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 hillo............