The Dig Tree

by Sarah Murgatroyd

  Later, Burke was cooking when a pan full of fat caught fire. He panicked as a strong breeze fanned the flames setting the gunyah alight. All the explorers’ possessions were ruined. Wills was distraught. Burke had destroyed their last remaining lifelines. The Yandruwandha melted away into the bush and all donations of food ceased. The incident was a sour end to the first contact between black and white at Cooper Creek, and placed Burke, Wills and King in an impossible position. They had no spare clothing, no bedding, no rations and no food supply except for the nardoo they could gather.

  Several years later the first cattlemen working in the Cooper Creek area were told by the Yandruwandha that there had been a violent quarrel between Burke and Wills over the incident. Burke struck his deputy several times, knocking him to the ground, and the two men did not talk for some time afterwards. No official record of the incident was ever made but it is not hard to imagine it happening. The men were reaching their physical and emotional limits.

  Wills left on the morning of 7 June to repair relations with the Yandruwandha. He stayed at their camp to ‘test the practicability of living with them, and to see what I could learn as to their way and manners’. After a little persuasion, the tribe seemed to forgive the white men and even resumed their deliveries of food to Burke and King, but the atmosphere around the camp was uneasy. Two days later, the Yandruwandha indicated to Wills that they would be moving off up the creek. The explorers tried to follow but Wills found he ‘could scarcely get along, although carrying the lightest swag’. With their rations exhausted, they took it in turns to look for nardoo, or stay at camp grinding and pounding the seeds.

  According to accounts handed down through the generations, the Yandruwandha harvested the seeds from small fern-like nardoo plants with a special broom made from canegrass. Back at their camps, they had installed permanent grinding areas on the rocks to turn the seeds into flour. These rocks had channels carved into them so that, as the seeds were ground down, they were washed with water at the same time. Once it was reduced to paste, the nardoo was then cooked on the open fire. The result is an unpalatable, gritty cake, with a slightly nutty aftertaste that sticks in the back of the throat. It is even more unpleasant eaten raw, like a bitter version of gruel.

  Without the proper tools or traditional knowledge, the three explorers prepared their nardoo incorrectly. They ground it without sluicing it with water and they also consumed it raw. The more they ate, the sicker they felt. By 15 June, Wills sensed that it was something in the nardoo that was to blame:

  Mr Burke and I pounding and cleaning. He finds himself getting very weak, and I am not a bit stronger. I have determined on beginning to chew tobacco and eat less nardoo, in hopes that it may induce some change in the system. I have never yet recovered from the effects of the constipation, and the passage of the stools is always exceedingly painful.

  By 20 June, Burke’s legs were so weak that he could walk only with great difficulty. His deputy was worse, which left King to gather food for all three. Wills could not fathom why the nardoo was having such a detrimental effect:

  I cannot understand this nardoo at all—it certainly will not agree with me in any form: we are now reduced to it alone, and we manage to consume four to five pounds per day between us; it appears to be quite indigestible, and cannot possibly be sufficiently nutritious to sustain life itself.

  Nardoo (marsilea drummondii) grows in swampy country. As the water dries out, it is harvested by the Aboriginal people and then ground to yield flour that is high in starch.

  Why did the explorers suffer so much when the indigenous people ate nardoo regularly with no ill effects? There are several possible explanations. By the time the explorers began to rely on the nardoo, they were already malnourished and almost certainly suffering from Vitamin B deficiency, or beri-beri. Research done on nardoo shows that it is rich in the enzyme thiaminase, which blocks absorption of Vitamin B. The Yandruwandha destroyed the thiaminase by washing and cooking their nardoo. By failing to duplicate this process, it is possible that the men were, in fact, reducing their ability to absorb Vitamin B, which worsened their beri-beri. They had also been eating freshwater mussels, another food with high levels of thiaminase.

  The term beri-beri came from Ceylon. It means ‘I cannot, I cannot’. Typical symptoms include anorexia, sensitivity to the cold, an ill-defined lassitude associated with heaviness and weakness of the legs, and difficulties in walking. There may be tenderness of the calf muscles, pins and needles and numbness. The pulse is usually full and fast. In one form of the deficiency, known as ‘wet’ beri-beri, there is swelling throughout the body and limbs, but the essential feature of ‘dry’ beri-beri is muscle wasting, particularly of the legs.

  Wills’ description of his physical decline might suggest that the explorers poisoned themselves by eating nardoo, and that they were suffering from acute beri-beri. But he does not provide enough information to support this theory without question. Some of the specific indicators he mentions, such as his low, shallow pulse, are inconsistent with Vitamin B deficiency. An alternative explanation may be that the explorers were poisoned by a specific neurotoxin contained in nardoo that is neutralised by leaching or by heating. It is also possible that Wills’ symptoms can be accounted for by plain malnutrition.

  An average adult male needs 2000-3000 calories a day to stay healthy, but this increases to nearer 4500 during periods of intense physical activity. For many weeks, the explorers’ daily calorific intake had been in the hundreds rather than the thousands, and by the time they abandoned their trek to Mount Hopeless, the trio were severely malnourished.

  When the human body is receiving too little food, it burns fat and then protein. The muscles begin to waste, the metabolism decreases, the heart slows, blood pressure falls and wounds take longer to heal. Other symptoms include constipation, dizziness, faintness, apathy and depression. A loss of 35 per cent of total body weight is enough to prove fatal. A person who eats nothing at all and expends little or no energy will die after about eight weeks, but the intake of even very small amounts of food can keep a person alive for many months.

  As their malnourishment grew worse on the Cooper, the explorers suffered weight loss, lethargy, constipation and muscle weakness. Any physical effort was onerous and their movements became sluggish. At night, they would have found it hard to sleep despite feeling tired during the day.

  During the last stages of starvation, a loss of appetite may set in. After losing so many essential nutrients, the body is incapable of processing normal quantities of fat, protein and carbohydrate, so anorexia forms a defence against a fatal bout of overeating, should food become available.

  These general symptoms are broadly compatible with Wills’ and, although it is probable that beri-beri was partly responsible for his deterioration, exhaustion and malnutrition also played their part. One other detail rules out beri-beri as the sole culprit. Although starvation affects mood and memory, it does not usually produce an overall impairment of mental performance until just before death. Vitamin B deficiency, on the other hand, often results in paranoia and severe mental deterioration. It is clear from Wills’ measured diary entries and letters that he remained lucid and articulate even as his body wasted away.

  On 21 June, Wills acknowledged for the first time that death was a possibility and, for a few brief sentences, his usual reserve failed him:

  I feel much weaker than ever, and can scarcely crawl out of the mia-mia. Unless relief comes in some form or other, I cannot possibly last more than a fortnight. It is a great consolation, at least, in this position of ours to know that we have done all we could, and that our deaths will rather be the result of the mismanagement of others than any rash acts of our own. Had we come to grief elsewhere, we could only have blamed ourselves; but here we are, returned to Cooper’s Creek, where we had every reason to look for provisions and clothing; and yet we have to die of starvation, in spite of the explicit instructions given by Mr Burke, that the depot party
should await our return, and the strong recommendation to the committee that we should be followed up by a party from Menindie.

  While Burke, Wills and King clung to life on the Cooper, Wright’s party was shuffling south, tormented by thirst, lost animals and the strain of caring for the dying. One by one the camels either expired or disappeared into the wilderness. As Belooch put it, the poor beasts had little to look forward to: ‘Here no more camel…much walk, much carry, little eat.’ William Patten had continued to deteriorate, lapsing into unconsciousness in his stretcher and dying on 5 June. His departure was a relief for the rest of the men, who could now make better progress.

  The party made it back to Menindee on 19 June. One observer thought the men showed ‘symptoms of great suffering, particularly about the eyes’. The whole journey had been a waste of time. Four men had died and not a single box of supplies had been delivered to the Cooper.

  Wright disbanded the remaining men and left town on the next steamer to follow his family down to Adelaide. Beckler and the other survivors hung about recovering their strength. It fell to William Brahe to ride on ahead with news of Burke’s disappearance and the expedition’s disintegration. He set out at once for Melbourne.

  As Brahe rode south on 22 June, the surviving explorers were camped by a waterhole the Yandruwandha named Tilka. Wills found he could hardly stand even to sponge himself down. He was confined to lying in an old gunyah on two small camel pads and some pieces of rag he had salvaged from the fire. His clothing consisted of a wide-awake hat, a merino shirt, a regatta shirt without sleeves, the remains of a pair of flannel trousers, two pairs of socks in rags, and a waistcoat. As winter set in, the cold became his enemy. The torture began as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon:

  June 24th—A fearful night. At about an hour before sunset, a southerly gale blew up and continued throughout the greater portion of the night; the cold was intense, and it seemed as if one would be shrivelled up. Towards morning, it fortunately lulled a little…King went out for nardoo, in spite of the wind, and came in with a good load, but he himself is terribly cut up. He says that he can no longer keep up the work, and as he and Mr Burke are both getting rapidly weaker, we have but a slight chance of anything but starvation, unless we can get hold of some blacks.

  Wills knew that he was fading fastest of all. On 26 June, he decided the only honourable thing to do was to sacrifice himself to save his companions. ‘Without some change,’ he wrote, ‘I see little chance for any of us.’ He suggested that Burke and King should follow the Aborigines up the creek to try and procure more food. This upset Burke. He insisted he could not leave his ‘dear boy’ behind, but Wills was adamant. He made a point of recording in his diary that the stronger men ‘have both shown great hesitation and reluctance with regard to leaving me, and have repeatedly desired my candid opinion in the matter’.

  Burke and King spent the rest of the day collecting a stockpile of nardoo for Wills. It was a harrowing time. Scribbled in Burke’s notebook was an entry for that day which reveals his bitterness about their situation: ‘I hope that we shall be done justice to. We have fulfilled our task, but we have been aban—. We have not been followed up as we expected, and the depot party abandoned their post.’

  The next morning Wills refused to change his mind about being left alone. He maintained that his plan was designed to save the entire party, but he knew he would probably die while the others were away. As Burke and King prepared to leave, he propped himself up on his camel pads and wrote a last letter to his father:

  My dear Father,

  These are probably the last lines you will ever get from me. We are on the point of starvation, not so much from absolute want of food, but from the want of nutriment we can get.

  Our position, although more provoking, is probably not near so disagreeable as that of poor Harry and his companions.* We have had very good luck, and made a most successful trip to Carpentaria and back, to where we had every right to consider ourselves safe, having left a depot here consisting of four men, twelve horses, and six camels. They had provisions enough to have lasted them twelve months with proper economy. We had every right to expect that we should have been immediately followed up from Menindie, by another party with additional provisions and every necessary for forming a permanent depot at Cooper’s Creek. The party we left here had special instructions not to leave until our return, unless from absolute necessity. We left the creek nominally with three months’ supply, but they were reckoned at little over the rate of half rations. We calculated on having to eat some of the camels. By the greatest good luck at every turn, we crossed to the gulf through a good deal of fine country, almost in a straight line from here. On the other side the camels suffered considerably from the wet; we had to kill and jerk one soon after starting back. We had now been out a little more than two months, and found it necessary to reduce the rations considerably; and this began to tell on all hands, but I felt it far less than any of the others. The great scarcity and shyness of game, and our forced marches, prevented our supplying the deficiency from external sources to any great extent; but we never could have held out but for the crows and hawks, and the portulac. The latter is an excellent vegetable, and I believe secured our return to this place. We got back here in four months and four days, and found the party had left the Creek the same day, and we were not in a fit state to follow them.

  Wills’ last letter, written as he lay dying on the banks of the Cooper, is a model of discipline and restraint. It is perfectly spelt and punctuated throughout, without a trace of self-pity.

  I find I must close this that it may be planted, but I will write some more, although it has not so good a chance of reaching you as this. You have great claim on the committee for their neglect. I leave you in sole charge of what is coming to me. The whole of my money I desire to leave to my sisters; other matters I will leave for the present. Adieu, my dear father. Love to Tom.

  WJ Wills

  I think to live about four or five days. My spirits are excellent. My religious beliefs are not in the least bit changed and I have not the least fear of their being so. My spirits are excellent.

  Wills read the letter aloud to Burke and King to reassure them that he had written nothing detrimental about them. He handed over his papers and his pocket watch with instructions that they should be given to his father.

  By now the ailing surveyor was mixed up about dates. His last diary entry is attributed to 29 June but was probably written earlier. Despite the confusion, his last words appear in his usual meticulous handwriting:

  …I am weaker than ever although I have a good appetite, and relish the nardoo much, but it seems to give us no nutriment, and the birds here are so shy as not to be got at. Even if we could get a good supply of fish, I doubt whether we could do much work on them and the nardoo alone. Nothing now but the greatest good luck can save any of us; and as for myself I may live four or five days if the weather continues warm. My pulse is at forty-eight, and very weak, and my legs and arms are nearly skin and bone. I can only look out, like Mr Micawber ‘for something to turn up’; but starvation on nardoo is by no means very unpleasant, but for the weakness one feels, and the utter inability to move oneself, for as far as appetite is concerned, it gives me the greatest satisfaction. Certainly fat and sugar would be more to one’s taste; in fact those seem to me to be the great stand-by for one in this extraordinary continent; not that I mean to deprecate the farinaceous food; but the want of sugar and fat in all substances obtainable here is so great that they become almost valueless to us as articles of food, without the addition of something else.

  Burke, Wills and King scoured the Cooper and the Strzelecki for a possible route to Mount Hopeless before their need for water forced them back to the main channel.

  Later that day Burke and King left Wills a billycan of water, a supply of nardoo and some wood for a fire. Wills watched them disappear around the bend in the river. He was alone in the middle of his ‘extraordinary contin
ent’.

  It is not known exactly when Wills died. It is likely that he found himself sleeping more and more, drifting in and out of consciousness and drawing himself into a foetal position as his organs began to fail. His heartbeat and pulse would have continued to drop until sleep deepened into death.

  The site of his small gunyah on the banks of the Cooper can still be found fifteen kilometres west of the present-day outpost of Innamincka. It is on a rather desolate stretch of the creek, near a chain of dusty claypans that glow yellow in the soft evening light. Did he gaze at the pelicans and the parrots patrolling the waters of the creek as he slipped away, or did he look out on the vastness of the desert beyond?

  Burke and King set off up the creek with nothing but a pistol and a few scraps of blanket. Walking was difficult and it soon became clear to John King that his leader did not have the strength to go very far: