decreased from 12 to 6 feet; the current, scarcely perceptible in the deep water, now ran with a velocity of from one to two miles per hour. Here, therefore, the Fitzroy may be said to assume all the more distinctive features of an Australian river: deep reaches, connected by shallows, and probably forming, during the droughts which characterize Australia, an unlinked chain of ponds or lagoons; and in places, leaving no other indication of its former existence than the water-worn banks and deep holes, thirsty and desolate as a desert plain. At this point, the river divided into two branches, one having an East-South-East, and the other a South-South-East direction. Anxious to determine, which, as the larger, best deserved our exploration, we landed at a high grassy point on the west bank. From the top of the highest tree in the neighbourhood, I commanded an extensive view of the wide and far-spread landscape then first submitted to the scrutiny of a European. Varied and undefined are the thoughts called forth at such a moment; the past, the present, and the future, at once occupy, and almost confound the imagination. New feelings accompany new perceptions; and gazing for the first time upon a vast and unknown land, the mind, restless and active, as the roving life by which it is informed, expands for the reception of the crowding fancies, called into life as by the wand of the magician.
After yielding for a while to the influence of the scene, I was glad to perceive the greater magnitude of the southerly branch of the river, which offered the most direct line into the interior. I could trace each stream for nearly three miles, but that which trended to the east was a mere rivulet. Both flowed through a perfectly level country. Seven miles was about as far as the eye could reach over this wearisome-looking level. To the westward the country was open; the trees were small, and in clumps, with green grassy patches between; but in other directions, it was densely wooded, and on the eastern bank the trees were large. In the branches of the one I ascended, rushes, deposited by the current, were found 20 feet above the present level of the stream. This part of the country is therefore sometimes visited by heavy floods; they do not, however, seem to depend immediately upon the quantity of rain, for while the whole face of the landscape indicated large and recent supplies, the river appeared little, if at all, affected by them.
Having determined to follow the larger branch of the Fitzroy, we continued on our course, and found that beyond this point the river again widened to nearly 200 yards; but that a chain of small islets, extending from bank to bank, nearly stopped our proceeding further. This obstacle was, however, overcome after some difficulty; and still proceeding upwards another mile, we came to a narrow rapid and shallow reach, which brought us into another still and deep, about 100 yards wide, and bounded by high grassy banks. Through this we pursued our way right merrily, indulging in the golden anticipation that the Fitzroy would yet convey our boats some distance into the interior of that vast and unknown continent, with the present condition and future destiny of which our thoughts were so often busy.
IMPEDIMENTS IN THE RIVER.
Scarcely, however, had we made good another mile, when we found ourselves entangled among a cluster of small islets, and sunken trees, which almost wholly choked up the channel. The river thus pent up, ran through the small openings in this barrier with great velocity; while above, it had again assumed the deep still character which I have before had occasion to describe.
We had partly overcome this impediment, when Captain Wickham decided upon giving up the attempt, and ordered the boats to return, considering the evident risks too great to justify further perseverance. We therefore gave up the exploration of the Fitzroy, in latitude 17 degrees 44 minutes South, longitude 124 degrees 34 minutes East, having traced its course for 22 miles in a general South-South-West direction, and having penetrated 90 miles from the coastline, towards the centre of Australia, from which we were still distant 600 miles. My view from the treetop extended about four miles beyond the furthest point we had reached on the river, it had been our good fortune to add to the geography of Australia. Its banks here were 20 feet high, and covered with grass; partially broken or washed down, they disclosed to view a rich alluvial soil, nearly two feet deep.
The trees we found most common during our expedition into this portion of the new lands of Australia, consisted chiefly of two species of palm, and three of the eucalypti, stunted banksia, acacia, and the singular tree before mentioned. The birds we saw were wholly those belonging to the land, and were chiefly black and white cockatoos, and a variety of finches. We neither saw nor caught any fish, and the absence of waterfowl led us to suppose they were scarce.
RETURN OF THE BOATS.
All the excitement and interest we had enjoyed in exploring the Fitzroy thus far, now left us, and our return was comparatively tedious and monotonous work.
March 12.
We, however, managed to reach our last night's bivouac by dark; and towards the close of the next day we got as far down as the outer grassy islet in the entrance of the river. The night was stormy, but the wind and rain together kept away the mosquitoes, and enabled us to obtain a little most welcome rest. This change in the weather was sudden. Hitherto we had been singularly fortunate, each succeeding night, and returning morn being, in cleanness and beauty, only a repetition of its predecessor.
March 13.
The morning was again fine, and the bright sky was not disfigured by the least trace of the dark clouds that had so lately overspread it. The tide fortunately favoured our making an early start. On passing Escape Point, so named, as the reader may recollect, in grateful remembrance of the providential escape a small party of us experienced there, we saw an alligator slide his unwieldy carcass from the soft mud-bank, upon which he had been lazily reclining, into one of the creeks we had so much difficulty in crossing. We could not but feel grateful that even the existence of these monster reptiles in this river was then unknown to us, as the bare thought of a visit from one of them would have added to the unpleasantness of our position, while the actual presence of so wholesale a gastronomer would perhaps have given another and less auspicious name to Escape Point.
A creek, ten miles from Point Torment, afforded us shelter for the night, which was again wet and squally.
March 14.
At daybreak the blue vault above was still disfigured by dark inky blotches of clouds. We reached the ship before breakfast, and found that Mr. Helpman and Mr. Keys had ascertained that the opening on the north-east side of Point Torment was a great bay, extending ten miles in a south-easterly direction, with a width of the same distance: its shores throughout were fringed with mangroves, through which the tide found its way, inundating many miles of the interior at high-water.
STOKES'S BAY.
In the north and south corners of the depths of this bay they found an inlet, each being about three miles deep; narrow, sandy ridges, almost dry at low-water, trending to the North-West, and separated by channels from three to four fathoms, occupied the greater portion of this extensive bay, which Captain Wickham, out of compliment, named after myself.
Point Torment afforded a very fair field for the exertions of our collectors in Natural History. Without wishing to bore my readers with another long mosquito story, I think the following may be interesting.
AN OFFICER ENTANGLED IN MANGROVES.
One of the officers on a shooting excursion lost his way and got entangled in a mangrove forest, where the ground being a soft mud, travelling became very laborious, particularly in a temperature of 85 degrees and without water; fatigue hastened by thirst, at length quite knocked up my shipmate, who threw himself exhausted on the ground. In vain did he seek for a little rest, for no sooner was he quiet than swarms of mosquitoes assailed him, and forced him again on his legs; unwelcome as these tormenting visitors generally are, they were probably in this case the means of saving my friend's life, as goaded on by their unceasing attacks, to exertions otherwise out of the question, he eventually reached assistance, and was brought on board in a most helpless condition.
The tide here was two hours later than at Foul Point: the greatest rise noticed in the ship was thirty feet, which was seven feet less than we had found it in the yawl.
We had several heavy squalls from eastward this afternoon, and during the early part of the night, with rain and thunder.
March 15.
The