The Dig Tree

by Sarah Murgatroyd

  All four men were suffering from chronic exhaustion. Their diet was lacking in Vitamin B and the pains in their legs and backs were almost certainly symptoms of beri-beri or Vitamin B deficiency. A constant supply of portulac, however, boosted their intake of Vitamin C and none complained of the symptoms of scurvy. Their biggest problem was an overall lack of food. The men were not consuming enough calories to sustain their workload and their bodies were gradually beginning to digest themselves.

  It is more difficult to assess their mental state. If only Burke had been a writer. His emotions surged so much nearer the surface than those of his deputy that he might have revealed more than just temperatures and plant names. Other explorers in similar situations have provided insights into the types of stress that Burke’s party was suffering.

  In 1972, Geoffrey Moorhouse set out to cross the notorious ‘Empty Quarter’ of the Sahara Desert. Towards the end of his journey, tired, hungry and thirsty, he discovered how the mind and body react as they reach the limits of their endurance:

  There was a stiffness in my body that came not from the cold nor yet from long exertions, but seemed to issue now from the deepest fibres of my being in a translated protest of the soul at the very thought of movement. I felt as though I were inhabiting a spent and useless contraption of tissue and bone which no longer had any relevance to me and what I really was…Under the dreadful, drilling heat of this appalling sun I had become an automaton who marched. I was scarcely recognisable as a human being, with the responses that alone distinguished us from the animals. I wondered whether I had forfeited a little of my soul to the desert—maybe the greater part of it.

  Gray was deteriorating fastest. He now did little but complain of pains and weakness in his legs and back. Wills had little sympathy. On 8 April, as the party retraced their steps near the Diamantina River, he wrote: ‘Halted fifteen minutes to send for Gray who gammoned he couldn’t walk.’ Soon afterwards the sailor collapsed. From now on he was another encumbrance to be carried by his weakened companions. In a brief moment of lucidity, as he was lifted onto a camel and strapped into place, he asked Wills to give his small cache of personal belongings to Police Superintendent Foster at Bendigo.

  Only Billy was in worse condition. The next day, the horse’s legs buckled and he sank into the sand. Given Burke’s sentimental streak, it must have been difficult to shoot an animal that had struggled so gallantly across the continent. Wills on the other hand was practical. ‘As we were running short of food of every description ourselves,’ he noted, ‘we thought it best to secure his flesh at once. We found it healthy and tender, but without the slightest trace of fat in any portion of the body.’

  The meat was a welcome relief, but no amount of Billy-stew seemed to be enough to reinvigorate them. Gray was becoming a heavier burden. The rest of the men searched their consciences, just as Captain Scott’s party would have to in the Antarctic with the dying Lawrence (Titus) Oates half a century later. How should they deal with a man whose death was inevitable, but whose lingering life was now endangering them as well? Robert Scott gave only the briefest of hints that he was frustrated by Oates’ slow decline: ‘Titus Oates is very near the end one feels. What we or he will do, God only knows. We discussed the matter after breakfast; he is a brave fine fellow and understands the situation, but he practically asked for advice.’ Scott seems to imply that Oates should take the initiative himself, which in the end he did, by walking out into the blizzard to his death. How terrible the pressure must be on a dying man who knows that his companions are waiting for him to expire.

  Nearing Coongie Lakes, with 150 kilometres to go to the Cooper, the sailor’s condition continued to worsen. Wills became convinced that Gray’s problems were his own fault. He declared that ‘the man’s constitution was gone through drink, as he had lived in a public house at Swan Hill, and I have heard since that he drunk very heavily there’. King reported that Wills ‘did not understand Gray complaining so soon, as the other three of us did not seem to suffer, except from weakness’.

  On 17 April, nine days after Wills had accused Gray of shamming, the sailor proved him wrong. Wills’ diary entry is terse: ‘This morning, about sunrise, Gray died. He had not spoken a word distinctly since his first attack, which was just as we were about to start.’ According to King, Gray’s pain had grown worse until he became delirious and unable to speak. He spent his last few days strapped semi-comatose to a camel.

  It was Burke who gave the order to halt and give Gray a decent burial. Fighting his own exhaustion, King took a shovel and worked under the burning sun, scraping out a hole in the dirt. Despite Gray’s emaciated state, it was all his companions could do to carry the body to the grave. There was no burial service. Charley Gray the sailor ended his days about as far from the sea as it was possible to be.

  The digging took up an entire day. Was it guilt or respect that led the three survivors to spend so many valuable hours scratching out a last resting place for their comrade? It was certainly the honourable thing to do—proof that they were still human.

  The next morning everything except the absolute essentials was discarded. Camel pads, pots, even a rifle were all left behind. The only food they carried was a few pounds of dried horsemeat. The situation was still desperate, but without Gray they might make better progress. Provided their strength held out, relief was not far away. A surge of optimism returned and they even talked of coming back in a few days to pick up the things they had abandoned. The depot was close enough to allow thoughts of a victorious homecoming to sustain them during the final hours of the journey.

  The first sign of safety would be that abrupt shift in the landscape as the Cooper’s benevolent influence carved its way through the desert. There would be a smudge of green, perhaps even a wisp of smoke in the haze. The noise would come next, the squawking of the cockatoos or the rush of wings as a flock of budgerigars swirled past heading for water. The trees would thicken into a comforting canopy of the river gums and the smell of the campfire would waft through the dry desert air. There would be meat roasting in the camp oven, tea boiling in the billy.

  Surely William Brahe had hung on even though they had been away four months rather than three? Backed up by Wright’s party and its fresh supplies the depot on the Cooper would be substantial; perhaps even Ludwig Becker had made the journey and was sitting in his tent sketching as usual?

  How surprised Brahe and his companions would be to see this ragged trio stumble in from the unknown. The dishevelled explorers could almost hear the shouts of welcome and disbelief, feel the joyous embraces as they announced they had become the first men to cross Australia. There would be food—thick crusty damper saturated with the butter and sugar they craved, endless brews of tea, perhaps even a nip of rum…then rest, fresh blankets and sleep. Their nights would be peaceful, their days free of the dreadful unceasing marches. Gradually the pains that had wracked their bodies would subside and they would prepare to return victorious to Melbourne.

  They would be the most famous men in Australia. When the welcome banquets and civic receptions were over, Wills would publish the expedition’s diaries and take up the scientific career of his choice. King, who had proved his loyalty and resilience, was assured of a secure future in any trade he desired. But it was Burke who had the most to gain. He was on the brink of accomplishing the status and respect he had always dreamed of. He had blazed a trail for the telegraph lines and the traders, he had crossed the largest island on earth. There was so much to look forward to—a hero’s welcome, a grand reputation, £2000 in prize money and above all his beloved Julia Matthews. After such a triumphant return, surely even Julia would not be able to refuse him now?

  Such was their confidence that on 20 April, the trio devoured the last of Billy. Wills knew the depot was not far away and they would need all the strength they could muster for one last effort. According to King they were still ‘very weak’ and the camels were so exhausted that ‘they were scarcely able to get along�
�, but that day they made it to within fifty kilometres of the depot. One way or another, tomorrow’s march would be the last.

  As the sun rose on 21 April 1861, all three men knew that surviving the day’s ordeal would be a matter of willpower. To begin with they tried to save the camels but, in the final desperate hours, they found they could stagger no further and resorted to riding the two strongest animals. Burke sat astride one, Wills and King clung to the other. It was early evening as they neared Cooper Creek. Wills had navigated for nearly 1500 kilometres since leaving the coast and he had returned them to the exact same waterhole they had left just over four months earlier.

  Burke rode on ahead. The sun had set and dusk was settling around the waterholes. Several times, he yelled out in excitement to the others. There were tents ahead—he was sure of it. Exhilaration surged through the heavy mantle of tiredness and he began to shout out greetings to Brahe, McDonough and Patten. When they failed to answer, Burke mustered his last reserves of strength and bellowed a mighty ‘coo-ee’ into the bush.

  There was no reply. Wills and King caught up and the trio rode into Depot Camp 65. Desperate now, they looked for the comforting glow of the campfire. There was none.

  The three men stared in disbelief at the remaining timbers of the stockade, the ashes of the old campfires and the few bits of abandoned equipment. Undaunted, they reasoned that the base camp must have shifted further down the creek. Brahe would have needed fresh food for his horses and camels—of course, that was it—he must have moved. Exhausted, they prepared to tramp the last few kilometres to find their companions.

  It was Wills who saw the carving on the coolibah tree:

  DIG

  UNDER

  3 FT NW

  There was a date engraved on a low branch next to the message: April 21st 1861. King bent down to feel the ashes of the campfires. They were still warm. The men of the depot party were gone. They had left that day.

  Sixteen

  Dig

  ‘Before my highest mountain—stand I,

  And before my longest journeys,

  Therefore must I descend deeper

  than I have ever ascended.’

  Zarathustra

  As Burke, Wills and King stared at the word ‘DIG’ engraved on the tree, the terrible reality began to permeate their disbelief. Burke collapsed in the dirt. He couldn’t move. It was Wills and King who fell on their knees and scratched away the earth beneath the tree. They found an old camel trunk with a bottle and a note inside:

  Depot, Cooper’s Creek, 21 April 1861

  The depot party of the VEE leaves this camp today to return to the Darling. I intend to go SE from Camp LX, to get to our old track near Bulloo. Two of my companions and myself are quite well; the third—Patten—has been unable to walk for the last eighteen days, as his leg has been severely hurt when thrown by one of the horses. No person has been up here from the Darling. We have six camels and twelve horses in good working condition.

  William Brahe.

  Underneath the note, there was flour, sugar, tea and some dried meat. Instinct took over. It was all they could do to crawl to the creek and collect a billy of water, but somehow King mustered the strength to prepare a meal. As they devoured spoonfuls of porridge and sugar, a trickle of energy returned and the three men began to contemplate their predicament.

  Their renewed clarity brought with it an even greater sense of anguish. They had fulfilled their mission in 127 days. According to the message and the warm ashes of the fire, they had missed Brahe by eight or nine hours—about the same time they had lingered to bury Charley Gray. So many questions welled up through the despair. Why hadn’t Wright been up from the Darling? Why had Brahe abandoned them? How far away was he now?

  Later that evening Wills wrote:

  Our disappointment at finding the depot deserted may easily be imagined—returning in an exhausted state, after four months of the severest travelling and privation, our legs almost paralyzed, so that each of us found it a most trying task only to walk a few yards. Such a leg-bound feeling I never before experienced, and hope I never shall again. The exertion required to get up a slight piece of rising ground, even without a load, induces an indescribable sensation of pain and helplessness, and the general lassitude makes one unfit for anything.

  This acknowledgment of physical hardship provoked a rare display of sympathy from Wills. With a shudder of remorse, he realised how Charley Gray must have felt before he died:

  Poor Gray must have suffered very much many times when we thought him shamming. It is most fortunate for us that these symptoms, which so early affected him, did not come on us until we were reduced to an exclusively animal diet of such an inferior description as that offered by the flesh of a worn out and exhausted horse.

  After eating, Burke recovered himself and began the discussions about what to do next. The obvious move was to catch up with Brahe, but did they have the strength to continue? They read the note again and again. It stated that all the horses and camels were in good condition—how could they possibly hope to overtake a fresh party? Both Wills and King agreed that it was impossible to go any further that night.

  As the moonlight shone between the branches of the old coolibah, and the cicadas hummed in the background, the three men sat in the dirt staring at the campfire. Perhaps the cool morning air would bring inspiration. They unrolled what was left of their bedding and slept.

  Twenty-two kilometres to the south, William Brahe and his men were also settling down for the night, oblivious to the fact that their companions had returned. They were in a far worse state than the note in the camel trunk suggested. Patten was incapable of walking, several of the camels were suffering from advanced mange and the horses were footsore. It would be a slow journey to Menindee.

  For Brahe, the decision to leave Depot Camp 65 was a release. For weeks he had fought a running battle with his conscience, each day riding to the top of the hill beyond the creek, scanning the horizon and reworking the possibilities in his mind. In the end, physical deterioration made the decision for him. Each morning as he crawled from his bedroll, his ankles were a little more swollen, as he ate his breakfast his mouth was slightly more tender, and every time he tried to mount his horse, his muscles were a fraction weaker. Everyone except Dost Mohomet was starting to suffer from scurvy—without fresh food, decline and death were inevitable.

  Burke had promised to be back in three months. Perhaps thinking of Wills, Brahe had waited four months and one week. On 18 April 1861 he wrote:

  There is no probability of Mr Burke returning this way. Patten is in a deplorable state and desirous of being removed to the Darling to obtain medical assistance and our provision will soon be reduced to a quantity insufficient to take us back to the Darling, if the journey should turn out difficult and tedious. Being also sure that I and McDonough would not much longer escape scurvy, I, after most seriously considering all the circumstances, made up my mind to start for the Darling on Sunday next, the 21st.

  Brahe ordered William Patten to shoe the horses at once. He was just in time. The blacksmith collapsed soon afterwards and was unable to work again. On the eve of their departure, Brahe called McDonough as a witness and burnt the packet of letters that Burke had entrusted to him before he left for the Gulf. As the fragments of ash floated skywards, it seemed like the final acknowledgment that Burke was never coming back.

  On 20 April, Patten was unable to move at all. The other two men packed up their gear and tidied the camp. Afterwards Brahe buried the camel chest full of supplies then took out his knife and began to carve a message in the old coolibah tree. He stripped away the thick wavy grooves of bark to reach the smooth inner surface of the trunk. Opposite the original camp number, in roughly hewn letters, he chiselled out the command ‘DIG’. Then, on a lower bough, he inscribed his arrival and departure dates. The coolibah that had protected them for so many months was now a giant living message-stick. It was all that was left for Burke to return to.
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  At 10.30 a.m. on 21 April 1861, Brahe, McDonough, Patten and Dost Mahomet took one last look around Depot Camp 65. They mounted their horses and camels and headed for home.

  The man everyone had been expecting, William Wright, was battling to keep his own party alive, let alone bring relief to anyone else. After leaving Menindee on 26 January 1861, it became clear that his outfit was hopelessly inadequate for the journey to Cooper Creek.

  Hermann Beckler kept a detailed record of the trip. Inspired by his rescue of Trooper Lyons, the doctor had decided to accompany Wright. Beckler declared that, although the station manager had an illiterate’s tendency to use ‘hideous words’, he was also ‘an excellent bushman’ who possessed ‘a certain natural equanimity, to my mind an excellent quality in an explorer’. This assessment was an implicit criticism of Burke, whom Beckler had regarded as dangerously impetuous.

  On 21 April, Burke, Wills and King returned to the depot camp; Brahe was just twenty-two kilometres away. They missed rescue a second time when Brahe and Wright rode to the Dig Tree on 8 May.

  The rest of Wright’s party consisted of Becker, Stone, Hodgkinson, Purcell, Cook, Smith, Dick and Belooch. They took with them thirteen horses and ten camels loaded with as much food as they could carry. The new horses proved unruly from the beginning. They pranced from side to side, throwing their loads and forcing their handlers to chase after them in the blinding heat. By the end of the first day Beckler found that ‘a carefully packed and lined basket of medicaments, which I had sent on ahead with the horses, was now largely filled with broken bottles’.

  Dick, the Aboriginal guide who had rescued Trooper Lyons, soon realised that tragedy was inevitable. On the first night, he availed himself of a nice clean shirt and slipped away into the darkness.