Further Down The Creek, Some Six And A Half Miles From The Hills, Is A
Fine Flat Of Grass And Herbage Surrounded By Large White Gums - This Is
Practically The End Of The Creek, And To This Spot We Shifted Camp,
Packing Water From The Pool.
On the 10th Prempeh died - another victim to
the poison - and I began to dread the morning.
Fortunately our new camp
was free from poison, and no more deaths occurred. It was sad to think of
our camels dying thus after so many hundred miles of desert bravely
traversed - yesterday a picture of strength and life, to-day food for
those scavengers of the bush, the dingoes. What satisfied howls they gave
forth all night long; for, like crows or vultures, they seem to collect
from far and wide round the body of any dead thing. From our camp Mount
Erskine was visible, but not of sufficiently inviting appearance to make
a visit worth while.
On the 15th all were off the sick list and ready to march. I felt
sorrowful indeed at the loss of the camels, but thankful that no more had
died, and more thankful still that we had been able to camp whilst poor
Breaden and Charlie regained their health. Such a sickness in the heart
of the desert could have had but one ending.
Our way lay over spinifex plains until just north of the hills a
sand-ridge was crossed, remarkable from its regular shape and wonderfully
straight course, as if it had been built to most careful measurements and
alignment.
The 16th of November was a red-letter day, for on it we crossed the LAST
SAND-RIDGE - in lat. 19 degrees 20 minutes - leaving the desert behind us.
A feeling of satisfaction filled us that we had conquered its
difficulties not by chance, but by unremitting toil and patience. I am
sure that each in his heart thanked his God that He had been pleased to
bring us through safely. Once across the range we had seen from Mount
Bannerman - a range of quartzite hills which I named Cummins Range, after
the Warden at Hall's Creek - and we had reached the watershed of the
tributaries of the Margaret and Fitzroy Rivers. From Cummins Range onward
until we struck the Margaret, we had very rough hills and rocks to
cross - this hard travelling after the yielding sand was most painful to
the camels, and their feet were soon sore and cut by the sharp edges of
rock. The country may be roughly described as slate bedded on edge, in
such a way as to leave sharp corners and points of rock sticking up in
all directions. Through the slate run veins of quartz, often rising above
the surface in huge blows, hills, and even small ranges. Innumerable
gullies crossed our path, and occasionally fair-sized creeks. Such a one
is Christmas Creek, which, where we saw it, is made up of three creeks
from fifty to eighty yards across, running almost parallel and not more
than half a mile apart.
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