Peter Egerton Warburton was born in August, 1813. After passing through the usual examination in the East India Company’s college at Addiscombe, he entered the Bombay army in 1834, and served in India until 1853, passing the greater part of the time in the Adjutant-General’s Department, and rising through each grade until he attained his majority, and was appointed Deputy Adjutant-General at head-quarters. But, attracted by the prospects opened up to colonists in New Zealand, he resigned the service, intending to proceed thither with his wife and family. Eventually, circumstances led to his preferring South Australia as a field for his energies; and soon after his arrival at Adelaide he was selected to command the police force of the whole colony—an onerous post, which he held with distinction for thirteen years. He was afterwards made commandant of the volunteer forces of the colony of South Australia. In August, 1872, the South Australian Government resolved on despatching an expedition to explore the interior between Central Mount Stuart and the town of Perth, in West Australia, and chose Colonel Warburton as its leader. Afterwards, the Government drew back, and the cost of the expedition was eventually undertaken by two leading colonists, Messrs. Elder and Hughes, who authorized Colonel Warburton to organize such a party and prepare such an outfit as he considered necessary, and provided him with camels and horses. It was arranged that the party should muster at Beltana Station, the head-quarters of the camels; thence proceed to the Peake, lat. 28° S., one of the head-quarters of the inland telegraph; and, after a détour westward, make for Central Mount Stuart, where they would receive a reinforcement of camels, and, thus strengthened, would be able to cross the country unknown to Perth, the capital of Western Australia.
With his son Richard as second in command, Colonel Warburton left Adelaide on the 21st of September, 1872; reached Beltana Station on the 26th; and on the 21st of December arrived at Alice Springs (1120 miles from Adelaide), the starting-point of his journey westward. The party consisted of himself, his son, T. W. Lewis, two Afghan camel-drivers, Sahleh and Halleem, Denis White (cook and assistant camel-man), and Charley, a native lad. There were four riding and twelve baggage camels, besides one spare camel; the horses being left at Alice Springs. All needful preparations having been completed, the explorers quitted the station on the 15th of April, 1873, and turned their faces westward.
For the first five days not a drop of water was seen, and on the fifth, of the supply carried with them only one quart was left, which it was necessary to reserve for emergencies. When they encamped for the night, no fire was lighted, as without water they could not cook. Next day, the 20th, Lewis and the two Afghans were sent, with four camels, to refill the casks and water-bags at Hamilton Springs, about twenty-five miles distant. Meanwhile, a shower of rain descended; all the tarpaulins were quickly spread, and two or three buckets of water collected. What a change! All was now activity, cheerfulness, heartfelt thanksgiving. A cake and a pot of tea were soon in everybody’s hands, and in due time Lewis returned with a full supply of water, to increase and partake in the general satisfaction.
Keeping still in a general westerly direction, they crossed extensive grassy plains, relieved occasionally by “scrub” or bushes, and coming here and there upon a spring or well. “The country to-day,” writes Warburton, on one occasion, “has been beautiful, with parklike scenery and splendid grass.” In the “creeks,” as the water-courses are termed in Australia, they sometimes found a little water; more often, they were quite dry. “This is certainly,” he writes, “a beautiful creek to look at. It must at times carry down an immense body of water, but there is none now on its surface, nor did its bed show spots favourable for retaining pools when the floods subsided.” On the 9th of January they struck some glens of a picturesque character. At the entrance of the first a huge column of basalt had been hurled from a height of three hundred feet, and having fixed itself perpendicularly in the ground, stood like a sentry, keeping guard over a fair bright pool, which occupied the whole width of the glen’s mouth—a pool about fifteen feet wide, fifty feet long, and enclosed by lofty and precipitous basaltic cliffs. At the entrance, the view does not extend beyond thirty yards; but, on accomplishing that distance, you find that the glen strikes off at a right angle, and embosoms another pool of deep clear water, circular in shape, and so roofed over by a single huge slab of basalt that the sun’s rays can never reach it. There is a second glen, less grand, less rugged than the former, but more picturesque. At the head of it bubble and sparkle many springs and much running water.
The surrounding country was clothed with porcupine-grass (spinifex)—a sharp thorny kind of herbage, growing in tussocks of from eighteen inches to five feet in diameter. When quite young, its shoots are green; but as they mature they assume a yellow colour, and instead of brightening, deepen the desolate aspect of the wilderness. “It is quite uneatable even for camels, who are compelled to thread their way painfully through its mazes, never planting a foot on the stools, if they can possibly avoid it. To horses on more than one occasion it has proved most destructive, piercing and cutting their legs, which in a very short time become fly-blown, when the animals have either to be destroyed or abandoned. The spiny shoots are of all heights, from the little spike that wounds the fetlock to the longer blade that penetrates the hock. It is one of the most cheerless objects that an explorer can meet, and it is perhaps unnecessary to say that the country it loves to dwell in is utterly useless for pastoral purposes.”
Coming to a range of granite, steep, bare, and smooth, Colonel Warburton clambered up its face on hands and knees, to find there a fine hole or basin in the rock, perfectly round and nearly full of water. This hole was, of course, the work of nature, and, strange to say, was on the point of a smooth projecting part of the rock, where it would have seemed impossible that any water could lodge. How it was wrought in such a place one cannot imagine, but the position was so prominent as to be visible from the plain at a considerable distance.
Another day the travellers fell in with a bees’ hive;—unfortunately, it was empty. The Australian bee is stingless, and very little larger than our common house-fly, but its honey is remarkably sweet. The nest, or “sugar-bag,” as the bushmen call it, is generally made in a hollow tree. They also saw some specimens of the crested dove—one of the loveliest of the Australian pigeons. In truth, it is hardly surpassed anywhere in chasteness of colouring and elegance of form, while its graceful crest greatly enhances the charm of its appearance. It frequently assembles in very large flocks, which, on visiting the lagoons or river banks for water, during the dry seasons, generally congregate on a single tree or even branch, perching side by side, and afterwards descending in a body to drink; so closely are they massed together while thus engaged, that dozens may be killed by a single discharge of a gun. Their flight is singularly swift; with a few quick flaps of the wings they gain the necessary impetus, and then sail forward without any apparent exertion.
The diamond-sparrow, or spotted pardalote, was also seen. This bird inhabits the whole of the southern parts of the Australian continent, from the western to the eastern border, and is very common in Tasmania. It is nearly always engaged in searching for insects among the foliage both of the tallest trees and the lowest shrubs, in the garden and orchard as in the open forest; and it displays in all its movements a remarkable activity, clinging about in every variety of position, both above and beneath the leaves, with equal facility. Its mode of nest-building differs from that of every other member of the genus to which it belongs. It first excavates, in some neighbouring bank, a hole just large enough to admit of the passage of its body, in a nearly horizontal direction, to the depth of two or three feet; at the end of this burrow or gallery, it forms a chamber; and in this chamber it deposits its nest, which is beautifully woven of strips of the inner bark of the Eucalypti, and lined with finer strips of the same or similar materials. In shape it is spherical, about four inches in diameter, with a lateral hole for an entrance. To prevent the ingress of rain the chamber is raised somewhat higher than the mouth of the hole. Mr. Gould, the Australian naturalist, speaks of these nests as very difficult to detect; they can be found, he says, only by watching for the ingress or egress of the parent birds, as the entrance is generally concealed by herbage or the overhanging roots of a tree. Why so neat a structure as the diamond-sparrow’s nest should be constructed at the end of a gallery or tunnel, into which no light can possibly enter, is beyond comprehension; it is one of those wonderful results of instinct so often brought before us in the economy of the animal kingdom, without our being able to explain them. The diamond-sparrow rears two broods, of four or five each, in the course of the year. Its song or call is a rather harsh, piping note of two syllables, frequently repeated.
The great difficulty which besets the Australian explorer is the want of water. He travels day after day across open grassy plains, relieved by few variations of surface, except the sand ridges, to meet with neither spring nor watercourse. Sometimes he comes upon the native wells, but these, very frequently, are dry or almost dry; he digs well after well himself, but no water rises. Colonel Warburton’s party suffered severely from this deficiency. They met with much trouble, moreover, through the straying of their camels. Thus, one evening, “Charley,” who acted as camel-herd, reported that they had run away southward. He traced their tracks for several miles, and observed that one camel had broken its hobbles. [302] Halleem, the Afghan camel-driver, then mounted the Colonel’s riding camel, “Hosee,” and started in search of them at five o’clock on a Sunday evening. He was to push on for five or six miles, then camp for the night, and at dawn follow up the tracks vigorously, so as to overtake the truants, and return by mid-day.
Monday came, but Halleem and the camels came not with it. Sahleh, who had been exploring in the vicinity of the camp with a gun, returned in the evening with the startling information that he had seen Hosee’s return track, coming near the camp, and then striking off in a north-easterly direction. Colonel Warburton now also learned for the first time that Halleem was occasionally subject to fits, and that while they lasted he knew not what he was doing or where he was going. It was evident that such a man ought not to have been trusted alone, and it became a question whether Halleem had lost his camel or his wits; the latter seemed more probable, as Hosee, if he had come near the other camels, would certainly have joined them.
Next day, Monday, July 22nd, the Colonel writes:—“I sent my son and Charley with a week’s provisions on our back tracks, to try for Halleem first; but, in the event of not finding his foot tracks, to continue on, and endeavour to recover the camels. Lewis also went in the other direction, to run up Hosee’s tracks; so that I hoped that by one or other of these means I should learn what had become of Halleem. Unfortunately, Lewis, supposing he had only a few hours’ work, took neither food nor water. Now, 6 p.m., it is beginning to rain, and Lewis has not returned. I know he will stick to the tracks as long as he can, but I wish he were back; if Halleem be demented, he may urge the camel on sixty or seventy miles without stopping, and thus get a start in his mad career that will make it impossible for Lewis to help him.
“23rd. It has rained lightly all night. Lewis is still absent; I am greatly grieved at his having nothing to eat.
“1 p.m. Lewis returned; he had camped with Richard, and so was all right.
“It appears from his report that Sahleh, whilst out ‘birding,’ must have stumbled upon a mare’s nest, for Lewis soon abandoned the track he started on, and turned after Richard to find Halleem’s first camp. They did not find this, but they fell on his tracks of next day, steadily following the runaway camels; it is clear, therefore, that Sahleh has done his countryman some injustice, and caused much unnecessary alarm. . . . Richard returned, having seen Halleem, and promised to take out provisions to meet him on his return.
“26th. Sahleh shot an emu (Dromaius Novoe Hollandicæ), a welcome addition to our larder. Every scrap of this bird was eaten up, except the feathers. The liver is a great delicacy, and the flesh by no means unpalatable.
“27th and 28th. Sent provisions to Ethel Creek for Halleem.
“29th. The camel-hunters returned in the evening, but without the camels. This is a double loss; the camels are gone, and so is our time; our means of locomotion are much reduced, whilst the necessity of getting on is greatly increased. Halleem has, however, done all he could do; he followed the camels nearly one hundred miles, but as they travelled night and day, whilst he could only track them by day, he never could have overtaken them. No doubt these animals will go back to Beltana, where alarm will be created as soon as they are recognized as belonging to our party.”
Such is the Colonel’s simple, unaffected account of what was really an annoying and perplexing incident.
At this date (July 29th) the explorers had accomplished seventeen hundred miles. The country continued to present the same general features—plains yellow with porcupine-grass, alternating with low hills of sand; but as they advanced, the sand-hills became more numerous, and among them lay numerous half-dry salt lagoons of a particularly cheerless aspect. Dense spinifex—high, steep sand-ridges, with timber in the flats, and nothing for the camels to eat but low scrubby bushes;—that horses should cross such a region is obviously impossible. The want of water again became urgent. From the burnt ground clouds of dust and sand were thrown up by the wind, almost choking the travellers, and intensifying their thirst. They were temporarily relieved by coming upon a native well. But the country still wore the same cheerless aspect of inhospitality; the desolate arid plain extended in every region—a desert of sand, which wearied the travellers by its monotony. Even when they arrived at the so-called basaltic hills, there was no water, no sign of green and pleasant vegetation. It was quite an excitement when, for the first time, they descried some flock-pigeons. The birds were very wild, and they could kill only three or four, but they were excellent eating, and made quite a dainty dish. Soon after this cheerful episode, Lewis, who had been sent on a short excursion south in quest of water, returned with intelligence of an Eden oasis which he had discovered in the wilderness. A beautiful clump of large gum trees flourished at the bottom of a small creek, which was hemmed in by a high sand-hill, and afterwards broke through a rocky ridge sprinkled with fine, clear, deep water-holes, one hundred feet in circumference. The rich green foliage of the gum trees contrasted vividly with the red sand-hills on either side, and the bare rocky barrier in front. To this delightful spot of greenery, bustard, bronze-wing pigeons, owls, and other birds resorted.
Colonel Warburton, however, was averse to retrace his steps, even to enjoy a halt in such an “earthly paradise;” and, pushing forward, was rewarded for his persistency by discovering a fine large lake of fresh water, haunted by ducks, flock-pigeons, and parrots. He halted on its borders for a couple of days.
Of the bronze-wing pigeon, to which allusion has just been made, it may be affirmed that it prevails in every part of Australia. In some individuals the forehead is brown, in others buff white; the crown of the head and occiput, dark brown, shading into plum colour; sides of the neck, grey; upper surface of the body, brown, each feather edged with tawny brown; wings, brown, with an oblong spot of lustrous bronze on the coverts; the tail feathers, deep grey, with a black band near the tip, except the two central, which are brown; under surface of the wing, ferruginous; breast, deep wine-colour, passing into grey on the under parts; bill, blackish grey; legs and feet, carmine red. It is a plump, heavy bird, and, when in good condition, weighs nearly a pound. Its favourite haunts are the dry hot plains, among the bushes or “scrub.” Its speed is very surprising; in an incredibly short time it traverses a great expanse of country. Before sunrise it may be seen in full flight across the plain, directing its course towards the creeks, where it quenches its thirst. The traveller who knows its habits can, by observing it, determine, even in the most arid places, whether water is near at hand; if he descry it wending its way from all quarters towards a given point, he may rest assured that there he will obtain the welcome draught he seeks. Mr. Gould says that it feeds entirely upon the ground, where it finds the varieties of leguminous seeds that constitute its food. It breeds during August and the four following months, that is, in the Australian spring and summer, and often rears two or more broods. Its nest is a frail structure of small twigs, rather hollow in form; and is generally placed on the horizontal branch of an apple or gum tree, near the ground. On one occasion, Mr. Gould, during a long drought, was encamped at the northern extremity of the Brezi range, where he had daily opportunities of observing the arrival of the bronze-wing to drink. The only water for miles around lay in the vicinity of his tent, though that was merely the scanty supply left in a few small rocky basins by the rains of many months before. Hence, he enjoyed an excellent opportunity for observing not only the bronze-wing, but all the other birds of the neighbourhood. Few, if any, of the true insectivorous or fissirostral birds came to the water-holes; but, on the other hand, the species that live upon grain and seeds, particularly the parrots and honey-eaters (Trichoglossi and Meliphagi), rushed down incessantly to the margins of the pools, heedless of the naturalist’s presence, their sense of peril vanquished temporarily by their sense of thirst. The bronze-wing, however, seldom appeared during the heat of the day; it was at sunset that, with the swiftness of an arrow, it rushed towards the watering-place. It did not descend at once, says Mr. Gould, to the brink of the pool, but dashed down upon the ground at about ten yards’ distance, remained quiet for a while until satisfied of its safety, and then leisurely walked to the water. After deep and frequent draughts, it retired, winging its way towards its secluded nest.
Just before reaching the lake, the Colonel’s party made a capture, a young native woman; and they detained her in order that she might guide them to the native wells. On the 1st of September, however, she effected her escape by gnawing through a thick hair-rope, with which she had been fastened to a tree.
Spinifex and sand resumed their predominance as the travellers left the lake behind them. The heat was very great, and crossing the hot sand and the steep hills was trying work. On the 12th, they rejoiced in the discovery of some excellent wells. Then again came spinifex and sand-hills. These troublesome ridges varied considerably in height and in distance from one another; but their elevation seldom exceeded eighty feet, and the space between them was not often more than three hundred yards. They lay parallel to one another, running from east to west; so that while going either eastward or westward the travellers could keep in the intervening hollows, and travel with comparative facility, but when compelled to cross them at a great angle, the feet of the camels ploughed deep in the sand, and the strain upon the poor animals was terrible. Yet the Australian waste is, after all, less wearisome than the sandy deserts of Nubia or the great Sahara; it is sadly deficient in water, but the sand-hills disguise their inhospitality with many varieties of shrubs and flowers, as well as with acacias and gum trees. The shrubs are not edible, and the trees are of no value as timber, but they serve to hide the nakedness of the land.
A grave danger beset them on the 15th. Their master bull (or male) camel had eaten poison, and fell ill; he was of immense value to the travellers, not only on account of his great strength, but because without his help it would be almost impossible to keep the young bulls in order, and they might elope with all the ewe (or female) camels. They administered to him a bottle of mustard in a quart of water—the only available medicine—but without any beneficial effect. In every herd of camels, it is necessary to explain, is found a master bull, who, by his strength, preserves order among his young brethren. These gay cavaliers are always desirous of a harem to themselves; and, if allowed an opportunity, would cut off three or four cows from the herd, and at full speed drive them for hundreds of miles. They are quiet only while under subjection to the master bull, and become intractable if, through illness or accident, his supremacy should be relaxed. Colonel Warburton was surprised at the marvellous instinct of the young bulls in his little camel harem; they knew that their master was ailing almost before the camel-men did, and at once showed signs of insubordination, so that it was necessary to watch them by night and to knee-halter them.
The old camel did not improve, and on the 16th the Colonel was compelled to abandon him. Three misfortunes followed: on the 17th two riding camels were taken ill, having been struck in the loins by the night wind; and on the 18th the same fate befell Richard Warburton’s riding camel. Thus, in three days the travellers lost four camels. They endeavoured to make some profit out of the misadventure by “curing” a quantity of camel-meat. The inner portions of the animal were first eaten—not the liver and other dainty parts only, but the whole; every single scrap was carefully consumed, not a shred was wasted. Then, head, feet, hide, tail, all went into the boiling pot. Even the very bones were stewed down, for soup first, and afterwards for the sake of the marrow they contained. The flesh was cut into thin flat strips, and hung upon the bushes for three days to be dried by the sun. The tough thick hide was cut up and parboiled, the coarse hair scraped off with a knife, and the leathery substance replaced in the pot and stewed until, both as to flavour and savour, it bore a disagreeable resemblance to the inside of a carpenter’s glue-pot. As may be supposed, such a dish as this was not so nutritious as the roast beef (or mutton) of Old England; but it stifled for a while the cry of an empty stomach. The attack next fell upon the head, which was speedily reduced to a polished skull. As for the foot, like cow-heel or sheep’s trotters, it was looked upon as a delicacy, and its preparation was a marvel of culinary skill. First, a good fire was lighted, and allowed to burn down to bright red embers, while the foot, severed at the hock, was scraped and singed as thoroughly as time permitted. The foot was thrust into the glowing coals, burnt for some considerable time, removed, placed on its side on the ground, and deprived of its tough horny sole. After this elaborate series of operations, the reader will doubtless suppose that the delicacy is fit for the table. Not a bit of it! It must be placed in a bucket of water, and kept steadily boiling for six and thirty hours; then, and then only, may it be served up. On the whole, we should not consider it a dish for a hungry man.
The 21st of September was the anniversary of their departure from Adelaide. Two of the party went out on camels to search for water, and two, in a different direction, on foot. As they had only two riding camels left, and these in a weak condition, they threw away their tents, and most of their private property, retaining only their guns and ammunition, and clothing enough for decency. Happily, one of the reconnoitring parties found a well, to which the travellers at once proceeded, and watered the thirsty, weary camels.
After a three days’ halt they resumed their advance, but moved very slowly. They were sick and feeble, and the country was difficult to traverse. Another camel had to be abandoned; so that out of seventeen animals, only eight remained. A plague of insects was added to their troubles. Not only did clouds of common flies buzz and worry around them, and legions of ants assail them, but the Australian bee, or honey-fly, tormented them by its pertinacious adhesion to their persons—an unwelcome adhesion, as it is famed for its intolerable smell. To get water they were again compelled to wander from the direct route, and at one time they descended as far south as lat. 20° 2′. Hence they began to suffer from want of provisions, and a grim alternative faced them: if they pressed forward, they ran the chance of losing their camels and dying of thirst; if they halted, they could hope only to prolong their lives on sun-dried camel flesh.
On the 3rd of October their condition was critical. The improvident Afghans, having consumed all their flour and meat, had to be supplied from the scanty rations of the white men, and Colonel Warburton resolved that if water were but once more found, so that he might not be compelled to retrace his steps, he would at all risks push forward to the river Oakover. Another riding camel broke down, and was killed for meat. A well was discovered, but the supply of water was so small that only one bucketful could be obtained in three hours, and on the second day it ran dry. On the 8th, having slightly recruited their animals, the undaunted travellers again moved forward; but one of the camels was still so feeble that Colonel Warburton and his son took it in turns to walk. The Colonel had the first stage, and, owing to stoppages from loads slipping off at the sand-hills, he soon struck ahead of the camels. Suddenly, hearing a noise behind him, he turned;—nine armed blacks were rushing full upon him! He halted to confront them, and they too stopped, at fifteen yards apart; two of them, in bravado, poised their spears, but, on his advancing pistol in hand, immediately lowered them, and a parley followed, in which, however, as neither understood the other’s language, there was very little edification.
The blacks were all chattering round him, when he heard a shot, as he supposed, on his “right front.” In reality it was fired from quite an opposite direction; but he was unwilling to answer the signal, because he did not wish to lose one of the three charges of his pistol. Moreover, the natives might have supposed that the single discharge had exhausted his resources, and have made an attack upon him. He accompanied them to their camp, and got a little water. The women and children would not approach him, but, thanks to his grey beard, the men similarly equipped welcomed him readily. There was a general passing of hands over each other’s beards—a sign of friendship, it is to be presumed; for, after this little ceremony, the intercourse was conducted on the most amicable terms. Eventually the Colonel resumed his walk across the hot glaring sand-hills, until he thought he had covered the required distance, and that the camels would soon overtake him; then he stopped, lighted a fire, smoked a pipe, and would have indulged in a short nap, had the ants been agreeable. Finding that sleep was impossible, he resolved on returning to the camp of the blacks for some more water; but, at that moment, his son and Lewis arrived with Charley, who had followed up his tracks, and he found that he must retrace his steps, having gone astray. Exhausted by heat, hunger, and fatigue, he could scarcely stagger along; but his companions supported his tottering feet, and in the evening he reached their encampment.
A good supply of water had been discovered, and, notwithstanding the alarming scarcity of provisions, it was indispensable that they should halt by it for some days, in order to give the camels an opportunity of partially recovering their strength. Without them the explorers could hardly hope to cross the wide and weary wilderness in which they were involved. Their rapidly diminishing store of food they endeavoured to eke out by killing such feathered spoil as came within their range—Gular parrots, and bronze-wing and top-knot pigeons—and by a mess of boiled salt-plant (Salicornia). On the 14th they resumed their weary march.
An entry or two from Colonel Warburton’s journal will afford a vivid idea of his distressed condition at this period:—
“19th. This is Sunday. How unlike one at home! Half a quart of flour and water at four a.m.; a hard, sinewy bit of raw, that is, sun-dried, but uncooked, camel-meat for dinner at two p.m.; supper uncertain, perhaps some roasted acacia seeds: this is our bill of fare. These seeds are not bad, but very small and very hard; they are on bushes, not trees, and the natives use them roasted and pounded.
“20th. Got a pigeon; and some flour and water for breakfast. We can only allow ourselves a spoonful of flour each at a time, and it won’t last many days even at this rate.
“Killed a large camel for food at sunset. We would rather have killed a worse one, but this bull had, in the early part of our journey, got a very bad back, and was unable to work for a long time. . . .
“21st. Cutting up and jerking camel-meat. The inside has given us a good supper and breakfast. This is a much better beast than the old, worn-out cow we killed before, and we have utilized every scrap, having had a sharp lesson as to the value of anything we can masticate. . . .
“25th. All the camel-meat has been successfully jerked, and we have lived since the 20th on bone-broth and gristle. The birds were getting shy, so when we killed the camel we gave them a rest; to-day we go at them again. I hope the water-searchers will return this evening; our prospects are not very bright under any circumstances, but if we get water anywhere between south and west we shall have a prospect of overcoming the difficulties and dangers that threaten us. . . .
“29th. A short rain squall passed over us last evening; it has cooled the ground a little. Economy is, of course, the order of the day in provisions. My son and I have managed to hoard up about one pound of flour and a pinch of tea; all our sugar is gone. Now and then we afford ourselves a couple of spoonfuls of flour, made into paste. When we indulge in tea the leaves are boiled twice over. I eat my sun-dried camel-meat uncooked, as far as I can bite it; what I cannot bite goes into the quart pot, and is boiled down to a sort of poor-house broth. When we get a bird we dare not clean it, lest we should lose anything.
“More disasters this morning. One of our largest camels very ill; the only thing we could do for it was to pound four boxes of Holloway’s pills, and drench the animal. . . . One of the Afghans apparently wrong in his head. . . . In the evening the camel was still very sick.”
The animal, however, was better on the following day, and the expedition again toiled onward across the sands. Very troublesome were the ants, which seemed to have undertaken a deliberate campaign against the much-suffering travellers. They were small black ants, and in such numbers that a stamp of the foot on the ground started them in thousands. When the wearied men flung themselves down in the shade of a bush to obtain the solace of half an hour’s sleep, these pestilent persecutors attacked them, making their way through their scanty clothing, and dealing sharp painful nips with their strong mandibles.
On the evening of the 1st of November, they began their “rush” or forced march for the Oakover river, and across the wearisome sand-hills actually accomplished five and twenty miles. Colonel Warburton then felt unable to continue the journey, thirst, famine, and fatigue having reduced him to a skeleton, while such was his weakness that he could scarcely rise from the ground, or when up, stagger half a dozen steps forward. “Charley” had been absent all day, and when he did not return at sunset, much alarm was felt about him. The Colonel knew not what to do. Delay meant ruin to them all, considering their want of food and water; yet to leave the camp without the Colonel seemed inhuman, as it was dooming him to certain death. Until nine o’clock in the evening they waited. Then a start was made, but before they had gone eight miles, the poor lad joined them. Notwithstanding the fatigue of the previous night’s travelling, the lad had actually walked about twenty miles; he had fallen in with a large party of natives, and accompanied them to their water. “It may, I think, be admitted,” says Colonel Warburton, “that the hand of Providence was distinctly visible in this instance.”—Is it not in every instance?—“I had deferred starting until nine p.m., to give the absent boy the chance of regaining the camp. It turned out afterwards that if we had expedited our departure by ten minutes, or postponed it for the same length of time, Charley would have crossed us; and had this happened, there is little doubt that not only myself, but probably other members of the expedition, would have perished from thirst. The route pursued by us was at right angles with the course pursued by the boy, and the chances of our stumbling up against each other in the dark were infinitesimally small. Providence mercifully ordered it otherwise, and our departure was so timed that, after travelling from two to two hours and a half, when all hope of the recovery of the wanderer was almost abandoned, I was gladdened by the ‘cooee’ of the brave lad, whose keen ears had caught the sound of the bells attached to the camels’ necks. To the energy and courage of this untutored native may, under the guidance of the Almighty, be attributed the salvation of the party. It was by no accident that he encountered the friendly well. For fourteen miles he followed up the tracks of some blacks, though fatigued by a day of severe work, and, receiving a kindly welcome from the natives, he had hurried back, unmindful of his own exhausted condition, to apprise his companions of the important discovery he had made.”
At the native camp, Colonel Warburton’s party obtained some kangaroo meat, and a good supply of fresh water. They rested for twenty-four hours, and the repose and the food together temporarily reinvigorated them. At this time their position was lat. 20° 41′, and long. 122° 30′; so that they were only three days’ journey from the Oakover. Forward they went, the country still presenting the two main features of sand and spinifex; forward they went, over the cheerless, monotonous plains, broken by sand ridges; growing weaker every day, but losing not one jot of hope or resolution. The annals of travel present few examples of more heroic tenacity and persistent purpose; few records of suffering more patiently borne, or of obstacles more steadfastly overcome. The highest energy, perseverance, and fortitude were necessary to the leader of an exploring expedition through so forlorn a wilderness, and these were never wanting on the part of Colonel Warburton, whose name, amongst the pioneers of civilization in Australia, must always be held in honour.
On the 11th of November, the seven members of the expedition were living wholly on sun-dried strips of meat, as devoid of nutriment as they were of taste; and as these were almost exhausted, they had to consider the probability of having to sacrifice another camel. They had no salt—a terrible deprivation; no flour, tea, or sugar. Next day, they were surrounded by sand-hills, and no water was visible anywhere. It was certain that, unless some providentially opportune help arrived, they could not live more than twenty-four hours; for the burning heat and the terrible country could not be endured without water. Not a snake, kite, or crow could they discover; one little bird, the size of a sparrow, was all that their guns could procure. Writing in his journal, the Colonel calmly says:—“We have tried to do our duty, and have been disappointed in all our expectations. I have been in excellent health during the whole journey, and am so still, being merely worn out from want of food and water. Let no self-reproaches afflict any one respecting me. I undertook the journey for the benefit of my family, and was quite equal to it under all the circumstances that could reasonably be anticipated, but difficulties and losses have come upon us so thickly for the last few months that we have not been able to move; thus our provisions are gone, but this would not have stopped us could we have found water without such laborious search. The country is terrible. I do not believe men ever traversed so vast an extent of continuous desert.”
Early on the 14th Charley sighted in the distance a native camp, and while the remainder of the party, with the camels, kept out of sight, he advanced alone towards it. The blacks received him kindly and gave him water, but when he “cooed” for the party to come up, they seem to have thought he had entrapped them, and instantly speared him in the back and arm, cut his skull with a tomahawk, and nearly broke his jaw. After perpetrating this cruelty, they fled ignominiously. Colonel Warburton took possession of the fire they had kindled, and rejoiced at obtaining water. Charley’s wounds were serious, but they were bound up as carefully as circumstances permitted, and it is satisfactory to state that he recovered from them. Another camel was killed, and Charley was nursed upon soup. This supply of meat enabled the expedition to continue its march towards the Oakover, which receded apparently as they advanced; and they toiled onward painfully, with the hot sun and hot wind exhausting their small resource of energy, the ants tormenting them at night, the sand and spinifex oppressing them by their monotony. On the 25th, to save themselves from starvation, they killed another camel, and all hands were employed in cutting up and jerking the meat. At last, on the 4th of December, they camped on a rocky creek, tributary to the Oakover, and were able to take leave of the dreadful desert which had so long hemmed them in on every side. Their spirits revived, for there was no longer a scarcity of water and they hoped that the river would supply them with the means of subsistence.
But they had soon reason to feel that their difficulties were not all at an end. It was pleasant to look on the beautiful trees and profuse vegetation of the creek, but the charms of nature will not satisfy stomachs that have had no food for two days. So, on the evening of the 6th, a third camel was killed. Next day a few small fish were caught; they were greatly relished, and proved of real benefit. The 8th was happily marked by another banquet of fish; but as they had no net or fishing apparatus, it was by no means easy work to catch them. Still, the travellers did not grow stronger; want of rest and of wholesome food, and the strain of continuous exertion and anxiety for so long a period, had undermined the whole system, and they could not rally.
On the 11th they struck the Oakover in lat. 21° 11′ 23″. This must be a noble river, writes the Colonel, when the floods come down. The bed is wide and gravelly, fringed with magnificent cajeput or paper-bark trees. How grateful was its lovely and shady refuge from the hot fierce sun after the terrible sand-hills among which the travellers had wandered so long!
On the 13th Lewis and an Afghan driver, on the only two camels that could travel, were sent forward to search for the station of Messrs. Harper and Co., and procure some help both in food and carriage. During his absence the Colonel and his companions lived, to use an expressive phrase, from hand to mouth. They could not get the fish to bite; but one day Richard Warburton shot a teal, and they rescued from the talons of a hawk a fine black duck, which supplied them with a splendid dinner. They were compelled, however, to fall back upon their last camel, though he was so lean and worn-out that he did not cut up well. On the 23rd they rejoiced in the capture of a couple of wood-ducks, and they also secured a little honey—a delightful novelty for persons who for many weeks had been deprived of the strengthening and useful properties of sugar. Still, these occasional “tidbits” could not supply the want of regular and nutritious food; and all the travellers could hope for was to stave off actual famine. Day after day passed by, and Lewis did not return. Colonel Warburton had calculated that he would be absent about fourteen days; but the seventeenth came, and yet there was no sign of Lewis. Writing in his journal, Colonel Warburton, on December 20th, sums up his position in a few pithy and pregnant sentences:—“We have abundance of water, a little tobacco, and a few bits of dried camel. Occasionally an iguana or a cockatoo enlivens our fare; and, lastly, I hope the late rain will bring up some thistles or some pig-weed that we can eat. Our difficulties are, to make our meat last, though, so far from doing us good, we are all afflicted with scurvy, diarrhoea, and affection of the kidneys from the use of it. We cannot catch the fish; we cannot find opossums or snakes; the birds won’t sit down by us, and we can’t get up to go to them. We thought we should have no difficulty in feeding ourselves on the river, but it turns out that, from one cause or another, we can get very little, and we are daily dropping down a peg or two lower.” But a few hours after making this entry, the Colonel’s long period of suffering and anxiety was at an end. He and his son were lying down near the little hut of boughs which they had constructed as a shelter, and listlessly eyeing the boy Charley, who had climbed a tree to look for honey, when they were startled by his cry—whether a yell of pain or shout of joy, it was impossible to determine. But in a moment the cause of his emotion was satisfactorily explained; out from the thick brushwood trotted a string of six horses, driven by the gallant Mr. Lewis, accompanied by another white man from a station on the De Grey river. They brought an ample supply of nutritious food, and on the following day some additional stores came up on camels. Mr. Lewis’s apparent delay was soon explained; the station, which belonged to Messrs. Grant, Harper, and Anderson, was one hundred and seventy miles distant.
On the 3rd of January Colonel Warburton started down the river. For the first few days he had to be lifted on his horse’s back, but with good food and moderate exercise he regained something of his old strength, and the journey to the station was accomplished in a week and a day. Ten days were then given to rest under the hospitable roof of Messrs. Grant, and on the 21st he started for Roebourne, one hundred and seventy miles further, arriving there on the 26th. His after stages were Lepack, Fremantle, Perth, Albany. At Glenelg, in South Australia, the Colonel and his companions arrived on Easter Sunday, having travelled by land four thousand miles, and by sea two thousand miles.
The casualties are quickly recorded: the Colonel lost the sight of one eye, and his son’s health was seriously shaken. Out of seventeen camels, only two arrived safely at the station on the De Grey river.
It is almost needless to say that everywhere in West Australia Colonel Warburton was received with the public honours due to a man who has courageously and successfully accomplished a work of equal difficulty and danger. He was entertained in the most generous and cordial manner, and the high utility of his labours was liberally acknowledged. On his return to South Australia he met, of course, with an enthusiastic welcome. A great banquet was given to the explorers, and the Legislative Assembly voted the sum of £1000 to the leader, and £500 to be divided among the subordinates. In 1874 the Royal Geographical Society of London conferred upon him its gold medal, and a few months later the Queen appointed him a Companion of the Order of St. Michael and St. George.
Here closes a simple but stirring narrative, of which it is not, perhaps, too much to say, as has been said, that scarcely has a record of terrible suffering more nobly borne been given to the world. Hunger and thirst, intense physical exhaustion, the burning heat of a tropic sun, the glowing sands of an arid desert—not a single circumstance was wanting that could test the heroic endurance and patient heroism of the explorers. The country through which they toiled day after day was barren, inhospitable, desolate; a wilderness of coarse yellow herbage, a sombre waste of sand-hills. Their hearts were never cheered by bright glimpses of gorgeous scenery, of forests clothed with magnificent vegetation, of rivers pouring their ample waters through sylvan valleys; everywhere the landscape was melancholy and unprofitable. He who, with his life in his hand, penetrates the frozen recesses of the Polar World, and dares its storms of snow and its icy winds, has at least the inspiration to support him that springs from the grandeur of huge cliffs of ice and vast glaciers and white-gleaming peaks outlined against a deep blue sky. But in the wide Australian interior the landscape is always marked by the same monotony of dreariness, the same uniformity of gloom; and it tests and taxes the traveller’s energies to rise superior to its depressing influences.
The reader, therefore, will feel that “the Municipal Council and inhabitants of Fremantle” used no language of undeserved eulogy when, in their address of welcome to Colonel Egerton Warburton, they said—
“The difficulties to be overcome in the work of Australian exploration are acknowledged to be as formidable as are to be found in any part of our globe, and to meet these difficulties requires a combination of intelligence, energy, perseverance, and fortitude that few men possess; and the fact that you have surmounted all obstacles, and borne up under so many privations, has awakened in all our minds the deepest feelings of gratitude and admiration.” [324]
That vast and various region of sandy deserts and fertile valleys, of broad open plains and lofty highlands, which extends eastward from the Caspian Sea to the borders of Afghanistan, and from Persia northward to the confines of Siberia, is known to geographers by the name of Turkistan, or “the country of the Turks.” Across it, from north to south, strikes the massive chain of the Bolor-tagh, dividing it into two unequal portions. The western division is popularly known as Independent Tartary, or Great Bokhara; it covers an area of nearly 900,000 square miles—that is, it is ten times as large as Great Britain—and it consists of the arid sandy plain of the Caspian and Aral Seas, and of the hilly districts which skirt the ranges of the Bolor-Tagh, the Thian-Shan, and the Hindu Kush. The eastern division, or Upper Tartary, probably contains 700,000 square miles, and extends from Asiatic Russia on the north to Thibet and Kashmir on the south, from Mongolia on the east to the Bolor-Tagh on the west. The Thian-Shan separates its two provinces, which the Chinese call Thian-Shan-Pe-lû and Thian-Shan-Nan-lû. The reader’s attention, however, will be here directed only to Western Turkistan, which is divided into the Khanates of Khokan (north-east), Badakshan (south-east), Bokhara (east), and Khiva (west). To the north stretch the steppes of the nomadic Kirghiz; to the south the hills and dales are occupied by the hordes of the Turkomans. Its two great rivers are the Amu-Daria and the Syr-Daria, the ancient Oxus and Jaxartes,—the former traversing the centre, and the latter the south of the district, on their way to the great Arabian Sea; and the valleys through which they flow, as well as those of their tributary streams, are mostly fertile and pleasant. As might be inferred from the character of the country, the chief resources of the population are the breeding of domestic animals, and the cultivation of the soil; but in the towns of Khokand, Bokhara, Urgondji, and Karshi, a brisk manufacturing industry flourishes, which disposes of its surplus produce, after the local demand is satisfied, to the merchants of Russia, Persia, India, and China.
Since 1864, the supremacy of Russia has been steadily advancing in Western Turkistan. In ordinary circumstances, the extension of the power of a civilized nation over a number of semi-barbarous states, constantly engaged in internecine warfare, is regarded as a just and legitimate movement, or, at all events, as one that is inevitable and calls for no expression of regret; but the eastward progress of Russia has long been considered, by a large party in England, as a menace to the safety of our Indian empire. Every fresh step of the Russian armies has therefore excited alarm or created suspicion among those who are known as Russophobists. How far their fear or their mistrust is justifiable or dignified it is not our business in these pages to inquire; but it has been necessary to allude to it because it was this Russophobism which impelled Major (then Captain) Burnaby to undertake the difficult, if not dangerous, task of visiting Western Turkistan, that he might see with his own eyes what the Russians were doing there. The Russians had recently conquered Khokand and Khiva; it was thought they were preparing for further annexations; and Major Burnaby determined on an effort to reach Khiva, which during the Russian campaign had been visited, as we have seen, by Mr. MacGahan, the war correspondent of the New York Herald. Having obtained leave of absence from his regiment, the Royal Horse Guards, Major Burnaby rapidly equipped himself for his adventurous journey. He was well aware that the Russian authorities did not welcome the inquisitive eyes of English travellers, and that from them he could expect no assistance. His confidence in his resources, however, was great; he felt totus in se ipso; and he did not intend to be baffled in his object by anything but sheer force. The climate was another difficulty. The cold of the Kirghiz desert is a thing unknown in any other part of the world, even in the Arctic wastes and wildernesses; and he would have to traverse on horseback an enormous expanse of flat country, extending for hundreds of miles, and devoid of everything save snow and salt-lakes, and here and there the species of bramble-tree called saxaul. The inhabitants of Western Europe can form no conception of the force of the winds in Turkistan. They grumble at the pungent, irritating east; but they little imagine what it is like in countries exposed to the awful vehemence of its first onset, before its rigour has been mitigated by the kindly ocean, and where its wild career is unimpeded by trees or rising land, by hills or mountains. Uninterruptedly it blows over dreary leagues of snow and salt, absorbing the saline matter, and blighting or almost gashing the faces of those unfortunates who are exposed to its fury. But no fear of the east wind prevailed over Major Burnaby’s patriotic curiosity. He provided against it as best he could: warm were the garments specially made for him; his boots were lined with fur; his hose were the thickest Scottish fishing stockings; his jerseys and flannel shirts of the thickest possible texture; and he ordered for himself a waterproof and airproof sleeping-bag, seven feet and a half long, and two feet round. A large aperture was left on one side, so that the traveller might take up his quarters in the interior, and sleep well protected from the wintry blasts. For defensive purposes he took with him his rifle, a revolver, cartridges, and ball. His cooking apparatus consisted of a couple of soldier’s mess-tins. A trooper’s hold-all, with its accompanying knife, fork, and spoon, completed his kit; and, by way of instruments, he carried a thermometer, a barometer, and a pocket sextant.
On the 30th of November, 1875, Major Burnaby left London. He arrived at St. Petersburg on the 3rd of December, and immediately set to work to obtain the necessary authorization for his proposed journey, which he defined as a tour to India viâ Khiva, Merv, and Kabul; in other words, across Central Asia and Afghanistan. All that he did obtain was a communication to the effect that the commandants in Russian Asia had received orders to assist him in travelling through the territory under their command, but that the Imperial Government could not acquiesce in his extending his journey beyond its boundaries, as it could not answer for the security or the lives of travellers except within the Emperor’s dominions—a self-evident fact. The reply was evidently intended to discourage Major Burnaby; but Major Burnaby was not to be discouraged. It is not in the English character to be daunted by a consideration of prospective or possible dangers; certainly, it is not in the character of English officers. So the adventurous guardsman started by railway for Orenburg, the great centre and depôt of Central Asiatic traffic. At Riajsk he obtained a vivid illustration of the heterogeneous character of the Russian empire, the waiting-room being crowded with representatives of different nationalities. Here stalked a Tartar merchant in a long parti-coloured gown, a pair of high boots, and a small yellow fez. There a fur trader, in a greasy-looking black coat, clutched his small leather bag of coin. Here an old Bokharan, in flowing robes, was lulled by opium into a temporary forgetfulness of his troubles. There Russian peasants moved to and fro, with well-knit frames, clad in untanned leather, which was bound about their loins by narrow leather belts, studded with buttons of brass and silver. Europe and Asia met together in the waiting-room at Riajsk station.
The railway went no further than Sizeran, where Major Burnaby and a Russian gentleman hired a troika, or three-horse sleigh, to take them to Samara. The distance was about eighty-five miles; but as the thermometer marked 20° below zero (R.), the travellers found it necessary to make formidable preparations. First they donned three pairs of the thickest stockings, drawn up high above the knee; next, over these, a pair of fur-lined low shoes, which in their turn were inserted into leather goloshes; and, finally, over all, a pair of enormously thick boots. Allow for extra thick drawers and a pair of massive trousers; and add a heavy flannel under-shirt, a shirt covered by a thick wadded waistcoat and coat, and an external wrap in the form of a large shuba, or fur pelisse, reaching to the heels; and you may suppose that the protection against the cold was tolerably complete. The head was guarded with a fur cap and vashlik, i.e. a kind of conical cloth headpiece made to cover the cap, and having two long ends tied round the throat. Thus accoutred, the travellers took their places in the troika, which, drawn by three horses harnessed abreast, and with jingling bell, rapidly descended the hill, and dashed on to the frozen surface of the river Volga. Along the solid highway furnished by the ice-bound stream, past frozen-in shipping and sledges loaded with various kinds of wares, sped the troika; sometimes, in its turn, outstripped by other troikas,—drivers and passengers all alike white with glittering hoar-frost, until they seemed a company of grey-beards. The solid river flashed like a burnished cuirass in the rays of the morning. Here the scene was varied by a group of strangely patterned blocks and pillars; there a fountain gracefully shooting upwards with shapely Ionic and Doric columns, reflected a myriad prismatic hues from its diamond-like stalactites. Here a broken Gothic arch overhung the shining highway; there an Egyptian obelisk lay half buried beneath the snow. Such were the fantastic shapes into which the strong wind had moulded the ice as it was rapidly formed.
Regaining the main road, Major Burnaby and his companion sped on towards Samara. Their first halting-place was a farmhouse, called Nijny Pegersky Hootor, twenty-five versts from Sizeran, where some men were winnowing corn after a fashion of antediluvian simplicity. Throwing the corn high up into the air with a shovel, they allowed the wind to blow away the husks, and the grain fell upon a carpet laid out to catch it. As for the farmhouse, it was a square wooden building, containing two low but spacious rooms. A large stove of dried clay was so placed as to warm both apartments; and above it, a platform of boards, not more than three feet from the ceiling, supplied the family with sleeping accommodation. On the outside of the building a heavy wooden door opened into a small portico, at one end of which stood the obraz, or image—as usual an appendage to a Russian house, as were the Lares and Penates, or household gods, to a Roman house. The obrazye are made of different patterns, but usually represent a saint or the Trinity; they are executed in silver-gilt on brass relief, and adorned with all kinds of gewgaws.
A fresh team having been obtained, the travellers resumed their journey; but the cold had increased, the wind blew more furiously, and their suffering was severe. In thick flakes fell the constant snow, and the driver had much ado to keep the track, while the half-fed horses floundered along heavily, and frequently sank up to the traces in the gathering drift. The cracks of the whip resounded from their jaded flanks like pistol-shots. With sarcastic apostrophes the driver endeavoured to stimulate their progress:—
“Oh, sons of animals!” (whack!)
“Oh, spoiled one!” (whack!) This to a poor, attenuated brute.
“Oh, woolly ones!” (whack, whack, whack!) Here all were upset into a snow-drift, the sleigh being three-parts overturned, and the driver flung in an opposite direction.
The sleigh was righted; the travellers once more took their seats; and on through the darkening day they drove, until they came to a long straggling village, where the horses stopped before a detached cottage. Benumbed with the bitter cold, Major Burnaby and his companion dashed inside, and made haste, in front of a blazing stove, to restore the suspended circulation. Then, while the women of the house made tea in a samovar, or urn, they unfroze in the stove some cutlets and bread which they had carried with them, and proceeded to enjoy a hearty repast. In one hour’s time they were ready to start; but their driver demurred. The snowstorm was heavy; wolves prowled along the track; the river ice might give way. It was better to wait until the morning, when, with beautiful horses, they might go like birds to the next station. The two travellers could do nothing with him, and were compelled to resign themselves to pass the night on the hard boards, in an atmosphere infested by many unpleasant smells. A good hour before sunrise all were again in motion. The Major and his companion abandoned their heavy troika, and engaged two small sleighs with a pair of horses to each, one for themselves and one to carry their luggage.
It was a glorious winter morning, and the sun came forth like a bridegroom to run his course, invested with indescribable pomp of colour. First, over the whole of the eastern horizon extended a pale blue streak, which seemed, like a wall, to shut off the vast Beyond. Suddenly its summit changed into rare lapis-lazuli, while its base became a sheet of purple. From the darker lines shot wondrous waves of grey and crystal; and in time the purple foundations upheaved into glowing seas of fire. The wall broke up into castles, battlements, and towers—all with magical gleams, which gradually floated far away, while the seas of flame, lighting up the whole horizon, burst through their borders and swelled into a mighty ocean. The sight was one on which the eye of man could scarcely gaze. The sunny expanse of the winter-bound earth reflected as in a mirror the celestial panorama. Shafts of light seemed to dart in rapid succession from earth to sky, until at last the vast luminous orb of day rose from the depth of the many-coloured radiance, and with its surpassing glory put everything else to shame.
The travellers reached Samara—a well-built prosperous town, situated on a tributary of the Volga. There Major Burnaby parted from his companion, whose road thenceforward lay in a different direction, and proceeded to make his preparations for a drive across the steppes to Orenburg.
He started next morning, in a sleigh which he had purchased, and had caused to be well repaired, and took the road towards Orenburg. The country was flat and uninteresting; buried beneath a white shroud of sand, with a few trees scattered here and there, and at intervals a dreary-looking hut or two. The first post-station, for changing horses, was Smeveshlaevskaya, twenty versts (a verst is two-thirds of an English mile); the next, Bodrovsky, where Burnaby arrived a little after sunset. After drinking a few glasses of tea to fortify himself against the increasing cold (25° below zero, R.), he pushed forward in the hope of reaching Malomalisky, about twenty-six and a half versts, about nine p.m. But plunging into the heart of a terrible snowstorm, he and his driver were so blinded and beaten, and the horses so jaded by the swiftly forming snow-drifts, that he was compelled to give the order to return, and to pass the night at Bodrovsky.
At daybreak the resolute guardsman was on his way. In the course of the day he fell in with General Kryjonovsky, the governor of the Orenburg district, who was bound for St. Petersburg; and a brief conversation with him showed that the authorities, as he had suspected, by no means approved of his expedition to Khiva. At one of the stations, the man assigned to him as driver had been married only the day before, and undertook his duties with obvious reluctance. His sole desire was to return as quickly as possible to his bride, and with this intent he lashed his horses until they kicked and jumped in the most furious contortions. The Major was thrown in the air, and caught again by the rebound; upset, righted, and upset again; gun, saddle-bags, cartridge-cases, and traveller, all simultaneously flying in the air. After a third of these rough experiences, the Major resolved to try the effect of a sharp application of his boot.
“Why do you do that?” said the driver, pulling up his horse. “You hurt, you break my ribs.”
“I only do to you what you do to me,” replied the Major. “You hurt, you break my ribs, and injure my property besides.”
“Oh, sir of noble birth,” ejaculated the fellow, “it is not my fault. It is thine, oh moody one!” to his offside horse, accompanied by a crack from his whip. “It is thine, oh spoilt and cherished one!” to his other meagre and half-starved quadruped (whack!) “Oh, petted and caressed sons of animals” (whack, whack, whack!), “I will teach you to upset the gentleman.”