But Mr Burke won the battle. I loaded the camels, as he instructed, while Mr Landells marched off swearing.
I had worked with camels all my life, just as my father had in his caravan. We had never lost a camel in all that time. But now, I knew, the riding camels and the smaller beasts would stumble under the great weight, bruising themselves or breaking a leg.
It was not right. But again, there was nothing I could do.
CHAPTER 29
The Camel’s Story
Gobanna, September 1860
I had been enjoying myself, watching the world pass by as we plodded across the good red sand, even if I had to keep waiting for the men to unbog the wagons. Even though there was not much grass, the bushes had a fine, salty taste that I particularly enjoyed. They took some chewing, but made delicious cud when I regurgitated them. (Grass is good on the way down but tastes of nothing much after you’ve chewed it again an hour or two later. But the flavour of saltbush lingers.)
And then one morning it all changed.
Ah, what a weight was loaded onto my back! I had never carried such a load before!
Oh, the strain of it! I moaned and Rajah groaned as well. It was even worse for the riding camels, for they had not been trained to carry a load. Poor Bunjib screamed as she stumbled under the weight. But I did not try to gum Dost Mahomet, or even kick at him.
I knew whose fault it was.
I waited till Mr Burke rode past me on his horse, Billy, yelling as he always did and checking that things were as he wanted.
I waited till he was right in front of me. And then I spat.
It was the best spitball I think I have ever produced. A good big ball of cud, bushes and some tree leaves and a little tussock grass, all chewed and then digested a bit then chewed again. It got him on his cheek.
‘Ow!’ screamed Mr Burke. He glared at me. I stared back, imperturbable.
He grabbed his whip, then lashed out and caught me on the leg. I roared in pain, and at the indignity too. I would have gummed him, but by the time I’d thought of it he’d ridden off.
From then on Mr Burke glared whenever he passed me—but always from a good distance in case I spat at him again. As for me, I made sure I bawled as loudly as I could whenever his Billy got in front. My noise startled Billy, and every time he skittered and shied, and every time Mr Burke swore.
Ha! I spit upon him. I spit upon his silly horse as well. If he had not angered me things might have been different. If he had known how to apologise to a camel, and to others, like Dost Mahomet or any sensible man, I might have forgiven him…
Ah, young one. It was long ago. But the indignity still rankles.
I grew used to the big load soon enough. But the smaller camels never got used to the weight. Something snapped in Bunjib’s shoulder, and she limped so badly she slowed us all up.
Now that all the riding camels carried packs, the men all had to walk—all except Mr Burke up on his Billy. And oh, the fuss they made of it! You would have thought they had no feet!
If they had ever seen a proper caravan, I thought, as I munched a few potatoes Dost Mahomet brought me—strange things, but not too bad—they would have known that it is right for men to walk beside camels. For a caravan cannot go faster than a camel, so why not walk alongside us?
Even though we still followed a road of sorts, at last the ground was softer and drier under my feet. By now I had learnt a lot about the smells of this new land, learnt to watch the way the clouds skidded across the sky, to sense where the hot winds came from, and understand the scent of water.
One day, I said to myself as I swayed along under my load, I will know this land as well as I know the taste of my own cud. I will own it, just as my mother did the mountain trails.
Now another river, the Darling, twisted its way through the trees. It was a good river, the sort where the water flows and stays sweet, with just the right amount of salt.
Long-legged birds poked about the muddy shores. Belooch waved his gun in the air at the sight, and the birds leapt for the sky, their wings stretched out like clouds. There was a bang. One of the birds dropped to the earth, and Belooch ran to grab it.
Ah, it was good camping by that river. Sometimes I wish we had a river like that here. There were large, shady trees with pale mottled trunks that sheltered you from the sun as the days grew hotter. Small blue birds like the jewels in a lady’s bangle darted across the water. The strange big animals with long fat tails—which I had learnt were called kangaroos—thumped away as we disturbed them in the shade of the trees.
One evening a flock of tiny green and yellow birds arrived, chirruping and zizzing, to drink at our pool of water and fuss among the grasses. I had never seen so many birds in one place before! Then suddenly the flock took to the air as one, and in a flash they were all gone.
I was happy. There was time to eat and digest, and ponder the mysteries of the universe, such as why a cud tastes more and more different the longer you chew it.
That was before they made me swim the river…
CHAPTER 30
John King’s Story
Kinchega, on the Darling River, 14 October 1860
I’ll never forget that first day’s walk. There we all were, trudging through the red dust like a mob of sepoys.
Truth to tell, I enjoyed it, though most of the men complained, and poor old Becker looked like he was going to faint in the heat of the afternoon. But I had to hand it to the old boy—he gritted his teeth and kept on going.
No, it was good to feel my body hard and fit again. Who would have thought I’d be striding alongside the camels like this, after so many months of illness?
It was good to see the Darling at last too. This river had none of the soft brown fullness of rivers at home, with their verdant fields and cows grazing at the edges. But it was beautiful in its own way—a way I was only just starting to become aware of.
It had seemed such a barren land out here at first, the heat and the dryness and the flies.
But sometimes—when the air softened at sunset, perhaps—I saw this land in another way. The enormous distances were fearsome, but exhilarating as well. It excited me to think that our small band was going to conquer it, forge a path for others to follow, even the telegraph and the railways.
At times the sheer size of our endeavour filled me with such delight I could have broken out in song—to the amusement of the other men, I was sure! But at other times…
There are things a man shouldn’t say about his leader. That is the army way—you never question orders, you just obey. To do otherwise results in chaos, letting the side down.
But to be honest, Mr Burke had worried me the day we first set out, when he lost his temper and fired those first men, and hired others on a whim. I was even more concerned now.
It was as though he was deliberately pushing us to breaking point, to force some of us to resign to save money, for I heard him tell Landells he had overspent already by hiring the three extra wagons.
The arguments with Landells worried me, too. Oh, it was Landells’s fault much of the time. But it is a leader’s job to keep things in line.
Here we were, still far from the edge of unknown country. Our real work hadn’t even started, and already much of our stores and equipment had been left behind, most of the money spent, and there were feuds among the ranks.
I should not have been thinking these things, I knew. But it was impossible not to.
Things between Burke and Landells came to a head that last night by the Darling River. I had been trimming my beard—for even in the bush it is important to keep up appearances. I came out of my tent to find Burke and Landells screaming at each other on the riverbank.
‘The camels need a punt to get across, you fool!’ shouted Landells.
‘Punts cost money. They can swim like the horses.’
‘Heaven give me strength,’ yelled Landells. ‘They’re camels, not bloody fish! They’re desert animals!’
‘You will
do as I order you, or else!’ Burke was shrieking now. His face was deep red, all control quite lost.
‘Or else what, you stupid man?’
I caught my breath as I always did at Landells’s insults. Never, in my wildest moments, had I dreamt of calling a commanding officer stupid.
Mr Burke grinned suddenly. ‘Or else I will put someone else in command of the camels.’ Mr Burke raised his voice again. ‘Mr Wills, to me! Now!’
Landells stared. ‘Wills? You can’t put young Wills in my place!’
‘He knows to do as he’s told! Wills, you’re the new second in command.’ Burke grinned. ‘We’re the Burke and Wills Expedition now, eh? King!’
He’d seen me watching. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘“Sir”! That’s how you speak to your leader, Landells! King, you’re in charge of the camels from now on.’
I was dumbfounded. But all I said was, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ screamed Mr Landells. ‘King knows as much about camels as I know about knitting!’
Mr Burke turned to me. ‘Well, Mr King, if I order you to swim the camels acoss the river will you do it?’
‘Yes, sir. Of course.’
‘There’s no “of course” about it!’ cried Landells. ‘You can’t treat a camel like a horse! They won’t stand for it!’
Burke shrugged. ‘Get on with it,’ he said to me shortly.
Landells flung his hat onto the ground. ‘That’s it. I resign.’
Burke shrugged. ‘As you like,’ he said.
I saw him smile as he walked away.
I went back to my tent to finish dressing, confused and, I must admit, worried. Would the sepoys know how to get the camels to swim across a river? I could only hope they did, for I did not.
I had great respect for Wills—a hard worker, meticulous, careful and invariably good tempered no matter what we faced. But he simply didn’t have Landells’s experience.
But my old military instincts were still alive within me. Mr Burke was my commander. It was my duty to follow him, no matter what his orders. And when it came down to it, what else can a man do, except his duty?
And now I had to work out how to get the camels across a river.
CHAPTER 31
The Camel’s Story
Darling River, October 1860
Have you ever seen a river, young camel? It is wet. Wetness is good when you stick your nose in it and drink. But not when humans float across on wooden things and drag you after them.
Yes, it is true! Right into the water! Rajah was dragged into the river first, up to his knees, then deeper, deeper, till suddenly he floundered in the water!
Ah, but he was a big fine camel. I watched him struggle in the water, with the humans pulling at him. And at last he clambered up onto the other side.
And then it was my turn. Ah, the feeling when my feet were washed away from solid ground! The terror as I splashed around! But yes, I made it too!
Impossible you say? Phut! Gurgle! That shows how little you know! Every one of us camels made it across the river: Golah Sing, Rowa, Nero, Rangee, Shadow…Phut! Gurgle! But it is something I will never do again!
CHAPTER 32
Dost Mahomet’s story
Menindie, 16 October 1860
We followed the Darling River to Menindie. It should have been easy walking by the water. But the camels staggered under their heavy packs along the sandy soil. We had lost two already, so badly injured by their heavy loads they had to stay behind. The horses strained and sweated, for they were overloaded too.
The mail coach passed us as we walked, the wheels thundering dust along the track.
‘Ach,’ muttered old Dr Becker. His face was flushed. ‘The mail coach, it takes a week to get to Menindie from Melbourne. Two months it has taken us! We could have sent the stores by paddle steamer from Adelaide, instead of breaking the backs of the poor animals. We could all have sailed right up here to Menindie. In one week all would have been here! But nein, nein. We have to walk from town to town! And now summer it is coming, and the money has run out…’
‘The money, sahib?’ When Dr Becker was exhausted it was hard to understand his words. Dr Becker glanced at me from under the brim of his hat.
‘The cheques, they have been bouncing.’ He saw I didn’t understand. ‘Mr Burke pays for things with paper called cheques, for the bank to pay the money. But Mr Burke has used up all the money in the bank.’ His voice grew faint. For a moment I thought he was going to fall. I put my shoulder under his arm. Young Dr Beckler saw that the old man was weak, and ran to his other side.
‘Ach,’ whispered Dr Becker. ’You are good boys. It is right that you should know…’
‘My wages will be paid when the expedition is over,’ I said. ‘That is what Mr Landells promised.’
Dr Becker shook his head wearily. ‘Perhaps the committee will give more money to the expedition. Perhaps.’
At last we saw the township of Menindie in the distance. It was tiny—huts made of wood and cloth. But it had a baker’s shop, and what the men called a pub, a place where alcohol was sold.
Mr Burke stayed there, and Mr Wills and Mr King. The rest of us camped by the river.
Suddenly there was a commotion at the other fire, where most of the men sat.
Belooch swallowed his mouthful of salt beef. ‘Something has happened.’
A figure broke from the other group, and limped over to us. It was old Dr Becker. ‘Mr Burke, he has made one of his decisions,’ he said. He lowered himself slowly onto the ground beside us. ‘No one has told you, hmmm?
‘The people here who know the country have told Mr Burke it is insane to go north now, with summer coming. They say we should be staying here till the rain comes when it is cool, and there is grass and water.
‘But Mr Burke says no. Dummkopf! Why can he never do things that are right, hmmm? He says now that most of the men will stay here. He will take a small group, strong men only, and the strongest of the animals, north to the Cooper River. Then a few of them will go the rest of the way to find a way to the north.’
I felt a hand take my heart and squeeze. ‘Who will stay here?’ I whispered. Surely it wasn’t my destiny to come so far, just to be left at Menindie?
Dr Becker shrugged. ‘He does not say yet. He is afraid, I think, that Mr Stuart will set out from Adelaide, and cross the land before him. All the beetles I have discovered, all the new surveys we have done, it is nothing to Mr Burke. He must be first to reach the coast or he is dust.’
I was silent. It seemed right to me. We must be the first!
Surely, I thought, Mr Burke must take me and Belooch. He needs us for the camels!
‘Ach, it is madness!’ Dr Becker was saying. ‘Dr Beckler is resigning. Work he cannot, with a man like that! So now we will have no doctor in our party! Madness.’
I hardly heard him. All I could think was: Let Mr Burke choose me.
Mr Burke rang his gong next morning. Much had been left behind, but not his gong. He read out the list of names.
Ten camels were to stay at Menindie. Sixteen were to go north…Landa, Gotch, Beer, Rajah, Rowa, Bell Sing…
Eight men were to stay. Eight were to go north. Mr Burke, Mr Wills, Mr Grey, Mr King…
And me.
Belooch’s eyes narrowed with anger. ‘What son of a pig will not take the men who know the camels best? I am the best shot, too.’
I said nothing. It was true.
‘You and I should go back to Melbourne,’ said Belooch furiously. ‘Dr Beckler will take us on the paddle steamer with him. He is a good man. He will make sure the expedition people down in Melbourne pay us what we’re owed. My friend, you must not follow Mr Burke. You cannot let a madman lead you in the desert.’
‘And the camels?’
‘Let the ferenghis care for their own camels!’
I watched the ducks fly up across the river. Did the ducks know what lay north? I wondered.
Was Mr Burke a madma
n?
I did not admire Mr Burke. But I had seen a fire in his eyes that I could share.
I wanted to go north. I wanted men to say in a hundred years ‘Dost Mahomet walked this way’.
‘I am going,’ I said quietly. ‘We have come too far to go back now.’
I waited for Belooch to argue. But he didn’t. He stared at me. At last he said, ‘Then I will stay here. To care for the camels. To wait for you. To help bring the stores, when money comes to pay for them. If I stay I can help get supplies to you. Old Dr Becker is staying too.’ He smiled at me suddenly, his teeth white in his beard. ‘Perhaps we are all crazy?’
‘Perhaps,’ I said.
Belooch and I chose a tree along the river a little way from the camp for our prayers. We could wash ourselves there in the good running water, and spread our mats and pray without the stares of the other men. Sometimes they made rude comments.
The sun had set now, though the sky still had a haze of pink along the skyline. The first star shone out where the sky pooled darker overhead. We sat back, in that peace that comes after prayer, enjoying the silence after the bustle of the camp and the few moments of stillness before we began work again.
And I was going north. For now that was all that mattered.
CHAPTER 33
The Camel’s Story
Menindie, then on towards Cooper’s Creek, 19 October 1860
When our caravan set off again it was far from the biggest caravan in the world. But Rajah and I still walked together. And the land was flat and good, with plenty of food for me to nibble on. I could smell that rain had passed this way not long ago. For the first time I began to think that possibly this fiery man might know a little, to have brought us to such good grass just after rain.
But then we began to walk over rocky hills, where the horses’ hooves struck sparks from the rock. They panted in the heat and their coats gleamed with sweat—such a waste of good moisture!
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