The Dig Tree

by Sarah Murgatroyd

  No one bothered to go fishing or hunting, and with their credit exhausted at the local store, the men lived on flour, sugar, tea and small amounts of dried beef. Their vitamin-deficient diet was already affecting their health, making them vulnerable to further medical problems later on. Both Becker and Beckler wrote several times to the committee, outlining their plight and requesting more money and further instructions. Neither received any reply.

  As no one knew what was happening, there was no reason to keep things in order. Stores lay scattered on the ground. To replace the rancid pemmican, Wright bought in four bullocks to stockpile extra supplies of dried meat. The flesh was cut into long strips and strung between the trees. The fat was salted, wrapped in the skin of the dead beasts, buried for five days and then dug up and hung out to dry. The smell of rotting meat hung around the camp, attracting clouds of flies and forcing the men to spend several hours each day inspecting the meat to remove the balls of maggots.

  Wright took little interest in the camp, provoking widespread disapproval by retiring instead to the comfort of his homestead at Kinchega station. Locals whispered that ‘it was folly of Mr Wright to stop and let the season pass’ just because he was waiting for his appointment to be approved. Wright was unrepentant. He maintained that he had taken all possible steps to resolve the situation by sending a formal request for confirmation to the Exploration Committee, along with some dispatches from Burke and Wills, by the first post after he returned from Torowoto.

  Wright’s packet of letters arrived in Melbourne on 3 December 1860. Burke’s glowing descriptions of his progress towards the Cooper through excellent grazing country hardly reflected the expedition’s disarray, but they were enough to seduce the committee. Its members were so carried away by their enthusiasm that they overlooked the urgency of Wright’s predicament. Despite further dispatches from Becker and Beckler dated 27 November they failed to reply—to confirm the station manager’s appointment or issue any written orders.

  Up at the Cooper, Burke and his men were overrun by a plague of native rats. They descended on the camp in swarms, devouring food supplies, boot leather and bedding. Soon the surrounding trees resembled washing lines as gear was suspended from the branches to protect it, but the rats still scuttled over the men as they slept, gnawing their hair and chewing their toenails. Brahe trapped and shot three hundred in a single night. Exasperated, and in danger of losing more precious supplies, Burke decided to move on.

  A few kilometres along the creek, he established a new camp, which proved tolerably less popular with the local rodent population. It was dominated by a magnificent coolibah tree; a tree that had survived on the Cooper for nearly two centuries. Its massive trunk was encased by distinctive zigzag-patterned bark and its branches grew out in a great circle, casting a welcome shadow over the sunbaked earth. The men slept, ate and cooked beneath its canopy and the coolibah soon became the centre of camp life.

  Depot Camp 65 lies just inside what is now the south-western corner of Queensland. Today the area looks much as it did then—luxuriant grasses and shrubs thrive under the shade of the giant gums and great flocks of budgerigars flit from branch to branch. It is an exuberant slice of park-like beauty that obliterates the desert beyond. But respite is brief. Just a few paces away from the water’s edge, the temperature climbs. The earth is baked hard and then wrenched apart into a crinkled rusty jigsaw. The trees diminish in size until they become stunted skeletal replicas scattered across the plains. All that is left is the earth and the sky. Back at the water’s edge the dishevelled landscape is shaped by drought and flood. Tree trunks are stained dark where water has lapped against them for weeks on end, branches are tangled with debris, ragged channels scar the earth and impenetrable bogs linger between the waterholes.

  As Burke’s men set up their new depot camp, their leader continued to fret. The arguments for staying at the Cooper until Wright arrived were overwhelming. Wills’ recent experiences proved that the route north was already perilous and from now on, the weather would only get hotter and the waterholes less reliable. Burke had no way of knowing how long it might take Wright to catch up with the rest of the supplies. A prudent leader would spend the next few weeks securing a line of communication and supply back to Menindee. A prudent leader would not rush off into the desert while so much uncertainty surrounded his back-up party.

  Explorers with greater experience, from Marco Polo to Robert Scott, have learned that the most frustrating part of any journey is doing nothing. After a winter stuck aboard the Belgica, stranded off Antarctica in 1898, explorer Frederick Cook wrote: ‘We are as tired of each other’s company as we are of the cold monotony of the black night and the unpalatable sameness of our food. Physically, mentally, and perhaps morally, then, we are depressed, and from my past experience I know this depression will increase.’

  For Burke, the thought of descending into the somnolent rhythms of summer by the Cooper was more terrifying than the prospect of tackling the desert—whatever horrors it might have to offer. His blood was up and his honour depended on him reaching the Gulf before any other man. In any case, he reasoned, a delay would not necessarily be the safest option.

  When Charles Sturt tried to penetrate the interior in January 1845, he became trapped and sheltered in a small canyon for five miserable months, waiting for cooler weather to release him. Instead, his thermometers exploded, the lead slipped from his pencils and his supplies rotted away. He and his men deteriorated in the grinding heat. Their hair stopped growing, their nails turned brittle and dropped out, and one man died in agony from scurvy.

  When at last it rained, Sturt struggled forward but his debilitated party found it impossible to find a way through the fearsome dunes. He returned to Adelaide a broken man; strapped to his horse, almost blind, his gums bleeding and his legs black with scurvy. Burke was not keen to repeat Sturt’s ordeal. He dreaded lingering through the height of summer, killing time, imagining the criticism of him back in Melbourne, tortured by visions of his beloved Julia Matthews and of Stuart reaching the north coast before him. Already, days by the Cooper were sliding into an inexorable recurring pattern of their own. The dawn brought with it a few brief hours of cool temperatures when the men could take the animals out to graze and attend to camp duties. But as the sun hit its stride, the day grew heavier and it became difficult to do anything at all. Even swatting flies or drawing water from the creek was such an effort that the men ended up cowering in the shade swathed in netting and wondering how such an infinite landscape could become so claustrophobic.

  Around late afternoon, a soft glow swept over the creek, banishing the midday glare and recasting the colours with a tinge of gold. For a brief, beautiful hour tranquillity returned. Tempers were smoothed and minds roused from their languor. Around sunset, as the birds quarrelled above them, the men stoked up the campfire and prepared supper. Afterwards, when the stories and jokes were exhausted, there was little for them to do except crawl into their bedrolls and gaze skywards at the edge of universe.

  Days and nights on the Cooper melted together. Time belonged to another life. But Burke was not seduced. Succumbing to the tide of inertia was unthinkable, and besides, life at the depot camp was not proving comfortable. The insects were unbearable. Tiny black bushflies crawled into the men’s eyes, ears, noses and mouths, prompting even Wills to complain: ‘One can do nothing without having a veil on; and whilst eating the only plan is to wear goggles.’ Sunset heralded new tortures as the mosquitoes came out in search of blood. The men had two choices. They could sit in the choking smoke of the campfire or breathe freely and be bitten to death. Burke was losing patience. On 13 December, he wrote to the committee that ‘the flies, mosquitoes and rats here render it a very disagreeable summer residence’. A rumble of thunder in the distance only added to the feeling of suffocation.

  For several days lightning scampered along the horizon. The atmosphere became fretful, as if the whole landscape was waiting for release. Men and animals
were restless. As Burke surveyed the dark clouds to the north, he contemplated the possibilities. Rain would fill the waterholes and make his crossing easier. Why wait any longer and use up more valuable supplies? His decision was inevitable. He would not wait for Wright. He would strike north for the Gulf at once.

  In a dispatch to the committee, Burke justified his plan to leave the Cooper:

  I shall endeavour to explore the country to the north of it, in the direction of Carpentaria, and it is my intention to return here within three months at the latest. I did not intend to start so soon but we have had some severe thunderstorms lately with every appearance of heavy falls to the north; and as I have given the other route a fair trial, I do not wish to lose so favourable an opportunity.

  The letter was disingenuous. Burke had never shown any real signs of wanting to consolidate his position on the Cooper, and if he had been genuinely expecting Wright to arrive, he could have sent Brahe south to help bring up the rest of his supplies.

  Later that afternoon, Burke called Brahe to one side and suggested they go for a swim. As the two men floated in the cool waters of the creek, Burke revealed his plan to leave immediately with a flying party consisting of just three men: William Wills, soldier John King and sailor Charley Gray. Then he said, ‘I want someone to stay here and take the party back to the Darling if we don’t return. I will give you command if you stop. It will be a distinction.’

  Brahe was not convinced. The proposal sounded more like a nightmare than a promotion, especially as he too dreamed of crossing the continent. The two men clambered ashore but Brahe refused to commit himself, and Burke was reluctant to force him. Wills had no such scruples. The next morning the surveyor called Brahe into his tent: ‘We are in a fix,’ he said. ‘Someone must take charge here. You do it.’

  Brahe remembered later that he ‘hummed and hawed over the suggestion but just at that instant Burke came into the tent. Then Wills simply forced my hand. He said, “Brahe has offered to stay.” “That’s good,” replied Burke, patting me on the shoulder, and so that settled it.’ The German had already proved himself a capable member of the party, but he had never expected to take on such a great responsibility.

  William Brahe was promoted to take charge of the depot camp. For many years after his return to Melbourne, he refused to discuss the Burke and Wills expedition in public.

  Apart from Brahe, three others would remain at the Cooper: Thomas McDonough (who was exhausted from his trip northwards and still in disgrace for losing the camels), William Patten, the blacksmith and, most surprisingly, Dost Mohomet. After thousands of pounds had been spent caring for the precious camels, the only skilled handler was to be left behind. With his plans now out in the open, Burke made preparations to get away as soon as possible. He ordered his men to slaughter two horses and jerk the meat. Burke retired to his tent, where he concluded his dispatch to the committee, full of enthusiasm:

  We are all in good health, and the conduct of the men has been admirable. Mr Wills co-operates cordially with me. He is a most zealous and efficient officer. I have promoted Mr Brahe to the rank of officer. The position he is now placed in rendered it absolutely necessary that I should do so. He is well qualified for the post, and I hope the Committee will confirm his appointment.

  Burke reassured Brahe by telling him that Wright would have left Menindee on 15 November, and allowing around a month for the journey, he would therefore be due to arrive any day soon. John King confirmed this assertion, saying that Burke ‘expected Mr. Write Daily’.

  But clearly Burke had not thought the situation through. How could Wright possibly be expected to procure extra horses, camels and jerked meat, then assemble a new party by 15 November? Then, there was the journey time from the Darling to the Cooper. Burke had made spectacular progress, completing the 600-kilometre march in just twenty-three days. But with summer advancing and the waterholes disappearing, he grossly underestimated Wright’s task in retracing his steps. Obsessed with reaching the Gulf first, Burke had no credible contingency plans in case Wright failed to arrive, or in case he himself was away longer than expected.

  The Irishman continually confused his men with contradictory plans and off-the-cuff proposals. At one point he suggested that Brahe might head back to Menindee with more animals for Wright, or that the two could team up and survey a more convenient route between the Darling and the Cooper. Given the resources available, both these schemes were as unlikely as they were dangerous. Often Burke’s baffling instructions were the result of his tendency to tell each man what he wanted to hear. The result was uncertainty and misunderstanding.

  Despite his ignorance of the terrain ahead, Burke was certain that he would complete the journey to the Gulf and back in ninety days. According to Brahe, Burke asked him to wait for three months or until the supplies ran out. Thomas McDonough confirmed that Burke’s instructions were to wait for ‘three months and longer if he could’. Since northern Australia had already been mapped, Burke must have known that he faced a return journey of around 3000 kilometres. To complete the trip within ninety days, his party would have to average at least thirty kilometres a day or else run out of food. It was a momentous task.

  Wills took a more realistic view. He made a point of asking Brahe to hang on for four months if he could. Nevertheless, the surveyor was still optimistic about the expedition’s chances of success. As he prepared to leave the Cooper, he told his family he was in the very best of health, and even enjoying the rather limited diet of horseflesh, which he said was ‘so delicious you would scarcely know it from beef’. With typical reserve he wrote to his sister that their ‘travels so far had been very comfortable; in fact more like a picnic than a serious exploration’. He acknowledged there might be ‘some little difficulties to contend with soon’ but predicted that the expedition would be back in Melbourne by August at the latest. Wills had abandoned all hope of a scientific expedition; he was now resigned to a race for the Gulf.

  It was now twelve weeks since the explorers had left Melbourne and the party was about to split into three, with its supplies scattered from Menindee to Cooper Creek over a distance of 600 kilometres. Burke may have been following orders by dividing the expedition, but by forming three parties he had backed himself into a tight corner. With only a small cache of supplies at the Cooper, he was limited in the amount of food he could take to the Gulf, especially as he had to leave enough behind to feed Brahe and his men. In the end he took 150 kilograms of flour, fifty-five kilograms of dried beef, forty-five kilograms of dried pork, approximately twenty-five kilograms of rice, twenty-five kilograms of sugar, fifteen kilograms of meat biscuit, six kilograms of tea, three kilograms of salt and a few tins of preserved vegetables and ghee. Using Augustus Gregory’s formula for calculating the minimum necessary to nourish his men, these amounts were barely enough for four men for ninety days.

  But Burke had made a more fundamental mistake when he assessed his rations. He assumed that the men would consume the same amount each day for three months. He made no allowances for delays or the fact that the men would need extra food towards the end of the trek. Here, he displayed an error of judgment that has afflicted even the most experienced explorers. Like Robert Scott many years later, Burke underestimated the demands of the return journey and left too little room for error. Both men were so focused on their goals that they forgot about the rigours of coming back in a debilitated state.

  According to King, Burke proposed to enhance his rations by shooting wild pigs and buffalo further north but, in the light of the expedition’s indifference to bush tucker so far, this seemed an unlikely option. His second strategy was rather more drastic. Burke had decided to eat his transport. Valuable horses and camels would be sacrificed for food whenever necessary, even if it reduced the expedition’s carrying capacity. The exploring party had left Melbourne with enough livestock to start a small farm but there were now just twelve camels and thirteen horses left on the Cooper. Burke decided to take six camels an
d one horse to the Gulf and, since the animals might have to carry water as well, supplies and equipment were cut to a minimum. Apart from food, his party took just a few firearms, some spare clothing and a small number of scientific instruments. There was no room for luxuries. Even the tents were jettisoned, leaving the men just a bedroll and a blanket for shelter. By any standards they were under-resourced for the journey ahead.

  On the evening of 15 December, Burke handed his new officer, William Brahe, a sealed packet of papers, with instructions that they should be tossed into the creek unread if he failed to return. Wills also left behind a number of personal papers and, in a last gallant gesture towards scientific endeavour, bequeathed his collection of barometers and thermometers to Brahe so he could keep meteorological records on the Cooper.

  The next morning Burke lined up his men to say goodbye under the early-morning shade of the coolibah trees. However erratic his leadership might have been, the Irishman still inspired the loyalty of his men and the whole party was overcome by the occasion. William Patten the blacksmith burst into tears and sobbed as Burke embraced each of his men. Burke took him aside and reassured him that if he ‘was not back in three months’, then Patten ‘might make his way to the Darling’.

  Starting a brand new notebook, Wills wrote: ‘Sunday Dec 16, 1860. The two horses having been shod and reports finished, we started at forty minutes past six am for Eyres Creek, the party consisting of Mr Burke, myself, King, and Charley, having with us six camels, one horse, and three months provisions.’

  The Victorian Exploring Expedition had started with twenty tonnes of equipment. Now it was embarking on the most punishing section of the journey with only a fraction of these resources. With no spare animals, the ‘best equipped explorers ever to try for the Gulf’ would be walking the whole way.