"To ascertain this point is worthy of a practical experiment in a geographical point of view, as the knowledge of the direction that mountains and rivers take, the bones and blood vessels of bodies terrestrial give us at least a picture of the body of that skeleton. To these Mr. Sturt will no doubt direct his particular attention, as constituting the main object of such an expedition, and these, with the great features of the country, its principal productions in the animal and vegetable part of the creation, the state and condition of the original inhabitants, will render a great service to the geography of the southern part of Australia."

On this memorandum the Secretary of State observes, in a private letter to Captain Grey, that came to hand before the receipt of Lord Stanley's public despatch:—

"In considering Sir John Barrow's memorandum, enclosed in my public despatch, you will see that a strong opinion is expressed against ascending the Darling in the first instance, and in favour of making a direct northerly course from Adelaide to Mount Arden. I do not wish this to be taken as an absolute injunction, because I am aware that there may be local causes why the apparently circuitous route may after all be the easiest for the transport of provisions, and may really facilitate the objects of the expedition. In like manner I do not wish to be understood as absolutely prohibiting a return by Moreton Bay, extensive as that deviation would be, if it should turn out that the exploration of the mountain chain led the party so far to the eastward as to be able to reach that point by a route previously known to Captain Sturt or to Major Mitchell, more easily than they could return on their steps down the Darling. What Captain Sturt will understand as absolutely prohibited, is any attempt to conduct his party through the tropical regions to the northward, so as to reach the mouths of any of the great rivers. The present expedition will be limited in its object, 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; to examining what rivers take their source in those mountains, and what appears to be their course; to the general lie of the country to the N.W. of the supposed chain; and to the character of the soil and forests, as far as can be ascertained by such an investigation as shall not draw the party away from their resources, and shall make the south the constant base of their operations."

I presume, from the tenor of Sir John Barrow's memorandum, that he was not fully aware of the insurmountable difficulties the course he recommends presented. Valuing his judgment as I did on such an occasion, and anxious as I was to act on the suggestions of the Secretary of State, the strongest grounds could alone have made me pursue a course different to that which had been recommended to me. Certainly the fear of any ordinary difficulty would not have influenced me to reject the line pointed out, but I felt satisfied that if Lord Stanley and Sir John Barrow could be made aware of the nature of the country to the north of Mount Arden, and the reasons why I considered it would be more advantageous to take the line of the Darling, they would have concurred in opinion with me. I would myself much rather have taken the line by Mount Arden, since it would have been a greater novelty, and I would have precluded the chance of any collision with the natives of the Darling, more especially at that point to which I proposed to go, and at which Sir Thomas Mitchell had had a rupture with them in 1836. The journeys of Mr. Eyre had, however, proved the impracticability of a direct northerly course from Mount Arden. Such a course would have led me into the horseshoe of Lake Torrens; and although I might have passed to the westward of it, I could hope for no advantage in a country such as that which lies to the north of the Gawler Range. On the other hand, the Surveyor-General of South Australia had attempted a descent into the interior from the eastward, and had encountered great difficulties from the want of water. Local inquiry and experience both went to prove the little likelihood of that indispensable element being found to the north of Spencer's Gulf. It appeared to me also that Sir John Barrow had mistaken the point on the Darling to which I proposed going. It was not, as he seems to have conjectured, to any point to which I had previously been, but to an intermediate one. It is very true that if I had contemplated pushing up the Darling to Fort Bourke, the distance would have been 600 miles, and that, too, in a direction contrary to the one in which I was instructed to proceed; but to Laidley's Ponds, in lat. 32 degrees 26 minutes 0 seconds S. and long. 142 degrees 30 minutes W., (the point to which I proposed to go) the distance would have been a little more than 300 miles. It was from this point that Sir Thomas Mitchell retreated after his rupture with the natives in 1836; because, as he himself informs us, he just then ascertained that a small stream joined the Darling from the westward a little below his camp, and he likewise saw hills in the same direction.

In consequence of the inhospitable character of the country to the north, I had turned my attention to the above locality, and had been assured by the natives, both of the Murray and the Darling, that the Williorara (Laidley's Ponds) was a hill stream, that it came far from the N.W., that it had large fish in it, and that its banks were grassy. It struck me, therefore, that it would be a much more eligible line for the expedition to run up the Darling to lat. 32 degrees 26 minutes, and then to trace the Williorara upwards into the hills, with the chance of meeting the opposite fall of waters, rather than to entangle myself and waste my first energies amidst scrub and salt lagoons. As I understood my instructions and the wishes of the Secretary of State, I was to keep on the 138th meridian (that of Mount Arden) until I should reach the supposed chain of mountains, the existence of which it was the object of Lord Stanley to ascertain, or until I was turned aside from it by some impracticable object. Lake Torrens being due north of Mount Arden would, if I had taken that line, have been direct in my way, and I should have had to turn either its eastern or its western flank. The Surveyor-General, Captain Frome, had tried the former, but although he went considerably to the eastward into the low and desert interior before he turned northwards, he still found himself entangled in that sandy basin, so that it appeared to me that I should do little more than clear it on the course I proposed to take.

As the reader, however, will learn in the perusal of these pages, I was wholly disappointed in the character of the Williorara. Where that channel joins the Darling, the upward course of that river is to the north-east; and as that was a course directly opposite to the one I felt myself bound to take, I abandoned it and took at once to the hills. At my Depot Prison, in lat. 29 degrees 40 minutes, and in long. 141 degrees 30 minutes E., I hoped that we had sufficiently cleared the north-east limit of Lake Torrens; but when on the fall of rain we resumed our labours, we measured 131 3/4 miles with the chain before we arrived on the shore of a vast sandy basin, which I could not cross, and to the northward of which I could not penetrate. Thus disappointed in my attempt to gain the 138th meridian on a westerly course, as well as in my anticipation of finding Lake Torrens connected with some more central feature, it appeared to me that I could not follow out my instructions better than by attempting to penetrate towards the centre of the continent on a north-west course, for it was clear that if there were any ranges or any mountain chains traversing the interior from north-east to south-west I should undoubtedly strike them; but that if no such chains existed the proposed course would take me to the Tropic on the meridian of 138 degrees, and would enable me to determine the character of the interior, and more central regions of the continent. In this attempt I succeeded in gaining the desired meridian, but failed in reaching the Tropic. My position was about 500 miles north of Mount Arden, 60 miles from the Tropic, and somewhat less than 150 to the eastward of the centre of the Australian continent. Forced back to my depot a second time, from the total failure both of water and grass, in the quarter to which I had penetrated with the above objects in view, having passed the centre in point of latitude, I again left it on a due north course to ascertain if there were any ranges or hills between my position and the Gulf of Carpentaria, as well as to satisfy myself as to the character and extent of a stony desert I had crossed on my last excursion. That iron region however again stopped me in my progress northwards, and obliged me to fall back on a place of safety. For fourteen months I kept my position in a country which never changed but for the worse, and from which it was with difficulty that I ultimately escaped; but as the minuter details of the expedition will be given in the subsequent pages of this work, any mention of them here would be superfluous. I shall only express my regret that we were unable to make the centre or to gain the Tropic. As regards the objects for which the expedition was fitted out, I hope it will be granted that they were accomplished, and that little doubt can now be entertained as to the non-existence of the mountain chains, the supposed existence of which I was sent to ascertain. It would, however, have gratified me exceedingly to have crossed into the Tropic, to have decided my own hypothesis as to the fine country I ventured to predict would be found to exist beyond it. My reasons for supposing which I thought I had explained in my first letter to the Secretary of State, but as it would appear from an observation in Sir John Barrow's memorandum, that I had not done so, I deem it right briefly to record them here.

I had observed on my first expedition to the Darling, in 1828, when in about lat. 29 degrees 30 minutes S. that the migration of the different kinds of birds which visit the country east of the Darling during the summer, was invariably to the W. N. W. Cockatoos and parrots that whilst staying in the colony were known to frequent elevated land, and to select the richest and best watered valleys for their temporary location, passed in flights of countless number to the above-mentioned point. I had also observed, during my residence in South Australia, that several of the same kind of birds annually visited it, and that they came directly from the north. I had seen the PSYTACUS NOVAE HOLLANDIAE and the SHELL PARROQUET following the line of the shore of St. Vincent Gulf like flights of starlings in England, and although intervals of more than a quarter of an hour elapsed between the passing of one flight and that of another, they all came from the north and followed in the same direction. Now, although I am quite ready to admit that the casual appearance of a few strange birds should not influence the judgment, yet I think that a reasonable inference may be drawn from the regular and systematie migration of the feathered races. Now, if we were to draw a line from Fort Bourke to the W. N. W., and from Mount Arden to the north, we should find that they would meet a little to the northward of the Tropic, and as I felt assured of two lines of migration thus tending to the same point, there could be little doubt but that the feathered races migrating upon them rested at that point, for a time, so I was led to conclude that the country to which they went would in a great measure resemble that which they had left—that birds which delighted in rich valleys, or kept on lofty hills, surely would not go into deserts and into a flat country; and therefore it was that I was led to hope, that as the fact of large migrations from various parts of the continent to one particular part, seemed to indicate the existence either of deserts or of water to a certain distance, so the point at which migration might be presumed to terminate would be found a richer country than any which intervened. On the late expedition, I accidentally fell into the line of migration to the north-west, and birds that I was aware visited Van Diemen's Land passed us, after watering, to that point of the compass. Cockatoos would frequently perch in our trees at night, and wing their way to the north-west after a few hours of rest; and to the same point wild fowl, bitterns, pigeons, parrots, and parroquets winged their way, pursued by numerous birds of the Accipitrine class. From these indications I was led still more to conclude that I might hope for the realization of my anticipations if I could force my own way to the necessary distance.

During our stay at Moorundi, the weather had been beautifully fine, although it rained so much in the hills. A light frost generally covered the ground, and a mist rose from the valley of the Murray at early dawn; but both soon disappeared before the sun, and the noon-day temperature was delicious—nothing indeed could exceed the luxury of the climate of that low region at that season of the year, August.

We had directed Kenny, the policeman, and Tampawang, to bivouac in the valley in which we ourselves intended to sleep, but we saw nothing of them on our arrival there. The night was bitter cold, insomuch that we could hardly keep ourselves warm, notwithstanding that we laid under shelter of a blazing log. As dawn broke upon us, we prepared for our departure, being anxious to escape from the misty valley to the clearer atmosphere on the higher ground. At eight a.m. we passed the Great Bend of the Murray, and I once more found myself riding over ground every inch of which was familiar to me, since not only on my several journeys down and up the river had I particularly noticed this spot, but I had visited it in 1840 with Colonel Gawler, the then Governor of South Australia; who, finding that he required relaxation from his duties, invited me to accompany him on an excursion he proposed taking to the eastward of the Mount Lofty Range, for the purpose of examining the country along the shores of Lake Victoria and the River Murray, as far as the Great Bend. It was a part of the province at that time but little known save by the overlanders, and the Governor thought that by personally ascertaining the capabilities of the country contiguous to the Murray, he might throw open certain parts of it for location. Being at that time Surveyor-General of the Province, I was glad of such an opportunity to extend my own knowledge of the province to the north and northeast of Adelaide, more especially as this journey gave me an opportunity to cross from the river to the hills westward of the Great Bend. Not only was the land on the Murray soon afterwards occupied to that point, but Colonel Gawler and I also visited the more distant country on that occasion. Since my return, indeed, from my recent labours, the line of the Murray is occupied to within a short distance of the remoter stations of the colony of New South Wales, and there can be no doubt but that in the course of a few years the stock stations from the respective colonies will meet. I was afraid, when I came the second time down the Murray, that I had exaggerated the number of acres in the valley, but on further examination, it appears to me that I did not do so; for as the traveller approaches Lake Victoria the flats are very extensive, but more liable to inundation than those on the higher points of the river, for being so little elevated above the level of the water, especially those covered with reeds, the smallest rise in the stream affects them. Lake Victoria, although it looks like a clear and open sea, as you look from the point of Pomundi, which projects into it to the south, is after all exceedingly shallow, and is rapidly filling up from the decay of seaweed and the deposits brought into it yearly by the floods of the Murray. No doubt but that future generations will see that fine sheet of water confined to a comparatively narrow bed, and pursuing its course through a rich and extensive plain. When such shall be the case, and that the strength of the Murray shall be brought to bear in one point only, it is probable its sea mouth will be navigable, and that the scenery on this river will be enlivened by the white sails of vessels on its ample bosom. I can fancy that nothing would be more beautiful than the prospect of vessels, however small they might be, coming with swelling sails along its reaches. It may, however, be said, that it will be a distant day when such things shall be realized. There is both reason and truth in the remark; but Time, with his silent work, has already raised the flats in the valley of the Murray, and as we are now benefiting by his labours, so it is to be hoped will our posterity. However that may be, for it is a matter only of curious speculation, nothing will stay the progress of improvement in a colony which has received such an impulse as the province of South Australia. As men retain their peculiarities, so, I believe, do communities; and where a desirable object is to be gained, I shall be mistaken if it is lost from a want of spirit in that colony. Purposing, however, to devote a few pages to the more particular notice of the state of South Australia, and the prospects it holds out to those who may desire to seek in other lands more comforts and a better fortune than they could command in their native country, I shall not here make any further observation.

The morning, which had been so cold, gradually became more genial as the sun rose above us, and both Mr. Eyre and myself forgot that we had so lately been shivering, under the influence of the more agreeable temperature which then prevailed.

As we turned the Great Bend of the Murray, and pursued an easterly course, we rode along the base of some low hills of tertiary fossil formation, the summits of which form the table land of the interior. We were on an upper flat, and consequently considerably above the level of the water as it then was. In riding along, Tenbury pointed out a line of rubbish and sticks, such as is left to mark the line of any inundation, and he told us, that, when he was a boy, he recollected the floods having risen so high in the valley as to wash the foot of these hills. He stated, that there had been no previous warning; that the weather was beautifully fine, and that no rain had fallen; and he added that the natives were ignorant whence the water came, but that it came from a long way off. According to Tenbury's account, the river must have been fully five and twenty feet higher than it usually rises; and judging from his age, this occurrence might have taken place some twenty years before. As we proceed up the Darling, we shall see a clue to this phenomenon. But why, it may be asked, do not such floods more frequently occur? Is it that the climate is drier than it once was, and that the rains are less frequent? There are vestiges of floods over every part of the continent; but the decay of debris and other rubbish is so slow, that one cannot safely calculate how long it may have been deposited where they are so universally to be found.

After passing the Great Bend, as I have already stated, we turned to the eastward and overtook Mr. Poole at noon, not more than eight miles distant. Some of the bullocks had strayed, and he had consequently been prevented from starting so early as he would otherwise have done. The animals had, however, been recovered before we reached the party, and were yoked up; we pushed on therefore to a distance of nine miles, cutting across from angle to angle of the river, but ultimately turned into one of the flats and encamped for the night. We passed during the day through some low bushes of cypresses and other stunted shrubs, but they were not so thick as to impede our heavy drays, by the weight of which every tree they came in contact with was brought to the ground. A meridian altitude of Vega placed us in lat. 34 degrees 4 minutes 20 seconds S., by which it appeared that we had made four miles of southing, the Great Bend being in lat. 34 degrees. Kenny and Tampawang had joined the party before we overtook it, and Flood arrived in the course of the afternoon. The cattle had an abundance of feed round our tents, and near a lagoon at the upper end of the flat. The thermometer stood at 40 degrees at 7 p.m., with the wind at west.

On the morning of the 26th we availed ourselves of the first favourable point to ascend from the river flats to the higher ground, since it prevented our following the windings of the river and shortened our day's journey. In doing this we sometimes travelled at a considerable distance from the Murray—the surface of the country was undulating and sandy, with clumps of stunted cypress trees, and eucalyptus dumosa scattered over it. Low bushes of rhagodia, at great distances apart, were growing on the more open ground; the soil, consisting of a red clay and sand, only superficially covering the fossil formation beneath it. At 11 a.m. we entered a dense brush of cypress and eucalypti growing in pure sand. Fortunately for us the overlanders had cut a passage through it, so that we had a clear road before us, but the drays sunk deep into the loose sand in which these trees were growing, and the bullocks had a constant strain on the yoke for six miles. We then broke into more open ground, and ultimately reached the river in sufficient time to arrange the camp before sunset, although we had 2 1/2 miles to travel on a S.W. course before we found a convenient place to stop at. Our course during the day having been S.S.E., we had thus been obliged to turn back upon it, but this was owing to the direction the river here takes and was unavoidable. At 6 p.m. the thermometer stood at 55 degrees of Farenheit, the barometer at 30.000, and the boiling point of water by two thermometers with a difference of 2 degrees 212 minutes and 214 minutes, respectively, our distance from the sea coast being about 120 {180 in published text} miles as the crow flies.

It was generally thought in Adelaide that having started so late in the season, I should experience some difficulty in getting feed for the cattle. From my experience, however, of the seasons in the low region through which the Murray flows, I had no such anticipation. The only fear I had, was, that we should be shut out from flats of the river by the floods, as I knew it would be on the rise at the time we should be upon it. To this point, however (and I may add, with few exceptions), we found an abundance of feed, both along the line of the Murray and the Darling, but at our present encampment our animals fared very indifferently, in consequence of the poor nature of the soil. Our tents were pitched at the northern extremity of a long flat, between the river and a serpentine lagoon, which left but a narrow embankment between itself and the stream. The soil of the flat was a cold white clay, on which there was scarcely any vegetation, so that the cattle wandered and kept us about an hour after our appointed hour of starting. There had been a sharp frost during the night, and the morning was bitterly cold. At sunrise the thermometer stood at 29 degrees, the dew point being 43 degrees, and the barometer at 29.700.

When we left this place, our course, for the first three miles, was along the embankment separating the river from the lagoon, and I remarked that although there was so little vegetation on the ground, there were some magnificent trees on the bank of the river itself, which gradually came up to the north-east. At three miles, however, our further course along the flats was checked by the hills of fossil formation, which approached the river so closely as to leave no passage for the drays between it and them. We were, therefore, obliged to ascend to the upper levels, in doing so we were also obliged to put two teams, or sixteen bullocks, to each dray, and even then found it difficult to master the ascent.

Referring back to a previous remark, I would observe that the Murray river is characterised by bold and perpendicular cliffs of different shades of yellow colour, varying from a light hue to a deep ochre. These cliffs rise abruptly from the water to the height of 250 and occasionally 300 feet. They occur first on one side of the river, and then on the other, there being an open or a lightly-timbered flat on the opposite side, with a line of trees almost invariably round it, especially along the river. These flats are backed, at uncertain distances, by the fossil formation, as by a natural inclosure—sometimes it rises perpendicularly from the flats, but more generally assumes the character of sloping hills. The cliffs occasionally extend, like a wall, along the river for two or three miles, and look exceedingly well; but their constant recurrence, at length fatigues the eye. At the point at which we had now arrived this remarkable formation ceases, or, as we are going up the river, I should perhaps be more correct if I said, begins. Above it a long line of hills, broken by deep and rugged stony gullies, and with steep sides, extends to the eastward (that also being the upward course of the river). On gaining the crest of these hills we found ourselves, as usual, on a flat table land, notwithstanding the broken faces of the hills themselves. There was only a narrow space between them, and a low thick brush of eucalyptus to the north. The soil was, as usual, a mixture of clay and sand, with small rounded nodules of limestone. From this ground, the view to the south as a medium point, was over as dark and monotonous a country as could well be described. There was not a single break in its sombre hue, nor was there the slightest rise on the visible horizon; both to the eastward and westward we caught glimpses of the Murray glittering amidst the dark foliage beneath us, but it made no change in the character of the landscape.

We kept on the open ground, just cutting the heads of the gullies, and advanced eight miles before we found a convenient spot at which to drive the cattle down to water, and feed in the flats below, and into which it appeared impracticable to get our drays. I halted, therefore, on the crest of the hills, and sent Flood and three other men to watch the animals, and to head them back if they attempted to wander. In the afternoon we went down to the river, and on crossing the flat came upon the dray tracks of some overland party, the leader of which had taken his drays down the hills, notwithstanding the apparent difficulty of the attempt. But what is there of daring or enterprise that these bold and high-spirited adventurers will shrink from?

I had hoped that the more elevated ground we here occupied, would have been warmer than the flats on which we had hitherto pitched our tents, but in this I was disappointed. The night was just as cold as if we had been in the valley of the Murray. At sunrise the thermometer stood at 27 degrees, and we had thick ice in our pails.

At five miles from this place, having left the river about a mile to our right, we arrived at the termination of this line of hills. They gradually fell away to the eastward and disappeared; nor does the fossil formation extend higher up the Murray. It here commences or terminates, as the traveller is proceeding up or down the stream. A meridian altitude on the hill just before we descended, placed it in lat. 34 degrees 9 minutes 56 seconds, so that we had still been going gradually to the south. At the termination of the hills, the Murray forms an angle in turning sharp round to that point, and after an extensive sweep comes up again, so as to form an opposite angle; the distance between the two being 14 or 15 miles, and from the ground on which we stood the head of Lake Bonney bore E. 5 degrees S., distant six miles.

On descending from these hills we fell into the overland road, but were soon turned from it by reason of the floods, and obliged to travel along a sandy ridge, forming the left bank of a lagoon, running parallel to the river, into which the waters were fast flowing; but finding a favourable place to cross, at a mile distant, we availed ourselves of it, and encamped on the river side. In the afternoon we had heavy rain from the west. During it, Mr. James Hawker, a resident at Moorundi, joined us, and took shelter in our tents. He had, indeed, kept pace with us all the way from the settlement in his boat, and supplied us with wild fowl on several occasions.

We had showers during the night, but the morning, though cloudy, did not prevent our moving on to Lake Bonney, distant, according to our calculation, between four and five miles. To determine this correctly, however, I ordered Mr. Poole to run the chain from the river to the lake. We had seen few or no natives as yet; but expecting to find a large party of them assembled at Lake Bonney, Mr. Eyre went before us with Kenny and Tenbury, leaving Nadbuck and Camboli to shew us the most direct line to the mouth of the little channel which connects Lake Bonney with the Murray, at which I purposed halting. The greater part of our way was through deep sandy cypress brushes, so that the cattle had a heavy pull of it. We reached our destination at 1 p.m., where we found Mr. Eyre, with eight or nine natives, all, who were then in the neighbourhood.

The back-water of the Murray was fast flowing into the lake, which already presented a broad expanse of water to the eye. It was covered with wild fowl of various kinds, and there were several patches of reeds in which they were feeding.

As I purposed stopping for a day or two, to rest the bullocks, I directed Mr. Poole to survey the lake, whilst I undertook to lay down the creek or channel connecting it with the river, in which service I enlisted Mr. Hawker, who had formerly been on the survey, and whose name I gave to the creek on the completion of our work.

Lake Bonney is a shallow sandy basin, which is annually filled by the Murray; and as it rises, so, to a certain extent, it falls with the river, until at length, being left very shallow, it is soon dried up. The Hawker being too small to discharge the water equally with the fall of the river, has a current in it after the river has lowered considerably, for which reason I thought, when I passed it on my second expedition, that it had been a tributary; but such is not the case—Lake Bonney receiving no water save from the Murray. To the south of it, or next the river, the ground is low, grassy, and wooded; but on every other side the lake is confined by a low sand hill, of about fifteen feet in height, behind which there is a barren flat covered with salsolaceous plants, and exactly resembling a dry sea marsh, if I may say so. The more distant interior is alternate brush and plain, and exceedingly barren. The day after we arrived, however, Tenbury, with the dogs, killed four large kangaroos and as he saw many more, it is to be presumed that thereabouts they are pretty numerous. The lake is ten miles in circumference. Hawker's Creek, taking its windings, is nearly six in length. The latitude of our camp was 34 degrees 13 minutes 42 seconds S.; its longitude 140 degrees 26 minutes 16 seconds. On September 1st. the thermometer, at 8 A. M. and at noon, stood at 48 degrees and 60 degrees respectively; the barometer at 29.750, and the boiling point was 212 degrees nearly, thus indicating that we had risen but a few feet above the level of the sea. We left Lake Bonney on the 3rd of September, and crossing the bank of sand by which it is confined, traversed the flat behind it for about three miles, when we ascended some feet, and entered a low brush that continued for nearly nine miles, with occasional openings in it to that angle of the river which is opposite to the one at the end of the fossil formation.

Our camp at this place was on one of the prettiest spots on the Murray. Our tents were pitched on some sloping ground, sheltered from the S.W. wind. The feed was excellent, and the soil of better quality than usual. We had a splendid view of the river, which here is very broad and flanked on the right by a dark clay cliff, which is exceedingly picturesque. On the opposite side of the stream there is an extensive, well wooded and grassy flat of beautiful and park-like appearance. Altogether it was a cheerful and pleasant locality, and we were sorry to leave it so soon. Our observations placed us in lat. 34 degrees 11 minutes 12 seconds S. and in long. 140 degrees 39 minutes 42 seconds E. From this point the general course of the Murray is much more to the north than heretofore, so that on leaving it we had more of northing in our course than anything else. Some strange natives brought up our cattle for us, to whom I made presents; but although so kindly disposed, they did not follow us. Indeed, the natives generally, seemed to regard our progress with suspicion, and could not imagine why we were going up the Darling with so many drays and cattle. Our sheep had now become exceedingly tame and tractable; they followed the party like dogs, and I therefore felt satisfied that I had not done wrong in bringing them with me. We travelled on the 4th, over harder and more open ground than usual, having extensive polygonium flats to our right. There were belts of brush however on the plains, the soil and productions of which were sandy and salsolaceous. At 4 1/2 miles we struck a lagoon, and coming upon a creek at 13 miles, we halted, although the feed was bad, as the cattle were unable to get to the river flats in consequence of the flooded state of the creek itself.

On the 5th we travelled through a country that consisted almost entirely of scrub on the poorest soil. However, we were now approaching that part of the river at which the flats (extensive enough) are intersected by numerous creeks and lagoons, so that our approach to the Murray was likely to be cut off altogether. At 3 1/2 miles we again struck the creek on the banks of which we had slept, and as it was the point at which the native path from Lake Bonney also strikes it, I halted to take a meridian altitude, which placed it in 34 degrees 4 minutes 5 seconds S. We had allowed our horses to go and feed with their bridles through the stirrups, and were sitting on the ground when we heard a shot, and a general alarm amongst them, insomuch that we had some difficulty in quieting them, more especially Mr. Poole's horse. It was at length discovered that one of that gentleman's pistols had accidentally gone off in the holster, to the dismay of the poor animal. Fortunately no damage was done.

After noon, we pushed on, and at a mile crossed a creek, where we found a small tribe of scrub natives, one of whom had a child of unusual fatness: its flesh really hung about it; a solitary instance of the kind as far as I am aware. We then traversed good grassy plains for about two miles, when we fell in with another small tribe on a second creek: our introduction to which was more than ordinarily ceremonious. The natives remained seated on the ground, with the women and children behind them, and for a long time preserved that silence and reserve which is peculiar to these people when meeting strangers; however, we soon became more intimate, and several of them joined our train. Our friend Nadbuck was very officious (not disagreeably so, however), on the occasion, and shewed himself a most able tactician, since he paid more attention to the fair than his own sex, and his explanation of our movements seemed to have its due weight.

We soon passed from the grassy plains I have mentioned, to plains of still greater extent, and still finer herbage. Nothing indeed could exceed the luxuriance of the grass on these water meadows, for we found on crossing that the floods were beginning to incroach upon them. These were marked all over with cattle tracks, many of them so fresh that they could only have been made the night before, but independently of these there were others of older date. The immense number of these tracks led me to inquire from the natives if there were any cattle in the neighbourhood, when they informed me that there were numbers of wild cattle in the brushes to the westward of the flats, and that they came down at night to the river for water and food. The grass upon the plain over which we were travelling was so inviting, that I determined to give the horses and bullocks a good feed, and turning towards the river with Mr. Eyre, I directed Mr. Poole and Mr. Browne to try the brushes with Flood and Mack, for a wild bullock, whilst we arranged the camp. We scarcely had time to do this, however, when Mr. Browne returned to inform me that soon after gaining the brush they had fallen in with a herd of about fifty cattle, out of which they had singled and shot a fine animal, and that on his way back to the camp the dogs had killed a large kangaroo. Upon this I sent Morgan with the cart to fetch in the quarters of the animal, and desired the natives to go with him to benefit by what might be left behind, and to feast on the kangaroo. The beast the party had killed fully justified Mr. Browne's account of it, and its fine condition proved the excellent nature of the pastures on which it had fed. We had not killed many of the sheep, as I was anxious to preserve them, since they had given us little or no trouble, so that I was led to hope that by ordinary care they would prove a most valuable and important stock.

We were here unable to approach the river, and therefore encamped near a creek, the banks of which were barren enough; however, as we had stopped for the benefit of the cattle it was of no consequence. But although on this occasion they were absolutely up to their middles in the finest grass, the bullocks were not satisfied, but with a spirit of contradiction common to animals as well as men they separated into mobs and wandered away; the difficulty of recovering them being the greater, because of the numerous tracks of other cattle in every direction around us. We recovered them, however, although too late to move that day, and it is somewhat remarkable to record, that this was the only occasion on which during this long journey we were delayed for so long a time by our animals wandering. Had it not been for Tampawang, whose keen eye soon detected the fresher tracks, we might have been detained for several days.

As Mr. Browne had been on horseback the greater part of the day, I left him in the camp with Mr. Poole, both having been after the cattle, and in the afternoon walked out with Mr. Eyre, to try if we could get to the river, but failed, for the creeks were full of water, and our approach to it or to the nearer flats was entirely cut off. So intersected indeed was this neighbourhood, that we got to a point at which five creeks joined. The scene was a very pretty one, since they formed a sheet of water of tolerable size shaded by large trees. The native name of this place was "Chouraknarup," a name by no means so harmonious as the names of their places generally are. We had not commenced any collection at this time, there being nothing new either in the animals or plants, but I observed that everything was much more forward on this part of the river than near Lake Bonney, although there was no material difference between the two places in point of latitude. A meridian altitude of the sun gave our latitude 34 degrees 1 minutes 33 seconds S., and one of Altair 34 degrees 2 minutes 2 seconds S.

The night of the 6th Sept. was frosty and cold, and we had thick ice in the buckets. We left our camp on a N. by E. course, at 8 o'clock on the morning of the 7th, and at 4 miles struck the river, where its breadth was considerable, and it looked exceedingly well. The flooded state of the creeks however prevented our again approaching it for several days. Shortly after leaving the river we turned more to the eastward, having gained its most northern reach. About noon we fell in with a few natives, who did not trouble themselves much about us, but we found that their backwardness was rather the result of timidity at seeing such a party than anything else. We traversed large and well-grassed flats almost all day long, and ultimately encamped on the banks of a creek of some size, opposite to our tents the floods had made an island, on which we put our cattle for security during the night.

Mr. Eyre and I were again disappointed in an attempt to gain the banks of the Murray, but we returned to the camp with a numerous retinue of men, women, and children, who treated us to a corrobori at night. The several descriptions which have been given by others of these scenes, might render it unnecessary for me to give my account of such here; but as my ideas of these ceremonies may differ from that of other travellers, I shall trespass on the patience of my readers for a few moments to describe them. However rude and savage a corrobori may appear to those to whom they are new, they are, in truth, plays or rather dramas, which it takes both time and practice to excel in. Distant tribes visiting any other teach them their corrobori, and the natives think as much of them as we should do of the finest play at Covent Garden. Although there is a great sameness in these performances they nevertheless differ. There is always a great bustle when a corrobori is to be performed, and the men screw themselves up to the acting point, as our actors do by other means than these poor creatures possess. On the present occasion there was not time for excitement; our's was as it were a family corrobori, or private theatricals, in which we were let into the secrets of what takes place behind the scenes. A party of the Darling natives had lately visited the Murray, and had taught our friends their corrobori, in which, however, they were not perfect; and there was consequently a want of that excitement which is exhibited when they have their lesson at their fingers' ends, and are free to give impulse to those feelings, which are the heart and soul of a corrobori.

We had some difficulty in persuading our friends to exhibit, and we owed success rather to Mr. Eyre's influence than any anxiety on the part of the natives themselves. However, at last we persuaded the men to go and paint themselves, whilst the women prepared the ground. It was pitch dark, and ranging themselves in a line near a large tree, they each lit a small fire, and had a supply of dry leaves to give effect to the acting. On their commencing their chanting, the men came forward, emerging from the darkness into the obscure light shed by the yet uncherished fires, like spectres. After some performance, at a given signal, a handful of dry leaves was thrown on each fire, which instantly blazing up lighted the whole scene, and shewed the dusky figures of the performers painted and agitated with admirable effect, but the fires gradually lowering, all were soon again left in obscurity.

But, as I have observed, for some reason or other the thing was not carried on with spirit, and we soon retired from it; nevertheless, it is a ceremony well worth seeing, and which in truth requires some little nerve to witness for the first time.

We had now arrived at Camboli's haunt, and were introduced by him to his wife and children, of whom he seemed very proud; but a more ugly partner, or more ugly brats, a poor Benedict could not have been blessed with. Whether it was that he wished to remain behind, for he had not been very active on the road, or taken that interest in our proceedings which Nadbuck had done; or that our praises of his wife and pickaninnies had had any effect I know not, but he would not leave his family, and so remained with them when we left on the following morning. The neighbourhood of our camp was, however, one of great celebrity—since in it some of the most remarkable and most tragical events had taken place. It was near it that the volunteers who went out to rescue Mr. Inman's sheep, which had been seized by the natives to the number of 4,000, were driven back and forced to retreat; not, I would beg to be understood, from want of spirit, but because they were fairly overpowered and caught in a trap. The whole of the party, indeed, behaved with admirable coolness, and one of them, Mr. Charles Hawker, as well as their leader, Mr. Fidd, shewed a degree of moderation and forbearance on the occasion that was highly to their credit. Here also was the Hornet's Nest, where the natives offered battle to my gallant friend, Major O'Halloran, whose instructions forbade his striking the first blow. I can fancy that his warm blood was up at seeing himself defied by the self-confident natives; but they were too wise to commence an attack, and the parties, therefore, separated without coming to blows. Here, or near this spot also, the old white-headed native, who used to attend the overland parties, was shot by Miller, a discharged soldier, I am sorry to say, of my own regiment. This old man had accompanied me for several days in my boat, when I went down the Murray to the sea coast in 1830, and I had made him a present, which he had preserved, and shewed to the first overland party that came down the river, and thenceforward he became the guide of the parties that followed along that line. He attended me when I came overland from Sydney, in 1838, on which occasion he recognised me, and would sleep no where but at my tent door. He was shot by Miller in cold blood, whilst talking to one of the men of the party of which unfortunately he had the charge; but retribution soon followed. Miller was shortly afterwards severely wounded by the natives; and, having aneurism of the heart, was cautioned by his medical attendant never to use violent exercise; but, disregarding this, when he had nearly recovered, he went one day to visit a friend at the gaol in which he ought to have been confined, and in springing over a ditch near it, fell dead on the other side, and wholly unprepared to appear before that tribunal, to which he will one day or other be summoned, to answer for this and other similar crimes.

About a dozen natives followed us from our camp, on the morning of the 8th. We again struck the creek, on which we had rested, and which had turned to our right at 2 1/2 miles on an east by south course, and followed along its banks, until it again trended too much to the south. We crossed alluvial flats of considerable extent, on which there was an abundance of grass. Just at the point at which we turned from the creek, we ascended a small sand hill, covered with the amaryllis, then beautifully in flower. The latitude of this little hill, from which the cliffs on the most northern reach of the Murray bore N. 170 degrees E. distant four miles, was 33 degrees 57 minutes 11 seconds; so that the Murray does not extend northwards beyond latitude 34 degrees 1 minutes or thereabouts. We again struck the creek, the course of which had been marked by gum-trees, at six miles, and were forced by it to the N.E., but ultimately turned it and descended southwards to the river; but as we were cut off from it we encamped on a lagoon of great length, backed by hills of a yellow and white colour, the rock being a soft and friable sandstone, slightly encrusted with salt. We had, shortly before we halted, passed a salt lagoon in the centre of one of the grassy flats, but such anomalies are not uncommon in the valley of the Murray. That part of the river which I have described, from the point where we shot the bullock to this lagoon, appeared to me admirably adapted for a cattle station, and has since been occupied as such.

As I have observed, the lagoon on which we encamped was backed by hills of 150 or 200 feet elevation, which were covered with thick brush wood. The flat between us and these hills was unusually barren, and all the trees at the side of the lagoon were dead. Whether this was owing to there being salt in the ground or to some other cause, there was here but little grass for the cattle to eat, so that, although they were watched, twenty of them managed to crawl away, and we were consequently delayed above an hour and a half after our usual hour of starting, and commenced our day's journey wanting two of our complement, but we stumbled upon them in passing through the brush, in which they were very comfortably lying down. We travelled for about six miles through a miserable undulating country of sand and scrub. At noon we were abreast of a little sandy peak that was visible from our camp, and is a prominent feature hereabouts. This peak Mr. Browne and I ascended, though very little to our gratification, for the view from it was as usual over a sea of scrub to whatever quarter we turned. The peak itself was nothing more than a sandy eminence on which neither tree or shrub was growing, and the whole locality was so much in unison with it, that we called it "Mount Misery." After passing this hill, and forcing through some stunted brush, we debouched on open plains and got once more on the overland road, which was distinctly marked by a line of bright green grass, that was springing up in the furrows the drays had left. This road took us to the edge of a precipitous embankment, from which we overlooked the river flowing beneath it. This embankment was 60 or 70 feet high, and presented a steep wall to the river; for although the Murray had lost the fossil cliffs it was still flanked by high level plains on both sides, and cliffs of 100 or 120 feet in height, composed of clay and sand, rose above the stream, the faces of which presented the appearance of fretwork, so deeply and delicately had they been grooved out by rains. The soil of this upper table land was a bright red ferruginous clay and sand. The vegetation was chiefly salsolaceous, but there was, notwithstanding, no want of grass upon it, though the tufts were very far apart. If our cattle had fared badly at our last camp, they had no reason to complain at this; for we encamped on a beautifully green flat, about seven miles short of the Rufus, and about eight from the nearest point of Lake Victoria. There were now seventeen natives in our train, amongst whom was one of remarkable character. This was "Pulcanti," who was engaged in, wounded and taken prisoner at an affair on the Rufus, to which I shall again have to allude.

Whilst the police were conveying this man handcuffed to Adelaide, he threw himself off the lofty cliffs at the Great Bend into the river beneath, and attempted to escape by swimming across it, but he was recaptured and taken safe to Adelaide, where subsequent kind treatment had considerable influence on his savage disposition. His attempt to escape was of the boldest kind, and was spoken of with astonishment by those who witnessed it, but so desperate an act only proved how much more these people value liberty than life. I am sure that bold savage would have submitted to torture without a groan; he was the most repulsive native in aspect that I ever saw, and had a most ferocious countenance. The thick lip and white teeth, the lowering brow, and deep set but sharp eye, with the rapidly retiring forehead all betrayed the savage with the least intellect, but his demeanour was now quiet and inoffensive.

Mr. Eyre again preceded us to the Rufus, with Kenny and Tenbury; for although we had been disappointed in seeing any natives at Lake Bonney, it was hardly to be doubted but that we should find a considerable number at Lake Victoria.

We joined Mr. Eyre about noon at the junction of the Rufus with the Murray, and which serves like Hawker's Creek as a channel of communication between that river and the Murray. Here Mr. Eyre had collected 69 natives, who were about to go out kangarooing when he arrived. They had their hunting spears and a few waddies, but no other weapons.

We had now arrived at Nadbuck's native place, and he left us to join his family, promising still to accompany us up the Darling. A principal object Mr. Eyre had in joining me had been to distribute some blankets to those natives who, living in the distance, seldom came to Moorundi to benefit by the distribution of food and clothing there. In the position we now occupied we were flanked by the Rufus to our left, and had the Murray in front of us. The ground in our rear and to our right was rather bushy, and numerous Fusani, covered with fruit, were growing there; Lake Victoria being about four miles to our rear also. Considering the spirit of the natives on this part of the Murray, the position was not very secure, as we were too confined; but I had no apprehension of any attack from them, they having for some time shewn a more pacific disposition, and against whom we were otherwise always well prepared. As soon, therefore, as the tents were pitched, we walked together along the bank of the Rufus to its junction with the lake, but not seeing any of the native families we turned back, until observing some young men on the opposite side of the channel we called to them, and one of them ferried us over in a canoe. We had then a long round of visits to make to the different families of the natives, since they were all encamped on the eastern or opposite side of the Rufus.

The first huts to which we went happened to be that of our friend Nadbuck, and he introduced us, as Camboli had done, to his wives and children, of whom the old gentleman was very proud. We then visited eleven other huts in succession, after which we returned to the place where the canoe had been left, with twelve patriarchs, to whom Mr. Eyre (wisely selecting the oldest) intended making some presents. We were again ferried across the Rufus, the current setting strong into Lake Victoria at the time, and had well nigh gone down in our frail bark, to the infinite amusement of our Charon. We had just time, however, to reach the bank and to get out of her when she went down.

It was at this particular spot that the natives sustained so severe a loss when Pulcanti was taken. They got between two fires, that of Mr. Robinson's party of overlanders, with whom they had been fighting for three days; and a party of police who, providentially for Mr. Robinson, came up just in time to save him from being overwhelmed by numbers. Astonished at finding themselves taken in flank, the blacks threw themselves into the Rufus, and some effected their escape, but about forty fell, whose grave we passed on our way back to the camp.

The natives who accompanied us pointed out the mound to Mr. Eyre and myself as we walked along, and informed us that thirty of their relatives laid underneath; but they did not seem to entertain any feelings of revenge for the loss they had sustained.

On the morrow, my worthy friend left me, on his return to Moorundi, together with Kenny and Tenbury, and a young native of the Rufus. We all saw them depart with feelings of deep regret; but Mr. Eyre had important business to attend to which did not admit of delay.

A little before Mr. Eyre mounted his horse, I had sent Mr. Browne, with Flood and Pulcanti, to the eastward, to ascertain how high the backwaters of the Murray had gone up the Ana-branch of the Darling, since that ancient channel laid right in our way, and I was anxious if possible to run up it, rather than proceed to the river itself, as being a much nearer line. In the afternoon Mr. Poole and I moved the camp over to the lake, and on the following day I directed him to ascertain its circumference, as we should be detained a day or two awaiting the return of Mr. Browne.



CHAPTER III.



MR. BROWNE'S RETURN—HIS ACCOUNT OF THE COUNTRY—CHANGE OF SCENE—CONTINUED RAIN—TOONDA JOINS THE PARTY—STORY OF THE MASSACRE—LEAVE LAKE VICTORIA—ACCIDENT TO FLOOD—TURN NORTHWARDS—CROSS TO THE DARLING—MEET NATIVES—TOONDA'S HAUGHTY MANNER—NADBUCK'S CUNNING—ABUNDANCE OF FEED—SUDDEN FLOODS—BAD COUNTRY—ARRIVAL AT WILLIORARA—CONSEQUENT DISAPPOINTMENT—PERPLEXITY—MR. POOLE GOES TO THE RANGES—MR. BROWNE'S RETURN—FOOD OF THE NATIVES—POSITION OF WILLIORARA.

Lake Victoria is a very pretty sheet of water, 24 miles in circumference {DIAMETER in published text}, very shallow, and at times nearly dry. As I have previously observed of Lake Bonney, it is connected with the Murray by the Rufus, and by this distribution of its waters, the floods of the Murray are prevented from being excessive, or rising above a certain height.

The southern shore of Lake Victoria is very picturesque, as well as the line of the Rufus. The latter however is much wooded, whereas the S.W. shore of the lake is low and grassy, and beautiful umbrageous trees adorn it, in number not more than two or three to the acre. As Mr. Poole was engaged near me, I remained stationary on the 13th, but on the following day moved the camp seven miles to the westward, for his convenience. On the 15th I again moved so as to keep pace with him, and was highly delighted at the really park-like appearance of the scenery. This pretty locality is now occupied as a cattle run, and must be a place of amusement as well as profit.

We met Mr. Browne and Flood on their return to the camp from the journey on which I had sent them, about an hour before we halted.

Mr. Browne informed me that the day he left me he rode for some miles along the shore of the lake, and that after leaving it he encamped in the scrub, having travelled about seventeen miles. The brush was very dense, although there were open intervals; it consisted of trees and shrubs of the usual kind, the soil was very sandy, and there was a good deal of spinifex upon it.

The next day, still on a due east course (that on which he had travelled from the lake), and at five miles from where he had slept, Mr. Browne came on a salt lake, about 800 yards in circumference. A third of the bed was under water, and half of the remainder was white with crystallized salt, that glittered in the sun's rays, and looked like water at a distance. At about five miles farther on there were two other lakes of the same kind, but both were dry and without any salt deposits in their beds. At five miles beyond these lakes Mr. Browne intersected the Ana-branch of the Darling, which I had detached him to examine. To within a short distance of the Ana-branch the country was similar to that through which he had passed the day before, but on nearing it he crossed an open plain. This old channel of the Darling had been crossed by Mr. Eyre on a recent journey to the north, but at that time was dry. Where Mr. Browne struck it the banks were rather high, and its course was N.W. by W. It was about eighty yards wide, with a strong current running upwards, caused by the back waters of the Murray. Its general course for 12 miles was N. by E. The country was very open, and high banks, similar to those on the Murray, occurred alternately on either side. The channel maintained the same appearance as far as Mr. Browne; rode and as he found the waters still running upwards, he considered that the object of his journey was attained, and that we should find no difficulty in pursuing our route northwards along this new line. It may be necessary for me to inform the reader that no water ever flows down the Ana-branch from the north. When Mr. Eyre first arrived on its banks it was dry, and he was consequently obliged to cross the country to the Darling itself, a distance of between 40 and 50 miles. Pulcanti, the native I sent with Mr. Browne, however, made a rough sketch of the two channels, by which it appeared that the Ana-branch held very much to the eastward, in proof of which he pointed to a high line of trees, at a great distance, as being the line of the river Darling. Considering from this that, even if water failed us in the Ana-branch, we should have no difficulty in crossing to the main stream, and that however short our progress might be, it would greatly curtail our journey to Laidley's Ponds, I decided on trying the new route.

Mr. Browne saw a great many red kangaroos (foxy), some very young, others very large; and he chased a jerboa, which escaped him. He also saw a new bird with a black crest, about the size of a thrush.

The morning of the 14th had been cloudy, but the day was beautifully fine; so that we had really enjoyed our march, if so it might be called. From our tents there was a green and grassy slope to the shore of the lake, with a group of two or three immense trees, at distances of several hundred yards apart, and the tranquil waters lay backed by low blue hills.

On the morning of the 15th the barometer fell to 27.672, the thermometer standing at 56 degrees, at 8 a.m. The air was heavy, the sky dull, and the flies exceedingly troublesome. All these indications of an approaching change in the weather might have determined me to remain stationary, but I was anxious to push on. I therefore directed Mr. Poole to complete the survey of the lake, and at eleven moved the whole party forward.

The picturesque scenery which had, up to this point, adorned the shores of Lake Victoria ceased at two miles, when we suddenly and at once found ourselves travelling on sand, at the same time amidst reeds. The rich soil disappeared, the trees becoming stunted and low. As the travelling was also bad, we went along the margin of the lake, where the sand was firm, although marked with ripples like those left on the sea-shore by the tide, between the water and a line of rubbish and weeds inside of us, so that it appeared the lake had not yet risen so high as the former year. We had moved round to its eastern side, which being its lea side also, the accumulation of rubbish and sand was easily accounted for. We traversed about eight miles of as dreary a shore as can be imagined, backed, like Lake Bonney, by bare sand hills and barren flats, and encamped, after a journey of thirteen miles, on a small plain, separated from the lake by a low continuous sand ridge, on which the oat-grass was most luxuriant. The indications of the barometer did not deceive us, for soon after we started it began to rain, and did not cease for the rest of the day, the wind being in the N.E. quarter.

It continued showery all night, nor on the morning of the 16th was there any appearance of a favourable change. At nine a steady and heavy rain setting in we remained stationary.

The floods in the Rufus had obliged us to make a complete circuit of the lake, so that we had now approached that little stream to within six miles from the eastward. Our friend Nadbuck, therefore, thinking that we were about to leave the neighbourhood, rejoined the party. With him about eighty natives came to see us, and encamped close to our tents; forty-five men, sixteen women, and twenty-six children. I sent some of the former out to hunt, but they were not successful.

Amongst the natives there were two strangers from Laidley's Ponds, the place to which we were bound. The one was on his way to Moorundi, the other on his return home. Pulcanti had given us a glowing account of Laidley's Ponds, and had assured us that we should not only find water, but plenty of grass beyond the hills to the N.W. of that place. This account the strangers confirmed; and the one who was on his way home expressing a wish to join us, I permitted him to do so; in the hope that, what with him and old Nadbuck, we should be the less likely to have any rupture with the Darling natives, who were looked upon by us with some suspicion. I was, in truth, very glad to take a native of Williorara up with me, because I entertained great doubts as to the reception we should meet with from the tribe, on our arrival there, in consequence of the unhappy occurrence that took place between them and Sir Thomas Mitchell, during a former expedition; and I hoped also to glean from this native some information as to the distant interior. Both the Darling natives were fine specimens of their race. One in particular, Toonda, was a good-looking fellow, with sinews as tough as a rope. It also appeared to me that they had a darker shade of colour than the natives of the Murray.

Nadbuck turned out to be a merry old man, and a perfect politician in his way, very fond of women and jimbuck (sheep), and exceedingly good-humoured with all. He here brought Davenport a large quantity of the fruit of the Fusanus, of which he made an excellent jam, too good indeed to keep; but if we could have anticipated the disease by which we were afterwards attacked, its preservation would have been above all price. The natives do not eat this fruit in any quantity, nor do I think that in its raw state it is wholesome. They appeared to me tol ive chiefly on vegetables during the season of the year that we passed up the Murray, herbs and roots certainly constituted their principal food.

I had hoped that the weather would have cleared during the night, but in this I was disappointed. On the 17th we had again continued rain until sunset, when the sky cleared to windward and the glass rose. We were however unable to stir, and so lost another day. About noon Nadbuck came to inform me that the young native from Laidley's Ponds, who was on his way to Moorundi, had just told him that only a few days before he commenced his journey, the Darling natives had attacked an overland party coming down the river, and had killed them all, in number fifteen. I therefore sent for the lad, and with Mr. Browne's assistance examined him. He was perfectly consistent in his story; mentioned the number of drays, and said that the white fellows were all asleep when the natives attacked them amongst the lagoons, and that only one native, a woman, was killed; the blacks, he added, had plenty of shirts and jackets. Doubtful as I was of this story, and equally puzzled to guess what party could have been coming down the Darling, it was impossible not to give some little credit to the tale of this young cub; for he neither varied in his account or hesitated in his reply to any question. I certainly feared that some sad scene of butchery had taken place, and became the more anxious to push my way up to the supposed spot, where it was stated to have occurred, to save any one who might have escaped. I felt it my duty also before leaving Lake Victoria to report what I had heard to the Governor.

As the barometer fell before the rain, so it indicated a cessation of it, by gradually rising. The weather had indeed cleared up the evening before, but the morning of the 18th was beautifully fine and cool; we therefore yoked up the cattle and took our departure from Lake Victoria at 9 a.m. At first the ground was soft, but it soon hardened again. Shortly after starting we struck a little creek, which trended to the south, so that we were obliged to leave it, but we could trace the line of trees on its banks to a considerable distance. We traversed plains of great extent, keeping on the overland road until at length we gained the river, and encamped on a small neck of land leading to a fine grassy enclosure, into which we put our cattle. One side of this enclosure was flanked by the river, the other by a beautiful lagoon, that looked more like a scene on Virginia water than one in the wilds of Australia.

As we crossed the plains we again observed numerous cattle tracks, and regularly beaten paths leading from the brushes to the river, to the very point indeed where we encamped. The natives had previously informed us, as far back as the place where we shot the first bullock, that we should fall in with other cattle hereabouts; we did not however see any of them during the day. Our tents were pitched on the narrow neck of land leading to an enclosure into which we had turned our animals. It was so narrow indeed that nothing could pass either in or out of it without being observed by the guard, so that neither could our cattle escape or the wild ones join them. It was clear, however, that we had cut off the latter from their favourite pasture, for at night they were bellowing all round us, and frequently approached close up to our fires. We had no difficulty in distinguishing the lowing of the heifers from that of the bullocks; of which last there appeared to be a large proportion in the herd.

Some of our cattle were getting very sore necks, and our loads at this time were too heavy for me to relieve them. Flood therefore suggested our trying to secure two or three of the bullocks running in the bush. We therefore arranged that a party should go out in the morning to scour the wood, and drive any cattle they might find towards the river, at which I was to be prepared to entice them to our animals. Accordingly Mr. Poole and Mr. Browne, with Flood and Mack, started at sunrise. It was near twelve, however, when Mr. Browne returned with Flood, who had met with a sad accident, and had three of the first joints of the fingers of his right hand carried off by the discharge of his fusee whilst loading. He had incautiously put on the cap and was galloping at the time, but kept his seat. Mr. Browne informed me they had seen a great many cattle, but that they were exceedingly wild, and started off the moment the horsemen appeared, insomuch that they could not turn them, and it was with a view to drive them towards the river that Flood fired at them. However none approached the camp. Mr. Poole returned late in the afternoon equally unsuccessful. Mr. Browne dressed Flood's hand, who bore it exceedingly well, and only expressed his regret that he should be of no use on the Darling in the event of any rupture with the natives. I remained stationary, as Mr. Browne thought it would be necessary to keep Flood quiet for a day or two. On the following day we resumed our journey, and reached the junction of the ancient channel of the Darling with the Murray about 11. The floods were running into it with great velocity, and the water had risen to a considerable height, so that many trees were standing in it. I remained here until noon, when a meridian altitude placed us in lat. 34 degrees 4 minutes 34 seconds. We then bade adieu to the Murray, and turned northwards to overtake the party, which under Nadbuck's guidance had cut off the angle into which we had gone. With the Murray we lost its fine trees and grassy flats. The Ana-branch had a broad channel and long reaches of water; but was wholly wanting in pasture or timber of any size. The plains of the interior formed the banks, and nothing but salsolae grew on them. We encamped at eight miles from the junction, where there happened to be a little grass, but were obliged to keep the cattle in yoke and the horses tethered to prevent their wandering. As we advanced up the Ana-branch on the following day, its channel sensibly diminished in breadth, and at eleven miles we reached a hollow, beyond which the floods had not worked their way. Here we found a tribe of natives, thirty-seven in number, by whom the account we had heard of the massacre of the over-landers at the lagoons of the Darling was confirmed. Nadbuck now informed me that we should have to cross the Ana-branch and go to the eastward, and that it would be necessary to start by dawn, as we should not reach the Darling before sunset. Nadbuck had now become a great favourite, and there was a dry kind of humour about him that was exceedingly amusing, at the same time that his services were really valuable.

Toonda, on the other hand, was a man of singular temperament. He was good-looking and more intelligent than any native I had ever before seen. His habit was spare, but his muscles were firm, and his sinews like whipcord He must indeed have had great confidence in his own powers to have undertaken a journey of more than 200 miles from his own home. He was very taciturn, and would rather remain at the officers' fire than join his fellows.

The country we had passed through during the day had been miserable. Plains of great extent flanked the Ana-branch on either side, on which there were sandy undulations covered with stunted cypress trees or low brush.

Flood had from the time of his accident suffered great pain; but as he did not otherwise complain, Mr. Browne did not entertain any apprehension as to his having any attack of fever.

On the morning of the 24th, the natives paid us an early visit with their boys, and remained at the camp until we started. At the head of the water they had made a weir, through the boughs of which the current was running like a sluice; but the further progress of the floods was stopped by a bank that had been gradually thrown up athwart the channel. Crossing the Ana-branch at this point, we struck across barren sandy plains, on a N.N.E. course. From them we entered a low brush, in which there were more dead than living trees. At four miles this brush terminated, and we had again to traverse open barren plains. At their termination we had to force our way through a second brush, consisting for the most part of fusani, acaciae, hakeae, and other low shrubs, but there were no cypresses here as in the first brush. On gaining more open ground, the country gradually rose before us, and a ferruginous conglomerate cropped out in places. We at length began our descent towards the valley of the Darling. The country became better wooded: the box-tree was growing on partially flooded land, and there was no deficiency of grass. Mr. Browne went on a-head with Toonda and Flood, whilst I and Mr. Poole remained with the party. From the appearance of the country, however, I momentarily expected to come on the river; but the approach to it from the westward is extremely deceptive, and we had several miles of box-tree flats to traverse before the gum-trees shewed their white bark in the distance. We reached the Darling at half-past five, as the sun's almost level beams were illuminating the flats, and every blade of grass and every reed appeared of that light and brilliant green which they assume when held up to the light. The change from barrenness and sterility to richness and verdure was sudden and striking, and nothing certainly could have been more cheering or cheerful than our first camp on the Darling River. The scene itself was very pretty. Beautiful and drooping trees shaded its banks, and the grass in its channel was green to the water's edge. Evening's mildest radiance seemed to linger on a scene so fair, and there was a mellow haze in the distance that softened every object. The cattle and horses were up to their flanks in grass and young reeds, and plants indicative of a better soil, such as the sowthistle, the mallow, peppermint, and indigofera were growing in profusion around us. Close to our tents there was a large and hollow gum-tree, in which a new fishing net had been deposited, but where the owner intended to use it was a puzzle to us, for it was impossible that any fish could remain in the shallow and muddy waters of the Darling; which was at its lowest ebb, and the current was so feeble that I doubted if it really flowed at all. Whether the natives anticipated the flood which shortly afterwards swelled it I cannot say, although I am led to believe they did, either from habit or experience.

So abundant had been the feed that none of the cattle stirred out of sight of the camp, and we should have started at an early hour, but for the visit of an old native, the owner of the net we had discovered. It was with some hesitation that he crossed the river to us, but he did so; and as soon as he saw me he recognised me as having been in the boat on the Murray in 1830, though fourteen years had passed since that time, and he could only have seen me for an hour or two. He was not, however, singular in his recollection of me, since one of the natives of the Ana-branch also recollected me; and Tenbury, the native constable at Moorundi, not only knew me the moment he saw me, but observed that a little white man sat by my side in the stern of the boat, and that I had something before me, which was a compass. There was a suspicious manner about our visitor, for which we could not very well account; but it arose from doubts he entertained as to the safety of his net, for after he had seen that it had not been taken away, his demeanour changed, and he expressed great satisfaction that we had not touched it.

We commenced our journey up the Darling at nine o'clock, on a course somewhat to the westward {EASTWARD in published text} of north. We passed flat after flat of the most vivid green, ornamented by clumps of trees, sufficiently apart to give a most picturesque finish to the landscape. Trees of denser foliage and deeper shade dropped over the river, forming long dark avenues, and the banks of the river, grassed to the water, had the appearance of having been made so by art.

We halted, after a journey of fourteen miles, on a flat little inferior to that we had left, and again turned the cattle out to feed on the luxuriant herbage around them.

The Darling must have been in the state in which we found it for a great length of time, and I am led to infer, from the very grassy nature of its bed, that it seldoms contains water to any depth, or length of time, since in such case the grass would be killed. Its flats, like those of the Murray, are backed by lagoons, but they had long been dry, and the trees growing round them were either dead or dying.

With the exception of the tribe at the Ana-branch, and the old man, we had seen no natives since leaving the Murray; but, from the reports we had heard of the recent massacre of the overland party at Williorara, and the character of the Darling blacks, I was induced to take double precautions as I journeyed up the river, and had the camp so formed that it could not be surprised. Two drays were ranged close to each other on either side, the boat carriage formed a face to the rear, and the tents occupied the front; thus leaving sufficient room in the centre to fold the sheep in netting. The guard, augmented to six men, occupied a tent at one angle. My own tent was in the centre of the front, and another tent at the angle opposite the guard tent. So that it would have been difficult for the natives to have got at the sheep (which they most coveted), without alarming us. Still, although we had no apprehension of the natives, both Nadbuck and Toonda were constantly on the watch, and it was evident the former considered himself in no mean capacity at this time. He put on an air of great importance, and shewed great anxiety about our next interview with the natives; but Toonda took everything quietly, and there was a haughty bearing about him, that contrasted strangely with the bustling importance of his companion.

We here heard that there was a large encampment of natives about three miles above us, but none of them ventured to our camp; nor, it is more than probable, were the people aware of our being in the neighbourhood; but our friend Nadbuck, as I have stated, was in a great bustle, and shewed infinite anxiety on the occasion. Neither were his apprehensions allayed on the following morning when we started. He went in advance to prepare the natives for our approach, and to ask permission for us to pass through their territory, but returned without having found them. Not long afterwards it was reported that the natives were in front.

On hearing this the old gentleman begged of me to stop the party, and away he went, full of bustle and importance, to satisfy himself. In a few minutes he returned and said we might go on. We had halted close to the brow of a gentle descent into a small creek junction at this particular spot, and on advancing a few paces came in view of the natives, assembled on the bank of the river below. Men only were present, but they appeared to have been taken by surprise, and were in great alarm. They had their spears for hunting, and a few hostile weapons, but not many; and certainly had not met together with any hostile intention.

Some of the men were very good looking and well made, but I think the natives of the Darling generally are so. They looked with astonishment on the drays, which passed close to them; and I observed that several of them trembled greatly. At this time Nadbuck had walked to some little distance with two old men, holding each by the hand in the most affectionate manner, and he was apparently in deep and earnest conversation with them. Toonda, on the other hand, had remained seated on one of the drays, until it descended into the creek. He then got off, and walking up to the natives, folded his blanket round him with a haughty air, and eyed the whole of them with a look of stern and unbending pride, if not of ferocity. Whether it was that his firmness produced any effect I cannot say, but after one of the natives had whispered to another, he walked up to Toonda and saluted him, by putting his hands on his shoulders and bending his head until it touched his breast. This Toonda coldly returned, and then stood as frigid as before, until the drays moved on, when he again resumed his seat and left them without uttering a word. Nadbuck had separated from his friends, after having as it seemed imparted to them some important information, and coming up to myself and Mr. Browne, whispered to us, "Bloody rogue that fellow, you look after jimbuck." The contrast between these two men was remarkable: the crafty duplicity of the one, and the haughty bearing of the other. But I am led to believe that there was some latent cause for Toonda's conduct, since he asked me to shoot the natives, and was so excited that he pushed his blanket into his mouth, and bit it violently in his anger. On this I offered him a pistol to shoot them himself, but he returned it to me with a smile. Of course it will be understood that I should not have allowed him to fire it.

Two of the old men followed when we left the other natives, to whom I made presents in the afternoon; but it is remarkable that many of them trembled whilst we staid with them, and although their women were not present, they hovered on the opposite bank of the Darling all the time. We kept wide of the river almost all day, travelling between the scrub and lagoons, but we had occasionally to ascend and cross ridges of loose sand, over which the bullock-drivers were obliged to help each other with their teams. There was not the slightest change in the character of the distant interior, but the vicinity of the Darling was thickly timbered for more than three-quarters of a mile from its banks, but the wood was valueless for building purposes.

I was exceedingly surprised at the course of the river at this point. We had gone a good deal to the eastward the day before, but on this day we sometimes travelled on a course to the southward of east, and never for the whole day came higher up than east by north. The consequence was, that we proceeded into a deep bight, and made no progress northwards up the river. At our camp it had dwindled to a mere thread, so narrow was the line of water in its bed. Its banks were as even and as smooth as those of a fortification, and covered with a thick, even sward. There was no perceptible current and the water was all muddy; but the scenery in its precincts was still verdant and picturesque, grassy flats with ornamental trees succeeding each other at every bend of the stream.

The dogs killed a large kangaroo on the plains, the greater part of which we gave to the natives, all indeed but a leg, which Jones, whose duty it was to feed them, reserved for the dogs. Yet this appropriation excited Toonda's anger. "Kangaroo mine, sheep yours," said he, threatening Jones with his waddy; but he soon recovered his temper, and carried off his share of the animal, subduing his feelings with as much apparent facility as he had given vent to them.

About this time the weather had become much warmer, although we had occasional cold winds. We started early on the morning of the 27th, without the intention of making a long journey, because the bullocks had been kept in yoke all night. We travelled for six miles over firm and even plains, but soon afterwards got upon deep sand, through which the teams fairly ploughed their way. I therefore turned towards the river, and encamped on the first flat we reached, having run about ten miles on an east-north-east course.

We here found the Darling so diminished in size, and so still, that I began to doubt whether or not we should find water higher up. Its channel, however preserved the appearance of a canal, with sloping grassy sides, shaded by trees of drooping habit and umbrageous foliage, but the soil of the flats had become sandy, and they appeared to be more subject to inundation than usual.

About this time I regretted to observe that many of the bullocks had sore necks, and I was in consequence obliged to make a different distribution of them; an alternative always better if possible to avoid, as men become attached to their animals, and part even with bad ones reluctantly.

On counting our sheep at this camp, I found that we had 186 remaining. Toonda came as usual to take his share of one that had just been killed; but I said, No! that, according to his own shewing, he had no claim to any—thinking this the best way of speaking to his reason.

He seemed much astonished at the view I took of the matter, but on his acknowledging himself in error, I forgave his recent ebullition and allowed him his wonted meal; for, although I was always disposed to be kind to the natives, I still felt it right to shew them that they were not to be unruly. Neither is it without great satisfaction that I look back to the intercourse I have had with these people, from the fact of my never having had occasion to raise my arm in hostility agianst them.

The cattle fared well on the luxuriant grass into which they had been turned when we halted, and as they had no inducement to wander, so they were close to the camp at daybreak, and we started at 7 on an east-north-east course, which at a mile we changed to a northerly one; but soon afterwards finding that a pine ridge crossed our course, and extended to the banks of the river, I turned to the north-west to avoid it, but the country becoming generally sandy I again turned towards the stream, and by going round the sandy points instead of over them, lessened the labour to the cattle, although I increased the distance. We were glad to find that the Darling held a general northerly course, or one somewhat to the westward of that point, for we had during the last three or four days made a great deal of easting, and I had thus been prevented making the rapid progress I anticipated to Laidley's Ponds.

I had observed for more than twenty miles below us that the immediate precincts of the river were not so rich in soil, or the flats so extensive as at first; they now however began to open out, and assumed the character and size of those of the Murray. The state of the two rivers however was very different, for the Darling still continued without breadth or current, (I speak of its appearance in lat. 33 degrees 43 minutes S.) whilst the Murray ever presents its bright and expanded waters to the view.

We had communicated with a native tribe the day before that of which I am now speaking, and again this day fell in with another, which we evidently took by surprise. All the men had their spears, but on seeing us approach they quietly deposited them under a tree. Amongst these people there was another native who recognised me as an old acquaintance of fourteen years' standing; but I began to doubt these patriarchs, to whom I generally made a present for old acquaintance sake. This tribe numbered forty-eight. All of them were handsome and well-made men, though short in stature, and their lower extremities bore some proportion to their busts.

For the first time this day we observed a ferruginous sandstone in the bed of the Darling, and saw it cropping out from under the sand hills on the western extremity of the flats.

Shortly after leaving the natives we arrived at a small plain, where they could only just have killed a kangaroo that was lying on the ground partly prepared for cooking. On seeing it I ordered the dogs to be tied up, and left it untouched. Indeed if I had been fortunate enough to kill a kangaroo at this place, I would have given it to these poor people. Three of them, who afterwards came to our camp, mentioned the circumstance, and seemed to be sensible of our feelings towards them. There can be no doubt but that the Australian aboriginal is strongly susceptible of kindness, as has been abundantly proved to me, and to the influence of such feeling I doubtlessly owe my life; for if I had treated the natives harshly, and had thrown myself into their power afterwards, as under a kind but firm system I have ever done without the slightest apprehension, they would most assuredly have slain me; and when I assure the reader that I have traversed the country in every direction, meeting numerous tribes of natives, with two men only, and with horses so jaded that it would have been impossible to have escaped, he will believe that I speak my real sentiments. Equally so the old native, (to whom the net we discovered in the hollow of a tree where we first struck the Darling belonged), evinced the greatest astonishment and gratification, when he found that his treasure had been untouched by us.