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somewhat unwell while encamped on the banks of the Macquarie, 
the channel of which was deep and dry, sent Mr. Stephenson, one of 
his party, to Mount Foster, to make inquiries about the river and the 
stations on it lower down. Mr. Stephenson returned early wdth two 
of the mounted police. To his most important question, 44 what water 
was to be found lower down in the river, the reply was, 4 plenty, and 
a flood coming down from the Turon mountains.’ The two policemen 
said that they had travelled twenty miles with it on the day pre- 
vious, and that it would still take some time to arrive near our camp. 
. ... In the afternoon, two of the men taking a walk up the river, 
reported on their return, that the flood poured in upon them when 
in the river bed so suddenly, that they narrowly escaped it. Still 
the bed of the Macquarie before our camp continued so dry and 
silent, that I could scarcely believe the flood coming to be real, and 
so near to us, who had been put to so many shifts for the want of 
water. Towards evening I stationed a man with a gun a little way 
up the river, with orders to fire on the flood’s appearance, that I 
might have time to run and witness what I so much wished to see, 
as well from curiosity as from urgent need. The shades of evening 
came, however, but no flood, and the man on the look-out returned 
to the camp. Some hours later, and after the moon had risen, a 
murmuring sound, like that of a distant waterfall, mingled with 
occasional cracks, as of breaking timber, drew our attention, and 
I hastened to the river -bank. By very slow degrees the sound 
grew louder, and at length so audible as to draw various persons 
besides from the camp to the river-side. Still no flood appeared, 
although its approach was indicated by the occasional rending of 
trees with a loud noise. Such a phenomenon in a most serene 
moonlight night was new to us all. At length the rushing sound of 
waters, and loud cracking of timber, announced that the flood was 
in the next bend. It rushed into our sight, glittering in the moon- 
beams, a moving cataract, tossing before it ancient trees, and snap- 
ping them against its banks. It was preceded by a point of mean- 
dering water, picking its way, like a thing of life, through the 
deepest parts of the dark, dry and shady bed, of what thus again 
became a flowing river. By my party, situated as we were at that 
time, beating about the country, and impeded in our journey solely 
by the almost total absence of water, — suffering excessively from 
thirst and extreme heat, — I am convinced the scene never can be 
forgotten. Here came at once abundance, the produce of storms 
in the far-off mountains that overlooked our homes. .... The 
river gradually filled up the channel nearly bank- high, while the 
living cataract travelled onward much slower than I had expected 
to see it ; so slowly, indeed, that more than an hour after its first 
arrival the sweet music of the head of the flood was distinctly 
audible, as the murmur of waters and diapason crash of logs tra- 
velled slowly through the tortuous windings. .... The next morn- 
ing the river had risen to within six feet of the top of its banks, 
and poured its turbid waters along in fulness and strength, but no 
longer wdth noise. All night that body of water had been in motion 
downwards, and seemed to me enough to deluge the whole country.” 
