November 4.
Both boats proceeded up the river at daylight. We started from the end of Short Reach, trending East-North-East, and about four miles within the range of hills, on the South-East side of the Plains. The first reach led us a mile and a half in a South-East direction, and at the end of it a flat of large boulders extended; across this we dragged the boats easily. The river now took a turn from East-North-East to North, and at the end of a mile we came to another extensive flat, quite dry. There was a deep pool below it, with a precipitous hill, 350 feet high, on the eastern side. This we called Steep Head, and its singular dark cliffy face, frowning over the placid waters, gave an air of grandeur to the scenery. Stretched out on the face of these cliffs, we left the skin of our friend the alligator, to be taken to the ship by the watering boats when they returned.
SHOALS IN THE RIVER.
There was now heavy work before us, with the thermometer at 93 degrees in the shade: we had to drag the boats over the large flat that impeded our progress. The way was made as smooth as possible, and plenty of rollers laid, but an unlucky stone found its way through the thin plank of the gig. Captain Wickham acted as head carpenter in repairing the damage, which occupied so much time that it was dark before the boats were floated in the deep water beyond. We dined on the bank, by the light of a lantern hung on a tree. The tide at this place only rose two feet.
SCENERY ON ITS BANKS.
November 5.
Taking advantage of the cool of the morning, we moved off with the early dawn. A fine sheet of water lay before us, and everything promised well. The vegetation looked stronger and richer. Above the growth of acacias and drooping gums, that leant over the banks kissing their reflection in the limpid waters, rose on each side high broken ranges. Their heights had round summits, just beneath which, in some, could be traced a low line of cliffs, so singularly characteristic of Sea Range. The very marked dip in the strata did not extend beyond the latter, and here I could not detect any. Flights of large vampires, whistling ducks, many-coloured parakeets, and varieties of small birds, made the river quite alive, and their continued cry of alarm gave vivacity to the scene, and disturbed the stillness that had reigned there for years. Every living thing is terrified at the sight of man. This reach of the Victoria enabled Mr. Bynoe to add two new birds to his collection; one, a species of pigeon, but resembling a small quail in its habits and size; the cerae of the nose, the beak and the feet, were a pigeon's, but the flight and the manner of running along the ground, where it kept, were those of a quail. It was found in small families of eight or a dozen, very wild and scarce, and was only seen in this part of the river. The only one we were able to get, had a very long pointed crest. The colour was a light red, with a white chin and a black band across the throat; the tips of the wings were slightly bronzed. It is figured in Mr. Gould's work, from this specimen, as Geophaps plumifera.
SINGULAR BIRD.
The other bird was of a species, that at first sight appeared to be a teal. It went in small flocks, and as it got on the wing made a long shrill plaintive kind of note. The deep glossy rifle-green colour of their back, and the transparent streak of white across the wing, gave them a most beautiful appearance, as the sun's rays lit up their rich plumage in their circuitous flight round the boat. Their number did not exceed twenty, and they too were only seen on this part of the river. They were also very wary, which is singular in the inhabitants of a wilderness, almost totally unfrequented by man. We only got one specimen, by which we found that it had the head and bill of a goose. It was indeed quite a goose in miniature. Although we never before or afterwards met with this bird, it was seen at Port Essington, though of inferior plumage, some time in 1840, and a specimen was obtained, from which Mr. Gould has named it Nettapus pulchellas. The whistling duck of the Adelaide River, was also only seen on this part of the Victoria.
After proceeding north-east one mile and a half, and east two miles, we came to a pretty little islet covered with palms and acacias, and rich long grass. Numbers of large white waterlilies grew on its banks. The river was now only an eighth of a mile wide, and two fathoms deep. This still promised well. Scarcely, however, had we indulged in the hope that the Victoria might yet convey the boats many miles into the interior, when a shoal appeared.