Читать книгу Talmud - Ivan Dexter - Страница 3

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"Now lads, what say you; shall we make for the head of Finke Creek or turn back?"

"Push on of course. We will never get a more favorable season. There is plenty of grass and water, and what more do we want. Old Mills would never forgive us if we failed now after the expense he has gone to in fitting us out."

"I am with you Ted," broke in a third man, addressing the last speaker. "Let us make a name for ourselves and no doubt a fortune also when we have the chance. Twice we have been beaten back by unfavorable seasons, and now that we are this far and the country looking so splendid, why should we retreat without seeing what is beyond this salt delta."

"I am quite ready to go on, but I wanted your opinions on the point. We all know what a strange country this is. Twenty four hours brings the most extraordinary changes sometimes, and almost a step leads from an oasis to a desert. We are four hundred miles from the station now and it must be some hundreds of miles to the place we want to reach," answered the first man who was apparently the leader.

This conversation look place on the 5th of September, 1870, in one of the most desolate regions it is possible to conceive. The locality was about thirty miles north of Lake Eyre and in the western portion of that terrible stony desert in which the explorer, Stuart, and his party nearly perished in 1846. There were four men in the temporary camp, and their object was to seek out new pastures for squatter Mills in that practically unknown district lying about four hundred miles to the north-west of the Great Salt Lake region of which Eyre was the centre. Finke Creek took its rise almost in the centre of Australia, and it was surmised that at its source would be found fertile uplands or valleyed ranges with perpetual fresh water. That the season was favorable for such a quest could be noted even in that sterile desert in which the camp was pitched. In spots small patches of green vegetation were discernable which the six horses of the party were busy cropping. This in itself was evidence that the rainfall had been unusually heavy but further confirmation was given by numerous small hollows which were partly filled with fresh water. This being found in the desert was presumptive proof that further on the natural surroundings would be still more suitable for the exploration intended.

The leader of the pastoral expedition was named Edward Strangway and those with him were Michael O'Halloran, William, Daniel, and Thomas Stanley. It was Strangway who put the question of proceeding to his companions, and his surroundings were discouraging enough to excuse his query. Towards every point of the compass stony desolation stretched which even the tiny spots of green shrubs could not relieve. At midsummer, and during seasons of drought the prospect would be appalling and, as an experienced bushman Strangway well knew that the return journey would probably be exceptionally severe. Even the beneficient rainfall had failed to attract animal life to the basaltic waste, and the genius of silence seemed to brood over all.

The voices of the men as they engaged in conversation sounded unearthly on the solemn evening air. In that cemetery of nature hilarity or enjoyment appeared to be as much out of place as revelry in a village churchyard, and even the hardy explorers were impressed with their surroundings. They had no fire, for that barren district did not yield wood, and as they sat or lounged at the cheerless camp they spoke in low tones. Twice before they had made expeditions into the unsettled districts, and on the last occasion they nearly perished with thirst. No expense had been spared in fitting the party out, and so far as food and a few luxuries were concerned they were amply provided.

It will be readily understood, however, that with such land expeditions where the difficulties of transport are so great it is practically impossible to take along a large supply of water. The travellers must be dependent to a great extent on the country they traverse for that necessary of life. Consequently Strangway and his companions, from the indications presented to them of a good water supply were quite justified in their determination to push on. Finke Creek itself when reached would furnish abundance of water. This continental water-course ran into the Diamentina or Warburton river which emptied itself into Lake Eyre.

By a continental river or creek is meant a stream that does not reach the sea, and all those of Central Australia are of that class. Some of them are at certain seasons of the year swollen to enormous dimensions, and something of a mystery is attached to the gigantic volumes of water which are thus thrown into the lakes or marshes of the interior. Lake Eyre has a score of these streams running into it, and some of them, such as Cooper's Creek and the Diamentina Diver pour incredible quantities of water into that great basin. At Cooper's Creek, for instance, a flow of water two miles wide and twenty feet deep has been seen for weeks at a time going to the lake.

No doubt a great deal of this is taken up by evaporation under a torrid sun, but assuredly nine-tenths of it soaks into the earth.

Geologists are now convinced that Central Australia holds a vast underground sea at a considerable depth below the surface. Artesian borings along the route of the overland telegraph line, and at outlying stations prove this, and furthermore it has been discovered that at a certain depth the water is perfectly fresh.

Central Australia is in fact a vast basin much lower than the coast lines. On the eastern side there is an elevated plateau averaging two thousand feet above sea level, and comparatively near the coast. This slopes abruptly towards the centre of the continent.

On the western side the elevation is not more than one thousand feet, and the slope to Central Australia is consequently more gradual, and large streams except in periods of flood are not often met with.

As civilization extends back from the coast the subterranean sea of the interior will, no doubt be tapped by artesian wells, and as an authority on the subject says, the interior of Australia will not be doomed to perpetual sterility.

On that 5th of September, 1870, the four men who sat round their cheerless camp in the stony desert did not dream of such a transformation. At the most they thought that a few squattages might be formed inland. Waving fields of golden corn, the hum of industry, and the prattle of children which is now within measurable distance rising in those solitudes would have seemed to them like the fevered dream of a prophetic enthusiast. Yet even at that time, the great overland telegraph line from Adelaide to Port Darwin was being constructed, and on its course it tapped many fertile spots.

After a short silence the conversation narrated in the beginning of the chapter was resumed by Stanley, asking how long it would take to reach the western edge of the desert.

"Two days at the most if nothing unfavourable happens," replied the leader. "We should get to 'Big Creek' (Diamentina River) then."

"We may have some trouble to cross it if the rainfall has been heavy up north," interjected O'Halloran.

"Not unless it has been very recent," replied Strangway.

"It appears to have been, judging by the indications around here," broke in Daniels.

"Thunderstorms perhaps. If I don't mistake we will have one to-night, but they don't as a rule cover a large area," said Strangway, looking towards the west.

There was every sign that the leader's prediction would be fulfilled. An ominous looking pall of black clouds shrouded the western sky, and at times a lurid glow broke through them, but the storm was far away, as no sound of thunder could be heard.

"That may not come this way," Daniels remarked.

Even as he spoke, the first low growl of the celestial cannon could be heard, and it was evident the storm was approaching, and at a rare pace too. The party carried with them two tents and light frame work, on which to stretch them, and these which had been erected were more firmly secured.

The horses were caught and brought closer to the camp, where they were tied to some jutting rocks. Like experienced bushmen as the party were, the horses were placed at some distance from each other so that if by chance the lightning might strike one of them, the remainder would escape.

It was nearly nine o'clock when this was done, and the electrical storm was fast approaching. The night was extremely dark, and the sight presented weird and extraordinary in the extreme.

The desolate level waste with its occasional petrified projections, afforded a magnificent view of the warring elements, and allowed the storm clouds to sweep onward with tremendous speed.

As they got nearer the camp the whole western heavens appeared to be a sheet of fire, through which darted in serpentine curves brighter streaks of flame. The roar of the thunder was continuous and deafening, and it was soon apparent that the camp was right on the track of the storm. The blue light which illuminated the camp in ghastly fashion, showed the terrified horses vainly tugging at their secure fastenings in their attempts at escape.

"I don't like the appearance of this," Strangway cried to O'Halloran, who was next to him. "We are right in its track, and these tents may attract the lightning."

"Let us get away from them and lie on the ground some distance off," O'Halloran replied.

"Yes tell Daniels and Stanley what we are going to do," answered the leader.

This, O'Halloran did, but Daniels only laughed at the suggestion.

"No fear, I am going to stop where I am. What is the tent for if not to keep the rain off. There is not the slightest fear."

Leaving Daniels behind, the three men went about fifty yards from the tent, and lay flat on the ground, and in a few minutes the storm was raging over them. The wind was blowing in cyclonic fashion, but not a drop of rain fell.

A 'dry' thunderstorm is the most terrible and dangerous of all natural electrical phenomena, and in such a place the danger was increased.

O'Halloran had taken his position about thirty yards from the first horse, and the animal was frantic with terror. In the continual blaze of light he could see that it had almost freed itself from the rock to which it was tied, and he slowly made his way towards it. He had scarcely traversed half the distance when a streak of solid fire seemed to fall in front of him, and half blinded as he was, he saw the horse smitten to the earth. At the same moment the fire appeared to gleam past him, and he was thrown violently backward. For a full minute he lay half stunned, and then a cry from Strangway, who ran to his aid, caused him to look in the direction he pointed. The tent where Daniels lay was in flames. Staggering to his feet he followed the leader to the burning tent, where Stanley had preceded them. In a few moments they tore down the burning cover but they knew there was no hope for the inmate. Almost before they accomplished their task, the rain clouds burst and a perfect deluge swept upon them. Had it come ten minutes sooner it might have saved the tragedy. The water fell in sheets, and almost blinded them, but it soon passed over. As the roar of the fast departing thunder got lower and lower, the men got a light after some difficulty, and examined Daniels. He was as dead as the rocks around. His clothes were burned to a tinder, and his body charred and blackened to the hue of ebony.

As the storm swept away, Strangway rose to his feet, and looking after it said, "It has gone, but it carries a human life with it."