I.

MR. ERNEST GILES'S

GEOGRAPHIC EXPLORATIONS.

1872.

AFTER a rather prolonged sojourn at the Peake (where I met great hospitality, both from Mr. Blood, of the Telegraph Department, and from Messrs. Bagot and Conway, of the cattle station), I arrived at the Charlotte Waters Telegraph Station on the 4th August, 1872, which would be my last outpost of civilisation. I and my companion, Mr. Carmichael, were most kindly welcomed by Mr. Johnston, the officer in charge of this depôt, and by Mr. Chandler, a gentleman belonging to a Telegraph Station further up the line, and in consequence of the kindness we received I extended my stay here to a week. My horses were all the better for a short respite, for the journey up from Port Augusta for several hundreds of miles had been over country nearly destitute of grass and had reduced them to a very low state; from the Strangways, however, the country had been better clothed. The party consisted of myself, Mr. Carmichael and Alexander Robinson, fifteen horses and one little dog. We at length started from the Charlotte on the morning of the 12th August; and, as my intended starting-point to the west was Chambers's Pillar, upon the Finke-River, I proceeded up the line as far as the crossing-place of the last-mentioned water, which is sixty miles by road, though only fifty-three by the line. In the evening of the same day we encamped there. A Government party also arrived under the command of Mr. McMinn, who had completed his professional work for the telegraph line, and was now en route for the metropolis. Mr. Harley Bacon, who had been in charge of all the Government stock, also accompanied him, and I had the pleasure of their company at the camp. Close to this crossing-place a considerable tributary joins the Finke near the foot of Mount Humphries; and Mr. McMinn, Mr. Bacon and myself went a few miles up it the following day. Had I found it coming from the west, I had an idea of leaving the line and proceeding up it; but we found its course to be considerably from the south of west. We found a waterhole about twelve miles above the junction, and returned. The country consisted chiefly of open sandhills well grassed, but the grass was very dry. We retraced our steps, and returned again to the camp. The following day Mr. McMinn and

Mr. Bacon, after making me several kind presents, left for the Charlotte, but I did not remove my camp until the day following. I must here remark, that Mr. McMinn had but recently returned from an exploring trip out to the eastward from the MacDonnell-Ranges, having descended Todd's Creek, and followed it up for some considerable distance until the country became waterless. I obtained from Mr. McMinn before starting, however, the true course and distance from our camp to the Pillar, and at starting again I travelled upon it; to do so, however, I crossed the Finke three or four times, and on the night of the 22nd August I encamped upon the river, having the Pillar in full view.

Friday, 23rd August.—We had an early start this morning, and made straight for the Pillar, which bore nearly north-west by north from camp. The appearance of this feature, I should imagine, to be unique in Australia, and it is not likely that any future explorer will ever discover so singular a monument, wherewith to immortalise either himself or his patron. For a more detailed account of it I must refer the reader to Stuart's own report of it, but cannot pass it by without a brief description. First, then, to approach the Pillar, which can be seen for a long distance from any side except the north, the traveller must pass over a series of red sandhills, mostly covered with scrub, and clothed with that objectionable vegetable production the so called spinifex (Triodia irritans), or, as it may be more easily recognised by some, the porcupine-grass. In regions more to eastward this plant usually grows only in mallee; here it obtains alone. The timber near the Pillar is nearly all mulga (a kind of Acacia), though a few tall and well-grown Casuarinas of a kind, that is new to me (Casuarina Decaisneana), are occasionally met with amongst the porcupine-grass. On our route Mr. Carmichael discovered and brought to me a most peculiar lizard, a true native of the soil. Its colour was mostly green. It was armed at all points and joints with stout spines in double rows along its back, sides and legs; they were curved and sharp. On the back of its neck was a thick knotty lump, with one spine from that, and by which I lifted it. Its tail was armed to the point, and of proportional length to its body. It was altogether about seven or eight inches long. I put it into a pouch and intended to preserve it, but it managed to crawl out of the receptacle, and dropped again to its native earth. By this time we were close to the Pillar, and its outline was most imposing. Upon reaching it I found it to be a columnar structure, standing upon a pedestal, which is perhaps eighty feet high, and composed of loose white sandstone, having vast numbers of large blocks loose and lying about in all directions. From the centre of the pedestal rises the pillar, composed also of the same kind of rock, though at its top and for about twenty or thirty feet from its summit the colour of the stone is red. The column itself must be about 150 feet above the pedestal. There it stands (not, indeed, quite alone, as there are other peculiar eminences near), a vast monument of the geological periods, that must have elapsed since the mountain ridge of which it was formerly a part was washed by the action of the ocean waves into mere sandhills at its feet. The stone of which it is formed is so friable, that names can be cut in it to almost any depth with a pocketknife; so loose, indeed, is it, that one almost feels alarmed, lest it should fall while he is scratching at its base. In a small orifice or chamber of the Pillar I discovered an opossum asleep; it was the first I had seen in

this part of the country, and I was not sure, if they inhabited it or not. We turned our backs upon this peculiar monument, and left it in its loneliness and its grandeur "clothed in white (sandstone), mystic, wonderful." From there we travelled on a bearing of south 87° west, and in seventeen miles came upon some very high sandhills, at whose feet the creek swept; we followed round them to a convenient spot, and one where the horses could water without bogging. I should have mentioned before, that the Finke-River is without exception the most boggy channel I have ever met. As we had travelled several miles in the morning to the Pillar, and the camp was eighteen beyond it, it was late in the afternoon, when we encamped. The country passed over consisted mostly of scrubby sandhills, covered with porcupine-grass, and we passed between some low hills, before we reached the creek; there was a salt channel, where we struck it, and a long hole of brine; there was plenty of good grass on a flat, and we got some tolerably good water near where we fixed our camp; when we had finished our evening-meal the shades of night descended upon us in this our first bivouac in the unknown interior.

Saturday, 24th August.—The mean of meridian altitudes of Vega and Altair last night placed me in latitude 24° 52′ 15′′. The night was excessively cold, and the thermometer had fallen by daylight this morning to 18°, our blankets and packs were covered with a thick coating of ice, when we awoke, the tea left in the pannikins overnight had become solid cakes; the water in the creek was running, so it of course did not become frozen. I determined to rest here for a couple of days, as I had many matters to attend to, one of which was to unshoe all my horses, as having now reached a soft country, I would put the shoes away, until I might require them again. From the high sandhills near the camp, as far as I could discern either with the eye or the glass, the creek seemed to be coming from the west. I took some back-bearings upon the Pillar, and decided to travel on a north-west course, when I started again; for although the creek appeared to come from the west, and west was the point I desired to travel upon, yet I could not be too cautious in proceeding, as I felt certain, that eventually it would turn up towards the north or north-west, and I should only get caught in a long bend, and have to go many miles to get out again. The weather to-day was most agreeably warm and pleasant, with a slight breeze from the north-west. We saw the smoke of burning grass, set on fire by the natives to the south beyond a line of ranges, which lay in that direction; the latter had the very red appearance of red sandstone, and they had a series of ancient ocean water-marks along their sides, traceable for miles. I called this Johnstone's Range, after my hospitable host at Charlotte-Waters. There must be some natives about, though we have not seen any since leaving the last-named place.

Sunday, 25th August.-Last night was cold certainly, but not so intensely as the night previously. The thermometer fell to 30°, but there was no appearance of ice or even frost; a very cold puff of wind aroused us from our slumbers about daylight; and this continued from the west all day. The sun threw some rather fiery glances upon us about two and three o'clock; the thermometer rose to 110° in the sun, but in the shade the temperature was agreeable enough. The flies were rather troublesome at times during the day, but after three o'clock they

mostly depart. As night approached we could see the brilliant flames of a large grass-fire to the north, about five or six miles distant; this had been started during the afternoon by some prowling sons of the soil. Monday, 26th August.-Last night was again exceedingly cold, the thermometer at daylight standing at 20°. Some wild animal or other must have been prowling round the camp in the night, for my little dog exhibited great signs of perturbation for several hours. I and Robinson lay awake listening for any sounds, that might give us an idea of our intruders, and we both fancied, that we heard the sounds of human voices; we both got up, and the little dog continued to bark, but we neither saw nor heard anything more. The horses being near, we made an early start this morning, and bore away to the north-west, over a sandhill-country covered with porcupine-grass; it was heavy and distressing travelling for the horses, making them continually jog and jump from the pain caused by the countless prickings, which they received from the sharp thorny spines of the vegetation, they had to pass through. I continued upon this course for eleven miles; and though from the top of a high sandhill, which we reached, we could see nothing whatever of the Finke-River; still I determined to continue another mile or two on this course, hoping I had taken the right direction, and that we should meet the river in a few more miles. We therefore proceeded on, and in two miles we came right upon the top bank of it, the river running under a ridge of high sandhills; its course from this point appeared to incline a good deal to the north. The horses being very heavily packed, and the porcupine-grass having distressed them a good deal, we followed along the bank, and found a convenient spot, where the horses could get water without bogging, and camped after a day's stage of thirteen miles. We passed a few clumps of the fine looking casuarinas, which I have before mentioned; they grow to a height of twenty to twenty-five feet of barrel without a branch, and then spread out into a fine and shady top. They however appear to inhabit the poorest region as far as soil is concerned, for they grow out of pure red sand. A few bushes also grow on these sandhills, and the unfailing-or, I might say, unfeeling porcupine-grass

is almost the only other vegetation. I also noticed a few specimens of a stunted species of Eucalypt of the mallee kind. There was a large sheet of water near our camp, and we shot a few ducks, which were settled upon it, when we arrived. The day was agreeably warm and pleasant, with light cool breezes from the north-west. An apparently small tributary from the westward joins the Finke-River to the southward from our camp, and a rather high dark-looking hill forms its most southern embankment. The horizon to the west is bounded by broken ranges of no great elevation; they extend also up to the north-west. The course of the river from here being so much towards the north, our westing is prevented for the present. As we ascend the river the country gradually rises, and we are here about 250 feet above the level of the Charlotte-Waters Station.

Tuesday, 27th August.—The early part of last night was remarkably warm; but towards midnight it became cold enough. The thermometer at daylight had fallen to 28°, but there was neither frost nor dew. Nothing occurred during the night to disturb the stillness of the camp, and we made a start this morning at 8 o'clock. Having discovered last evening, that the river not only trended north, but more north-easterly

From

I started on a bearing of N. 2° E., and passed over several high sandhills. In two miles we met the river again, almost at right angles. I was unwilling to attempt to cross it, on account of its frightful boggy bed; but, rather than travel several miles roundabout, I decided to try it. We got over it all right certainly; but to see horses sinking bodily in a mass of quaking quicksand is by no means an agreeable sight, and it was only by urging them on with whips, to prevent them delaying, that we accomplished it in safety; the horses, which we were riding, got the worst ground, as it had been so ploughed up by the pack-horses ahead of them. The whole bed of this peculiar creek appears a perfect quicksand; and when my readers are told, that it is nearly a quarter of a mile wide, they will understand, that it is not a feature to be slighted. A stream of slightly brackish water was flowing along its bed, in a much narrower channel than its whole width; and where the water exists, there the bog is most to be apprehended. Sometimes it runs under one bank, sometimes the opposite and sometimes in the middle; a horse may walk upon apparently firm sand towards the stream, when without a second's warning horse and rider may be engulfed in quicksand. In other places, where it is firmer, it will quake for yards all around, and thus give some warning. After crossing, I proceeded upon the same course, having the creek now upon my right hand-over more sandhills and through more triodia for three miles, being five from camp. Here I changed course to N. 17° W., and at one and a-half miles reached a high sandhill. this point I sighted a continuous range of hills to the north, running east and west; and with the glasses I could see the river bearing up for them. I changed my course for a conspicuous hill in the range, bearing N. 55° W., again having the Finke-River close under our feet and lying right in our course. The alternative of travelling round the long bends was not an agreeable one; and as we had so successfully crossed it once this morning, I decided to try it again. We descended to the bank, and after great trouble in finding a place firm enough and sufficiently large to allow all the horses to stand upon (in the bed), we could not find a place where they could mount the opposite bank, for under it was a long reach of water and a perfect quagmire extending for more than a mile on each side of us. Two of our riding horses were bogged in trying to find a get-away. Finally we had to bridge a place over with boughs and sticks and flood drift, which took us some time. We eventually got them over, one by one, without accident or loss. We then proceeded on our course, and in four miles we touched upon the river again, but had no occasion to recross it as it was not in our road. At three miles further we crossed the dry channel of a small tributary from the ranges to the north of us, near where it formed a junction with the main-stream, which here swept round an elbow towards the west. We found a good watering place in the course of another mile, and encamped, having travelled fifteen miles. The horizon from this camp is bounded from the south-west and west round by north to north-east by ranges, which I am very glad to perceive; those to the south-west and west being the highest and most pointed. It appears, that the creek must come under or through some of those to the north-west. The northern range is distant from our camp about six miles; it appears mainly timbered with mulga. To-day I observed a most beautiful pigeon, quite new to me; it is of a dark-brown colour; mottled under the throat and on the breast. It is considerably smaller