CHAPTER XI PORTLAND BAY
Squattlesea Mere was about ten miles from the coast, and equidistant from the towns of Port Fairy and Portland, the latter lying about thirty miles westward. My first visit to it was on the occasion of a sale of some fat cattle to Mr. Henty for the use of the whalers—who were then still extant. Of course there were plenty of bullocks at Muntham, but it was hardly worth while to send so far for so small a lot. I was ready to deliver, and not indisposed for the trip and adventure myself.
So, having been helped off the run by Joe Burge, I started with my beeves, and made the journey safely to the slaughter-yards, which were then a few miles on the hither side of the town, near the beach. The road lay through the marshes for five or six miles, then through the stringy-bark forest, whence I emerged on an open sandy tract known as "the heath." Such land is not uncommon in the vicinity of Portland and west of Port Fairy; indeed, the greater part of the country between Portland and the wondrous downs of the Wannon consists of this undesirable formation alternately with stringy-bark forest.
The soil upon the heath is pure sand of a white or greyish colour. Small lagoons, thickly covered with dark-brown reeds, are spread over the surface; it is mostly firm riding ground, though very indifferent pasture. Several species of epacris grow there, the pink and white blossoms of which were gay and even brilliant in spring. Open as a plain, and, apart from a question of grass, an effective contrast to the endless eucalyptus. A few miles of heath—the forest again—and we come to Darlot's Creek, narrow, but running deep and strong, like a New Zealand river.
This singular stream must in some way receive the water of the great Eumeralla marshes, which, as they have no visible outlet, probably filter through the lava country, from which, near Lake Condah, Darlot's Creek issues without previous notice.
Summer and winter this cheery little stream, from twenty to fifty feet wide, and hardly ever less than from six to ten feet deep, rushes whirling and eddying to the sea. We cross at a stone causeway, over which the water runs, and in another mile or two come to the Fitzroy River. This is a true Australian watercourse, and has the usual abruptly alternating depth of channel. Both streams debouch on a sandy sea-beach, a few miles from Portland. The channel mouths are continually shifting, and as the main road from Port Fairy then crossed them, the depth of water was often unpleasantly altered, to the manifest danger of travellers. Many a misadventure was credited to the "mouth of the Fitzroy," and more than one poor fellow, when the tide was high, essaying to cross with a heavy swag, lost the number of his mess. The proper thing for non-pedestrians at that time was to ride or drive some distance into the waves, where the depth was shallower; but there were said to be quicksands, in which horse or wheel might sink, and, with the surf breaking over, in such case the look-out was bad.
Before reaching this part of the road, at an elevated point of the heath, a full view of the ocean burst suddenly on my view. What a sight it was! A world of forest greenery lay north, east, and west; on the south the tumbling billows of the unbounded sea. Far as eye could reach was the wondrous plain of the South Pacific, stretching away to the farthest range of vision, where it was lost in a soft, shimmering haze. Did I clap my hands and shout "Thalatta! Thalatta!" like the author of Eōthen? I had the inclination to do it, I know.
In the distance, lying north-west, were the cliffs and noble bay of Portland—not a very grand town, but noteworthy as the point d'appui whence those representative Englishmen and distinguished colonists, the Hentys, commenced the Anglo-Saxon conquest of Australia Felix.