by Tim Flannery
Perhaps a physician would laugh at me for ascribing the pains I felt the next morning to so trifling a cause, but I was attacked with pains at the bottom of my heels and in my back. Although lying down I felt as if I was standing balanced on stones; these pains increased during the day, insomuch that I anticipated some more violent attack, and determined on getting to the old depot as soon as possible; but as the horses had not had sufficient rest I put off my journey to 5 p.m. on the following day, when I left Fort Grey with Mr Stuart, directing Mack and Morgan to follow at the same hour on the following day, and promising that I would send a dray with water to meet them.
I rode all that night until 3 p.m. of the 17th, when we reached the tents, which Mr Browne had pitched about two miles below the spot we had formerly occupied. If I except two or three occasions on which I was obliged to dismount to rest my back for a few minutes, we rode without stopping, and might truly be said to have been twenty hours on horseback.
Sincere I believe was the joy of Mr Browne, and indeed of all hands, at seeing us return, for they had taken it for granted that our retreat would have been cut off. I too was gratified to find that Mr Browne was better, and to learn that everything had gone on well. Davenport had recently been taken ill, but the other men had recovered on their removal from the cause of their malady.
When I dismounted I had nearly fallen forward. Thinking that one of the kangaroo dogs in his greeting had pushed me between the legs, I turned round to give him a slap, but no dog was there, and I soon found out that what I had felt was nothing more than strong muscular action brought on by hard riding.
As I had promised I sent Jones with a dray load of water to meet Morgan and Mack, who came up on the 19th with the rest of the horses.
Mr Browne informed me that the natives had frequently visited the camp during my absence. He had given them to understand that we were going over the hills again, on which they told him that if he did not make haste all the water would be gone. It now behoved us therefore to effect our retreat upon the Darling with all expedition. Our situation was very critical, for the effects of the drought were more visible now than before the July rain—no more indeed had since fallen, and the water in the depot creek was so much reduced that we had good reason to fear that none remained anywhere else.
On the 18th I sent Flood to a small creek, between us and the pine forest, but he returned on the following day with information that it had long been dry. Thus then were my fears verified, and our retreat to the Darling apparently cut off. About this time too the very elements, against which we had so long been contending, seemed to unite their energies to render our stay in that dreadful region still more intolerable. The heat was greater than that of the previous summer; the thermometer ranging between 110° and 123° every day; the wind blowing heavily from NE to ESE filled the air with impalpable red dust, giving the sun the most foreboding and lurid appearance as we looked upon him. The ground was so heated that our matches, falling on it, ignited; and, having occasion to make a night signal, I found the whole of our rockets had been rendered useless, as on being lit they exploded at once without rising from the ground…
When we first arrived on the 27th of January, 1845, the cereal grasses had ripened their seed, and the larger shrubs were fast maturing their fruit; the trees were full of birds, and the plains were covered with pigeons—having nests under every bush. At the close of November of the same year—that is to say six weeks earlier—not an herb had sprung from the ground, not a bud had swelled, and, where the season before the feathered tribes had swarmed in hundreds on the creek, scarcely a bird was now to be seen. Our cattle wandered about in search for food, and the silence of the grave reigned around us day and night.
Was it instinct that warned the feathered races to shun a region in which the ordinary course of nature had been arrested, and over which the wrath of the Omnipotent appeared to hang? Or was it that a more genial season in the country to which they migrate rendered their desertion of it at the usual period unnecessary? Most sincerely do I hope that the latter was the case, and that a successful destiny will await the bold and ardent traveller who is now crossing those regions.†
On the 20th I sent Flood down the creek to ascertain if water remained in it or the farther holes mentioned by the natives, thinking that in such a case we might work our way to the eastward; but on the 23rd he returned without having seen a drop of water from the moment he left us. The deep and narrow channel I had so frequently visited, and which I had hoped might still contain water, had long been dry, and thus was our retreat cut off in that quarter also. There was apparently no hope for us—its last spark had been extinguished by this last disappointment; but the idea of a detention in that horrid desert was worse than death itself.
On the morning of the 22nd the sky was cloudy and the sun obscure, and there was every appearance of rain. The wind was somewhat to the south of west, the clouds came up from the north, and at ten a few drops fell; but before noon the sky was clear, and a strong and hot wind was blowing from the west: the dust was flying in clouds around us, and the flies were insupportable.
At this time Mr Stuart was taken ill with pains similar to my own, and Davenport had an attack of dysentery.
On the 23rd it blew a fierce gale and a hot wind from west by north, which rendered us still more uncomfortable: nothing indeed could be done without risk in such a temperature and such a climate. The fearful position in which we were placed caused me great uneasiness; the men began to sicken, and I felt assured that if we remained much longer the most serious consequences might be apprehended.
On the 24th, Mr Browne went with Flood to examine a stony creek about sixteen miles to the south, and on our way homewards. We had little hope that he would find any water in it but, if he did, a plan had suggested itself by which we trusted to effect our escape. It being impossible to stand the outer heat, the men were obliged to take whatever things wanted repair to our underground room, and I was happy to learn from Mr Stuart, who I sent up to superintend them, that the natives had not in the least disturbed Mr Poole’s grave.†
On the 25th Mr Browne returned, and returned unsuccessful; he could find no water anywhere, and told me it was fearful to ride down the creeks and to witness their present state.
We were now aware that there could be no water nearer to us than 118 miles, i.e., at Flood’s Creek, and even there it was doubtful if water any longer remained. To have moved the party on the chance of finding it would have been madness: the weather was so foreboding, the heat so excessive and the horses so weak that I did not dare to trust them on such a journey, or to risk the life of any man in such an undertaking. I was myself laid up, a helpless being, for I had gradually sunk under the attack of scurvy which had so long hung upon me. The day after I arrived in camp I was unable to walk: in a day or two more, my muscles became rigid, my limbs contracted and I was unable to stir; gradually also my skin blackened, the least movement put me to torture, and I was reduced to a state of perfect prostration.
Thus stricken down, when my example and energies were so much required for the welfare and safety of others, I found the value of Mr Browne’s services and counsel. He had already volunteered to go to Flood’s Creek to ascertain if water was still to be procured in it, but I had not felt justified in availing myself of his offer. My mind, however, dwelling on the critical posture of our affairs, and knowing and feeling as I did the value of time, and that the burning sun would lick up any shallow pool that might be left exposed, and that three or four days might determine our captivity or our release, I sent for Mr Browne, to consult with him as to the best course to be adopted in the trying situation in which we were placed, and a plan at length occurred by which I hoped he might venture on the journey to Flood’s Creek without risk.
This plan was to shoot one of the bullocks, and to fill his hide with water. We determined on sending this in a dray, a day in advance, to enable the bullock driver to get as far as possible on the road; we then arrang
ed that Mr Browne should take the light cart, with thirty-six gallons of water, and one horse only; that on reaching the dray, he should give his horse as much water as he would drink from the skin, leaving that in the cart untouched until he should arrive at the termination of his second day’s journey, when I proposed he should give his horse half the water and, leaving the rest until the period of his return, ride the remainder of the distance he had to go.
I saw little risk in this plan, and we accordingly acted upon it immediately: the hide was prepared and answered well, since it easily contained 150 gallons of water. Jones proceeded on the morning of the 27th, and on the 28th Mr Browne left me on this anxious and to us important journey accompanied by Flood. We calculated on his return on the eighth day, and the reader will judge how anxiously those days passed. On the day Mr Browne left me, Jones returned, after having deposited the skin at the distance of thirty-two miles.
On the eighth day from his departure, every eye but my own was turned to the point at which they had seen him disappear. About 3 p.m., one of the men came to inform me that Mr Browne was crossing the creek, the camp being on its left bank, and in a few minutes afterwards he entered my tent. ‘Well, Browne,’ said I, ‘what news? Is it to be good or bad?’
‘There is still water in the creek,’ said he, ‘but that is all I can say. What there is is as black as ink, and we must make haste, for in a week it will be gone.’
JOHN AINSWORTH HORROCKS
Shot by Camel, 1846
In July 1846 John Ainsworth Horrocks set out towards Lake Torrens in search of good pastoral land. He took with him a veritable menagerie, but relations between the humans and the grazing species were strained from the very start. Indeed, open warfare seems to have broken out between them. At one point Horrocks ‘killed a goat—the one that has given us so much trouble, and which Jimmy [an Aborigine] was delighted to see slaughtered, having in his hatred of the animal promised Garlick, the tent-keeper, a pint of ale if he would kill it next’.
But one member of Horrocks’ expedition was trouble from the very start—Harry the cantankerous camel who bit Garlick severely on the head leaving ‘two wounds of great length above his temples and another severe gash on his cheeks’. Earlier, Harry had attempted to eat an expedition goat.
The goats had their own strategy, for they became ‘with the exception of one…very lame. They amused themselves last night by leaping on our tent, and tearing it in several places’. But worse was to come, for the errant dromedary bit through the flour bags, wasting the expedition supplies, and was eventually to have the ultimate revenge when it shot Horrocks.
Horrocks dictated this letter to the expedition secretary on 8 September 1846. How he managed to transmit it despite severe wounds to his right hand and mouth, and how he maintained such a calm, detached tone, remain mysterious. He died on 23 September. Harry, incidentally, was the first camel used in inland Australia. After Horrocks’ death, it took two bullets to kill him, and he managed to bite a stockman on the head before succumbing.
It is with the greatest regret I have to inform the committee and my fellow-colonists who subscribed towards the expenses of the expedition of its untimely and unfortunate termination. Having made an excursion, accompanied by Mr Gill, to the tableland on the west of Lake Torrens, to ascertain if it were practicable to form a depot in that neighbourhood, and not succeeding in finding either water or grass, I returned to Depot Creek, determined to make an excursion with the camel, as it was impracticable to take horses sufficiently far, from what I saw of the desolate and barren country.†
Having ascertained the morning previous to our departure, from the summit of the range behind Depot Creek, the bearings of the high land seen by Messrs Eyre and Darke to be 32 degrees north of west by compass, and the distance I considered about eight miles, I determined to make straight for that land.
With this view I started on the 28th of August, accompanied by Mr Gill and Bernard Kilroy, with provisions sufficient for three weeks and ten gallons of water, the camel being loaded with about 356 pounds. Our first day’s journey brought us to one of the creeks running from Lake Torrens into the Gulf, distance about ten miles. The last six miles was over red sandhills, partially covered with oaten grass.
The second day’s journey we camped on the west side of the tableland, distance fifteen miles. The first eight miles over a continuation of sandhills, the last seven miles over a country covered with stones and salsolaceous plants.
The next day we entered a light scrub and very heavy sandhills, fifteen miles.
The day following scrub and very heavy sandhills, and plain all covered with salsolaceous plants.
The day after, having made six miles, we reached a large saltwater lake about ten miles long and five miles broad. The land we were making for we distinctly saw I supposed about twenty-five miles distant. In rounding this lake, which I named Lake Gill, Bernard Kilroy, who was walking ahead of the party, stopped, saying he saw a beautiful bird which he recommended me to shoot to add to the collection.
My gun being loaded with slugs in one barrel and ball in the other, I stopped the camel to get at the shot belt, which I could not get without his laying down.
Whilst Mr Gill was unfastening it I was screwing the ramrod into the wad over the slugs, standing close alongside of the camel. At this moment the camel gave a lurch to one side, and caught his pack in the cock of my gun, which discharged the barrel I was unloading, the contents of which first took off the middle fingers of my right hand between the second and third joints, and entered my left cheek by my lower jaw, knocking out a row of teeth from my upper jaw.
In this dilemma I was fortunate in having two most excellent companions. We were now sixty-five miles from the depot or any water that we knew of, and all the water remaining was about five gallons. With very great reluctance I consented to Bernard Kilroy’s entreaty for him to return back and fetch Mr Theatstone and two horses, as I knew part of the country was inhabited by a fierce lot of natives, as they had attacked Mr Gill and myself on my previous excursion. He said he was not afraid. Therefore he left and reached the depot the next morning by about nine o’clock. Having missed the tracks during the night, he could not have walked less than 100 miles from the morning of the accident to the time he reached the depot, having most bravely accomplished his task.
Mr Gill stopped to nurse me and his attention and kindness were not to be surpassed. Considering the distance we were away and the uncertainty of Kilroy’s reaching the depot, Mr Gill showed himself to be a brave and steady companion by remaining with me. He has taken several sketches of this country, which will show to those interested how very improbable it is that any stations can be made to the west of Lake Torrens. All the drainage is into freshwater ponds and salt lakes. The ponds are apparently dry in a very few days after rain, and the water which is in them being of a dark red ochreous color, the size of them varying from half an acre to five acres, and when full not more than six inches in depth.
The hill we were making for is table-topped, with precipitous sides, about seven miles in length. To the NNE are three smaller hills, and continuing on from them is a low land, gradually diminishing in height until it gains the land running from Lake Torrens. I did not find a spot where there was any probability of finding a spring. Grass there is none except a little wild oaten grass, which grows in the sand here and there, and that not sufficient to feed a horse.
It is with extreme sorrow I am obliged to terminate the expedition, as the two that were with me, the camel and myself were in excellent working condition; and had it not been for this accident it was my intention to have followed down this low land running to the NNE, and returned by Lake Torrens, a distance of between 300 and 400 miles; and would then have been able to have given a more accurate account, although I am convinced we should not have found one acre of ground to make a station on, judging from the land I have gone over and what I could discern with my eye, there being a sterile sameness throughout.
Had it been earlier in the season and my wounds healed up I should have started again.
On Sunday last I returned to the depot, horses, myself and party all completely knocked up.
I remain, yours truly,
J. HORROCKS.
JACKEY JACKEY
I Turned Round Myself and Cried, 1848
Jackey Jackey’s tale of the tragic end of John Kennedy’s Cape York expedition forms one of the most moving narratives in Australian exploration history. It is beautifully and economically told—a riveting piece of literature.
Jackey Jackey, a native of the Hunter Valley, was a born leader who slowly assumed command as the crisis deepened. His account reveals an individual of exceptional resourcefulness and humanity, for he stayed with Kennedy to the very end.
After he was rescued, Jackey Jackey led a relief party to the spot where eight members of the original expedition had been left behind. He should be remembered among the first rank of Australian explorers.
I started with Mr Kennedy from Weymouth Bay for Cape York, on the 13th November, 1848, accompanied by Costigan, Dunn and Luff, leaving eight men at the camp at Weymouth Bay. We went on till we came to a river which empties itself into Weymouth Bay. A little further north we crossed the river; next morning a lot of natives camped on the other side of the river. Mr Kennedy and the rest of us went on a very high hill and came to a flat on the other side and camped there. I went on a good way next day; a horse fell down a creek; the flour we took with us lasted three days; we had much trouble in getting the horse out of the creek; we went on, and came out, and camped on the ridges; we had no water.