and Hawthorne had ceased to speak to each other; the day’s journey was generally performed in a moody, discontented manner; and I was thinking of proposing to abandon all prospecting and make straight for Port Darwin, when the whole aspect of affairs was suddenly changed. We had been out between four and five weeks, our horses were still in capital condition, and our supply of rations good. Since leaving Bourketown we had not seen the face of a white man, we had met with but slight difficulties with the blacks, and were now we thought within about one hundred miles of the Roper River, without having found the slightest indication of payable gold. This was the state of affairs on the 31st of November, 1871, when we unsaddled for our midday camp on the bank of a small creek.
The country through which we had been travelling for the last three days had been of a poor, sandy description, covered with forest tea-trees and stunted ironbark. The ridges were badly grassed, but here and there, on small flats on the banks of the creeks, we got good picking for the horses; and it was on such a small flat, situated in the bend of a sandy creek, that we turned out on this particular day. After unpacking, Davy took the billies and went down to the creek to get water; he was some time away; when he came back he put the billies down, and said:
“I saw fresh horse tracks in the bed of the creek.”
Hawthorne, who was kneeling down lighting a fire, looked up eagerly, but did not speak.
“Many?” I asked.
“Seems only two,” he replied; “one of them has been rolling in the sand.”
“Who on earth can it be?” I conjectured. “People prospecting or looking for country, I suppose. But if so, there must be more tracks about, for they would have more than two horses.”
“They may have left or lost them higher up the creek; they seem to have come down, and cannot be far off, for the tracks were only made this morning.”
Hawthorne had not before spoken; he now remarked, in a strangely conciliatory tone, that “Davis was doubtless right—the horses must have come up the creek, and that if we followed the creek up, we should find the camp of their owners.”
Davy, who at any other time would have opposed any proposition emanating from Hawthorne, on principle, now seemed struck by the altered tone of Hawthorne, and agreed with him that it might be as well to spend the rest of the day as proposed; I gave my consent to the proposed vote, and in an evil hour we started on our fatal errand.
Davy and Hawthorne went to gather the horses together when our meal was over; they found two strange horses had joined in with them—a bay and a chestnut, —both poor and saddle-marked. As we expected to overtake the owners of them, we drove them on with our spare horses.
We proceeded about five miles up the creek, the country getting more broken and barren. Small white sandy hills, covered with low wattle scrub, and here and there huge piles of granite boulders, were on either side of the creek. The creek itself had grown considerably deeper and narrower during the last two miles, the bed of it being full of holes of white, milky looking water. The tracks of the two horses were plainly to be seen the whole way, crossing and recrossing the creek.
Hawthorne was riding ahead, Davy and I were driving the horses after him; presently we saw him pull up, beckon to us, and then point ahead. We looked, and saw in the distance a rough humpy. We drove the horses up to within a few hundred yards, and then left them, to feed about; the three of us rode on to the camp. No fire was burning; a few crows rose up as we approached, and flew away, cawing loudly. Davy rode his horse up close to the gunyah and peered through the boughs.
“There’s someone asleep inside,” he said, and dismounted; Hawthorne and I did the same. Davy entered the rude place unceremoniously.
“Asleep, mate!” he called out.
No answer. “Hi!” he cried; then stooped and looked into the sleeper’s face.
“By God, he’s dead!”
Hawthorne and I crowded in, and saw a man lying upon a blanket spread over some dried grass, his head pillowed upon some articles of clothing folded neatly up. He was lying upon his back, his eyes half open, no trace of decomposition visible; life seemed to have but lately fled. Lifting my eyes from the dead man, I happened to notice Hawthorne and was startled by the look of combined joy and recognition visible in his face. Again I looked upon the corpse, and the dread fancy seized me that the dead and senseless body was aware of the evil glance directed upon it, and that a fearful, haunted, terrified look was now visible in the glazed eyeballs. I could stay no longer; calling to Davy, I hurried outside, Hawthorne, with a half concealed smile, following.
What were we to do? was our next question. Examine the camp, and see if we could find any clue as to his name, was the unanimous opinion. We did so. Outside the humpy were a riding saddle and a pack saddle, also a bridle and halter; inside were some ration bags, containing a little flour, tea, and sugar, an empty phial labelled “Laudanum,” a quart pot with some tea leaves in it, and a pint pot smelling strongly of laudanum. That the man had poisoned himself was self evident; his body was well nourished, and free from any marks of violence. We next removed the articles of clothing from underneath his head, and in the pockets found about thirteen pounds in notes and silver, and two horse receipts in favor of George Seamore; underneath the pillow, as though pushed underneath, was a Letts’ Diary, scribbled all over with writing in pencil; there were also such slight articles as tobacco, pipe, and matches. We then carefully examined the body, and made perfectly certain of the absence of life. He had been a tall man, with a fine determined face, fair chestnut beard, and gray eyes; the eyelids would not remain closed, and the eyes still seemed to me to wear a startled, shrinking look.
We now unpacked our horses, arranged our own camp, and proceeded to dig a grave, this of course being easy with our prospecting tools. That task finished, it was growing dark, and we carried the body to the grave. I had a prayer book in my swag, and read a part of the burial service over the body; the sandy soil had proved easy digging, and the grave was about four feet deep. The body was laid at the bottom, rolled in the blanket on which we found it lying. We filled in the grave just as it fell dark; I can see the whole scene before me as I write, the desolate looking hills, an unnaturally large red moon rising from behind them, and making the fantastic looking piles of boulders show black and grim against its light, my two companions and myself standing silent beside the mound of earth, ere we turned away.
Now, during the time that we had been digging the grave, Hawthorne left us and went down to the camp where the body was then lying; soon afterwards I called to him to ask him to bring some water when he came back. Receiving no answer, I went down myself, being thirsty from digging; on passing through the camp I saw Hawthorne inside the bough humpy bending over the body, making what looked like mesmeric passes. I called out sharply to know what he was doing; he started, and stammered out that he was only making sure that there were no indications of breathing. I said crossly that there seemed to be no occasion for that, and he went back to the grave.
After our supper was finished I tried to decipher the writing in the diary, but it was too illegible to read without a great deal of trouble, so I put it away under my head when I turned in. From the little that I had been able to make out, it seemed to be an account of the life of the man whom we had just buried, written by himself during his last hours. We talked for some time of the strange affair, dropping off to sleep one by one; we were sleeping round the fire, having been too busy to pitch our tent.
About the middle of the night, the moon then shining very brightly overhead, I was awakened by feeling something moving beneath my head; on lifting my head I saw Hawthorne feeling with his hand underneath my pillow. Angrily, I asked him what he was doing. He made no reply at first, but glared savagely at me, looking straight into my
