Chapter V.
LARGE WATERCOURSE—LAKE OF FRESH WATER—HEAVY RAINS—REACH MOUNT BARREN—SALT LAKES AND STREAMS—BARREN SCRUBBY COUNTRY—RANGES BEHIND KING GEORGE'S SOUND ARE SEEN—BRACKISH PONDS—PASS CAPE RICHE—A LARGE SALT RIVER—CHAINS OF PONDS—GOOD LAND—HEAVILY TIMBERED COUNTRY—COLD WEATHER—FRESH LAKE—THE CANDIUP RIVER—KING'S RIVER—EXCESSIVE RAINS—ARRIVAL AT KING GEORGE'S SOUND AND TERMINATION OF THE EXPEDITION—RECEPTION OF WYLIE BY THE NATIVES.
June 24.—UPON moving on early this morning, we crossed the bed of a considerable watercourse, containing large deep pools of brackish water, but unconnected at present by any stream. The late hour at which we halted last night had prevented us from noticing this larger chain of ponds, and of which, that we were encamped upon formed only a branch. The country we now passed through, varied but little in character, except that the shrubs became higher, with a good deal of the Eucalyptus dumosa intermingled with them, and were entangled together by matted creepers or vines, which made it extremely difficult and fatiguing to force a way through. The whole was very sterile, and without grass.
After travelling nine miles, we passed on our right a small lake of fresh water; and two miles beyond this another, about a mile in circumference, but deep, and evidently of a permanent character. Close to this fresh water lake was another, divided from it by only a narrow neck of land, and yet the latter was as salt as the sea. We had only made a short stage as yet; but as there was a little food for the horses near the lake, I thought it more prudent to halt there than run the risk of being left without in the wretched looking country before us,
The Mount Barren ranges were observed again, but the weather was cloudy, so that I could make nothing out distinctly. In the afternoon, Wylie shot three teal, of which there were numbers on the lake. At night, our baggage and clothes had nearly all been destroyed by fire, a spark having been carried by the wind to the tarpaulin which covered them, and which, as it had been but newly tarred, was soon in a blaze. I was fortunate enough, however, to observe the accident in time to save our other effects.
June 25.—We commenced our journey early, but had not gone far before the rain began to fall, and continued until ten o'clock. Occasionally the showers came down in perfect torrents, rendering us very cold and miserable, and giving the whole country the appearance of a large puddle. We were literally walking in water; and by stooping down, almost any where as we went along, could have dipped a pint pot half full. It was dreadful work to travel thus in the water, and with the wet from the long brush soaking our clothes for so many hours; but there was no help for it, as we could not find a blade of grass for our horses, to enable us to halt sooner. The surface of the whole country was stony and barren in the extreme. A mile from our camp, we passed a small salt lake on our left; and at fifteen miles more, came to a valley with some wiry grass in it. At this I halted, as there was no prospect of getting better grass, and the water left by the rains was abundant. The latter, though it had only fallen an hour or two, was in many places quite salt, and the best of it brackish, so thoroughly saline was the nature of the soil upon which it had been deposited.
As the afternoon proved fine, I traced down the valley we were upon to its junction with a stream flowing over a granite bed, about a mile from our camp. In this the pools of water were large, deep, and brackish, but there was plenty of fresh water left by the rains in holes of the rocks upon its banks. As, however, there did not appear to be better grass upon the larger channel, than in the valley where we were, I did not think it worth while to remove our camp.
June 26.—I determined to remain in camp today to rest the horses, and to enable me to arrange their loads, so that Wylie and I might again ride occasionally. We had both walked for the last eleven days, during which we had made good a distance of 134 miles from Rossiter Bay, and as I calculated we ought under ordinary circumstances to reach the Sound in ten days more, I thought that we might occasionally indulge in riding, and relieve ourselves from the great fatigue we had hitherto been subject to, especially as the horses were daily improving in strength and condition.
Whilst I was engaged in making the necessary preparations, and throwing away some things which I thought we could dispense with, such as our bucket, some harness, ammunition, cooking utensils, and sundry other things, Wylie took the rifle, and went down to the watercourse to shoot. On his return in the afternoon he produced four teal and a black swan, as the produce of his day's sport; he had, however, shot away every charge of shot from the belt, which had been filled on board the Mississippi, and held three pounds and a half, besides three ball cartridges; how often he fired at the swan before he got it I could never discover, but I heard shot after shot as fast as he could load and fire for some time, and he himself acknowledged to firing at it seven times, but I suspect it to have been nearer twice seven.
To-day we were obliged to fetch up what water we required for our own use, from the holes in the granite rocks near the river, that lying on the ground near our camp being too salt for use.
June 27.—Upon moving on this morning we passed towards the Mount Barren ranges for ten miles through the same sterile country, and then observing a watercourse coming from the hills, I became apprehensive I should experience some difficulty in crossing it near the ranges, from their rocky and precipitous character, and at once turned more southerly to keep between the sea and a salt lake, into which the stream emptied itself. After getting nearly half round the lake, our progress was impeded by a dense and most difficult scrub of the Eucalyptus dumosa. Upon entering it we found the scrub large and strong, and growing very close together, whilst the fallen trees, dead wood, and sticks lying about in every direction, to the height of a man's breast, rendered our passage difficult and dangerous to the horses in the extreme. Indeed, when we were in the midst of it, the poor animals suffered so much, and progressed so little, that I feared we should hardly get them either through it or back again. By dint of great labour and perseverance we passed through a mile of it, and then emerging upon the beach followed it for a short distance, until steep rocky hills coming nearly bluff into the sea, obliged us to turn up under them, and encamp for the night not far from the lake. Here our horses procured tolerable grass, whilst we obtained a little fresh water for ourselves among the hollows of the rocks.
Our stage had been about thirteen miles, and our position was S. 30 degrees E. from East Mount Barren, the hills under which we were encamped being connected with that range. Most properly had it been called Mount Barren, for a more wretched aridlooking country never existed than that around it. The Mount Barren ranges are of quartz or reddish micaceous slate, the rocks project in sharp rugged masses, and the strata are all perpendicular.
June 28.—Upon getting up this morning we saw the smoke of native fires along the margin of the lake, at less than a mile from us. They had already noticed our fire, and called out repeatedly to us, but as I did not wish to come into communication with them at all, I did not reply. Soon afterwards we saw them in the midst of the lake carrying boughs, and apparently fishing. Three miles from the lake we crossed a small salt stream, and a mile further another. Four miles beyond the latter we came to a very deep narrow salt lake, swarming with swans, pelicans, and ducks. As the passage between the lake and the sea appeared to be scrubby, and very similar to that we had found so much difficulty in passing yesterday, I turned to the north-west to head it inland; but had not proceeded far before I found our progress stopped by a large salt-water stream, which joined the lake, and whose course was through steep precipitous ravines. By following the river upwards I came to a place where we could descend into its basin, and as the water there, though brackish, was still drinkable, I halted for the night after a stage of fourteen miles. The horses were a good deal tired with the rough hilly road they had passed over, and having been without water last night, stood greatly in need of rest.
In the afternoon Wylie took the rifle to shoot some of the swans and ducks around us, but was not successful. I remained at the camp, breaking down and clearing a passage amongst the shrubs and trees which grew in the rocky bed of the watercourse, to enable us to get our horses readily across to-morrow. Our position bore S. W. from East Mount Barren, E. from a bluff range three miles from us, and N. 55 degrees E. from some high hills in the direction of Middle Mount Barren. The course of the stream we were encamped upon being nearly north and south.
June 29.—Having found so much difficulty in keeping between the hills and the sea, I determined now to keep more inland, and steering W. 20 degrees N., headed all ranges in four miles. From this point East Mount Barren bore E. 20 degrees N., and as I was now clear of hills in front, I changed my course to W. 20 degrees S., passing through a barren worthless country for eleven miles, and encamping upon a deep ravine, in which we procured brackish water. Our horses were greatly fagged. From our camp West Mount Barren bore S. 41 degrees W.
June 30.—For the first ten miles to-day we had a very bad road, over steep stony ridges and valleys, covered for the most part with dense gum scrub. The surface was strewed over with rough pebbles or ironstone grit, and was broken a good deal into steep-faced ridges and deep hollows, as if formed so by the action of water. The formation of these precipitous banks appeared to be an ochre of various colours—red and yellow, and of a soft friable description. At ten miles we crossed a watercourse with many pools of brackish water in it, trending to a lake visible under the coast ridge. There was good grass near this, and many kangaroos were seen, but as no fresh water could be obtained, we passed on, and at three miles further came to a hole of rain-water in a rocky gorge, but here there was not a blade of grass. Hoping to meet with more success further on, we still advanced for twelve miles, until night compelled us at last to encamp without either grass or water, both ourselves and our horses being greatly fatigued.
In the evening we obtained a view of some high rugged and distant ranges, which I at once recognised as being the mountains immediately behind King George's Sound. At last we could almost say we were in sight of the termination of our long, harassing, and disastrous journey. Early in the morning I had told Wylie that I thought we should see the King George's Sound hills before night, but he at the time appeared rather sceptical; when, however, they did break upon our view, in picturesque though distant outline, his joy knew no bounds. For the first time on our journey he believed we should really reach the Sound at last. The cheering and not-to-be-mistaken view before him had dissipated all his doubts. Once more he gazed upon objects that were familiar to him; the home of his childhood was before him, and already almost in fancy he was there, and amongst his friends; he could think, or talk of nothing else, and actually complimented me upon the successful way in which I had conducted him to the end of his journey. From our camp the distant ranges bore W. 5 degrees S., and West Mount Barren E. 5 degrees S.
July 1.—After travelling three miles we came to a chain of large ponds of brackish water, but with excellent grass around them, and as the horses had nothing to eat or drink last night we halted for three hours. The water was bad, but they drank it, and we were obliged to do so too, after an ineffectual search for better. At noon we again moved on, and after proceeding about five miles, came to a large watercourse where the water was excellent, and the feed abundant. Here we halted for the night, to make our horses amends for the bad fare and hard work of yesterday. From the hill above our camp West Mount Barren bore E. 8 degrees N., Middle Mount Barren E. 21 degrees N., and Rugged Mountains behind the Sound, W. 4 degrees S. The watercourse we were upon, like all those we had lately crossed, had perpendicular cliffs abutting upon it, either on one side or the other, and the channel through which it wound looked almost like a cut made through the level country above it. A few casuarinae were observed in parts of the valley, being the first met with since those seen near Cape Arid.
July 2.—Our route to-day lay through a country much covered with gum-scrub, banksias, and other shrubs, besides occasionally a few patches of stunted gum-trees growing in clumps in small hollows, where water appeared to lodge after rains. At two miles we crossed a small watercourse, and at fifteen further, came to a deep valley with fine fresh-water pools in it, and tolerable feed around; here we halted for the night. The valley we were upon (and one or two others near) led to a much larger one below, through which appeared to take its course the channel of a considerable watercourse trending towards a bight in the coast at S. 17 degrees W.
Some high land, seen to the southward and westward of us, I took to be Cape Riche, a point I should like greatly to have visited, but did not think it prudent to go so far out of my direct course, in the circumstances I was travelling under.
July 3.—Upon commencing our journey to-day I found our route was much intersected by deep ravines and gorges, all trending to the larger valley below, and where I had no doubt a large chain of ponds, and probably much good land, would have been found. After proceeding four miles and a half, we were stopped by a large salt-water river, which seemed to be very deep below where we struck it, and trended towards a bight of the coast where it appeared to form a junction with the sea.
Many oyster and cockle shells were on its shore. This was the largest river we had yet come to, and it gave us much trouble to cross it, for, wherever it appeared fordable, the bed was so soft and muddy, that we dared not venture to take our horses into it. By tracing it upwards for eight miles, we at last found a rocky shelf extending across, by which we were enabled to get to the other side. At the point where we crossed, it had become only a narrow rocky channel; but there was a strong stream running, and I have no doubt, higher up, the water might probably have been quite fresh. Its waters flowed from a direction nearly of west-north-west, and appeared to emanate from the high rugged ranges behind King George's Sound. The country about the lower or broad part of this river, as far as I traced it, was rocky and bad; but higher up, there was a good deal of grass, and the land appeared improving. In the distance, the hills seemed less rocky and more grassy, and might probably afford fair runs for sheep. Upon the banks of the river were a few casuarinae and more of the tea-tree, and bastard gum, than we had seen before upon any other watercourse.
Upon crossing the river, we found the country getting more wooded, with a stunted-looking tree, apparently of the same species as the stringy bark, with bastard gums, and large banksias, the intervals being filled up with grass-trees and brush, or shrubs, common at King George's Sound. At dark we could find no water, and I therefore pushed on by moonlight, making Wylie lead one of the horses whilst I drove the rest after him. At nine o'clock, we came to a deep valley with plenty of water and grass in it, and here we halted for the night, after a stage of full thirty miles. The early part of the morning had been very wet, and it continued to rain partially for the greatest part of the day, rendering us very cold and uncomfortable. At night it was a severe frost.
July 4.—Our horses having been a good deal fagged yesterday, I did not disturb them early, and it was nearly noon when we moved away from our encampment, crossing the main watercourse, of which the ponds we were upon last night were only a branch. In the larger channel, there were many fine pools of water, connected by a strongly running stream in a deep narrow bed, and which wound at a course of E. 25 degrees S. through a valley of soft, spongy, peaty formation, and over which we had much trouble in getting our horses, one having sunk very deep, and being with difficulty extricated. After travelling two miles and a half, we obtained a view of Bald Island, bearing S. 15 degrees W.; and in two miles and a half more, we crossed a fine chain of ponds, taking its course through narrow valleys between hills of granite; these valleys and the slopes of the hills were heavily timbered; the soil was very rich, either a reddish loam, or a light black mixed with sand, and the grass interspersed among the trees was abundant and luxuriant. After ascending the range, we passed principally over stony hills, and valleys heavily timbered, and with brush or underwood, filling up the interstices of the trees.
Ten miles from our last night's camp we crossed the tracks of horses, apparently of no very old date, this being the first symptom we had yet observed of our approach towards the haunts of civilised man. The day was cold with heavy squalls of rain, and as the night appeared likely to be worse, I halted early, after a stage of thirteen miles. After dark the rain ceased, and the night cleared up, but was very cold.
July 5.—Another rainy day, and so excessively cold that we were obliged to walk to keep ourselves at all warm; we spent a miserable time, splashing through the wet underwood, and at fifteen miles we passed a fresh water lake, in a valley between some hills. This Wylie recognised as a place he had once been at before, and told me that he now knew the road well, and would act as guide, upon which I resigned the post of honour to him, on his promising always to take us to grass and water at night. Two miles and a half beyond the lake, we came to a fresh water swamp, and a mile beyond that to another, at which we halted for the night, with plenty of water, but very little grass. During the day, we had been travelling generally through a very heavily timbered country.
At night the rain set in again, and continued to fall in torrents at intervals; we got dreadfully drenched, and suffered greatly from cold and want of rest, being obliged to stand or walk before the fire, nearly the whole night.
July 6.—The morning still very wet and miserably cold. With Wylie acting as guide, we reached in eight miles, the Candiup river, a large chain of ponds, connected by a running stream, and emptying into a wide and deep arm of the sea, with much rich and fertile land upon its banks. The whole district was heavily timbered, and had good grass growing amongst the trees. From the very heavy rains that had fallen, we had great trouble in crossing many of the streams, which were swollen by the floods into perfect torrents. In the Candiup river I had to wade, cold and chill as I was, seven times through, with the water breast high, and a current that I with difficulty could keep my feet against, in order to get the horses over in safety; the only fordable place was at a narrow ledge of rocks, and with so strong a stream, and such deep water below the ledge, I dared not trust Wylie to lead any of them, but went back, and took each horse across myself. The day was bitterly cold and rainy, and I began to suffer severely from the incessant wettings I had been subject to for many days past.
Four miles beyond the Candiup river, we came to King's river, a large salt arm of Oyster Harbour, here my friend Wylie, who insisted upon it that he knew the proper crossing place, took me into a large swampy morass, and in endeavouring to take the horses through, three of them got bogged and were nearly lost, and both myself and Wylie were detained in the water and mud for a couple of hours, endeavouring to extricate them. At last we succeeded, but the poor animals were sadly weakened and strained, and we were compelled to return back to the same side of the river, and encamp for the night, instead of going on to King George's Sound as I had intended!
Fortunately there was tolerable grass, and fresh water lay every where about in great abundance, so that the horses would fare well, but for ourselves there was a cheerless prospect. For three days and nights, we had never had our clothes dry, and for the greater part of this time, we had been enduring in full violence the pitiless storm—whilst wading so constantly through the cold torrents in the depth of the winter season, and latterly being detained in the water so long a time at the King's river, had rendered us rheumatic, and painfully sensitive to either cold or wet. I hoped to have reached Albany this evening, and should have done so, as it was only six miles distant, if it had not been for the unlucky attempt to cross King's river. Now we had another night's misery before us, for we had hardly lain down before the rain began to fall again in torrents. Wearied and worn-out as we were, with the sufferings and fatigues of the last few days, we could neither sit nor lie down to rest; our only consolation under the circumstances being, that however bad or inclement the weather might be, it was the last night we should be exposed to its fury.
July 7.—Getting up the horses early, we proceeded up the King's river, with a view of attempting to cross, but upon sounding the depths in one or two places, I found the tide, which was rising, was too high; I had only the alternative, therefore, of waiting for several hours until the water ebbed, or else of leaving the horses, and proceeding on without them. Under all the circumstances, I decided upon the latter; the rain was still falling very heavily, and the river before us was so wide and so dangerous for horses, from its very boggy character, that I did not think it prudent to attempt to force a passage, or worth while to delay to search for a proper crossing place. There was good feed for the horses where they were, and plenty of water, so that I knew they would fare better by remaining than if they were taken on to the Sound; whilst it appeared to me more than probable that I should have no difficulty, whenever I wished to get them, to procure a guide to go for and conduct them safely across, at the proper crossing place.
Having turned our horses loose, and piled up our baggage, now again greatly reduced, I took my journals and charts, and with Wylie forded the river about breast high. We were soon on the other side, and rapidly advancing towards the termination of our journey; the rain was falling in torrents, and we had not a dry shred about us, whilst the whole country through which we passed, had, from the long-continued and excessive rains, become almost an uninterrupted chain of puddles. For a great part of the way we walked up to our ankles in water. This made our progress slow, and rendered our last day's march a very cold and disagreeable one. Before reaching the Sound, we met a native, who at once recognised Wylie, and greeted him most cordially. From him we learnt that we had been expected at the Sound some months ago, but had long been given up for lost, whilst Wylie had been mourned for and lamented as dead by his friends and his tribe. The rain still continued falling heavily as we ascended to the brow of the hill immediately overlooking the town of Albany—not a soul was to be seen—not an animal of any kind—the place looked deserted and uninhabited, so completely had the inclemency of the weather driven both man and beast to seek shelter from the storm.
For a moment I stood gazing at the town below me—that goal I had so long looked forward to, had so laboriously toiled to attain, was at last before me. A thousand confused images and reflections crowded through my mind, and the events of the past year were recalled in rapid succession. The contrast between the circumstances under which I had commenced and terminated my labours stood in strong relief before me. The gay and gallant cavalcade that accompanied me on my way at starting—the small but enterprising band that I then commanded, the goodly array of horses and drays, with all their well-ordered appointments and equipment were conjured up in all their circumstances of pride and pleasure; and I could not restrain a tear, as I called to mind the embarrassing difficulties and sad disasters that had broken up my party, and left myself and Wylie the two sole wanderers remaining at the close of an undertaking entered upon under such hopeful auspices.
Whilst standing thus upon the brow overlooking the town, and buried in reflection, I was startled by the loud shrill cry of the native we had met on the road, and who still kept with us: clearly and powerfully that voice rang through the recesses of the settlement beneath, whilst the blended name of Wylie told me of the information it conveyed. For an instant there was a silence still almost as death—then a single repetition of that wild joyous cry, a confused hum of many voices, a hurrying to and fro of human feet, and the streets which had appeared so shortly before gloomy and untenanted, were now alive with natives—men, women and children, old and young, rushing rapidly up the hill, to welcome the wanderer on his return, and to receive their lost one almost from the grave.
It was an interesting and touching sight to witness the meeting between Wylie and his friends. Affection's strongest ties could not have produced a more affecting and melting scene—the wordless weeping pleasure, too deep for utterance, with which he was embraced by his relatives, the cordial and hearty reception given him by his friends, and the joyous greeting bestowed upon him by all, might well have put to the blush those heartless calumniators, who, branding the savage as the creature only of unbridled passions, deny to him any of those better feelings and affections which are implanted in the breast of all mankind, and which nature has not denied to any colour or to any race.
Upon entering the town I proceeded direct to Mr. Sherrats', where I had lodged when in King George's Sound, in 1840. By him and his family I was most hospitably received, and every attention shewn to me; and in the course of a short time, after taking a glass of hot brandy and water, performing my ablutions and putting on a clean suit of borrowed clothes, I was enabled once more to feel comparatively comfortable, and to receive the many kind friends who called upon me.
I feel great pleasure in the opportunity now afforded me of recording the grateful feelings I entertain towards the residents at Albany for the kindness I experienced upon this occasion. Wet as the day was, I had hardly been two hours at Mr. Sherrats before I was honoured by a visit from Lady Spencer, from the Government-resident, Mr. Phillips, and from almost all the other residents and visitors at the settlement,—all vying with each other in their kind attentions and congratulations, and in every offer of assistance or accommodation which it was in their power to render.
Finding that a vessel would shortly sail for Adelaide, I at once engaged my passage, and proceeded to make arrangements for leaving King George's Sound.
To the Governor of the Colony, Mr. Hutt, I wrote a brief report of my journey, which was forwarded, with a copy both of my own and Wylie's depositions, relative to the melancholy loss of my overseer on the 29th April. I then had my horses got up from the King's river, and left them in the care of Mr. Phillips, who had in the most friendly manner offered to take charge of them until they recovered their condition and could be sold.
Wylie was to remain at the Sound with his friends, and to receive from the Government a weekly allowance of provisions, [Note 29: This was confirmed by Governor Hutt.] by order of Mr. Phillips; who promised to recommend that it should be permanently continued, as a reward for the fidelity and good conduct he had displayed whilst accompanying me in the desert.
On the 13th July I wished my friends good bye, and in the afternoon went on board the Truelove to sail for Adelaide; whilst working out of harbour we were accompanied as long as any of the shore boats remained, by some of the natives of the place, who were most anxious to have gone with me to Adelaide. Wylie had given them so flattering an account of South Australia and its pleasures, that he had excited the envy and curiosity of the whole tribe; dozens applied to me to take them, and I really think I could have filled the ship had I been disposed; one or two, more persevering than the rest, would not be denied, and stuck close to the vessel to the last, in the hope that I might relent and take them with me before the pilot boat left, but upon this occurring, to their great discomforture, they were compelled to return disappointed.
On the afternoon of the 26th of July I arrived in Adelaide, after an absence of one year and twenty-six days.