THE SECRET OF THE AUSTRALIAN DESERT

BY

ERNEST FAVENC

Author of "The History of Australian Exploration", "Tales of the Austral Tropics", &c. &c.

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY PERCY F. S. SPENCE AND A MAP

LONDON BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED, 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C. GLASGOW AND DUBLIN 1903

PREFACE.

Although the interior of the continent of Australia is singularly deficient in the more picturesque elements of romance, it was, for nearly two-thirds of a century, a most attractive lure to men of adventurous character.

Oxley, Sturt, Mitchell, Kennedy, and Stuart have left deathless names on the roll of Australian explorers, but the unknown fate of Ludwig Leichhardt has always centred most of the romance of story about his memory.

In April, 1848, he left Macpherson's Station, Cogoon River, situated in the southern portion of what is now the colony of Queensland, with the intention of endeavouring to reach Perth, on the west coast, the capital of Western Australia, by traversing, if possible, the then unknown heart of the continent.

From that day to this, no clue to the disappearance of the whole party has ever been discovered. Several expeditions have been fruitlessly despatched in search of the missing men; and many false reports as to the finding of relics of the party have been brought in at various times. Even the rapid advance of settlement, and the comparatively full knowledge now possessed of the interior, have thrown no light on the subject. This, the great mystery of Australian exploration, I have taken for the groundwork of my story.

The view I have adopted of the probable course pursued by Leichhardt and his party, is the one that commends itself to the majority of experienced bushmen. Turned back by the dry country west of the Diamantina River, the explorer probably followed that river up, and crossed the main watershed on to the head of some river running north into the Gulf of Carpentaria; in fact, the same track afterwards followed by the ill-fated Burke and Wills. Leichhardt could then easily reach the route he pursued on his first expedition to Port Essington, the only successful one he made, and on which his reputation is based. This course would then lead him around the foot of the Gulf to the Roper River, where he would leave his old route, follow the Roper, or a tributary, to its head, and strike south-west, into the scantily-watered waste of the interior. This view is borne out by the fact that trees, marked with what appears to be a letter L, have been found on or near this supposititious line of travel; and A. C. Gregory, the leader of one of the search expeditions, discovered the framework of

a small hut, seemingly built by white men, on a creek he called the Elsie, a tributary of the Roper River.

Another unexplained riddle I have introduced points to the possible early occupation of Australia by an ancient and partly civilized race. In 1838, Lieutenant, now Sir George Grey, when on an expedition in north-west Australia, discovered some remarkable paintings in a cave on the Glenelg River, evidently not the work of the present inhabitants. He describes the principal one as—"The figure of a man, ten feet six inches in height, clothed from the chin downwards in a red garment which reached to the wrists and ankles". The head of this figure was encircled by a halo or turban, and on it strange characters were inscribed, like a written name. Grey says—"I was certainly surprised at the moment I first saw this gigantic head and upper part of a body bending over and staring grimly down on me". Although the dress and accessories so plainly prove that these paintings were not the work of the Australian aborigines, the locality, strange to say, has not been again investigated. I have taken the liberty of transplanting these cave paintings from the north-west

coast to the interior, and also of changing the names of some of the members of Leichhardt's party. The descriptions of the physical features of the country are faithful records from personal experience.

ERNEST FAVENC.

SYDNEY, N.S.W., September, 1894.

CONTENTS.

Chap.

I. Sand and Scrub II. A Strange Road III. A Mysterious Procession IV. The Devil's Tracks V. A Lifeless Swamp VI. The Burning Mountain at Last VII. Cannibals VIII. The Fight in the Cave IX. An Exciting Discovery X. The Missing Expedition XI. Stuart's Journal XII. Charlie's Adventure XIII. The Trip South XIV. In the Spinifex Desert XV. The Fate of Columbus XVI. The Slaughter Chamber XVII. A Hopeless Situation XVIII. The Ancient Australians XIX. Charlie Falls Sick XX. A Further Discovery XXI. The Final Departure XXII. The Gold Reef Discovered XXIII. A Solitary Camp XXIV. More Dry Creeks XXV. The Last of the Cannibals XXVI. A False Alarm XXVII. Home Again

ILLUSTRATIONS.

They find the Devil's Track on the Rock-plain

The Death of Dr. Leichhardt in the Desert

Morton and his Party examine the Slaughter-chamber

The Last of the Bloodthirsty Warlattas, Frontis.

Route Map

THE SECRET OF THE AUSTRALIAN DESERT.

CHAPTER I.

The Start for the Burning Mountain—Sand and Scrub.

It is the beginning of November—November in the Southern hemisphere, not the raw, foggy month of the North—November in Central Australia, where the sun rises hot and red in a breathless morn, and sinks at night in a heated haze, hovering around the level horizon.

It has been a day to doze in the shade if possible, and dream of icebergs. The short twilight is rapidly fading into the darkness of a moonless night. Scarcely darkness, however, for the brilliant constellations of the south and the radiant evening star in the west lend their rays to light up the scene. Under the verandah of a rough hut—mud walls with galvanized iron roof,—three men are sitting indolently smoking the evening pipe that usually follows the last meal of the day. It is far up in the north of South Australia, in fact almost on the boundary line that divides that colony from its dependency, known as the Northern Territory. The hut is the principal building on a cattle-station, where, as on most other outside stations, the improvements are of a very primitive kind. The three occupants of the verandah are—the owner of the station; a young relation staying with him to gain that much-talked-of commodity, "colonial experience"; and a friend, a squatter from a neighbouring run.

"Well," says Morton, the owner, a sun-tanned, wiry little fellow, addressing his neighbour, "what do you say, Brown, to having a look for the burning mountain?"

"Umph!" grunts Brown, who differs considerably in size, owning as he does some six feet two inches of humanity; "isn't this weather hot enough for you without looking for burning mountains?"

"We've nothing much to do for two or three months, and I've made up my mind to see if there's any truth in this yarn the niggers have."

"I never could make head or tail of it," said Brown.

"Nor I," returned Morton; "but although everybody puts it down as a burning mountain, I am not of that opinion. I have questioned them very patiently, and can only find out that there is a big fire always burning in the same place, but when I ask about a mountain, they say no. None of them have ever been there; they have only heard of it from others, and they seem almost frightened to speak of it."

"They use much the same word for rocks, stones, and mountains."

"Yes; and I think it is rocks that they mean."

"What has your boy, Billy Button, to say about it?"

"Billy comes from a tribe nearly a hundred miles from here. He has heard the yarn, but has never seen any blacks who have been there."

"Let's see. It is supposed to lie rather north of west from here. How far have you been in that direction, Morton?"

"Some fifty miles. It's all scrub and sand. The niggers, however, get across in some seasons of the year, and I think this is the time; there have been plenty of thunder-storms that way lately."

"Well, I'll make one; a little scorching more or less does not matter much up here. You ought to have kept some of the camels back the last time the team was up here."

"Didn't think of it. But I fancy horses will be handier, we have a thunder-storm nearly every day."

"And shall have until we start," replied Brown, "then you see they will knock off at once. How many of us will there be?"

"The pair of us, and—what do you say, Charlie? Are you anxious to distinguish yourself?"

"I certainly hope you won't leave me behind," returned his young cousin, in an injured tone.

"All right. Billy Button will make four, and that will be enough. To-morrow we'll have all the horses in and get ready for a start the next day."

"How long shall we be away?" asked Charlie, who bore upon his shoulders the onerous duties of storekeeper.

"Can't say. What do you think, Brown? Six weeks? Two months?"

"We surely ought to find something in that time, if it's only the remains of Leichhardt."

"Make up three months' rations for four, Charlie; I hate to run short. Lucky we killed the other day, the beef will be just right for carrying."

ROUTE MAP

On an outside cattle-station, where so much camping-out has to be constantly done, the preparations for such a trip do not take long, and the morning of the second day found everything in readiness. Brown had sent over to his place for his own horses, and they started with fourteen in all. Two apiece for riding, four packed with rations, and two with canvas water-bags and the necessary blankets, tent, &c. At the last moment the blacks about the station tried to dissuade Billy from going by telling him horrible tales of the fate surely awaiting him at the dreaded burning mountain, but Billy stoutly refused to be frightened, and scorned to remain, although given the option by Morton.

The first thirty miles of the journey was over familiar country, and they camped that night at a small water-hole lately filled by a thunderstorm. Beyond them now stretched a waste of sand ridges and mulga scrub, into which Morton had once penetrated for some twenty miles. With full water-bags, and a determination not to be beaten back without a struggle, our adventurers commenced the second day's journey with light hearts.

During the whole of the day the sombre scrub and heavy sand continued, without break or change in their depressing monotony. Scarcely the note of a bird or insect broke the silence, as they toiled on without much heart for conversation. Towards evening a piece of good fortune befell them. On a small flat between two sand ridges they crossed a patch of short green grass, the result of a recent thunder-storm. No water could be found, the hot summer sun having evaporated all that had been caught in the shallow clay pans. The green grass was, however, a boon to the horses, who did not feel the want of water so much on the soft young feed.

Next morning they were saddled and packed up, ready to start by sunrise. About ten o'clock they ascended a sand ridge somewhat higher than those they had formerly crossed, and from its crest they were able to look around on the sea of scrub that surrounded them. Not far off, in the direction in which they were going, Morton drew the attention of his companions to a thin column of smoke.

"Burning mountain already?" queried Brown.

"Niggers travelling and hunting," replied Morton. "The scrub looks thinner there. They won't be far from camp at this time in the morning; but I expect the water is only a soak-hole, of no use to us."

In less than an hour they were riding over patches of still-burning grass, thinly scattered through a forest of bloodwood-trees; but neither the sharp eyes of Morton or Billy could detect a sign of the hunters. After searching for some time the boy found the tracks of a blackfellow, two gins,[1] and some pickaninnies[2] coming from the westward, and these they followed back for about a mile to a freshly-abandoned camp. It was situated on a fairly open piece of country, partly covered with coarse drift sand. Not far from the camp was a ragged old shell of a gum-tree, covered with tomahawk marks. Billy, who had at once gone to this tree, gave a low whistle, and the others came up. He pointed to a small hole near the butt, and dismounting put his arm down and then peered into it.

[1] Women.

[2] Children.

"Water long way down," he said. "Gone bung, mine think it." By which they understood that the supply had dried up. After some searching about, a long sapling was procured and thrust down. The hole was about ten feet deep, and the end of the sapling brought up some wet mud.

"How did the blacks get down for the water, Billy?" asked Brown.

"Pickaninny go down," replied the boy, pointing to a tiny foothold in the side of the hole.

"Well, boys," said Morton, who had been poking the sapling down vigorously and examining the point, "I don't see much to be got out of this. Evidently there's been one little family living on this hole, and now they've been dried out. It would take us two hours to open up this hole, and then we should probably get nothing for our pains."

"Water gone bung," repeated Billy.

"What do you say to following this flat? It's going partly in our direction, and may lead to something."

No one having anything better to suggest they resumed their journey once more, until a mid-day halt was made.

"Well, respected leader," remarked Brown, after the meal was finished and pipes were lit, "I'm afraid our horses will look mighty dicky to-morrow morning unless we get them a drink to-night."

Morton glanced lazily at them, where they stood grouped under whatever scanty shade they could obtain.

"They are beginning to look tucked up," he replied, "but we'll pull up something before dark."

"I sincerely hope so," said Brown as he stood up. "Go ahead once more, Captain Cook."

About four o'clock the open flat which they had followed grew narrower, until at last the scrub closed in entirely and they found themselves confronted by a thicker growth than any they had yet met with. The mulga having given place to a species of mallee.

Morton, who was leading, stopped.

"We must push through," he said. "It may be only a belt, and if we start to follow it round we shall be all night in it."

"Right," replied Brown. "I'll take a turn ahead if you like. I prefer being first in a scrub."

Morton laughed and dropped behind, and for about an hour very slow progress was made, the scrub getting worse and worse. The sun was sinking low, and the cheerful prospect of a night in the scrub was before them, when, to the relief of all, Brown suddenly called out:

"Hurrah! we're out of it!"

CHAPTER II.

A Native Cemetery—Billy's Explanation—Stopped once more by Dense Scrub—Discovery of a Strange Road.

As the party emerged, one after another, from the scrub, their eyes were delighted by a prospect of open-downs country before them, dotted here and there with clumps of gum-trees. But, better than all, there was plainly to be seen, scarcely a short mile away, a line of gum-trees, creek timber, whilst the presence of water was plainly attested by flights of white corellas hovering about.

It was not long before the whole party were comfortably encamped beside a good-sized waterhole, and the horses luxuriating on succulent Mitchell and blue grass.

Brown, with his pipe as usual under full blast, was enjoying the scene, when Billy, who had been wandering around the camp, came up and remarked:

"No sleep here."

"What's the matter?" asked Brown.

Billy pointed to a patch of scrub a short distance off, and beckoned to him to follow.

Brown noticed that the tops of the trees looked particularly thick and dense, but it was not until he was quite close that he saw the reason. Nearly every tree of any size bore a rude scaffolding, and on the top of every scaffold lay either a bleached skeleton or a dried mummy-like corpse. The ground, too, was covered with bones and skulls that had fallen through. Brown called the others, and they gazed with awe at this strange sepulchre.

"I've often seen the bodies put in trees, but never in such numbers as this. Why, there must be hundreds here!" said Morton.

"I never saw more than two together at the outside," returned Brown. "Strange," he went on, after a closer inspection; "all the bodies who have any dried skin remaining on their foreheads have a red smudge there!"

"No sleep here; by and by that fellow get up, walk about," insisted Billy.

This remark helped to dispel the gloom caused by the sight of so many dead bodies, and Billy had to undergo a good deal of chaff. It was evident, however, that his fright was genuine, although, like most natives, the reason of it could not be drawn from him.

No ghostly visitants came near the camp that night, and all slept the sleep of tired men.

Charlie, waking up before daylight and finding Billy in the sound stupor common to the aborigines at that hour, conceived a wicked idea. Brown dabbled a little in sketching, and Charlie, after hunting up the colour-box in one of the pack-bags, proceeded to paint Billy's forehead red, after the manner of the mummies in the tree-tops.

"Hallo, Billy!" said Morton, when they were all about and the quart-pots for breakfast merrily boiling. "What's up with your head?"

Billy grinned, not understanding what was meant.

"Look here," said Brown, taking a hand-glass out of the pack and holding it in front of his face. Billy looked, and turned as white as it was possible for a blackfellow to do.

"Him bin come up!" he yelled, starting up and pointing to the scrub where the bodies were. Then looked apprehensively around, as though he expected to see some belated corpse still walking about.

"Tell him you did it, Charlie," said Morton. "I'm afraid you've funked him, and if so he'll bolt. Never play tricks on a blackfellow."

Charlie at once complied, and after Billy had been induced to wash the paint off and had inspected the colour-box, he was somewhat comforted; but he evidently still thought that the subject was not a fit one to joke about.

Struck by Billy's evident panic, Morton again attempted to extract the reason from him, and after some trouble learned that he had heard of the men with a red smear on the forehead, who were supposed to be in some way connected with the burning mountain. That, during the day-time, they pretended to be dead, but at night got up and walked about.

"This looks as though we were on the right track," said Morton to Brown.

"Hum! Nice sort of company you are introducing us to. However—Death or glory! Let's saddle up and make a start."

In a short time the friendly water-hole and the ghastly scrub beside it were left behind, but the patch of open country unfortunately proved to be of very limited extent in the direction they were going, and in a short time they found themselves again entangled in the dense scrub, which was now becoming such a formidable obstacle to their progress. Towards the middle of the day, the sanguine Morton began to despair of pushing on, even at the slow rate at which they were going, and to meditate a return to their last night's camp and a fresh start in a new direction. At noon they were compelled to halt; the desert hedge-wood had now made its appearance, and the barrier presented by it was almost impenetrable.

They stopped for a hasty meal, and when it was finished, Morton said to Brown:

"What do you say, old man? Will you go north for a bit, and I will go south, and we'll see if there is anything like a gap in this confounded scrub?"

"My dear old boy I am entirely at your disposal. But allow me to suggest that we shall get along infinitely better on foot."

"I think so too. Charlie, you and Billy stop here with the horses until we come back."

It was a good two hours before the cracking of branches and muttered bad language, coming from the south, announced to Charlie and Billy the return of Morton.

"How did you get on?" was the query.