The soil here was a
stiff clay, and the surface very uneven, so that between the tufts
of grass one was frequently knee deep in water. The bottom,
however, was sound and no fear of bogging. After floundering
through this for several miles, we came to a path formed by the
blacks, and there were distinct signs of a recent migration in a
southerly direction. By making use of this path we got on much
better, for the ground was well trodden and hard. At rather more
than a mile, the path entered a forest through which flowed a nice
watercourse, and we had not gone far before we found places where
the blacks had been camping. The forest was intersected by little
pebbly rises, on which they had made their fires, and in the sandy
ground adjoining some of the former had been digging yams, which
seemed to be so numerous that they could afford to leave lots of
them about, probably having only selected the very best. We were
not so particular, but ate many of those that they had rejected,
and found them very good. About half a mile further, we came close
on a black fellow, who was coiling up by a camp fire, whilst his
gin and piccaninny were yabbering alongside.
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