Part 5

One who comes upon this mountain wall from the long plains of the south cannot with a single sweep of the eye take in its mightiness. To right and left it holds its course until its purple outlines are bathed in haze, become a mere faint streak, and finally are blotted out. But far behind that gaudily-tinted curtain of sky, which forms the strange horizon of these inlands, this range extends, a steep, austere wall of rock, rising almost perpendicularly from the plain four hundred miles from east to west.

A gap in this mighty wall of rock becomes clearly defined by the time one reaches the bank of a wide creek, with a bed of white sand, which takes its course in the heart of the ranges, and is well known as The Todd. Following up this watercourse for a few miles, the gap through which it comes, the Heavitree, is reached.

The distance through the Heavitree is about 200 yards. The creek's sand-bed spreads right across between the high, bare, sharply-cut mountain sides. The road crosses the Todd at the same time as both pass through the Heavitree Gap; then runs along by its eastern flat bank among the ranges, until three miles onward the buildings at Alice Springs township come into view.

* * * *

A sheltered, peaceful, cosy-looking place, this isolated Alice Springs. On a flat, with large gums scattered through and all around it, and mountains towering up a very little distance off on every side. There are two clusters of houses. One comprises the hotel-cum-brewery, a smithy, and a general store; the other can boast of two stores, a harness-maker's, an often-vacant butcher's shop, and a private dwelling-house. Both clusters are snugly ensconced, hidden among the very numerous gum trees with which the whole flat is dotted; between them some particularly high and shady trees give shelter to the township stock. Cattle are ever to be seen reposefully cud-chewing during the hotter portions of the semi-tropical days.

All shade and silence and tranquility! It seemed as I came upon it to be the veritable "Sleepy Hollow" of romance, with appropriate Catskill-y surroundings, too.

The supplies for Arltunga goldfields, the mica fields, neighboring horse-station and cattle ranches, and the telegraph stations up north, all pass through here.

It is a terminus of townships; beyond it lies the undeveloped.

* * * *

Arltunga is only in its earliest infancy, and is sadly handicapped. But then one is assured "There's any Scotch quantity of reefs about," and "The country hasn't been half prospected yet." Country, by the way, never is, it seems.

The mica field, on the other hand, arrived some time back at a working age. It has, as it were, bought its shovel and done a little towards paying for it. Some mica of good quality, and in exceptionally large sheets, too, is to be had.

I know little or nothing about the value of a mica claim; do not even know whither when raised the shiny transparency goes. Much is, I know, used for insulating purposes on electrical machines, but in such cases only small washers are required as a rule. As to the larger blocks, so attractive to the eye when prepared for exhibition, ignorance possesses me.

If one has the inclination one may, however, learn a great deal about it, if one likes to run up to Alice Springs. In search of information (and no policeman being handy), I approached a prospector. He was an encylopædia on the subject. Within five minutes I knew that lawyers now-a-days wrote out their wills and other people's on mica because it will not burn, and that lanterns for enclosing electric arc lights are fitted with the same material in place of glass, the heat (sometimes reaching as high as 10 or 12 horse-power) emanating from the electric light being altogether too fierce for combustible glass to withstand! If I had stayed another day in Alice Springs, I should have written a treatise on "Mica and its Uses."

* * * *

The telegraph station is a mile and a half beyond the Alice township, and with its substantial roomy stone buildings and outhouses makes up another little township of itself. Near the station there is in the Todd a very large waterhole, which contains a sufficient permanent and unlimited supply of fresh water to deserve the name of spring. There are also a couple of wells on a bank of the creek; the water of one of them is used for gardening purposes, the other's, I was told, is almost salt.

The flat around the station is, like nearly all the flats within the ranges, covered with saltbush and other stock-fattening growth. Grasses of many valuable kinds flourish thickly in the hills and gullies--in fact, no better limited tracts of pastoral country could one wish to see than are to be found within and in the neighborhood of these MacDonnell Ranges.

The climate, too, is nearly all that could be desired throughout the greater part of each year. The days are warm, the nights cool--a little too much warmth sometimes, at others a little too much cold.

White people seem to live there as much for the purpose of making strangers welcome as to amass money in a leisurely fashion, and black people are more plentiful than gooseberries. Physically the natives to be seen about are very good samples of aboriginalty. As at Oodnadatta, the female blacks do most of the washing and general domestic work for the townspeople, and of course the male blackfellows are invaluable to those of the score of settlers who do much dealing in horses or cattle.

In this quaint spot, and amongst this hospitable community, I remained for several days. There were many "gaps," sheltered waterholes, and other interesting spots to be visited, and every man in the place came forward with hearty offers to be my cicerone. Having been so long unused to opportunities for gormandizing--unused, too, to sleeping between sheets on flock mattresses--the hotel and those good things which it contained exercised strong magnetic attractions.

Inquiries about the road ahead were pursued diligently, and an operator at the telegraph station (obliging and considerate, as they all were) sketched out for me an artistic and lucid plan of the route so far as Barrow Creek. Armed with this plan, and loaded with provisions, the "condition" I had put on during my few days' stay, a water-bag, a quart pot, tools, and various other things, including a light parcel of meat extract, Diamond and I one fine forenoon started out over the mountains, thence on to the exterior desert, with the enticing prospect of I-didn't-know-what before me.

Having come so far without hurt worth speaking of, and with the kindest words of encouragement from the people here, I felt sanguine of being able to make a fair show at the business thus far only half transacted.

* * * *

The township was out to say good-bye! Of the number was the telegraph master, a genial officer who, in addition to controlling this most important repeating station on that Transcontinental line which links Australia and Europe, has acquired during a long residence a profound knowledge of the aborigines of Central Australia, their languages, their customs, and their folk-lore. He had with him his camera; and later on, when (myself all unconscious of it) "Murif's Ride Across Australia" headed many a paragraph and sketch, there appeared in one of the Adelaide papers, beneath a drawing, this brief account, reproduced here as showing how others on the scene viewed the enterprise at this stage, after the capabilities of the machine had been in part demonstrated. It is described as the expression of "Our Alice Springs correspondent":--

"The above snapshot was taken on Monday morning, April 13, just as Murif was about to begin the second half of his great undertaking. Up to that date he had travelled over 1,130 miles, the latter part of the journey being anything but pleasant from a cyclist's point of view. There were many obstacles to overcome in the shape of miles of rough stony road, especially the 'gibbers,' near Charlotte Waters. Three-cornered Jacks are another enemy to the cyclist; also miles of sand, which affords splendid exercise and gave Murif a chance to develop the muscles of his arms by pushing his machine, it being impossible to pedal over the sand.

"Murif's greatest piece of luck was noticed by me whilst out riding some forty miles from here. I was looking down at Murif's track, and saw where he had left the road to escape a stump and ran across a piece of brandy case with three large nails standing point upwards. His tyre missed these by half an inch. After passing an obstacle of that description, his luck must carry him over the remaining thousand odd miles safely.

"There are still many dangers he will have to steer clear of whilst travelling north of here. Stumps overgrown by grass will be one of his greatest enemies. A hard collision with one of these would mean serious damage to his machine, and the distance between the telegraph stations--the only place where he could repair a bad break--being some 200 miles, a mishap would prove serious to him. In places above Barrow's Creek, and _en route_, he will find the spear-grass very troublesome, and a cuirass would prove very beneficial to him while travelling through it to keep the seeds, which are long and very sharp, from penetrating his body.

"Both Murif and his machine were looking in the best of trim. On leaving here he was carrying a fair amount of dunnage, including waterbag, &c. The quartpot strapped underneath the saddle whilst travelling does duty as a storage-room for his tea and sugar. On his back he carries a small knapsack full of provisions. On his belt he has a small pouch for pipe, tobacco, and matches. He smokes very little during the day, and when short of water dispenses with the pipe until such times as he can afford to indulge freely. He converts his lampstand into a rack for his revolver, which article all travellers north of here carry, although it is some years since the natives attacked a white man on the road. However, prevention is better than cure.

"Murif, unlike most cyclists, prefers to travel in loose pyjamas, using clips, rather than the knickers, the former being cool and comfortable for this semi-tropical climate."

* * * *

Myself, writing from Alice Springs, begged for assistance "to give expression to my deep feeling of gratification for the many kindnesses I had been the recipient of on the road. They are thorough white men up this way--the most generous-hearted, the kindliest, the bravest I believe any country in the world could produce. Knowing them, one realises of what noble stuff our pioneers are made."

Now I call at the telegraph station to try and express my thanks to the last of the men--the men out back who know and show what brotherhood is; wheel thoughtfully through the ranges 14 miles, and----

* * * *

As Diamond and I passed into the heart of the land we picked up a great deal of information regarding the most suitable equipment for the journey. Pretty well everyone had something to suggest.

"Ha! yes," said one, "the thing is to keep up your strength, and for that there's nothing like good sleep." So I should have carried an inflatable mattress and pillow--a simple affair, planned on the pneumatic principle, to be pumped in every night at bedtime.

A shot gun or a rifle--"never can tell, you know."

A kodak--"That would have kept your mind occupied."

A tent--"Something light, of course, and easily rigged."

A sextant, quadrant, or theodolite--the suggestors weren't quite sure of the differences between these things; all sounded impressive enough.

A pocket telegraph instrument.

Cyclist's cape and riding suit, with long woollen stockings--for grass-seeds to hold on to, no doubt.

Aluminium water canteen, flint and steel and touch-paper, a medicine chest (the larger the better), snake poison antidotes and brandy (doubtless to make me see 'em), the Bible or a few works of my favorite author, a small "handy" spirit-lamp, a field-glass, much woollen underclothing, rice, oatmeal, cream of tartar, dried this and pressed that; stock, taps and small die-plate; bombs for scattering obnoxious niggers, a recently-invented apparatus for extracting water from damp earth by evaporation and condensation, sponge for gathering up the dew from the tree leaves, a hammock, mosquito curtain.

And many other articles which I cannot bring to mind just now. The reader is entitled to suggest as many more as he pleases.

But it was too late to start collecting _all_ these things at Alice Springs, so I considered, and contented myself with the purchase of--an ounce of quinine, a box of Cockle's pills, and a quart pot.

* * * *

During the time I remained at Alice Springs I bothered my head very little indeed about what there might be in store for me in the country beyond. I had previously been led to cogitate over so very many evil possibilities that I had long resolved not to lay myself out particularly to guard against any at all. Had I devoted my thoughts and actions to making certain of all being safe to the end, then very plainly my wisest plan would have been to turn and cycle back. When advised to arrange against this or that misfortune I returned grateful thanks for the advice, but all the same trusted rather to precautionary measures inventing themselves, or being invented by other than such a powerless atom as myself.

I placed implicit trust on three things--good health, good luck, and a good bicycle. If any of these went wrong, no preparation which I was in a position to make would go far towards the prevention of very nasty happenings.

* * * *

On resuming, after the welcome interval at Alice Springs, a 14-mile cycle walk through the MacDonnell ranges was the first act billed on the day's programme.

The track winds its toilsome way over the lowest rises and through gullies squeezed between the higher of the rough granite and sandstone hills. Much bigger ones--each duly catalogued and named by somebody at sometime, I have no doubt--loomed up in every direction. Many of the gullies are well grassed. Saltbush and mulga are met with occasionally; and everywhere spring up low bushes of the kinds that are fattening and well-beloved of flocks and herds. Rideable stretches of a mile or so may be passed over as hardly worth noticing.

The hills end rather abruptly; and a thickly timbered plain outstretches itself, extending as far eye can reach. Riding on to it one finds everywhere abundance of grass as well as salt and blue bush. There are some open places, but for the greater part of the way to Burt Well (21 miles from the range) the traveller advances within avenues cut through densely-packed and far-extending mulga scrub.

The riding is very fair--a light loamy soil--but a sharp look-out has to be kept for stumps on the roughly-cleared chain-wide track along the telegraph line.

Innumerable small spire-like formations and mounds, the hills of white ants, dot the track, and cumber its sides. None, curiously enough, are known to exist south of the MacDonnell ranges.

Yet what impressed me most during the day's ride was that instead of having entered a desert, I was pursuing a course through country of the best description for stock--only lacking in water.

* * * *

Arriving at a lovely waterhole overhung with gum trees on the Burt Creek (a pad branching from the main track leads to it), I stopped to have a bath and enjoy the cool of the heavy shadow.

It is a law of the overland that a waterhole, unless it be very large or there be others close by, must not be used for soapy-washing. One dips up water with a billycan or pannikin, and, stepping back, should he not have a wash-dish, he washes with one hand. It isn't satisfying, but it has to do.

My waterproof served as a basin. A hole, begun with the boot-heel and finished off by hand, was scooped out in the easily-shifted soil, the waterproof spread out over and then pressed down into it, and--there it was.

By the time I had had my refresher and a smoke I found it very easy to persuade myself that the place was quite secluded and comfortable enough to remain the night at, and I acted accordingly; stocked a supply of firewood in reserve against the chilliness of coming wee small hours; pulled up by their roots (which I then shook free of earth) a quantity of the plentiful 18in.-high dry grass, and arranged my (low-) downy couch in systematic 4 x 6 and side-banked fashion in the lee of the sheltering bush to which I had close-tethered Diamond.

I hung up the lining of my wash basin to dry, lit a fire and brewed a quartpot of tea; but not being very hungry did not broach my precious cargo of bush bread and goat's mutton. I had with me a piece of old newspaper, and I read it. There was a little writing to be done, and I did it. A torn garment called, through the rent, for thread, and I gave it some. Then I overhauled the bicycle, and, finding everything as it should be, broke short a piece of stick and discordantly accompanied myself in an "impromptu"--"Across the Continent in Pyjamas"--by thrumming on the front wheel spokes. Smoked. Stood up and looked around at the scrub; sat down and scribbled a little more--and felt lonely as I could wish till bed time.

* * * *

Before sundown I had watched awhile the diamond sparrows flocking for their evening drink in clustering clouds of dear little twittering atoms. And note, I had begun to tell myself in meditative strain--note how considerate Nature provides for these, even these smallest of her trusting creatures. But a couple of hawks came along, and, swooping low down, pounced greedily upon the thirsting little creatures. I saw no good reason why I should interfere. I gave Nature credit for knowing its business, and guessed the hawks were peckish. Yet, against my reasoning instincts, I threw a lump of wood at one of the murderous, darting birds of prey. The whizzing missile frightened him away alright--and killed about a dozen sparrows.

How very like many great human schemes and systems!

* * * *

But now bedtime. The sun was down, and the stillness was intense. A dim sense of unreality pervaded everything, including even thought-consciousness, the _Ego_. Perhaps it was only through sharp contrast with the past few nights spent talkatively with new acquaintances in Alice Springs; but the solitude made itself felt more oppressively than I can recall it ever to have done o' nights the other side of that reposeful _ultima thule_.

All which trifling details of how I spent one afternoon and fixed my camp I give now, to save, to some extent, vain repetition later on.

So far as "tucker" was concerned, before my own good stock had quite run out I was so lucky as to come upon a traveller (whose business was his own), with his two black-boys, somewhere between the Burt and Tea-tree well. He re-loaded me with all the eatables I desired, and made me welcome to them with the magnificent generosity of the bush.

* * * *

Flat, almost level country extends to a Government well--Connor's--about 23 miles northward from the Burt watercourse. Covering this well, as also those others to be seen still further north, very fine-meshed nettings are hinged to one side, preventing wild dogs, iguanas, and birds from falling in. It is, as all the others are, walled round substantially with upright hardwood posts, sunk touching one another; and it is of course, equipped with windlass, buckets, and a line of troughs. The water is as good as anybody could desire.

* * * *

The feelings of surprise engendered by the sight of such good grazing country, the interest and curiosity excited by the ever-present countless ant-hills, the mild astonishment as I looked through the straight and level avenues lined sharply through the mulga (avenues extending so far that their turning points were lost in the haze of distance)--these were the deeper impressions.

But after the first day out from the ranges these feelings in part gave place to intermittently-recurring sensations of a kind entirely new to me. The high hills behind had, as it seemed, shut me off from the whole world of animation. Up to the MacDonnell, if one doesn't get bushed, one expects to meet with people every other day or so; but here, amid the myriads of ant hills and the thick, impenetrable scrub, it is as if one had strayed into a wonderland whose every inhabitant had died and had had erected to him or her a lasting monument.

And I was cycling through the silent burial-ground!

A ghostly suggestiveness, a little creeping of the flesh, an uneasy expectation of meeting with--one seldom questions at such moments what--urged me quickly on a little way, or, again, would prompt me suddenly to stop, dismount, lean over on the bicycle, and with craned neck peer into the gloomy scrub and rather hoarsely invite what might be therein to "come out." Then, recollecting it to be rather early for that sort of "business" yet awhile, I'd laugh shamefacedly, then philosophise a little, as, sitting beneath a shady bush or mulga tree, if not short of water, I'd smoke a quiet pipe. For I was in no hurry, and by no means did I dislike these new sensations.

* * * *

Hann's Range is 15 miles from Connor's Well. Soon after leaving the well dreary open country is met with--nothing to be seen for many miles but spinifex. Bad riding ground; for where there is much spinifex there almost always will be found very loose or sandy soil or ranges. I look longingly for signs of a mulga thicket, as there I knew the ground will be much firmer.

As it approaches Hann's Range the road improves to very good, and once again the mulga scrub shows up. The range is but a very low one, and is soon left behind. After a run of 7 miles, over fair quartz-pebbly track, another well (Ryan's). After Ryan's another fair stretch of 14 miles, leading into a gap known as Prowse's, where it passes through a low hill of granite--Mount Boothby. The sand thence becomes heavier, and so lasts to a watercourse--the Woodforde. Here are camping places--soakages and waterholes--and at one of these (a crossing of the creek) I spend a night.

A very large burr has put in an appearance; and after it come burrs of all sizes and of several different varieties.

* * * *

Much of the cycling hereabout is equivalent to cross-country riding. Wherever the ground is soft the loose sand blows in and fills up the two narrow parallel riding spaces which are sole indications of wheeled vehicles having travelled this way at some time long gone by.

Between these clearly defined pads a ridge is formed on which grows spinifex or a tussocky grass; so no choice is left to the cyclist but to sheer off to the side. As spare horses are brought along when once a year supplies are carted up to the telegraph stations on the Transcontinental, the sides for some distance out from the track are very badly cut about. One then perforce must ride as best he may, or walk, through scrub and spinifex and over fallen timber.

From time to time, since leaving Connor's Well, many kangaroos had been seen in the occasional open spaces.

At Ryan's Well, and from there northwards, there grows a small pale-green leaved plant, bearing a ripe and tasty berry, in appearance not unlike the gooseberries of down south gardens. I tested one, and liked its flavour well. Then I experimented with a couple, then four; and as there were no signs of ill effects, I fell upon them tooth and nail. Their taste recalled rock-melons. The more I ate of them the more I relished their peculiar "twang."

* * * *