The Dig Tree

by Sarah Murgatroyd

  Soon after leaving Cooper Creek, the explorers found themselves tackling ‘ridges of loose sand’ up to twenty metres high.

  Twelve

  Anticipation of Horrors

  ‘If there is such a thing as darkness which can be felt, then the Australian desert possesses a silence which can be heard, so much does it oppress the intruder into these solitudes.’

  Ernest Favenc

  Without William Wills, we would have almost no record of the first European crossing of Australia. To begin with, the surveyor maintained his diary scrupulously, leaving a detailed if somewhat clinical journal that bears all the hallmarks of his rationalist beliefs. Later, as the trek began to take its toll, dates become muddled and days get lost in the battle for survival. The original volumes survive to this day—they include a set of scientific records, consisting of up to fifteen meteorological readings a day, followed by pages of long-winded navigational calculations.

  Overland navigation in 1860 was a laborious business. Sir Thomas Mitchell (or rather his servants) carried a sextant that weighed twenty-four kilograms. In addition, a typical surveyor needed compasses, a telescope, a chronometer, a theodolite, and special measuring chains the length of a cricket pitch known as ‘Gunter chains’. Wills travelled light. His most useful tool was a prismatic compass. The surveyor set his course, then kept to it as far as the terrain allowed. Some areas were littered with rocky outcrops, rivers or boggy country, which meant detours and recalculations. Other patches of open desert were so devoid of reference points that the party stuck as best they could to a predetermined bearing for days on end with nothing to aim for except the dreamlike world of the mirages hovering above the horizon.

  In order to compile a proper map, Wills also had to calculate the distance travelled each day. The most accurate methods were time-consuming. Some surveyors used a measuring wheel, others laid out their 20.1-metre Gunter chains end to end. Wills guessed his speed for a fixed distance and then extrapolated from that figure.

  Latitude, the party’s north-south position, was established by measuring the sun’s altitude using a sextant and a pool of mercury enclosed in a vibration-proof box to create an artificial horizon. Wills looked through a system of lenses until he saw dual images of the sun reflected in a mirror. He then moved an index arm on the sextant until the two suns became superimposed and read off an angle from the instrument’s scale. Several pairs of readings were necessary to make an accurate calculation and, despite years of practice, Wills found it a tricky process. ‘In windy weather,’ he complained, ‘it is seldom possible to keep the mirror free from dust even for a few seconds and this so interferes with the readings of the spirit level that the altitudes taken with this horizon cannot be depended on within one minute of arc.’ Once altitude readings had been obtained, Wills used a special set of tables known as a nautical almanac to calculate his latitude.

  Longitude, the party’s east-west position, was established by comparing the local time with the time at a fixed point such as the Greenwich meridian. Since the earth revolves fifteen degrees every hour, if Wills knew the difference between the two times, he could then calculate his longitude. In order to ascertain the local time, the surveyor used his sextant to determine when the sun reached its highest point. This method was dependent on the accuracy of his chronometers, and in the 1860s it was a tall order to expect a watch to function without error throughout the rigours of a desert expedition. Indeed, it was not uncommon for variations of several degrees to creep in over a number of months.

  As Charles Sturt and John McDouall Stuart had discovered to their cost, taking sun sightings in the desert was a painful process that ruined their eyesight. For most of the journey Wills avoided the problem because he was also proficient at taking star sightings, and even seemed to prefer the nocturnal method. If the night sky was clear he would spend at least an hour and a half working out the altitude and position of selected stars. Then, using his astronomical tables, he could calculate his latitude and his longitude without having to ‘shoot the sun’.

  In contrast to Wills’ meticulous records, Burke’s entire ‘diary’ consists of no more than 850 words. Even the barely educated John King kept a better record than his leader. Burke’s efforts are contained in a leather-bound pocketbook, which is still smudged with red earth. It contains an inscription on the first page: ‘Think well before giving an answer, and never speak except from strong convictions.’ The rest of the entries comprise little more than a scrappy list of dates and campsites scrawled in pencil on random pages throughout the book.

  The first few notes read:

  16th December Left depot 65, followed by the creek.

  17th The same.

  18th The same. 67

  19th We made a small creek, supposed to be Otta Era (?), or in the immediate neighbourhood of it. Good water. Camp 69.

  20th Made a creek where we found a great many natives; they presented us with fish, and offered us their women. Camp 70.

  21st.—Made another creek: Camp 71. Splendid water; fine feed for the camels; would be a very good place for a station. Since we have left Cooper’s Creek, we have travelled over a very fine sheep-grazing country, well-watered, and in every respect well suited for occupation.

  22nd December 1860.—Camp 72. Encamped on the borders of the desert.

  23rd December 1860.—Travelled day and night, and encamped in the night in the bed of a creek, as we supposed were near water.

  Burke had always disliked paperwork. Visitors to his Beechworth home were shocked to discover the walls were plastered with scraps of paper containing scribbled messages in English, French and German. A sign read: ‘You are requested not to read anything on these walls, I cannot keep any record in a systematic manner, so I jot things down like this.’

  By nineteenth-century standards, Burke’s diary is particularly disappointing. Sometimes expedition journals were works of literature in their own right commanding sizeable advances from publishers. They were also of great commercial and political interest with enormous consequences for investment, infrastructure and population growth. The Exploration Committee had asked Burke to keep a detailed record of his journey, but in the end impatience overruled obligation. Burke would sometimes read Wills’ journal and make suggestions but that was all. It is a pity. He may have provided a livelier, more personal record than his surveyor.

  Once they left Depot Camp 65, Burke, Wills, Gray and King found the first few days of the journey almost idyllic. Predictions of desiccated wastelands and aggressive Aboriginal warriors came to nothing as they led their camels through the shade of the gum trees alongside the Cooper. Even when they turned north, away from the benevolent influence of the creek, Wills was delighted to find that between the sand dunes, the valleys were ‘very pretty…and covered with fresh plants, which made them look beautifully green’. If anything the ground was too wet rather than too dry, and the confusion of boggy gullies made setting a course and walking in a straight line a luxury.

  William Brahe accompanied the party for the first day. The next morning, 17 December, Burke reiterated his belief that William Wright would be ‘up in a few days’, even instructing his new officer to catch him up with any messages if his back-up arrived soon. With this reassurance ringing in his ears, Brahe turned his horse around and headed back to camp. His only function now was to survive and await his leader’s return. Neither he nor Burke had any idea of the extraordinary events taking place in Menindee, a few hundred kilometres to the south.

  On 19 December, Hermann Beckler was checking the supplies of dried meat at the camp on the Darling when a ragged emaciated figure stumbled into view. ‘His face was sunken,’ the doctor recalled, ‘his tottering legs could hardly carry him, his feet were raw, his voice hoarse and whispering. He was a shadow of a man. He laid himself at my feet and looked at me wistfully and soulfully.’

  It was Dick the Aboriginal tracker. He had left Trooper Lyons and Alexander MacPherson at Torowoto—home to the Wan
jiwalku people. All the horses were lost or dead and the two white men were so weak they were unable to travel. Dick had walked alone for a week to save his companions. He had eaten just two birds and a couple of lizards during his 300-kilometre journey.

  Contradicting Burke’s accusation that he was too scared to leave the settled districts, Beckler offered to mount a rescue mission. Dick was in no condition to assist, so the doctor took Belooch and another Aboriginal guide named Peter. They set out with three camels and a horse, pushing themselves as hard as they could to reach Lyons and MacPherson. Despite the crisis, Beckler was effusive about the surreal beauty of Australia’s desert country:

  Nothing could disturb us from the sensual ecstasy of this day, neither the worry about the success of our journey north, the continually oppressive heat, nor even the extremely unpleasant behaviour of our animals…Parts of the chain of hills before us seemed to be reflected on expansive surfaces of water whose edges the eye could never determine. Here and there vertical lines cut through the wavelike contours of the chain of hills; once again everything seemed to blur into a blueish haze. To the east, the ghostly shapes of gigantic treetops, towering over sheets of water, appeared to form the entrance to a fairy land. What could be more natural than that this unexpected mirage should intensify the magic of this land, a land we have never seen, that we entered as the first Europeans, a fata morgana, the gateway to terra incognita!

  Providing the only permanent water for many kilometres, the rock pools at Mutawintji attract emus, kangaroos, euros and yellow-footed wallabies. Ludwig Becker was enchanted by them.

  Guided by Peter, the doctor followed Burke’s old track towards Mutawintji, where he delighted in the Aboriginal art he found around the cool rocky overhangs:

  The walls and ceilings were covered with the impressions of outstretched human hands in the most varied colours, a decoration, which had something ghostly about it at first sight. These impressions were such that the hand with its extended fingers appeared in the natural grey or yellow-grey of the rock, while their very sharp outline was formed by a halo of colour which gradually disappeared around the outside and which looked as though it had been sprayed on…Later I was informed by a native that the artist held a solution of colour in his mouth and sprayed it over his or another’s hand, which was held spread out over the rock. These people paint with their mouths, and their oral cavity also forms their palette.

  After a week of hard travelling, it was Beckler who spotted Alexander MacPherson: ‘He raised himself laboriously from a stooped position in which he seemed to be gathering something from the ground. He staggered towards us. For several minutes he was completely speechless, but finally he cried out, “Oh Doctor!”, and tears streamed from his eyes.’ Lyons was not far away. He was in better shape physically but seemed resigned to his fate in the desert and ‘had to be cheered up constantly by the others so that he did not despair completely’. Both men had lived for two weeks under an old horse blanket. They had scratched themselves raw from the mosquitoes.

  MacPherson told Beckler they had suffered constantly from diarrhoea and vomiting as they tried to head north from Torowoto, and once their horses died, they had no choice but to retreat. Sometimes they were so thirsty they ‘rinsed out theirmouths with their own urine, and derived great relief from it’. It had taken all their strength to return to the waterholes, where Dick negotiated with the local Aborigines to bring them food, while he returned to Menindee to fetch help. For a few days they received birds, snakes and the odd goanna before the local hunters moved on and they were reduced to gathering the local nardoo plants to grind into flour.

  It would have been sensible for Beckler’s rescue party to head back to Menindee all together, but by this time the doctor was thoroughly carried away with his new role as an explorer. He decided to strike out for the nearby Goningberri Ranges with Peter, leaving the other three to walk back by themselves. The trio then argued over the choice of route and Belooch walked off by himself. Quite by chance, Beckler found him five days later wandering in circles, delirious and almost dead from thirst. It was another lesson (if one was needed) that dividing up parties in such treacherous country was not a good idea.

  In all, the Lyons debacle had been nothing but a dangerous waste of time. Three men had nearly died, four horses were gone and Wright had lost more valuable time—it was now two and a half months since Burke had left Menindee.

  After Brahe departed a new routine settled over Burke’s party. Between 4 and 5 a.m., as the sun rose, the men would crawl from their bedrolls, shake the insects from their blankets and turn their boots upside down to check for scorpions. As Charley Gray began the packing, John King set out to retrieve the camels. He led them back to the camp, selected a soft level piece of ground, and ordered them to ‘hush down’. The animals roared and groaned as they rocked backwards and forwards, then dropped down on their haunches into the sand.

  The camel is not a creature designed for freight. The hump means that cargo inevitably slides downhill and it is essential that the load is well distributed and securely anchored. An unbalanced pack results in saddle sores and abscesses, followed by flies, infections and maggot infestations. The average pack camel can carry around 200 kilograms for fifty kilometres a day. More weight means less distance. Pushing an animal too hard results in a severe deterioration in condition and ultimately, premature death.

  In the cool morning air, King adjusted each pack before enlisting the others to help him hoist it aboard. Then he prepared the riding camels, fitting a bridle and an Indian-style saddle, which is placed on the back with the hump protruding through the middle. Stirrups could be fitted if necessary and there was plenty of room to suspend water bottles, rifles, oilskins, binoculars and other assorted paraphernalia.

  When everything was ready, King joined the animals together via their nose-pegs (since camels chew cud continuously, they cannot be fitted with a bit and bridle like a horse) and then cajoled them into line ready for the day’s work. Accompanied by another chorus of bellowing and cursing, the expedition moved off.

  The party tried to cover as much ground as possible before the sun took hold, so breakfast was postponed until mid-morning. Burke or Wills marched ahead carrying the compass followed by Gray leading Billy, and King bringing up the rear. Camels walk best in a particular order. Just one intractable animal can cause havoc, tripping up the others and breaking their rhythm. King soon learnt which camels to put where, and they loped along comfortably, taking just one stride for every three human steps.

  After marching for two or three hours the men stopped for a meal of salted meat, damper and tea. If they were lucky, they might find a scrubby tree or a bush to provide a metre or two of shade, though often they squatted down behind the camels to shelter from the sun. Sometimes the explorers pulled off their boots, inspected their blisters and settled down for a snooze, but they soon realised that the longer the break, the harder it was to get going again. After a few days, they confined themselves to just a few minutes’ rest. Burke took all the major decisions regarding route and pace, but it was Wills who determined their course and plotted their position.

  John King’s health problems made him an unlikely candidate to cross Australia, but his expertise in handling the camels won him a place in Burke’s final party.

  As the temperatures increased, the party would rest in the middle of the day and then travel late into the evening, continuing by moonlight if conditions allowed. Campsites were selected for their proximity to water, firewood, shade and good feed for the animals. The camels nibbled at nearly anything but their favourite food was a succulent plant known as parakeelya and Wills mentions that they were often able to camp in areas with an abundant supply. After a hard day’s work, the camel’s favourite relaxation was to sink down for a roll in a patch of soft sand. Unlike Landells, King only released them in hobbles. After Wills’ experience losing the animals near the Cooper, everyone was careful not to let the animals stray too far.

>   Without tents or tonnes of equipment, camps were quickly established. Within minutes of halting, King was tending the animals and Gray was collecting wood for the campfire. It was his job to prepare the evening meal and bake the damper for the next day’s journey. Once these tasks were complete, there was always equipment to mend, packs to reorganise and sores to bathe—no one relaxed for very long. With darkness falling, the cicadas revved up for their evening performance. Their rasping calls throbbed through the campsite as the men fell upon their suppers with relish. Most nights, while supplies were plentiful, they ate a sort of stew made with salt beef, poured over rice and bread, and finished off with a cup of tea and sugar.

  It is unclear how much Burke contributed to the running of the camp. As leader, he was not expected to perform menial jobs, but with such a reduced party it seems unlikely that he did nothing at all. Wills was always busy, taking meteorological observations, writing up his journal, and completing his scientific records. After supper, the bedrolls were laid out, the campfire was stoked up to ward off the mosquitoes and each man lapsed into his own thoughts.

  With the flames flickering beneath the gum trees, the desert shrank. For a few brief hours the toil was over—a warm glow of security suffused the camp and shut out the vastness beyond. Only the eerie howl of the dingo reminded them of the world outside. Burke seemed unconcerned about the threat of attack by the local Aborigines. No one kept guard at night. Only Wills stayed awake. The surveyor moved away into the gloom to take star sightings and finish his navigational calculations. He was the only one of the party to go to bed at night with any idea where they were.