Gibson and I had a most miserable day at the camp. The ants were
dreadful; the hot winds blew clouds of sandy dust all through and over
the place; the thermometer was at 102 degrees. We repaired several
pack-bags. A few mosquitoes for variety paid us persistent attentions
during the early part of the night; but their stings and bites were
delightful pleasures compared to the agonies inflicted on us by the
myriads of small black ants. Another hot wind and sand-dust day; still
sewing and repairing pack-bags to get them into something like order
and usefulness.

At one p.m. Mr. Tietkens returned from the west, and reported that the
whole country in that direction had been entirely unvisited by rains,
with the exception of the Cups, and there, out of several dozen rocky
indents, barely sufficient water for their three horses could be got.
Elder's Creek, the Cob tank, the Colonel's Range, Hughes's Creek, and
all the ranges lying between here and there, the way they returned,
were perfectly dry, not a drop of moisture having fallen in all that
region. Will it evermore be thus? Jupiter impluvius? Thermometer
to-day 106 degrees in shade. The water supply is so rapidly decreasing
that in two days it will be gone. This is certainly not a delightful
position to hold, indeed it is one of the most horrible of imaginable
encampments. The small water supply is distant about a mile from the
camp, and we have to carry it down in kegs on a horse, and often when
we go for it, we find the horses have just emptied and dirtied the
tank. We are eaten alive by flies, ants, and mosquitoes, and our
existence here cannot be deemed a happy one. Whatever could have
obfuscated the brains of Moses, when he omitted to inflict Pharaoh
with such exquisite torturers as ants, I cannot imagine. In a fiery
region like to this I am photophobist enough to think I could wallow
at ease, in blissful repose, in darkness, amongst cool and watery