Yet this ‘Smelbourne’ was not such a Big City as the other one, Karachi. There were no open stalls, either, where a camel could grab a mouthful of dates.
Even worse—oh, much, much worse—there were horses everywhere! Men on horses’ backs, horses pulling wagons, big and small. But the horses had to stand back as we were led along. Their owners stared at us—envious, I am sure, and wishing they had a fine camel to ride instead of their miserable little equines. It felt good to be looked at with so much wonder, even if I had to tread between the horse droppings.
Finally we came to a large building, the most gigantic I had ever seen. It smelt of stone, not earth. But it also smelt of—can you guess?—horses! I spit upon them! Phut!
But it wasn’t too bad. Not after the ship. The straw was sweet and grass-like, despite the stink of horse, and there was water in a trough. There was room to turn around. Even better, I could poke my head over the door and see what was happening, and exchange smells and conversation with the other camels.
It wasn’t like being in the open air. Not like sand under my feet and a far horizon to stare at. But after what I had been through, all I wanted was peace and food and rest.
The food came soon. A bucket of grain for each of us and, even better, Dost Mohamet had found some dates! A handful each, but they smelt of home. They were so good I groaned. I didn’t even try to gum his arm.
And finally I was able to regurgitate again, and chew my cud, and feel my hump starting to fill up with fat again.
CHAPTER 14
John King’s Story
Melbourne, June 1860
To my surprise I enjoyed the voyage. Landells was right. The sea air cured my fever.
It was good to work again, too, keeping an eye on the sepoys, and making sure they cared for the camels properly. Native Johnnies get lazy if you don’t watch them.
Melbourne impressed me. I hadn’t expected a town of wattle and daub, of course, or army tents. I’d even heard it called Marvellous Melbourne back in India. But it hadn’t seemed possible that a colony at the bottom of the earth could possess such grandeur. Many of the buildings were as magnificent as any back home. It was good to see white faces in the streets again too.
But the preparations for The Great Victorian Exploring Expedition impressed me even more. I was one of twenty-two men, with eight sepoys for the camels. Everything possible had been thought of: we would have three big American wagons; tents; revolvers; oats and potatoes and sixty gallons of rum and pepper for the camels; six tons of firewood; and enough provisions for us for a year. We even had inflatable cushions and cedar-topped camp tables, candelabras, dandruff brushes, a copper bath, lime juice for scurvy and a Chinese gong, as well as a special branding iron with the letters ‘B/VE’, for ‘Burke/Victorian Expedition’, so the trees could be branded along the way to show where we’d been. We should be taking thirty camels, as well as fifteen horses. It seemed that Melbourne’s gold could indeed pay for anything we needed, and much more besides.
I was impressed with our leader, Mr Burke, as well—and not just because he was a soldier from Ireland, like me, and immediately confirmed the position Landells had offered me.
He was a short, tough-looking man, with a square face under his beard, and long moustaches that he kept oiled and curled. You could tell he’d been a soldier.
There was some muttering—which I carefully pretended not to hear—that Mr Burke had no experience as a bushman, and had never been outside the settled districts. But he had good experience of command, not just as a lieutenant in the Hussars but as a superintendent of police in Victoria. I gathered that for our backers a fellow Victorian was far preferable to the contenders from other states! (And Burke had promised them first claim on any rich farmland we found.)
Seven hundred applications had been received for the other positions in our party, but in the end Mr Burke appointed people that he already knew—a sensible precaution. It is important to have men you can trust at your side.
Landells was second in command, as he had told me back in India. Third in command was William Wills.
I must admit I envied Wills his command. He was young, like me, and small and slight. He’d suffered from fever just as I had. But Wills was a surveyor as well as an astronomer. The expedition had hired him for his scientific skills. We’d need those skills, if we were to find our way across Australia. And I had a feeling Wills was tougher than he looked. He’d been in Australia nearly ten years already, working as a shepherd and a goldminer till he learnt surveying. He’d even studied surgery and chemistry back in England. No, Burke had made a good choice with Wills. It was impossible not to like the man.
I had less in common with the two other scientific officers. They were both Germans, though good enough fellows in their way. Like Wills and the Expedition Committee they believed that new discoveries about the plants and animals, the land and stars, were as important as finding a route across the country.
I couldn’t see much point in all that science stuff. But I didn’t say so. Science had helped get us the money for this expedition.
Dr Herman Beckler was to be our botanist looking for the new plants that the Expedition Committtee thought so important. Beckler was a doctor too—he’d been working at the Melbourne Hospital when Burke appointed him. Dr Ludwig Becker was a naturalist and our official artist.
He would record the country through which we passed, providing images of the expedition itself for generations unborn. He was grey and balding—too old, you’d think, for an expedition like this. But he’d been a soldier in Rio, and a goldminer in Australia, and he had a way of looking at you as though he could see the sort of man you were as clearly as he could see your face. And with a few lines on paper he could capture the world with his pen.
It awed me to think that schoolboys like I had been might one day look at my portrait and say, ‘That man blazed a path across Australia.’
Yes, every aspect of the project was extraordinary. With preparations like that—and an experienced man like Mr Burke to lead us—how could we possibly fail?
CHAPTER 15
Dost Mahomet’s Story
Melbourne, 1860
Excitement was building up in me. The voyage had been strange and here in Melbourne it was even stranger.
Back home I could never have imagined floating on a world of water, with sky and sea instead of sand around. Ferenghis stared at us as we performed our prayers on deck. Some had even laughed. I imagined slipping into their cabins in the night, and slitting their throats. But all the time I nodded and was polite, as Uncle had advised. Finally Nur had found us a private place to pray, behind the funnel.
It had been the first time I had eaten non-halal meat, too, for there was no way we could kill and bleed our animals ourselves, as we had done on the way to Karachi. Simla refused to eat meat at all, but Nur reminded the Believers that it is allowed to eat meat that is not halal when there is no other food to be had.
At least now in Melbourne we could prepare our own food again—usually sheep, or one of the stray milk goats that roamed Melbourne, so that Simla could eat with us too. His religion forbade him beef. He was a good man, for an Unbeliever, hard-working and quiet.
Melbourne stank. The rain lingered in the air, as though it wanted to wriggle inside of you. The work was filthy, forking out the hay the camels had fouled.
But I kept thinking of the money I had made already. And soon we would be leaving—we had already been given our blankets, the two pairs of warm trousers and other clothes. Even better, we had been given our rifles back, with as much shot and powder as we wanted, and good knives too, with blades as shiny as a smile.
So I was not unhappy that day when Nur came up to me as I shovelled out the last forkful of muck onto the pile outside the stables.
Nur squatted against a tree. I put my fork aside and squatted down beside him.
‘I am going home, Dost Mahomet.’
I stared at him. I knew he didn’t like the co
ld of Melbourne. But to go home, after we had come so far? ‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Why?’ Nur repeated in Urdu, the language we both shared. He gazed at me as if I were crazy. ‘Weeks in a stinking hold with the animals, while the ferenghis sleep in clean cabins, not on bales of straw like us. And now this place. The wet air will kill us, Dost Mahomet.’
I smiled at him, trying to calm him down as I would an angry camel. ‘We will be leaving soon, into the heat and dry.’
Nur shrugged. ‘All men must die. But not like this, of wet air and putrid cold. It has given Esau Khan the coughing sickness, and Abdul too.’ He hesitated. ‘Besides, I do not trust the ferenghis. We have had no wages yet. How do we know they will pay us at the end of the expedition?’
‘We have had all he promised so far.’
Nur snorted. ‘Don’t show me the palm tree, show me the dates. I want to see gold, not ferenghi trousers.’
‘Why would they want camels if all Australia was cold like this?’ I said patiently. ‘And Nur—if you leave now you will not get your wages. Think how much we are owed already. You can’t give that up.’
Nur shook his head. ‘No. I have decided. So have all the others. A ship to Karachi sails tomorrow, and we shall all be on it.’
I looked at him in dismay. ‘All the others? Everyone?’
It would be hard to be alone here, with just the camels. No one to speak my language. No one to pray with or talk to around the fire, as we remembered our families and the mountains of our home. No one else here knew how to care for camels either, I realised with growing alarm. I couldn’t do it all myself. Was the whole expedition doomed to fail before it had even begun?
‘Belooch and Esau Khan and Simla haven’t decided to go yet,’ admitted Nur reluctantly.
I felt the breath seep into my body again. Four of us, instead of eight…it would be harder work now, caring for twenty-seven camels. But we could manage. ‘They won’t go. They are men of honour. They have promised and they will keep their word.’
Nur snorted again, sounding just like a camel who doesn’t want to rise. ‘Promises to ferenghis don’t count. They are infidels. Unbelievers.’
‘Nur, my friend, I beg you not to go. Think of our fame at home when the expedition returns! Think of the riches we’ll have earned, the places we will see.’
‘I have seen enough,’ said Nur firmly. ‘Now I am going home.’
CHAPTER 16
The Camel’s Story
Melbourne, 16 August 1860
Day after day crowds of humans came to see us. There was so much racket it was hard to eat in peace. But at least our food was good—as much grain as we wanted and fresh hay, and good sweet water. My hump grew big and firm again. I was able to spit big gobs at the more impertinent visitors now, which was a good thing, as it kept them from getting too near.
It was strange, not being in a caravan, confined in the same place all day. At first I was glad of it, as I was so weak. But as I grew stronger I was bored.
More camels arrived—though none nearly as fine as me, or even Rajah. Young camels were born, which is an event more interesting for their mothers than us males, though the humans shouted happily and made a fuss. We were moved, too, to other stables in a place they called Royal Park. The park also smelt of horses, but had more grass and trees. What use were the grass and trees, though, if we weren’t allowed to munch them? Ah, the ways of humans are strange!
Yes, it was weird indeed, that time in Smelbourne.
The days were longer now. I could smell spring not far off. Not the sort of spring I’d known, with melting snows and the desert heat behind them. But I could still smell fresh grass and new green leaves. My mouth watered. I was getting sick of grain and hay.
It was hard just standing there. The wind smelt to me of other places—not just the smelly river, with its stink of humans and other animals, but bushes to explore and fine things to eat, a horizon to walk towards…somewhere far away from here.
CHAPTER 17
Dost Mahomet’s Story
Melbourne, 17 August 1860
Nur and the other three left straight after we had performed the Salat-ul-Fajr, the sunrise prayer. Mr Landells paid their fares home, as he had kept his other promises. Surely, I thought, Nur is mistaken. We would get our money too.
It was back-breaking work with just the four of us. But as the days wore on my feeling of excitement grew stronger still.
Soon we would be setting off…
It was getting late. The lanterns were being lit around the city. The air was full of the smell of woodsmoke, as women stoked up their fires to cook their husbands’ meals. Even the woodsmoke smells different in this land, I thought, as I filled another bucket from the pump and began to carry it across the cobblestones. I saw rats scuttle in the corners, chasing fallen grain. One of the new camels moaned in her stall, unused to the confinement.
‘You there! Dost Mahomet, isn’t it?’
I turned around. Most of the ferenghis treated me with disdain, but this man was smiling at me. It was the young, dark-haired Mr Wills, his eyes gleaming with excitement. As mine probably are too, I thought. ‘That is right, sahib,’ I said as politely as old Uncle could have wished.
He grinned at me. ‘I just wanted to have a closer look at the beasts who are going to get us across the deserts.’ He peered into the nearest stall. ‘Peculiar animals, aren’t they? Well, old girl, maybe I’ll be riding you soon.’
I shook my head. Truly, I thought, these foreigners know so little about camels. ‘No, sahib. She is a pack camel, not a riding camel. Besides, she calved only last week, so we won’t be taking her.’
‘No? How about this chappie?’
‘That is Bell Sing, sahib. I would watch out,’ I added urgently, as a well-aimed ball of spit headed out the stall door. Mr Wills ducked and it just missed him.
‘Bad-tempered brute,’ observed Mr Wills.
I smiled. ‘No, sahib. It is a game he plays, that’s all. He will spit at you and groan and try to gum you as you load him. But on the trail he is the hardest worker of all, steady and reliable.’
‘Steady and reliable, eh? Good chap.’ Mr Wills stretched out his hand. He’d brought an apple, I saw. He held it correctly, on the flat of his hand. Bell Sing wrapped his big lips around it and crunched it happily. Mingled spit and juice dripped down onto the straw. Perhaps, I thought, this Unbeliever is not as stupid as I thought.
Mr Wills looked at Bell Sing consideringly. ‘Well, you may not win any beauty competitions, old fellow. But if you can get us north then you’re worth your weight in gold. Or apples, at any rate.’ He fished in his pocket and handed Bell Sing another one.
‘Sahib, if you please…’ I hunted for the English words. ‘When does the expedition walk?’
‘When do we set out, do you mean?’ He looked even younger, like a child who couldn’t wait to play a game. ‘Three days’ time. I thought Mr Burke would have told you.’
I nodded slowly, trying to follow all the English words. Mr Burke had told us nothing. He always seemed to be bustling around and yelling. But even though he was an Unbeliever he must be a wise man to have been chosen to lead an expedition such as this.
‘Yes, it’s all organised,’ Mr Wills went on enthusiastically. ‘Why, there are even sixty gallons of rum and pepper to revive the camels in the desert. Mr Landells says the camels need their rum.’
I stared at him, not understanding the word. ‘Rum?’
‘Spirits. You know.’ He pretended to pull a flask from his pocket and drink from it.
‘Ah, I see.’ I hesitated. True, Mr Landells did not know as much as the youngest child in any caravan. But the camels had not been given rum and pepper as we walked to Karachi. What game was Mr Landells playing here? ‘Pardon, sahib, but camels do not drink rum.’
‘What? Nonsense. Landells knows about camels, old chap.’ He pulled a shiny watch and chain from his pocket. ‘I’m running late,’ he said. ‘I’d better go. I just wanted to see
the camels, say a proper hello. It was good to talk to you, Dost Mahomet.’ He grinned again. ‘And you, Bell Sing.’
Bell Sing blew gently through his nostrils. He had brought up more cud and was chewing it thoughtfully.
Mr Wills patted his neck. ‘I’ll see you again soon, old boy,’ he said. ‘In a few weeks you and I will have the biggest adventure of our lives!’
CHAPTER 18
The Camel’s Story
Melbourne, 20 August 1860
Suddenly things changed.
I had been chewing my cud, musing on my digestion and making a good big spitball to fire at the next human who annoyed me, when Dost Mahomet bustled up, his turban crooked in his hurry. He opened the door to my stall, grabbed my lead rope and led me out.
The other camels were being led out too. What was happening? Were we finally going to join a caravan again, see the wide sky above and feel the good soil beneath our feet, smell this strange new world?
I just hoped they weren’t going to load me up too much. A strong fine camel I might be, with my hump its right size again. But I had been so long on the boat, and so long just standing in my stall, that I wasn’t sure I could carry a wisp of hay, much less a tent or carpets.
‘Koosh!’ gestured Dost Mahomet. I lay down obediently, while another camel handler led Rajah up beside me and made him lie down as well.
Hawk, hoff, hoff, coughed the man they called Esau Khan. He coughed a lot, and looked almost as pale as his turban.
One by one we were all brought out and made to lie down so we could be loaded. I waited apprehensively, for the load looked bigger than I had ever carried before—and no camel can carry more than me! But Dost Mahomet argued with Mr Landells, and Mr Landells argued with Mr Burke.
At last most of the luggage was shifted onto the wagons so my load, when it came, was not too heavy, though the shapes above me and the weight felt strange. This wasn’t a load of sheepskins on my back, I realised. ‘Grff,’ I groaned as I struggled to my feet.
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