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Updated: June 11, 2025
There are a number of cockatoos and other birds about. We have seen no other game, except one wallaby and one kangaroo. There are plenty of old emu tracks about the ponds. Wind, variable. Cloudy. Monday, 5th May, King's Ponds. Returned to Frew's Water Hole and camped. Before sundown the sky became overcast with clouds. Wind variable. Tuesday, 6th May, Frew's Water Hole.
The rapidity with which the young ones grow up and improve in appearance, in consequence of their regular food and the care taken of them, is astonishing. They are allowed to have a common kind of spear, though without any throwing stick; and sometimes receive permission to go to the west end of the island to endeavour to kill wallaby, which are there rather numerous.
Although not a large race, they were in very good condition; part of their food, is the native yam, called warran in Western Australia. The birds on the island are common to other parts; and the wallaby, of which Mr. Bynoe shot three, are light coloured.
Those who partook of the last of the wallabies have gone the way of all flesh, and the incident is instructive only as an illustration of the manner in which animals may suddenly disappear from confined localities, leaving no relic of previous existence. Though the drawings in caves depict lizards, echidna, turtle and men, there is no representation of kangaroo or wallaby.
A strange view. Gratified at our discoveries. Return to Fort Mueller. Digging with a tomahawk. Storing water. Wallaby for supper. Another attack. Gibson's gardens. Opossums destructive. Birds. Thoughts. Physical peculiarities of the region. Haunted. Depart. The way we wash our clothes is primitive it can only be done at a depot.
Can I do anything for you at the station?" he added, after a pause. "Any message, or anything?" "By-the-way, yes, Alf, if you'll be so good. When will you be going across?" "To-day," he replied. "I'm not going round the paddock." I drew my writing-case from Bunyip's pack; and this was the note I pencilled: Wallaby Track, l0/ 2/'84 Dear Jack
"That's one wallaby on the wheat, anyway," Dave muttered, and we giggled. WE understood Dave; but Dad did n't open his mouth. We lost no time lighting the fires. Then we walked through the "wheat" and wallabies! May Satan reprove me if I exaggerate their number by one solitary pair of ears but from the row and scatter they made there were a MILLION.
They are going to fight soon with another district, and are making great preparations in spears, clubs, and shields. 23rd. Our spiritist gave us a very short and indistinct seance last night. A man speared the other day in a wallaby hunt, near the Laroki, he told us, was dead.
"Couldn't some means of employing them be arrived at?" "Work!" he ejaculated. "That's the very thing the crawling divils are terrified they might get." "Yes; but couldn't some law be made to help them?" "A law to make me cut up Caddagat and give ten of 'em each a piece, and go on the wallaby myself, I suppose?"
Changed our bearing to 268 degrees for nine miles. Camped under a range of low hills with good feed for the horses. On our west course we crossed a plain of red light soil, with abundance of grass and a little salt bush with a very thick scrub close to the range, but as we advanced it became more open, and the scrub lower. Shot a wallaby and had him for supper. Distance to-day, twenty-five miles.
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