The Animal Stars Collection

by Jackie French

  We’d seen natives on our way here. There hadn’t been any trouble—they were well outnumbered down here in settled country. But I suspected things might be different once we finally reached uncharted lands.

  The tents were up, and Burke’s table set with its candelabras. I liked that—it lets the whole side down if you let standards slip. I’d got one of the men to fill a bath for me. I was just trimming my beard when I heard yelling. I wiped the soap off and ran to see what was happening.

  Mr Burke and Mr Landells stood by one of the wagons.

  ‘What are you saying, Burke?’ Mr Landells was red with rage. ‘Come on, come out with it!’

  ‘Shut it, Landells. Someone’s stolen half the rum and it wasn’t the camels!’ Mr Burke shouted back. His face was red too and his fists were white with anger.

  ‘Are you accusing me?’ yelled Landells.

  Of course he is accusing you, I thought. A horse trader like you probably sold the rum at the last shanty.

  ‘I’m not accusing anyone! I’m stating facts!’ screamed Burke. ‘Some of that rum is gone! You are a drunk, and incompetent with it!’

  ‘Me, incompetent? You’re not fit to wipe a camel’s backside. Where would you be without me, I’d like to know?’

  ‘With sixty gallons of rum untapped, that’s where we’d be! And I don’t need a drunk like you to teach me my business…’

  ‘Your business! Why, you arrogant upstart…’

  Mr Burke grabbed an axe and marched into the tent. Two seconds later he was out again, pushing a barrel in front of him.

  Landells suddenly realised what he was going to do. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Burke, you’re crazy! The camels need that rum!’

  ‘Crazy, am I?’ Burke lifted up the axe and brought it down on the barrel. I caught the smell of rum even from where I was standing.

  Landells stood there staring. For a moment I thought he was going to strike Burke. Suddenly he saw me, in the shadows of the trees. ‘He’s mad,’ he said. ‘Mad and a fool. And anyone who follows him is a fool too. I’m leaving in the morning. And if you have any sense you’ll quit too.’

  I watched him stride back into the camp.

  Landells wrote up his resignation that night. But he withdrew it—scared, I think, that he might not get his pay.

  Gossip flew around the expedition. Landells had cursed Burke. Landells had said Burke hated Wills—or Beckler—or me—and planned to dismiss us all. No one knew the truth, yet one thing was plain. We had not even started our exploration. But the hatred between our two leaders was already breaking the expedition apart.

  By the time we reached Swan Hill township I really began to worry.

  CHAPTER 26

  Dost Mahomet’s Story

  Swan Hill, 6 September 1860

  Every traveller knows the joy of a river after days of dry tramping—the soft sounds of water, the hush of trees and the song of birds above. There was a generosity about a river flowing through drylands. Every river I had known seemed to whisper, Rest here, after the harshness of the world around.

  I liked the township of Swan Hill too. The river there flowed slowly and calmly. Big trees hung above it, their shadows flickering as the water glinted in the sun. A punt carried people and horses from one side to the other.

  Another river joined the Murray at this point, so that the waters spread into a giant lagoon. A wave of swans and water birds surged into the sky with a crack as we approached—so many that it was easy to shoot all you wanted in the time it takes to draw a breath. There were fish too, almost as big as a man, with firm sweet flesh. The men roasted them on the coals of the fire. I had never eaten fish before. I had a sudden memory of old Uncle, calling a hated neighbour a ‘fish eater’. A true man eats meat, not fish. So I ate it reluctantly. The taste was good, but it was soft, an old man’s food. After I had eaten it my teeth felt like they still needed something to chew.

  But you didn’t have to travel far from the river for the country to become dry, with small, twisted, dark trees with many trunks growing out of reddish sand.

  The people at Swan Hill welcomed us warmly, yelling and cheering as we arrived. They wandered through the camp, staring at the camels. They stared at Belooch and Esau Khan and me as well, as though they weren’t sure which was the strangest sight. But I was growing used to being stared at by now.

  The crowds meant more work for us, as we had to make sure that no one harmed the camels—and that the camels didn’t try to gum the townsfolk either. But it was good to see the wonder on the children’s faces.

  The cough that Esau Khan developed in Melbourne had not got better as we walked. Sometimes now when he coughed there were spots of blood on his lips. At night he grew hot with fever. Belooch and I did as much as we could, to let him rest. But it was impossible for the two of us to get the camels loaded as quickly as Mr Burke wanted. Mr Burke was even touchier these days. Mr Burke had already fired several men for drunkenness.

  But now he and Mr Landells were like dogs who snarl at each other before a fight.

  One night Esau Khan’s coughing was especially loud.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ Mr Burke stomped over to our fire. ‘You!’ he cried.

  Esau Khan rose shakily to his feet. His face shone with the sweat of his fever. ‘Sahib?’

  ‘I’ve been watching you laze about while the others work—don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re sacked.’

  Esau Khan stared at him. ‘I am sorry, sahib. I do not understand.’

  ‘You’re finished,’ shouted Mr Burke, as though yelling louder would help Esau Khan understand the English words. ‘Off with you, tomorrow. Back to Melbourne. Understandee?’

  ‘Sahib,’ I broke in, speaking as calmly as I could, ‘our brother here is sick. But he will be well again. We can do his work while he gets better.’

  Mr Burke’s face grew red. ‘You’ll be off too if you can’t hold your tongue! Sick or lazy, it’s all one to me. I won’t have a man who can’t pull his weight.’

  What sort of leader is this? I thought. What sort of man shows no charity to one who is ill?

  Esau Khan’s face was white in the firelight. I said urgently, ‘Sahib, he will need money to get back to Melbourne. Can he have his wages, please? He will need his fare back home too.’

  Mr Burke was already striding away. ‘Wages? You’ll get wages when the expedition’s over, not before.’

  ‘But his fare, sahib?’ I urged, trying to look polite, and not as if I wanted to slip a dagger in his side. (I would have gladly, but it would have been no help to Esau Khan.) ‘Mr Landells promised our fares back home would be paid.’

  ‘Then get Landells to give you the money!’ he barked, storming off.

  That night Belooch and I went from man to man around the camp, trying to collect a few coins for Esau Khan. Dr Beckler gave us the most, and a few others like Mr Wills and Dr Becker gave us money too.

  It would not be enough to pay his fare back home. But at least he would make it to Melbourne without starving.

  ‘Find the expedition’s organisers,’ I urged him. ‘The Royal Society, it is called. They will pay your wages, and your fare home too.’

  Esau Khan nodded. His hands trembled as he lifted his bundle of blankets and clothes. But my heart felt as heavy as a bag of flour. None of us knew how to find this Royal Society. We had never even met them back in Melbourne. And Esau Khan was sick, in a strange land, with no one to care for him.

  But what could any of us do?

  CHAPTER 27

  Dost Mahomet’s Story

  Balranald to Gobanna, September 1860

  Now there were only two of us.

  Each morning we had to get up long before the others, to fetch the camels. At night, while others rested, we had to hobble them. It was lonely, with just the two of us by our fire.

  We laid our prayer mats on the red dirt, trying to imagine we heard the voices of our kinsmen as we chanted.

  I had never realised how lonely it can
be surrounded by other people, Unbelievers who treated us like their wagons, to use and throw away if we were broken.

  Sometimes we smiled, sitting in the darkness as the ferenghis slapped at the mosquitoes. There were no mosquitoes around our fire. We threw camel droppings onto our flames, which kept the mosquitoes away.

  The camels meant hard work. But they smelt of home too. Sometimes I shut my eyes as we walked next to them, listening to the soft clomp of their feet, smelling the sweet camel breath, imagining my kinsmen walked beside me. But then one of the men would yell, and I would open my eyes to the Australian plains.

  Now that Esau Khan had left, Mr Landells helped us load and unload—partly, I think, to keep away from Mr Burke, for the two still snarled at each other like dogs.

  Sometimes Mr Wills helped too, and even Mr King. I had thought Mr King was a man who preferred to give orders than work. Loading camels is a skill—if you don’t balance the load the camel can fall, and break a leg. Both Mr Wills and Mr King learnt quickly and worked hard. But they rarely helped us when Mr Landells was there, for they were loyal to Mr Burke.

  At Balranald there was a punt, which we used to cross the Murrumbidgee River. The river was lined with shady trees. But the town was small and flat and shabby, and the country was flat too. Low silvery bushes gleamed in the coarse red sand, interspersed with patches of little twisted dark trees.

  We camped on the flat in front of the Balranald Hotel.

  Belooch and I were unloading the camels when we heard yelling. I glanced at Belooch. He shrugged. ‘Some of the men are drunk again.’

  I shook my head. ‘That is Mr Burke’s voice.’

  The right answer to a fool’s yell is silence. But Mr Burke’s quarrels might involve us too. We hurried through our work, then ran into the centre of the camp.

  ‘Liar!’ It was Ferguson, the foreman. He waved a rifle at Mr Burke. ‘Come on, you coward! Stone the flaming crows! Think you can cheat us, eh? Defend yourself!’

  ‘I won’t fight a duel with the likes of you!’ screamed Mr Burke.

  The whole camp was watching. I made my way quietly over to Dr Becker. ‘Sahib, what is happening?’

  Dr Becker looked grim. ‘Ach, more foolishness. Herr Burke has decided he will sack some men. At first he said that the Expedition Committee ordered it. Now he admits that it is to save money only. Herr Burke has spent too much hiring wagons. He offered to keep the men but pay them less. Now Herr Ferguson wants to fight a duel!’

  Suddenly Mr Burke turned his back and marched away. That is the way to do it, I thought. Walk away and let one of your men cut your enemy’s throat in the night.

  But the talk of wages worried me. I had thought that Mr Burke’s purse was endless. We carried firewood instead of gathering it; we carried salt meat instead of keeping sheep or goats to eat the grass as we went.

  What of the money he owed me?

  Had Nur been right all along? Was I mad to trust a ferenghi, especially one like Mr Burke?

  I could leave now, I thought. Find work caring for the camels we had left in Melbourne, perhaps, to earn my fare back home. Leave the expedition…

  My skin felt cold although the night was warm. For the first time I had to admit I was not here just for the money. Yes, I would fight to get what I was owed. But I would never leave the expedition now.

  But no one’s throat was cut that night. Instead Mr Burke ordered stores unloaded from the wagons—food and tools.

  ‘Idiocy!’ growled old Dr Becker. He was carrying his specimen jar, already filled with dark brown beetles, with his sketchbook under his arm. ‘Where does he think we’re going to find food where we’re going, hmmm? He even leaves the lime juice!’

  He saw I didn’t understand. ‘Lime juice stops scurvy—your teeth fall out, you swell up and you die. Ach, you ask Dr Beckler. He will tell you about scurvy! If your teeth fall out in the desert, young man, if you die of scurvy, you will know who to thank!’

  He stomped off, to look for more beetles perhaps, or to sketch the desert. And I went to water the camels.

  We left Balranald in the cool of the morning, soon after the dawn prayer. The ground was soft under the camels’ feet now. The red sand seeped into our clothes and eyes and mouths. The horses strained as they tried to pull the wagons. My heart ached for the poor animals.

  Why, I thought, does Mr Burke need to take so much? The bath? The shiny table?

  But even though the loads were less now, day after day the wagon wheels sank into the sand. Every man was needed to shovel them free. At times every horse was harnessed to just one wagon, to try to get it unbogged.

  But the camels walked undisturbed. They were still only lightly loaded, for Mr Landells said they must keep up their strength for when we reached the proper desert, and the horses and wagons could go no further. Nor did the lack of water worry the camels, for they fed off the fat stored in their humps. Their wide feet slapped against the sand as they swayed towards the horizon.

  Perhaps, I thought, all will be well.

  CHAPTER 28

  Dost Mahomet’s Story

  Gobanna Bush camp, 36 miles from the Darling River, 8 September 1860

  ‘Look at them! Sehr interessent, hmmm?’ cried old Dr Becker.

  I stared at the snakes in the bottle. There were three of them, one long and brown and the other two small with bands across them. Dr Beckler and Dr Becker grew excited at the strangest things.

  ‘Very good, sahib,’ I said politely.

  Mr Wills had said this would be our last camp before the Darling River. I was looking forward to the river, to be able to cleanse myself properly before my prayers. Suddenly I heard the clanging of the gong, calling the camp together.

  I left Dr Becker carefully stowing his bottle in one of the chests, and ran to see what was happening.

  Mr Burke stood in front of his tent. His big table was set, as always, with his fine silver and his candelabra. He waited till we were gathered. He looked hot and red. Had he been arguing with Mr Landells again?

  You stupid man, I thought. And Mr Landells was a fool as well. Why did not Mr Landells have Burke killed, and take his place, instead of all this bickering?

  ‘Right, listen up!’ The men fell silent. ‘There are going to be changes. We’re leaving the wagons here—the going is too rough for them.’

  ‘Ja. Exactly,’ muttered Dr Becker. He and young Dr Beckler had come up beside me.

  ‘From now on each of you is only allowed thirty pounds—equipment, clothes, blankets.’

  ‘Apart from our specimens…’ began Dr Beckler. ‘And the scientific instruments…’

  Mr Burke grinned. He knew that old Dr Becker and young Dr Beckler sided with Mr Landells. ‘Gentlemen, from this time you have to give up your scientific investigations. You’ll work like the rest of the men. You’ll help load the camels and horses, and then you’ll walk. Each and every one of us will walk our twenty miles each day.’

  ‘Impossible!’ cried old Dr Becker. ‘The whole point of this expedition is to study the new country!’

  Mr Burke gave that grin again. ‘If you don’t like it, Becker, then you can go back home. But you will walk.’

  He turned and marched into his tent.

  The men stood stunned. Even Mr King looked shocked. ‘He can’t expect us to walk like a bunch of convicts.’

  ‘Oh yes he does,’ said Mr Landells.

  I said nothing. What had I to say? Belooch and I were dust under Mr Burke’s feet.

  That afternoon I helped Dr Becker sort out what he would take, then showed him how to help load a camel. But I could see that the old man would never manage to do it properly.

  ‘It is good that Herr Docktor Beckler and I sent specimens off at Balranald!’ Dr Becker shook his grey head. He was nearly crying. ‘We have been on the road a month! Most of the expedition’s money spent already! And for what? Nothing! Ach, it is insane,’ he muttered. ‘This is a Royal Society expedition! We are supposed to be men of science, learning ab
out this land. And now this dummkopf makes me throw away my specimens, and work loading the camels and the horses.’

  I put my hand on the old man’s arm before Bell Sing could gum him. ‘Stand back, sahib.’

  ‘Why? Is he savage?’

  ‘No, sahib. But he does not like being loaded.’ I gazed at the amount of luggage that had been left for the camels to carry. Even Mr Burke could not expect the smaller camels to carry all that!

  I ran to Mr Landells, who was sorting out what luggage he would leave behind. ‘Sahib, the loads are too heavy.’

  Mr Landells frowned. ‘What are you talking about, man?’

  ‘Mr Burke says we must put heavy loads even on the smaller camels, sahib.’

  ‘Burke? What does he think he’s doing? The camels are my responsibility, not his!’

  I ran after him as he charged up to Mr Burke. ‘Burke, what in the devil’s name are you thinking of? The camels need to keep up their strength for the desert! It’s insane to work them to exhaustion now!’

  ‘A pox on your camels, Landells, and you too!’ bellowed Mr Burke, looking as if he would hit Mr Landells. ‘If I say we leave the wagons here and let the camels carry all the stores, then that’s what is going to happen!’

  ‘What do you know of camels? What do you know of anything, you stupid little man?’

  ‘I am the leader of this expedition, that’s one thing I know! And if you don’t like it you can take your miserable hide back to Melbourne.’

  ‘And what would happen to you then? Your camels would die of exhaustion out there in the desert, and then you’d die too, the lot of you, and crows would pick your bones. You need me, you fool…’

  Mr Burke’s boots almost danced with rage on the hard ground. ‘Drunkard!’

  ‘Madman!’ Mr Landells shouted back.