Confidently anticipating the best results, I erected a crude kind of windlass, and fitted it with a green- hide rope and a bucket made by scooping out a section of a tree.

My digging implements consisted solely of a home-made wooden spade and a stone pick.

Yamba manipulated the windlass, lowering and raising the bucket and disposing of the gravel which I sent to the surface, with the dexterity of a practised navvy.

What with the heat, the scarcity of water, and the fact that not one of the natives could be relied upon to do an hour's work, it was a terribly slow and wearying business; but Yamba and I stuck to it doggedly day after day.
At the end of a week I had sunk a narrow shaft to a depth of twelve or fourteen feet, and then to my infinite satisfaction saw every indication that water was to be found a little lower down.

In the course of the following week I hit upon a spring, and then I felt amply rewarded for all the trouble I had taken.