DAY 14
The following morning, the 18th, a morning never to be forgotten, for to all my complaints about the road I was continually silenced by: "Say nothing about it until you get to the big hill." We were now within eleven miles of it, but the road being tolerably good and the morning fine, in expectation of something very wonderful, our spirits were by no means bad, for after this day our greatest difficulties were over. Hawkins shot some birds, the boys hunted a kangaroo rat; we laughed and talked, and went cheerfully 'on until we were within a mile of Mount York, or more commonly called the "Big Hill." I desired Tom to ride on and give us some account of it. He soon came galloping back. "Oh! Ma., you will never get up, I am sure you won't. I can't see much of the road, but I can see the valley you are to reach. It is dreadful." Our courage began to fail by the time we reached the top.
Here, my dear Ann, I think I had better stop. I leave it to your imagination. I feel it out of my power to give a proper description of it. I have offered the pen to Hawkins, but he refuses. I tell him I must take a leap from top to bottom, but that he will not allow, so I must write on as well as I can. So now all stopped to recover resolution. I gave all something to eat and some wine to drink. The men began to cut down trees necessary to chain behind the drays. This appeared a terrible precaution to take. We thought it better to commence our walk down. First Tom led his pony, Hawkins his horse. We had proceeded but a short distance when it appeared so impossible for any cart to descend the place we were at that Hawkins refused to go any further with me. Ann was forced to be carried, and mother and myself had to carry Edward. How we got down I cannot tell, but I believe the fear lest any accident should happen to him gave us strength and resolution to keep our own footing. We were often obliged to sit down on a fallen tree, but when we did the pains in our legs and the violent trembling all over us made it difficult to get up again. We at last reached the bottom in safety. To give an account of the road is not in my power, but you have read Miss Porter's Scottish Chiefs, where the rocks and glens are so well described; but even that can convey but a faint idea of this mountain.
The descent is about a mile. It is four thousand feet above the level of the sea, all rocks and cavities, awfully grand to behold, but from it being impossible to make some parts of the road safe from the projecting pieces of rock, we were rendered very uneasy about our luggage. It was about three o'clock when we seated our-selves on some trees. It was extremely hot. I had given a piece of sugar candy to one of the children in a small tin can we had brought down and as Tom and Eliza found a spring of water, the can became useful to us to drink from and the sugar served to quiet the little ones. We waited a considerable time, could hear nothing of the rest, and then desired Tom to go and meet them, and when he found them safe, to call out. An hour passed and still we heard nothing. Mother and I then thought to walk a little way and listen. Sometimes we could just hear the sound of voices, and all again was still.
We returned to our children. It was nearly sunset, and in this country it is dark almost immediately. I asked Eliza if she would venture up with the female servant to inquire what we were to do, as I was convinced some accident had happened. It was nearly dark when they returned with two cloaks, lantern, and tinder-box, on account of the first dray having upset at what is called the "Forty-nine mile pinch," and saying that the cart would be sent down to us. I soon after heard Tom's voice high above my head. I blamed him for keeping me so long in suspense, but he said I had desired him to call if they were safe, which he did as soon as the dray was unloaded and re-loaded. Tired as we were, all were employed in breaking wood and making fires. It was quite dark before the cart came. In it were two great coats and a shawl, a piece of bread, and a little arrowroot. I gave it to the poor children. To little Neddy I gave the arrowroot, and we hushed him off to sleep. Mother sat down with him in her lap before a fire. Ann and George were wrapped up and laid on the ground beside her. The four girls I laid in the cart with a great coat over them. I began to feel very weary and chilly. About nine, two drays arrived, but to stand and listen as I had previously done to the noise of the men endeavouring to cheer the cattle, and the dreadful rumbling with which they descended, was enough to create a sensation of terror in a very stout heart; to see them was impossible until they got close to us.
Hawkins was still at the top of the hill, remaining with the last drays, which from the darkness and the fatigue of the horses and men it was found could not be got down that night. They had now to get water and put the tea-kettle on, and some were obliged to walk up the hill and bring down our provisions, and many things which we could not do without, and two men to remain and watch the dray. Hawkins came down with the others, very much fatigued. We now had our supper and the tent pitched. It was eleven o'clock when ready for us. We got the children from the ground and cart into it, and laid ourselves down.
