windorah — terrible state of country — we are again obliged to turn back — horses die — privations — the barcoo — welford downs — boundary rider’s hut — milo
it is sufficient criticism of windorah to say that it is bounded on three sides by despair, and on the fourth by the day of judgment. in fact there exists a superstition in queensland that the government locks up, on a charge of lunacy, any person who can exist there for more than six months without showing signs of madness. and i can quite understand it. i am sure six days of windorah would be quite enough to drive me into epileptic fits or manslaughter.
as at jundah, immediately on arrival we went to the police, and asked to be supplied with information regarding the country ahead. the report was even more discouraging than before. numbers of parties had endeavoured to reach the south australian border, but had invariably been driven back by the drought. nothing but absolute despair and chaos reigned in that direful region. what to do we knew not. evidently, to go on was hopeless, but from what we had just passed through, it seemed well nigh as bad to turn back. we spent the afternoon in earnest consultation, and the upshot of it all was that we resolved to camp near the township that night, and to commence our return journey with daylight next morning. halfway back we would endeavour to strike across country to the barcoo river, in the hope of coming out somewhere near welford downs cattle station, after which if we were lucky, we would try to work down powell’s creek, and so on to the bulloo. here, we had heard, copious rains had fallen. it would have been simply suicidal, seeing the condition of our horses, and the long stages they would be compelled to make, to think of returning all the way to jundah, and from there to follow down the other side of the triangle to the barcoo. however, willy nilly, whatever we decided on had to be undertaken quickly.
before it grew dark, we took the precaution to obtain a fresh supply of bush hay to carry along with us. this we hoped might keep life in the animals till we should strike the station. and as it turned out it was well that we did so.
next morning, putting the best face we could on it, we started off. we were beginning to tire of this continual heartache and anxiety, but as we had got ourselves into the position, and had no one to thank for it but ourselves, it behoved us to make the best of it.
every hour the heat seemed to grow greater, and the brick-like earth reflected the sun glare to an appalling degree. the wheels of our buggy appeared to dish more and more, the pole crack to spread, the harness to become weaker and weaker, and at this juncture our new horses began to make themselves the sources of terrible anxiety to us, getting even into a worse condition than the two old fellows who had brought us so satisfactorily all the way from normanton. they stumbled continually, they refused to pull, and in fact they were in every way exasperating and troublesome.
the first night out from windorah we camped on a small, almost dried-up waterhole, near where we had spent a night on our downward journey. here our supply of native hay stood us in good stead, and we blessed our foresight in bringing it; had we not done so, our horses would have been compelled to go entirely without.
long before sunrise next morning we woke to enter upon the most eventful twenty-four hours of all our wanderings. almost in silence we ate our meagre meal and prepared for the journey. the horses had not wandered from the camp, but had stood throughout the night with dejected bearings just beyond the fire. their very attitudes seemed to presage some misfortune. while the long’un harnessed the two new animals, i broke up the camp and packed the buggy. with tears streaming down his face, mr. pickwick mounted to his place. we ranged ourselves on either side, and the march commenced.
departing from the track, we plunged into the scrub and steered for welford downs. among the trees the heat was stifling. only the rattle of our progress (for our old buggy on the march was as noisy as a tinker’s van), the dismal caw-caw of the crows, and the grating of cicadas in the trees was to be heard. in this fashion for hours we crawled along, making the slowest progress. at midday we camped for a brief space to give our animals a small supply of the valuable hay, and as soon as it was eaten resumed our march till sundown.
as the sun sank behind the trees, we began to look about us for the waterholes we had been assured we should strike, but not a sign of one was to be seen. on and on we struggled, keeping a vigilant look-out, but at length, when darkness fell we were obliged to give up the search and camp where we were. as they had been pining for water all day long, this dry camp meant untold misery for our animals. fortunately for ourselves, however, we still had our smallest canvas bag nearly full.
all that night we lay awake, torn by anxiety, and .before the moon had dropped were afoot again. then occurred our most trying experience. we found that somehow or other, in unpacking the buggy, or maybe it had got jolted out en route, we had lost our sole remaining compass — the very thing that was most essential to our safety. in vain we searched and searched, turned out our pockets and packs. hunted over every inch of the camp, and even returned some distance upon our tracks, but without success. it was undoubtedly gone!
then we began to imagine that fate must be indeed against us. our situation was as desperate as it well could be. what to do we knew not. it was impossible to remain where we were, and yet it seemed equally dangerous to proceed. we argued it out in despair. at length, knowing the direction in which we had been travelling the day before, we decided to steer as near to that as we could, trusting to providence to bring us out on to the river at last. the horses by this time were in such a piteous condition that as it was impossible for us to add our weights to the buggy, so hour in, hour out, we struggled along beside them, toiling through the heavy sand, preys to the gloomiest and most agonising thoughts. then, to add to our anxieties, one of the new horses dropped, and it was some time before we could get him on to his legs again. when we did, we continued our journey as before. he was, however, hopelessly done, and about a mile further went under again. we couldn’t stop; there was nothing for it, therefore, but to leave him. observing the crows hovering about, and noting his condition, we thought it kindest to put an end to him at once, rather than to let these birds pick him to pieces while alive. accordingly, a kindly bullet terminated his existence, and, before we were out of sight, hundreds of crows were perched upon his body, cawing and vehemently disputing it.
all that miserable day, weary and footsore, we struggled on and on. the parched earth, the leaden sky, the dull dead-green trees, the scattered skeletons of perished animals, and the constant cawing of each watchful crow seemed to take the life out of every footstep. the aspect of the country never changed. clay-pan and sandhill, sandhill and clay-pan, was the everlasting order of the march. at length, towards evening, a terrible discovery dawned upon us. bit by bit, things seemed to be growing strangely familiar. we noticed trees, etc., we seemed to have seen before, and within half an hour we crossed unmistakably recent buggy tracks. next moment we recognised the plain upon which we had camped the previous night. we were ‘bushed.’ for hours we had been travelling in a circle!
this discovery had a stunning effect on us, for besides our idle waste of strength, our waterbags were both empty, and there was now no chance of filling them. this last and bitterest misfortune was well-nigh too much for us; it seemed almost better to lie down and die than to struggle further.
unable to proceed another yard, utterly worn out, we camped where we were, on that hopeless barren spot, not a hundred yards from where we had lain down the previous night. we were too thirsty to eat and too miserable to take any interest in our surroundings. our wretched horses had not tasted water for nearly forty hours, and were just on the borders of starvation. poor dumb beasts, their misery was heart-rending.
what a night it was! with the rising of the moon, blood red upon the horizon, a soft breeze came moaning like a banshee through the stunted timber. a morpork hooted at us from a neighbouring tree top, ants crawled all over us, neither of us slept a wink, and the horses hardly stirred all night.
weary and sick at heart, we harnessed up again by moonlight and struck off a little north of east. before we had proceeded four miles the second new horse showed signs of exhaustion; finally he too dropped and had to be finished off in the same manner as his companion. again the crows were satisfied.
then we knew that our only hope lay in lightening the buggy. accordingly, all our cherished belongings, except absolute necessaries, had to go, thrown away into the sand to become the property of the first wayfarer who should be unfortunate enough to pass that way.
on and on we staggered, cheering each other as best we could. whenever a hillock came into sight, likely to afford a view of the surrounding country, we climbed to its summit and scanned the district; but only stunted timber and red sandhills could be seen, no sign of water or the river gums.
our own thirst by this time was excruciating, our tongues began to swell and our skin to crack for lack of moisture, yet ever and ever the same picture lay before us: rising and falling ground, deep red sand, clay-pans, mirages, and dried-up watercourses. in addition to all this our stores were quite exhausted. everything seemed against us. it was agony to walk, and yet we dared not stop. as we both confessed afterwards, it would have been heaven to have been able to lie down and die.
soon after mid-day, on rising out of a dip, a steep sand ridge presented itself. with infinite pains we toiled to its summit. what the labour cost us will never be understood, but the view which met our eyes amply compensated for everything. we were at last rewarded, for in the valley below us could be seen giant eucalypti, betokening the presence of the river! we were beside ourselves with gratitude; we could only stand and point towards it in speechless joy. then with a speed that was almost frantic we rejoined our horses on the plain and hastened towards that eldorado. though it was not more than five miles ahead of us it took us nearly three hours to reach it. what if it should turn out dry? we never thought of that; our only idea was to reach it, if we died in the attempt.
when we did arrive at it, we found a transparent pool some two hundred and fifty yards long by thirty wide, surrounded by lofty eucalypti and possessing on its banks a plentiful supply of long coarse grass. forgetting every thought of prudence, we threw ourselves down and drank in the clear water, till we could drink no more. surely there never was such water; it was mor6 delicious than the rarest wine; it was more precious than diamonds; we stripped off everything and plunged in to absorb it through our parched skins.
but when we had drunk we became ravenously hungry, and there was nothing for us to eat. our horses fared splendidly, for grass was abundant. but we were not nebuchadnezzar, and grass would not satisfy us. it was now our turn to go without. the pool teemed with fish, but though we spent a long time trying, we were not able, without the necessary appliances, to catch one. it began to look as if we had only escaped death from thirst to perish by starvation. but towards nightfall the long’un discovered a big iguana, and, with the assistance of mr. pickwick, succeeded in catching him. no sooner was he dead than we had his tail upon the fire, and a more succulent morsel i never remember to have partaken of. it was for all the world like the tenderest chicken.
though we were to all intents and purposes saved, our position was still a sufficiently bad one, for though we knew we must be on the barcoo, yet we had very little idea as to our exact whereabouts. we might be either above or below the station we wanted to reach. as far as we could discover, no tracks passed anywhere near our camp, and, for aught we knew, we might be many miles away from the place we wanted. for this reason we agreed that it would be the most foolish policy possible to leave good feed and water, with our horses in their present condition, in an attempt to go on, and yet, for our own sakes, we could not remain existing on iguanas and borer caterpillars for ever.
at length, on the third day, our horses a little improved by the rest and food, we harnessed and started off again, following the river up in the hopes of striking some trail which might lead us to the station. during the afternoon our wishes were gratified in the shape of a faint track which eventually brought us into another, which in its turn led us on to welford downs. who shall say what a relief it was to us to see those roofs ahead, after all we had gone through to reach them?
though but a poor homestead, the kindness of the manager and his family was exceeding great; at their invitation we were their guests for two whole days, spending the time recruiting ourselves and listening to the direful state of the country about.
then, bidding our new made friends adieu, and taking care to replenish our stores before starting, we struck out for powell’s creek, en route for adavale.
beyond welford, the appearance of the country changes;, the timber becomes larger, and bird-life more numerous. but it was all terribly, woefully dry.
on the road, in a most lonely spot, we came upon the grave of mr. welford, the pioneer of the district, who was murdered some years ago by the blacks. from all accounts the police sent out to avenge his death took terrible vengeance, shooting the natives down like dogs. the plain is averred to be haunted, but though we camped hard by the grave, we saw nothing; if we had, i think we should have been thankful for the variety. a ghost would at least have broken the horrible monotony.
dusk had fallen before we got into camp. the situation was bleak and eerie, but we could see that we were not the only people in the neighbourhood, for, about a hundred yards further down the river, another camp fire was burning brightly. as soon as we had finished our meal, we tramped across to ascertain who our neighbour might be.. to our surprise it turned out to be a woman, and a young and comely woman at that. she was cooking at the fire, her saddle and pack horses grazing close by. to add to our wonderment a baby lay fast asleep on a pile of blankets by her side, a charming little cherub, curled up like a dormouse, with his thumb in his tiny mouth.
with all the ease of an old bushman she bade us ‘good evening,’ and proffered us tea and johnny cake. then, as we sat round the fire, she told us her curious story. she was a carrier’s daughter and a boundary rider’s widow; she had never seen a town in her life, and, until she had entered her husband’s hut, had never slept under a roof. when her baby was three months old her husband committed suicide, and she was thrown upon her own resources with her child to keep. the squatter in whose employ her husband had been, made her a present of the horses, and, since then, she had been riding the country, with her baby strapped on the saddle before her, in search of work, finding her own way, and camping in the lonely bush by herself every night. she had tried domestic service at stations, but her child was considered a drawback, and she was continually discharged as being too rough. what she wanted was a fencing contract, she said, post hole sinking, or something of that sort, at which she could earn good wages and keep the child. ‘i’m as strong as any man in these parts,’ she continued, ‘and every bit as good a bushman!’
‘well!’ i said, ‘when your child grows up he will have good cause to be grateful to his mother!’
‘poor little kinchin,’ she replied, and something very like tears rose in her eyes. ‘it ain’t every kiddie, i reckon, as has to have the front of a saddle for a cradle!’
when next morning we drove by the spot she was gone. only a few smouldering ashes remained to remind us of her. go on and prosper, brave soul! let us hope your son may repay you in the days to be!
leaving welford lagoons behind us, we continued on to goalie, camping at what was once the cattle station, but is now only a boundary rider’s hut. the boundary rider was a quaint old character, who, for many years had lived in this hut, with but one companion, a large tabby cat, of which he was inordinately proud. during the evening, lying round the fire in our blankets, he told us many stories, among others the following, which struck us as extraordinary.
on one occasion, having been ordered to another part of the run for a month or so, and not liking to leave his cat to the mercy of passing travellers, he carried her, enclosed in an old leather mail bag, to the head station to be taken care of. either the friend to whom he entrusted her did not attend to her properly, or else she tired of her new quarters; at any rate the animal escaped, and by some extraordinary means, found her way right back to her old abode, fifty miles across the ranges, only to discover the place shut up and her master gone. instead of running wild, as most cats would have done under similar circumstances, she remained for nearly three months in the neighbourhood, quietly awaiting his return, living on birds and whatever she could pick up. when he did arrive, the greeting was most affecting, and he vowed they should never again be parted. it was a pathetic little tale, and it was not until some time later that we found it was all a lie. still it was a good lie; i’ll say that for it!
next day we entered the dull funereal ranges, and, about noon, reached gooyah, an out station of milo. after camping the night there, we proceeded to the head station, about twenty-five miles distant. milo is the largest sheep station in the world, and carries no less than half a million sheep, besides fifteen thousand cattle and many hundred horses.
a day later we drove into the main street of the township of adavale. distance completed from normanton about 1,570 miles, and from townsville 1,964.
