"The natives further informed me that three men on horseback, who had canoes (boats) on the Murrumbidgee, had visited the Lachlan thereabouts since, and that after crossing it, and going a little way beyond, they had returned."
Sturt mentioned seeing the fires of the natives during this trip, but he did not see them, although it was evident that they had a good look at him.
On the 26th of December, it seemed that their gloomiest hopes were to be realised. Traversing plains like those described before, Sturt says:—
"The wheels of the drays sank up to their axle-trees, and the horses above their fetlocks at every step. The fields of polygonum spread on every side of us, like a dark sea, and the only green object within range of our vision was the river line of trees. In several instances the force of both teams was put to one dray, to extricate it from the bed into which it had sunk, and the labour was considerably increased from the nature of the weather. The wind was blowing as if through a furnace, from the N.N.E., and the dust was flying in clouds, so as to render it almost suffocating to remain exposed to it. This was the only occasion upon which we felt the hot winds in the interior. We were, about noon, endeavouring to gain a point of a wood at which I expected to come upon the river again, but it was impossible for the teams to reach it without assistance. I therefore sent M'Leay forward with orders to unload the pack animals as soon as he should make the river, and send them back to help the teams. He had scarcely been separated from me twenty minutes, when one of the men came galloping back to inform me that no river was to be found—that the country beyond the woods was covered with reeds as far as the eye could reach, and that Mr. M'Leay had sent him back for instructions. This intelligence stunned me for a moment or two, and I am sure its effect upon the men was very great. They had unexpectedly arrived at a part of the interior similar to one they held in dread, and conjured up a thousand difficulties and privations. I desired the man to recall Mr. M'Leay; and, after gaining the wood, moved outside of it at right angles to my former course, and reached the river, after a day of severe toil and exposure at half-past five. The country, indeed, bore every resemblance to that around the marshes of the Macquarie, but I was too weary to make any further effort; indeed it was too late for one to undertake anything until the morning."
The following day, accompanied by his friend, Sturt proceeded to examine the river. He found it still running strong, without any sign of diminution in its flow, but the reedy flats were so dense and thick that no passage for the teams was practicable. At noon the leader halted, and announced his intention of returning to camp. He had come to the determination to construct the whaleboat he had with him in sections, to send the teams back, and, with six men and Mr. M'Leay, to start down the river, and follow it wherever it went; whether ever to return again or not was for the future to determine.
Clayton, the carpenter, was at once set to work upon the boat, or boats, for a tree was felled, a sawpit rigged up, and a small boat half the size of the whaleboat built. Everybody worked hard, and in seven days the boats were afloat, moored alongside a temporary wharf, ready for loading. Six men were then chosen to form the crew, who were about to undertake one of the most eventful and important voyages in Australia's history. They were Clayton, the carpenter, Mulholland and Macnamee, the three soldiers, Harris, Hopkinson and Fraser, the leader, and M'Leay—eight in all. The remainder of the party, under Robert Harris, were to remain stationary one week, in case of accident, then to proceed to Goulburn Plains and await instructions from Sydney.
On the 7th of January, 1830, the voyagers started, towing the smaller boat, the men all in high spirits at the wide prospect of adventure before them.
Going with the stream they made rapid progress, using only two oars, but the first day did not suffice to carry them clear of the reeds, in fact, at night when they landed to camp, they could scarcely find room to pitch their tents. On the second day, an accident happened to the skiff they were towing; she struck on a log, and immediately sank with all the valuable cargo she carried. Two days were spent in recovering the things, as the boat had gone down in twelve feet of water, and during the time they were so employed, the blacks robbed the camp of many articles.
Once more on the move, they found the river still winding its way through a flat expanse of reeds, and threatening to end as the other rivers had done. On the afternoon of the next day a change for the better took place; the reeds on both sides of the river terminated, and the country became more elevated, and bore the appearance of open forest pasture land; a tributary creek of considerable size joined the river from the S.E., and the spirits of the voyagers rose again. More tributaries now came in from the south-east, and the dangers of navigation increased, the river being full of snags and fallen timber, and the utmost care had to be used to keep the boat clear. On the second day of this distressing work, they were destined to meet with a surprise.
"About one we again started. The men looked anxiously ahead, for the singular change in the river had impressed on them the idea that we were approaching its termination, or near some adventure. On a sudden the river took a general southern direction, but, in its tortuous course, swept round to every point of the compass with the greatest irregularity. We were carried at a fearful rate down its gloomy and contracted banks, and in such a moment of excitement, had little time to pay attention to the country through which we were passing. It was, however, observed that chalybeate springs were numerous close to the water's edge. At three p.m., Hopkinson called out that we were approaching a junction, and in less than a minute afterwards we were hurried into a broad and noble river.