I had taken all the horses, with the exception of one, out with me on this journey, and as they will shortly bear a prominent part in this narrative8, I will make some mention of them. My own horse was a grey — for which reason I called him Duncan — I had ridden him during the whole period of my wanderings, and think I never saw an animal that could endure more, or suffered less from the want of water; he was aged9, and a proof, that in the brute10 creation as well as with mankind, years give a certain stamina11 that youth does not possess. This animal, as the reader will believe, knew me well, as indeed did all the horses, for I had stood by to see them watered many a time. Mr. Stuart rode Mr. Browne’s horse, a little animal, but one of great endurance also; Mack used a horse we called the Roan, a hunter that had been Mr. Poole’s. Morgan rode poor Punch, whose name I have before had occasion to mention, and who, notwithstanding subsequent rest, had not recovered from the fatigues12 of his northern excursion. Besides these we had four pack horses:— Bawley, a strong and compact little animal, with a blaze on the forehead, high spirited, with a shining coat, and having been a pet, was up to all kind of tricks, but was a general favourite, and a nice horse; — the other was Traveller, a light chesnut, what the hunter would call a washy brute, always eating and never fat; — the Colt, so called from his being young, certainly unequal to such a journey as that on which he was taken; — and Slommy, another aged horse. During the summer, Traveller had had a great discharge from the nose, and I was several times on the point of ordering him to be shot, under an apprehension13 that his disease was the glanders; but, although the colt and my own horse contracted it, I postponed14 my final mandate15, and all recovered; however, he continued weak. At this time they were unshod, and had pretty well worn their hoofs16 down to the quick, insomuch that any inequality in the ground made them limp, and it was distressing17 to ride them; but, notwithstanding, they bore up singularly against the changes and fatigues they had to go through.
From a small rising ground near where we stopped in the valley, on the occasion of which I am speaking, and in the obscure light of departing day we saw to the N.N.W. a line of dark looking hills, at the distance of about ten or twelve miles, but we could not discover tree or bush upon them, all we could make out was that they were dark objects above the line of horizon, and that the intervening country seemed to be as dark as they were. The weather had changed from cold to hot, the wind having flown from S. to the N.E., and the day and night were exceedingly warm. I was sorry to observe, too, that the horses had scarcely touched the grass on which, for their sakes, I had been tempted19 to stop, and that they were evidently suffering from the previous day’s journey of from 34 to 36 miles, that being about the distance we had left the water in the grassy20 valley. Before mounting, on the morning of the 21st, Mr. Stuart and I went to see if we could make out more than we had been able to do the night before, what kind of country was in front of us, but we were disappointed, and found that we should have to wait patiently until we got nearer the hills to judge of their formation. About half a mile below where we had slept, the valley led to the N.N.E., and on turning, we found it there opened at once upon the Stony21 Desert; but the hills were now hid from us by sandy undulations to our left, and even when we got well into the plain we could hardly make out what the hills were. As we neared them, however, we observed that they were nothing more than high sand hills, covered with stones even as the desert itself, to their tops. That part of it over which we were riding also differed from any other portion, in having large sharp-pointed water-worn rocks embedded22 in the ground amongst the stones, as if they had been so whilst the ground was soft. There was a line of small box-trees marking the course of a creek between us and the hills, and a hope that we should find water cheered us for a moment, but that ray soon vanished when we saw the nature of its bed. We searched along it for about half an hour in vain, and then turned to the hills and ascended23 to the top of one of the highest, about 150 feet above the level of the plain. From it the eye wandered hopelessly for some bright object on which to rest. Behind us to the south-east lay the sand hills we had crossed, with the stony plain sweeping24 right round them, but in every other direction the dark brown desert extended. The line of the horizon was broken to the north-west and north by hills similar to the one we had ascended; but in those directions not a blade of grass, not a glittering spot was to be seen.
At this point, which I have placed in lat. 25 degrees 54 minutes and in long. 139 degrees 25 minutes, I had again to choose between the chance of success or disaster, as on the first occasion; if I went on and should happen to find water, all for the time would be well, if not, destruction would have been inevitable25. I was now nearly 50 miles from water, and feared that, as it was, some of my horses would fall before I could get back to it, yet I lingered undecided on the hill, reluctant to make up my mind, for I felt that if I thus again retired27, it would be a virtual abandonment of the task undertaken. I should be doing an injustice28 to Mr. Stuart and to my men if I did not here mention that I told them the position we were placed in, and the chance on which our safety would depend if we went on. They might well have been excused if they had expressed an opinion contrary to such a course, but the only reply they made was to assure me that they were ready and willing to follow me to the last. After this, I believe I sat on the hill for more than half an hour with the telescope in my hand, but there was nothing to encourage me onwards; our situation, however, admitted not of delay. I might, it is true, have gone on and perished with all my men; but I saw neither the credit nor the utility of such a measure. I trust the reader will believe that I would not have shrunk from any danger that perseverance29 or physical strength could have overcome; that indeed I did not shrink from the slow fate, which, as far as I could judge, would inevitably30 have awaited me if I had gone on; but that in the exercise of sound discretion31 I decided26 on falling back. The feeling which would have led me onwards was similar to that of a man who is sensible of having committed an error, yet is ashamed to make an apology, and who would rather run the risk of being shot, than of having the charge of pusillanimity32 fixed33 upon him; but I have never regretted the step I took, and it has been no small gratification to me to find that the Noble President of the Royal Geographical Society, Lord Colchester, when addressing the members of that enlightened body, in its name presenting medals to Dr. Leichhardt and myself, for our labours in the cause of Geography, alluded34 to and approved “the prudence35 with which further advance was abandoned, when it could only have risked the loss of those entrusted36 to my charge.”
We slowly retraced37 our steps to the valley in which we had slept, and I stopped there for half an hour, but none of the horses would eat, with the exception of Traveller, and he certainly made good use of his time. The others collected round me as I sat under a tree, with their heads over mine, and my own horse pulled my hat off my head to engage my attention. Poor brute! I would have given much at that moment to have relieved him, but I could not. We were all of us in the same distress18, and if we had not ultimately found water must all have perished together. Finding that they would not eat, we saddled and proceeded onwards, I should say backwards38 — and at 10 p.m. we were on the sand ridges39. At the head of the valley Traveller fell dead, and I feared every moment that we should lose the Colt. At one I stopped to rest the horses till dawn, and then remounted, but Morgan and Mack got slowly on, so that I thought it better to precede them, and if possible to take some water back to moisten the mouth of their horses, and I accordingly went in advance with Mr. Stuart. I thought we should never have got through the dead box-tree forest I have mentioned, however we did so about 11 a.m., and made straight for the spot where we expected to relieve both ourselves and our horses, but the water was gone. Mr. Stuart poked40 his fingers into the mud and moistened his lips with the water that filled the holes he had made, but that was all. We were yet searching for water when Morgan and Mack appeared, but without the colt; fortunately they had descended41 into the valley higher up, and had found a little pool, which they had emptied, under an impression that we had found plenty; and were astonished at hearing that none any longer remained. In this situation, and with the apparent certain prospect42 of losing my own and Mr. Browne’s horse, and the colt which was still alive when the men left him, not more than a mile in the rear, we continued our search for water, but it would have been to no purpose. Suddenly a pigeon topped the sand hill — it being the first bird we had seen — a solitary43 bird — passing us like lightning, it pitched for a moment, and for a moment only, on the plain, about a quarter of a mile from us, and then flew away. It could only have wetted its bill, but Mr. Stuart had marked the spot, and there was water. Perhaps I ought to dwell for a moment on this singular occurrence, but I leave it to make its own impression on the reader’s feelings. I was enabled to send back to the colt, and we managed to save him, and as there was a sufficiency of water for our consumption, I determined44 to give the men a day of rest, and to try if I could find a passage across the Desert a little to the eastward of north, and with Mr. Stuart proceeded in that direction on the morning of the 24th; but at 3 p.m. we were out of sight of all high land. The appearance of the Desert was like that of an immense sea beach, and large fragments of rock were imbedded in the ground, as if by the force of waters, and the stones were more scattered45, thus shewing the sandy bed beneath and betwixt them. The day was exceedingly hot, and our horses’ hoofs were so brittle46 that pieces flew off them like splinters when they struck them against the stones. We were at this time about sixteen or seventeen miles from the sand hill where we had left the men. The Desert appeared to be taking a northerly direction, and certainly was much broader than further to the westward47, making apparently48 for the Gulf49 of Carpentaria; nor could I doubt but that there had once been an open sea between us and it. We reached our little bivouac at 9 p.m. both ourselves and our horses thoroughly50 wearied, and disappointed as we had been, I regretted that I had put the poor things to unnecessary hardships. Perhaps I was wrong in having done so, but I could not rest. Our latitude51 here was 26 degrees 26 minutes and our long. by account 139 degrees 21 minutes. In the morning we crossed the remaining portion of the Desert, as I had determined on making the best of my way to the creek, and passing the sandy ridges reached our first water (the 4th going out), about sunset or a little before. Water still remained, but it was horridly52 thick, and in the morning smelt53 so offensive that it was loathsome54 to ourselves and the animals. Our great, indeed our only, dependence55 then was on the water in the little channel on the grassy plain; at this we arrived late on the afternoon of the 25th. Another day and we should again have been disappointed: the water on which I had calculated for a fortnight was all but gone. In the morning we drained almost the last drop out of the channel. We were now about 92 miles from the creek, without the apparent probability of relief till we should get to it, for it seemed hopeless to expect that we should find any water in the wells we had dug. Crossing the grassy plains on an east-north-east course, we passed the salt lake about 10 a.m. to our left, and ran along the sandy ridges between it and our encampment of the 15th, where we had made our second well, at 6 p.m., but it was dry and the bottom cracked and baked.
I would gladly have given my poor horses a longer rest than prudence would have justified56, but we had not time for rest. At 8 we again mounted, and went slowly on; and when darkness closed around us lit a small lamp, and one of us walking in front led the way for the others to follow; thus tracking our way over those dreary57 regions all night long, we neared our last remaining well, 36 miles distant from the creek, just as morning dawned. Objects were still obscure as we approached the spot where our hopes rested, for our horses could hardly drag one foot after the other. Mr. Stuart was in front, and called to me that he saw the little trees under whose shade we had slept; soon after he said he saw something glittering where the well was, and immediately after shouted out, “Water, water.” It is impossible for me to record all this without a feeling of more than thankfulness to the Almighty58 Power that guided us. At this place we were still 180 miles from Fort Grey; and if we had not found this supply, it is more than probable the fate of our horses would have sealed our own. As it was we joyfully59 unsaddled, and, after watering, turned them out to feed. Singular it was that the well on which we had least dependence, and from which we had been longest absent, should thus have held out — but so it was. At 9 we resumed our journey, there being about half a gallon a-piece for the horses just before we started; but although this, and the short rest they had, had relieved them, they got on slowly; and it was not until after midnight of the 27th, a.m. indeed of the 28th, that we reached the creek, with two short of our complement60 of horses, the Roan and the Colt both having dropped on the plains, but fortunately at no great distance, so that we recovered them in the course of the day.
It will naturally be supposed that, arrived at a place of safety, we here rested for a while; but my mind was no sooner relieved from one cause for anxiety, than it was filled with another. If I except the thunder-storm which had enabled me to undertake my late journey from the creek, no rain had fallen, the weather had suddenly become oppressively hot, with a sky as clear as ether. I had still the mountain range to the N.E. to examine, and the upper branches of the creek, and in this necessary survey I knew no time was to be lost. Indeed I doubted if my return to the Depot61 was not already shut out, by the drying up of the water in Strzelecki’s Creek, although I hoped Mr. Browne still held his ground; but not only was I anxious on these heads, but as to our eventual62 retreat from these heartless regions. I would gladly have rested for a few days, for I was beginning to feel weak. From the 20th of July, and it was now the last day but two of October, I had been in constant exercise from sunrise to sunset; and if I except the few days I had rested at the Depot, had slept under the canopy63 of heaven. My food had been insufficient64 to support me, and I had a malady65 hanging upon me that was slowly doing its work; but I felt that I had no time to spare, and, as I could not justify66 indulgence to myself, so on the 29th we commenced our progress up the creek, but halted at six miles on a beautiful sheet of water, and with every promise of success. In the course of the day we passed a singularly large grave. It was twenty-three feet long, and fourteen broad. The boughs67 on the top of it were laid so as to meet the oval shape of the mound68 itself, but the trees were not carved, nor were there any walks about it, as I had seen in other parts of the continent.
Native Grave
Before we commenced our journey up the creek, I determined to secrete69 all the stores I could, in order to lighten the loads of the horses as much as possible, for they were now almost worn out; but it was difficult to say where we should conceal70 them, so as to be secure from the quick eyes of the natives. At first I thought my best plan would be to dig a hole and bury them, and then to light a fire, so as to obliterate71 the marks; but I changed my purpose, and placed them under a rhagodia bush, a short distance from the creek, and arranged some boughs all round it. In this place I hoped they would escape observation, for there were one or two things I should have exceedingly regretted to lose.
The weather had been getting warmer and warmer, and it had at this time become so hot that it was almost intolerable, worse indeed than at this season the previous year. The 30th was a day of oppressive heat, and the flies and mosquitoes were more than usually troublesome. I have not said much of these insects in the course of this narrative, for after all they are secondary objects only; but it is impossible to describe the ceaseless annoyance72 of these and a small ant. The latter swarmed73 in myriads74 in the creek and on the plains, and what with these little creatures at night, and the flies by day, we really had no rest. I continually wore a veil, or I could not have attended to our movements, or performed my duties. It is probable that being in the neighbourhood of water they were more numerous, but here they were a perfect plague, and in our depressed75 and wearied condition we, perhaps, felt their attacks more than we should otherwise have done. We commenced our journey at seven, and crossing the creek at three-quarters of a mile, ascended a small sand hill upon its proper left bank. Where we had crossed the channel was perfectly76 dry, but from the sand hill another magnificent sheet of water stretched away to the southeast as far as we could see.
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1
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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irresolution
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| n.不决断，优柔寡断，犹豫不定 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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pelicans
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| n.鹈鹕( pelican的名词复数 ) | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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stamina
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| n.体力；精力；耐力 | |
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fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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pusillanimity
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| n.无气力，胆怯 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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horridly
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| 可怕地，讨厌地 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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54
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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58
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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eventual
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| adj.最后的，结局的，最终的 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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66
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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67
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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68
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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69
secrete
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| vt.分泌；隐匿，使隐秘 | |
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70
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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71
obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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72
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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73
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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74
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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75
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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