18TH MAY.—Leaving a buried letter for Mr. Kennedy we proceeded to trace, with our cart-wheels, the best route I could find for the heavy drays coming forward with him. The soil was sandy, but in other respects the country was good: consisting chiefly of open forest, and being well covered with grass. Another gap enabled me to pass very directly on to the newly-discovered river, and it seemed that this, and the other gap behind it, were almost the only openings in the ranges from which we had descended. Both led in the direction of our route, and the pond we had just left was ascertained to be the only one in the little channel. I sought a good position for a depôt camp on the newly-discovered river, and found one extremely favourable, on a curve concave to the N. W., overlooking, from a high bank, a dry ford, on a smooth rocky bed; and having also access to a reach of water, where the bottom was hard and firm. We approached this position with our carts, in the midst of smoke and flame; the natives having availed themselves of a hot wind to burn as much as they could of the old grass, and a prickly weed which, being removed, would admit the growth of a green crop, on which the kangaroos come to feed, and are then more easily got at. Latitude of this camp, 26° 12' 47" S. Thermometer, at sunrise, 40°; at 4 p.m., 78°; at 9, 57°.
19TH MAY.—I could now venture to halt a day without any apprehensions about leaving sufficient water for the party who were following us; and I had recently obtained many angles I wished to put together, in order to learn the character of the country, which required much study. That I should have overlooked an extensive country, without perceiving any indication of a large river flowing through it, almost at my feet, seemed a singular circumstance, and I was still as little aware of its ultimate course. I found on laying down my work on paper, that the chief elevations ran, in a continuous line, nearly due north from Mount Red Cap, Bindango, and Bindyègo, to the high ranges nearer the coast. That the nascent stream on the western side of Bindango (the Amby), and flowing first N. W., turned towards the S. W. within a range of basaltic rock, which was a branch from the main stem between Bindango and the northern range. Thus, upon the whole, this seemed but one side, and that the south-eastern, of the basin of the river we had discovered. Where was the other? The marks of flood were not high. The waters were full of fish, but they would not take the bait. Thermometer, at sunrise, 46°; at noon, 73°; at 4 p.m., 76°; at 9, 65°.
20TH MAY.—The sky was wholly overcast, and drizzling rain afforded us some grounds for hoping that the great impediment to our exploration during this dry season, was at an end. The temperature underwent a sudden change, and this day was the coldest as yet experienced during the journey; the thermometer at noon being only 48°. F. Yuranigh contrived to catch three fishes, of a kind wholly different from those of the rivers in the south; leaving it doubtful, again, whether this river could belong to the system of the Barwan. Thermometer, at sunrise, 53°; at noon, 48°; at 4 p.m., 45°; at 9, 45°.
21ST MAY.—The morning being clear, frosty, and serene, induced me to ride towards an elevated point, about thirteen miles to the north-west, in hopes of obtaining a view of more distant mountains. Crossing the river near our camp I met with no obstruction, but found open forests, and a good grassy country throughout; the soil being, however, rather too loose and sandy, for the easy passage of wheel carriages. I crossed three channels of water-courses all dry, but evidently receptacles of water in ordinary seasons. They now contained a most luxuriant crop of oat-grass (Anthistiria). The hill was rocky and open on the summit, the chief trees being very remarkable; especially a species of FICUS, of a unique kind, but not in fruit, closely resembling the English ash; but growing wholly on rock. Bottle trees (DELABECHEA) grew also in a romantic nook, such as they seem to delight in, in the neighbourhood of minor shrubs, equally strange. The rock consisted of a sandstone with vegetable impressions, such as I had never seen on the sandstone of the ranges. From this summit, the crests of very distant ranges appeared to the northward; the highest bearing nearly north, by compass, and apparently distant 70 or 80 miles. The course of the river, or at least of a river, judging by a line of smoke, came from the north-westward, between that mountain, and others to the westward of it. More to the right, or eastward, the horizon presented flat-topped ranges; increasing in elevation as they receded from that side of the country whence we had come. That sort of level horizon seemed always to bound our view to the southward, the little gap was the only relieving blue break in the whole of that side. The eye ranged over a vast extent of country, however, at its base, extending eastward, where open plains or downs shone bright in the remote distance; in which direction, much smoke arose from fires of the natives. I returned from the hill but little wiser than I went, except that I had observed the strata dipping southward, and that we might, therefore, still look for their synclinal line to the northward; and beyond that, for the heads of other rivers. These hills, overlooking the valley of the river, resembled rocky bergs, at a distance of ten or twelve miles west of it. They, however, partly formed a small range, and belonged to an extensive tract of sandstone country; which, on the south, was broken into gullies, falling towards the river. Thermometer, at sunrise, 27°; at noon, 54°; at 4 p.m., 55°; at 9, 30°.
22D MAY.—This morning, the thermometer in my tent stood at 20°; and in the open air, at 12°. The river was frozen, and the grass was white with hoar-frost. The soil appearing so sandy in the country before us, I resolved to form a depôt with our drays and heavy equipment here, and to await their arrival before I proceeded further with the carts. The spot was eligible in every respect; and in awaiting the arrival of Mr. Kennedy with the drays, I could have time to investigate more extensively the character of the surrounding country. I was, indeed, rather apprehensive that the drays could not reach without difficulty even this point; and I was resolved, on their arrival, to make some arrangement for continuing the journey, without dragging them any further through the heavy sand. It was most irksome, during the finest of weather, thus to be obliged to remain comparatively inactive, in the middle of such a journey, when horses and light carts might have enabled me to have pursued it to a conclusion, without such delays. Thermometer, at noon, 54°; at 4 p.m., 55°; at 9, 27°.
23D MAY.—The river seemed to cut its way through rocky ranges, and to receive many tributaries; had, in some places, bergs, and margins of ancient gravel and sedimentary strata; in others, rocky escarps of great height, presented sections of rocks through which it passed. Its further course downwards, seemed accessible for some way from this camp; and, in awaiting the arrival of the drays, I resolved to explore it. With this view, I this day proceeded westward to head the gullies falling to it from the other bank, from the sandstone country already mentioned. I ascended by an extremity of the hill, to the rocky crest without difficulty, or much deviation from my intended course. On reaching the western side of the rough scrubby table of the range, I found the descent gradual, through an open forest: traversed two flats, having in them the Yarra gums, but no water-course, the surface very sandy. Here grew the ACACIA CONFERTA, a small shrub just coming into flower; the XANTHORRHOEA MIMOSA (with rough bark), yellow gum, black-butted gum, iron-bark, and stringy bark. The woods astonished my native companion Yuranigh; who remarked that they were trees belonging to the sea coast at Sydney. But deep rocky ravines prevented me from exploring the country, in the direction in which I should have expected to find the river. At length, we approached a valley, in which was a deep channel with rocky banks; but quite dry, and very sandy. It ran to the southward; in which direction I turned with it, to follow it to its junction with the main river; but it pursued a very tortuous course, and our time did not admit of my going far enough that day, and I returned to the camp, resolved to extend this interesting search on a greater scale subsequently. I had seen, from the furthest point I reached, that the same table land to the southward, extended west; and it therefore appeared to me probable that the river would be found at its base. In the evening we heard, at a short distance from our camp, the songs of females or children; as if the overflowing of their animal spirits. I had seen their smoke in a part of the range I passed this day, to which I feared they had fled on our approach, hearing our guns, and in terror of strangers. I was, therefore, glad to find that they had no longer any dread of us, and had returned to THEIR home, the river bank. These people had no clothing,—the mercury stood at 19° and 20° F.; the means of subsistence open to them, had been scarcely enough to have kept white men alive, even with the aid of their guns. Yet, under such circumstances, and with such strange visitors so close to them, these human beings were so contented and happy, that the overflowings of their hearts were poured forth in song! Such is human nature in a wild state. Their happiness was not such as we could envy; on the contrary, I was so solicitous that we should not disturb it, that, much as I wished to learn the original name of this interior river, and something about its course, I forbade any of the party from taking any notice of these, its original inhabitants. Our last intercourse with the natives, had also taught me to bear ever in mind aesop's fable of the camel. Thermometer, at sunrise, 12°; at noon, 52°; at 4 p.m., 56°; at 9, 32°.
24TH MAY.—I proceeded, with two men bearing axes, to a hill about two miles S. W. of our camp, one of the extremities of the range already mentioned, (which I call River Head Range). We passed, at no great distance from our camp, those natives whose song we had heard last evening, but without taking any notice of them, except by slightly waving my hand. One tall female stooped amongst the long grass, and several others, male and female, endeavoured to hide themselves in a similar manner, as they beheld, probably for the first time, a white man on horseback, followed by others bearing a saw and axes. On the summit, grew the Malga tree; which is an acacia of such very hard wood, that I was obliged to be content to cut off the top branches only of a tree on the summit I had endeavoured to cut down, and to erect a sort of platform on the remainder, whence I took my angles. Up the river, there appeared some open plains, and a level horizon, in the direction of its apparent course. Thermometer, at sunrise, 11°; at noon, 65°; at 4 p.m., 67°; and at 9, 30°.
25TH MAY.—Protracting the observed angles I endeavoured to fix, if possible, some prominent points, whereby I might obtain some knowledge of the structure of the surrounding country. The result of my work was a conviction that the course of the river was parallel to the projecting extremities of the low range beyond it (River Head Range), and that its basin had extensive ramifications, back amongst the sandstone cliffs on this side. But the course downwards still remained a question, which diminished in its importance, as I discovered the upper course to come from where it was my wish to go. I resolved, nevertheless, while thus awaiting the arrival of the drays, to extend my ride of the 23RD MAY, and ascertain whether it could turn westward under the southern cliffs, the only direction in which it was likely to be available to us, downwards, at this time. Thermometer, at sunrise, 17°; at noon, 70°; at 4 p.m. 68°; and at 9, 38°.
26TH MAY.—Taking with me two men and Yuranigh, mounted, I retraced my former track to the westward, and on proceeding beyond the dry river bed, where I had previously been, I entered amongst sandstone gullies, where one grassy flat extended nearly in the direction I wished to pursue; and this brought me to a sort of table-land, covered with an open forest of iron-bark (with the common leaf). The rock consisted here of the same felspathic sort characterising most of the hills of the Barwan basin; the soil sterile, bearing, in lieu of the ordinary grass, the stiff, hard leaved, glutinous TRIODIA PUNGENS. But this was better than scrub, and, further on, I perceived through a forest on the western slopes, the blue distance and yellow plains of an open country. As plains usually accompany rivers, I believed I was approaching the river I was in search of. We crossed a deep watercourse falling to the S.E.b.S., and entered on a noble flat of firm rich soil, whereon grew luxuriantly, the ACACIA PENDULA (not previously seen by us in that region), and the two best kinds of grass, ANTHISTIRIA and PANICUM LOEVINODE. Then we came to a good pond of water, with recent footmarks of natives, and, at about a mile beyond, we reached the open downs. They extended eastward as far as we could see between the range on the S., under which I had expected to find the river, and the rocky country over which we had come. Westward, the downs were bounded by several very picturesque isolated conical hills,—the southern sandy ranges on the S., still continuing westward like a limit to all this interior open country. Yet through that barrier the river had found a course, and instead of its overlooking the river, I found that the ground rose towards it, and I hastened four or five miles further westward, in hopes still to see it beyond the open downs, but I saw nothing like it. Kangaroos showed their heads occasionally amid the long grass: the air was all astir with pigeons, and traces of native inhabitants were numerous. As the sun was then near setting, we hastened back to the pond, and lay down beside it for the night, which happened to be a mild one. Thermometer, at sunrise, 20°; at noon, 72°; at 4 p.m., 71°; at 9, 44°.
27TH MAY.—We rode nearly westward towards a conical hill, which I had seen on the evening before, and named Mount Lonsdale. This peak appeared to me then to promise an extensive view to the W. and S.W., and in that expectation I was not disappointed. I also fortunately recognised two of my fixed points, at distances of thirty-two and fortytwo miles respectively, besides an elevated extremity of the continuous range on the S., which I had previously intersected, and here determined to be only five miles off, bearing about S.E.b.S. I could now see not only westward, but to the southward of S.W., for nearly twenty miles over a long flat, containing indeed, a line of ACACIA PENDULA scrub, such as accompanies lines of water drainage, but no river. All the country in sight more to the northward seemed to fall that way, or southward, and although it seemed possible that a cross line of valley and blue mist at the far extremity of the flat might be the river, it was much more probable, from the general slope of the country, that it was only another tributary coming from the north.[*] Such was Yuranigh's opinion too, who alone stood on that peak with me, and who there reminded me of the fate of the rivers Macquarie and Narran, and maintained that rivers were not to be found every where. "Where then is our river, Mr. Yuranigh?" "Bel me know," was the reply. I could soon have found this out, however, had it been an object for our journey northward. It was enough to know then that it did not turn into that interior country, which was open, and looked much lower, and how much further the fine valley extended beyond the twenty miles, an adjacent woody hill prevented me from seeing. The land around me was fair to look on; nothing could be finer than the forms of the hills—half clear of wood, the disposition of open grassy downs and vales—or the beauty of the woods. Water was not wanting, at least there seemed to be enough for the present inhabitants, and to an admirer of nature there was all that could be desired. Deeply impressed with its sublime and solitary beauty, I sketched the scene, and descended from that hill, resolved to follow the river upwards, as more favourable, in that direction, to the chief object of my mission. I named the hill overlooking that lonely dale, Mount Lonsdale, in honour of my valuable geological friend. We reached the dépot camp in the evening, and found all well, only that a very tall and powerful native had been reconnoitring our position during the day, from various trees commanding a view of it; probably only from curiosity. These visits, however, always happened to be made, as it would appear, when some portion of the party was absent, as on this occasion. Thermometer, at sunrise, 34°; at noon, 79°; at 4 p.m., 68°; at 9, 59°; with wet bulb, 50°.