clambered up its face on hands and knees, to find there a fine hole or
basin in the rock, perfectly round and nearly full of water. This hole
was, of course, the work of nature, and, strange to say, was on the point
of a smooth projecting part of the rock, where it would have seemed
impossible that any water could lodge. How it was wrought in such a
place one cannot imagine, but the position was so prominent as to be
visible from the plain at a considerable distance.
Another day the travellers fell in with a bees’ hive;—unfortunately, it
was empty. The Australian bee is stingless, and very little larger than
our common house-fly, but its honey is remarkably sweet. The nest, or
“sugar-bag,” as the bushmen call it, is generally made in a hollow tree.
They also saw some specimens of the crested dove—one of the loveliest of
the Australian pigeons. In truth, it is hardly surpassed anywhere in
chasteness of colouring and elegance of form, while its graceful crest
greatly enhances the charm of its appearance. It frequently assembles in
very large flocks, which, on visiting the lagoons or river banks for
water, during the dry seasons, generally congregate on a single tree or
even branch, perching side by side, and afterwards descending in a body
to drink; so closely are they massed together while thus engaged, that
dozens may be killed by a single discharge of a gun. Their flight is
singularly swift; with a few quick flaps of the wings they gain the
necessary impetus, and then sail forward without any apparent exertion.
The diamond-sparrow, or spotted pardalote, was also seen. This bird
inhabits the whole of the southern parts of the Australian continent,
from the western to the eastern border, and is very common in Tasmania.
It is nearly always engaged in searching for insects among the foliage
both of the tallest trees and the lowest shrubs, in the garden and
orchard as in the open forest; and it displays in all its movements a
remarkable activity, clinging about in every variety of position, both
above and beneath the leaves, with equal facility. Its mode of
nest-building differs from that of every other member of the genus to
which it belongs. It first excavates, in some neighbouring bank, a hole
just large enough to admit of the passage of its body, in a nearly
horizontal direction, to the depth of two or three feet; at the end of
this burrow or gallery, it forms a chamber; and in this chamber it
deposits its nest, which is beautifully woven of strips of the inner bark
of the Eucalypti, and lined with finer strips of the same or similar
materials. In shape it is spherical, about four inches in diameter, with
a lateral hole for an entrance. To prevent the ingress of rain the
chamber is raised somewhat higher than the mouth of the hole. Mr. Gould,
the Australian naturalist, speaks of these nests as very difficult to
detect; they can be found, he says, only by watching for the ingress or
egress of the parent birds, as the entrance is generally concealed by
herbage or the overhanging roots of a tree. Why so neat a structure as
the diamond-sparrow’s nest should be constructed at the end of a gallery
or tunnel, into which no light can possibly enter, is beyond
comprehension; it is one of those wonderful results of instinct so often
brought before us in the economy of the animal kingdom, without our being
able to explain them. The diamond-sparrow rears two broods, of four or
five each, in the course of the year. Its song or call is a rather
harsh, piping note of two syllables, frequently repeated.
The great difficulty which besets the Australian explorer is the want of
water. He travels day after day across open grassy plains, relieved by
few variations of surface, except the sand ridges, to meet with neither
spring nor watercourse. Sometimes he comes upon the native wells, but
these, very frequently, are dry or almost dry; he digs well after well
himself, but no water rises. Colonel Warburton’s party suffered severely
from this deficiency. They met with much trouble, moreover, through the
straying of their camels. Thus, one evening, “Charley,” who acted as
camel-herd, reported that they had run away southward. He traced their
tracks for several miles, and observed that one camel had broken its
hobbles. {302} Halleem, the Afghan camel-driver, then mounted the
Colonel’s riding camel, “Hosee,” and started in search of them at five
o’clock on a Sunday evening. He was to push on for five or six miles,
then camp for the night, and at dawn follow up the tracks vigorously, so
as to overtake the truants, and return by mid-day.
Monday came, but Halleem and the camels came not with it. Sahleh, who
had been exploring in the vicinity of the camp with a gun, returned in
the evening with the startling information that he had seen Hosee’s
_return_ track, coming near the camp, and then striking off in a
north-easterly direction. Colonel Warburton now also learned for the
first time that Halleem was occasionally subject to fits, and that while
they lasted he knew not what he was doing or where he was going. It was
evident that such a man ought not to have been trusted alone, and it
became a question whether Halleem had lost his camel or his wits; the
latter seemed more probable, as Hosee, if he had come near the other
camels, would certainly have joined them.
Next day, Monday, July 22nd, the Colonel writes:—“I sent my son and
Charley with a week’s provisions on our back tracks, to try for Halleem
first; but, in the event of not finding his _foot_ tracks, to continue
on, and endeavour to recover the camels. Lewis also went in the other
direction, to run up Hosee’s tracks; so that I hoped that by one or other
of these means I should learn what had become of Halleem. Unfortunately,
Lewis, supposing he had only a few hours’ work, took neither food nor
water. Now, 6 p.m., it is beginning to rain, and Lewis has not returned.
I know he will stick to the tracks as long as he can, but I wish he were
back; if Halleem be demented, he may urge the camel on sixty or seventy
miles without stopping, and thus get a start in his mad career that will
make it impossible for Lewis to help him.
“23rd. It has rained lightly all night. Lewis is still absent; I am
greatly grieved at his having nothing to eat.
“1 p.m. Lewis returned; he had camped with Richard, and so was all
right.
“It appears from his report that Sahleh, whilst out ‘birding,’ must have
stumbled upon a mare’s nest, for Lewis soon abandoned the track he
started on, and turned after Richard to find Halleem’s first camp. They
did not find this, but they fell on his tracks of next day, steadily
following the runaway camels; it is clear, therefore, that Sahleh has
done his countryman some injustice, and caused much unnecessary alarm. . . .
Richard returned, having seen Halleem, and promised to take out
provisions to meet him on his return.
“26th. Sahleh shot an emu (_Dromaius Novoe Hollandicæ_), a welcome
addition to our larder. Every scrap of this bird was eaten up, except
the feathers. The liver is a great delicacy, and the flesh by no means
unpalatable.
“27th and 28th. Sent provisions to Ethel Creek for Halleem.
“29th. The camel-hunters returned in the evening, but without the
camels. This is a double loss; the camels are gone, and so is our time;
our means of locomotion are much reduced, whilst the necessity of getting
on is greatly increased. Halleem has, however, done all he could do; he
followed the camels nearly one hundred miles, but as they travelled night
and day, whilst he could only track them by day, he never could have
overtaken them. No doubt these animals will go back to Beltana, where
alarm will be created as soon as they are recognized as belonging to our
party.”
* * * * *
Such is the Colonel’s simple, unaffected account of what was really an
annoying and perplexing incident.
At this date (July 29th) the explorers had accomplished seventeen hundred
miles. The country continued to present the same general features—plains
yellow with porcupine-grass, alternating with low hills of sand; but as
they advanced, the sand-hills became more numerous, and among them lay
numerous half-dry salt lagoons of a particularly cheerless aspect. Dense
spinifex—high, steep sand-ridges, with timber in the flats, and nothing
for the camels to eat but low scrubby bushes;—that horses should cross
such a region is obviously impossible. The want of water again became
urgent. From the burnt ground clouds of dust and sand were thrown up by
the wind, almost choking the travellers, and intensifying their thirst.
They were temporarily relieved by coming upon a native well. But the
country still wore the same cheerless aspect of inhospitality; the
desolate arid plain extended in every region—a desert of sand, which
wearied the travellers by its monotony. Even when they arrived at the
so-called basaltic hills, there was no water, no sign of green and
pleasant vegetation. It was quite an excitement when, for the first
time, they descried some flock-pigeons. The birds were very wild, and
they could kill only three or four, but they were excellent eating, and
made quite a dainty dish. Soon after this cheerful episode, Lewis, who
had been sent on a short excursion south in quest of water, returned with
intelligence of an Eden oasis which he had discovered in the wilderness.
A beautiful clump of large gum trees flourished at the bottom of a small
creek, which was hemmed in by a high sand-hill, and afterwards broke
through a rocky ridge sprinkled with fine, clear, deep water-holes, one
hundred feet in circumference. The rich green foliage of the gum trees
contrasted vividly with the red sand-hills on either side, and the bare
rocky barrier in front. To this delightful spot of greenery, bustard,
bronze-wing pigeons, owls, and other birds resorted.
Colonel Warburton, however, was averse to retrace his steps, even to
enjoy a halt in such an “earthly paradise;” and, pushing forward, was
rewarded for his persistency by discovering a fine large lake of fresh
water, haunted by ducks, flock-pigeons, and parrots. He halted on its
borders for a couple of days.
Of the bronze-wing pigeon, to which allusion has just been made, it may
be affirmed that it prevails in every part of Australia. In some
individuals the forehead is brown, in others buff white; the crown of the
head and occiput, dark brown, shading into plum colour; sides of the
neck, grey; upper surface of the body, brown, each feather edged with
tawny brown; wings, brown, with an oblong spot of lustrous bronze on the
coverts; the tail feathers, deep grey, with a black band near the tip,
except the two central, which are brown; under surface of the wing,
ferruginous; breast, deep wine-colour, passing into grey on the under
parts; bill, blackish grey; legs and feet, carmine red. It is a plump,
heavy bird, and, when in good condition, weighs nearly a pound. Its
favourite haunts are the dry hot plains, among the bushes or “scrub.”
Its speed is very surprising; in an incredibly short time it traverses a
great expanse of country. Before sunrise it may be seen in full flight
across the plain, directing its course towards the creeks, where it
quenches its thirst. The traveller who knows its habits can, by
observing it, determine, even in the most arid places, whether water is
near at hand; if he descry it wending its way from all quarters towards a
given point, he may rest assured that there he will obtain the welcome
draught he seeks. Mr. Gould says that it feeds entirely upon the ground,
where it finds the varieties of leguminous seeds that constitute its
food. It breeds during August and the four following months, that is, in
the Australian spring and summer, and often rears two or more broods.
Its nest is a frail structure of small twigs, rather hollow in form; and
is generally placed on the horizontal branch of an apple or gum tree,
near the ground. On one occasion, Mr. Gould, during a long drought, was
encamped at the northern extremity of the Brezi range, where he had daily
opportunities of observing the arrival of the bronze-wing to drink. The
only water for miles around lay in the vicinity of his tent, though that
was merely the scanty supply left in a few small rocky basins by the
rains of many months before. Hence, he enjoyed an excellent opportunity
for observing not only the bronze-wing, but all the other birds of the
neighbourhood. Few, if any, of the true insectivorous or fissirostral
birds came to the water-holes; but, on the other hand, the species that
live upon grain and seeds, particularly the parrots and honey-eaters
(_Trichoglossi_ and _Meliphagi_), rushed down incessantly to the margins
of the pools, heedless of the naturalist’s presence, their sense of peril
vanquished temporarily by their sense of thirst. The bronze-wing,
however, seldom appeared during the heat of the day; it was at sunset
that, with the swiftness of an arrow, it rushed towards the
watering-place. It did not descend at once, says Mr. Gould, to the brink
of the pool, but dashed down upon the ground at about ten yards’
distance, remained quiet for a while until satisfied of its safety, and
then leisurely walked to the water. After deep and frequent draughts, it
retired, winging its way towards its secluded nest.
Just before reaching the lake, the Colonel’s party made a capture, a
young native woman; and they detained her in order that she might guide
them to the native wells. On the 1st of September, however, she effected
her escape by gnawing through a thick hair-rope, with which she had been
fastened to a tree.
Spinifex and sand resumed their predominance as the travellers left the
lake behind them. The heat was very great, and crossing the hot sand and
the steep hills was trying work. On the 12th, they rejoiced in the
discovery of some excellent wells. Then again came spinifex and
sand-hills. These troublesome ridges varied considerably in height and
in distance from one another; but their elevation seldom exceeded eighty
feet, and the space between them was not often more than three hundred
yards. They lay parallel to one another, running from east to west; so
that while going either eastward or westward the travellers could keep in
the intervening hollows, and travel with comparative facility, but when
compelled to cross them at a great angle, the feet of the camels ploughed
deep in the sand, and the strain upon the poor animals was terrible. Yet
the Australian waste is, after all, less wearisome than the sandy deserts
of Nubia or the great Sahara; it is sadly deficient in water, but the
sand-hills disguise their inhospitality with many varieties of shrubs and
flowers, as well as with acacias and gum trees. The shrubs are not
edible, and the trees are of no value as timber, but they serve to hide
the nakedness of the land.
A grave danger beset them on the 15th. Their master bull (or male) camel
had eaten poison, and fell ill; he was of immense value to the
travellers, not only on account of his great strength, but because
without his help it would be almost impossible to keep the young bulls in
order, and they might elope with all the ewe (or female) camels. They
administered to him a bottle of mustard in a quart of water—the only
available medicine—but without any beneficial effect. In every herd of
camels, it is necessary to explain, is found a master bull, who, by his
strength, preserves order among his young brethren. These gay cavaliers
are always desirous of a harem to themselves; and, if allowed an
opportunity, would cut off three or four cows from the herd, and at full
speed drive them for hundreds of miles. They are quiet only while under
subjection to the master bull, and become intractable if, through illness
or accident, his supremacy should be relaxed. Colonel Warburton was
surprised at the marvellous instinct of the young bulls in his little
camel harem; they knew that their master was ailing almost before the
camel-men did, and at once showed signs of insubordination, so that it
was necessary to watch them by night and to knee-halter them.
The old camel did not improve, and on the 16th the Colonel was compelled
to abandon him. Three misfortunes followed: on the 17th two riding
camels were taken ill, having been struck in the loins by the night wind;
and on the 18th the same fate befell Richard Warburton’s riding camel.
Thus, in three days the travellers lost four camels. They endeavoured to
make some profit out of the misadventure by “curing” a quantity of
camel-meat. The inner portions of the animal were first eaten—not the
liver and other dainty parts only, but the whole; every single scrap was
carefully consumed, not a shred was wasted. Then, head, feet, hide,
tail, all went into the boiling pot. Even the very bones were stewed
down, for soup first, and afterwards for the sake of the marrow they
contained. The flesh was cut into thin flat strips, and hung upon the
bushes for three days to be dried by the sun. The tough thick hide was
cut up and parboiled, the coarse hair scraped off with a knife, and the
leathery substance replaced in the pot and stewed until, both as to
flavour and savour, it bore a disagreeable resemblance to the inside of a
carpenter’s glue-pot. As may be supposed, such a dish as this was not so
nutritious as the roast beef (or mutton) of Old England; but it stifled
for a while the cry of an empty stomach. The attack next fell upon the
head, which was speedily reduced to a polished skull. As for the foot,
like cow-heel or sheep’s trotters, it was looked upon as a delicacy, and
its preparation was a marvel of culinary skill. First, a good fire was
lighted, and allowed to burn down to bright red embers, while the foot,
severed at the hock, was scraped and singed as thoroughly as time
permitted. The foot was thrust into the glowing coals, burnt for some
considerable time, removed, placed on its side on the ground, and
deprived of its tough horny sole. After this elaborate series of
operations, the reader will doubtless suppose that the delicacy is fit
for the table. Not a bit of it! It must be placed in a bucket of water,
and kept steadily boiling for six and thirty hours; then, and then only,
may it be served up. On the whole, we should not consider it a dish for
a hungry man.
The 21st of September was the anniversary of their departure from
Adelaide. Two of the party went out on camels to search for water, and
two, in a different direction, on foot. As they had only two riding
camels left, and these in a weak condition, they threw away their tents,
and most of their private property, retaining only their guns and
ammunition, and clothing enough for decency. Happily, one of the
reconnoitring parties found a well, to which the travellers at once
proceeded, and watered the thirsty, weary camels.
After a three days’ halt they resumed their advance, but moved very
slowly. They were sick and feeble, and the country was difficult to
traverse. Another camel had to be abandoned; so that out of seventeen
animals, only eight remained. A plague of insects was added to their
troubles. Not only did clouds of common flies buzz and worry around
them, and legions of ants assail them, but the Australian bee, or
honey-fly, tormented them by its pertinacious adhesion to their
persons—an unwelcome adhesion, as it is famed for its intolerable smell.
To get water they were again compelled to wander from the direct route,
and at one time they descended as far south as lat. 20° 2′. Hence they
began to suffer from want of provisions, and a grim alternative faced
them: if they pressed forward, they ran the chance of losing their camels
and dying of thirst; if they halted, they could hope only to prolong
their lives on sun-dried camel flesh.
On the 3rd of October their condition was critical. The improvident
Afghans, having consumed all their flour and meat, had to be supplied
from the scanty rations of the white men, and Colonel Warburton resolved
that if water were but once more found, so that he might not be compelled
to retrace his steps, he would at all risks push forward to the river
Oakover. Another riding camel broke down, and was killed for meat. A
well was discovered, but the supply of water was so small that only one
bucketful could be obtained in three hours, and on the second day it ran
dry. On the 8th, having slightly recruited their animals, the undaunted
travellers again moved forward; but one of the camels was still so feeble
that Colonel Warburton and his son took it in turns to walk. The Colonel
had the first stage, and, owing to stoppages from loads slipping off at
the sand-hills, he soon struck ahead of the camels. Suddenly, hearing a
noise behind him, he turned;—nine armed blacks were rushing full upon
him! He halted to confront them, and they too stopped, at fifteen yards
apart; two of them, in bravado, poised their spears, but, on his
advancing pistol in hand, immediately lowered them, and a parley
followed, in which, however, as neither understood the other’s language,
there was very little edification.
The blacks were all chattering round him, when he heard a shot, as he
supposed, on his “right front.” In reality it was fired from quite an
opposite direction; but he was unwilling to answer the signal, because he
did not wish to lose one of the three charges of his pistol. Moreover,
the natives might have supposed that the single discharge had exhausted
his resources, and have made an attack upon him. He accompanied them to
their camp, and got a little water. The women and children would not
approach him, but, thanks to his grey beard, the men similarly equipped
welcomed him readily. There was a general passing of hands over each
other’s beards—a sign of friendship, it is to be presumed; for, after
this little ceremony, the intercourse was conducted on the most amicable
terms. Eventually the Colonel resumed his walk across the hot glaring
sand-hills, until he thought he had covered the required distance, and
that the camels would soon overtake him; then he stopped, lighted a fire,
smoked a pipe, and would have indulged in a short nap, had the ants been
agreeable. Finding that sleep was impossible, he resolved on returning
to the camp of the blacks for some more water; but, at that moment, his
son and Lewis arrived with Charley, who had followed up his tracks, and
he found that he must retrace his steps, having gone astray. Exhausted
by heat, hunger, and fatigue, he could scarcely stagger along; but his
companions supported his tottering feet, and in the evening he reached
their encampment.
A good supply of water had been discovered, and, notwithstanding the
alarming scarcity of provisions, it was indispensable that they should
halt by it for some days, in order to give the camels an opportunity of
partially recovering their strength. Without them the explorers could
hardly hope to cross the wide and weary wilderness in which they were
involved. Their rapidly diminishing store of food they endeavoured to
eke out by killing such feathered spoil as came within their range—Gular
parrots, and bronze-wing and top-knot pigeons—and by a mess of boiled
salt-plant (_Salicornia_). On the 14th they resumed their weary march.
An entry or two from Colonel Warburton’s journal will afford a vivid idea
of his distressed condition at this period:—
“19th. This is Sunday. How unlike one at home! Half a quart of flour
and water at four a.m.; a hard, sinewy bit of raw, that is, sun-dried,
but uncooked, camel-meat for dinner at two p.m.; supper uncertain,
perhaps some roasted acacia seeds: this is our bill of fare. These seeds
are not bad, but very small and very hard; they are on bushes, not trees,
and the natives use them roasted and pounded.
“20th. Got a pigeon; and some flour and water for breakfast. We can
only allow ourselves a spoonful of flour each at a time, and it won’t
last many days even at this rate.
“Killed a large camel for food at sunset. We would rather have killed a
worse one, but this bull had, in the early part of our journey, got a
very bad back, and was unable to work for a long time. . . .