[Transcriber's note: This book contains words that may be offensive
to modern readers.]
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: THE LAST OF THE BLOODTHIRSTY WARLATTAS.]
THE SECRET
OF THE
AUSTRALIAN DESERT
BY
ERNEST FAVENC
Author of "The History of Australian Exploration",
"Tales of the Austral Tropics", &c. &c.
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY PERCY F. S. SPENCE
AND A MAP
LONDON
BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED, 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
GLASGOW AND DUBLIN
1903
PREFACE.
Although the interior of the continent of Australia is singularly
deficient in the more picturesque elements of romance, it was, for
nearly two-thirds of a century, a most attractive lure to men of
adventurous character.
Oxley, Sturt, Mitchell, Kennedy, and Stuart have left deathless names
on the roll of Australian explorers, but the unknown fate of Ludwig
Leichhardt has always centred most of the romance of story about his
memory.
In April, 1848, he left Macpherson's Station, Cogoon River, situated
in the southern portion of what is now the colony of Queensland, with
the intention of endeavouring to reach Perth, on the west coast, the
capital of Western Australia, by traversing, if possible, the then
unknown heart of the continent.
From that day to this, no clue to the disappearance of the whole
party has ever been discovered. Several expeditions have been
fruitlessly despatched in search of the missing men; and many false
reports as to the finding of relics of the party have been brought in
at various times. Even the rapid advance of settlement, and the
comparatively full knowledge now possessed of the interior, have
thrown no light on the subject. This, the great mystery of
Australian exploration, I have taken for the groundwork of my story.
The view I have adopted of the probable course pursued by Leichhardt
and his party, is the one that commends itself to the majority of
experienced bushmen. Turned back by the dry country west of the
Diamantina River, the explorer probably followed that river up, and
crossed the main watershed on to the head of some river running north
into the Gulf of Carpentaria; in fact, the same track afterwards
followed by the ill-fated Burke and Wills. Leichhardt could then
easily reach the route he pursued on his first expedition to Port
Essington, the only successful one he made, and on which his
reputation is based. This course would then lead him around the foot
of the Gulf to the Roper River, where he would leave his old route,
follow the Roper, or a tributary, to its head, and strike south-west,
into the scantily-watered waste of the interior. This view is borne
out by the fact that trees, marked with what appears to be a letter
L, have been found on or near this supposititious line of travel; and
A. C. Gregory, the leader of one of the search expeditions,
discovered the framework of a small hut, seemingly built by white
men, on a creek he called the Elsie, a tributary of the Roper River.
Another unexplained riddle I have introduced points to the possible
early occupation of Australia by an ancient and partly civilized
race. In 1838, Lieutenant, now Sir George Grey, when on an
expedition in north-west Australia, discovered some remarkable
paintings in a cave on the Glenelg River, evidently not the work of
the present inhabitants. He describes the principal one as--"The
figure of a man, ten feet six inches in height, clothed from the chin
downwards in a red garment which reached to the wrists and ankles".
The head of this figure was encircled by a halo or turban, and on it
strange characters were inscribed, like a written name. Grey
says--"I was certainly surprised at the moment I first saw this
gigantic head and upper part of a body bending over and staring
grimly down on me". Although the dress and accessories so plainly
prove that these paintings were not the work of the Australian
aborigines, the locality, strange to say, has not been again
investigated. I have taken the liberty of transplanting these cave
paintings from the north-west coast to the interior, and also of
changing the names of some of the members of Leichhardt's party. The
descriptions of the physical features of the country are faithful
records from personal experience.
ERNEST FAVENC.
SYDNEY, N.S.W., September, 1894.
CONTENTS.
Chap.
I. Sand and Scrub
II. A Strange Road
III. A Mysterious Procession
IV. The Devil's Tracks
V. A Lifeless Swamp
VI. The Burning Mountain at Last
VII. Cannibals
VIII. The Fight in the Cave
IX. An Exciting Discovery
X. The Missing Expedition
XI. Stuart's Journal
XII. Charlie's Adventure
XIII. The Trip South
XIV. In the Spinifex Desert
XV. The Fate of Columbus
XVI. The Slaughter Chamber
XVII. A Hopeless Situation
XVIII. The Ancient Australians
XIX. Charlie Falls Sick
XX. A Further Discovery
XXI. The Final Departure
XXII. The Gold Reef Discovered
XXIII. A Solitary Camp
XXIV. More Dry Creeks
XXV. The Last of the Cannibals
XXVI. A False Alarm
XXVII. Home Again
ILLUSTRATIONS.
They find the Devil's Track on the Rock-plain
The Death of Dr. Leichhardt in the Desert
Morton and his Party examine the Slaughter-chamber
The Last of the Bloodthirsty Warlattas, _Frontis._
Route Map
THE SECRET OF
THE AUSTRALIAN DESERT.
CHAPTER I.
The Start for the Burning Mountain--Sand and Scrub.
It is the beginning of November--November in the Southern hemisphere,
not the raw, foggy month of the North--November in Central Australia,
where the sun rises hot and red in a breathless morn, and sinks at
night in a heated haze, hovering around the level horizon.
It has been a day to doze in the shade if possible, and dream of
icebergs. The short twilight is rapidly fading into the darkness of
a moonless night. Scarcely darkness, however, for the brilliant
constellations of the south and the radiant evening star in the west
lend their rays to light up the scene. Under the verandah of a rough
hut--mud walls with galvanized iron roof,--three men are sitting
indolently smoking the evening pipe that usually follows the last
meal of the day. It is far up in the north of South Australia, in
fact almost on the boundary line that divides that colony from its
dependency, known as the Northern Territory. The hut is the
principal building on a cattle-station, where, as on most other
outside stations, the improvements are of a very primitive kind. The
three occupants of the verandah are--the owner of the station; a
young relation staying with him to gain that much-talked-of
commodity, "colonial experience"; and a friend, a squatter from a
neighbouring run.
"Well," says Morton, the owner, a sun-tanned, wiry little fellow,
addressing his neighbour, "what do you say, Brown, to having a look
for the burning mountain?"
"Umph!" grunts Brown, who differs considerably in size, owning as he
does some six feet two inches of humanity; "isn't this weather hot
enough for you without looking for burning mountains?"
"We've nothing much to do for two or three months, and I've made up
my mind to see if there's any truth in this yarn the niggers have."
"I never could make head or tail of it," said Brown.
"Nor I," returned Morton; "but although everybody puts it down as a
burning mountain, I am not of that opinion. I have questioned them
very patiently, and can only find out that there is a big fire always
burning in the same place, but when I ask about a mountain, they say
no. None of them have ever been there; they have only heard of it
from others, and they seem almost frightened to speak of it."
"They use much the same word for rocks, stones, and mountains."
"Yes; and I think it is rocks that they mean."
"What has your boy, Billy Button, to say about it?"
"Billy comes from a tribe nearly a hundred miles from here. He has
heard the yarn, but has never seen any blacks who have been there."
"Let's see. It is supposed to lie rather north of west from here.
How far have you been in that direction, Morton?"
"Some fifty miles. It's all scrub and sand. The niggers, however,
get across in some seasons of the year, and I think this is the time;
there have been plenty of thunder-storms that way lately."
"Well, I'll make one; a little scorching more or less does not matter
much up here. You ought to have kept some of the camels back the
last time the team was up here."
"Didn't think of it. But I fancy horses will be handier, we have a
thunder-storm nearly every day."
"And shall have until we start," replied Brown, "then you see they
will knock off at once. How many of us will there be?"
"The pair of us, and--what do you say, Charlie? Are you anxious to
distinguish yourself?"
"I certainly hope you won't leave me behind," returned his young
cousin, in an injured tone.
"All right. Billy Button will make four, and that will be enough.
To-morrow we'll have all the horses in and get ready for a start the
next day."
"How long shall we be away?" asked Charlie, who bore upon his
shoulders the onerous duties of storekeeper.
"Can't say. What do you think, Brown? Six weeks? Two months?"
"We surely ought to find something in that time, if it's only the
remains of Leichhardt."
"Make up three months' rations for four, Charlie; I hate to run
short. Lucky we killed the other day, the beef will be just right
for carrying."
[Illustration: ROUTE MAP]
On an outside cattle-station, where so much camping-out has to be
constantly done, the preparations for such a trip do not take long,
and the morning of the second day found everything in readiness.
Brown had sent over to his place for his own horses, and they started
with fourteen in all. Two apiece for riding, four packed with
rations, and two with canvas water-bags and the necessary blankets,
tent, &c. At the last moment the blacks about the station tried to
dissuade Billy from going by telling him horrible tales of the fate
surely awaiting him at the dreaded burning mountain, but Billy
stoutly refused to be frightened, and scorned to remain, although
given the option by Morton.
The first thirty miles of the journey was over familiar country, and
they camped that night at a small water-hole lately filled by a
thunderstorm. Beyond them now stretched a waste of sand ridges and
mulga scrub, into which Morton had once penetrated for some twenty
miles. With full water-bags, and a determination not to be beaten
back without a struggle, our adventurers commenced the second day's
journey with light hearts.
During the whole of the day the sombre scrub and heavy sand
continued, without break or change in their depressing monotony.
Scarcely the note of a bird or insect broke the silence, as they
toiled on without much heart for conversation. Towards evening a
piece of good fortune befell them. On a small flat between two sand
ridges they crossed a patch of short green grass, the result of a
recent thunder-storm. No water could be found, the hot summer sun
having evaporated all that had been caught in the shallow clay pans.
The green grass was, however, a boon to the horses, who did not feel
the want of water so much on the soft young feed.
Next morning they were saddled and packed up, ready to start by
sunrise. About ten o'clock they ascended a sand ridge somewhat
higher than those they had formerly crossed, and from its crest they
were able to look around on the sea of scrub that surrounded them.
Not far off, in the direction in which they were going, Morton drew
the attention of his companions to a thin column of smoke.
"Burning mountain already?" queried Brown.
"Niggers travelling and hunting," replied Morton. "The scrub looks
thinner there. They won't be far from camp at this time in the
morning; but I expect the water is only a soak-hole, of no use to us."
In less than an hour they were riding over patches of still-burning
grass, thinly scattered through a forest of bloodwood-trees; but
neither the sharp eyes of Morton or Billy could detect a sign of the
hunters. After searching for some time the boy found the tracks of a
blackfellow, two gins,[1] and some pickaninnies[2] coming from the
westward, and these they followed back for about a mile to a
freshly-abandoned camp. It was situated on a fairly open piece of
country, partly covered with coarse drift sand. Not far from the
camp was a ragged old shell of a gum-tree, covered with tomahawk
marks. Billy, who had at once gone to this tree, gave a low whistle,
and the others came up. He pointed to a small hole near the butt,
and dismounting put his arm down and then peered into it.
[1] Women.
[2] Children.
"Water long way down," he said. "Gone bung, mine think it." By
which they understood that the supply had dried up. After some
searching about, a long sapling was procured and thrust down. The
hole was about ten feet deep, and the end of the sapling brought up
some wet mud.
"How did the blacks get down for the water, Billy?" asked Brown.
"Pickaninny go down," replied the boy, pointing to a tiny foothold in
the side of the hole.
"Well, boys," said Morton, who had been poking the sapling down
vigorously and examining the point, "I don't see much to be got out
of this. Evidently there's been one little family living on this
hole, and now they've been dried out. It would take us two hours to
open up this hole, and then we should probably get nothing for our
pains."
"Water gone bung," repeated Billy.
"What do you say to following this flat? It's going partly in our
direction, and may lead to something."
No one having anything better to suggest they resumed their journey
once more, until a mid-day halt was made.
"Well, respected leader," remarked Brown, after the meal was finished
and pipes were lit, "I'm afraid our horses will look mighty dicky
to-morrow morning unless we get them a drink to-night."
Morton glanced lazily at them, where they stood grouped under
whatever scanty shade they could obtain.
"They are beginning to look tucked up," he replied, "but we'll pull
up something before dark."
"I sincerely hope so," said Brown as he stood up. "Go ahead once
more, Captain Cook."
About four o'clock the open flat which they had followed grew
narrower, until at last the scrub closed in entirely and they found
themselves confronted by a thicker growth than any they had yet met
with. The mulga having given place to a species of mallee.
Morton, who was leading, stopped.
"We must push through," he said. "It may be only a belt, and if we
start to follow it round we shall be all night in it."
"Right," replied Brown. "I'll take a turn ahead if you like. I
prefer being first in a scrub."
Morton laughed and dropped behind, and for about an hour very slow
progress was made, the scrub getting worse and worse. The sun was
sinking low, and the cheerful prospect of a night in the scrub was
before them, when, to the relief of all, Brown suddenly called out:
"Hurrah! we're out of it!"