The prospect from the top of the sand hill under which we had formed our bivouac, was the most cheerless and I may add the most forbidding of any that our eyes had wandered over, during this long and anxious journey.  To the west and north-west there were lines of heavy sand ridges, so steep and rugged as to deter me from any attempt to cross them with my jaded horses.  To the north and north-east a dark green plain covered with samphire bushes (amidst which the dry beds of small salt lagoons, as white as snow, formed a singular and striking contrast) was to be seen extending for about eight miles.  This plain was bounded by distant hills, the bright red tops of which gleamed, even in the twilight.  I was here really puzzled what course to pursue, one only indeed was open to me—­the north—­unless I should determine to fall back on the creek; but I thought it better to advance, in the hope of being able to maintain my ground, and with the intention of halting for a few days at the first favourable point at which we should arrive, for my mind was filled with anxiety.  It had pained me for some time, to see Mr. Browne daily suffering more and more, and although he continued to render me the most valuable assistance, a gloom hung over him; he seldom spoke, his hands were constantly behind him, pressing or supporting his back, and he appeared unfit to ride.  My men were also beginning to feel the effects of constant exposure, of ceaseless journeying, and of poverty of food, for all we had was 5 lbs. of flour and 2 oz. of tea per week; it is true we occasionally shot a pigeon or a duck, but the wildness of the birds of all kinds was perfectly unaccountable.  The horses living chiefly on pulpy vegetation had little stamina, and were incapable of enduring much privation or hardship.  No rain had fallen since July, nor was there any present indication of a change.  Much as I desired it, I yet dreaded having to traverse such a country as that into which I was now about to plunge, in a wet state.  With a soil of stiff tenacious clay, already soft from the moisture produced by the mixture of salt in it, I foresaw that in the event of heavy rain, I should be involved in almost inextricable difficulties, but there was no alternative.

On the morning of the 7th I sent Mr. Browne to the westward, to ascertain the nature of the country, and if by any chance he could again find the creek, and in case I had inadvertently mistaken the real creek for a tributary, I myself pushed on to the north, in the hope of intersecting it.  Mr. Browne had not, however, been absent more than three-quarters of an hour, when he returned to inform me that he had been stopped by a salt creek, coming direct from the north, the bed of which was too soft for him to cross.  He said that its channel was white as snow, and that every reed and blade of grass on its banks, was encrusted with salt.  Under an impression that as long as I should continue in the neighbourhood of, and on a course nearly parallel to this creek, I could not hope for any favourable change, I decided on crossing it, and with that view turned to the west; but finding the bed of the creek still too soft to admit of our doing so, I traced it upwards to the north, along a sandy ridge.