CHAPTER IX.

FLOOD'S QUICK SIGHT--FOREST FULL OF BIRDS--NATIVE WELL--BIRDS COLLECT TO

DRINK--DANGEROUS PLAIN--FLOOD'S HORSE LOST--SCARCITY OF WATER--TURN

NORTHWARD--DISCOVER A LARGE CREEK--BRIGHT PROSPECTS--SUDDEN

DISAPPOINTMENT--SALT LAGOON--SCARCITY OF WATER--SALT WATER

CREEK--CHARACTER OF THE INTERIOR--FORCED TO TURN BACK--RISK OF

ADVANCING--THE FURTHEST NORTH--RETURN TO AND EXAMINATION OF THE

CREEK--PROCEED TO THE WESTWARD--DREADFUL COUNTRY--JOURNEY TO THE

NORTH--AGAIN FORCED TO RETURN--NATIVES--STATION ON THE CREEK--CONCLUDING

REMARKS.

Reflecting on the singular character of the country below me, as I stood

on the pointed termination of the ridge the party had just ascended, I

could not but think how fortunate it was we had not found it in a wet

state, for in such a case to cross it would have been impossible. I felt

assured indeed, from the moment we set foot on it, that in the event of

rain, while we should be in the more distant interior, return would be

altogether impracticable, but we had neither time to pause on, or provide

against, the consequences of any heavy fall that might have set in. I do

not think that this flashed across the minds of any of the party

excepting my own, who would not have been justified in leading men

forward as I was doing, without weighing every probable chance of

difficulty or success.

As the line of the sand ridges was nearly parallel to that of our course,

we descended to a polygonum flat, and keeping the ridge upon our left,

proceeded on a bearing of 342 degrees, or on a N.N.W. course, up a kind

of valley. Whilst thus riding leisurely along, Flood, whose eyes were

always about him, noticed something dark moving in the bushes, to which

he called our attention. It was a dark object, and was then perfectly

stationary; as Flood however insisted that he saw it move, Mr. Browne

went forward to ascertain what it could be, when a native woman jumped up

and ran away. She had squatted down and put a large trough before her,

the more effectually to conceal her person, and must have been astonished

at the quickness of our sight in discovering her. We were much amused at

the figure she cut, but as she exhibited great alarm Mr. Browne refrained

from following her; after getting to some distance she turned round to

look at us, and then walked off at a more leisurely pace. At the distance

of about four miles, the sandy ridge made a short turn, and we were

obliged to cross over to the opposite side to preserve our course. On

gaining the top of the ridge, we saw an open box-tree forest, and a small

column of smoke rising up from amongst the trees, towards which we

silently bent our steps. Our approach had however been noticed by the

natives, who no doubt were at the place not a minute before, but had now

fled. We then pushed on through the forest, the ground beneath our

horses' feet being destitute of vegetation, and the soil composed of a

whitish clay, so peculiar to the flooded lands of the interior. The

farther we entered the depths of the forest, the more did the notes of

birds assail our ears. Cockatoos, parrots, calodera, pigeons, crows,

etc., all made that solitude ring with their wild notes, and as (with the

exception of the ducks on the southern side of the Stony Desert) we had

not seen any of the feathered race for many days, we were now astonished

at their numbers and variety. About an hour before sunset we arrived on

the banks of a large creek, with a bed of couch grass, but no water. The

appearance of this creek, however, was so promising that we momentarily

expected to see a pond glittering before us, but rode on until sunset ere

we arrived at a place which had attracted our attention as we approached

it. Somewhat to the right, but in the bed of the creek, there were two

magnificent trees, the forest still extending back on either side.

Beneath these trees there was a large mound of earth, that appeared to

have been thrown up. On reaching the spot we discovered a well of very

unusual dimensions, and as there was water in it, we halted for the

night.

On a closer examination of the locality, this well appeared to be of

great value to the inhabitants. It was 22 feet deep and 8 feet broad at

the top. There was a landing place, but no steps down to it, and a recess

had been made to hold the water, which was slightly brackish, the rim of

the basin being also incrusted with salt. Paths led from this spot to

almost every point of the compass, and in walking along one to the left,

I came on a village consisting of nineteen huts, but there were not any

signs of recent occupation. Troughs and stones for grinding seed were

lying about, with broken spears and shields, but it was evident that the

inhabitants were now dispersed in other places, and only assembled here

to collect the box-tree seeds, for small boughs of that tree were lying

in heaps on the ground, and the trees themselves bore the marks of having

been stripped. There were two or three huts in the village of large size,

to each of which two smaller ones were attached, opening into its main

apartment, but none of them had been left in such order as those I have

already described.

It being the hour of sunset when we reached the well, the trees were

crowded with birds of all kinds coming for water, and the reader may

judge of the straits to which they were driven, when he learns that they

dived down into so dark a chamber to procure the life-sustaining element

it contained. The wildest birds of the forest were here obliged to yield

to the wants of nature at any risk, but notwithstanding, they were

exceedingly wary; and we shot only a few cockatoos. The fact of there

being so large a well at this point, (a work that must have required the

united labour of a powerful tribe to complete), assured us that this

distant part of the interior, however useless and forbidding to civilized

man, was not without inhabitants, but at the same time it plainly

indicated, that water must be scarce. Indeed, considering that the birds

of the forest had powers of flight to go where they would, I could not

but regard it as a most unfavourable sign, that so many had collected

here. Had this well contained a sufficiency of water, it would have been

of the utmost value to us, but there was not more than enough for our

wants, so that, although I should gladly have halted for a day, as our

horses were both ill and tired, necessity obliged me to continue my

journey, and accordingly on the 29th we resumed our progress into the

interior on our original course. At about a mile we broke through the

forest, and entered an open earthy plain, such as I believe man never

before crossed. Subject to be laid under water by the creek we had just

left, and to the effects of an almost vertical sun, its surface was

absolutely so rent and torn by solar heat, that there was scarcely room

for the horses to tread, and they kept constantly slipping their hind

feet into chasms from eight to ten feet deep, into which the earth fell

with a hollow rumbling sound, as if into a grave. The poor horse in the

cart had a sad task, and it surprised me, how we all at length got safely

over the plain, which was between five and six miles in breadth, but we

managed it, and at that distance found ourselves on the banks of another

creek, in the bed of which there was plenty of grass but no water. I was

however exceedingly anxious to give the horses a day's rest; for several

of them were seriously griped, and had either taken something that

disagreed with them, or were beginning to suffer from constant work and

irregularity of food. Mr. Browne too was unwell and Lewis complaining, so

that it was advisable to indulge ourselves if possible. I therefore

determined to trace the creek downwards, in the hope of finding water,

and at a mile came upon a shallow pond where I gladly halted, for by this

time several of the horses had swollen to a great size, and were

evidently in much pain.

After arranging the little bivouac our attention was turned to the

horses, and Mr. Browne found it necessary to bleed Flood's horse, to

allay the inflammatory symptoms that were upon him. Still however he got

worse, and no remedy we had in our power to apply seemed to do him good.

The poor animal threw himself down violently on the ground, and bruised

himself all over, so that we were obliged to fasten him up, but as there

appeared to be no fear of his wandering, at sunset he was allowed to be

loose. He remained near me for the greater part of the night, and was

last seen close to where I was lying, but in the morning was no where to

be found, and although we searched for a whole day, and made extensive

sweeps to get on his track we never saw him more, and concluded he had

died under some bush. This was the horse we recovered on the Murray, the

same that had escaped from the government paddock in Adelaide. The other

animals had in some measure recovered, and the additional day of rest

they got while we were searching for Flood's horse, enabled me to resume

my journey on the last day of August. Our course being one of 335 degrees

to the west of north, or nearly N.N.W., and that of the sandy ridges

being 340 degrees we necessarily crossed them at a very acute angle, and

the horses suffered a good deal. In the afternoon we travelled over large

bare plains, of a most difficult and distressing kind, the ground

absolutely yawning underneath us, perfectly destitute of vegetation, and

denuded of timber, excepting here and there, where a stunted box-tree was

to be seen. While on the sand hills, the general covering of which was

spinifex, there were a few hakea and low shrubs. On such ground as that

whereon we were travelling, it would have been hopeless to look for

water, nevertheless our search was constant, but we were obliged to halt

without having found any, and to make ourselves as comfortable as we

could. All the surface water left by the July rain had entirely

disappeared, and what now remained even in the creeks was muddy and

thick. It was indeed at the best most disgusting beverage, nor would

boiling cause any great sediment. Every here and there, as we travelled

along, we passed some holes scooped out by the natives to catch rain, and

in some of these there was still a muddy residuum; we moreover observed

that the inhabitants of this desert made these holes in places the best

adapted to their purpose, where if the slightest shower occurred, the

water falling on hard clay would necessarily run into them.

The circumstances under which we halted in the evening of the 31st of

August were very embarrassing. It was evident that the country into which

we were now advancing, was drier and more difficult than the country we

had left behind. It was impossible, indeed, to hope that the animals

would get on, if it should continue as we had found it thus far. There

were numerous high ridges of sand to the westward, in addition to those

on the plains, and so full of holes and chasms were the latter, that the

horses would soon have been placed hors de combat, if they had continued

to traverse them. Moreover, I could not but foresee that unless I used

great precaution our retreat would be infallibly cut off. Whatever water

we had passed, since the morning we commenced our journey over the Stony

Desert, was not to be depended upon for more than four or five days, and

although we might reckon with some certainty on the native well in the

box-tree forest, the supply it had yielded was so very small that we

could not expect to obtain more from it than would suffice ourselves and

one or two of the horses. Taking all these matters into consideration, I

determined on once more turning to the north for a day or two, in order

that by keeping along the flats, close under the ridges, I might get

firmer travelling for the cart, and in the expectation, that we should be

more likely to find water in thus doing, than by crossing the succession

of ridges. Accordingly, on the 1st of September, we started on a course

of 6 degrees to the west of north, or a N. 1/2 W. course, that allowing

for variation, being within 1 1/2 points of a due north course. On this

we went up the flat where we had slept. By keeping close to the ridges we

found, as I had anticipated, firmer ground, though the centre of the flat

was still of the worst description. There were a few small box-trees to

be seen as we passed along, but scarcely any minor vegetation. At about

nine miles we were attracted by the green appearance of some low

polygonum bushes, to which we went, and under them found two small

puddles of water, that we might easily have passed. They must have been

three feet deep after the rains, but were now barely five inches, and

about the size of a loo table. However, we had no choice, and as the

horse had suffered so much from the rickety motion of the cart, caused by

the inequalities of the ground, and there was a silky kind of grass

growing sparingly around, I stopped here for the rest of the day to

effect necessary repairs. When, however, we came to examine the wheels,

we found that so many of the spokes were shivered and had shrunk, that

Lewis got on but slowly, renewing only such as were found absolutely

useless; we were consequently detained at this point another day, but on

the 3rd resumed our journey up the flat, and at two miles crossed a small

sandy ridge into the opposite flat, and at five miles stopped at a second

ridge of some height for Lewis and Joseph, who were a good way behind

with the cart. On coming up, they informed us that they had fallen in

with a tribe of natives, twelve in number, shortly after starting, and

had remained some time with them. They were at a dirty puddle, such as we

had left, and were at no great distance from our little bivouac. Joseph

good-naturedly gave one of them his knife, but he could not understand a

word they said.

After crossing the sand ridge, we kept on the edge of the flats, as I

have said, for the sake of the horses. The ridges had now become very

long, and varied in breadth from a few hundred yards to a mile. Box-trees

were scattered over them, and, although generally bare, they were not

altogether destitute of grass or herbage; the ridges of sand, on the

contrary, still continued unbroken, and several were covered with

spinifex; but on the whole the country appeared to be improving, and the

fall of waters being decidedly somewhat to the eastward of south, or

towards the Stony Desert, I entertained hopes that we had crossed the

lowest part of the interior, and reached the southerly drainage. We were

again fortunate in coming on another pond at 20 miles, where we halted,

the country round about us wearing an improved appearance. Still our

situation was very precarious, and we were risking a great deal by thus

pushing forward, for although I call the hollows (in which we found the

water) ponds, they were strictly speaking the dregs only of what had been

such, and were thick, black, and muddy; but the present aspect of the

country led us to hope for a favourable change, and on the morning of the

4th we still held our northerly course up the flat, on which we had

travelled the greater part of the day before. As we advanced, it became

more open and grassy, and at three miles we found a small supply of very

tolerable water in the bed of a shallow watercourse. We had ridden about

ten miles from the place where we had slept, and Mr. Browne and I were

talking together, when Flood, who was some little distance a-head, held

up his hat and called out to us. We were quite sure from this

circumstance that he had seen something unusual, and on riding up were

astonished at finding ourselves on the banks of a beautiful creek, the

bed of which was full both of water and grass. The bank on our side was

twenty feet high, and shelved too rapidly to admit of our taking the

horses down, but the opposite bank was comparatively low.

Immediately within view were two large sheets of water around the margin

of which reeds were growing, but nevertheless these ponds were

exceedingly shallow. The direction of this fine watercourse was N. by W.

and S. by E., coming from the first and falling to the last point, thus

enabling us to trace it up without changing our own. A little above where

we intersected its channel two small tributaries join it, or, I am more

inclined to think, two small branches go from it; for we had apparently

been rising as we came up the valley, but more especially as the

direction from which they appeared to come (the S.W.), was almost

opposite to the course of the creek itself. On proceeding upwards we

observed that there were considerable intervals, along which the channel

of the creek was dry; but where such was the case, it was abundantly

covered with couch grass, of which the horses were exceedingly fond. We

passed several sheets of water, however, some of which had a depth of two

feet, although the greater number were shallow. After following it for

ten miles, we halted with brighter prospects, and under more cheering

circumstances than we had any right to anticipate; but, although the

creek promised so well, the valley on either side of it was more than

usually barren and scrubby, and was bounded in, as usual, by high ridges

of sand, that still continued to head us in unbroken lines, and were the

most prominent and prevailing feature of the interior; and although we

were now within two degrees of the Tropics, our latitude at this point

being 25 degrees 34 minutes 19 seconds, we had not as yet observed the

slightest change in the vegetation, or anything to intimate our approach

to a tropical country.

On the 5th we started on a course of 340 degrees, the upward course of

the creek. At two miles it turned to the N. E, but soon came round again

to N.W., and afterwards kept a general course of 10 degrees to the west

of north. Its channel gradually contracted as we advanced, and the

polygonum grew to the size of a very large bush upon its banks. At nine

miles we arrived at a creek junction from the S.W. and traced it over

grassy plains, on which some Bauhimia were growing, but finding that it

took its rise in a kind of marsh occupying the centre of the plain into

which it had led us, we turned away to the main creek. The country now

became more open, and tertiary limestone shewed itself on the plains, and

at a short distance from the creek a vein of milky quartz cropped out

near a pretty sheet of water. As we proceeded upwards sandstone traversed

its bed in several places; in some degree contracting its channel. A

short time before we halted we passed a very large and long sheet of

water, on which there were a good many wild fowl, so very shy, that

although the brush grew close to the banks of the creek, so as to favour

our creeping upon them, we could not shoot any.

Notwithstanding that the creek had thus changed its appearance from what

it was where we first came upon it (its waters being muddy with less

grass in its channel), we had no reason to suppose that it would

disappoint our hopes; we therefore resumed our journey on the morning of

the 6th, without any idea that we should meet with any check in the

course of the day. As the immediate neighbourhood of this creek had

become scrubby, we kept wide of it and travelled for 12 miles, on a

bearing of 340, over flats destitute of all manner of vegetation, but

thinly scattered over with the box, acacia and the Bauhimia. These flats

were still bounded on either side by high sandy ridges, covered with

spinifex, excepting on their summits, which were perfectly bare. The view

from them both to the eastward and westward was, as it were, over a sandy

sea; ridge after ridge succeeding each other as far as the eye could

stretch the vision. To the north the flat appeared to terminate at a low

sand hill bearing 335 degrees or N.N.W. 1/2 W.

When we again came on the creek, there was an abundance both of water and

grass in its bed, but just above, the channel suddenly turned to the N.E.

and in again keeping wide of it to avoid the inequalities of the ground,

we arrived at the little sand hill that had previously bounded our view,

and on ascending it, found that immediately beneath us, there was a clear

small lake, covered with wild fowl. The colour of the water immediately

betrayed its quality, and we found on tasting that it was too salt to

drink. An extensive grassy flat extended to the westward of the lake,

bounded by box-trees, and the channel of the creek still held its course

to the N.E. I could not therefore but suppose, that this was a junction

from that point, and therefore determined on passing to the opposite

side, in anticipation that I should again come on our old friend amidst

the trees. We accordingly crossed at the bottom of the little lake, and

in so doing found amidst the other herbage two withered stalks of millet.

The grassy woodland continued for several miles, and as it was evidently

subject to flood, we were in momentary expectation of seeing a denser

mass of foliage before us, as indicating the course of the creek, but we

suddenly debouched upon open plains, bounded by distant sand hills. There

was not now a tree to be seen, but samphire bushes were mixed with the

polygonum growing round about; as the changes however in this singular

and anomalous region had been so sudden and instantaneous, I still held

on my course, but the farther I advanced into the plains the more did the

ground betray a salt formation.

We halted an hour after sunset, under a sand hill about 16 miles distant

from the creek, without having succeeded in our search for water, for

although we passed several muddy pools at which the birds still continued

to drink they were too thick for our animals.

The prospect from the top of the sand hill under which we had formed our

bivouac, was the most cheerless and I may add the most forbidding of any

that our eyes had wandered over, during this long and anxious journey. To

the west and north-west there were lines of heavy sand ridges, so steep

and rugged as to deter me from any attempt to cross them with my jaded

horses. To the north and north-east a dark green plain covered with

samphire bushes (amidst which the dry beds of small salt lagoons, as

white as snow, formed a singular and striking contrast) was to be seen

extending for about eight miles. This plain was bounded by distant hills,

the bright red tops of which gleamed, even in the twilight. I was here

really puzzled what course to pursue, one only indeed was open to me--the

north--unless I should determine to fall back on the creek; but I thought

it better to advance, in the hope of being able to maintain my ground,

and with the intention of halting for a few days at the first favourable

point at which we should arrive, for my mind was filled with anxiety. It

had pained me for some time, to see Mr. Browne daily suffering more and

more, and although he continued to render me the most valuable

assistance, a gloom hung over him; he seldom spoke, his hands were

constantly behind him, pressing or supporting his back, and he appeared

unfit to ride. My men were also beginning to feel the effects of constant

exposure, of ceaseless journeying, and of poverty of food, for all we had

was 5 lbs. of flour and 2 oz. of tea per week; it is true we occasionally

shot a pigeon or a duck, but the wildness of the birds of all kinds was

perfectly unaccountable. The horses living chiefly on pulpy vegetation

had little stamina, and were incapable of enduring much privation or

hardship. No rain had fallen since July, nor was there any present

indication of a change. Much as I desired it, I yet dreaded having to

traverse such a country as that into which I was now about to plunge, in

a wet state. With a soil of stiff tenacious clay, already soft from the

moisture produced by the mixture of salt in it, I foresaw that in the

event of heavy rain, I should be involved in almost inextricable

difficulties, but there was no alternative.

On the morning of the 7th I sent Mr. Browne to the westward, to ascertain

the nature of the country, and if by any chance he could again find the

creek, and in case I had inadvertently mistaken the real creek for a

tributary, I myself pushed on to the north, in the hope of intersecting

it. Mr. Browne had not, however, been absent more than three-quarters of

an hour, when he returned to inform me that he had been stopped by a salt

creek, coming direct from the north, the bed of which was too soft for

him to cross. He said that its channel was white as snow, and that every

reed and blade of grass on its banks, was encrusted with salt. Under an

impression that as long as I should continue in the neighbourhood of, and

on a course nearly parallel to this creek, I could not hope for any

favourable change, I decided on crossing it, and with that view turned to

the west; but finding the bed of the creek still too soft to admit of our

doing so, I traced it upwards to the north, along a sandy ridge.

As Mr. Browne had informed me, its channel was glittering white, and

thickly encrusted with salt, nor was there any water visible, but on

going down to examine it in several places where the salt had the

appearance of broken and rotten ice, we found that there were deep pools

of perfect brine underneath, on which the salt floated, to the thickness

of three or four inches. The marks of flood on the side of the sand hill

shewed a rise of 12 feet above its ordinary level. At about a mile and a

half we descended the sand hill on which we had previously kept, and

ascended another, when we saw the basin of the creek immediately below

us, but quite dry, and surrounded by sand hills. Crossing just below it,

we proceeded on a course of 331 degrees over extensive plains, covered

with samphire, excepting where the beds of dry salt lagoons occurred. The

ground was spongy and soft, and the cart wheels consequently sank deep

into it. The plain was surrounded on all sides by sand hills, and that

towards which we were advancing appeared to run athwart our course

instead of nearly parallel to it as heretofore. On gaining the summit, we

found that other ridges extended from it in parallel lines, the ridge on

which we stood forming the head of the respective valleys. A line of

acacia, a species we had never found near water, was growing down the

centre of each, and the fall of the country seemed again to be to the

N.N.W.

Pushing down one of the valleys, the descent of which was very gradual,

and keeping on such clear ground as there was, the ridges rose higher and

higher on either side of us as we advanced, all grass and other

vegetation disappeared, and at length both valley and sand ridge became

thickly coated with spinifex.

At noon I halted, in the hope of obtaining a meridian altitude, but was

disappointed, as also at night, the sky continuing obscured. At half-past

two I pulled up, to consider whether or not it would be prudent to push

on any farther. I calculated that we were now 34 miles from the creek,

our only place of refuge. The horses had not tasted water from the early

part of the day before, and we could not reasonably expect to get back to

the salt lagoon under a day and a half. Our poor animals were not in a

condition to endure much fatigue, although by going on steadily we had

managed to get over a good deal of ground. It is, however, probable that

I should not have had much consideration for them on this occasion, if

other matters had not weighed on my mind and influenced my decision. My

men were all three unwell, and had been so for some days prior to this,

and Mr. Browne's sufferings were such that I hesitated subjecting him to

exertions greater than those he was necessarily obliged to submit to, and

by which I felt assured he would ultimately be overcome. The treacherous

character of the disease by which he had been attacked was well

understood. I had no hope of any improvement in his condition until such

time as he could procure change of food. So far from this I dreaded every

day that he might be laid prostrate as Mr. Poole had been, that I should

have to carry him about in a state of helplessness, and that he would

ultimately sink as his unfortunate companion had done. Had other

considerations, therefore, not influenced me, I could not make up my mind

to persevere, and see my only remaining companion perish at my side, and

that, too, under the most trying, I had almost said the most appalling

circumstances, for no one who has not seen the scurvy in its worst

character can form an idea of it. I could not run the risk of being

obliged to lay and leave one, in that gloomy desert, whose attention and

kindness to me had been uniform, and whose life I knew was valuable to

very many. The time has now passed, and I thank God that Mr. Browne, who

embarked in this expedition in reliance on my discretion, is now restored

to health and strength; but although he has regained his elasticity of

spirits, and would, I have no doubt, again encounter even the same risks,

he will yet remember Central Australia, and all that both of us there

suffered.

The question for me however was, how far I should be justified in pushing

forward under the almost certainty of inextricable embarrassment. I was

now within reach of water, but another fifteen miles would have put it

out of my reach; and though I felt I had the power, I did not see the

advantage of perseverance, with so many difficulties staring me in the

face. Our distance from the creek may appear to be short; but it will be

borne in mind that our horses had now been more than a year living upon

dry grass and salsolaceous plants; that from the time of our leaving the

Depot, they had been ridden from sunrise to sunset; and that at night

they had been tethered and confined to a certain range, within which

there was not sufficient for them to eat. They had already been too long

without water or food, and therefore that which would have been a

trifling journey to them under ordinary circumstances, under existing

ones was beyond their strength. Nevertheless, though thus convincing my

understanding, I felt that it required greater moral firmness to

determine me to retrace my steps than to proceed onwards.

Regarding our situation in its most favourable point of view, my

advancing would have been attended with extreme risk. If I had advanced,

and had found water, all would have been well for the time at least--if

not, the extent of our misfortunes would only have been tested by their

results. The first would have been the certain loss of all our horses,

and I know not if one of us would ever have returned to the Depot, then

more than 400 miles distant, to tell the fate of his companions to those

we had left there. On mature deliberation then, I resolved to fall back

on the creek, and as my progress was arrested in this direction, to make

that the centre of my movements, in trying every other point where I

thought there might be a chance of success.

I saw clearly indeed that there was no help for this measure. We had

penetrated to a point at which water and feed had both failed. Spinifex

and a new species of mesembryanthemum, with light pink flowers on a

slender stalk, were the only plants growing in that wilderness, if I

except a few withered acacia trees about four feet high. The spinifex was

close and matted, and the horses were obliged to lift their feet straight

up to avoid its sharp points. From the summit of a sandy undulation close

upon our right, we saw that the ridges extended northwards in parallel

lines beyond the range of vision, and appeared as if interminable. To the

eastward and westward they succeeded each other like the waves of the

sea. The sand was of a deep red colour, and a bright narrow line of it

marked the top of each ridge, amidst the sickly pink and glaucous

coloured vegetation around. I fear I have already wearied the reader by a

description of such scenes, but he may form some idea of the one now

placed before him, when I state, that, familiar as we had been to such,

my companion involuntarily uttered an exclamation of amazement when he

first glanced his eye over it. "Good Heavens," said he, "did ever man see

such country!" Indeed, if it was not so gloomy, it was more difficult

than the Stony Desert itself; yet I turned from it with a feeling of

bitter disappointment. I was at that moment scarcely a degree from the

Tropic, and within 150 miles of the centre of the continent. If I had

gained that spot my task would have been performed, my most earnest wish

would have been gratified, but for some wise purpose this was denied to

me; yet I may truly say, that I should not thus have abandoned my

position, if it had not been a measure of urgent and imperative

necessity.

After what I have said, the feelings with which, on the morning of the

8th, we unloosed our horses from the bushes, to which they had all night

been fastened, will easily be imagined. Just as we were about to mount, a

flight of crested parroquets on rapid wing and with loud shriek flew over

us, coming directly from the north, and making for the creek to which we

were going--it was a singular occurrence just at that moment, and so I

regarded it, for I had well nigh turned again. It proved, however, that

to the very last, we had followed the line of migration with unerring

precision. What would I not have given for the powers of those swift

wanderers of the air? But as it was I knew not how long they had been on

the wing, or how far it was to the spot where they had last rested.

We passed the salt lagoon about 10 a.m. of the 9th, and stopped at a

shallow but fresh water pond, a little below it, no less thankful than

our exhausted animals that we were relieved from want, and the anxiety

attendant on the last few days. On passing the lagoon we saw two natives

digging for roots, but did not disturb them. In the afternoon, however,

Joseph and Lewis saw twenty, who exhibited some unfriendly symptoms, and

would not allow them to approach. They were not armed, but carried red

bags. The food of the natives here, as in other parts of the interior,

appeared to be seeds of various kinds. They had even been amongst the

spinifex gathering the seed of the mesembryanthemum, of which they must

obtain an abundant harvest. The weather, a little before this time, had

been very cold, but was now getting warmer every day. As we had been

advancing northwards towards the Tropics, I was not surprised at this.

The sky also was clear, generally speaking, but we had observed for the

last two or three months that it was invariably more cloudy at the full

of the moon than at any other period.

As our recent journey proved that in going to the westward on the 5th

inst., we had wandered from the creek, and that instead of holding on in

that direction, it had changed its course considerably to the eastward of

north, I determined, after we should all have had a day of rest, to trace

the channel upwards, in order to satisfy myself as to what became of it.

On the 10th, therefore, Mr. Browne and myself with Flood, mounted our

horses, with the intention of tracing it up until we should have

ascertained to what point it led. We passed through some very pretty

scenery in the proximity of the lagoon where it was lightly wooded, with

an abundance of grass; and I could not help reflecting with how much more

buoyant and pleasurable feelings we should have explored such a country,

when compared with the monotonous and sterile region we had wandered

over. The transition however from the rich to the barren, from the

picturesque to the contrary, was instantaneous. From the grassy woodland

we had been riding through, we debouched upon a barren plain without any

vegetation, and after crossing a small channel, intersected a second much

larger, a little beyond it. Both creeks evidently traversed different

parts of a large plain to the north, to which they had no apparent inlet.

There was a long tongue of sand, rather elevated, and running up into the

plain, to the termination of which we rode, and then found ourselves, as

it were, in the centre of an area, that was of great extent, and appeared

to be bounded on all sides, excepting that by which we had entered, by

sand hills. Unconnected lines of trees marked the courses of the channels

traversing it in different directions, but as the evening had far

advanced, and my object had been rather to look round about me than to

make any lengthened excursion, we returned to our little bivouac, with

the intention of devoting another day to the fuller examination of the

neighbourhood.

On the following day I proceeded with the whole party to the westward,

anticipating that the salt formation existing to the north-west was

merely local, and that by thus turning a few degrees from the course on

which we had before gone, we should altogether avoid it. I should not,

however, have taken Joseph and Lewis with the cart, if I had not been

somewhat apprehensive that the natives might visit the camp during my

absence, and some misunderstanding be the consequence; for as we had

hitherto found the country to the westward worse than at any other point,

I was after all doubtful how far I should be able to push on.

We left the creek on a W. by N. course, the direction of the sandy ridges

being to the N.N.W., so that we were obliged to cross them successively.

I soon found that the country was infinitely worse than I expected. We

had scarcely passed a kind of marsh at some little distance from the

creek, when we once more crossed salty valleys, between high sandy

ridges. The wind blowing fresh from the south, peppered us with showers

of sand as we ascended the last, and carried the salt in the valleys like

drifting snow from one end of them to the other, filling our eyes and

entering the pores of the skin, so as to cause us much annoyance. Before

noon we had crossed eighteen of these sandy undulations, and were on the

top of another, having fairly tired the horses in the ascent, and I

consequently pulled up, to wait for the cart, but the heavy nature of the

country had so shaken it, that the men were obliged to stop; and on

examining the spokes of the wheels, I really wondered how they could have

got on so far, and expected that in another half mile every one of them

would be shaken out, and the cart itself fall to the ground. The spokes

had shrunk to such a degree that they did not hold in the felloes and

axles by more than two or three 10ths of an inch. I felt it necessary

therefore to turn back to the creek, to get new spokes of such wood as we

could procure, there not being a tree of any kind visible near us; but it

was late ere we got back to water, and once more took up our position on

the same ground we had quitted in the morning. The country we had passed

was certainly such as to deter me from making a second attempt in the

same quarter, and to confirm my impression that from some cause or other

the interior to the westward was worse than anywhere else. Lewis, the

moment we got back to the creek, set to work in good earnest, with

Joseph's assistance, to repair the cart, but it necessarily delayed us

longer than prudence would have allowed; in the meantime, however, we

were at least deriving benefit from rest.

On mature consideration, I thought the quarter in which we should have

most chance of success would be a course a little to the east of north,

for the day Mr. Browne and I rode up the creek it appeared to me that the

country was more open in that direction. I thought it better, however, to

make for the sandy tongue of land in the centre of the plain, in which

the creek appeared to take its rise, and to be guided by circumstances

both in the examination of that plain, and the course I should ultimately

pursue. The cart being fit for use on the morning of the 12th we again

left the creek, and at four miles on an east by north course arrived at

the sand hill to which I desired to go; from that point I proceeded to

the N.N.W., that appearing to be the general direction of the creek

upwards; but as there were lines of box-trees on both sides of us, those

to our left being denser than the right, I moved for them over a plain of

about five miles in breadth, but so full of cracks and fissures that we

had great difficulty in crossing it. Not-withstanding, however, that the

cart fell constantly into them, we got it safely over. Not finding any

water under or near the trees I turned a little to the north, keeping

wide of the creek; but, coming on its channel again at five miles, I

halted, because there happened to be a little grass there, and we were

fortunate enough, after some perseverance, to find a muddy puddle that

served the horses, however unfit for our use. From the appearance of the

plain before us, I hardly anticipated success in our undertaking. We had

evidently arrived near the head of the creek, and I felt assured that if

the features of the country here, were similar to those of other parts of

the interior, we should, between where we then were, and some distant

sand hills, again find ourselves travelling over a salt formation. The

evening had closed in with a cloudy sky, and the wind at W.N.W., and

during the night we had two or three flying showers, but they were really

in mockery of rain, nor was any vestige of it to be seen in the morning,

which broke with a clear sky, and the wind from the S.E.

As soon as morning dawned we saddled our horses and made for the head of

the plain, crossing bare and heavy ground until we neared the sand hills,

when observing that I was leaving the creek, which I was anxious to trace

up, we turned to the north-east for a line of gum-trees, but the channel

was scarcely perceptible under them, and we had evidently run it out.

There were only two or three solitary trees to be seen to the north, at

which point the plain was bounded by sand hills. To the S.E. there was a

short line of trees, from the midst of which the natives were throwing up

a signal smoke, but as it would have taken me out of my way to have gone

to them, I held on a N.N.W. course, and at the termination of the plain

ascended a sand hill, though of no great height. From it we descended a

small valley, the sides of which were covered with samphire bushes, and

the bottom by the dry white and shallow bed of a salt lagoon. From this

valley we passed into a plain, in which various kinds of salsolaceous

productions were growing round shallow salty basins. At a little distance

from these, however, we stumbled upon a channel with some tolerable water

in it, hid amongst rhagodia bushes, but the horses refused to drink. This

plain communicated with that we had just left, round the N.E. point of

the sand hill we had crossed but there were no box-trees on it to mark

the line of any creek or water; but the sand ridge forming its northern

boundary was very high, and contrary to their usual lay, ran directly

across our course, and as the ascent was long and gradual, so was it some

time before we got to the top. The view which then presented itself was

precisely similar to the one I have already described, and from which we

had before been obliged to retreat. Long parallel lines of sandy ridges

ran up northwards, further than we could see, and rose in the same manner

on either side. Their sides were covered with spinifex, but there was a

clear space at the bottom of the valleys, and as there was really no

choice we proceeded down one of them, for 12 miles, and then halted.

At this point the open space at the bottom of the valleys had all closed

in, and the cart, during the latter part of the journey, had gone jolting

over the tufts and circles of spinifex to the great distress of the

horse; grass and water had both failed, nor could I see the remotest

chance of any change in the character of the country. It was clear,

indeed, that until rain should fall it was perfectly impracticable; and

with such a conviction on my mind, I felt that it would only be

endangering the lives of those who were with me, if I persevered in

advancing. I therefore once more determined to fall back upon the creek,

there to hold my ground until such time as it should please God to send

us rain. We re-entered the plain in which the creek rises at 3 p.m., and

made for the trees, from whence the signal smoke was rising, and there

came on a tolerable sized pond of water, at which we stopped for a short

time, and while resting, ascertained that some natives were encamped at a

little distance above us; but although we went to them, and endeavoured

by signs and other means to obtain information, we could not succeed,

they either did not or would not understand us; neither, although our

manner must have allayed any fear of personal injury to themselves, did

they evince the slightest curiosity, or move, or even look up when we

left them. I cannot, however, think that such apparent indifference

arises from a want of feeling, for that, on some points, they possess in

a strong degree; but so it was, that the natives of the interior never

approached our camps, however much we might encourage them. On leaving

these people, of whom, if I recollect, there were seven, we tried to

avoid the distressing plains we had crossed in the morning, and it was

consequently late before we got to the creek and dismounted from our

horses, after a journey of about 42 miles. The 13th thus found us beaten

back by difficulties such as were not to be overcome by human

perseverance. I had returned to the creek with the intention of abiding

the fall of rain, and was not without hopes that it would have gladdened

us, for the sky about this time was very cloudy, and anywhere else but in

the low country in which we were, rain most assuredly would have fallen.

As it was, the clouds passed over us without breaking.

A lunar we here obtained placed us in longitude 138 degrees 15 minutes 31

seconds E., our latitude being 25 degrees 4 minutes 0 seconds S. Computed

from these data I deem I may fairly assume we were in 24 degrees 40

minutes 0 seconds S., and on the 138th meridian, when we stopped on the

8th; being then 470 geographical miles to the north of Mount Arden, about

350 from Mount Hopeless, and rather more than midway between the first of

those hills and the Gulf of Carpentaria. My readers will perhaps bear in

mind, that the object of this expedition was limited "to ascertaining the

existence and the character of a supposed chain of hills, or a succession

of separate hills, trending down from N.E. to S.W. and forming a great

natural division of the continent." I hope I do not take too much credit

to myself; if I say that I have set that question at rest; and that,

considering the nature of the country into which I penetrated, no such

chain can reasonably be supposed to exist. If, indeed, any mountains had

really been in the direction specified, it appears to me that I must have

discovered them, but, as far as my poor opinion goes, I think the sandy

ridges, both I and my readers have so much reason to hold in dread, are

as extensive on one side of the Stony Desert as the other. In truth, I

believe, that not only is such the case, but that the same region extends

with undiminished breadth even to the great Australian Bight, which

occupies a space along the south coast of the continent, as nearly as may

be of equal breadth with the sea-born Desert itself; and I cannot but

conclude that that remarkable wall, shewing a perpendicular front to the

ocean, but sloping inwards from the coast, was thrown up simultaneously

with the fossil bed of the Murray, during the time those convulsions, by

which the changes in the central parts of the continent, to which I have

already called attention, were going on. But I venture to give these

opinions with extreme diffidence; they may be contrary to general views

on the subject. I merely record my own impressions from what I have

observed, in the hope that I may assist the geologist in his inferences.

The ideas I would desire to convey are clear enough in my own mind, but I

must confess that I feel a great difficulty in placing them so forcibly

and so clearly before my readers as I could desire.

END OF VOLUME I

VOLUME II

TRAVELS IN AUSTRALIA

CHAPTER I.

REFLECTIONS ON OUR DIFFICULTIES--COMMENCE THE RETREAT--EYRE'S CREEK--PASS

THE NATIVE WELL--RECROSS THE STONY DESERT--FIND ANOTHER WELL WITHOUT

WATER--NATIVES--SUCCESSFUL FISHING--VALUE OF SHEEP--DECIDE ON A

RETREAT--PROPOSE THAT MR. BROWNE SHOULD LEAVE--HIS REFUSAL TO DESERT THE

PARTY--MR. BROWNE'S DECISION--PREPARE TO LEAVE THE CAMP--REMARKS ON THE

CLIMATE--AGAIN LEAVE THE DEPOT--SINGULAR EXPLOSION--DISCOVER A LARGE

CREEK--PROCEED TO THE NORTH--RECURRENCE OF SAND RIDGES--SALT WATER

LAKE--AGAIN STRIKE THE STONY DESERT--ATTEMPT TO CROSS IT.

To that man who is really earnest in the performance of his duty to the

last, and who has set his heart on the accomplishment of a great object,

the attainment of which would place his name high up in the roll of Fame;

to him who had well nigh reached the topmost step of the ladder, and

whose hand had all but grasped the pinnacle, the necessity must be great,

and the struggle of feeling severe, that forces him to bear back, and

abandon his task.

Let any man lay the map of Australia before him, and regard the blank

upon its surface, and then let me ask him if it would not be an

honourable achievement to be the first to place foot in its centre.

Men of undoubted perseverance and energy in vain had tried to work their

way to that distant and shrouded spot. A veil hung over Central Australia

that could neither be pierced or raised. Girt round about by deserts, it

almost appeared as if Nature had intentionally closed it upon civilized

man, that she might have one domain on the earth's wide field over which

the savage might roam in freedom.

I had traced down almost every inland river of the continent, and had

followed their courses for hundreds of miles, but, they had not led me to

its central regions. I had run the Castlereagh, the Macquarie, the

Lachlan, the Murrumbidgee, the Hume, the Darling, and the Murray down to

their respective terminations, but beyond them I had not passed--yet--I

looked upon Central Australia as a legitimate field, to explore which no

man had a greater claim than myself, and the first wish of my heart was

to close my services in the cause of Geography by dispelling the mists

that hung over it.

True it is that my friend Eyre had penetrated high up to the north of

Mount Arden, and there can be no doubt but that his ardent and chivalrous

spirit would have carried him far beyond the point he attained, if he had

not met unconquerable difficulties. I thought that a cooler and more

leisurely progress would enable me to feel my way into a country, whose

inhospitable character developed itself more the more it was penetrated.

I had adopted certain opinions, the correctness of which I was anxious to

test, and I thought the investigations I desired to make, were not only

worthy the pursuit of private ambition, but deserving the attention of

Her Majesty's Government. With these feelings I could not but be grateful

to Lord Stanley, for having entertained my proposition, and given me an

opportunity to distinguish myself. It is not because his Lordship is no

longer at the head of the Colonial Office, that I should refrain from

making my acknowledgments to him, and expressing the sense I entertain of

the obligation under which he has laid me. It so happened that the course

pointed out to me by Lord Stanley, and that in which I desired to go,

were the same, and I had hoped that in following up my instructions, I

should ultimately have gained the spot I so ardently desired to reach,

and to have left the flag of my native country flying over it.

The feelings then with which I returned to the creek after the failure of

our last attempt to penetrate to the north may well be imagined. I

returned to it, as I have said, with perhaps a sullen determination to

stand out the drought; but, on calm reflection, I found that I could not

do so. I could not indeed hide from myself that in the course of a few

days my retreat to the Depot would unavoidably be cut off if rain should

not fall. Looking to the chance of our being delayed until our provisions

should be consumed, and to the fact that we could not expect to get back

to the Depot in less than three weeks, and that I could not hope for any

amendment either in Mr. Browne or my men, so long as they were confined

to the scanty diet we then had. I determined on my return to the Park,

thence to take out fresh hands, and to make another attempt to penetrate

across the Desert in some other direction; but, as this measure, like our

detention at the Depot, would involve a great loss of time, I proposed to

myself again to divide the party, and to send Mr. Browne home with all

the men, except Mr. Stuart and two others. I saw no objection to such a

course, and certainly did not anticipate any opposition to it on the part

of my companion. I resolved then, with a due regard to his state, to

retrace my steps with all possible expedition; and, accordingly, directed

that everything should be prepared for our retreat on the morning of the

14th, for the sky had cleared, and all prospect of rain had again

vanished. Although we were here so close to the Tropic, the climate was

not oppressive. The general temperature after noon was 84 degrees, the

morning 46 degrees. The prevailing wind was from S.S.E. to E.S.E. and it

was invariably cold; at least we felt it so, and I regretted to observe,

that in Mr. Browne's case it caused a renewed attack of violent pains in

the muscles and joints, from which he had before been somewhat free. It

is also remarkable, that up to this distant point, no material change had

taken place in the character of the vegetation; with the exception of the

few trees and plants I have mentioned the herbage of these sterile

regions, and of the Darling were essentially the same, only with this

difference, that here they were all more or less stunted, whereas, in the

month of October, when we passed up the Darling, they were only just

flowering, now in the month of September they had ripened their seed.

Before we commenced our journey back to the Depot, I named this "Eyre's

Creek." No doubt it is an important feature in the country where it

exists. Like the other creeks, however, it rises in plains, and either

terminates in such or falls into the Stony Desert. There can be no doubt,

however, that to any one desiring to cross the continent to the north,

Eyre's Creek would afford great facilities; and if the traveller happened

fortunately to arrive on it at a favourable moment he would have every

chance of success.

For twelve miles below the salt lagoon there is not a blade of grass

either in the bed of the creek or on the neighbouring flats, the soil of

both being a stiff cold clay. We passed this ungenial line, therefore,

and encamped near a fine pool of water, where both our own wants and

those of our horses, as far as feed and water went, were abundantly

supplied.

In going along one of the flats, before we discovered the creek, Mr.

Browne and I had chased a Dipus into a hollow log, and there secured it.

This pretty animal we put into a box; but as it appeared to eat but

little grass, we gave it some small birds, which it always devoured at

night. Our dogs had killed one on the banks of the Darling, but had so

mutilated it, that we could not preserve it. We hoped, however, to keep

this animal alive, and up to the present time there was every chance of

our doing so. It was an exceedingly pretty animal, of a light grey

colour, having a long tail, feathered at the end, insectivorous, and not

marsupial. On the 16th we turned from the creek to the south, and passed

down the long flat up which we had previously come. On the following day

we passed several of the hollows scraped by the natives, and in one of

them found a little water, that must have accumulated in it from the

drizzly showers that fell on the night of the 8th, and which might have

been heavier here than with us. On the 19th we arrived at the creek where

Flood's horse was lost, but could not make out any track to betray that

he had been to water, and as there was not enough remaining in the pond

for our use, we crossed the plain, over which we had had so much

difficulty in travelling, and halted for a short time at the native well,

out of which numbers of birds flew as we approached. From the Box-tree

Forest we pushed on down the polygonum flat, where we had seen the native

woman who had secreted herself in the bush. A whole family was now in the

same place, but an old man only approached us. We were, indeed, passing,

when he called to us, expressly for the purpose of telling us that the

horse (Flood's) had gone away to the eastward. This native came out of

his way, and evidently under considerable alarm, to tell us this, and to

point out the direction in which he had gone, Our stock of presents being

pretty nearly exhausted, Mr. Browne, with his characteristic good nature,

gave him a striped handkerchief, with which he was much pleased. As it

was evident the poor horse had kept along the edge of the Desert, and as

he was a wandering brute, not caring for companions, it was uncertain to

what distance he had rambled, I did not, therefore, lose time by

attempting to recover him. We were all of us sure that he would not face

the Stony Desert, but he may still be alive, and wandering over that

sterile country. We stopped for the night on the long channel near the

sandy rise where we had before rested, about ten miles short of our camp,

and the trees on the muddy plain; and having effected our passage across

that plain and the Stony Desert, over which it was with extreme

difficulty that we kept our track, found ourselves on the 22nd, in the

little grassy valley, from which we had entered upon it; little water was

remaining, however, at the place where we had then stopped, so that I

sent over to the sequestered spot Lewis had discovered, but the water

there had entirely disappeared. Flood managed to shoot a couple of ducks

(Teal), of which there were four or five that flew away to the

south-east. These two birds were, I may truly say, a God-send, and I beg

to assure the reader they were uncommonly good.

From this valley we had to cross the heavy sand ridges which had so

fatigued our horses before, and I hardly expected we should find water

nearer than the Fish Pond. We therefore started early to get over the

distance as soon as possible, and, as on the outward journey, had a most

severe task of it. The ridges were certainly most formidable, although

they were not of such size as those from which we had retreated. At six

miles we crossed the salt lagoon, and late in the afternoon descended to

the box-tree forest before mentioned, having the grassy plains now upon

the left-hand side. The sandy ridges overlooked these plains, so that in

riding along we noticed some natives, seven in number, collecting grass

seeds upon them, on which alone, it appears to me, they subsist at this

season of the year. However, as soon as they saw us, they all ran away in

more than usual alarm, perhaps from the recollection of our

misunderstanding with Mr. Popinjay. Their presence, however, assured us

that there must be water somewhere about, and as on entering the plain,

more to the west than before, we struck on a track, I directed Mr. Browne

to run it down, who, at about half-a-mile, came to a large well similar

to that in the creek on the other side of the Stony Desert, but not of

the same dimensions. We had lost sight of him for some little time, when

suddenly his horse made his appearance without a rider, and caused me

great anxiety for the moment, for my mind immediately reverted to our

sulky friend, and my fears were at once raised that my young companion

had been speared; riding on, therefore, I came at length to the well,

down which, to my inexpressible relief, I saw Mr. Browne, who was

examining it, and who came out on my calling to him. There was not

sufficient water to render it worth our while to stop; but the well being

nine feet deep, shewed the succession of strata as follows: four feet of

good alluvial soil; three feet of white clay; and two feet of sea sand.

I should perhaps have been more particular in the description of our

interview with the old man and his family on the northern side of the

earthy plain. As I have stated, he called out to us, and in order to

discover what he wanted, I held Mr. Browne's horse, while he dismounted

and went to him. The old native would not, however, sit down, but pointed

to the S.E. as the direction in which, as far as we could understand, the

horse, "cadli" (dog), as he called him, the only large four-legged brute

of which he knew any thing, had gone. The poor fellow cried, and the

tears rolled down his cheeks when he first met Mr. Browne, and the women

chanted a most melancholy air during the time we remained, to keep the

evil spirits off, I suppose; but they had nothing to fear from us, if

they could only have known it. This confusion of tongues is a sad

difficulty in travelling the wilds of Australia. Both the old man and the

women wanted the two front teeth of the upper jaw, and as the former had

worn his down almost to a level with his gums like an old horse, he

looked sadly disfigured.

We halted about three miles short of the place at which we had before

stopped, but as Joseph followed some pigeons to a clump of trees across

the plain at about a mile distance, and there found a small pond of

water, we moved over to it, and remained stationary on the following day

to rest our wearied animals.

The 24th again saw us at the Fish Pond, where Mr. Browne again exhibited

his skill in the gentle craft, and caught a good dish of the finny tribe.

The mystery as to how these fish could have got into so isolated a spot,

was not yet cleared up, and I was really puzzled on the subject.

On the 27th, as we were crossing the country between the creeks, some

natives came in from the north and called out to us, in consequence of

which Mr. Browne and I rode up to them. They were in a sad state of

suffering from the want of water; their lips cracked, and their tongues

swelled. They had evidently lingered at some place or other, until all

the water, intermediate between them and the creeks had dried up. The

little water we had was not sufficient to allay their thirst, so they

left us, and at a sharp trot disappeared over the sand hill.

On the 29th our journey over the sandy ridges was very distressing. They

appeared to me to be much more numerous, and the valleys between them

much more sandy than when we first passed over them, and were thickly

covered with spinifex, although grass was also tolerably abundant in the

flats. At this stage of our journey, I was the only one of the party who

was not ill; Mr. Browne and all the men were suffering, added to which,

the men were fairly knocked up. Their labours were now, however, drawing

to a close, and I was only too thankful, that I retained my strength.

We had crossed the first or Strzelecki's Creek on the 29th, and had

halted that night without water. During it some of the horses broke loose

and wandered back; but Flood and Joseph soon overtook and brought them

back. We should have had a distance of 85 miles to travel without water,

but fortunately the precaution we had taken of digging wells in going

out, insured us a supply in one of them, so that our return over this

last long and dry tract of country was comparatively light, and we gained

the Park and joined Mr. Stuart at the stockade on the evening of the 2nd

of October, after an absence of seven weeks, during which we had ridden

more than 800 miles. Had it not been for the precaution of digging these

wells, I do not think that two or three of the horses would have reached

their journey's end. We only found water in one, it is true, but that one

was of the most essential service, inasmuch as it saved several of our

animals; and this is a point, I hope future travellers in such a country

will bear in mind. Mr. Browne found it necessary to put all the men on

the sick list, and their comrades made them as comfortable as they could,

after their late fatigues.

It was a great satisfaction to me to learn that everything had gone on

well at the camp during my absence; Mr. Stuart had a good report to make

of all. The cattle had been duly attended to, and had become exceedingly

tame and quiet. The sheep were in splendid condition, but their flesh had

a peculiar flavour--and that, too, not a very agreeable one, still their

value was unquestionable, for if we had been living on salt provisions,

it is more than probable that half of the party would have been left in

the desert. The practicability of taking a flock of sheep into the

interior, had now been fully proved in our case, at all events; but I am

ready to admit that they are, notwithstanding, a precarious supply, and

that unless great care be taken, they may be lost. The men, however,

appeared to consider them of far too great importance to be neglected,

and I think that when taken, they will for that very reason be well

looked after.

The stockade had been erected and really looked very well; it was built

just as I had directed, with the flag flying at the entrance. I availed

myself of the opportunity, therefore, to call it "Fort Grey," after his

Excellency the then Governor of South Australia.

Mr. Stuart informed me that a few natives only had visited the camp; but

that on one occasion some of them appeared armed, being as they said on

their way to a grand fight, four of their tribe having been killed in a

recent encounter. Only the day before, however, a party had visited the

camp, one of whom had stolen Davenport's blanket. He was pretty sure of

the thief, however, so we did not despair of getting it back again.

I observed that when we were on Eyre's Creek, the climate and temperature

were cool and agreeable. From that period the heat had considerably

increased, and the thermometer now ranged from 96 to 100 degrees. The

wind having settled in its old quarter the E.S.E., in this latitude was

not so cold as we had felt it in a more northerly one. Why it should have

been so, it is difficult to say: we know the kind of country over which

an E.S.E. wind must pass between the coast and the latitude of Fort Grey,

and could not expect that it should be other than hot, but we are

ignorant of the kind of country over which it may sweep higher up to the

north. Can it be that there is a large body of water in that quarter? We

shall soon have to record something to strengthen that supposition. About

this period the sky was generally cloudy, and, as I have before remarked,

in any other region it would have rained, but here only a few drops fell,

no signs of which remained half an hour afterwards; the barometer,

however, was very low, and it was not unreasonable to have encouraged

hopes of a favourable change.

On the 3rd the natives who had visited the camp before our return, again

came, together with the young boy who Davenport suspected had stolen his

blanket. He charged him with the theft, therefore, and told him not to

return to the tents again without it, explaining at the same time what he

had said, to the other natives. The boy went away before the rest, but

all of them returned the next day, and he gave up the blanket. On hearing

this, I went out and praised him, and as he appeared to be sorry for his

offence, I gave him a knife, in which I believe I erred, for we

afterwards learnt, that the surrender of the blanket was not a voluntary

act, but that he had been punished, and forced to restore it by his

tribe. I cannot help thinking, however, that if the theft had not been

discovered, the young rogue would have been applauded for his dexterity.

I had, during my journey back to the Depot, sat up to a late hour

writing, that no delay might take place in my intended arrangements on

our arrival at Fort Grey. In revolving in my own mind the state of the

country, I felt satisfied that, although the water had decreased

fearfully since the July rain, the road was still open for Mr. Browne to

make good his retreat, but it was quite uncertain how long it might

continue so. It was evident, indeed, that neither he nor myself had any

time to lose, but I waited for a few days before I broke the subject to

him, reluctant as I was to hasten his departure, and feeling I should

often have to regret the loss of such a companion. The varied reverses

and disappointments we had encountered together, and the peculiar

character of the expedition, had, as far as Mr. Browne and myself were

concerned, removed all restraint, and left to ourselves in that dreary

wilderness, we regarded each other as friends only, who were united in a

common cause, in the success of which we were almost equally interested.

I knew, therefore, that the proposal I was about to make would give him

pain; but I counted on his acquiescence, and as time would not admit of

delay, I availed myself of an opportunity that presented itself the third

day after our return, to break it to him.

As we were sitting in the tent after dinner, with our tea still before

us, I said to him, "I am afraid, Browne, from what I have observed, that

you have mistaken the object for which I have returned to the Depot, and

that you have been buoying yourself up with the hope that it is done

preparatory to our return to Adelaide; for myself I cannot encourage any

such hope for the present, at least. So far indeed from this, I have for

some time been reflecting as to the most prudent course to be pursued

under our present circumstances; for, I would not conceal from you the

pain I have felt at the failure of our endeavours to penetrate farther

than we have been able to do into the interior, neither can I conceal

from myself the fact, that whatever our personal exertions, the results

of our labours have not been commensurate with our expectations, and that

however great our perseverance or however difficult the task we have had

to perform, the world at large will alone judge of its merits by its

success. In considering how we can yet retrieve our misfortunes, one only

step occurs to me, and whatever pain our separation may cost us, I am

sure, where the interests of the services call for it, you will readily

comply with my wishes. I propose, then, your return to Adelaide, with all

the party but three; that you should leave me five horses, and take with

you only such provisions as you may absolutely require upon the road. By

such an arrangement I might yet hold out against the drought, and

ultimately succeed in doing something to make up for the past." My young

friend was evidently unprepared for the proposition I had made. "You have

done all you were sent out to do," he observed, "why then seek to

penetrate again into that horrid desert? It is impossible that you can

succeed during the continuance of the dry weather. If you now go you will

never get back again; besides, have you," he asked, "made any

calculations as to the means both of provisions and carriage you will

require?" "That," I replied, "is for my consideration, but I have done

so, and it appears to me that both are ample." "Well," said Mr. Browne,

"it may be so, I do not know, but I can never consent to leave you in

this dreadful desert. Ask me to do anything else, and I will do it; but I

cannot and will not desert you." It was in vain that I assured him, he

took a wrong view of the matter. That, as I had sent Mr. Poole home to

increase my means, so I wished to send him, and that he would be

rendering me as valuable, though not such agreeable service, as if he

continued with me. "You know, Browne," I added, "that the eyes of the

geographical world are fixed on me, and that I have a previous reputation

to maintain; with you it is different. If I hoped to make any discovery I

would not ask you to leave me. Believe me, I would that you shared the

honour as you have shared the privations and anxieties of this desert

with me; but I entertain no such hope, and would save you from further

exposure. I have not seen enough of this dreary region to satisfy me as

to its present condition. How then shall I satisfy others? That Stony

Desert was, I believe, the bed of a former stream, but how can I speak

decidedly on the little I have observed of it. No! as we have been forced

back from one point, I must try another,--and I hope you will not throw

any impediment in the way. There is every reason why you should return to

Adelaide: your health is seriously impaired,--you are in constant

pain,--and your affairs are going to ruin; on all these considerations I

would urge you to comply with my wishes." Mr. Browne admitted the truth

of what I said, but felt certain that if he left, it would only be to

hear of my having perished in that horrid desert,--that my life was too

valuable to others to be so thrown away,--that he owed me too much to

forsake me, and that he could not do that of which his conscience would

ever after reproach him;--that his brother would attend to his interests,

and that if it were otherwise, it would be no excuse for him to desert

his friend,--that he would acquiesce in any other arrangement, but to

leave me he could not. "Well," I said, "I ask nothing unreasonable from

you, nothing but what the sternness of duty calls for; and if you will

not yield to friendly solicitations, I must order you home." "I cannot

go," he replied; "I do not care for any pecuniary reward for my services,

and will give it up: I want no pay, but desert you I will not." The

reader will better imagine than I can describe, such a scene passing in

the heart of a wilderness, and under such circumstances I may not state

all that passed; suffice it to say, that we at length separated, with an

assurance on Mr. Browne's part, that he would consider what I had

proposed, and speak to me again in the morning. The morning came, and

after breakfast, he said he had endeavoured to force himself into a

compliance with my wishes, but to no purpose;--that he could not leave

me, and had made up his mind to take the consequences. It was in vain

that I remonstrated, and I therefore ceased to importune him on a point

which, however much I might regret his decision, I could not but feel

that he was influenced by the most disinterested anxiety for my safety.

But it became necessary to make some other arrangements; I had already

been four days idle, and it was not my intention to let the week so pass

over my head. Mr. Browne was too ill to accompany me again into the

field. I sent, therefore, for Mr. Stuart, and told him to put up ten

weeks provisions for four men,--to warn Morgan and Mack that I should

require them to attend me when I again left the camp,--and to hold

himself and them in readiness to commence the journey the day but one

following; as I felt the horses required the rest I should myself

otherwise have rejected.

I then sent for Mr. Browne, and told him that I proposed leaving the

stockade in two days, by which time I hoped the horses would in some

measure have recovered from their fatigues,--that as he could not attend

me, I should take Mr. Stuart with two fresh men,--that in making my

arrangements I found that I should be obliged to take all the horses but

two, the one he rode and a weaker animal; to this, however, he would by

no means consent--entreating me to take his horse also, as he felt

assured I should want all the strength I could get.

No rain had as yet fallen, but every day the heat was increasing: the

thermometer rising, even thus early in the season, to 98 degrees and 100

degrees in the shade, and the wind keeping steadily to the E.S.E. The

country was so dry, and the largest pools of water had so diminished in

quantity, that I doubted whether or not I should be able to get on, since

as it was I should have to travel the first 86 miles without water, there

being none in any other direction to the north of us. Even the large

sheet in the first creek, to which I proposed going, had fearfully

shrunk. But what gave me most uneasiness, was the reduced state of water

on which the men and animals depended. From a fine broad sheet it was now

confined within the limits of its own narrow channel, and I felt

satisfied that if I should be absent many weeks, Mr. Browne would be

obliged to abandon his position. Foreseeing this contingency, I arranged

with him that in the event of his finding it necessary to retire, he

should fall back on the little creek, near the old Depot. That before he

finally broke up the camp, he should dig a hole in some favourable part

of the creek into which the water he might leave would drain, so as to

insure on my return as much as possible, and we marked a tree under which

he was to bury a bottle, with a letter in it to inform me of his intended

movements. Nothing could have been more marked or more attentive than Mr.

Browne's manner to me, and I am sure he saw me mount my horse to depart

with sincere regret; but the interval between the conclusion of these

arrangements and the day fixed on to resume my labours soon passed over,

although I deferred it to the 9th, in consequence of Flood's assuring me

that the horses required the additional rest.

I had, indeed, been the more disposed to postpone the day of my

departure, because I hoped, from appearances, that rain would fall, but I

was disappointed. On the 6th it was very close, and heavy clouds passed

over us from the N.E., our rainy quarter, towards the Mount Serle ranges,

but still no rain fell on the depressed and devoted region in which we

were. At eight, however, it rained slightly for about a quarter of an

hour, and the horizon was black with storm clouds; all night heavy

thunder rolled in the distance, both to the west and east of us; my ear

caught that joyful sound as I laid on my mattress, and I fervently prayed

that it might be the precursor of a fall.

I could not but hope, that, in the ordinary course of events, to revive

and to support nature, the great Author of it would have blessed the

land, desert as it was, with moisture at last, but I listened in vain for

the pattering of rain, no drops, whether heavy or light, fell on my tent.

The morning of the 7th dawned fair and clear; the sun rose in unshrouded

splendour; and crossed the heavens on that day without the intervention

of a cloud to obscure his disc for a moment. If then I except the rain of

July, which lasted, at intervals, for three days, we had not had any for

eleven months. Under the withering effects of this long continued

drought, the vegetable kingdom was again at a stand; and we ourselves

might be said to have been contending so long against the elements. No

European in that respect had ever been more severely tried.

The day before we commenced our journey to the north it was exceedingly

hot, the thermometer rose to 106 degrees in the shade, and thus early in

the season were we forewarned of what we might expect when the sun should

become more vertical. In the afternoon the old man who had visited us

just before we commenced our late journey, arrived in the camp with his

two wives, and a nice little girl about eleven, with flowing curly hair,

the cleanliness and polish of which would have done credit to the

prettiest head that ever was adorned with such. They came in from the

S.W., and were eagerly passing our tents, without saying a word, and

making for the water, when we called to them and supplied all their

wants. The poor things were almost perishing from thirst, and seized the

pannikins with astonishing avidity, when they saw that they contained

water, and had them replenished several times. It happened also

fortunately for them, that the lamb of the only ewe we had with us, and

which had been dropped a few weeks before, got a coup de soleil, in

consequence of which I ordered it to be killed, and given to the old man

and his family for supper. This they all of them appeared to enjoy

uncommonly, and very little of it was left after their first meal. The

old man seemed to be perfectly aware that we had been out, but shook his

head when I made him understand that I was going out again in the

morning.

I determined, on the journey I was about to commence, to run on a due

north course from the first "Strzelecki's Creek," as soon as I should

reach it, and to penetrate the interior in that direction as far as

circumstances might justify. As the reader will have concluded from the

observations I have made, it had occurred to me that the Stony Desert had

been the bed of a former stream, and I felt satisfied that if I was right

in that conclusion, I should certainly strike it again. My object,

therefore, was to keep at such a distance from my last course, as should

leave no doubt of that fact upon my mind; it appeared to me that a due

northerly course would about meet my views, and that if the Stony Desert

was what I supposed it to have been, I should come upon it about two

degrees to the eastward of where I had already crossed it. In pushing up

to the north I also hoped that I might find a termination to the sandy

ridges, although I could not expect to get into any very good country,

for from what we saw to the north it was evidently much lower than that

over which we had passed, and I therefore looked for a cessation of the

sandy ridges we had before been so severely distressed on passing.

I shook hands with Mr. Browne about half-past eight on the morning of the

9th of October, and left the depot camp at Fort Grey, with Mr. Stuart,

Morgan and Mack, taking with me a ten-weeks' supply of flour and tea. I

once more struck into the track I had already twice traversed, with the

intention of turning to the north as soon as I should gain Strzelecki's

Creek. As we rode over the sand-hills, they appeared as nothing to me,

after the immense accumulations of sand we had crossed when Mr. Browne

and I were out together. We stopped short of the flat in which we had

sunk the largest well on that occasion, to give the horses time to feed a

little before sunset, and not to hurry them too much at starting. The day

was exceedingly warm, and the wind from the N.E. A few heat-drops fell

during the night, but the short thunder shower at the Depot on the Sunday

did not appear to have extended so far as where we then were.

Nevertheless it would appear, that these low regions are simultaneously

affected by any fall of rain; for there can be no doubt as to that of

July having extended all over the desert interior, and the drizzling

shower we had at the head of the northern Eyre's Creek, just as we were

about to retrace our steps, having been felt the same day at the camp. I

have just said that the day had been exceedingly hot, with the wind from

the N.E., a quarter from whence we might naturally have expected that it

would have blown warm; but I would observe, that before Mr. Browne and I

passed the Stony Desert on our recent excursion, the winds from that

point were unusually cold, and continued so until after we had crossed

the Desert, and pushed farther up to the north, when they changed from

cold to heat. I will not venture any conjecture as to the cause of this,

because I can give no solution to the question, but leave it to the

ingenuity of my readers, who are as well able to judge of such a fact as

myself.

I would also advert to a circumstance I neglected to mention in its

proper place, but which may be as forcibly done now as at the time it

occurred. When Mr. Browne and I were on our recent journey to the north,

after having crossed the Stony Desert, being then between it and Eyre's

Creek, about nine o'clock in the morning, we distinctly heard a report as

of a great gun discharged, to the westward, at the distance of half a

mile. On the following morning, nearly at the same hour, we again heard

the sound; but it now came from a greater distance, and consequently was

not so clear. When I was on the Darling, in lat. 30 degrees, in 1828, I

was roused from my work by a similar report; but neither on that

occasion, or on this, could I solve the mystery in which it was involved.

It might, indeed, have been some gaseous explosion, but I never, in the

interior, saw any indication of such phenomena.

We were obliged to fasten up our horses to prevent them from straying for

water, and had, therefore, nothing to do but to saddle them on the

morning of the 10th, and started at six. Our journey the day before had

been 33 miles: this day we rode about 36, to the little muddy creek the

the reader will, I have no doubt, call to mind. In it, contrary to my

expectation, we found a small supply of water, though difficult to get;

and I halted at it, therefore, for the night, and reached the Strzelecki

Creek about half-past ten on the morning of the 11th, in which I was

rejoiced to find that the water was far from being exhausted. Turning

northwards up the creek, I halted about half-past one at the upper pool,

about seven miles from the first. As far as this point the lay of the

sand ridges was N.N.E. and S.S.W.

As Mr. Browne had stated to me, the country to the north was much more

open from the point at which we now were than to the west. A vast plain,

indeed, met the horizon in the first direction, and as we rode up it on

the 12th, we observed that it was bounded at irregular distances, varying

from three to six miles, on either side of us, by low sand hills. The

whole plain was evidently subject to flood, and the travelling in some

places was exceedingly heavy. We had ridden from early dawn until the sun

had sunk below the horizon, without seeing any apparent termination to

this plain, or the slightest indication of water. Just as it was twilight

we got on a polygonum flat; there being a little sand hill on one side of

it, under which I determined to stop for the night.

While the men were tethering the horses on the best part of the flat,

where there happened to be a little green grass, Mr. Stuart and I walked

up the sand hill; but in the obscure light then prevailing, we could not

see any thing distinctly. It appeared, however, that the country before

us was traversed by a belt either of forest or of scrub; there was a long

dark line running across the country, but we could not make out what it

was, so that we descended to our little bivouac full of hope, and anxious

for the morning dawn to satisfy ourselves as to what we had been looking

at. Day had scarcely broke when we were again on the hill; and as objects

became clearer, saw a broad belt of gum-trees extending from the

southward of east to the north-west. It was bounded on either side by

immense plains, on which were here and there ridges of sand, but at a

great distance from each other. There was another small sand hill distant

four miles, and an apparently high and broken chain of mountains was

visible to the N.E., distant more than 50 miles. The trees were not more

than three miles from us, and were denser and seemingly larger than any

we had seen; and although we could not see any water glittering amidst

the foliage, yet I could not but hope that we were on the eve of some

important discovery. There were likewise mountains in the distance, with

broken lofty peaks, exactly resembling the Mount Serle chain, and I

ventured to hope that I had at length found a way to escape from the

gloomy region to which we had been so long confined. Descending from our

position we pushed for a dark mass of foliage to the N.E., and shortly

after crossing the dry bed of a lagoon, found ourselves riding through an

open box-tree forest, amidst an abundance of grass. At half a mile

further we were brought up by our arrival on the banks of a magnificent

channel. There was a large sheet of water to our left, covered with wild

fowl. Flooded gum-trees of large size grew on its banks, and its

appearance was altogether imposing. I stood looking in admiration on the

broad mirror so close to me, and upon a sight so unusual; and I deeply

regretted at that moment that Mr. Browne was not with me to enjoy the

gratification of such a scene.

We dismounted and turned our horses out to feed on the long grass in the

bed of this beautiful creek, and whilst Morgan prepared breakfast, Mr.

Stuart and Mack took their guns and knocked over three ducks, that were,

I suppose, never used to be so taken in; but the remainder would not

stand fire long, and flew off to the eastward. As they passed, however, I

snatched up a carbine, and, without taking any aim, discharged it into

the midst of them, and brought one of their number down--the only bird I

had shot for many years.

After giving the horses a good feed and a good rest, I crossed the

channel of the creek to ascend the little hill I had seen from our

morning position, that by taking bearings of the distant ranges from

both, I might arrive at their approximate distance from me. From this

little hill the prospect was much the same as from the first, only that

the distant ranges seemed to be still higher, and there was a long line

either of water or mirage at their base, and we now appeared to be in a

belt of wood, for the hill on which we stood, rose in the midst of the

trees, and our eyes wandered over the tops of them to the distant plains.

We descended from it northwards, but had not gone half a mile, when we

were again stopped by another creek, still broader and finer than the

first. The breadth of its channel was more than 200 yards, its banks were

from fifteen to eighteen feet high, and it had splendid sheets of water

both above and below us. The natives, whose broad and well beaten paths

leading from angle to angle of the creek we had crossed on our approach

to it, had fired the grass, and it was now springing up in the bed of the

most beautiful green. I determined, therefore, to stay where I was until

the following day, to give my animals the food and rest they so much

required, and myself time for reflection. We accordingly dismounted, and

turned the horses out, and it was really a pleasure to see them in

clover.

The whole bed of the creek was of a vivid green, excepting where gravel

had been deposited in it, but the animals kept on the grass, close to the

water's edge. As we had approached the creek through a belt of wood, so

it extended on the other side for a considerable distance into the

plains, but the soil was not so good as in the neighbourhood of the first

channel we had crossed, since bushes of rhagodia were growing underneath

the trees, as indicative of a slight mixture of salt in the earth. The

appearance of the creek, however, embosomed as it was in wood, was very

fine, more especially the upward view of it, where there was a splendid

sheet of water, in the centre of which the branches of a huge tree

appeared reflected, the trunk being completely hid. About a quarter of a

mile above us a tributary joins the main branch from the eastward, that

when flooded must have a fall of three or four feet, and something of the

character of a Canadian rapid.

When I sat down beside the waters of the beautiful channel to which

Providence in its goodness had been pleased to direct my steps, I felt

more than I had ever done in my life, the responsibility of the task I

had undertaken. When I left the Depot I had determined on keeping a

northerly course into the interior, for the reasons I have already

assigned; but knowing the state of the country as I did, and the little

chance there was of finding water on its parched and yawning surface, I

now hesitated whether I should persevere in my first determination, or

proceed in the examination of this new feature, and of the mountain

ranges to the N.E. both of which I had every reason to hope would lead me

out of the present fearful desert into a better country. Any one perhaps

less experienced than myself in the treacherous character of the most

promising river of the Australian Continent, would have acted

differently. It would in all probability have occurred to them to trace

the creek, either upwards or downwards, in the hope of its leading to

something better. It was clear, however, that the first channel I had

crossed, was a branch only of that upon which I was resting, and by which

the plains I had traversed on approaching it were laid under water, and I

felt assured that if my conclusion as to the Stony Desert was correct, I

should derive no advantage in tracing the creek downwards, since I knew

it would either terminate in extensive grassy plains as I had found other

creeks to do, or be lost on the broad surface of the Stony Desert. Taking

every thing into consideration, I had resolved on turning to the

eastward, to examine the upward course of the creek, believing it more

than probable that it would lead me into the hills, but, as I was

weighing these things in my mind, the sky became suddenly overcast and a

thunder-storm passed over us, which for the short half hour it continued

was of unusual violence, filling all the little hollows on the plains,

and chequering them over with sheets of water. The road northwards being

thus thrown open to me, I returned to my original purpose, and determined

on the morrow to pursue a northerly course directly into the interior, in

the hope that ere the surface water left by the thunder-storm should be

dried up, I might reach such another creek as the one I was about to

quit, or find some other such permanent place of safety; leaving the

examination of the upper branches of the creek, and of the mountain

ranges to the period of my return. Accordingly on the morning of the

13th, we left our position, crossing to the proper right bank of the

creek, and breaking through the nearer box tree forest, traversed open

plains, the soil of which was principally sand, but there was an

abundance of grass upon them, and they were somewhat elevated above the

more alluvial flats near the creek. At 2 1/2 miles we crossed a large

tributary from the N.E., the main branch trended to the N.W., and we kept

the belt of trees in view as we rode along, during the greater part of

the day. At seven miles we descended a little from the grassy plains to a

flooded plain of considerable extent, but again rose from it to the sandy

level, and finding a small puddle of rain water at 36 miles I halted.

As I was about to trust entirely to the supply of water left by the

recent storm, and knew not to what distance it had extended, I felt it

necessary to take every precaution to insure our retreat. We worked,

therefore, by the light of the moon, and dug a square pit, into which we

drained all the water that remained after the horses had satisfied

themselves in the morning, but the quantity was so small that I scarcely

hoped to derive any advantage from it on our return; and it was really

the zeal of Morgan and Mack that induced me to allow them to finish it.

Warm as the weather had been at Fort Grey, the night was bitterly cold,

with the wind from the S.S.E. We left this, our first well, at early

dawn, riding across a continuation of the same grassy and sandy land as

that we had journeyed over the day before, only that it had many bare

patches upon it full of water, the undersoil being a red clay. The same

kind of tree we had seen to the eastward, between the old Depot and the

Darling, and which I had there taken to be a species of Juglans,

prevailed hereabouts in sheltered places.

The creek line of trees was was still visible to our left, so that it

must have come up a little more to the north. We crossed several native

paths leading to it: the impression of an enormous foot was on one of

them. At eight miles we descended to a flooded plain, scattered over with

stunted box-trees, the greater number being dead, and I may remark that

we generally found such to be the case on lands of a similar description;

a fact, it appears to me, that can only be accounted for from the

long-continued drought to which these unhappy regions are subject. These

flooded plains are generally torn to pieces by cracks of four, six, and

eight feet deep, of a depth, indeed, far below that at which I should

imagine trees draw their support; but the box-tree spreads its roots very

near the surface of the ground, having, I suppose, no prominent tap root,

and can therefore receive no moisture from such a soil as that in which

we so often found it in premature decay; the excess of moisture at one

time, and the want of it at another, must be injurious to trees and

plants of all kinds, and this circumstance may be a principal cause of

the deficiency of timber in the interior of Australia.

From the level, we ascended to sandy and grassy plains as before, but

they were now bounded by sandy ridges of a red colour, and partly covered

with spinifex. I really shuddered at the re-appearance of those solid

waves which I had hoped we had left behind, but such was not the case. At

six miles we arrived at the base, and ascending one of them, found that

it was flanked on both sides by others; the space between the ridges

being occupied by the white and dry beds of salt lagoons. The reader

will, I am sure, sympathise with me in these repeated disappointments,

for the very aspect of these dreaded deposits, if I may so call them,

withered hope. To whatever point of the compass I turned, whether to the

west, to the north, or to the east, these heart-depressing features

existed to damp the spirits of my men, and irresistibly to depress my

own; but it was not for me to repine under such circumstances, I had

undertaken a task, and in the performance of it had to take the country

as it laid before me, whether a Desert or an Eden. Still whatever moral

convictions we may have, we cannot always control our feelings. The

direction of the ridges was nearly north and south, somewhat to the

westward of the first point, so that at a distance of more than two

degrees to the eastward they almost preserved their parallelism. We rode

along the base of a ridge for about three miles, but as on ascending it

to take a survey, I observed that at about a mile beyond, it terminated,

and that the dry bed of the lagoon to our right passed into a plain of

great breadth immediately in front, the character and appearance of which

was very doubtful, and as it was now sunset, and we had journeyed upwards

of 34 miles, I halted for the night at another puddle, rather larger than

the last, but with sorry feed for the horses. At this place we dug our

second well, by moonlight, as we had dug the first, and laid down on the

ground to rest, fatigued, I candidly admit, both in mind and body.

The day had been exceedingly cold, as was the night, and on the following

morning with the wind at S.S.E., and a clear and cloudless sky, the

temperature still continued low. At about a mile from where we had

bivouacked, we arrived at the termination of the sandy ridge, and

descended into the plain I had been reluctant to traverse in the

uncertain light of evening. It proved firm, however, though it was

evidently subject to floods. Samphire, salsolae, and mesembryanthemum

were growing on it, and one would have supposed from its appearance that

it was a sea marsh. Mr. Stuart shot a beautiful ground parrot as we were

crossing it, on a bearing of 345 degrees, or little more than a N. and by

W. course. At 6 1/2 miles we ascended some heavy sandy ridges, without

any regularity in their disposition, but lying in great confusion.

Toiling over these, at seven or eight miles farther we sighted a fine

sheet of water, bearing N. and distant about two miles. At another mile I

altered my course to 325 degrees, to pass to the westward of this new

feature, which then proved to be a lake about the size of Lake Bonney,

that is to say from 10 to 12 miles in circumference. The ridge by which

we had approached it terminated suddenly and directly over it; to our

right there were other ridges terminating in a similar manner, with rushy

flats between them; eastward the country was dark and very low; to the

north there was a desert of glittering white sand in low hillocks,

scattered over with dwarf brush, and on it the heat was playing as over a

furnace. Immediately beneath me to the west there was a flat leading to

the shore of the lake, and on the western side a bright red sand hill,

full eighty feet high, shut out the view in that quarter. This ridge was

not altogether a mile and a half in length, and behind it there were

other ridges of the same colour bounding the horizon with edges as sharp

as icebergs.

I did not yet know whether the waters of the lake were salt or fresh,

although I feared they were salt. Looking on it, however, I saw clearly

that it was very shallow; a line of poles ran across it, such as are used

by the natives for catching wild fowl, of which there were an abundance,

as well as of hematops on the water. As soon as we descended from the

sand ridge we got on a narrow native path, that led us down to a hut,

about 100 yards from the shore of the lake.

As we approached the water, the effluvia from it was exceedingly

offensive, and the ground became a soft, black muddy sand. On tasting it

we found that the water was neither one thing or the other, neither salt

or fresh, but wholly unfit for use. Close to its margin there was a broad

path leading to the eastward, or rather round the lake; and under the

sand ridge to the west, were twenty-seven huts, but they had long been

deserted, and were falling to decay. Nevertheless they proved that the

waters of the lake were sometimes drinkable, or that the natives had some

other supply of fresh water at no great distance, from whence they could

easily come to take wild fowl, nor could I doubt such place would be the

creek.

Notwithstanding that the water was so bad, I tried several places by

digging, but invariably came to salt water, oozing through black mud, and

I there fore presumed that a good deal of rain must have fallen

hereabouts, to have tempered the water of the lake so much; which it

struck me would otherwise have been quite saline. From the point where we

first came down upon it, we traversed a flat beach covered with a short

coarse rush, having the high red sand hill, of which I have spoken, to

our left; before us a vast extent of low white sand, and to the eastward

an extremely dark and depressed country. I was really afraid of entering

on the scorching sands in our front, for we were now full 90 miles from

the creek, and it was absolutely necessary, before I should exceed that

distance, to find a more permanent supply of water than the wells we had

dug on our way out. In order to ascertain the nature of the country more

satisfactorily, however, I ascended the rugged termination of the sandy

ridge, close to which we had been riding, and was induced, from what I

then saw, to determine on a course somewhat to the west of north, since a

due north course was evidently closed upon me; for I now saw that the

country in that direction was hopeless, as well as in an easterly

direction; but although I stood full 80 feet above the lake, I could not

distinguish any thing like a hill on the distant horizon. To the

westward, as a medium point, there were a succession of sandy ridges,

similar to that on which I stood; but to the S.W. there seemed to be an

interval of plain. As the thunder storm had reached as far as the place

where we last slept, I did not doubt but that it had also reached the

lake, and on consideration determined to keep as northerly a course as

circumstances would permit, in pushing into a country in which I was

meeting new difficulties every hour. Descending, therefore, on a bearing

of 340 degrees, I went to a distance of six miles before coming to a

small puddle at which I was glad to halt, it being the only drinkable

water we had seen. Here we dug a third well, although, like the first,

there was but little chance of benefiting by it. It behoved me therefore

to be still more careful in increasing my distance from the creek, so

that on the morning of the 17th I thought it prudent to search for some,

and as the country appeared open to the south, I turned to that point in

the hope of success.

We crossed some low sand hills to a swamp in which there was a good deal

of surface water, but none of a permanent kind. We then crossed the N.W.

extremity of an extensive grassy plain, similar to those I have already

described, but infinitely larger. It continued, indeed, for many miles to

the south, passing between all the sandy points jutting into it; and so

closely was the Desert allied to fertility at this point, and I may say

in these regions, that I stood more than once with one foot on

salsolaceous plants growing in pure sand, with the other on luxuriant

grass, springing up from rich alluvial soil. At two miles and a quarter

from the swamp, striking a native path we followed it up to the S.W.,

and, at three-quarters of a mile, we reached two huts that had been built

on a small rise of ground, with a few low trees near them. Our situation

was too precarious to allow of my passing these huts without a strict

search round about, for I was sure that water was not far off; and at

length we found a small, narrow, and deep channel of but a few yards in

length, hid in long grass, at a short distance from them. The water was

about three feet deep, and was so sheltered that I made no doubt it would

last for ten days or a fortnight. Grateful for the success that had

attended our search, I allowed the horses to rest and feed on the grass

for a time; but it was of the kind from which the natives collect so much

seed, and though beautiful to the eye, was not relished by our animals.

The plains extended for miles to the south and south-east, with an aspect

of great luxuriance and beauty; nor could I doubt they owed their

existence to the final overflow of the large creek we had all along

marked trending down to this point. Such, indeed, I felt from the first,

even when I looked on its broad and glittering waters, would sooner or

later be its termination, or that it would expend itself, less usefully,

on the Stony Desert. As yet, however, there was no indication of our

approach to that iron region. The plains were surrounded on all sides by

lofty ridges of sand, and the whole scene bore ample testimony to the

comparative infancy, if I may so express myself, of the interior. We next

pursued a N.N.W. course into the interior, and soon left the grassy

plains, crossing alternate sand ridges and flats on a bearing of 346

degrees, the whole country having a strong resemblance to that between

Sydney and Botany Bay in New South Wales. On one of the ridges we

surprised a native, who ran from us in great terror, and with incredible

speed. About noon we crossed a plain, partly covered with stones and

partly bare, and at the further extremity of it passed through a gorge

between two sand hills into another plain that was barren beyond

description, with only salsolaceous herbs. It had large white patches of

clay on it, the shallow receptacles of rain water, but they were all dry.

The plain was otherwise covered with low salsolae, excepting on the

higher ground, on which samphire alone was growing. It was surrounded on

all sides by sand hills of a fiery red, and not even a stunted hakea was

to be seen. From this plain we again crossed alternate sand hills and

flats, the former covered with spinifex, the latter being quite denuded

of all vegetation; but one of the horses at last knocking up, I was

obliged to halt in this gloomy region, at the only puddle of rain water

we had seen since leaving the grassy plain. I was sure, however, from the

change that had taken place, and the character of the country around us,

that we were approaching that feature, the continuance of which, in order

to elucidate its probable origin, it had been a principal object in my

present journey to ascertain. I felt so convinced on this point, that I

could not have returned to Adelaide without having satisfied my mind on

the subject. I might, indeed, have had general ideas as to the past state

of the depressed interior, from what I had already seen of it; but the

Stony Desert was the key to disclose the whole,--and although I feared

again to tread its surface, its existence so far away to the eastward of

where I had first been on it, would at least tend to confirm my

impressions as to what it had been.

It was clear, indeed, from the character of the country through which we

had just passed, that we were again approaching the salt formation; more

especially when, from the highest ground near us, I observed its

generally dark aspect, and that there was the dry bed of a large salt

lagoon directly in our course. We here dug a fourth well: the water was

extremely muddy and thick, for the basin in which it was contained was

very shallow, and the wind constantly playing on its surface raised waves

that had stirred up the mud; but as there was more water than usual, I

hoped that by deepening, it might settle. This was nothing new to us, for

not only on our journey to Lake Torrens and to the N.W., had we subsisted

on similar beverage, but the water at the Depot at Fort Grey was half

mud, and perfectly opaque. However, it was a matter of necessity to

retain it here if possible, and we therefore took the best measures in

our power to do so.

On the 19th we resumed our journey on the former bearing, the wind

blowing keen from the south. At about a mile and a half we reached the

salt lagoon, as it appeared to be in the distance, but which proved to be

rather a flooded plain. It was about two miles broad, and three and

three-quarters long, and was speckled over rather than covered with salt

herbs. At this time, also, we had an immense barren plain to our left,

bounded all around, but more particularly to the north, by sand hills;

over these we toiled for nine miles, when at their termination the centre

of the plain bore 176 degrees to the east of north, or nearly south. At

five miles and a half further, having previously crossed a small stony

plain, succeeded by sand ridges and valleys, both covered with spinifex,

we ascended a pointed hill that lay directly in our course, and from it

beheld the Stony Desert almost immediately below our feet. I must

acknowledge, that coming so suddenly on it, I almost lost my breath. It

was apparently unaltered in a single feature: herbless and treeless, it

occupied more than one half of the visible horizon, that is to say, from

10 degrees east of north, westward round to south. As to the eastward, so

here the ridges we had just crossed abutted upon it, and as many of them

were lower than the line of the horizon, they looked like sea dunes,

backed by storm clouds, from the dusky colour of the plain.

After surveying this gloomy expanse of stoneclad desert we looked for

some object on the N.W. horizon upon which to move across it, but none

presented itself, excepting a very distant sand hill bearing 308 degrees,

towards which I determined to proceed. We accordingly descended to the

plain, and soon found ourselves on its uneven surface. There was a narrow

space destitute of stones at the base of the sand hill, stamped all over

with the impressions of natives' feet. From eighty to one hundred men,

women, and children must have passed along there; and it appeared to me

that this had been a migration of some tribe or other during the wet

weather, but it was very clear those poor people never ventured on the

plain itself.

Descended from our high position, we could no longer see the sand hill

just noticed, but held on our course by compass like a ship at sea, being

two hours and forty minutes in again sighting it; and reaching it in

somewhat less than an hour afterwards, calculated the distance at

thirteen miles. As we approached, it looked like an island in the midst

of the ocean; but we found a large though shallow sheet of water amongst

the stones under it, for which we were exceedingly thankful. From this

point we crossed to another sand hill that continued northerly further

than we could see, having the Desert on either hand. Our horses beginning

to flag, I halted at five on the side of the ridge, near a small puddle

that had only water enough for them to drink off at once.

The morning of the 20th was bitterly cold, with the wind at S.S.E., and I

cannot help thinking that there are extensive waters in some parts of the

in terior, over which it came: the thermometer stood at 42 degrees. We

started on a course of 335 degrees for a distant sandy peak rising above

the general line of the horizon. At a mile, one of the horses fortunately

got bogged in a little narrow channel just like that in the grassy plain;

I say fortunately, for we might otherwise have passed the water it

contained without knowing it, so completely was it shaded. In looking

along the channel more closely, we discovered a little pool about three

yards long and one broad, but deep. At this we breakfasted and watered

the horses, and then pushed on. The lodgment of this water had been

caused by local drainage, and was evident from the green feed round

about. Here again it appeared we had occasion to be thankful, for on this

supply I hoped we might safely calculate for a week at least, so that we

still held on our course with more confidence, keeping at the base of the

ridge, and passing an extent of five miles through an open box-tree

forest, every tree of which was dead. The whole scene being one of the

most profound silence and marked desolation, for here no living thing was

to be seen.

At nine miles we ascended the ridge, and from it the Desert appeared to

be interminable from N. to N.E., but a few distant sand hills now shewed

themselves to the eastward of the last mentioned point. We then descended

into a valley of sand and spinifex, and at four miles and a half ascended

an elevated peak in a sandy ridge lying in our way. From this, the view

to the north-west was over a succession of sand hills. The point we stood

upon, as well as the ridge, was flanked southwards by an immense plain of

red sand and clay, and to the N.E. by a similar but smaller plain.

Crossing a portion of the great plain, at four miles and a half we

ascended another peak, and then traversed a narrow valley crossing from

it into a second valley, down which we travelled for six miles.

At that distance it was half a mile in breadth, and there was a little

verdure near some gum-trees, but no water. As we were searching about, a

cockatoo, (Cacatua Leadbeateri) flew over the sand hill to our right, and

pitched in the trees; we consequently crossed to the opposite side and

halted for the night, where there was a good deal of green grass for the

horses, but no water in the contiguous valley.

CHAPTER II.