My waterproof served as a basin. A hole, begun with the boot-heel and finished off by hand, was scooped out in the easily-shifted soil, the waterproof spread out over and then pressed down into it, and—there it was.
By the time I had had my refresher and a smoke I found it very easy to persuade myself that the place was quite secluded and comfortable enough to remain the night at, and I acted accordingly; stocked a supply of firewood in reserve against the chilliness of coming wee small hours; pulled up by their roots (which I then shook free of earth) a quantity of the plentiful 18in.-high dry grass, and arranged my (low-) downy couch in systematic 4 x 6 and side-banked fashion in the lee of the sheltering bush to which I had close-tethered Diamond.
I hung up the lining of my wash basin to dry, lit a fire and brewed a quartpot of tea; but not being very hungry did not broach my precious cargo of bush bread and goat's mutton. I had with me a piece of old newspaper, and I read it. There was a little writing to be done, and I did it. A torn garment called, through the rent, for thread, and I gave it some. Then I overhauled the bicycle, and, finding everything as it should be, broke short a piece of stick and discordantly accompanied myself in an "impromptu"—"Across the Continent in Pyjamas"—by thrumming on the front wheel spokes. Smoked. Stood up and looked around at the scrub; sat down and scribbled a little more—and felt lonely as I could wish till bed time.
* * * *
Before sundown I had watched awhile the diamond sparrows flocking for their evening drink in clustering clouds of dear little twittering atoms. And note, I had begun to tell myself in meditative strain—note how considerate Nature provides for these, even these smallest of her trusting creatures. But a couple of hawks came along, and, swooping low down, pounced greedily upon the thirsting little creatures. I saw no good reason why I should interfere. I gave Nature credit for knowing its business, and guessed the hawks were peckish. Yet, against my reasoning instincts, I threw a lump of wood at one of the murderous, darting birds of prey. The whizzing missile frightened him away alright—and killed about a dozen sparrows.
How very like many great human schemes and systems!
* * * *
But now bedtime. The sun was down, and the stillness was intense. A dim sense of unreality pervaded everything, including even thought-consciousness, the Ego. Perhaps it was only through sharp contrast with the past few nights spent talkatively with new acquaintances in Alice Springs; but the solitude made itself felt more oppressively than I can recall it ever to have done o' nights the other side of that reposeful ultima thule.
All which trifling details of how I spent one afternoon and fixed my camp I give now, to save, to some extent, vain repetition later on.