It was only six weeks before this untimely end of the young explorer, that he had set out, full of hope, on the long journey by the coast, which the party made on their return, and had been a leading character in such beautiful pictures of life in the Australian wilderness as this which is given by his friend Captain Grey. “We soon found ourselves at the foot of a lofty cascade, down which a little water was slowly dropping; and, on climbing to its summit, it appeared to be so well fitted for a halting-place for the night, that I determined to remain there. The men made themselves comfortable near the water-holes, and Mr. Smith and myself crept into a little cave, which occasionally served as a resting-place for the natives, the remains of whose fires were scattered about. A wild woodland and rocky scenery was around us; and when the moon rose and shed her pale light over all, I sat with Mr. Smith on the edge of the waterfall, gazing by turns into the dim woody abyss below, and at the red fires and picturesque groups of the men, than which fancy could scarcely imagine a wilder scene.”
It is no uncommon mistake, with persons who ought to know better, to magnify the toils and hardships endured by the body, while those labours and anxieties that the mind undergoes are disregarded and forgotten. Every man engaged in an exploring party in the bush, for instance, has his severe trials to go through, but their trials are not to be compared to those of the commander of the party. How often when the rest are sleeping must he be watchful? How frequently, while others are gay, must he feel thoughtful! These remarks may easily be applied to the following description of the coast near Shark’s Bay, in the N. W. of the island of New Holland. There was great beauty in the scenery, both the sky and the water had that peculiar brilliancy about them to be seen only in fine weather, and in a very warm climate. To the west lay a boundless extent of sea, to the eastward was a low shore fringed with trees, not only down to the water’s edge, but forming little green knots of foliage in the ocean itself; behind these trees were low wooded hills, and in front of them were numbers of pelicans and water-fowl. There was only about three feet depth of clear transparent water, through which were seen many beautiful and large shells, and various strange-looking fish, at some of which last one or other of Captain Grey’s men would sometimes make an attack, while loud peals of laughter would rise from the rest, when the pursuer, too anxious to gain his object, would miss his stroke at the fish, or, stumbling, roll headlong in the water. The fineness of the day, the novelty of the scenery, and the rapid way they were making, made the poor fellows forget past dangers, as well as those they had yet to undergo. But this was more than their commander was able to do. “My own meditations,” adds Captain Grey, “were of a more melancholy character, for I feared that the days of some of the light-hearted group were already numbered, and would soon be brought to a close. Amid such scenes and thoughts we were swept along, while this unknown coast, which so many had anxiously yet vainly wished to see, passed before our eyes like a dream, and ere many more years have hurried by, it is possible that the recollection of this day may be as such to me.”
Among the wonders of Nature to be met with in the Australian bush, the large rivers occasionally dried up to their very lowest depth by the extreme drought, are very remarkable. Few natural objects can equal in beauty and utility a river in its proper state,—
“Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage, without o’erflowing full;”
but few can exceed in terror and destruction a large river in time of flood; while nothing, surely, can surpass in horror and desolation the same object when its stream is wasted, its waters disappeared, its usefulness and beauty alike gone. This spectacle is, fortunately, but rarely seen, except in Australia, and even there only after very dry seasons. One river seen in this state consisted of several channels or beds, divided from each other by long strips of land, which in times of flood become islands; the main channel was about 270 yards in breadth, and the height of its bank was about fifteen feet. After the exploring party had passed the highest point in the channel to which the tide flowed from the sea, this huge river bed was perfectly dry, and looked the most mournful, deserted spot imaginable. Occasionally water-holes were found eighteen or twenty feet in depth, and it is from these alone that travellers have been enabled to satisfy their thirst in crossing over the unexplored parts of the bush, where no water could elsewhere be obtained. Still, notwithstanding the extreme drought by which they were surrounded, the strangers could see by the remaining drift wood, which had been washed high up into the neighbouring trees, what rapid and overpowering currents sometimes swept along the now dry channel.
On another occasion the same singular object is powerfully described, and the feelings of men, who had long been in need of water, at beholding a sight like this can scarcely be imagined. Beneath them lay the dry bed of a large river, its depth at this point being between forty and fifty feet, and its breadth upwards of 300 yards; it was at times subject to terrible floods, for along its banks lay the trunks of immense trees, giants of the forest, which had been formerly washed down from the interior of the country; yet nothing now met their craving eyes but a vast sandy channel, which scorched their eyeballs, as the rays of the sun were reflected back from its white, glistening bed. Above and below this spot, however, large pools of water were found, and even here, when a hole of a few inches depth was scraped in the dry channel, it soon became filled with water which oozed into it from the sand. At another stream, which the same exploring party afterwards fell in with, they were less successful, and found all the pools entirely dry. The sun was intensely hot, and the poor men grew faint for want of water, while it heightened their sufferings, that they stood upon the brink of a river, or wandered along its banks with eager, piercing eyes, and an air of watchfulness peculiar to those who seek for that on which their lives depend. One while they explored a shallow, stony part of the bed, which was parched up and blackened by the fiery sun: their steps were slow and listless, and it was plainly to be seen how faint, weak, and weary they were; the next minute another pool would be seen ahead, the depth of which the eye could not at a distance reach; now they hurried on towards it with a dreadful look of eager anxiety—the pool was reached—the bottom seen; but, alas! no water: then they paused, and looked one at the other with an air of utter despair. The order to march from this distressing spot was unwillingly and slowly obeyed. So fondly does the human soul cling to the very faintest semblance of hope, that the adventurers would rather have wandered up and down these barren and arid banks, in vain search after water, than tear themselves away by one bold effort from the deceitful expectations held out to them by the empty channel.
It was on his return from a journey attended by perils and privations like these, that Captain Grey relates the following simple occurrence, which may help to make men value more highly, or rather prize more justly, the many little comforts they may possess: The Captain had left some of his men behind, and was hastening with all speed to the settlement of Perth, in Western Australia, in order to get assistance and necessaries for them. Starting an hour and a half before daylight, he reached the hut of Williams, the farthest settler, north of Perth, in time to find the wife and another woman at breakfast. He had known Mrs. Williams, and, forgetting how strangely want and suffering had changed his appearance for the worse, he expected her to remember him again. But he was mistaken for a crazy Malay, nicknamed Magic, who used to visit the houses of the out-settlers. Hurt at his reception, “I am not Magic,” exclaimed he. “Well then, my good man, who are you?” inquired they, laughing. “One who is almost starved,” was his solemn reply. “Will you take this, then?” said the hostess, handing him a cup of tea she was raising to her lips. “With all my heart and soul, and God reward you for it,” was the answer; and he swallowed the delicious draught. Who can fail of being reminded, upon reading this anecdote, of those gracious and beautiful words of his Redeemer—“Whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to Christ, verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward”? (Mark ix. 41.)
The mention of the out-settler’s hut, in which Captain Grey met with this small, but most acceptable, kindness, may serve to remind us of an object, which, although not, strictly speaking, belonging to the bush, is, nevertheless, very frequently seen in that part of the wild country which is most visited,—the portions of it which are adjoining to the British settlements. In these parts of the bush the small hut of the humble out-settler may often be espied; and, while we speak of the toils and privations frequently undergone by this class of people at first, we must not forget that they are thus opening to themselves a way to future wealth and comfort. Nor, be it recollected, is the condition of an out-settler in the Australian bush any more a fair average specimen of that of the inhabitants of the colonies than the owner of a mud-hovel raised on some English heath would be of the inhabitants of the parish in which he happens to dwell. One strong difference may be seen in the two cases. In England the cottager must, in all likelihood, live and die a cottager, as his fathers have done before him, and his children will after him; whereas, in the Australian colonies, with prudence and the Divine blessing, (without which a man can do well nowhere) the humble out-settler may gradually, yet rapidly, grow up into the wealthy and substantial farmer and landowner. Bearing in mind these facts, the following sketch of the premises of an out-settler on the river Williams, at the back of the Swan River settlement, in Western Australia, may be at once instructive, and not unsuitable to the subject of this chapter. The house was made of a few upright poles, to which, at the top, cross poles were fastened, and a covering of rude thatch tied upon the whole. It was open at both ends, and exposed to the wind, which, as the situation was high, was very unpleasant. Here, however, were the elements of future riches, a very large flock of sheep, in fair condition, also a well-supplied stock-yard, and cattle in beautiful order; while upwards of twenty dogs, for hunting the kangaroo, completed the establishment. The settlers were four in number, and, except four soldiers quartered about sixteen miles from them, there were no other Europeans within fifty miles of the spot. All stores and necessaries were sent from a distance of 120 miles, through a country without roads, and exposed to the power of the native inhabitants. In this but might be seen a lively picture of the trials occasionally endured by first settlers; they had no flour, tea, sugar, meat, or any provision whatever, except their live stock and the milk of their cattle, their sole dependence for any other article of food being the kangaroo dogs, and the only thing their visitors were able to do to better their situation was to leave them some shot. All other circumstances were on the same scale with them, and one, supposing them to have been faithful members of the Church of their native land, must have been the most grievous privation of all:—
“The sound of the church-going bell
Those valleys and rocks never heard;
Never sighed at the sound of a knell,
Nor smiled when a sabbath appear’d.”
They had but one old clasp knife; there was but one small bed, for one person, the others sleeping on the ground every night, with little or no covering; they had no soap to wash themselves or their clothes, yet they submitted cheerfully to all these privations, considering them to be necessary consequences of their situation. Two of these out-settlers were gentlemen, not only by birth, but also in thought and manner; nor can it be doubted that they were really happier than many an idle young man to be seen lounging about in England, a burden to himself and to his friends. Idleness and vice have often in England been the means of levelling with the dust the lordly mansion, whilst industry, in the wilds of Australia, can rear a comfortable dwelling on the very spot where once stood the hut of the out-settler.