It appeared, from Joseph’s account, that Mr. Poole had not shewn any previous indications of approaching dissolution.  About a quarter before three he had risen to take some medicine, but suddenly observed to Joseph that he thought he was dying, and falling on his back, expired without a struggle.

Early on the morning of this day, and before we ourselves started, I had sent Mr. Stuart and Mr. Piesse in advance with the chainers, to carry on the chaining.  On the morning of the 17th, before I mounted my horse to accompany Mr. Browne to examine the remains of our unfortunate companion, which I determined to inter at the Depot, I sent a man to recall them.

The suddenness of Mr. Poole’s death surprised both Mr. Browne and myself; but the singular fairness of his countenance left no doubt on his mind but that internal haemorrhage had been the immediate cause of that event.

On the 17th the whole party, which had so lately separated, once more assembled at the Depot.  We buried Mr. Poole under a Grevillia that stood close to our underground room; his initials, and the year, are cut in it above the grave, “J.  P. 1845,” and he now sleeps in the desert.

The sad event I have recorded, obliged me most reluctantly to put Mr. Piesse in charge of the home returning party, for I had had every reason to be satisfied with him, and I witnessed his departure with regret.  A more trustworthy, or a more anxious officer could not have been attached to such a service as that in which he was employed.

The funeral of Mr. Poole was a fitting close to our residence at the Depot.  At the conclusion of that ceremony the party again separated, and I returned to my tent, to prepare for moving on the morrow.

At 9 a.m. accordingly of the 18th we pushed on to the N.W.  The ground had become much harder, but the travelling was still heavy.  At three miles we passed a small creek, about seven miles from the Depot, at which I intended to have halted on leaving that place.  We passed over stony plains, or low, sandy, and swampy ground, since the valleys near the hills opened out as we receded from them.  On the 19th I kept the chained line, but in consequence of the heavy state of the ground we did not get on more than 8 1/2 miles.  The character of the country was that of open sandy plains, the sand being based upon a stiff, tenacious clay, impervious to water.  With the exception of a few salsolae and atriplex, the plains were exceedingly bare, and had innumerable patches of water over them, not more than two or three inches deep.  At intervals pure sand hills occurred, on which there were a few stunted casuarina and mimosae, but a good deal of grass and thousands of young plants already springing up.  As the ground was still very soft, I should not have moved on the 20th, but was anxious to push on.  Early in the day, and at less than 18 miles from the hills, we encountered the sandy ridges, and found the pull over them much worse than over the flats.  The wheels of the drays sank deep into the ground, and in straining to get them clear we broke seven yokes.  Two flights of swans, and a small flight of ducks, passed over our heads at dusk, coming from the W.N.W.  The brushes were full of the Calodera, but being very wild we could not procure a specimen.