Great Australian Journeys

by Seal, Graham;

  Ned Kelly’s convoy reached Younghusband’s to find the remainder of his gang had already captured a group of local workers.

  They were standing beside the hut, and the fourth man of the gang, who is named Byrne, was marching in front of them with two guns and his belt stuck full of revolvers. Ned Kelly had previously threatened to roast them alive and to do all sorts of things to them. There were 22 men in all bailed up here. I now learned that the ruffians had arrived at the station about mid day on Monday, and that they had stayed there all night, and the men they had secured were bailed up all the time. The station was a handy place for making a descent from upon the bank.

  While the captured men looked a little cowed, the bushrangers and their horses were in fine condition. The horses were rested and well fed, although a little overburdened by the stolen gold and silver. And Scott noted that the bushrangers ‘had evidently been feeding well’:

  they were rigged out in the new clothes they had obtained from the hawkers van. They were also fully equipped with arms, and had plenty of ammunition. Daniel Kelly exactly like the picture of him in the papers. Ned is a good looking man, with reddish whiskers.

  Ned Kelly’s 37 ‘guests’ were given supper and treated to a display of horsemanship by Dan Kelly and Steve Hart. Ned made his usual speech about the persecution suffered by himself and his family. In her account of the incident, Mrs Scott famously declared that ‘Ned Kelly was a gentleman.’

  About 7.30 that evening the prisoners were gathered into a hut and told to stay there for three hours. According to Scott:

  I looked at my watch and said, ‘Then we will leave at 11 o’clock.’ Ned Kelly replied, ‘No, not until half past 11. You must stop here for three hours, and if any of you leave before then we will find you out and make it hot for you.’

  Just before they left, the man Byrne returned to the door of the hut, and said, ‘I want to see Mr Scott. Give me your watch.’ I said ‘No, I won’t. You can take it if you like,’ and he accordingly un-hooked it from my vest and carried it away.

  The outlaws rode away towards Violet Town and the prisoners waited until 11 p.m., as commanded. Mrs Scott drove the family home in the buggy. Robert Scott, minus his watch, walked behind. When they reached Euroa they discovered that no one in the town had suspected anything until they found the Scotts’ living quarters deserted at 9 p.m. The town’s only policeman was nowhere to be found and it wasn’t until 4 a.m. the next morning that a party of police and a backtracker arrived from Benalla. As usual, the Kellys and the loot were long gone.

  THE CAMELEER FACTOR

  Albert Calvert was a man of many parts and many interests. Some of them included mining, exploration, and making—and losing—money in rather large quantities. He was known in England as ‘the prophet of the west’, due to his fascination with the mineral wealth in that large part of Australia. In 1896, barely in his mid twenties, Calvert offered funds to the South Australian Royal Geographic Society for an expedition to gather scientific evidence, search for the missing explorer Ludwig Leichhardt and pioneer a stock route from the Northern Territory to the western goldfields. Of course, the unspoken main purpose of the enterprise was to search for mineral wealth.

  The expedition was led by Lawrence ‘Larry’ Wells, with his twenty-year-old cousin Charles as second in command, as well as six other men, including two experienced Afghan cameleers, Bejah Dervish and Said Ameer. Camels became popular on exploration treks from the 1840s onwards for their stamina, carrying capacity and comparative cheapness. Wells wisely took twenty with him.

  Wells’s party set off north from Mullewa in June 1896. By August they were moving into the Great Sandy Desert. Water was scarce there and the camels were falling sick from eating poisonous weeds. Charles Wells and the expedition’s photographer, mineralogist George Jones, made a separate exploration north-west in October. They planned to rejoin the main party the following month. Anxiety began to mount when their return date came and went. Several attempts were made to find them, effectively turning the expedition intended to ‘fill in the blank spaces on the map’ into a desperate rescue bid. It was not until May the next year that their remains were found, as described by Wells:

  we travelled to Ngoaaddapa and Kullga Agunum to a point about fourteen miles north-north-east of Johanna Springs. On May 24th we sent Bejah and a tracker along the pad to Johanna. Ord, Nicholson and myself, with the other tracker, pushed on in the direction of smoke seen the previous day, and after going fourteen miles we ran some natives down in their camp. Here we found a large piece of the iron bow of a camel riding saddle. The natives said it was taken from dead white men, and added that the sun had killed them. The natives were bold, and refused to go with us until the handcuffs were used. They tried many devices to avoid going to Johanna Springs, Ord and Nicholson having to drive them.

  After that we spelled a day at Johanna, and tried to induce the natives to point out the direction of the dead men, but without success. The following day we travelled the pad, going westerly twelve miles, when we reached a high point from which we obtained a good view of the surrounding country. Here again we tried the natives, but they would eagerly point in any direction except that in which they knew the dead men to be. It was found necessary to resort to stronger measures, and they then took us south-east for five miles, and south-west for two miles, to the spot for which we had so long been seeking.

  It was only 10 kilometres from the spot they had searched the month before. Wells wrote:

  I at once recognised Charles by his beard and features, the skin having dried on his face and body. He lay under a desert gum tree, where he had been erecting a fly for a shade. On the top of a sand ridge, about one chain westerly, the remains of George Jones were found. The body had evidently been covered with sand by Charles, who had then gone to the other tree to wait death itself. The natives had carried off everything of any use to themselves. The woodwork of both kegs, portions of the camel pack-saddle and one riding saddle, one leather pack-bag, a leather satchel, Jones’s compass, a Prayer Book, a leather pouch, a tin box with medicines, a journal, and a note to his parents were close by him. We could find no plan or any letter left by Charles. All the firearms had been carried off by the natives.

  From the journal Jones left, Wells worked out the course the unfortunate men had taken. One camel died in the intense heat and the remaining two had wandered off into the desert. The men were too weak to chase them. They were down to two quarts of water and did not expect to live much longer. Wells was also able to deduce how they had perished.

  There was no date to this letter, but from his statement they must have left Separation Well on October 23rd. They probably travelled by night and lost my track. Allowing fifteen days, they would have reached the spot where we found them about November 8th. From what we saw of the spot where the equipment was, it would appear that my cousin’s riding camel had died, and that they had left his saddle, bringing everything else on. The remains are sewn up in canvas and will be placed in coffins here, ready for removal to Adelaide by the next boat.

  The dead men were given a state funeral in Adelaide. But Calvert, an inveterate mining speculator, had lost his money in the meantime and was unable to provide the funds he had promised. The leader of the expedition came in for a good deal of criticism, though he was later exonerated by a Parliamentary Select Committee.

  As Larry Wells freely acknowledged, the rest of the expedition probably escaped death in the extreme conditions through Bejah’s amazing ability to keep many of the camels going:

  Anyone who has read the plain, unvarnished tale of that terrible and fateful Calvert expedition as told in the diary of Mr. Wells understands why the humble camel driver in Marree has so many friends and admirers. A more devoted colleague no leader of an expedition could have had. Mr. Wells describes him as ‘one of Nature’s gentlemen’, and says that his word is his bond.

  The flamboyant Albert Calvert continued his volatile careers in mining and speculation, a
s well as writing and publishing many books. In 1923, he was at the centre of a scandal involving royal Russian jewellery and was lucky to escape criminal proceedings. He died in London in 1946.

  WHEELS ACROSS THE WILDERNESS

  The bicycle in its modern form arrived in Australia in the late 1860s. It soon became wildly popular, with bicycle races and bicycle clubs springing up around the country. It was not long before intrepid types began to push the limits of man and machine (it was long considered unladylike for women to ride bicycles). Transcontinental rides were attempted by many, particularly from the 1890s when Albert MacDonald of Orroroo rode over 3300 kilometres from Port Darwin to Adelaide in just under 27 days.

  But the man destined to become one of the most famous long-distance cyclists (and later, motor car adventurers) was Victorian man Francis Birtles. At the age of 25 in 1906, he announced his intention to cross the continent from the west coast to the east coast. When interviewed by a journalist, the ‘calm-eyed, wiry-looking Australian’ summed up his motivations and his strategy:

  I have been a wanderer for ten years since I left my native State, Victoria. For the last five-years I have been in South Africa, and have travelled all over that country with the mobile columns of the constabulary, from Capetown to Koomati Poort, and from the Orange River to the Limpopo. As a cyclist, I have done a deal of racing on the Transvaal roads, and have crossed the Karoo and Kalahari deserts. Now I want to ride from the Indian to the Pacific Oceans.

  Next Wednesday I shall mount my machine at Fremantle, and will call at the Exhibition at Hay-street East for a final sendoff at 4 p.m. From Perth I shall ride to Laverton, and will then strike north-easterly to cross the border into South Australia. I want to go through country which has not yet been traversed, and if I get through all right will come out near Alice Springs, on the overland telegraph line. The ride to Adelaide will be comparatively easy, and then I shall cross to Ballarat, Melbourne and Sydney.

  Birtles thought he ‘might have trouble with the natives’ but would ‘watch them’ as he traversed the arid country on a spring-frame machine BSA roadster with a freewheel back-pedal brake and Dunlop bushman’s tyres. ‘With ordinary luck, I’ll get through,’ he manfully declared. Asked why he was making the ride at all, he replied:

  Oh . . . I fancy the trip. It will fill in time and will satisfy my passion for wandering. I’m only 25 years of age, and I’ve travelled a bit. No, I don’t expect to make much money out of it, seeing that I’m paying all my expenses. I shall write all about it. You may have seen my articles, ‘An Australian Trooper in Zululand’, in ‘Life’. I expect to be about two months on the journey, and, as I say, I have only myself to look after.

  On Boxing Day 1906, a mass of Perth cyclists gave Birtles a hearty send-off. He carried two waterbags and concentrated food weighing 40 pounds. By 4 January, he had reached Coolgardie feeling ‘well and confident’. Four days later he wrote from Kalgoorlie:

  I am travelling along quietly through the various inland towns; I will not be leaving Laverton before the end of this month. I want to catch the rains which generally fall in the beginning of the year. The people have treated me well on the ‘run up’ here. From Grass Valley, to Kalgoorlie the pipe tracks are good travelling. As for the main road it is best left alone. The roads over the ranges are very gravelly, the wheels skidding all the way. A man could make a hundred miles a day here. As for myself, I pedal along four or five hours a day on an average. There are so many people to see; that one loses a lot of time. But I do not mind: I am in no hurry. I feel in splendid going order now. I have had two water-tanks fitted to my ‘bike’. They will have to carry me through the dry country. The holding capacity of the two is five gallons. Pretty weighty, certainly, but I shall want it. In conclusion, I wish to thank you and all brother cyclists for your hearty send-off and good wishes.

  At this time his route was through almost unexplored and untracked country. By early February he was beginning to find water scarce. He could carry about 22 litres of water but he was struggling through dense mulga:

  Twenty six miles must now be made before I can reach the next waterhole, it is eight days since I saw the last one. Waterhole to waterhole is about 180 to 200 miles apart. Am utilising at the rate of two quarts of water a day, and my supply lasts 10 days. When I get further south, I am told, there is no scarcity of water, and as the tracks will then be better, I hope to be able to make more satisfactory progress.

  But by March Birtles had run into trouble, as he wrote to a friend:

  I have made my second attempt to cross the desert, and have failed. On this occasion I got out 120 miles into the desert, which is in a terrible condition, owing to the last two dry seasons. On Sunday (February 10) I was forced back, and had to retreat for lack of water. The following day I had nothing to drink. I was in a horrible condition, legs cut and swollen, and a bad head, some insect had bitten me while sleeping. Add to this that I had to push my bike nearly all the way sometimes in sand nearly up to the hubs of the wheels. You will readily understand my plight when I tell you that the temptation to leave my machine and take my clothes off was well nigh unconquerable, but I knew that I would be finished if I did so. During the 240 miles I travelled in the desert country, I only found water twice. In one instance the rock-hole was full of dead rabbits. Even the dingoes are lying dead round empty holes.

  On my retreat from the desert I had a terrible time. Luckily I happened to know of a soak some 60 miles away, and about 40 miles out of Kurnalpi, and to this I managed to struggle. On the way to the soak I began to get so bad that I could continuously see water alongside of me, whilst every time I took a rest I saw a dingo slinking around in the scrub. He followed me for 60 miles to the soak. Here I got a couple of quarts of water, and waited a day, then I got two more, which carried me back to Kurnalpi.

  You can imagine what I had to go through when I mention the fact that the temperature at Kurnalpi when I got back was 110 degrees in the shade, so you can form an idea of what it was like pushing a cycle and luggage weighing close on 120lb through the desert.

  He had covered over 2000 kilometres by then, 800 of them through ‘trackless country’. His bike and tyres had held up well but he had ‘come to the conclusion that it is absolutely impossible to negotiate the desert in its present state, so I intend crossing to Adelaide, Melbourne, and Sydney, via the coastal route’.

  Birtles did succeed in his aim by taking the coastal route. He was in Adelaide by late April and rode into Melbourne on 29 April. He wheeled into Sydney on 8 May 1907, having been 113 days on the road and cycling over seven thousand kilometres from the Indian to the Pacific oceans. A ‘host of cyclists’ greeted him, along with his mother and brother. His achievement was applauded ‘as one of the most important that had been performed anywhere’. Birtles recounted his arduous journey and then cycled to Bondi to complete it. He said ‘he would not like to do it again—for some time, at any rate’.

  But it was not long before the persistent pedaller was back on the road. By 1912 he had twice cycled round the continent and crossed it seven times. And then he started doing it all again in motorcars, but that is another story.

  MRS BELL’S OLDSMOBILE

  ‘The wanderlust was on her and just HAD to be satisfied!’ At least that was how it was put in the advertisement celebrating Mrs Marion Bell’s 1925–26 round-Australia drive in her Oldsmobile Six. The advertising copywriters and the press made much of the fact that the 29-year-old Mrs Bell had done it all without the help of a man and ‘against the advice of the car agents, members of Parliament and police’.

  This ‘brave little woman of the west’ was born in New Zealand. She was an outstanding runner, horsewoman and rifle shot and ‘ha[d] tried her hand at all classes of sport indulged in by man’. By the time she set out on her epic journey she and her husband were running a garage in Fremantle. Marion Bell became the first woman to drive a motor car around Australia.

  She did not travel alone; her eleven-year-old dau
ghter, also named Marion, came along for the ride. They left Perth on 12 October 1925 and headed north through Marble Bar, Broome, Derby, then into the Northern Territory via Katherine and Victoria Downs. Then it was on through Cloncurry, Longreach, Roma and Toowoomba to Brisbane, then Murwillumbah and Bangalow. They reached Lismore on 16 December.

  By now Mrs Bell and her daughter had experienced adventure and adversity aplenty. Somewhere in the west dingoes attacked them. Mrs Bell drew her revolver and dropped one. She then chased the rest of the pack down until one of the dingoes dropped dead in front of her car.

  Near Marble Bar Mrs Bell’s daughter fell ill. Burning with fever, she was barely able to stand and her lips bled from sunburn. Her mother administered quinine but she came close to death. The younger Marion recovered, allowing the journey to continue. At one point the Oldsmobile lost its brakes and they drove for 1000 miles of rough country with no means of stopping other than gearing down.

  There were other encounters with mortality along the way. In the Territory they came across a wanderer on an isolated track. He was near death already and there was little they could do other than ease his passing. A few hours later the Oldsmobile’s radiator ran dry and they now faced the prospect of a lingering death themselves from lack of water. Fortunately, a few days later came the first rain in a year and they were able to catch enough in a tarpaulin to get them and their car to the next settlement, almost 300 kilometres away.

  At one point Mrs Bell managed to stop a tribal conflict between warring Aboriginal groups.