The flats of the Darling are certainly of great extent, but their verdure reached no farther than the immediate precincts of the river at this part of its course. Beyond its immediate neighbourhood they are perfectly bare, but lightly wooded, having low and useless box-trees (the Gobero of Sir Thomas Mitchell), growing on them. Their soil is a tenacious clay, blistered and rotten. These flats extend to uncertain distances from the river, and vary in breadth from a quarter of a mile to two miles or more. Beyond them the country is sandy, desolate, and scrubby. Pine ridges, generally lying parallel to the stream, render travelling almost impracticable where they exist, whilst the deep fissures and holes on the flats, into which it is impossible to prevent the drays from falling, give but little room for selection. Our animals were fairly worn out by hard pulling on the one, and being shaken to pieces on the other.

Some days prior to the 29th, Mr. Browne and I, on examining the waters of the river, thought that we observed a more than usual current in it; grass and bark were floating on its surface, and it appeared as if the water was pushed forward by some back impulse. On the 28th it was still as low as ever; but on the morning of the 29th, when we got up it was wholly changed. In a few hours it had been converted into a noble river, and had risen more than five feet above its recent level. It was now pouring along its muddy waters with foaming impetuosity, and carrying away everything before it. Whence, it may be asked, come these floods? and was it from the same cause that the Murray, as Tenbury stated, rose so suddenly? Such were the questions that occurred to me. From the natives I could gather nothing satisfactory. We were at this time between three and four hundred miles from the sources of the Darling, and I could hardly think that this fresh had come from such a distance. I was the more disposed to believe, perhaps, because I hoped such would be the case, that it was caused by heavy rains in the hills to the north-west of Laidley's Ponds, and that it was pouring into the river through that rivulet.

The natives who had accompanied us from the last tribe left at sunset, as is their custom, after having received two blankets and some knives. Being anxious to get to Laidley's Ponds, I started early, with the intention of making a long journey, but circumstances obliged me to halt at six miles. We crossed extensive and rich flats the whole of the way, and found as usual an abundance of feed for our cattle. It would perhaps be hazardous to give an opinion as to the probable availability of the flats of the Darling: those next the stream had numerous herbs, as spinach, indigoferae, clover, etc., all indicative of a better soil; but the out flats were bare of vegetation, although there was no apparent difference in their soil. One peculiarity is observable in the Darling, that neither are there any reeds growing in its channel or on the flats.

Our journey on the last day of September terminated at noon, as we arrived at a point from which it was evident the river takes a great sweep to the eastward; and Nadbuck informed me that by going direct to the opposite point, where, after coming up again, it turned to the north, we should cut off many miles, but that it would take a whole day to perform the journey. I determined therefore to follow his advice, and to commence our journey across the bight at an early hour the following morning, the 1st of October. I availed myself of the remainder of the day to examine the country for some miles to the westward, but there was no perceptible change in it. The same barren plains, covered sparingly with salsolae and atriplex, characterised this distant part of the interior; and sandy ridges covered with stunted cypress trees, acaciae, hakeae, and other similar shrubs, proved to me that the productions of it were as unchanged as the soil.

As we had arranged, we broke up our camp earlier than usual on the 1st of October, for, from what Nadbuck had stated, I imagined that we had a long journey before us; but after going fifteen miles, we gained the river, and found that it was again trending to the north. It had now risen more than bank high, and some of its flats were partly covered with water. We had kept a N.N.W. course the whole day, and crossed hard plains without any impediment; but, although we kept at a great distance from the stream, we did not observe any improvement in the aspect of the country.

Our specimens, both of natural history and botany, were as yet very scanty; but we found a new and beautiful shrub in blossom, on some of the plains as we crossed the bight; and Mr. Browne discovered three nests of a peculiar rat, that have been partially described by Sir Thomas Mitchell.

Mr. Browne was fortunate enough to secure one of these animals, which is here figured. The nests they construct are made of sticks, varying in length from three inches to three feet, and in thickness from the size of a quill to the size of the thumb. They were arranged in a most systematic manner, so as to form a compact cone like a bee-hive, four feet in diameter at the base, and three feet high. This fabric is so firmly built, as to be pulled to pieces with difficulty. One of these nests had five holes or entrances from the bottom, nearly equi-distant from each other, with passages leading to a hole in the ground, beneath which I am led to conclude they had their store. There were two nests of grass in the centre of the pyramid, and passages running up to them diagonally from the bottom. The sticks, which served for the foundations of the nests, were not more than two or three inches long, and so disposed as to form a compact flooring, whilst the roofs were arched. The nests were close together, but in separate compartments, with passages communicating from the one to the other.

In a pyramid that we subsequently opened, there was a nest nearly at the top; so that it would appear that these singular structures are common to many families, and that the animals live in communities. The heap of sticks, thus piled up, would fill four large-sized wheel-barrows, and must require infinite labour. This ingenious little animal measures six inches from the tip of the nose to the tail, which is six inches long. The length of the head is two and a half inches, of the ears one and a quarter, and one inch in breadth. Its fur is of a light brown colour, and of exceedingly fine texture. It differs very little in appearance from the common rat, if I except the length of its ears, and an apparent disproportion in the size of the hind feet, which were large. The one figured is a male, which I obtained from one of the natives who followed us to the camp.

At this period of our journey the weather was exceedingly cold, and the winds high. We were about 45 miles from Laidley's Ponds; but could not, from the most elevated point, catch a glimpse of the ranges in its neighbourhood. It appeared to me that the river flats were getting smaller on both sides of it, the river still continuing to rise. It was now pouring down a vast body of water into the Murray. There was, however, an abundance of luxuriant pasture along its banks. Late in the afternoon the lubras (wives) of the natives, at our camp, made their appearance on the opposite side of the river, and Nadbuck, who was a perfect gallant, wanted to invite them over; but I told him that I would cut off the head of the first who came over with my long knife—my sword. The old gentleman went off to Mr. Browne, to whom he made a long complaint, asking him if he really thought I should execute my threat. Mr. Browne assured him that he was quite certain I should not only cut off the lubra's head, but his too. On this Nadbuck expressed his indignation; but however much he might have ventured to risk the lubra's necks, he had no idea of risking his own.

One of the natives who visited us at this place was very old, with hair as white as snow. To this man I gave a blanket, feeling assured it would be well bestowed; although a circumstance occurred that had well night prevented my behaving with my usual liberality to the natives who were here with us. The butcher had been killing a sheep, and carelessly left the steel, an implement we could ill spare, under the tree in which he had slung the animal: and it was instantly taken by the natives. On hearing this, I sent for Nadbuck and Toonda, and told them that I should not stir until the steel was brought back, or make any more presents on the river. On this there was a grand consultation between the two. Toonda at length went to the natives, who had retired to some little distance, and, after some earnest remonstrances, he walked to the tree near which the sheep had been killed, and, after looking at the ground for a moment, began to root up the ground with his toes, when he soon discovered the stolen article, and brought it to me. The thief was subsequently brought forward, and we made him thoroughly ashamed of himself; although I have no doubt the whole tribe would have applauded his dexterity if he had succeeded.

The day was exceedingly cold, as the two or three previous ones had been, but still the temperature was delightful. We travelled, on this day, across the river flats, which again opened out to a distance of two or three miles; the ground, however, was of a most distressing character, and we had to cross several sandy points projecting into them, so that the poor animals were much jaded. This, however, was only the beginning of their troubles, for we were, in like manner, obliged to travel for several successive days over the same kind of ground—land on which floods have gradually subsided, and which has been blistered and cracked by solar heat. Travelling on this kind of ground was, indeed, more distressing to the cattle than even the hard pull over sand; for it was impossible for the bullock-drivers to steer clear of the many fissures and holes on these flats, and the shock, when the drays fell into any of them, was so great, that it shook the poor brutes almost to pieces.

From this period to the 9th there was a sameness in our progress up the Darling. On the 3rd we crossed a small creek, into which the waters of the river were flowing fast; and which both Nadbuck and Toonda informed us joined Yertello Lake, and that the Ana-branch was on the other side of the lake. This explanation accounted to us for a statement made by Toonda, shortly after he first joined us, that the Ana-branch hereabouts formed a great lake. On the 4th a little rain fell, but not in such quantity as to interfere with our travelling. On the 5th we passed a tribe of natives, in number about thirty-four. We were again led by Nadbuck across the country, to avoid the more circuitous route along the river. We passed through a more pleasing country than usual, and one that was better timbered and better grassed than it had been at any distance from the river.

I have mentioned that Toonda was attended by a young lad, his nephew, who, with another young lad, joined us at Lake Victoria. These two young lads used to keep in front with myself or Mr. Poole, or Mr. Browne, and were quite an amusement to us. This day both of them disappeared, not very long after we passed the last tribe. On making inquiries I ascertained, to my surprise, that they had been forcibly taken back by three men from the last tribe, and that both cried most bitterly at leaving the party. The loss of his nephew greatly afflicted poor Toonda, who sobbed over it for a long time. We could not understand why the natives had thus detained the boys; but, I believe, they were members of that tribe, between which and a tribe higher up the river some ground of quarrel existed. After the departure of these boys we had only three natives with us, who had been with the party from Lake Victoria, i. e. Nadbuck, Toonda, and Munducki, a young man who had attached himself to Kirby, who cooked for the men. The latter turned out to be a son of old Boocolo, a chief of the Williorara tribe, whom I shall, ere long, have occasion to introduce to the reader. Mr. Browne, with the assistance of Nadbuck, gathered a good deal of information from the natives then with us, as to the inhospitable character of the country to the north-west of the Williorara, or Laidley's Ponds, that agreed very little with the accounts we had previously heard. They stated that we should not be able to cross the ranges, as they were covered with sharp pointed stones and great rocks, that would fall on and crush us to death; but that if we did get across them to the low country on the other side, the heat would kill us all. That we should find neither water or grass, or wood to light a fire with. That the native wells were very deep, and that the cattle would be unable to drink out of them; and, finally, that the water was salt, and that the natives let down bundles of rushes to soak it up.

Such was the account the natives gave of the region into which we were going. We were of course aware that a great deal was fiction, but I was fully prepared to find it bad enough. From the opinion I had formed of the distant interior, and from my knowledge of the country, both to the eastward and westward of me, I had no hope of finding it good within any reasonable distance.

Prepared, however, as I was for a bad country, I was not prepared for such as the natives described.

It was somewhat strange, that as we neared the supposed scene of the slaughter of the overlanders, we should fail in obtaining intelligence regarding it; neither were the natives, who must have participated in it, so high up the river as we now were, afraid of approaching us, as they undoubtedly would have been if they had been parties to it. I began, therefore, to suspect that it was one of those reports which the natives are, unaccountably, so fond of spreading without any apparent object in view.

As we approached Williorara the course of the river upwards was somewhat to the westward of north. The country had an improved appearance as we ascended it, and grass seemed to be more generally distributed over the flats. We passed several large lagoons, which had already been filled from the river, and were much pleased with the picturesque scenery round them.

On the 7th Jones broke the pole of his dray, and Morgan again broke his shaft, but we managed to repair both without the loss of much time—and made about ten miles of northing during the day.

We hereabouts shot several new birds; and the dogs killed a very fine specimen of the Dipus of Mitchell, but, unfortunately, in the scuffle, they mangled it so much that we could not preserve it.

On the 8th the weather was oppressively hot, but we managed to get on some fifteen miles before we halted.

Our journey up the Darling had been of greater length than I had anticipated, and it appeared to me that I could not do better than reduce the ration of flour at this early stage of the expedition to provide the more certainly for the future. I accordingly reduced it to eight pounds a week, still continuing to the men their full allowance of meat and other things.

Nadbuck had assured me on the 9th that if the bullocks did not put out their tongues we should get to Laidley's Ponds that day, but I hardly anticipated it myself, although I was aware we could not be many miles from them.

We had a great many natives in the neighbourhood at our encampment of the 8th, but they did not approach the tents. Their families generally were on the opposite side of the river, but one man had his lubra and two children on our side of it. My attention was drawn to him, from his perseverance in cutting a bark canoe, at which he laboured for more than an hour without success. Mr. Browne walked with me to the tree at which he was working, and I found that his only tool was a stone tomahawk, and that with such an implement he would hardly finish his work before dark. I therefore sent for an iron tomahawk, which I gave to him, and with which he soon had the bark cut and detached. He then prepared it for launching by puddling up its ends, and putting it into the water, placed his lubra and an infant child in it, and giving her a rude spear as a paddle pushed her away from the bank. She was immediately followed by a little urchin who was sitting on the bank, the canoe being too fragile to receive him; but he evidently doubted his ability to gain the opposite bank of the river, and it was most interesting to mark the anxiety of both parents as the little fellow struck across the foaming current. The mother kept close beside him in the canoe, and the father stood on the bank encouraging his little son. At length they all landed in safety, when the native came to return the tomahawk, which he understood to have been only lent to him. However I was too much pleased with the scene I had witnessed to deprive him of it, nor did I ever see a man more delighted than he was when he found that the tomahawk, the value and superiority of which he had so lately proved was indeed his own. He thanked me for it, he eyed it with infinite satisfaction, and then turning round plunged into the stream and joined his family on the opposite bank.

We journeyed as usual over the river flats, and occasionally crossed narrow sandy parts projecting into them. From one of these Mr. Poole was the first to catch a glimpse of the hills for which we had been looking out so long and anxiously. They apparently formed part of a low range, and bore N.N.W. from him, but his view was very indistinct, and a small cone was the only marked object he could distinguish. He observed a line of gum-trees extending to the westward, and a solitary signal fire bore due west from him, and threw up a dark column of smoke high into the sky above that depressed interior. A meridian altitude placed us in latitude 32 degrees 33 minutes 0 seconds S., from which it appeared that we were not more than eight or ten miles from Laidley's Ponds, but we halted short of them, and received visits from a great many of the natives during the afternoon, who came to us with their families, a circumstance which led me to hope that we should get on very well with them. Poor Toonda here heard of the death of some relative during his absence, and had a great cry over it. He and the native who communicated the news sat down opposite to one another with crossed legs, and their hands on each other's shoulders. They then inclined their heads forward, so as to rest on each other's breasts and wept violently. This overflow of grief, however, did not last long, and Toonda shortly afterwards came to me for some flour for his friend, who he said was very hungry.

As it appeared to me that we should have to remain for some time in the neighbourhood of Laidley's Ponds, I had directed my inquiries to the state of the country near them, and learnt both from Nadbuck and Toonda, that we should find an abundance of grass for the cattle. I was not however very well satisfied with the change that had taken place within a few miles, in the appearance of the river, and the size of the flats, these latter having greatly diminished, and become less verdant. On the 10th we started on a west course, but at about a mile changed it for a due north one, which we kept for about five miles over plains rather more than usually elevated above the river flats. From these plains the range was distinctly visible, now bearing N. 10 degrees E., and N. 26 degrees and 38 degrees W., distant 35 miles. It still appeared low, nor could we make out its character; three cones marked its southern extremity, and I concluded that it was a part of Scrope's Range. With the exception of these hills there were none other visible from Laidley's Ponds.

The ground whereon we now travelled was hard and firm, so that we progressed rapidly, and at five miles descended into a bare flat of whitish clay, on which a few bushes of polygonum were alone growing under box-trees. At about two hundred yards we were stopped by a watercourse, into which the floods of the Darling were flowing with great velocity. It was about fifty yards broad, had low muddy banks, and was decidedly the poorest spot we had seen of the kind. This, Nadbuck informed me, was the Williorara or Laidley's Ponds, a piece of intelligence at which I was utterly confounded. I could not but reproach both him and Toonda for having so deceived me; but the latter said he had been away a long time and that there was plenty of grass when he left. Nadbuck, on the other hand, said he derived his information from others, and only told me what they told him. Be that as it may, it was impossible for me to remain in such a place, and I therefore turned back towards the Darling, and pitched my tents at its junction with the Williorara.

For three or four days prior to our arrival at Laidley's Ponds, the upward course of the river had been somewhat to the west of north. The course of Laidley's Ponds was exceedingly tortuous, but almost due west. The natives explained to us that it served as a channel of communication between two lakes that were on either side of it, called Minandichi and Cawndilla. They stated that the former extended between the Darling and the ranges, but that Cawndilla was to the westward at the termination of Laidley's Ponds, by means of which it is filled with water every time the Darling rose; but they assured me that the waters had not yet reached the lake. It was nevertheless evident that we were in an angle, and our position was anything but a favourable one. From the point where we had now arrived the upward course of the Darling for 300 miles is to the N.E., that which I was anxious to take, was to the W.N.W. It was evident, therefore, that until every attempt to penetrate the interior in that direction had proved impracticable, I should not have been justified in pushing farther up the river. My hopes of finding the Williorara a mountain stream had been wholly disappointed, and the intelligence both Mr. Eyre and I had received of it from the Murray natives had turned out to be false, for instead of finding it a medium by which to gain the hills, I now ascertained that it had not a course of more than nine or ten miles, and that it stood directly in my way. We were as yet ignorant what the conduct of the natives towards us would be, having seen none or very few who could have taken part in the dispute between Sir Thomas Mitchell and the Williorara tribe in 1836. Expecting that they might be hostilely disposed towards us, I hesitated leaving the camp, lest any rupture should take place between my men and the natives during my absence; much less could I think of fortifying the party in a position from which, in the event of an attack, they would find it difficult to retreat. I thought it best therefore to move the camp to a more distant situation with as little delay as possible, and send Mr. Poole to visit the ranges, and ascertain from their summit the probable character of the N.W. interior.

Having come to this decision, I procured a guide to accompany that officer to the hills, who accordingly started for them, with Mr. Stuart, my draftsman, the morning after our arrival at the ponds. Some of the natives had informed us that there was plenty of feed at the head of Cawndilla Lake, a distance of seven or eight miles to the W.S.W.; but we could not understand from them how far the waters of the Darling had passed up the creek, although it was clear from what they said that they had not yet reached Cawndilla. My instructions to Mr. Poole were framed with a view to our removal from our present position nearer to the ranges, and I therefore told him to cross the creek at the head of the water, and if he should find grass there, to return to the camp, if not, to continue his journey to the hills, and use every effort to find water and feed. We had had a good deal of rain during the night of the 10th; the morning of the 11th was hazy, with the wind at S.W., and there appeared to be every prospect of continued wet. Under less urgent circumstances, therefore, I should have detained Mr. Poole until the weather cleared, but our movements at this time were involved in too much uncertainty to admit of delay. I had hoped that the morning would have cleared, but a light rain set in and continued for several days.

We had seen fewer natives on the line of the Darling than we had expected; but as we approached Williorara they were in greater numbers. Our tents were hardly pitched at that place, when, as I have observed, we were visited by the local tribe, with their women and children, who sat down at some little distance from the drays, and contented themselves with watching our motions. I had tea made for the ladies, of which they seemed to approve highly, and gave the youngsters two or three lumps of sugar a-piece. The circumstance of the women and children thus venturing to us, satisfied me that no present hostile movement was contemplated by the men; but, not-withstanding that there was a seeming friendly feeling towards us, there was a suspicious manner about them, which placed me doubly on my guard, and caused me to doubt the issue of our protracted sojourn in the neighbourhood.

I had several of the natives in my tent, and with Mr. Browne's assistance questioned them closely as to the character of the country to the north west, but we could gather nothing from what they said. They spoke of it in terror, as a region into which they did not dare to venture, and gave me dreadful accounts of the rocks and difficulties against which I should have to contend. They agreed, however, in saying that there was both water and grass at the lake; in consequence, I sent Mr. Browne with Nadbuck to examine the locality on the morning of the 12th, as the distance was not greater than from six to seven miles. He returned about one P. M., and informed me that there was plenty of feed for the cattle, and water also; but that the water was at least a mile and a half from the grass, which was growing in tufts round the edge of the lake. It appeared that the Williorara made a circuitous and extensive sweep and entered Cawndilla on the opposite side to that of the river, so that he had to cross a portion of the lake, and thus found that the floods had not reached it. Mr. Browne also stated that the extent of the lake was equal to that of Lake Victoria, but that it could at no time be more than eighteen inches deep. It was indeed nothing more than a shallow basin filled by river floods, and retaining them for a short time only. Immense numbers of fish, however, pass into these temporary reservoirs, which may thus be considered as a providential provision for the natives, whose food changes with the season. At this period they subsisted on the barilla root, a species of rush which they pound and make into cakes, and some other vegetables; their greatest delicacy being the large caterpillar (laabka), producing the gum-tree moth, an insect they procure out of the ground at the foot of those trees, with long twigs like osiers, having a small hook at the end. The twigs are sometimes from eight to ten feet long, so deep do these insects bury themselves in the ground.

Mr. Browne communicated with a tribe of natives, one of whom, a very tall woman, as well as her child, was of a copper colour.

From the information he gave me of the neighbourhood of Cawndilla, I determined, on the return of Mr. Poole, and in the event of his not having found a better position, to move to that place; for it was evident from his continued absence that he must have crossed the creek at a distance from the lake, and not seeing any grass in its neighbourhood, had pushed on to the hills. I was now anxious for his return, for we had had almost ceaseless though not heavy rain since he left us. On the 12th, the day he started, we had thunder; on the 13th it was showery, with wind at N.W., and the thermometer at 62 degrees at 3 P. M., and the barometer at 29.742; the boiling point of water being 211.25.

Assuming Sir Thomas Mitchell's data to be correct, my position here was in long. 142 degrees 5 minutes E., and in lat. 32 degrees 25 minutes S.



CHAPTER IV.



TOONDA'S TRIBE—DISPOSITION OF THE NATIVES—ARRIVAL OF CAMBOLI—HIS ENERGY OF CHARACTER—MR. POOLE'S RETURN—LEAVE THE DARLING—REMARKS ON THAT RIVER—CAWNDILLA—THE OLD BOOCOLO—LEAVE THE CAMP FOR THE HILLS—REACH A CREEK—WELLS—TOPAR'S MISCONDUCT—ASCEND THE RANGES—RETURN HOMEWARDS—LEAVE CAWNDILLA WITH A PARTY—REACH PARNARI—MOVE TO THE HILLS—JOURNEY TO N. WEST—HEAVY RAINS—RETURN TO CAMP—MR. POOLE LEAVES—LEAVE THE RANGES—DESCENT TO THE PLAINS—MR. POOLE'S RETURN—HIS REPORT—FLOOD'S CREEK—AQUATIC BIRDS—RANGES DIMINISH IN HEIGHT.

Toonda left us on our arrival at this place, to go to his tribe at Cawndilla, but returned the day Mr. Poole left us, with the lubras and children belonging to it, and the natives now mustered round us to the number of sixty-six. Nadbuck, who the reader will have observed was a perfect lady's man, made fires for the women, and they were all treated as our first visitors had been with a cup of tea and a lump of sugar. These people could not have shewn a greater mark of confidence in us than by this visit; but the circumstances under which we arrived amongst them, the protection we had given to some of their tribe, and the kind treatment we had adopted towards the natives generally, in some measure accounted for this, nevertheless there was a certain restlessness amongst the men that satisfied me they would not have hesitated in the gratification of revenge if they could have mustered sufficiently strong, or could have caught us unprepared.

It was clear that the natives still remembered the first visit the Europeans had made to them, and its consequences, and that they were very well disposed to retaliate. It was in this matter that Nadbuck's conduct and representations were of essential service, for he did not hesitate to tell them what they might expect if they appeared in arms. Mr. Poole was short and stout like Sir Thomas Mitchell, and personally very much resembled him; moreover, he wore a blue foraging cap, as, I believe, Sir Thomas did; be that as it may, they took Mr. Poole for that officer, and were exceedingly sulky, and Nadbuck informed us that they would certainly spear him. It was necessary, therefore, to explain to them that he was not the individual for whom they took him, and we could only allay their feelings by the strongest assurances to that effect; for some time, indeed, they were inclined to doubt what we said, but at length they expressed great satisfaction, and to secure himself still more Mr. Poole put on a straw hat. Nevertheless, there were manifestations of turbulence amongst the younger men on several occasions, and they certainly meditated, even though, for particular reasons, they refrained from any act of violence.

The constant rain had made the ground in a sad state. There was scarcely any stirring out of the tents into the tenacious clay of the flat in which they were pitched; and the Darling, continuing to rise, overflowed its banks, drove our cattle from their feed, and obliged us to send them to a more distant point. In the midst of all this we were, on the 13th, most agreeably surprised by the appearance of our friend Camboli, with two other natives from Lake Victoria. Camboli brought despatches and letters in reply to those I had sent from the lake. It is impossible to describe the unaffected joy this poor native evinced on seeing us again. He had travelled hard to overtake us, and his condition when he arrived, as well as that of his companions proved that they had not spared themselves; but neither of them shewed the same symptoms of fatigue as Camboli. His thighs and ancles, and the calves of his legs were much swollen, and he complained of severe pain in his back and loins; but he was excited beyond measure, and sprang about with surprising activity whilst his comrades fell fast asleep. "Papung," he exclaimed, meaning paper or letters. "I bring papung to Boocolo," meaning me; "to Sacoback," meaning Doctor Browne; "and Mr. Poole, from Gobbernor," the Governor; "Hugomattin," Mr. Eyre; "Merilli," Mr. Scott of Moorundi; "and Bullocky Bob. Papung Gobbernor, Boocolo, Hugomattin." Nothing could stop him, nor would he sit still for a moment. There were, at the fire near the tents, a number of the young men of the Williorara tribe; and it would appear, from what occurred, that they were talking about us in no friendly strain. Certain it is that they made some remark which highly offended our lately arrived envoy, for he suddenly sprang upon his feet, and, seizing a carabine, shook it at them in defiance, and, pointing to the tents, again shook it with all the energy and fearlessness of a savage, and he afterwards told us that the natives were "murry saucy." The scene was of a kind that is seldom if ever witnessed in civilized life.

The reader may be assured we took good care of him and his companions; but his excitement continued, even after he had laid down to sleep; yet, he was the first man up on the following morning, to cut a canoe for Mr. Browne, who wished to cross the river, with a young lad of the name of Topar, a native of the place, who had been recommended to me by Mr. Eyre, a fine handsome young man, about eighteen years of age, and exceedingly prepossessing in appearance; but I am sorry to say with very few good qualities. He was a boy about eight when Sir Thomas Mitchell visited the neighbourhood, and, with his mother, was present at the unfortunate misunderstanding between his men and the natives on that occasion.

The bark was not in a fit state to be stripped from the tree, so that Camboli had a fatiguing task, but he got the canoe ready in sufficient time for Mr. Browne to cross the river and visit Sir Thomas Mitchell's last camp, which I had intended doing myself, in order to connect it with my own, if circumstances had not, at that time, prevented me.

Mr. Poole returned on the 15th, after an absence of four days and a half. He informed me that he had crossed the creek, as I had imagined, where there was little or no vegetation in its vicinity. He then took up a north-west course for the hills, and rode over flats of polygonum for nine miles, when he crossed the bed of a large lagoon; arriving at a round hill, somewhat detached from the main range, at half-past one, and searched about for water, but found none, neither could the native point out any to him. He therefore descended to the plains, and encamped.

On the following morning Mr. Poole again crossed the hill he had ascended the day before, but at half-past one changed his course for a high peak on the same range, on the summit of which he arrived at 2 p.m.; but the day was unfavourable, and the bearings from it consequently uncertain. The following morning being clear he again ascended the hill, and took the following bearings:—To the point of a distant range N. 54 degrees W.; to a very distant cone, 00 or due north; to a peak in a distant range, S. 40 degrees W.; to a lake, S. 20 degrees W.; and to another distant range, S. 65 degrees W. The country between the ranges Mr. Poole had ascended and the more distant ones, appeared to be flat, and covered with brush and speargrass. There was an appearance of water between the ranges, and they looked like islands in an immense lake. He did not think he could have been deceived by the effect of mirage; but felt satisfied, according to his own judgment, that he had seen a large body of water to the N.W. Mr. Poole did not succeed in finding any convenient place to which to remove the party, and his guide persisting in his statement that there was no water in the hills, he thought it better to return to the camp.

However doubtful I might have been as to the reality of the existence of water in the direction to which Mr. Poole referred, it was clear that there were other and loftier ranges beyond those visible from the river. Taking everything into consideration, I determined on moving the camp to Cawndilla, and on proceeding myself to the north-west as soon as I should have established it in a secure place.

I was employed on the 16th in reporting our progress to the Governor, as Nadbuck and Camboli were to leave us in the afternoon on their return to Lake Victoria. Both were exceedingly impatient to commence their journey, but when I came out with the bag old Nadbuck evinced great emotion and sorrow, nor could we look on the departure of our old and tried guide without regret. He had really served us well and faithfully, and if he had anything to do in propagating the several reports by which we had been deceived in our progress up the Darling, I believe it was with a view to prevent our going into a country from which he thought we should never return. We rewarded him as he deserved, and sent both him and his companions away with provisions sufficient to last them during the greater part of their journey, but we afterwards learnt that with the improvident generosity of the savage, they had appointed to meet a number of their friends in the bush, and consumed their whole supply before sunset.

The weather had cleared, and as we were enabled to connect the Darling with the hilly country, I directed Mr. Poole to measure a base line from a point at the back of our camp to the westward. This base line ran along the sandy ridge above the flats of Laidley's Ponds towards Cawndilla, so that we had no detention, but left the Darling on the 17th.

The drays started early in the forenoon, but I remained until two, to take some lunars with Mr. Browne. At that hour we rode along the dray tracks, and at six miles descended into the bed of the lake, and crossing a portion of it arrived at the camp at half-past five. The floods were just crossing the dray tracks as we passed, and gradually advancing into the basin. The ground was cracked and marked with narrow but deep fissures into which the waters fell as they rolled onwards, and it was really surprising to see the immense quantity these chasms required to fill them.

Having taken leave of the Darling, it may be as well that I should make a few general remarks upon it. The reader will have observed from my description, that the scenery on the banks is picturesque and cheerful, that its trees though of smaller size than those on the Murray, are more graceful and have a denser foliage and more drooping habit, and that the flats contiguous to the stream are abundantly grassy. I have described the river as I found it, but I would not have the reader suppose that it always presents the same luxuriant appearance, for not many months before this period my persevering friend Mr. Eyre, on a journey up its banks, could hardly find grass sufficient for his horses. There was not a blade of vegetation on the flats, but little water in the river, and the whole scenery wore a most barren appearance. Countries, however, the summer heat of which is so excessive, as in Australia, are always subject to such changes, nor is it any argument against their soil, that it should at one season of the year look bare and herbless. That part of the Darling between Laidley's Ponds and its junction with the Murray, a distance of about 100 miles in a direct line, had not been previously explored, nor had I time to lay it regularly down. I should say from the appearance of its channel that it is seldom very deep, frequently dry at intervals, and that its floods are uncertain, sudden, and very temporary. That they rise rapidly may be implied from the fact that in two days the floods we witnessed rose more than nine feet, and that they come from the higher branches of the river there can be no doubt, since the Darling has no tributary between Laidley's Ponds and Fort Bourke. I have no doubt but the whole line of the river will sooner or later be occupied, and that both its soil and climate will be found to suit the purpose both of the grazier and the agriculturist. Be that as it may, I regretted abandoning it, for I felt assured that in doing so our difficulties and trials would commence.

Our camp at Cawndilla was on the right bank of the Williorara, about half a mile above where it enters the lake. Without intending it, we dispossessed the natives of the ground which they had occupied before our arrival, but they were not offended. Our tents stood on a sand bank close to the creek, and was shaded by gum-trees and banksias; behind us to the S.W. there were extensive open plains, and along the edge of the basin of Cawndilla, as well as to some distance in its bed, there was an abundance of feed for our cattle: the locality would be of great value as a station if it were near the located districts of South Australia.

The term Boocolo is I believe generally given to the chief or elder of the tribe, and thus was applied by the natives to me, as chief of the party. The boocolo of the Cawndilla tribe was an old man with grey hairs and rather sharp features, below the ordinary stature, but well made and active. Of all the race with whom I have communicated, his manners were the most pleasing. There was a polish in them, a freedom and grace that would have befitted a drawing-room. It was his wont to visit my tent every day at noon, and to sleep during the heat; but he invariably asked permission to do this before he composed himself to rest, and generally laid down at my feet. Differing from the majority of the natives, he never asked for anything, and although present during our meals kept away from the table. If offered anything he received it with becoming dignity, and partook of it without displaying that greedy voracity which the natives generally exhibit over their meals. He was a man, I should say, in intellect and feeling greatly in advance of his fellows. We all became exceedingly partial to this old man, and placed every confidence in him; although, as he did not understand the language of the Murray natives, we gained little information from him as to the remote country.

The boocolo of Cawndilla had two sons; but as the circumstances under which they were more particularly brought forward occurred on the return of the expedition from the interior, I shall not mention them here; but will conclude these remarks by describing an event that took place the day after our removal from the Darling. The men who had been out chaining left the flags standing after their work, and came to the camp. When Mr. Poole went out the next morning he found that one of them had been taken away. The natives, when charged with the theft, stoutly denied it, and said that it had been stolen by one of the Darling tribe in returning to the river. I therefore directed him, as he generally superintended the issue of presents and provisions to the natives, to stop all further supplies. The old boocolo failed in his endeavours to recover the flag, and the natives who visited the camp were evidently under restraint. On the following day the boocolo came to my tent, and I spoke angrily to him. "Why," I asked, "has the black fellow taken that which did not belong to him? I do not take anything from you. I do not kill your kangaroos or take your fish." The old man was certainly much annoyed, and went out of the tent to our fire, at which there were several natives with whom he had an earnest conversation; this terminated by two of them starting for the Darling, from whence, on the following day, they brought back the flag and staff, which they said had been taken by three of the Darling natives as they had stated already. Probably such was the case, and we admitted the excuse.

The base line was completed on the 19th, and measured six miles. I was anxious to have made it of greater length, but the ground would not admit of it. The angles were necessarily very acute; but the bearings were frequently repeated, and found to agree. I was the less anxious on the point because my intention was to check any error by another line as soon as I could.

The position we had taken up was a very favourable one, since being on the right or northern bank of the creek, we were, by the flooding of the lake, cut off from the Darling natives. I now therefore determined on making an excursion into the interior to the N.W., to examine the ranges seen by Mr. Poole, and to ascertain if, as he supposed, there was a body of water to the westward of them. With this view I engaged Topar to accompany us, and on the 21st left the camp, with Mr. Browne, Flood, and Morgan, taking the light cart with our provisions and some water-casks. During the recent rains the weather had been very cold, but excessive heat succeeded it. The day before we started the thermometer rose as high as 112 degrees during a violent hot wind; and certainly if the following day had been equally warm we could not have proceeded on our journey. Fortunately for us, however, the wind shifted to the S.W. during the night, and the morning was cool and refreshing. I should have commenced this trip two or three days earlier, but on the 20th we were surprised by the reappearance of old Nadbuck, who had turned back with some natives he met on the way to our camp, with letters from Moorundi. The old man was really overjoyed to see us again. He said he had left Camboli well advanced on his journey, and that he would have reached Lake Victoria before he (Nadbuck) had reached us. Some of the letters he brought requiring answers, I was unable to arrange for my intended departure on the 19th. The 20th being a day of excessive heat, we could not have ventured abroad; but as I have stated, on the 21st we commenced the journey under more favourable circumstances than we had anticipated. The old boocolo took leave of Mr. Browne and myself, according, I suppose, to the custom of his people, by placing his hands on our shoulders and bending his head so as to touch our breasts; in doing which he shed tears. Topar, seated on the cart, was followed by his mother who never expected to see him again. I had given Topar a blanket, which he now gave to his parent, and thus set off with us as naked as he was born. I mention this the more readily because I have much to detail to his discredit, and therefore in justice, I think, I am bound to record anything to his advantage. At a quarter of a mile from the camp we crossed the little sand hill which separates the two basins of Cawndilla and Minandichi, from which we descended into the flats of the latter, but at a mile rose, after crossing a small creek, to the level of the great plains extending between us and the ranges. Our first course over these plains was on a bearing of 157 degrees to the west of south, or N.N.W. nearly. They were partly covered by brush and partly open; the soil was a mixture of clay and sand, and in many places they resembled, not only in that but in their productions, the plains of Adelaide. A good deal of grass was growing on them in widely distributed tufts, but mixed with salsolaceous plants. The trees consisted of a new species of casuarina, a new caparis, with some hakea, and several species of very pretty and fragrant flowering shrubs. At twelve miles we changed our course to 135 degrees to the west of south, or N.W., and kept upon it for the remainder of the day, direct for a prominent hill in the ranges before us. [Note 7. Coonbaralba Station, No. 2.] The hills Mr. Poole had visited then bore a few degrees to the east of north, distant from twelve to fourteen miles, and were much lower than those towards which we were going, continuing northwards. The country as we advanced became more open and barren. We traversed plains covered with atriplex and rhagodiae, in the midst of which there were large bare patches of red clay. In these rain water lodges, but being exceedingly shallow they soon dry up and their surfaces become cracked and blistered. From the point at which we changed our course the ground gradually rose, and at 26 miles we ascended a small sand hill with a little grass growing upon it. From this hill we descended into and crossed a broad dry creek with a gravelly bed, and as its course lay directly parallel to our own, we kept in the shade of the gum-trees that were growing along its banks. At about four miles beyond this point Topar called out to us to stop near a native well he then shewed us, for which we might in vain have hunted. From this we got a scanty supply of bad water, after some trouble in cleaning and clearing it, insomuch that we were obliged to bale it out frequently during the night to obtain water for our horses. This creek, like others, was marked by a line of gum-trees on either side; and from the pure and clean gravel in its bed, I was led to infer that it was subject to sudden floods. We could trace the line of trees upon it running upwards to the N.W. close up to the foot of the ranges, and down southwards, until the channel seemed to be lost in the extensive flats of that depressed region.

Topar called this spot "Murnco Murnco." As the horses had fared indifferently during our stay, and he assured us there was a finer well higher up the creek, we pushed on at an early hour the next morning, keeping on the proper right bank of the creek, and having an open barren country to the south, with an apparent dip to the south-west; to our left, some undulations already noticed by us, assumed more the shape of hills. The surface was in many places covered with small fragments of white quartz, which together with a conglomerate rock cropped out of the ground where it was more elevated. There was nothing green to meet the eye, except the little grass in the bed of the creek itself, and a small quantity on the plains.

At two miles on our former bearing Topar stopped close to another well, but it was dry and worthless; we therefore pushed on to the next, and after removing a quantity of rubbish, found a sufficiency of water both for ourselves and the horses, but it was bitter to the taste, and when boiled was as black as ink from the decoction of gum leaves; the water being evidently the partial and surface drainage from the hills. We stopped here however to breakfast. Whilst so employed, Topar's quick and watchful eye caught sight of some smoke rising from the bed of the creek about a mile above us. He was now all impatience to be off, to overtake the party who had kindled it. Nothing could exceed his vehement impetuosity and impatience, but this was of no avail, as the natives who had probably seen our approach, kept in front of us and avoided a meeting. We rode for five miles on our original bearing of 135 degrees to the west of north, or N.W. the direct bearing of the hill for which we were making, Coonbaralba. At five miles Topar insisted on crossing the creek, and led us over the plains on a bearing of 157 degrees to the west of north, thus changing his purpose altogether. He assigned as a reason that there was no water in the creek higher up, and that we must go to another place where there was some. I was somewhat reluctant to consent to this, but at length gave way to him; we had not however gone more than two and a half miles, when he again caught sight of smoke due west of us, and was as earnest in his desire to return to the creek as he had been to leave it. Being myself anxious to communicate with the natives I now the more readily yielded to his entreaties. Where we came upon it there was a quantity of grass in its bed, but although we saw the fire at which they had been, the natives again escaped us. Mr. Browne and Topar ran their track up the creek, and soon reached a hut opposite to which there was a well. On ascending a little from its bed they discovered a small pool of water in the centre of a watercourse joining the main branch hereabouts from the hills. Round this little pool there was an unusual verdure. From this point we continued to trace the creek upwards, keeping it in sight; but the ground was so stony and rough, and the brush approached so close to the banks that I descended into its bed, and halted at sunset after a fatiguing day's journey without water, about which we did not much care; the horses having had a good drink not long before and their feed being good, the want of water was not much felt by them. Topar wished to go on to some other water at which he expected to find the natives, and did not hesitate for a moment in thus contradicting his former assertion. This however I would not allow him to do alone, but Mr. Browne good-naturedly walked with him up the creek, and at less than a mile came up on a long and beautiful pond He informed me that it was serpentine in shape and more than eighty yards long, but as there was no grass in its neighbourhood I did not move to it. It was evident that Topar had intended leading us past this water, and it was owing to his anxiety to see the natives that we had now discovered it.

On the following morning I determined to take the direction of our movements on myself, and after we had breakfasted at the long water-hole, struck across the plains, and took up a course of 142 degrees to the west of south for a round hill which I proposed ascending. Topar seeing us determined, got into a state of alarm almost bordering on frenzy; he kept shouting out "kerno, kerno," "rocks, rocks," and insisted that we should all be killed. This however had no effect on us, and we continued to move towards a spur, the ascent of which appeared to be less difficult than any other point of the hills. We reached its base at 10 a.m., and had little trouble in taking the cart up. On gaining the top of the first rise, we descended into and crossed a valley, and ascending the opposite side found ourselves on the summit of the range, the surface being much less broken than might have been anticipated, insomuch that we had every hope that our progress amongst the hills would be comparatively easy; but in pushing for the one I wished to ascend, our advance was checked by a deep ravine, and I was obliged to turn towards another hill of nearly equal height on our left. We descended without much difficulty into a contiguous valley, but the ascent on the opposite side was too rough for the cart. We had pressed up it along a rocky watercourse, in which I was obliged to leave Morgan and Topar. Mr. Browne, myself, and Flood, with our horses reached the top of the hill at half-past twelve. Although the position commanded a considerable portion of the horizon there was nothing cheering in the view. Everything below us was dark and dreary, nor was there any indication of a creek to take us on to the north-west. We could see no gum-trees in that direction, nor indeed could we at an elevation of 1600 feet above the plains distinctly make out the covering of the ground below. It appeared to be an elevated table land surrounded by hills, some of which were evidently higher than that on which we stood.

The descent to the westward was still more pre cipitous than the side we had ascended. The pass through which the creek issued from the hills was on our left, Coonbaralba being between us and it, but that hill was perfectly inaccessible; I thought it better therefore to return to sleep at the water where we had breakfasted, with a view to running the creek up into the ranges on the following morning. After taking bearings of the principal objects visible from our station, we rejoined Morgan and descended to the plains. There was a little water in the creek leading from the hill I had at first intended to ascend, to the S.W., which was no doubt a branch of the main creek. On our return we saw that beautiful flower the Clianthus formosa, in splendid blossom on the plains. It was growing amidst barrenness and decay, but its long runners were covered with flowers that gave a crimson tint to the ground.

The principal object I had in view during the excursion I was then employed upon, was if possible to find a proper position to which the party might move; for I foresaw that my absence would be frequent and uncertain, and although my men were very well disposed towards the natives, I was anxious to prevent the chance of collision or misunderstanding. I had now found such a position, for on examining the water-hole I felt satisfied that it might be depended upon for ten days or a fortnight, whilst the grass in its neighbourhood although dry was abundant. Wishing, however, to penetrate the ranges by the gap through which the creek issued from them, I still thought it advisable to prosecute my intended journey up it. Accordingly on the 24th we mounted our horses and rode towards the hills. A little above where we had slept we passed a small junction from the westward, and at 7 miles entered the gap, the Coonbaralba, on the bearing of which we had run across the plains, being on our right. We had already passed several small water-holes, but at the entrance of the gap passed some larger ones in which the water was brackish, and these had the appearance of being permanent. Topar had shewn much indignation at our going on, and constantly remonstrated with us as we were riding along; however, we saw two young native dogs about a third grown, after which he bounded with incredible swiftness, but when they saw him they started off also. It was soon evident, that both were doomed to destruction, his speed being greater that that of the young brutes, for he rapidly gained upon them. The moment he got within reach of the hindmost he threw a stick which he had seized while running, with unerring precision, and striking it full in the ribs stretched it on the ground. As he passed the animal he gave it a blow on the head with another stick, and bounding on after the other was soon out of our sight. All we knew further of the chase, was, that before we reached the spot where his first prize lay, he was returning to us with its companion. As soon as he had secured his prey he sat down to take out their entrails, a point in which the natives are very particular. He was careful in securing the little fat they had about the kidneys, with which he rubbed his body all over, and having finished this operation he filled their insides with grass and secured them with skewers. This done he put them on the cart, and we proceeded up the pass, at the head of which we arrived sooner than I expected. We then found ourselves at the commencement of a large plain. The hills we had ascended the day before trended to the north, and there was a small detached range running perpendicular to them on our right. To the south there were different points, apparently the terminations of parallel ranges, and westward an unbroken line of hills. The creek seemed to trend to the S.W., and in that direction I determined to follow it, but Topar earnestly entreated us not to do so. He was in great consternation; said here was no water, and promised that if we would follow him he would shew us water in which we could swim. On this condition I turned as he desired, and keeping along the western base of the main or front range, took up a course somewhat obtuse to that by which I had crossed the plains of Cawndilla. The productions on the ground were of a salsolaceous kind, although it was so much elevated above the plains, but amongst them there was not any mesembryanthemum. At about three miles we passed a very remarkable and perfectly isolated hill, of about 150 feet in height. It ran longitudinally from south to north for about 350 yards, and was bare of trees or shrubs, with the exception of one or two casuarinas. The basis of this hill was a slaty ferruginous rock, and protruding above the ground along the spine of the hill there was a line of the finest hepatic iron ore I ever saw; it laid in blocks of various sizes, and of many tons weight piled one upon the other, without a particle of earth either on their faces or between them. Nothing indeed could exceed the clean appearance of these huge masses. On ascending this hill and seating myself on the top of one of them to take bearings, I found that the compass deviated 37 degrees from the north point, nor could I place any dependance on the angles I here took.

At about nine miles the main range turned to the N.N.E., and Topar accordingly keeping near its base changed his course, and at five miles more led us into a pass in some respects similar to that by which we had entered the range. It was however less confined and more open. Steep hills, with rocks in slabs protruding from many parts, flanked it to the south, whilst on its northern side perpendicular rocks, varying in height from 15 to 20 feet, over which the hills rose almost as perpendicularly more than 200 feet higher, were to be seen. Close under these was the stony bed of a mountain torrent, but it was also evident that the whole pass, about 160 yards broad, was sometimes covered by floods. Down this gully Topar now led us, and at a short distance, crossing over to its northern side, he stopped at a little green puddle of water that was not more than three inches deep. Its surface was covered with slime and filth, and our horses altogether rejected it. Some natives had recently been at the place, but none were there when we arrived. I was exceedingly provoked at Topar's treachery, and have always been at a loss to account for it. At the time, both Mr. Browne and myself attributed it to the machinations of our friend Nadbuck; but his alarm at invading the hilly country was too genuine to have been counterfeited. It might have been that Nadbuck and Toonda expected that they would benefit more by our presents and provisions than if we left them for the interior, and therefore tried by every means to deter us from going: they certainly had long conversations with Topar before he left the camp to accompany us. Still I may do injustice to them in this respect. However, whether this was the case or not, we had to suffer from Topar's misconduct. I turned out of the pass, and stopped a little beyond it, in a more sheltered situation. Here Topar coolly cooked his dogs, and wholly demolished one of them and part of the other. In wandering about the gorge of the glen, Mr. Browne found a native well, but there was no water in it.

Our camp at Cawndilla now bore S.S.E. from us, distant 70 odd miles, and having determined on moving the party, I resolved to make the best of my way back to it. On the following morning, therefore, we again entered the pass, but as it trended too much to the eastward, I crossed a small range and descended at once upon the plains leading to the camp. At about 17 miles from the hills, Topar led us to a broad sheet of water that must have been left by the recent rains. It was still tolerably full, and water may perhaps be found here when there is none in more likely places in the hills. This spot Topar called Wancookaroo; it was unfortunately in a hollow from whence we could take no bearings to fix its precise position.

We halted at sunset on the top of a small eminence, from which the hills Mr. Poole had ascended bore E.N.E., and the hill at the pass N.W. We were suddenly roused from our slumbers a little before daylight by a squall of wind that carried away every light thing about us, hats, caps, etc. all went together, and bushes of atriplex also went bounding along like so many foot-balls. The wind became piercing cold, and all comfort was gone. As morning dawned the wind increased, and as the sun rose it settled into a steady gale. We were here about forty miles from Cawndilla, nor do I remember having ever suffered so severely from cold even in Canada. The wind fairly blew through and through us, and Topar shivered so under it that Morgan gave him a coat to put on. As we seldom put our horses out of a walk, we did not reach the tents until late in the afternoon, but I never was more rejoiced to creep under shelter than on this occasion.

Every thing had gone on well during our absence, and Mr. Poole had kept on the most friendly terms with the natives.

I should have mentioned, that, as we descended from the hills, the quick eye of Topar saw a native at a great distance to our left, and just at the outskirt of a few trees. We should have passed him unperceived, but I requested Mr. Browne to ride up to and communicate with him. The poor fellow had dug a pit, for a Talperos [Note 8. A native animal about the size of a rabbit, but longer in shape.], big enough to hide himself in, and as he continued to work at it, did not see Mr. Browne approach, who stood mounted right over the hole before he called to him. Dire was the alarm of the poor native when he looked up and saw himself so immediately in contact with such a being as my companion must have appeared to him; but Mr. Browne considerately retired until he had recovered from his astonishment, and Topar, whom I sent to join them, coming up, he soon recovered his composure and approached the cart. As we had prevented the old man from securing his game, I desired Topar to give him the remains of the dog; but this he refused to do. I therefore ordered Morgan to take it from him, and told Topar I would give him an equivalent when we reached the camp. This native did not seem to be aware that the Darling was up, a piece of news that seemed to give him much joy and satisfaction. I kept my promise with Mr. Topar, but he deserved neither my generosity nor consideration.

Mr. Poole informed me that the fluctuations of temperature had been as great at Cawndilla as with us; that the day before, the heat likewise had been excessive, the thermometer having risen to 110 degrees, on the day of our return it was down to 38 degrees.

The natives appeared really glad to see us again, for I believe they had given us up for lost. My old friend shed tears when he embraced us, and Nadbuck, who still remained with Toonda, shewed the most unequivocal signs of joy.

Cawndilla bears about W.S.W. from the junction of the Williorara with the Darling, at a distance of from six to seven miles. We broke up our camp there on the 28th of October 1844, but, however easily Mr. Browne and I had crossed the plains to the north-west, it was a journey that I felt assured would try the bullocks exceedingly. The weather had again changed, and become oppressively hot, so that it behoved me to use every precaution, in thus abandoning the Darling river.

At early dawn Mr. Browne started with Flood, Cowley, and Kirby, in the light cart, to enlarge the wells at Curnapaga, to enable the cattle to drink out of them. Naturally humane and partial to the natives, he had been particularly kind to Toonda, who in his way was I believe really attached to Mr. Browne. This singular man had made up his mind to remain with his tribe, but when he saw the cart, and Mr. Browne's horse brought up, his feelings evidently overpowered him, and he stood with the most dejected aspect close to the animal, nor could he repress his emotion when Mr. Browne issued from the tents; if our route had been up the Darling, I have no doubt Toonda would still have accompanied us, but all the natives dreaded the country into which we were going, and fully expected that we should perish. It was not therefore surprising that he wavered, more especially as he had been a long time absent from his people, and there might be objections to his leaving them a second time. The real cause, however, was, I think, the overflowing of the Darling, and the usual harvest of fish, and incessant feasting the natives would have in consequence. Their god certainly is their belly, we must not therefore be surprised that Toonda wished to partake of the general abundance that would soon be at the command of his tribe, and probably that his assistance was required. However his heart failed him when he saw Mr. Browne mount his horse to depart, and he expressed his readiness to accompany us to the hills, but no farther. The Boocolo's son had also volunteered to go so far with his friend the cook: when therefore at 8 a.m. I followed Mr. Browne with the remainder of the party, he and Toonda got on the drays. We took a kind leave of the Boocolo, who put his two hands on my head, and said something which I did not understand. It was however the expression of some kind wish at parting. The cattle got on very well during the early part of the day, and at noon we halted for two hours. After noon our progress was slow, and night closed in upon us, whilst we were yet some distance from the creek. We reached the little sand hill near it, to which we were guided by a large fire Flood had kindled at midnight, for it appeared that the horses had given in, and that Mr. Browne had been obliged to halt there. On leaving Cawndilla I sent Mr. Poole to Scrope's Range, to verify his bearings, and to enable Mr. Stuart to sketch in the hills, but he had not at this time rejoined me. At early dawn on the 29th, I accompanied Mr. Browne to the wells, leaving Mr. Piesse with the horse-cart and drays. We arrived there at nine, and by twelve, the time when the oxen came up, had dug a large pit under a rock on the left bank of the creek, which filled rapidly with water. The horses however were still in the rear, and I was ultimately obliged to send assistance to them. At 1 p.m. Mr. Poole and Mr. Stuart rejoined us. Two of our kangaroo dogs had followed them from Cawndilla, but one only returned, the other fell exhausted on the plains. Mr. Poole informed me that he had seen, but lost sight of Flood's signal fire, and had therefore slept higher up on the creek. The animals, but the cart horses in particular, were still very weak when we left Curnapaga, on the 30th, nor is it probable we should have got them to the long water-hole if we had not fortunately stumbled on another little pool of water in a lateral creek about half way. After breakfasting here, we moved leisurely on, and reached our destination at half-past five, p.m. Sullivan shot a beautiful and new hawk (ELANUS SCRIPTUS, Gould), which does not appear to extend farther south than where we here met it, although it wanders over the whole of the north-west interior as far as we went. There were some beautiful plants also growing in the bed of the creek; but we had previously met with so few things that we might here be said to have commenced our collection.

At this water-hole, "Parnari," we surprised three natives who were strangers. They did not betray any fear, but slept at the tents and left us the following day, as they said to bring more natives to visit us, but we never saw anything more of them. They were hill natives, and shorter in stature than the river tribes.

The day succeeding that of our arrival at Parnari was very peculiar, the thermometer did not rise higher than 81 degrees, but the barometer fell to 28.730 degrees, and the atmosphere was so light that we could hardly breathe. I had hoped that this would have been a prelude to rain, but it came not.

The period from the 1st to the 5th of November was employed in taking bearings from the loftiest points of the range, both to the northward and southward of us; in examining the creek to the south-west, and preparing for a second excursion from the camp.

The rock formation of Curnapaga was of three different kinds. A mixture of lime and clay, a tufaceous deposit, and an apparently recent deposit of soapstone, containing a variety of substances, as alumina, silica, lime, soda, magnesia, and iron. The ranges on either side of the glen were generally varieties of gneiss and granite, in many of which feldspar predominated, coarse ferruginous sandstone, and a siliceous rock with mammillary hematite and hornblende. These, and a great mixture of iron ores, composed the first or eastern line of Stanley's Barrier Range.

It will be remembered that in tracing up the creek on the occasion of our first excursion from Cawndilla, that Topar had persuaded me, on gaining the head of the glen to go to the north, on the faith of a promise that he would take us to a place where there was an abundance of water, and that in requital he took us to a shallow, slimy pool, the water of which was unfit to drink. Mr. Browne and I now went in the direction we should have gone if we had been uninfluenced by this young cub, and at less than a hundred yards came upon a pretty little clear pool of water, that had been hid from our view by a turn of the creek. What motive Topar could have had in thus deceiving us, and punishing himself, is difficult to say. On our further examination of the creek, however, there was no more water to be found, and from the gravelly and perfectly even nature of its bed, I should think it all runs off as fast as the channel filled. Whilst I was thus employed, Mr. Poole and Mr. Stuart were on the ranges, and both, as well as the men generally, continued in good health; but I was exceedingly anxious about Mr. Browne, who had a low fever on him, and was just then incapable of much fatigue; nevertheless he begged so hard to be permitted to accompany me on my contemplated journey, that I was obliged to yield.

I had been satisfied from the appearance of the Williorara, that it was nothing more than a channel of communication between the lakes Cawndilla and Minandechi and the Darling, as the Rufus and Hawker respectively connect Lakes Victoria and Bonney with the Murray, and I felt assured that as soon as we should leave the former river, our difficulties as regards the supply of water for our cattle would commence, and that although we were going amongst hills of 1500 or 2000 feet elevation, we should still suffer from the want of that indispensable element. Many of my readers, judging from their knowledge of an English climate, and living perhaps under hills of less elevation than those I have mentioned, from which a rippling stream may pass their very door, will hardly understand this; but the mountains of south-east Australia bear no resemblance to the moss-covered mountains of Europe. There that spongy vegetation retains the water to give it out by degrees, but the rain that falls on the Australian hills runs off at once, and hence the terrific floods to which their creeks are subject. In the barren and stony ranges through which I had now to force my way, no spring was to be found. During heavy rains, indeed, the torrents are fierce, and the waters must spread over the plains into which they descend for many miles; but such effects disappear with their cause; a few detached pools only remain, that are fed for a time by under drainage, which soon failing, the thirsty sun completes his work, and leaves that proscribed region—a desert.

Fully satisfied then that the greatest obstacle to the progress of the Expedition would be the want of water, and that it would only be by long and laborious search that we should succeed in gaining the interior, I determined on taking as much as I could on my proposed journey, and with a view to gaining more time for examining the country, I had a tank constructed, which I purposed to send a day or two in advance.

The little pond of which I have spoken at the head of the pass, had near it a beautiful clump of acacias of a species entirely new to us. It was a pretty graceful tree, and threw a deep shade on the ground; but with the exception of these and a few gum-trees the vicinity was clear and open. Our position in the creek on the contrary was close and confined. Heavy gusts of wind were constantly sweeping the valley, and filling the air with sand, and the flies were so numerous and troublesome that they were a preventative to all work. I determined, therefore, before Mr. Browne and I should start for the interior, to remove the camp to the upper part of the glen. On the 4th we struck our tents and again pitched them close to the acacias. Early on the morning of the 5th, I sent Flood with Lewis and Sullivan, having the cart full of water, to preserve a certain course until I should overtake them, being myself detained in camp with Mr. Browne, in consequence of the arrival of several natives from whom we hoped to glean some information; but in this we were disappointed. Toonda had continued with us as far as "Parnari;" but on our moving up higher into the hills, his heart failed him, and he returned to Cawndilla.

At eleven, Mr. Browne and I took leave of Mr. Poole, and pursuing a course of 140 degrees to the west of south, rode on to overtake the cart. At about four miles from the camp we crossed a small ironstone range, from which we saw Flood and his party nearly at the foot of the hill on which I had directed him to move, and at which I intended to cross the ranges if the place was favourable. In this, however, we were disappointed, for the hills were too rugged, although of no great breadth or height. We were consequently obliged to turn to the south, and in going over the rough uneven ground, had the misfortune to burst our tank. I therefore desired Lewis to stop, and gave the horses as much water as they would drink, still leaving a considerable quantity in the tank, of which I hoped we might yet avail ourselves. Although we had found it impracticable to cross the ranges at the proposed point, Mr. Browne and I had managed to scramble up the most elevated part of them. We appeared still to be amidst broken stony hills, from which there was no visible outlet. There was a line of gum-trees, however, in a valley to the southwest of us, as if growing on the side of a creek that would in such case be tributary to the main creek on which our tents were pitched, and we hoped, by running along the base of the hills to the south and turning into the valley, to force our way onwards. At about three and a half miles our anticipations were verified by our arriving opposite to an opening leading northwards into the hills. This proved to be the valley we had noticed. A line of gum-trees marked the course of a small creek, which passing behind a little hill at the entrance of the valley, reappeared on the other side, and then trended to the N.W. Entering the valley and pursuing our way up it, at two miles we crossed another small creek, tributary to the first, and at a mile beyond halted for the night, without having found water. Although there was a little grass on the plains between the camp and the ranges, there was none in the valley in which we stopped. Low bushes of rhagodia and atriplex were alone to be seen, growing on a red, tenacious, yet somewhat sandy soil, whilst the ranges themselves were covered with low brush.

The water had almost all leaked out of the tank when we examined it, so that it was no longer of any service to us. On the morning of the 7th, therefore, I sent Lewis and Sullivan with the cart back to the camp, retaining Flood and Morgan to attend on Mr. Browne and myself.

When we started I directed them to follow up the creek, which did not appear to continue much further, and on arriving at the head of it to cross the range, where it was low, in the hope that they would strike the opposite fall of waters in descending on the other side, whilst I went with Mr. Browne to a hill from which I was anxious to take bearings, although Lewis, who had already been on the top of it, assured me that there was nothing new to be seen. However, we found the view to be extensive enough to enable us to judge better of the character of the country than from any other point on which we had yet been. It was traversed by numerous rocky ridges, that extended both to the north and south beyond the range of vision. Many peaks shewed themselves in the distance, and I was enabled to connect this point with "Coonbaralba," the hill above the camp. The ridge I had directed Flood to cross was connected with this hill, and appeared to create a division of the waters thereabouts. All however to the north or northwest was as yet confused. There was no visible termination of the ranges in any direction, nor could we see any feature to guide us in our movements.

The rock formation of this hill was a fine grained granite, and was in appearance a round and prominent feature. Although its sides were covered with low dark brush, there was a considerable quantity of oat-grass in its deep and sheltered valleys. We soon struck on Flood's track after leaving this hill, which, as Lewis had been the first to ascend, I called "Lewis's Hill;" and riding up the valley along which the men had already passed, at six miles crossed the ridge, which (as we had been led to hope) proved to be the range dividing the eastern and western waters. On our descent from this ridge we proceeded to the north-west, but changed our course to north in following the cart tracks, and at four miles overtook Flood and Morgan on the banks of a creek, the channel of which, and the broad and better grassed valley through which it runs, we ourselves had several times crossed on our way down, and from the first had hoped to find it the main creek on the west side of the ranges.

At the point where we overtook Flood it had increased greatly in size, but we searched its hopeless bed in vain for water, and as it there turned too much to the eastward, for which reason Flood had stopped until we should come up, we left it and crossed the low part of a range to our left; but as we were going too much to the south-west, I turned shortly afterwards into a valley that led me more in the direction in which I was anxious to proceed. The country had been gradually improving from the time we crossed the little dividing range, not so much in soil as in appearance, and in the quality of its herbage. There was a good deal of grass in the valleys, and up the sides of the hills, which were clear and open on the slopes but stony on their summits. After proceeding about two and a half miles, we got into a scrubby part of the hills, through which we found it difficult to push our way, the scrub being eucalyptus dumosa, an unusual tree to find in those hills. After forcing through the scrub for about half a mile, we were suddenly stopped by a succession of precipitous sandstone gullies, and were turned to the eastward of north down a valley the fall of which was to that point. This valley led us to that in which we had rejoined Flood, but lower down; in crossing it we again struck on the creek we had then left, much increased in size, and with a row of gum-trees on either side of it, but its even broad bed composed of the cleanest gravel and sand, precluded the hope of our finding water. At about a mile, however, it entered a narrow defile in the range, and the hills closed rapidly in upon it. Pursuing our way down the defile it gradually narrowed, the bed of the creek occupied its whole breadth, and the rocks rose perpendicularly on either side. We searched this place for water with the utmost care and anxiety, and I was at length fortunate enough to discover a small clear basin not a yard in circumference, under a rock on the left side of the glen. Suspecting that this was supplied by surface drainage, we enlarged the pool, and obtained from it an abundance of the most delicious water we had tasted during our wanderings. Mr. Browne will I am sure bear the Rocky Glen in his most grateful remembrance. Relieved from further anxiety with regard to our animals, he hastened with me to ascend one of the hills that towered above us to the height of 600 feet, before the sun should set, but this was no trifling task, as the ascent was exceedingly steep. The view from the summit of this hill presented the same broken country to our scrutiny which I have before described, at every point excepting to the westward, in which direction the ranges appeared to cease at about six miles, and the distant horizon from S.W. to N.W. presented an unbroken level. The dark and deep ravine through which the creek ran was visible below us, and apparently broke through the ranges at about four miles to the W.N.W. but we could not see any water in its bed. It was sufficiently cheering to us however to know that we were near the termination of the ranges to the westward, and that the country we should next traverse was of open appearance.

I had hoped from what we saw of it from the top of the hill above us, on the previous afternoon, that we should have had but little difficulty in following down the creek, but in this we were disappointed.

We started at eight to pursue our journey, and kept for some time in its bed. The rock formation near and at our camp was trap, but at about a mile below it changed to a coarse grey granite, huge blocks of which, traversed by quartz, were scattered about. The defile had opened out a little below where we had slept, but it soon again narrowed, and the hills closed in upon it nearer than before. The bed of the creek at the same time became rocky, and blocked up with immense fragments of granite. We passed two or three pools of water, one of which was of tolerable size, and near it there were the remains of a large encampment of natives. Near to it also there was a well, a sure sign that however deep the water-holes in the glen might now be, there are times when they are destitute of any. There can be no doubt, indeed, but that we owed our present supply of water both at this place and at the Coonbaralba pass, to the rains that fell in the hills during the week we remained at Williorara.

Soon after passing the native camp, our further progress was completely stopped by large blocks of granite, which, resting on each other, prevented the possibility of making a passage for the cart or even of advancing on horseback. In this predicament I sent Flood to climb one of the hills to our left, to see if there was a leading spur by which we could descend to the plains; but on his return to us he said that the country was wholly impracticable, but that he thought we should see more of it from a hill he had noticed about three miles to the north-east. We accordingly left Morgan with the horses and walked to it. We reached the summit after a fatiguing walk of an hour, but neither were we repaid for our trouble, nor was there anything in the view to lead us to hope for any change for the better. The character of the country had completely changed, and in barrenness it far exceeded that through which we had already passed. The line of hills extended from S.E. by S. to the opposite point of the compass, and formed a steep wall to shut out the level country below them.

One might have imagined that an ocean washed their base, and I would that it really had been so, but a very different hue spread between them and the distant horizon than the deep blue of the sea. The nearer plains appeared of a lighter shade than the rest of the landscape, but there were patches of trees or shrubs upon them, which in the distance were blended together in universal scrub. A hill, which I had at first sight taken to be Mount Lyell of Sir Thomas Mitchell, bore 7 degrees to the east of north, distant 18 miles, but as our observations placed us in 31 degrees 32 minutes 0 seconds S. only, it could not have been that hill. To the south and east our view was limited, as the distant horizon was hid from our sight by higher ground near us, but there was a confused succession of hills and valleys in those directions, the sides of both being covered with low brush and huge masses of granite, and a dark brown sombre hue pervaded the whole scene. We could not trace the windings of the creek, but thought we saw gumtrees in the plains below us, to the N.E., indicating the course of a creek over them. Some of the same trees were also visible to our left (looking-westward), and the ranges appeared less precipitous and lower in the same direction. We cast our eyes therefore to that point to break through them, and returned to Morgan with at least the hope of success. In the view I had just then been contemplating, however, I saw all realized of what I had imagined of the interior, and felt assured that I had a work of extreme difficulty before me in the task of penetrating towards the centre.