This now seemed an island it was impossible to reach.

We were sixty-five miles away from the only water we knew of, with no likelihood of any nearer; there might certainly be water at the mount I wished to reach, but it was unapproachable, and I called it by that name; no doubt, had I been able to reach it, my progress would still have been impeded to the west by the huge lake itself.

I could get no water except brine upon its shores, and I had no appliances to distil that; could I have done so, I would have followed this feature, hideous as it is, as no doubt sooner or later some watercourses must fall into it either from the south or the west.

We were, however, a hundred miles from the camp, with only one man left there, and sixty-five from the nearest water.

I had no choice but to retreat, baffled, like Eyre with his Lake Torrens in 1840, at all points.