We were here unable to approach the river, and therefore encamped near a creek8, the banks of which were barren enough; however, as we had stopped for the benefit of the cattle it was of no consequence. But although on this occasion they were absolutely up to their middles in the finest grass, the bullocks were not satisfied, but with a spirit of contradiction common to animals as well as men they separated into mobs and wandered away; the difficulty of recovering them being the greater, because of the numerous tracks of other cattle in every direction around us. We recovered them, however, although too late to move that day, and it is somewhat remarkable9 to record, that this was the only occasion on which during this long journey we were delayed for so long a time by our animals wandering. Had it not been for Tampawang, whose keen eye soon detected the fresher tracks, we might have been detained for several days.
As Mr. Browne had been on horseback the greater part of the day, I left him in the camp with Mr. Poole, both having been after the cattle, and in the afternoon walked out with Mr. Eyre, to try if we could get to the river, but failed, for the creeks10 were full of water, and our approach to it or to the nearer flats was entirely11 cut off. So intersected indeed was this neighbourhood, that we got to a point at which five creeks joined. The scene was a very pretty one, since they formed a sheet of water of tolerable size shaded by large trees. The native name of this place was “Chouraknarup,” a name by no means so harmonious12 as the names of their places generally are. We had not commenced any collection at this time, there being nothing new either in the animals or plants, but I observed that everything was much more forward on this part of the river than near Lake Bonney, although there was no material difference between the two places in point of latitude13. A meridian14 altitude of the sun gave our latitude 34 degrees 1 minutes 33 seconds S., and one of Altair 34 degrees 2 minutes 2 seconds S.
The night of the 6th Sept. was frosty and cold, and we had thick ice in the buckets. We left our camp on a N. by E. course, at 8 o’clock on the morning of the 7th, and at 4 miles struck the river, where its breadth was considerable, and it looked exceedingly well. The flooded state of the creeks however prevented our again approaching it for several days. Shortly after leaving the river we turned more to the eastward15, having gained its most northern reach. About noon we fell in with a few natives, who did not trouble themselves much about us, but we found that their backwardness was rather the result of timidity at seeing such a party than anything else. We traversed large and well-grassed flats almost all day long, and ultimately encamped on the banks of a creek of some size, opposite to our tents the floods had made an island, on which we put our cattle for security during the night.
Mr. Eyre and I were again disappointed in an attempt to gain the banks of the Murray, but we returned to the camp with a numerous retinue16 of men, women, and children, who treated us to a corrobori at night. The several descriptions which have been given by others of these scenes, might render it unnecessary for me to give my account of such here; but as my ideas of these ceremonies may differ from that of other travellers, I shall trespass17 on the patience of my readers for a few moments to describe them. However rude and savage18 a corrobori may appear to those to whom they are new, they are, in truth, plays or rather dramas, which it takes both time and practice to excel in. Distant tribes visiting any other teach them their corrobori, and the natives think as much of them as we should do of the finest play at Covent Garden. Although there is a great sameness in these performances they nevertheless differ. There is always a great bustle19 when a corrobori is to be performed, and the men screw themselves up to the acting20 point, as our actors do by other means than these poor creatures possess. On the present occasion there was not time for excitement; our’s was as it were a family corrobori, or private theatricals21, in which we were let into the secrets of what takes place behind the scenes. A party of the Darling natives had lately visited the Murray, and had taught our friends their corrobori, in which, however, they were not perfect; and there was consequently a want of that excitement which is exhibited when they have their lesson at their fingers’ ends, and are free to give impulse to those feelings, which are the heart and soul of a corrobori.
We had some difficulty in persuading our friends to exhibit, and we owed success rather to Mr. Eyre’s influence than any anxiety on the part of the natives themselves. However, at last we persuaded the men to go and paint themselves, whilst the women prepared the ground. It was pitch dark, and ranging themselves in a line near a large tree, they each lit a small fire, and had a supply of dry leaves to give effect to the acting. On their commencing their chanting, the men came forward, emerging from the darkness into the obscure light shed by the yet uncherished fires, like spectres. After some performance, at a given signal, a handful of dry leaves was thrown on each fire, which instantly blazing up lighted the whole scene, and shewed the dusky figures of the performers painted and agitated22 with admirable effect, but the fires gradually lowering, all were soon again left in obscurity.
But, as I have observed, for some reason or other the thing was not carried on with spirit, and we soon retired23 from it; nevertheless, it is a ceremony well worth seeing, and which in truth requires some little nerve to witness for the first time.
We had now arrived at Camboli’s haunt, and were introduced by him to his wife and children, of whom he seemed very proud; but a more ugly partner, or more ugly brats24, a poor Benedict could not have been blessed with. Whether it was that he wished to remain behind, for he had not been very active on the road, or taken that interest in our proceedings25 which Nadbuck had done; or that our praises of his wife and pickaninnies had had any effect I know not, but he would not leave his family, and so remained with them when we left on the following morning. The neighbourhood of our camp was, however, one of great celebrity26 — since in it some of the most remarkable and most tragical27 events had taken place. It was near it that the volunteers who went out to rescue Mr. Inman’s sheep, which had been seized by the natives to the number of 4,000, were driven back and forced to retreat; not, I would beg to be understood, from want of spirit, but because they were fairly overpowered and caught in a trap. The whole of the party, indeed, behaved with admirable coolness, and one of them, Mr. Charles Hawker, as well as their leader, Mr. Fidd, shewed a degree of moderation and forbearance on the occasion that was highly to their credit. Here also was the Hornet’s Nest, where the natives offered battle to my gallant28 friend, Major O’Halloran, whose instructions forbade his striking the first blow. I can fancy that his warm blood was up at seeing himself defied by the self-confident natives; but they were too wise to commence an attack, and the parties, therefore, separated without coming to blows. Here, or near this spot also, the old white-headed native, who used to attend the overland parties, was shot by Miller29, a discharged soldier, I am sorry to say, of my own regiment30. This old man had accompanied me for several days in my boat, when I went down the Murray to the sea coast in 1830, and I had made him a present, which he had preserved, and shewed to the first overland party that came down the river, and thenceforward he became the guide of the parties that followed along that line. He attended me when I came overland from Sydney, in 1838, on which occasion he recognised me, and would sleep no where but at my tent door. He was shot by Miller in cold blood, whilst talking to one of the men of the party of which unfortunately he had the charge; but retribution soon followed. Miller was shortly afterwards severely31 wounded by the natives; and, having aneurism of the heart, was cautioned by his medical attendant never to use violent exercise; but, disregarding this, when he had nearly recovered, he went one day to visit a friend at the gaol32 in which he ought to have been confined, and in springing over a ditch near it, fell dead on the other side, and wholly unprepared to appear before that tribunal, to which he will one day or other be summoned, to answer for this and other similar crimes.
About a dozen natives followed us from our camp, on the morning of the 8th. We again struck the creek, on which we had rested, and which had turned to our right at 2 1/2 miles on an east by south course, and followed along its banks, until it again trended too much to the south. We crossed alluvial33 flats of considerable extent, on which there was an abundance of grass. Just at the point at which we turned from the creek, we ascended34 a small sand hill, covered with the amaryllis, then beautifully in flower. The latitude of this little hill, from which the cliffs on the most northern reach of the Murray bore N. 170 degrees E. distant four miles, was 33 degrees 57 minutes 11 seconds; so that the Murray does not extend northwards beyond latitude 34 degrees 1 minutes or thereabouts. We again struck the creek, the course of which had been marked by gum-trees, at six miles, and were forced by it to the N.E., but ultimately turned it and descended35 southwards to the river; but as we were cut off from it we encamped on a lagoon36 of great length, backed by hills of a yellow and white colour, the rock being a soft and friable37 sandstone, slightly encrusted with salt. We had, shortly before we halted, passed a salt lagoon in the centre of one of the grassy flats, but such anomalies are not uncommon38 in the valley of the Murray. That part of the river which I have described, from the point where we shot the bullock to this lagoon, appeared to me admirably adapted for a cattle station, and has since been occupied as such.
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1 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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2 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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3 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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4 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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5 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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6 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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7 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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8 creek | |
n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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9 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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10 creeks | |
n.小湾( creek的名词复数 );小港;小河;小溪 | |
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11 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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12 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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13 latitude | |
n.纬度,行动或言论的自由(范围),(pl.)地区 | |
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14 meridian | |
adj.子午线的;全盛期的 | |
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15 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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16 retinue | |
n.侍从;随员 | |
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17 trespass | |
n./v.侵犯,闯入私人领地 | |
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18 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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19 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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20 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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21 theatricals | |
n.(业余性的)戏剧演出,舞台表演艺术;职业演员;戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 );剧场的;炫耀的;戏剧性的 | |
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22 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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23 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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24 brats | |
n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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25 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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26 celebrity | |
n.名人,名流;著名,名声,名望 | |
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27 tragical | |
adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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28 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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29 miller | |
n.磨坊主 | |
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30 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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31 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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32 gaol | |
n.(jail)监狱;(不加冠词)监禁;vt.使…坐牢 | |
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33 alluvial | |
adj.冲积的;淤积的 | |
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34 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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36 lagoon | |
n.泻湖,咸水湖 | |
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37 friable | |
adj.易碎的 | |
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38 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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