Discoveries in Australia Volume II Part 9

November 29.

This afternoon and the whole of the next day, when the tide suited, we were endeavouring to weigh the ship's anchors; but they were together with the cables so imbedded in the bottom, which must have been a quicksand, that this proved impossible. Had the ship been fitted with Captain Charles Phillips', R.N., capstan, there would have been a better chance of succeeding. As it was, after heaving down the ship nineteen inches by the head, and splitting the hawse pipes, we were ultimately obliged to leave both behind, and thirty fathoms of cable with one and fifteen with the other. This circ.u.mstance suggested the appropriate name of Holdfast Reach for this locality; and perhaps in some future generations, when this part of the world has undergone the changes that seems destined for it, the archaeologist of Victoria River may in vain puzzle his wits with speculations concerning the Beagle's anchors.

Whilst at this anchorage, just after dark, flocks of whistling ducks were constantly heard pa.s.sing over our heads in a South-West by West direction, or towards the head of Cambridge Gulf, which led to the supposition that there was a river in that neighbourhood. We placed the south point of Water Valley in lat.i.tude 15 degrees 13 3/4 minutes South and longitude 2 degrees 22 minutes West of Port Essington, variation one degree easterly. Our tidal observation made the time of high-water, at the full and change of the moon, 9 o'clock, when the mean rise at springs was sixteen feet, and at neaps ten. The duration of the flood-stream was seven hours, being two greater than the ebb. The former ran 50 minutes after high-water, and the latter 30 minutes after low-water. Before leaving Holdfast Reach, Lieutenant Emery observed one or two natives, opposite Water Valley, being the only ones that had been seen from the ship. He endeavoured to obtain an interview, by going up alone towards them, but they drew off when he got near.

DROP DOWN THE RIVER.

December 1.

We slipped from our last anchor at daylight, and proceeded down the river. After pirouetting through Whirlpool Reach, we got as far down as the flats fronting River Peak, above which we anch.o.r.ed near noon. After having been shut up among rocky ranges for a month, the sight of the sea horizon was a novelty, and the cool, refreshing breeze, as it came sweeping over the unbroken expanse of waters, created in us very pleasing sensations.

Next morning we beat down the main channel, which was called the Queen's, the deep water varying from five to nine fathoms being on the west side.

Some shoal patches of a quarter and two fathoms, lying midway between Observation Island, and the end of the long sand extending off its northern side, prevented our proceeding further. The boats completed the survey of the western side of the channel in the afternoon: the largest creek examined by Mr. Forsyth received his name.

REACH THE SEA.

December 3.

Dropping down the channel with a light air from the westward, and a boat in advance sounding, no impediment occurred after pa.s.sing the sands extending off Observation Island, as a fine deep channel of six and eight fathoms followed the western side of Quoin Island, and the long sand stretching off its north end. When we had cleared this the anchor was dropped in eight fathoms, and the boats were again employed in sounding.

That the Beagle was once more anch.o.r.ed outside all the banks--to have touched on any of which, with the great strength of the tides that hurried us along would have been fatal--was a great relief to all of us, especially to me, in whom Captain Wickham had placed so much confidence as to trust the ship to my guidance, whilst exposed to the dangers I have mentioned.

December 4.

Moved the ship within three miles and a half of the south extreme point of the river, the highest part bearing South 40 degrees West. A party of us visited it, and, from a rather extraordinary sight we there beheld, it was called Turtle Point.

DEAD TURTLES ON THE Sh.o.r.e.

Behind some very low scattered sandhills that form it, fronting a mangrove flat, we beheld great numbers of dead turtles, that seemed to have repaired thither of their own accord to die. They were lying on their bellies, with their sh.e.l.ls for the most part uninjured, though some were turned over, and showed other signs of visits from the natives. A few skeletons of a large bustard* were also seen there, so that the place had quite the appearance of a cemetery, and reminded me of a spot on the River Gallegos in Patagonia, where the guanacos (a kind of llama) a.s.semble to pay the debt of nature, and leave their bones to whiten the surface of the plain. Never before, on any occasion, had we seen dead turtles in any similar position; how they could have got there was a mystery, unless we suppose them to have been thrown up by some earthquake wave. They had evidently not been transported thither by the hand of man, though, as I have observed, some of the natives who thinly inhabit this district, finding them there, ready to their hand, had availed themselves of the gifts of fortune. I could not help, as I gazed on this remarkable scene, calling to mind the marvellous elephant cemetery described by Sinbad the Sailor. It is possible that the observation of some similar phenomenon may have suggested to the imagination of the authors of the Thousand and One Nights their romantic fiction. At any rate an air of mystery will always hang round Turtle Point until the facts I have mentioned shall have been explained.

(*Footnote. A specimen of one of them was brought away and deposited in the Museum at Sydney.)

The nature of this part of the country I have before described on my visit to Indian Hill. A ridge of breakers ran off north a couple of miles from our station; a low point, bearing West 16 degrees South about eight or nine miles, with an opening trending in south intervening, with some slightly elevated land bearing South 34 degrees West about four or five leagues, terminated our view to the westward. We found the tide much weaker on this side of the entrance, not exceeding three miles an hour; the stream ran up three-quarters of an hour after high-water. The times of high-water for the last three days had been most unaccountably the same.

December 5.

Crossed over to Point Pearce at daylight, but the wind being light all the morning did not reach an anchorage till the afternoon; the extreme of the point bearing North 41 degrees West three-quarters of a mile. A line of ripplings extended a couple of miles off to the south-west of it, in which we found there was only four fathoms. In standing across the entrance we pa.s.sed first a bank of three fathoms, with six and seven on each side; Turtle Point bearing South 45 degrees West 11 miles; then two more, one of seven and eight fathoms, with twelve and seventeen on each side, the other of only two fathoms with twelve on the south, and twenty on the north side.

MERMAID BANK.

We subsequently found the latter to be a continuation of the bank on which Captain King had five fathoms, Point Pearce bearing North 22 degrees East 5 miles; and in order to record his visit we named it, after his vessel, Mermaid Bank.

VISIT THE Sh.o.r.e FOR OBSERVATIONS.

December 7.

I left the ship in the morning to make some observations at Point Pearce for the errors of the chronometers. I was accompanied to the sh.o.r.e by Mr.

Bynoe, who was going on a shooting excursion. It being high-water, I was obliged to select a spot near the cliffs forming the point, for carrying out my intention. That selected was about 60 yards from the wood-crowned cliff which rose behind; thinking such an intervening distance would secure me from the spear of the treacherous native. This caution rather resulted from what had before occurred at Escape Cliffs, where Messrs.

Fitzmaurice and Keys so narrowly escaped, than from any idea that natives might be lurking about. Indeed, Mr. Bynoe had been shooting all over the ground yesterday, and had neither seen nor heard anything to indicate their existence in this neighbourhood; though doubtless, from what followed, they had been very busily watching him all the time, and were probably only deterred from making an attack, by the alarm with which his destructive gun, dealing death to the birds, must have filled them.

Requiring equal alt.i.tudes, I was compelled to revisit the spot in the afternoon for the corresponding observations. The boat in which Mr. Bynoe returned to the ship, was to carry me on sh.o.r.e. We met at the gangway, and in answer to my inquiry, he informed me that he had seen no traces of the natives. He had shot a new and very beautiful bird of the finch tribe, in which the brilliant colours of verdigris green, lilac purple, and bright yellow, were admirably blended.* The time was short; half an hour would have sufficed for the observations, and we should have left the coast. As it was now low-water, and I had to traverse a coral reef half a mile in width, I resolved to lighten myself of my gun, which I had taken with me in the morning, that I might with greater safety carry the chronometer. On landing I directed Mr. Tarrant and one of the boat's crew to follow with the rest of the instruments. The walking was very bad, the reef being strewed with coral fragments, and interspersed with large pools. With my mind fully occupied by all we had seen of late, I hurried on without waiting, and reached the observation spot, just glancing towards the cliff, which presented nothing to the view except the silvery stems of the never-failing gumtrees.

(*Footnote. Figured by Mr. Gould from this specimen as Amadina gouldiae.)

THE AUTHOR SPEARED.

I had just turned my head round to look after my followers when I was suddenly staggered by a violent and piercing blow about the left shoulder:* and ere the dart had ceased to quiver in its destined mark, a loud long yell, such as the savage only can produce, told me by whom I had been speared.

(*Footnote. See the view annexed. )

PURSUED BY THE NATIVES.

One glance sufficed to show me the cliffs, so lately the abode of silence and solitude, swarming with the dusky forms of the natives, now indulging in all the exuberant action with which the Australian testifies his delight. One tall bushy-headed fellow led the group, and was evidently my successful a.s.sailant. I drew out the spear, which had entered the cavity of the chest, and retreated, with all the swiftness I could command, in the hope of reaching those who were coming up from the boat, and were then about halfway. I fully expected another spear while my back was turned; but fortunately the savages seemed only to think of getting down to the beach to complete their work. Onward I hurried, carrying the spear, which I had drawn from the wound, and determined if, as I expected, overtaken, to sell my life dearly. Each step, less steady than the former one, reminded me that I was fast losing blood: but I hurried on, still retaining the chronometer, and grasping my only weapon of defence. The savage cry behind soon told me that my pursuers had found their way to the beach: while at every respiration, the air escaping through the orifice of the wound, warned me that the strength by which I was still enabled to struggle through the deep pools and various other impediments in my path, must fail me soon. I had fallen twice: each disaster being announced by a shout of vindictive triumph, from the bloodhounds behind. To add to my distress, I now saw, with utter dismay, that Mr. Tarrant, and the man with the instruments, unconscious of the fact that I had been speared, and therefore believing that I could make good my escape, were moving off towards the boat. I gave up all hope, and with that rapid glance at the past, which in such an hour crowds the whole history of life upon the mind, and one brief mental act of supplication or rather submission to Him in whose hands are the issues of life and death, I prepared for the last dread struggle.

NARROW ESCAPE FROM DEATH.

At that moment the attention of the retreating party was aroused by a boat approaching hastily from the ship; the first long, loud, wild shriek of the natives having most providentially apprised those on board of our danger. They turned and perceived that I was completely exhausted. I spent the last struggling energy I possessed to join them. Supported on each side I had just strength to direct them to turn towards our savage enemies: who were hurrying on in a long file, shouting and waving their clubs, and were now only about thirty yards off. Our turning, momentarily checked their advance, whilst their force increased. During these very few and awfully anxious moments, a party, headed by Lieutenant Emery, hastened over the reef to our support. Another moment, and ours would have been the fate of so many other explorers; the hand of the savage almost grasped our throats--we should have fallen a sacrifice in the cause of discovery, and our bones left to moulder on this distant sh.o.r.e, would have been trodden heedlessly underfoot by the wandering native.

At the sight of Lieutenant Emery's party, the natives flew with the utmost rapidity, covering their flight, either from chance or skill, by my party; in a moment the air, so lately echoing with their ferocious yells, was silent, and the scene of their intended ma.s.sacre, as lonely and deserted as before!

I was soon got down to the boat, lifted over the ship's side, and stretched on the p.o.o.p cabin table, under the care of Mr. Bynoe, who on probing the wound gave me a cheering hope of its not proving fatal. The anxiety with which I watched his countenance, and listened to the words of life or death, the reader may imagine, but I cannot attempt to describe. The natives never throw a spear when the eye of the person they aim at is turned towards them, supposing that everyone, like themselves, can avoid it. This was most fortunate, as, my side being towards them, the spear had to pa.s.s through the thick muscles of the breast before reaching my lungs. Another circ.u.mstance in my favour was that I had been very much reduced by my late exertions.

NIGHT OF SUFFERING.

The sufferings of that night I will not fatigue my readers by describing; but I can never forget the anxiety with which Mr. Bynoe watched over me during the whole of it. Neither can I forget my feelings of grat.i.tude to the Almighty when my sunken eyes the next morning once more caught the first rays of the sun. It seemed as though I could discover in these an a.s.surance that my hour was not yet come, and that it would be my lot for some time longer to gaze with grateful pleasure on their splendour.

Several excursions were made during our stay in search of the natives, but without success. An encampment was found in the neighbourhood, near a small freshwater swamp, and by the things that were left behind it was evident that a hasty retreat had been made. It would have been as well if we could have punished these people in some way for their unprovoked attack; but to have followed them far into the bush would have been quite useless. A comparison of their conduct with that of the natives of Shoal Bay, confirms what I have before stated of the extraordinary contrast presented by the dispositions of the aboriginal inhabitants of Australia; for in both instances we were the first Europeans they had ever encountered.

TREACHERY BAY.

The observations, which nearly cost me my life in endeavouring to obtain, placed Point Pearce in lat.i.tude 14 degrees 25 minutes 50 seconds, South longitude 2 degrees 49 minutes West of Port Essington. The time of high-water, at the full and change, was seven o'clock, when the tides rose from twenty to twenty-six feet. The cliffs forming it are of a reddish hue, from the quant.i.ty of iron the rocks in the neighbourhood contain. To commemorate the accident which befell me, the bay within Point Pearce was called Treachery Bay, and a high hill over it Providence Hill.

In the nights of the 10th and 11th we had sharp squalls from the eastward, being early in the season for their repeated appearance. There was the usual gathering of clouds, the hard edges of which were lit up by the constant flashing of lightning. It is singular that all these squalls, wherever we have met them, should happen within five hours of the same time, between nine at night and two in the morning.

COURSE OF THE VICTORIA.

I have thus detailed the circ.u.mstances attending the discovery and partial exploration of the Victoria, that new and important addition to our geographical knowledge of one of the least known and most interesting portions of the globe. Its peculiar characteristics--for, like all Australian rivers, it has distinctive habits and scenery of its own--the nature of the country through which it flows--its present condition, its future destiny, are all subjects, to which, though I may have cursorily alluded before, I am under promise to the reader of returning. Of that promise, therefore, I now tender this in fulfilment.

The Victoria falls into the Indian Ocean in lat.i.tude 14 degrees 40 minutes South and longitude 129 degrees 21 minutes East, being at its confluence with the sea, between Turtle and Pearce Points, twenty-six miles wide. The land upon either side as you enter the river is bold and well defined, but from the margin of the western sh.o.r.e, an extensive mud and mangrove flat, not entirely above the level of high-water, and reaching to the base of a range of hills, about seventeen miles from the water's edge, seems to indicate that at one time the waters of the Victoria washed the high land on either side.

For the first thirty miles of the upward course, the character of the river undergoes but little change. The left side continues bold, with the exception of a few extensive flats, sometimes overflowed, and a remarkable rocky elevation, about twenty-five miles up, to which we gave the name of The Fort, as suggested by its bastion-like appearance, though now called Table Hill in the chart. To the right the sh.o.r.e remains low, studded with mangroves, and still, from appearance, subject to not unfrequent inundations: towards the mouth, indeed, it is partially flooded by each returning tide. Thirty-five miles from its mouth its whole appearance undergoes the most striking alteration. We now enter the narrow defile of a precipitous rocky range of compact sandstone, rising from 4 to 500 feet in height, and coming down to the river, in some places nearly two miles wide, in others not less than twenty fathoms deep, and hurrying through, as if to force a pa.s.sage, with a velocity sometimes not less than six miles an hour.

NATURE OF THE COUNTRY.

It continues a rapid stream during its pa.s.sage through this defile, an extent of some thirty miles, and beyond it is found slowly winding its way towards the sea across a rich alluvial plain, fifteen miles in width.

Above this plain is found a second range of similar character and formation to that before mentioned; the stream, however, having of course somewhat less both of width and depth, and flowing with a decreased rapidity. The elevation of the hills on either side was at first entering considerably less than in the former range; they had also lost much of their steep and precipitous appearance; but as we gradually proceeded up, the former distinctive characteristics returned: the hills rose higher and more boldly, almost immediately from the water's edge, and continued each mile to present a loftier and more rugged front; never however attaining the extreme alt.i.tude of the former or Sea Range. Above Reach Hopeless the width of the alluvial land, lying between the immediate margin of the river and the hills which bound its valley, considerably increased; and just in proportion as the high bold land approached the channel on one sh.o.r.e, it receded from it on the opposite, and left an extensive alluvial flat between that bank and the retreating hills; the whole valley, too, widened out, so that, supposing the stream at one time to have filled it from the bases of the high land on either side, it must have had a breadth above Reach Hopeless of from three to five miles, and this still increased when I last traced its presumed course beyond Mount Regret.

The extreme alt.i.tude of Sea Range is from 7 to 800 feet, and of the hills last seen, near Mount Regret, from 4 to 500. The distinctive formation common to both consists in their level summits, within twenty feet of which a precipitous wall of rock, of a reddish hue, runs along the hillside.