Aspect of the country, and the river.

As we neared Mount Harris, the Macquarie became more sluggish in its flow, and fell off so much as scarcely to deserve the name of a river.  In breadth, it averaged from thirty-five to forty-five yards, and in the height of its banks, from fifteen to eighteen.  Mr. Hume had succeeded in taking some fish at one of the stock stations; but if I except those speared by the natives, we had since been altogether unsuccessful with the hook, a circumstance which I attribute to the lowness of the river itself.

About thirty miles from the cataract the country declines to the north as a medium point, and again changes somewhat in its general appearance.  To the S. and S.W. it appeared level and wooded, while to the N. the plains became more frequent, but smaller, and travelling over them was extremely dangerous, in consequence of the large fissures by which they were traversed.  The only trees to be observed were dwarf-box and the acacia pendula, both of stunted growth, although flooded-gum still prevailed upon the river.

On the 20th we travelled on a N.W. course, and in the early part of the day passed over tolerably good soil.  It was succeeded by a barren scrub, through which we penetrated in the direction of Welcome Rock, a point we had seen from one of the Plains and had mistaken for Mount Harris.

Arrival at mount Harris.

On a nearer approach, however, we observed our error, and corrected it by turning more to the left; and we ultimately encamped about a mile to the W.S.W. of the latter eminence.  On issuing from the scrub we found ourselves among reeds and coarse water-grass; and, from the appearance of the country, we were led to conclude that we had arrived at a part of the interior more than ordinarily subject to overflow.

As soon as the camp was fixed, Mr. Hume and I rode to Mount Harris, over ground subject to flood and covered for the most part by the polygonum, being too anxious to defer our examination of its neighbourhood even for a few hours.

Vestiges of Mr. Oxley’s encampment.

Nearly ten years had elapsed since Mr. Oxley pitched his tents under the smallest of the two hills into which Mount Harris is broken.  There was no difficulty in hitting upon his position.  The trenches that had been cut round the tents were still perfect, and the marks of the fire-places distinguishable; while the trees in the neighbourhood had been felled, and round about them the staves of some casks and a few tent-pegs were scattered.  Mr. Oxley had selected a place at some distance from the river, in consequence of its then swollen state.  I looked upon it from the same ground, and could not discern the waters in its channel; so much had they fallen below their ordinary level.  He saw the river when it was overflowing its banks; on the present occasion it had scarcely sufficient water to support a current.  On the summit of the greater eminence, which we ascended, there remained the half-burnt planks of a boat, some clenched and rusty nails, and an old trunk; but my search for the bottle Mr. Oxley had left was unsuccessful.