Chapter XVII.

Horses begin to Knock up—­compelled to follow round the beach—­TINOR pony
unable to proceed—­gloomy prospects—­overseer begins to despond—­two more
horses left behind—­fragments of wrecks—­water all consumed—­collect
dew—­change in character of country—­dig A well—­procure water—­native
and family visit us—­overseer goes back for baggage—­disastrous
termination of his journey—­situation and prospects of the party.

March 28.—­At daylight we moved on, every one walking, even the youngest boy could not ride now, as the horses were so weak and jaded.  Soon after leaving the camp, one of them laid down, although the weight upon his back was very light; we were consequently obliged to distribute the few things he carried among the others, and let him follow loose.  Our route lay along the beach, as the dense scrub inland prevented us from following any other course; we had, therefore, to go far out of our way, tracing round every point, and following along every bay, whilst the sea-weed frequently obstructed our path, and drove us again to the loose sands, above high water mark, causing extra fatigue to our unfortunate horses.  At other times we were forced to go between these banks of sea-weed and the sea, into the sea itself, on which occasions it required our utmost vigilance to prevent the wretched horses from drinking the salt water, which would inevitably have destroyed them.  In order to prevent this we were obliged to walk ourselves in the water, on the sea-side of them, one of the party being in advance, leading one horse, another being behind to keep up the rear, and the other three being at intervals along the outside of the line, to keep them from stopping for an instant until the danger was past.

We had scarcely advanced six miles from our last night’s camp when the little Timor pony I had purchased at Port Lincoln broke down completely; for some time it had been weak, and we were obliged to drive it loose, but it was now unable to proceed further, and we were compelled to abandon it to a miserable and certain death, that by pushing on, we might use every exertion in our power to relieve the others, though scarcely daring to hope that we could save even one of them.  It was, indeed, a fearful and heart-rending scene to behold the noble animals which had served us so long and so faithfully, suffering the extremity of thirst and hunger, without having it in our power to relieve them.  Five days of misery had passed over their heads since the last water had been left,