Nothing of interest was met with until we came upon a huge wall-like reef, standing some fifteen or twenty feet above the ground, from ten to twenty feet wide, and running almost due north and south for nearly five miles, without a break of appreciable extent, as we subsequently found. Breaking the quartz at intervals, hoping at each blow of the pick to see the longed-for colours, we followed this curious natural wall, and finally camped, sheltered by it from the wind. A violent storm of dust, wind, thunder, and lightning swept over us that night, tearing the “fly” we had pitched, in the vain expectation of rain, into ribbons.
Leaving the others to continue prospecting, I turned my steps, or rather those of Satan, whom I was riding, towards Cowarna, a large granite rock, some fourteen miles distant, and due south from our camp, if I had reckoned our position on the map correctly. Twelve miles of open forest, alternating with scrubby thickets, brought me to the edge of a fine little plain of saltbush and grass, from the centre of which a bare rock of granite stood out. Arrived at the rock, I hunted long and diligently for water. Numerous rock-holes were to be seen, but all were dry, and my hopes of making this our base from which to prospect in various directions were at first short-lived; but before long I was overjoyed to hear the twittering of a little flock of Diamond sparrows—a nearly certain sign that water must be handy; and sure enough I found their supply at the bottom of a narrow, round hole, down which I could just stretch my arm.
CHAPTER II
Granite Rocks, “Namma Holes,” And “Soaks”
At this point it may not be amiss to give a short description of these peculiar outcrops of granite, without which the track from York to Coolgardie could never have been kept open, nor the place discovered, nor could its early inhabitants have supported life before the condensing plant came into general use.
The interior of the Colony, between the coast and a point some hundred miles east of Coolgardie, is traversed by parallel belts of granite, running in a general direction of north-north-west and south-south-east. This granite crops out above the surface, at intervals of from ten to twenty or thirty miles, sometimes in the form of an isolated barren rock, and sometimes as low ranges and hills several miles in extent. From them small creeks, and sometimes larger watercourses, run down, to find their way into the stony and gravelly debris which usually surrounds the rocks. Much of what little rain does fall is absorbed by the trees and scrub, and much is taken by the sun's heat, so that a very small proportion can sink below the surface soil, and only when there is some underground basin in the rock beneath will water be found by sinking, except immediately after rain.
Round the granite base a belt of grass of no great extent may be found, for the most part dry and yellow, but in places green and fresh. It is in such spots as these that one may hope to tap an underground reservoir in the rock. To these shallow wells has been given the name of “Soaks.” They seldom exceed fifteen feet in depth, though similar subterranean basins have been tapped by a well perhaps a hundred feet deep, sunk some distance from the foot of the outcrop. A good soak will stand a heavy drain for perhaps months, but not having its origin in a spring the supply ultimately ceases.
The soil, being alluvial, is in most cases easy to dig, and when the bed rock is reached it becomes an open question whether to go deeper into the decomposed rock or to be content with what supply has been struck. Many a good soak has been ruined by a too ambitious worker, who, after infinite toil, may see his priceless fluid disappear down some hidden crack beneath. Native soaks dug out with sticks and wooden “coolimans”—small troughs used as spades or as a means of carrying seeds, water, or game—are by no means uncommon, and, when holding water, are easily made more serviceable by throwing out a few shovelsful of sticks, stones, and sand, with which they are generally choked. Often the weary traveller has no such lucky help, and must set to work to dig a soak for himself and his thirsty beasts—against time, too, in a blazing sun, without the comforting knowledge that there is any certainty of finding water. I do not know of any case when a party has actually perished at the mouth of a waterless soak, but in many instances water has been struck when all hope had been given up. The skeletons and carcasses of camels and horses tell a tale of suffering that no man who has travelled can look at unmoved, and go to show that many a beast of burden has been less fortunate than his masters.
With what eager anxiety the shovelsful are watched, when the expected “bottom” is nearly reached, by man and beast alike, who, utterly weary and absolutely parched, know that they are soon to learn their fate. The horses snort and plunge in eager and impatient expectation, whilst the patient camel contents himself with grunts and moans, though, as his knees are probably strapped beneath him, he cannot protest more forcibly. At length, perhaps, all are rewarded by the welcome sight of a tiny trickle in one corner, or perhaps the hole turns out a “duffer,” and the weary, weary work must be commenced again in a fresh spot.
In many cases these granite rocks have been utilised as a catchment area for tanks, into which the water is led by drains, which encircle the foot of the outcrop. Before the railway was built, such tanks, sunk by Government along the Southern Cross-Coolgardie track, enabled teamsters to bring their horses through with safety, which would otherwise have been impossible at some seasons of the year.