by Tim Flannery
The instruments were consequently packed up again and as it evidently would be extremely difficult to take the horse any farther on, I ordered Edward to secure him properly and provide him with food for the time of our absence, and then started for what we supposed, and subsequently found to be, the highest point of Mt Kosciusko. Our path led us across ravines, snowfields and extensive marshes, covered with alpine vegetation, to a little lake at the foot of the highest summit. A few hundred feet higher up and we reached the watershed between the Murray and Snowy Rivers, the one flowing towards the Indian, the other into the Pacific Ocean. Passing over some snowfields of considerable extent, we arrived at the summit (7176) at 11 a.m.; temp. 54.5°.
As the wind blew very strong from the north and rain fell occasionally in showers, I gave Edward my maps to put under shelter during the observations, and I hurried them as much as possible in order that we might yet have time to ascend the Snowy Peak, another point of Mt Kosciusko, which from its being thickly covered with snow has frequently been believed to be its highest point. Descended into a flat and made a short halt for the purpose of taking dinner, during which I learned that my friend M. de Guérard celebrated his fiftieth birthday on this very day and we accordingly drank his health.
All at once Edward recollected that he had forgotten to bring my maps with him on leaving the last hill; not much importance was attached to this at the time, as I thought it an easy matter to go and fetch them on our return. At 1 p.m. we reached the Snowy Peak (7140), but the wind was so very strong and the granite boulders, of which the summit is composed, were so piled up that I did not think it prudent to take the barometers to the top and accordingly mounted them some forty feet lower down. Temp, of boiling point 198.62°.
M. de Guérard, meanwhile, had seated himself on the summit, which affords a beautiful view of the mountainous country of New South Wales and Victoria, as well as the plains of the Murray River, and was taking a sketch of the scenery when, just as I was completing my observations, he called out that it appeared to him a heavy storm was approaching from the New South Wales side. It was apparent from the barometrical readings that the pressure of air was rapidly decreasing, and on ascending to the top I became convinced there was no time to be lost and that we must hasten our return to camp as much as possible. Before leaving, I distinctly stated to our whole party that we were seven miles distant from our camp in a NNW direction, and that our course would therefore have to be SSE.
Left the Snowy Peak at 2.25 p.m. When we reached the snowfields at the foot of the summit, I told Edward to run up and fetch the maps he had forgotten and advised him to take our dog Hector with him. He had scarcely quitted our party five minutes when a terrific gale set in from west and the whole top of the mount was enveloped in dense clouds, the rain falling in torrents. Seeing the danger he was exposed to from the state of the weather, of becoming separated from our party, I cried out to him in order to recall him, but unfortunately this had the effect only of recalling the dog and thus leaving Edward to his own resources.
It was a very difficult task indeed to find our way against wind and weather but, the watershed once crossed, we could scarcely fail to strike the camp, provided only we maintained ordinary presence of mind. I entertained the hope that perhaps Edward would succeed in making his way to the little lake above mentioned, but as the fog was so dense that we could hardly see each other and had to steer by the compass and the terrain, we ourselves could not make this lake and it was not till about half an hour later, on the weather clearing up for a moment, that we perceived we had passed it.
The roaring of the wind was at this time so loud that it was by no means an easy matter to communicate with each other, and thus it happened that another of our party, Weston, dropped off and could not be found. Another difficulty now was to find Pinnacle Hill that we might relieve the poor horse and fetch the instruments, and at times the attempt appeared almost hopeless, the more so from the chilly state of the atmosphere. Mr Twynham, now perfectly exhausted, became quite stiff and unable to move. By great good fortune, however, M. de Guérard and myself, dragging him between us through fog and mist, hit upon the very spot where horse and instruments had been left in the morning.
I had now to pack the horse—by no means an easy task as neither of my companions was able to assist me, and the animal, terrified by the storm, had become entangled in the rope by which he was tethered. Luckily, however, I succeeded in accomplishing it much sooner than I expected. After immense difficulties, it being now nearly dark, M. de Guérard and I—Mr Twynham had been lost a short time before—reached the camp by eight o’clock. We found it in a terrible state, everything wet through and torn. After fastening the horse and putting things a little in order we went back for Mr Twynham, who could hardly be more than half a mile from us, and were fortunate enough to recover him. Had to carry him as he was in a perfectly helpless state.
We were now most anxious to light a fire but, as Edward had the matchbox with him and we had but few left, it was no easy thing; but after an hour and a half we succeeded in kindling a fire, which was soon blown into a good blaze by the terrific gale now raging, the roaring of the wind interrupted occasionally only by the thunder. Lightning and rain continued the whole evening. By eleven o’clock we had the water in the kettle boiling and our tent roughly fixed again and, could we only have known something of the whereabouts of our companions, would have been tolerably comfortable, notwithstanding the rough state of the weather.
My delight can scarcely be imagined when the barking of the dog announced the return of one of our missing men. It was Weston, who said that, attracted by the light of our fire, he had made his last effort to reach the camp.
At 4 a.m. on the 20th, clear morning, so that I was able to have a good view of the whole country, climbed up a rock in order to fix a piece of canvas to serve as a flag, hoping this might perhaps direct Edward to the camp. Resolved to proceed at once in search of him, M. de Guérard volunteering to accompany me, neither of the other two men being in a fit state to do so, and even he, after walking with me for an hour, declared himself unable to proceed any farther.
The search was now left to me alone and my first care was to ascertain whether Edward had reached the summit and taken the maps with him; therefore, when crossing the snowfield, I looked carefully for his footprints, but though I could plainly make out those of the dog I could discover none of his. On reaching the top, I found my maps untouched and concluded that he had not succeeded in crossing the snowfield or in ascending the summit, and that, in his bewilderment, he had travelled down into the valley of the Snowy River.
After depositing some clear and precise directions with respect to the position of our camp, and the time I intended yet to stay on Mt Kosciusko, I turned back and reached the camp at twelve o’clock in a very depressed state, enhanced by finding that Edward had not returned during my absence. In the afternoon we could do nothing but rest and recover strength, hoping every moment to hear the footstep of our companion, but in vain. The gale was still blowing so hard from NNW that it was impossible to suspend and register the barometer Greiner; and Edward, having the only suitable instrument with him, we could not effect any observations. At 7 p.m., just as we had taken supper and it was already dark, our horse, who had been nibbling at some scanty herbage near the spot, made off and could not be found any more. It seems that the poor animal cared to stop no longer where he hardly could get anything to eat and had to suffer severely from a temperature of 37.5°.
Morning of the 21st cold and foggy. Got up at 4 a.m. and started with the intention of tracking the horse but without success. Weston, who went in another direction, returned at 7.45 a.m. without having seen a trace of him and it was now quite clear that he had tried to find his way to Groggan’s station—no very pleasant prospect for us, being thus left without any means of transport and our stores fast running out. Sent Weston again with strict injunctions to descend towards the station till he found the horse. It was now my
opinion that Edward must already have perished or, if he still survived, had taken such a course as to place him beyond all chance of assistance from us.
I therefore resolved to return to Groggan’s station as soon as Weston should appear with the horse, which we had the satisfaction of seeing at 10 a.m. He had found him near the lower limit of the belt of dead timber; there is no doubt that, had it not been for the hobbles, he would have succeeded in reaching the station. In the course of the forenoon I made some few magnetic observations near the camp. On the track leading towards Groggan’s station, the theodolite was fixed on a stone to the east of which there was a mass of granite.
Leaving all the provisions yet in our possession and exact instructions to Edward, should he ever return to the camp, how to follow our track, we packed the horse and started, after having given three cheers for the missing man. While descending I made it a point to blaze all the trees in such a manner that even a man in a reduced state of body would be able to follow the track. During all this time we were still in hope that our friend might have gained the station before us, thus rendering our labour useless.
Arrived at the Leather Jacket again by 4 p.m. Had great difficulty in getting the horse, in its exhausted state, up the Groggan’s side of the banks of the creek. The brave animal tried it three times, and on each occasion succeeded in reaching a height of eighty feet, but rolled back again and there remained. There was no other course left but to unpack and carry the things ourselves to the top of the hill. Got to Groggan’s station at last by 7.15 p.m., but heard nothing of our friend…
Strong winds from the NW accompanied by rain and dense fog seem to prevail here at times. On the first day the weather was tolerably fair and quite calm, but the sun being scarcely visible through the thick veil covering the sky indicated the approach of one of these gales. I regretted very much that in consequence of the absence of Edward, who carried the only suitable barometer for such occasions, it was impossible to record the oscillations in the pressure of the air during this NW gale, the comparison of which with observations made at the sea-level or in other localities of the mountainous part of the country would have proved of considerable interest.
The force of the wind was, at times, really fearful, so much so that it was thoroughly impossible to make any headway against it and I do not think I shall be far out in estimating it at from 40 to 45 pounds on the square foot. The unfortunate affair with Edward interfered greatly with the scientific objects during my stay on the mount, my time being entirely taken up in looking for him, and the idea continually preying on my mind that he would not be able to make for the settled districts and thus extricate himself from his very perilous position. I was therefore now determined to hurry to Omeo and secure the assistance of the police, for the purpose of instituting another search after the poor fellow…
[3 December 1862]—The day very hot, and a haze, caused by bushfires, over the whole sky, so that nothing of the fine mountain scenery was visible. Returned to the Devil’s Creek and arrived at Porepankah, on the crossing place of the Ovens River at 5 p.m. At Sleeve’s place got some information about the road to Yackandandah, twenty-five miles from here. After leaving Sleeve’s place on the 4th, we went up a steep gap (1688); found it very fatiguing, the weather being fearfully hot, and then descended into the Happy Valley (918). The creek here spread out into a swamp of considerable width and the crossing of it was very difficult. Had to construct a sort of bridge of brushwood over which our horses, when unpacked, might venture.
Mr Twynham, notwithstanding, fell into the mud together with his horse and we found it hard work to extricate him. Had to carry all our instruments and other things on our backs. Missed Edward very much, for it was very hard for me to attend to such things as I have just described, and conduct my observations as well. Steering about NE along a swamp lying between granite hills 800 feet high, we reached Barwoodgee (1160) at 4 p.m. Had to stop here in consequence of M. de Guérard having lost some things on the road and being obliged to go back for them. Fixed upon a station and made some magnetical and astronomical observations.
A calm, dull morning with sky overcast on the 5th…Started early and, travelling on a very fair track, through a slightly undulating country, we reached Yackandandah at noon. Went on to Adam’s Flat gold diggings, about four to five miles from Yackandandah. M. de Guérard remained here for the night, in order to have an opportunity of speaking to Mr Lane, the police magistrate, about Edward and asking his advice as to the best mode of instituting an inquiry after him. He overtook us on the road and we arrived together at Belvoir at 11 a.m. on the 6th.
Our anxiety on approaching this place may be imagined, for we still entertained the hope that Edward might have made for it, knowing that we had left our waggon there and would be sure to direct our course thither as soon as we could. Went to the police court, but could hear nothing of him, so that the last hope of his safety was now quite destroyed.
Sat down to dinner, and had hardly done so when the lost man made his appearance in a most deplorable condition, having been without food and clothes for some time. My conjectures as to the route he had taken proved to be correct. Soon after leaving us on Mt Kosciusko, he endeavoured to return but missed the track to the camp and descended into the valley of the Thredbo River. For two days he wandered on, with scarcely anything to eat, until he fell in with some diggers in a lonely valley, who behaved most kindly to him and assisted him in making his way to Kiandra. From this place he worked his way to Albury, where he arrived on the same morning on which we reached Belvoir—a strange coincidence when we consider that we both had travelled upwards of 300 miles, in quite different directions, since parting on Mt Kosciusko.
I cannot quit this most annoying affair without expressing my appreciation of Edward’s courageous behaviour, after separating from our party, and of the skill and care he bestowed upon the instruments entrusted to his charge; for the fine mountain barometer Fortin II did not receive the least injury during the whole of this rough and perilous journey.
† Numbers in parentheses indicate feet above sea level.
ALEXANDER AND FRANK JARDINE
The Battle of the Mitchell, 1864
During 1864–65, the Jardine brothers drove a small herd of cattle north from Rockhampton to Somerset at the tip of Cape York. Hailed at the time as ‘a brilliant achievement in exploration’, their travels today read as one of the most disgraceful episodes in Australian exploration history. The frankness with which their journal tells the story of the ‘battle of the Mitchell’, as they called their most brutal murder of local Aborigines, reveals much about the mores of frontier life in north Queensland in the last half of the nineteenth century. It makes shameful reading.
December 18—The river was followed down today for nine miles through a complete network of anabranches, gullies and vine scrubs to another branch which may be called the true stream. It was thirty yards wide, deep and running strongly. Here the party had to camp for about three hours whilst the brothers searched for a good crossing. The cattle and pack-horses were crossed in safety, but some of the pack-bags got wetted in the passage. They were travelled another mile over to a sandstone bar, crossing another deep sheet of water that had been previously found. This stream had been explored in search of a ford for four miles further up but without success. It continued of the same width and appeared to do so much further.
This day, Sunday, was marked by the severest conflict the travellers had yet had with the natives, one which may well be dignified by the name of the Battle of the Mitchell. On arriving at the running stream before mentioned, whilst the cattle halted, the brothers and Eulah, taking axes with them to clear the scrub, went down to find a safe crossing. At about a mile and a half they came on to a number of blacks fishing; these immediately crossed to the other side, but on their return swam across again in numbers, armed with large bundles of spears and some nullahs, and met them.
The horsemen, seeing they were in for another row, now c
antered forward towards the camp, determined this time to give their assailants a severe lesson. This was interpreted into a flight by the savages, who set up a yell and redoubled their pursuit, sending in their spears thick and fast. These now coming much too close to be pleasant (for some of them were thrown a hundred yards), the three turned suddenly on their pursuers and, galloping up to them, poured in a volley, the report of which brought down their companions from the camp, when the skirmish became general.
The natives at first stood up courageously, but either by accident or through fear, despair or stupidity, they got huddled in a heap in and at the margin of the water, when ten carbines poured volley after volley into them from all directions, killing and wounding with every shot with very little return, nearly all their spears having been expended in the pursuit of the horsemen. About thirty being killed, the leader thought it prudent to hold his hand, and let the rest escape. Many more must have been wounded and probably drowned, for fifty-nine rounds were counted as discharged.
On the return of the party to the cattle an incident occurred which nearly cost one of them his life. One of the routed natives, probably burning with revengeful and impotent hate, got into the water under the river bank and waited for the returning party, and as they passed threw a spear at Scrutton, before anyone was aware of his proximity. The audacious savage had much better have left it alone, for he paid for his temerity with his life.
Although the travellers came off providentially without hurt, there were many narrow escapes, for which some of them might thank their good fortune. At the commencement of the fight, as Alexander Jardine was levelling his carbine, a spear struck the ground between his feet, causing him to drop his muzzle and lodge the bullet in the ground a few yards in front of him. His next shot told more successfully…This is one of the few instances in which the savages of Queensland have been known to stand up in fight with white men, and on this occasion they showed no sign of surprise or fear at the report and effect of firearms…