168 Mr. A. A. Leycester’s Excursion 
agreed to take with us the unencumbered wife (whose name was 
“ Polly ”) to wait upon us in camp, to fetch wood and water, and 
to provide fish and vegetables for our repasts. With these 
articles she supplied us abundantly; and though we seldom re¬ 
turned to camp till sunset, she generally had the fish and yams 
roasted, the tea made, and a sufficient supply of wood and water 
provided for the night; and, being of a merry disposition, was 
usually found on our arrival singing some aboriginal song and 
beating time on two of her husband’s boomerangs as she sat at 
the same time watching the pots. 
The morning of Wednesday, the 20th of April, was appointed 
for a start from my hut—a spot called by the blacks Durrigan, 
situated on the bank of Leycester’s Creek, a tributary of the 
Richmond. I was aroused at grey dawn by the tinkling of my 
horse-bell, and by Davy knocking at the door and calling out at 
the top of his voice. Having, as he thought, impressed on my 
mind with his jargon the necessity of making haste, he put the 
horses in the yard, and came in for his breakfast with his two 
f gins 9 and Billy. This being accomplished, I saddled Plour-boy, 
and packed Charcoal (our two horses) with about 2 cwt. of 
sundries, in the shape of tea, sugar, flour, tobacco, ammunition, 
blankets, a tent, and my apparatus for preserving skins, and 
other articles. Davy packed his wife at the same time with his 
own property, consisting of various “notions” too numerous to 
mention. Which of the two had the greatest load, my pack- 
horse or his ‘ gin/ would be difficult to say, but the latter bore it 
all cheerfully, and carried it without a word till the end of the 
day. Davy and Billy, taking each a double-barrelled gun, a 
dirk-knife, and a tomahawk, started first to kill game on the 
road, in order to have a supply of meat for dinner and supper, 
as we did not take any with us. Polly followed next with her 
load. Having passed over ten miles of a very rough country, 
about mid-day we halted to get some dinner on a beautiful little 
streamlet covered over with a canopy of the choicest Creepers, 
which dipped in festoons into the rushing stream below. The 
rivulet meandered down the Durrigan Valley, its murmurs 
blending with the cooing of Doves, the screeching of Parrots, 
the croaking of Progs, and the shrill cry of the Cicada. This 
