Taj and the Great Camel Trek

by Rosanne Hawke

  ‘“Dig here,” the lion said.

  ‘The man dug for many hours until his spade hit a metal box. When he lifted the lid the man was astounded; the box was full of gold coins. “Take as many as you need,” said the lion.

  ‘The man filled his turban with coins and tied it in a knot. “Thank you.” And so they had a firm friendship.

  ‘The time came for the man to arrange his daughter’s marriage and he invited the lion to the wedding. The lion declined. “Your guests will be afraid of me.”

  ‘“Without you there will be no wedding – you are my dearest friend.”

  ‘Finally the lion agreed.

  ‘On the day of the wedding the lion strolled into the village. At first the people fled to their houses. “Come out,” said the man. “He won’t hurt you.”

  ‘One by one the people came out and the man invited the lion to sit with the guests while he supervised the cooking of the curry and rice.

  ‘When the guests saw the lion sitting quietly they teased him. Some even threw stones and shoes at him. “How’s that, big brave lion?”

  ‘For the sake of his friend the lion managed to keep his rage in check. When the host returned and saw the lion surrounded by stones and shoes, he was ashamed.

  ‘“I tolerated the abuse for your sake,” said the lion, “but everything is good in its proper place. From today your place is in the village and mine is not.” And he returned to the jungle.

  ‘You see, there is a certain order in society,’ Padar said.

  ‘Lions should stay in the jungle and people with people?’ I said.

  ‘Just so,’ said Padar after he relit his pipe. But I wondered why he told that story. Surely he couldn’t mind my friendship with Alec, not when he had married my mother.

  Finally it was Saturday. Jess Young had been attacked at a public house the night before and his arm hung in a sling. I watched him sit down heavily to eat his breakfast. My heart sank as well; he wouldn’t be able to help with loading the camels.

  I took Mustara for an early ride away from the town. It was good to be alone together as we were at Beltana. Mustara kissed my head and snuffled down my neck. It tickled so much it made me laugh. I kissed him on his nose. ‘Are you going to wish me good fortune, Mustara? I am going to ride a goat. He won’t be as easy to ride as you.’ Mustara grunted in sympathy.

  When I returned Padar and I practised loading the camels. It was difficult to concentrate for I was thinking about the race; even Alec would come and watch.

  There was so much to load; besides the camel bags, there were tents, canvas tanks, wood, extra blankets, tarpaulins, and bags of flour sewn into rawhide covers.

  Mr Giles was proud of the leather bags. ‘An explorer needs everything to be made of leather,’ he said, ‘our clothes, even our hearts need to be made of it.’ I thought of Jess Young’s leather inexpressibles. Were they items of clothing?

  There were empty casks for water and other gear to load as well: tea, salt, sugar and the salt-dried meat. There were four snider rifles and two double-barrelled shot guns with buckshot. I hoped they were only for hunting our food.

  Jess Young checked the rifles before we loaded them; Mr Giles saw him. ‘Make sure they work, Jess. The natives attack at the least provocation. They’ll eat you given half the chance.’ Mr Giles grinned at him but Jess Young didn’t share the joke.

  Padar calculated that the weight on the fifteen pack camels was about 550 pounds each. ‘They should manage that,’ he said, ‘as long as they get enough water.’

  ‘Imagine,’ I said to Mustara, ‘every day we have to do this. I feel tired already.’ Mustara groaned kindly and kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘Can I go now?’ I asked Padar. Tommy had already left.

  ‘Wait until Mr Giles has inspected our work.’

  Padar and I had loaded the flour bags pointing to the sky, but Mr Giles thought it odd. He brought over leather straps to hold the camel bags on whereas Padar tied everything with ropes. Padar tried to tell Mr Giles, ‘The camel, he cannot carry loads like that.’

  Mr Giles was firm. ‘Carry them he can and carry them he will.’ Mr Giles was the boss so Padar and I changed the load again. I was worried I’d miss the race.

  Finally Mr Giles and Padar were happy with the loading and Padar said I could go. ‘Do not break your bones,’ he said. ‘We march tomorrow and I do not want to leave you in the hospital.’ I hoped he was joking.

  Tommy was waiting for me at Tassie’s Store. ‘You wear him.’ He passed me a shiny red shirt with the number four on it. His had a ‘two’ on it.

  ‘Where is Mr Gibson?’

  Tommy waved down the street and I saw a group of people, and dust rising. ‘He has the goats.’

  ‘Let’s go then.’

  Mr Gibson was pleased to see me. ‘Good on ya, boyo. Just in time. I’ll be at the finish line to see you come in. Just stay on, or for sure you’ll be disqualified.’

  I carefully put my leg over Blue’s back. He didn’t buck like Bill. Ten goats with boy riders lined up, but no one could pay attention to anything other than their own goat. The goats were even more skittish than camels at the start of a race. Keeping Blue still was difficult; I wished the gun would fire. But when it did the goats were so badly frightened they ran any direction they could. One bolted sideways into the squealing crowd, and that boy never got his goat back to the street. I held Blue’s reins so tightly he couldn’t run the wrong way but he was as strong as a camel in a fit.

  Down Tassie Street we ran. Blue stretched into a gallop – that’s what it felt like. It was different from riding Mustara: Mustara rolled from side to side but Blue jogged up and down. I thought my stomach would be jiggled right out of my mouth.

  Blue and I weren’t in the front, but at least I hadn’t fallen off. As I turned into the next street, a boy raced beside me on a white nanny. He passed me on the turn. Still Blue kept running. I wasn’t sure what to do if he decided to stop. We turned back into Tassie Street where I caught up with the white nanny. And passed her. That was when I recognised the boy on her back. It was Tommy. He grinned at me and slapped his goat’s flank so she bucked into a faster gallop.

  I knew then I had to win. For a few seconds we were racing together. We passed two other goats.

  ‘Faster Blue, faster Blue,’ I chanted through my clenched teeth. Was it fast enough? There was only Tommy and me now. I could see people and flags through the dust.

  I closed my eyes at the end when everyone cheered. It was so close I couldn’t tell who won, was too nervous to know.

  Mr Gibson caught Blue’s rope. ‘Good ride, boyo.’ I could tell by his tone I hadn’t won. I opened my eyes to see Tommy with a blue sash across his shirt. Mr Gibson followed my gaze. ‘Second’s good. You still got a prize. Come to the store and I’ll give it to you.’

  Alec raced over. ‘You stayed on, you clever devil.’

  I couldn’t be happy that I managed to ‘stay on’. When I saw Tommy on that white nanny all I wanted was to beat him. But I remembered Padar’s words in time: a race honestly won deserves congratulation, and I nodded at Tommy when he looked my way. He was laughing, just happy he won, so why did it feel as though he was laughing at me?

  Alec came with me into the shop. It was good to have him there, for my prize was a pair of boots and I didn’t know which ones to choose. Alec fitted me with a pair. He knew so many things and all because he had been to school in Adelaide. It would take me some time to get used to wearing boots but Alec said I’d need them in the desert.

  Everyone returned that night to eat at the campfire and Alec told them how I stayed on a goat for three streets. ‘He and Tommy beat all the local riders.’

  Tommy said some words in the Wirangu language.

  ‘What was that, Tommy?’ Mr Giles opened his book ready for writing.

  ‘My Uncle Jimmy sa
y I can ride anything – even emu.’ Tommy didn’t look embarrassed at saying something good about himself. He seemed to enjoy it.

  I couldn’t argue with him either. Even though Tommy seemed frightened of Salmah at first, he rode her well now. Tommy smiled at me but I couldn’t reach out my hand to touch his, or to slap him on the back as Alec had.

  The morning we left Port Augusta I brought Khushi for Mr Tietkens to mount. She was one of the best riding camels and my favourite after Mustara, for she was Mustara’s mother. She was happy just like her name and always had a smile for me. Mr Tietkens smiled at me too as I told Khushi to kneel. Mr Tietkens was getting used to handling the camels. He must have been happy to be going west, for after he mounted he sang about going a-roving. It was surprising to find he had such a fine voice. Even Jess Young hummed as he rode by on Sultan. I heard Mr Giles doing his favourite thing: reciting poetry, this time about a fast horse.

  Alec rode old Buzoe beside me; she was one of the original camels that came to Beltana in 1866. ‘What plants do you see?’ Alec was so keen on becoming an explorer he thought everyone else wanted to be one too.

  ‘There is saltbush and spinifex.’ Camels enjoy eating tough spiky plants that other animals would never eat – the tougher the better. Spinifex leaves are like needles.

  ‘You’ll learn a lot more than those by the time we have finished.’ I could hear the laugh in Alec’s voice.

  At mid morning we passed some salt lakes. That’s another thing: camels will drink salty water and enjoy it. I surely wouldn’t.

  Everyone seemed excited to be on the road again. So much happened in Port Augusta that it was good to relax on Mustara just to think about it. He was so calm that I could almost sleep on him while he walked behind the string. Perhaps that was why I didn’t see what happened next. Something made Mustara shy – I never saw what. Tommy said later it was a barna, a goanna. He saw it run up Mustara’s leg and jump over his neck. It was too much for Mustara: he bolted. I was sleepy and didn’t have time to grab his halter. I felt myself slipping and grabbed at Mustara’s fur, but it didn’t save me.

  I landed in the middle of a spinifex bush.

  There I was, in pain and shock while Tommy laughed so hard he fell backwards on Salmah. I wished there was a spinifex bush for him to land in, then he would know what it felt like. Not only has spinifex sharp leaves but long spikes. It was much worse than being thrown off Bill.

  ‘Saleh!’ Peter Nicholls shouted for Padar. No one could get their camels down quickly enough and the string kept moving. Padar heard, dropped Roshni’s tail rope and wheeled him around. He took the chance of the whole string following him but Mr Giles was ever watchful and rode up to the front on Reechy. Fortunately, Malik, the next in line, followed her.

  Padar rode Roshni towards me. I was trying to stand at that point; I didn’t want to be thought a child, not able to rise out of a bush by myself.

  Padar ordered Roshni to kneel and jumped down to help me. ‘Have you broken your body?’ His relief made him rough as he started yanking the spikes from my backside. I steeled myself not to cry.

  Mustara hadn’t gone far; he came when I whistled, but he was restless and his eyes were wide. Then I found I couldn’t raise my leg to climb onto him. It even hurt to walk, but walk I had to if I was not going to be left there in the scrub.

  Walking through spinifex made me feel sorry for the camels. The spiky bushes were making them lose their fur three feet up their legs. I kept as close behind Mustara as I could so the bushes wouldn’t damage my legs. But after a while I hung onto Mustara’s neck for support.

  It was fortunate for me that we only travelled six miles. Mr Giles stopped at Chinaman’s Dam where there was plenty of water. Even so I could hardly help Padar do the unloading. Not only did my backside hurt but so did my feet. I wasn’t used to walking in boots, let alone for six miles. Mr Giles noticed and he shouted for Tommy to do my work. Alec helped too. I saw him whisper in Khushi’s ear.

  That night I couldn’t even sit at the campfire. I ate my damper and salty dried beef standing, my feet bare and blistered.

  Alec wrote the date in my book: Sunday, the twenty-third day of May, 1875. ‘Other than Fowler’s Bay we will not see any other settlement for at least 2,500 miles.’ He was smiling while he wrote, as if crossing a desert would be the most exciting way to pass the time. That was how those Englishmen were: mad for adventure. But was I any different when we started?

  It was days before I could ride again. It was a relief when I was able to for then my blisters could heal. I was beginning to see Padar’s point about exploring not being a picnic. We were travelling north along Lake Torrens since Mr Giles was looking for a watercourse he had heard about. We stopped at Bowman’s station and fortunately for me we didn’t travel far since Mr Bowman invited us to eat dinner with him. He also gave us a fat sheep which Padar offered to butcher when Peter Nicholls wanted to cook it. Padar and I eat only halal meat, meat that is slaughtered under the name of Allah. We brought halal dried beef from Beltana in case Padar wasn’t around when game was shot.

  It still hurt to unload the camels so Tommy helped Padar, grinning at me as though I was an invalid. It made me feel peculiar for I didn’t like Tommy doing my work. He didn’t know to whisper in the camels’ ears when the loads came off and to tell them to have a good sleep. Padar and I kissed them (not Salmah, the old cow: she spat if we tried). Rani was touchy too – her name means queen – but most of them liked to be kissed and even kissed us in return. Mustara was the biggest kisser of all.

  Even though Padar had to take his whip to a bull occasionally, he thought the camels were special. ‘You have to treat them in the right way,’ he always said. I didn’t think Tommy would understand that.

  In spite of my injuries I managed to sit on my blanket at the campfire. Mr Giles asked Padar to tell a story. I wondered if Padar would tell how he lost his finger, but after looking in the fire awhile he told a story about camels.

  ‘There was one and there was none. Except for God there was no one,’ began Padar. I settled as best I could with my sore bottom. ‘The prophet, Rasoul Mohammed, may Peace Be Upon Him, he and his followers were once surrounded by enemies and must hide themselves in a gorge in the mountains. But the enemies camped at the entrance to the gorge. The prophet and his followers were prisoners.’ Padar paused so we’d feel the effect of being imprisoned in a cave. ‘The prophet told his followers to mount their camels. Then he instructed the camels to please be quiet and they all walked silently past the enemies while they were sleeping. When they were clear of the danger, the prophet dismounted and kissed his camel on the lips. The upper lip parted and ever since camels are having hare lips and move silently.’

  Mr Giles seemed taken with Padar’s story. ‘Very interesting,’ he said. Then he said it again. ‘Interesting, indeed.’ But Jess Young laughed.

  The next day I managed to ride the whole day. It was open saltbush country and we reached a place called Pernatty Creek. Mr Giles smiled at our progress and slapped Padar and me on the back. Jess Young picked up a snider rifle; his arm was healed and he was a good shot. He caught three wild ducks which Tommy had to pluck. But not before Padar raced over and slit their throats to let the blood run free before they died. He prayed, ‘Bismillah Allah u Akbar, in the name of God the Great.’

  ‘What are you doing, man?’ Jess Young shouted at him until Padar explained our belief about halal meat. Jess Young raised his eyebrows and looked as if he would laugh, but Mr Tietkens was nearby.

  ‘Let him slit the throats from now on, Jess, or he and Taj won’t eat. And we need healthy camel drivers.’

  I watched Tommy by the kitchen tent pulling out the brown feathers; the breeze stuck them onto his hair. ‘Why don’t you skin them, Mr Nicholls? That’s what Padar does. It would save a lot of trouble.’

  ‘You can call me Peter, boy.’ I looked at him in surprise but his
smile was genuine. He didn’t seem much older than Alec; both of them had clean-shaven faces. ‘Plucking be tasting best, Taj.’

  I don’t know why I sat by Tommy, picked up the third duck and started yanking the feathers out. Tommy grinned at me, but I saw my wariness reflected in his eyes. I didn’t smile back.

  Peter was right about the taste of plucked duck. He spread fat on them before he roasted them in the coals. The skin was crispy and tasty, much better than dried beef. We all had grease dribbling down our chins and we didn’t say a word until Peter asked if we wanted our tin mugs filled with tea or coffee.

  By the middle of the next day we came to another cattle station of Mr Bowman. No one was there but a noisy dog. When he saw the camels his eyes bulged and he stopped barking as suddenly as if he had seen the Archangel Gabriel. He didn’t make another sound until we were safely out of sight.

  Mustara walked carefully in that country for the ground was stony. At least the scrub was less thick and his legs didn’t get scraped so much. We were almost as far north as Beltana, though on the opposite side of Lake Torrens. Alec told me about latitudes but I can’t remember which one we were on. It was strange that the Englishmen thought about lines in the air that couldn’t be seen. Mr Giles had a special instrument called a sextant and every day he wrote which latitude we had reached. With it he could even tell how high a tree or hill was.

  The next water we arrived at was called The Elizabeth. There were a few huts but no people. Mr Giles said bad words when he saw how low the water level was. Alec called it blaspheming. ‘Damnation. I thought there’d be more water than this.’ Mr Giles strode around and pulled his moustaches until Mr Tietkens joined him, then they spoke in softer tones, their heads close together.

  Padar and I unloaded the camels; Alec and Jess Young helped. Jess Young frowned the whole time but no one said many words. I could hear Padar whispering to the camels. He believes if you are worried there is no point letting your camel know. For then both of you are upset and of what use is that?