farther inland one proceeds.
I am told that the subject of their conversation, and that which causes
most of the laughter so common among them, is generally of a filthy
character and with an immoral tendency. One would fancy the poor animals
could find but little to laugh about in their miserable nomadic lives;
but they are so easily made to giggle that one is driven to the
conclusion that their natural humour is of the most elementary type.
* * * *
A council of the dusky ones called here to adjudicate upon my chances of
getting through to Darwin arrived at the following decision:--"Wild
blackfellow big one frightened. Him think it debble-debble an' run away
all right. One time 'nother one think it (the bicycle) debble-debble,
and throw it spear."
I had a look at some spears later on, and perceived how easily one of
them might be so driven in as to puncture a fellow's tyre.
* * * *
Most of the inhabitants seemed to rather pity my case. They were of
opinion I might, if determined succeed in reaching Alice Springs, in the
MacDonnell ranges--and there find myself cornered. The district doctor
(a gentleman well spoken of and respected by all) rather seriously
advised me: "Be careful. Think well before you venture beyond 'The
Alice.'"
But the time for thinking had passed; and I left Oodnadatta, though not
in the best of spirits, with my eyes still weak, and with very hazy
notions indeed of what there might be awaiting me in the country beyond.
* * * *
To Macumba the track, with the exception of a few miles of sand to
finish up with, is fair for cycling on--low stony tablelands and a few
small hills. The channel of the Alberga River is wide, sandy, and lined
with healthy-looking gum trees. Water is generally to be found in the
Stevenson River--another large gum-lined creek, on the northernmost bank
of which Macumba store is situated.
This place is only 38 miles from Oodnadatta, but I remained here an
afternoon and night, as there was prospect of gathering information as
to the route. An obliging teamster who knew the country well worked out
and presented me with a very useful map.
From here up everyone knows everybody else for hundreds of miles
around; and no one has a large circle of acquaintance, even then.
* * * *
In the neighbourhood of Macumba snakes and snake-tracks are much in
evidence. Between the Strangways sandhills and Alice Springs I rode over
at the very least half a dozen reptiles. Each one acted in a way
peculiar to its species or its mood, so that the traveller, not knowing
in any case what may happen next, has the spice of excitement added to
his journeyings. Yet no doubt one might pass through, and see no snakes
at all. For many months of the year they are in hiding. The weather and
the season must be propitious else they do not appear.
On leaving Macumba, continuing along by the Stevenson, sandy flats and
low sandhills were encountered as far as the Government well (The
Willow), 14 miles on. So also to the next well, Oolaballana (16 miles).
Then very rough stony tablelands again.
* * * *
After getting out of the sand at a point where a branch track turns off
to Dalhousie, I came upon one of that station's horse-teams. A midday
meal was being prepared. There were two strapping blackfellows and a
white boy whom I took to be 13 or 14 years of age. A wheat sack had been
laid upon the ground, and on it had been placed a damper, corned beef,
jam, knife and fork, and a pannikin. Saying "good-day" to the juvenile,
I sat myself beside him. The niggers, gaping open-mouthed at the
machine, were squatting in the shade of an adjacent tree. Three quart
pots were standing pressed in against the burning wood of a newly
lighted fire.
"Where's the boss?" I inquired after a few words.
The youth smiled. "I am the boss," he said, reaching an arm out towards
a small linen tea bag, then standing up to throw half a handful into
each quart pot. Cutting off a few slices from the damper, and sorting
out "black's favorite" pieces of meat, he gave a low short whistle--and
up marched the two sable attendants. To these he handed each his dole of
"tucker"; they received it in sober silence.
"You wantem more, you sing out," he added as, taking with them two of
the quart pots, they returned to their proper distance.
This custom of handing the blacks their allowance of food, or laying it
on the ground and whistling for them to come and take it, prevails all
through the country.
I admired this manly child's way exceedingly. In "bossing" them he spoke
very civilly to the niggers, in a quiet, cool, masterful manner. He
offered to load me up with bread and meat, but as I had resolved to
break myself in to going on short commons I would accept nothing more
than a couple of apples. The dray, I believe, had been down to
Oodnadatta.
* * * *
"It's rough to Blood's Creek. I don't think you'll get there to-night,"
were the youth's parting words.
And he was right. It was a sweltering hot afternoon. Progress was slow;
and at about 20 miles having to hurriedly dismount (for the hundredth
time), my left foot came on one of the large loose stones, and turned
under me. The jar so nearly put out the ankle joint that I was compelled
to camp right where the mishap occurred.
Stretching out my sheet of waterproofing I made myself as comfortable as
possible under the circumstances. Millions of flies; myriads of venomous
mosquitoes. Hungry as usual, and feeling that if I had only one good
long drink of water, hot, cold or lukewarm, I could die joyfully.
Waterproof sheeting is not conducive to good health especially if the
night be cold. Because of the heat from one's body condensation sets in,
with the result that the under side of the sheeting becomes a sheet of
water. This discovery I made for myself on arising next morning; turning
the waterproof over quickly, I greedily licked up, cat-like, all I could
of the precious dew.
* * * *
To Blood's Creek Government Bore (38 miles from last camping place),
sand ridges and very rough "gibber" country has to be cycled or walked
over; but on nearing the creek the track greatly improves.
Thus far, gidea and mulga have been the trees most often met with,
though the creeks have almost invariably been thickly lined with box and
gum.
* * * *
Camped with the contractors for the bore, and overhauled the bicycle,
though all the overhauling called for was the cleaning of the bearings.
This I did by squirting kerosene through the lubricating holes, tilting
the machine at a sharp angle, and revolving the wheels until the
searching fluid had completed its cleansing work.
When the wheels are nicely adjusted, and the chain is at just the proper
tension, and everything is running smoothly, it is a mistake to undo the
parts. A good chain properly adjusted should ask for but very few
attentions. I used to not take mine off, and only washed it occasionally
with soap and warm water--leaning the bicycle well over so that the
grease should not fall on the tyres. It worked best after a little
greasy residue had collected around the sprocket.
I tore apart and re-made the joint in the air tube of the tyre, as it
had started to leak slightly. Because of the hot sand and the heat
generally, the solution in the tube joints rots away, providing a source
of much annoyance, as such a leak is difficult to stop.
* * * *
It is 60 miles from Blood's Creek to Goyder's Well. The "going" is good
to Charlotte Waters; thence along the telegraph line for 14 miles
through heavy sand, next 6 miles of stony hills, followed by 6 miles of
good track over Boggy Flat, and, lastly, 4 miles of small sand-hills.
There is a better road to the west from the Charlotte, they say.
The Adminga is reached half-way between Blood's Creek and Charlotte
Waters. Hard by the crossing there is a beautiful little pond of clear,
cool rain-water--a deep, round hole sunk in the solid rock, with one
large leafy tree leaning out over it, and sheltering it from lapping
winds and sun alike.
* * * *
We are into the Northern Territory at last.
The Charlotte Waters telegraph station on the Transcontinental line (a
large galvanized iron structure, close by which stand many small sheds
and outhouses) is situated six miles across the border, on a slight
elevation on the north boundary of the stony tablelands. From there
horsemen coming from the south can be seen, with the aid of a telescope,
while yet they are at a distance of seven miles.
It is no uncommon thing here for the thermometer to register as high as
124deg. in the shade for several days together. The annual rainfall
averages about five inches. Many iron tanks, connected and standing at
one end of the building, are filled from the waterholes of an adjacent
creek in the rare times of plenty.
The voucher book was signed, and at once a start was made.
And then a rather unpleasant experience befel. I intended making for
Goyder Waters; a track, it had been said, could be easily followed, and
so I made but few inquiries. There was a cattle station 20 miles beyond
the Goyder--perhaps I could reach even that. It was a mistake, though,
to keep alongside the telegraph line--a sad mistake. For five or six
miles I struggled with my burden over loose sand-hills. Surely this was
not the passable track travellers had spoken of! The Macumba teamster's
sketch was consulted--why, I had not been on the track at any time since
leaving Charlotte Waters!
How far the sand stretched I did not know--as far as could be seen, at
any rate. A fierce sun tormented me from above and blistering sand from
beneath. The track must be found. I fought through the yielding sand,
now pushing and again shouldering and here and there riding my bicycle,
in a grim earnestness rarely experienced before. In those first
half-dozen miles I had been prodigal of a precious quart of water. Now I
was becoming parched beyond endurance.
Fourteen miles had been struggled over. The telegraph line had been long
since lost. Was even this the track?
And Goyder Waters! What did I know of Goyder Waters? It dawned upon me
now that I did not know whether to look for a rock-hole, a soakage, or a
creek.
Now rough, hilly country interposes. It is still hard work, and the
night is nearing. My thighs ache, and my tongue cleaves to my mouth. Yet
on, doggedly on--it is the only hope.
A well! How we race towards it. No--a maddening mockery; it is a
fenced-in grave!
Did he die?--
But it is dangerous to think. On, on!
At length, in the deepening haze of the twilight, the real well is seen.
At such a moment one forgets the teachings of experience. I threw myself
down, and drank, and drank.
* * * *
And so, though saved, made another stinging lash for my aching back. For
I drank and drank until I found myself seized with the most dreadful
cramps I have ever had the satisfaction of getting the better of. On
trying to rise I was, somewhat to my amusement, unable to do so, as
during the tussle one of my bootlaces had become entangled with the
hooks of the other, and the recurring cramps would not allow me to reach
down to undo it. So I had willy-nilly to lay quiet where I had fallen,
ignominiously hobbled and _hors de combat_.
It would not be particularly difficult for one who does not know the
country to perish hereabouts. Just take the wrong turning, or meet with
a disabling accident, or lose the indistinct track, and in one single
hot day the business may be done. Solitary graves are plentiful. When a
man gets the bad taste in his mouth, and fancies he hears water flowing
ripplingly over gravelly beds, he realizes how very simple a matter the
perishing may be.
Towards the end a cyclist would leave his bicycle (now become a burden
to him) while he staggered over to search what, from the distance,
seemed a likely-looking place for water; and on coming back he would be
lucky indeed if he could find again his silent steed. This second search
would not be prosecuted coolly: madness would then quickly overtake the
distracted seeker; he might drink from and bathe in imaginary streams,
throw off his clothes to let the surging waters touch and cool his
parched skin, but ever uppermost in his distorted fancies would be some
form of his elusive bicycle.
* * * *
Crown Point, 20 miles from The Goyder; much sand, but a well-defined
track. The last five miles fair for cycling on; but for nearly a mile
along the bed of the Finke River (approaching Crown Point cattle
station) is a terribly heavy white sand bed.
After my previous day's experiences in the sand I succeeded in crawling
thus far before the next sundown, and remained for the whole of another
day before proceeding onwards. At the Crown Point station I fed, I fear,
like a wolf.
How soon the drooping spirits revive! I set out for Horseshoe Bend
hopefully, even gaily.
Crown Point station is so named because of its propinquity to a hill
about 350 feet high, of sugar-loaf shape, surmounted by something not
unlike a crown.
West of this crowned point is a long, low, stony and unused saddle; then
again a hill of about the same height as the Crown and of similar
strata--white and brown desert sandstone. Apparently the formations were
one in times long past.
The Finke channel passes to the east of both Crown Hill and station. The
river here is thickly fringed with giant gums, which grow for some
hundreds of feet in from the bank proper. Swamp gums, box trees, and
acacias are plentiful also further out. In width it varies from a
quarter to three-quarters of a mile. In times of drought famished horses
have been known to paw down and down into the loose sand in the bed,
searching for soakage water, until they have made graves for themselves.
Around Crown Point the cyclist need not look for thorns. He will find
them without a search.
A marsupial mole (which some of the blacks named for me "el-comita,"
others "qu-monpita") may also be found here. The species is unique. It
puts in an appearance after rain; at other times it burrows in the sand,
and vanishes.
* * * *
Down from the cattle ranche by the river's bed, there are generally
gathered a large number of natives, of the Larapinta or Arunto tribe. In
the main camp many small tires burn, around which humble hearths the
various families find already fashioned their unostentatious and
separate homes. They sleep huddled up with the family dogs, close by the
fires, but without a vestige of covering or shelter except their scanty
every-day attire.
They appear to be quite happy, and are presented with cancerous
bullocks now and then from travelling mobs, and others.