In 1883 the South Australian Government determined to complete the exploration of Arnheim's Land, and Mr. David Lindsay was dispatched on the mission. He left Palmerston on the 4th June, and proceeded, by way of the Katherine, to the country north of the Roper River. From there they proceeded to Blue Mud Bay, and, on the way, had a narrow escape from being massacred by the natives, who speared four horses, and made an attempt to surprise the camp. Lindsay got entangled in the broken tableland that caused such trouble to Leichhardt, and, with one misfortune and another, lost a great number of his horses-in fact, at one time, he anticipated having to abandon them all, and make his way into the telegraph station on foot. On the whole, the country passed over was favourable for settlement; in fact, the flats on some portions of his course were first-class sugar country.
Another journey was undertaken about this time by Messrs. O'Donnell and Carr Boyd into Western Australia, starting from the same place as Lindsay, namely, the Katherine telegraph station. The expedition succeeded in finding a large amount of pastoral country, but no new geographical discoveries of any importance were made.
Meantime, the discovery of gold in the Kimberley district of Western Australia led to that province being searched by small prospecting parties, and every creek and watercourse becoming known. This has left but little of the coastal lands still unexplored in Australia, and there is scant chance of anything noticeable being found in the interior beyond what we can fairly conjecture. The utmost an explorer can now hope to find there is some permanent lagoon or spring, affording a stand-by for the pastoralist. No such streams as the Murray or Darling will ever again gladden the eyes of the traveller in the interior,
The greater part of the territory still left to explore is situated in one colony—that of Western Australia, and, although the interior has been successively crossed by so many different men, there yet remains a large area which may be called unknown. Of what the end will be it is hard to say. Shall we find it bear out the gloomy predictions of Warburton and Giles? or the more hopeful one of Forest? One thing we do know—that, year after year, use is being found for the most repellent country. When we look back at the verdict pronounced against the interior of Australia by the early explorers, and how it has been falsified by time there is ground for hoping that even the most despised portions of our continent will yet be found available for something.
That, in spite of the monotony of the Great Plain, it is strange to note the fascination it has had for many of the most renowned explorers. Sturt, after being reduced to semi-blindness, found himself compelled to struggle with the desert once more. Eyre, left alone in the wilderness, after his awful experience at the head of the Great Bight, still longed to venture again, and accompanied his friend Sturt as far as ever his duties permitted him. Leichhardt died in harness somewhere in Australia, and Kennedy lost his life in his desire to emulate his former chief, Mitchell. Even the very sterility of the great solitude seems to have been, in its way, a lure to drag men back to encounter it once more.
Knowing now as much as we do of the interior, we can hardly help being amused at the theories propounded in the old days by some of the earlier travellers. Oxley was, we know, wedded to the idea of an inland sea. Sturt, too, when he looked on the stony desert, saw in it but the dry channel of some old ocean current; and Eyre was convinced that the interior was nothing but a parched and and desert. One after another, these fallacies were exploded, and now we find that human and animal life can as easily be adapted to the central plain as elsewhere.
But the want of knowledge displayed by the natives of anything beyond their immediate surroundings, was one great difficulty in the way of the explorers. The blackfellow of Australia seemed to partake largely of the country he lived in. His whole life was one fight for existence, and not even the sudden advent of a strange race could do more than stir him to a languid curiosity. Bounded, as he always had been, by his surroundings, and never venturing beyond tribal limits, what information he was able to impart was, as a rule, meagre and misleading, and without any good result in the way of assistance to the explorer. True, we find exceptions to this amongst them; two instances may be quoted as exemplifying two different phases of the native character. One is a picture from Sturt's journal, the other from Mitchell.
Sturt and his companions were returning to the depôt from one of their northern efforts. Suddenly they came across a party of worn and thirsty natives. What little water the whites had with them they gave them, but it was only a mouthful a-piece, and the natives indicating by signs that they were bound for some distant waterhole, disappeared at a smart trot across the sandhills. They apparently expressed no surprise at the sudden meeting in the desert, although they could not have had the slightest conception of white men before. They seem to have accepted their presence and the friendly drink of water as only a part of their strange existence.
Far different was the conduct of the Darling River blacks, who so resented Mitchell's appearance, that they travelled over some hundreds of miles to attack him on his second visit. The ingenuity with which they planned an attack on the party was a rather remarkable thing in the annals of exploration. Thinking that the clothing of the whites rendered them secure against spears, two men were told off for each member of the party, one to hold the victim whilst the other clubbed him. Fortunately the scheme was fathomed by one of the lubras with the party; but it showed very deep-seated animosity and dislike.
The intercourse, then, that the travellers could expect from the natives was either passive ignorance or violent hostility. On the few occasions when their services were made use of it amounted only to finding some scanty well. Again, the nature of the country was so persistently opposed to all the pre conceived notions that the first arrivals brought to the country. It would seem but rational to suppose that a river or creek would ultimately lead to somewhere, a larger channel, or the sea; but the rivers of the plain lived and died without any defined end, and to follow their courses only resulted in disappointment. Add to all this a dry and hot climate, and we cannot wonder at the slow progress made in the advance of the first half of the century.