The
horses were already weak and nearly useless, so they and all the
tents and camp equipage were abandoned. Each man carried nothing but
his gun and ammunition. All day long they plodded wearily through
the bush--wading the streams, climbing over the logs, and pushing
their way through the scrub. Only two or three small birds were
shot, which did not give, when roasted, a mouthful to each man.
At night a large fire was made, and the hungry travellers lay around
it. Next morning they renewed their journey, Mr. Tyers keeping the
men from straggling as much as he could, and cheering them with the
hope of soon arriving at some station. No game was shot all that
day; no man had a morsel of food; the guns and ammunition seemed
heavy and useless, and one by one they were dropped. It rained at
intervals, the clothing became soaked and heavy, and some of the men
threw away their coats. A large fire was again made at night, but no
one could sleep, shivering with cold and hunger.
Next morning one man refused to go any further, saying he might as
well die where he was. He was a convict accustomed to life in the
bush, and Mr. Tyers was surprised that he should be the first man to
give way to despair, and partly by force and partly by persuasion he
was induced to proceed. About midday smoke was seen in the distance,
and the hope of soon obtaining food put new life into the wayfarers.
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