The Bushman - Life in a New Country Part 15

Away goes the boat before the freshening breeze, and soon it dashes past the body of the pelican, which is seized by the ready Meliboeus, and with great difficulty hauled on board. A shot had penetrated to its brain and killed it instantaneously. The wind up the Canning was nearly abeam, and we dashed through the deep and narrow pa.s.sage called h.e.l.l's Gates, and held on till we came to the foot of a steep and rounded hill, Mount Henry. The river here turns at right angles, sweeping round the base of the hill, and leaving a broad and deep bay called Bull's Creek, to the southward. This is a famous spot for ducks and swans, and many a pleasant bivouac have I formed near it, waiting for early morn when the birds are busy feeding. As we rounded Mount Henry, we observed a large slate-coloured bird lazily flying across the river ahead of us. The Canning is here about four hundred yards broad, widening occasionally to a quarter of a mile.

The wind was now right aft, and we soon came upon the line of the bird, which appeared to be a crested crane. The boom was topped-up in a moment, the jib-sheet let fly, and the boat's nose ran cras.h.i.+ng through the sedges which in this part fringed the bank. The crane had alighted on the very summit of a straight and lofty tree, and there she sat, unconscious of the danger at hand.

Too much excited to care for any obstacles, and with eyes ever fixed upon the game, I tore my way through brambles, thickets, water and mud, until with no little difficulty I arrived at ground free from underwood. The bird was still sitting patiently on her lofty perch, and my heart beat anxiously with hope that I should be able to creep within shot. What a moment of interest! It is still vivid in the memory, with all its doubts and fears and wildly-beating hopes. The crane seemed preparing to fly. Death! I felt nearly distracted with apprehension. The interest and excitement became intense. I crept from tree to tree, and whenever I thought I was observed, stood motionless. My eye-b.a.l.l.s became dry and hard with incessant gazing.

I feared to wink lest she should be gone. She extended her wings! I bounded forward. She was just off, and barely within reach, as I fired; a single number two shot struck her pinion, and down she tumbled to the ground with a glorious wallop.

A loud shout from Meliboeus, who had sat in the boat scarcely daring to breathe, proclaimed the presence of a witness to my triumph.

Since then I have shot cranes without emotion or much feeling of interest.

Boating, as an amus.e.m.e.nt, ought only to be followed during the summer months, from the 1st of October to the 1st of April. In the winter season there are extremely violent gales of wind from the north-west, that sometimes last for three days together. Their arrival is generally foretold by the rapid falling of the barometer; and at Perth it is almost always preceded by the rising of the estuary. A singular storm visited the district of Australind in the night of the 17th June, 1842. It crossed the Leschenault estuary, and entered the forest, making a lane through the trees from three to four hundred yards wide. In this lane, which extended for many miles, nothing was left standing but the stumps of trees; whilst the trees on either wide of the land stood up like a wall and were perfectly uninjured.

The storm in its course, which was in a direct line from N.W. to S.E.

levelled the trees in the valleys as well as those on the hills. Its effects were not like those of a whirlwind, when trees appear twisted round, and scattered in every direction; in this lane the young healthy trees, which were generally broken off about two or three yards from the ground, all lay in the same direction.

Twice have I nearly paid dearly for my rashness in boating. My boat was once capsized in a moment in a squall, and Hannibal and myself were soused in the water before we knew what had happened. I caught hold of the bilge of the boat, and nearly drowned myself with laughing at the Son of Amilcar, who was splas.h.i.+ng about shrieking with terror, and swallowing quarts of salt-water, as his open mouth popped every moment under a wave. In vain I called to him to come to me, and lay hold of the boat; he could neither see nor hear, and would have soon joined his ill.u.s.trious namesake in the Elysian fields, had I not managed to throw the bight of a rope round his neck, and towed him within reach, when I held him up by the collar of his jacket (ducking him under water occasionally to make him cease from howling) until we were rescued by a fis.h.i.+ng-boat.

One day, the 11th April, 1843, feeling disposed to take my book on the water and enjoy the calm air, I embarked by myself -- a most unusual occurrence, as I scarcely ever went out alone. What little wind there was blew down the estuary, but only gently ruffled the waters; and my boat glided noiselessly before it. A couple of hours took me to the farther extremity of Melville water, and here it fell calm. I now began to feel uncomfortable, for the air was close, and dark clouds appeared rising in the north-west. The wind began to blow in gusts; a sudden puff, curling the waters, would strike the boat and make her heel over until her gunwale kissed the wave, as with a sudden start she rushed forward under the impulse of the blast. I was now making homeward. The heavens became black with angry clouds; the wind first sighed and moaned like a reluctant Spirit driven forth to fulfil its task of evil, feeling something of remorse at crimes foreshadowed and inevitable; and then working itself into fury, as though it would stifle thought, and crush out the germ of pity, the Wind in its might and rage rushed roaring over the waters, making the foam fly before it, and tearing up the face of the estuary into rugged lines of wild tumultuous waves. The little bark vainly strove to keep her head to the storm, which bore her down until the water poured over the gunwale.

It was about six o'clock in the evening, and darkness, hurried on prematurely by the tempest, spread suddenly around. The waves, as if trying to leap beyond the reach of some internal agony, rolled high above my head, as the "Fair Maid of Perth" sank hopelessly in the deep channel, with rocking mast and s.h.i.+vering sails. But not yet submerged, she rose again, and fronted the storm, struggling desperately to reach the northern sh.o.r.e, which was not far distant.

But the skies grew blacker still; the storm became a hurricane; the wind roared so loud that no voice of human agony or despair might be heard above its tremendous fury; the waves grew higher and mightier, and became rus.h.i.+ng hills of water, overwhelming, irresistible. To me, quailing in my frail bark, in all the consciousness of helplessness and ruin, it seemed as though the winds and the waves were really sentient beings combining to overwhelm me, and increasing their efforts the more I struggled.

This is no fiction that I am relating, but a reality that happened to myself, and which it would be impossible to exaggerate. Never shall I forget the last tremendous wave that came down upon me, impelled by a maddening gust which whirled tearing along through the wild air, and scooping its deep pa.s.sage through the waters. In vain was the jib-sheet let fly; in vain did I luff into the wind. I could not quit the helm, and therefore was unable to lower the sail which in that hurricane could not have been got in easily, and in the meantime the boat, breaking off from the wind, would have been swamped. I was so near the sh.o.r.e that I hoped still to reach it, the wind being abeam, in the course of a few minutes. But nothing could withstand the last wave and blast. The boat lurched, and broke off. Hurled on her beam-ends, the boom was in the water; the waves rushed over the side; she struggled bravely, and tried to right herself; but after staggering forwards a few seconds, the weight of the in-rus.h.i.+ng water bore her down, and she slowly fell over on her side. The sensation was by no means pleasant. I felt her going, without being able to prevent it. I glanced around for aid or hope; but there was neither.

I could see nothing but waves, and hear nothing but the roaring blast. The sh.o.r.e was close to me, but the high waves, and the darkness of the hurricane, prevented my discerning even the tops of the trees. As the boat capsized, I kicked off my shoes and threw off my coat and waistcoat, and seizing the main-sheet, let myself down in the water, trying to find bottom, but there was none within reach.

I struck out towards the sh.o.r.e, but the ablest swimmer that ever swam could have made no progress against that sea, and I could scarcely swim at all.

I scrambled back to the boat, which now lay on her side, level with the surface. On getting upon her, you may conceive -- but no! you cannot -- the horror of the moment, as I felt her gradually go down -- sink, sinking beneath me. All now seemed over. My time had arrived; my last moment was come. I collected my thoughts, and prepared for it.

I did not feel so much terror as I should have antic.i.p.ated in such a scene. Death seemed inevitable, and I nerved myself, and prayed.

All the past did NOT press upon me at this moment, in this death- struggle, as some readers may imagine. I thought not of my sins, nor of my friends, nor of time misspent and work left undone -- my whole mind was absorbed in the sense of DEATH and FUTURITY. The glances, rather than the thoughts which shot across my soul, seemed like revealings of immortality. My sensations were mixed of horror and hope; the CHANGE from the old to the new Life seemed beginning within me. It might have been excess of terror, but I did not feel terrified. I felt that all was over, and there was no room for the anguish that arises from doubt. All struggling was vain, and though in tumult and horror, I yet felt resigned. The World of Time was past, and new being was at hand.

Such is the memory which I must ever bear of the hour when (yet vigorous and full of Life) I was held in the arms of Death.

The boat went down. The waves rushed over me; the enemy held me by the throat, and seemed to press me into the opening grave. Even as the light faded from my eyes, and the Spirit waited for that quick, sharp touch of the dart which should free it from the bonds of mortal life, I perceived the stem of the boat rising slowly out of the waves, whilst the stern was borne down by my weight.

Instinctively I swam forward, and got upon another part of the boat.

Down it went again; and as the water dashed against my face, I saw the stern now rising up, whilst the stem plunged down into the depths below. I scrambled amids.h.i.+ps; the sea and the wind struck her, and she rolled heavily over, righting herself for a moment, with her mast and sail erect; but soon she lay on her larboard side, deep in the water. I had been washed off her, but clung to the main-sheet, and so got back again. I now held on to the side with one hand, whilst I managed to strip off all my clothes except my s.h.i.+rt and flannel waistcoat, first taking my knife out of my pocket. With this I tried to cut away the stays which held the mast in its place, hoping that it would then fall out, and relieve the boat of the sails which weighed her down so low in the water. Most fortunately I had not sand-ballast, in tarred bags, as most of our pleasure-boats had, but water-ballast in breakers, which now proved no additional burthen to the boat. It was also fortunate that she was built partly of deal, and had only her lower streaks of jarra wood, which does not float.

The blade of the knife, which was only a pen-knife, soon broke, and I was obliged to give up the attempt to remove the sails. Still the hurricane blew on, wild and terrible as ever; the spray washed over me like rain; the waves dashed me repeatedly from the boat, which was whirled and tossed about in a strange manner; sometimes rolling completely over, sometimes going down head, and sometimes stern foremost, I had to scramble from part to part, and exercise a good deal of agility in saving myself from being struck by the gunwale, or by the boom and sail, as they rose from the water and fell back again.

And now I could see but small prospect of being eventually saved.

The only chance was that the boat would drift, in the course of time, across the estuary, here nearly four miles broad. Then I tried, and for a long time vainly, to ascertain whether she drifted at all. The anchor, with about five-and-twenty feet of cable, had doubtless fallen out, and the boat was probably stationary. Night had set in, and it was too dark to distinguish even the sh.o.r.e with its forest of trees. These gales sometimes continue three days, and I knew it would be impossible to exist many hours immersed in water. I dreaded lest I should become benumbed and unable to hold on to the boat.

In order to keep up circulation as much as possible, I shouted aloud, and rubbed my breast and thighs with my disengaged hand.

Some dark object was on the water near me. It moved; it came quickly towards me. I could just discern that it was a whale-boat containing several men. It had no sails or oars, yet it flew before the blast.

I shouted and screamed as it went by, not twenty yards from me; and the men turned their heads and waved their arms, and doubtless answered, but the gale roared with unabated fury, the waves intercepted them from my sight, and I could not hear their voices.*

[footnote] *These men were about a mile and a half astern of me, when the hurricane began, and tried to pull in sh.o.r.e; but just as they thought to have reached it, one of their oars broke, and being now helpless, they were obliged to scud before the wind. By good fortune they were carried up the Canning, where they remained all night.

The moon had now risen, and the clouds were partially dispersed, so that I could at length distinguish the woods on the weather-sh.o.r.e; and I could see the weary waste of waters over which I must drift before I could possibly be saved.

Sometimes the wind blew with lessened violence, and I could sit upon the submerged bilge of the boat, and consider my state and prospects.

After long observation, I felt a.s.sured that the boat did really drift, but it was very slowly; and I feared that as we approached the other sh.o.r.e, her anchor must inevitably bring her up in twenty-five feet water, and that nothing could save me from peris.h.i.+ng of cold.

It never occurred to me during this memorable night, that when I set sail in the afternoon I had shortened the cable to about five feet in length, in order the more easily to trip the anchor. This was one of the circ.u.mstances, providentially ordered, that tended to save my life.

Some miles down the estuary I could distinguish a light in the house at Point Walter, high placed on a steep bank; there two of my friends were at that moment carousing, whilst I was being buffetted by waves and tempest, and fearing that the saturated sails and heavy wood at length would sink the unfortunate boat to the bottom. I yet could scarcely hope to escape; my mind was still made up to die, and I tranquilly awaited the event.

The moon had now made half of her journey across the heavens; the wind had moderated, and I redoubled my exertions to keep off the cold by shouting and rubbing myself. My flannel-s.h.i.+rt was another instrument of safety to me. It felt warm to my body though the waves poured continually over it.

The outline of the forest on the lee side of the estuary was now distinguishable, and hope would have been rife within me but for the expectation of finding myself anch.o.r.ed fast at a fatal distance from the sh.o.r.e.

Every thing appeared so indistinct in the gloom of the night, that I could not guess how far I was from land; and it was with surprise, as well as delight and grat.i.tude, that I felt the boat b.u.mp against the sand. Oh that first b.u.mp, which told me of safety and deliverance after five hours of incessant peril! Shall I ever forget the thrill of delight which it gave me? I could scarcely credit my senses, and put down my benumbed feet with doubt; but they rested on the sand -- real, hard, blessed terra firma! and without delay I waded through the water to the beach.

The wind had now fallen, and it began to rain.

I was on the edge of a thick wilderness of forest, without any house within reach -- the nearest was some miles distant, and to reach it in the dark, and without shoes, through swamps and thickets was almost impossible.

The Canning River was about half-a-mile from me, and on the farther side of it was a settler's house; but though I might reach the bank of the river, I could not hope to make myself heard half a mile off, amid the howling of the dying storm, and by people fast asleep.

There was nothing for it, therefore, but to make myself as comfortable as possible, and remain where I was until morning.

Fortunately, I recollected having seen the ruins of a goat-shed not far distant, when I had landed on this spot with my gun two or three months before. With some difficulty, and some pain to my feet from thorns, I discovered this relic of a hovel. Part of the roof was yet entire, and sheltered me from the wind.

The door was lying inside, and this I made my bed. Then, having wrung out my s.h.i.+rt and flannel-waistcoat, and returned thanks to the Almighty for preserving a life not, perhaps, sufficiently prized by the owner, I lay down completely exhausted and fell asleep.

Awaking at daylight, I started off through the woods, stiff and hoa.r.s.e with cold, but light of heart; and having reached the Canning, succeeded at last in making myself heard by the farmer opposite, who took me across in his boat, breakfasted me, and lent me his clothes, and finally conveyed me to Perth, where I found my friends preparing to go in search of my body.

CHAPTER 23.

THE DESERT OF AUSTRALIA. -- CAUSE OF THE HOT WINDS. -- GEOLOGY.

I intend in this chapter* to give an explanation of the cause of the hot-winds of Australia; to throw out a suggestion on the most likely mode of prosecuting discovery towards the interior; and to conclude with a slight sketch of the geology of the colony. Before doing this I shall give a brief account of a journey made by myself and Mr.

Maxwell Lefroy in search of the inland sea so often talked of, and which a native promised to show to us; so large, he said, that when he stood on one sh.o.r.e he could not see the other. Although this sea turned out to be a pure fiction, the journey was not entirely useless, nor altogether uninteresting. As this sea was probably not more than 200 miles distant from York, according to the reckoning of the native, who said it was "ten sleeps off," I judged that one month's provision would be sufficient.

[footnote] *This chapter I owe to Mr. Henry Landor.

Accordingly, Mr. Lefroy and myself started on the expedition, on horseback, taking with us a native boy, and a pack-horse loaded with flour, tea, and sugar, and other necessaries. It will be sufficient to state that we pursued a south-east course, crossing the Hotham, the Williams, and the Arthur rivers, and traversing an indifferent country, but in many places fit for sheep-grazing, before we came to the lake, or sea, of which we were in search. When we arrived at it, we were disappointed to find it not more than six miles long, although the natives, with their usual amount of exaggeration, had increased it to an illimitable ocean. Before descending from the high land to the plain in which the lakes are situated, we caught a distant glimpse of what appeared to be a grand and broad river, pursuing a winding course through a magnificently wooded valley, with its clear bright waters dwindling in the distance to a silvery thread. A nearer examination, however, dispelled the illusion, and the beautiful river turned out to be nothing more than a chain of shallow lakes, situated in a woody valley; and only in very wet seasons flowing from one to another.

We determined to follow the chain of lakes eastward, so long as our provisions should last, or as long as our horses could find food for themselves. We proceeded east for six days, pa.s.sing numberless lakes, and observing that the chain divided, one branch of lakes running north-east, and the other due east. We followed the latter until we came to a lake called Dambeling, by far the largest we had seen, being about fifteen miles long by seven or eight wide, with a good sheep country on its northern bank, and a river, which we called the Lefroy, falling into its eastern end. The river was about thirty yards wide, with a clayey bed, and large fresh-water pools, and flowed from the east, through the worst country we had seen, it being an apparently endless desert, and level to the horizon. We went one day's journey into this inhospitable country, but the want of food for our horses, and our own unprepared state, prevented us from penetrating farther. On our return, we went for two or three days north, on the outskirts of the desert, before we turned westward on our way back to York.

The only land we crossed in this expedition was situated on the head of the Hotham and Williams. The area of this country is undoubtedly very great, but its average character is below the York district, although it is well adapted for sheep-grazing.

But the most interesting feature is the barren and desolate country to the east of Lake Dambeling, doubtless a continuation of the same sterile country seen by Mr. Roe, the surveyor-General, east of York many years previously; and probably from Mr. Eyre's observation, extending quite down to the southern coast. We had no means of ascertaining the width of this dreary country, but we did not think it could be impa.s.sably wide because the river Lefroy appeared to come across it. This river, in a geographical point of view, may be important, as the character of its bed, without trees, more water-worn than the other rivers of the colony, its size, and the direction from which it comes, render it exceedingly interesting to determine how it is supplied. The sandy nature of the country on its banks, and for many miles east, and the flatness of the country, preclude the idea that it receives its supply of water from the immediately surrounding district. It must either be supplied by a country of a far better character to the eastward, or it is the outlet of another and larger lake far in the interior. From the natives we could learn nothing but that there were no kangaroos, no opossums, and no water to the east; but as their knowledge never extends 100 miles, and they would tell any lie to avoid going where they had no inclination to go, their opinions are worthless. It might be worth the while of the colony to send forth another expedition to determine the boundaries of this desolate country, as it is not improbable that a practicable rout might be discovered to South Australia by means of the river and lakes.