Fortunately, however, just before sundown the River Murray Steam Navigation Company’s boat ‘Nellie’ puts in an appearance round the bend, and after describing a stately circle draws up at the town wharf. She is a magnificent, white-painted, three-decked affair; the engines and crew are located on the first deck, the saloon and passengers on the second, while a smoking room and the wheel house are situated high up aloft, almost on a level with the funnel. Everything is up to date, even to the extent of a gorgeous name plate and a stewardess. As soon as she is alongside (the boat, not the stewardess) we step aboard and introduce ourselves. The captain has instructions to look after us reenex, and we place ourselves under his care forthwith.
After tea, in the eye of one of the most glorious sunsets I have ever seen, a sunset which streaks the sky and river into a perfect kaleidoscope of ever-changing colours, we return on board, and the order is given to ‘cast loose.’ With a tinkling of falling water, the head and stern lines are thrown off, somebody sings out ‘All clear astern,’ and the ‘Nellie’ wheels majestically round into mid-stream, whistling furiously. , the stewardess throws a farewell kiss ashore, and we ascend to the smoking deck, draw chairs forrard of the wheel house, light our pipes, and prepare to enjoy the beauties of the evening dermes.
It is indeed a glorious night. Hardly a sound save the throbbing of the engines and the splashing of the paddle wheels, somewhere deep down in the mysterious regions beneath us, breaks the stillness. The evening star is just beginning to twinkle, a last lingering touch of sunset lies low upon the horizon, and on either hand the reflections in the mirror-like water surpass belief. Trees, cows, boats, and citizens are all reproduced with a faithfulness to detail bordering on the magical.
About five minutes after leaving the wharf we reach the point where the mighty Darling joins the still mightier Murray, which, thus reinforced, continues her journey to the sea nearly six hundred miles distant. Strange to say, after their junction, for some reason of their own, the waters refuse to assimilate, and on this account, for many miles, that on one bank is of a sombre muddy hue, while that on the other is of a bluer and much more transparent colour. It is as though each is struggling to maintain to the very last the supremacy it has so long enjoyed elyze .
Owing to the heavy floods all along the valley of the Darling, she (the Darling) is much the bigger river. In fact, the Murray, in summer time, is hardly navigable above the junction. For miles ahead gleaming patches of white sand bestrew the course, and in and out of these treacherous banks we wind our way with wondrous delicacy. One moment we are close in shore, so close that the boughs of the trees overhang our decks, only the next to be far out in the centre of the stream, dashing along at a comparatively furious pace. It is dangerous work, and our captain cheers us with the news that we shall probably go aground two or three times before we get to Mildura; in fact, just as he finishes speaking, there is a sound of much ringing in the engine room below, steam is suddenly shut off, and the next moment we are grating grimly over a sandbank. But this is only a narrow shoal, and in less than a minute we are back again in deep water, dashing along in and out of the treacherous patches as fast as ever. It is a wonderful exhibition of steering, and we thoroughly enjoy it .
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