On June 1st we left the rock-holes on a South-West course, crossing
irregular sandhills with the usual vegetation.
On June 2nd we crossed the last sand-ridge of the great northern desert,
and before us spread the rolling gravel-covered undulations of sand,
treeless except for an occasional beefwood or small clump of mulga,
rolling away before us like a swelling ocean. What a blessed relief it
was after the awful toil of crossing Heaven knows how many sand-ridges day
after day!
Taking into account the country north of lat. 24 degrees 45 minutes
only - for though we had a long spell of sand-ridges between the edge of
the desert and Woodhouse Lagoon, and again between that point and Lake
Wells, yet these were comparatively low and less steep than those further
north, and therefore their extent is not included in this reckoning - we
traversed 420 miles on the upgoing journey, and 451 miles on the return
journey - that is, 871 miles of actual travelling over a desert of sand
blown by the wind into parallel ridges of the height and frequency
already described. It will be readily understood, therefore, that we were
not sorry to see the last of them! Working our way step by step, we had
so husbanded the marvellous powers of endurance of our camels that, in
spite of the most terrible privations and difficulties, these noble
animals had silently carried their loads day by day, up and down, over
the burning sand, maddened by flies, their legs worn bare by
spinifex - carried them not without great sufferings and narrow escapes from
death, but yet without one of their number succumbing to the horrors of
the region.
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