Pioneering Days: Thrilling Incidents

With the exception of a small waterhole in a water course named by Landsborough, "Don" Creek (junctioning with the Herbert, some ten miles below Lake Frances), we knew of no other water but the two lakes, and they were only third full. The river could not have ran for many years as its bed was overgrown with grass and no sign of any debris. Its course being so flat it was very hard to judge which way the water ran, when it did run: which apparently was very seldom. The only thing which guided one was the bent timber growing in the river bed. Landsborough expressed the opinion that the river did not run for years previous to his journey, and certainly there was no flood between his visit and ours. The two waterholes, Mary and Frances, were a good deal supplied by a small creek running into each, heading from the hard country, which a thunderstorm would flood. The one running into the latter ran up the river for about half a mile before reaching the hole, thus showing the flatness of the river bed. There was abundance of splendid grass and herbage everywhere, although very dry. The want of more water was what gave trouble. Of course, the everlasting stream in the O'Shannesey was always there, but the dryness of the long stage of it prevented anything but a final dried out rush. Observing blacks' smoke about due west from Rocklands, another and myself assayed a short journey ten miles distant, but bush fires on those vast downs are very deceptive, as we found out in this instance. Taking three of the best horses with us, rations and two full tin canteens of water, we struck out traveling by compass. The loose, heavy soil of the downs was very severe on the horses, the country in its virgin state and not been trampled hard by stock. We kept going but no sign of water indicated by the smoke. However, we kept traveling and at last came in sight of a creek. This we saw several miles ahead from the crest of the high downs and could notice some trees in the in the coolibah bed denuded of any foliage. This was a good sign of water as cockatoos and other birds stripped the small twigs of the timber near and around the water. This gave us hope, but before reaching the creek we struck the head of a small gully in which we found a small supply of water, left, apparently, by a light storm. Of course, the first thing to do was to have a long drink ourselves, fill our canteens and then allow the poor famishing horses to drink their full. Whilst the quart pots were boiling for a much needed snack I walked down the gully through an acre or so of emu berry bush trying to find more water. Around the small waterhole where we camped were many fresh tracks of blacks, and as I walked through the low bushes all at once I saw part of a nigger's body lying flat under a bush. It gave me a start, thinking a mob of natives were in ambush, so my revolver was immediately in evidence expecting a sudden rush, but standing still and looking more closely at the dark apparition before me, I found it was only a young boy newly dead. Probably his people spied me coming and in their haste to vanish left the little boy unburied.

No more water to be found in the gully or neighborhood. After refreshing ourselves we saddled up and made for the leafless part of the creek, but too late! Water was there a few days before, but now only soft mud. Trusting to the little hole we left holding out for a time pushed on, striking out in the same direction, but although crossing one or two large creeks, no water was to be found with the exception of two small gutters, This, unfortunately, we very reluctantly had to retrace our steps in case the small supply of water we knew of might dry and so leave ourselves and horses to perish. The rivers we crossed were afterwards named the "James," Rankin and Lora, but more of these later on. On returning there was just enough in the small holes to enable us to get back to Rocklands by the skin of our teeth.