Wills shook his head. ‘By my calculations we’re no nearer than we were when we started.’
Burke swore, still staring at the flames. He made no other answer.
At last Wills said, ‘The natives will give us food. They’re our only hope.’
I waited for Burke to object. But he didn’t even look at us.
After a while Wills said in his quiet voice, ‘I’ll go and look for their camp tomorrow.’
Burke seemed to shake himself. ‘Very well,’ he said, almost with the old authority back in his voice. ‘I’ll come with you. King can stay here, and babysit the camel.’
‘I can go alone…’ suggested Wills. But Burke glared at him and he was silent.
They left me at dawn the next morning. It was strange, sitting in the silence, a white man and a camel, each of us alone. I found myself staying by Rajah’s side as he lay there on the ground, and listening to his panting. At time I even patted him. I hunted out leaves and grass and brought them back. But the big beast grew no stronger. Even his great heart, it seemed, had been destroyed by all that we’d been through.
It was hard when Burke and Wills returned.
‘Shoot him,’ ordered Burke, after a glance at Rajah.
It was the best way. Rajah was done for. But he had been a stalwart companion. For the first time in my life I had to shut my eyes as I pulled the trigger, unable to watch his placid gaze.
The natives had loaded Burke and Wills with all the nardoo cake, baked native rat and fish that they could carry in return for gifts of cloth. But when we looked for them again they had abandoned camp, leaving their gunyahs deserted. We slept in the gunyahs that night. It was a comfort, lying sheltered from the wind. The nights were cold now, and we were so thin the heat seemed sucked from our bones. The wind bit through our clothes. Even huddled next to the fire, one side of our bodies burnt while the other froze.
For days we hunted for the nardoo tree the natives used to make their cakes, but couldn’t find it. Finally, despairing, with our rations a tiny Johnny cake and three sticks of dried meat a day, we came across a field of what I thought was clover. I looked closer and saw its seeds, and realised it was nardoo. At least now we knew we had food if we failed to make it to Mount Hopeless. We could camp by the nardoo and use it to survive till rescue came.
But we kept on going. Surely it couldn’t be far now! If only it would rain! The heavens always shone that strange uncanny blue. Without Rajah there was no way we could carry water now. With no water there was no way to explore far, to find the way to Mount Hopeless. Never was a station better named…
After three days we returned to the creek, to the gunyahs, to water and the nardoo.
I collected more nardoo seeds and boiled them, as I had no way to pound them to make the flour the natives used. Later Burke and I found some rocks, and I pounded some of the seeds between two stones.
But it was hard work. My muscles ached. My head swam with heat and weakness. At times I thought I was back in Ireland, watching my mother pound the clothes on wash day. At others I was in the regiment, and the pounding was the beating of the drums.
At last we mixed the nardoo with our flour, just to get enough to make some cakes.
Each night we lay and watched the stars, and listened to the dingoes call.
‘Perhaps they’ve come back for us,’ said Burke, as we lay there in our swags one night, after our meagre dinner of nardoo. ‘Brahe may have just gone to look for us. Or Wright—surely he will have arrived by now. We should head back to the base camp.’
I could hear the desperate hope in his voice. Hope flared in my heart too. Of course they would have come back, I assured myself. They’d be waiting for us now.
‘I’ll go,’ said Wills. ‘That way you can stay here with the stores. I’ll be quicker by myself.’
I turned to stare at him in the faint light of stars and flame. He means he’ll get food from the natives, I thought.
He was letting the side down, admitting our weakness to the natives. But Burke said nothing, so nor did I.
Wills left without saying anything the next morning. None of us had many words left by now. Partly it was weakness—words take energy, and we were well aware that we had none to spare. But mostly, I think, it was because the words we most wanted to say were unsayable—words of love and loss, words of anger over decisions Burke had made that had led us to our predicament.
I sat and watched the breeze ripple over the waterhole. It was deep here, the brown water dappled with dark shadows. Burke sat with his back to a tree, scribbling in his notebook. I closed my eyes and tried to think of home—the rich green of the hills around Dublin, the soft sound of Irish voices the sound of church bells on the wind. Dear Lord, I prayed, let me live. But if I must die, let me die a true son of the Empire, true to my friends and to my duty. And suddenly I thought I heard the whispers of the congregation as they prayed too.
I opened my eyes. There were voices! Suddenly I saw four native men, laughing as they strode down to the water. They carried spears.
Were they about to attack? I was about to yell for Burke—he was dozing too, by his tree—when I realised the natives were carefully ignoring me. Instead each cast his spear into the water.
They were such tall, strong-looking men. I felt thin and shabby beside them. Their arms were so very black as they pulled back the spears, each with a big fish wriggling on the end, and the sun was so white and bright above them. The whole land shimmered in the heat. The thought of fish made my mouth water.
I felt giddy with hunger. But an Englishman couldn’t beg for food.
The natives noticed me staring at the fish. For the first time I understood the expression in their eyes. It was pity, and puzzlement too.
They laughed again, and offered me half their catch. I took it gratefully. Burke and I grilled the fish on the fire and ate and ate, cramming the food into our mouths, careful not to look at each other, each ashamed of our loss of self-control.
The next day the natives came again. They filled two big flour bags with fish for us. For the first time in months our bodies felt satisfied, and our minds were gentled by the plenitude of food.
The natives caught fish for us the day after too. But as they were leaving one of them poked his head into our gunyah. A piece of oilcloth that we’d used when loading the camels must have caught his eye, and he started to walk off with it.
‘Hold it right there, you thieving savage!’ It was Mr Burke. The native glanced up, startled, then began to run into the trees. Burke grabbed his pistol and ran after him.
The other natives laughed. They gestured for me to try fishing with their spears. I shook my head but they didn’t understand.
Suddenly terror overcame me. I was a lone white man among the savages. Once more I remembered vultures hovering over bodies back in India, the natives who had smiled and smiled then murdered in the night…
I raised my revolver and shot it over their heads. Suddenly I heard Burke’s pistol fire too.
The natives ran. I felt the breath seep back into my lungs.
Burke strode through the trees, grasping the oilcloth the native had stolen. ‘Can’t trust them an inch,’ he said.
I nodded. My hands still shook. I hoped he hadn’t noticed.
The shadows from the trees grew longer. I threw more wood on the fire. At least there was dead wood in plenty around us. I was afraid of what dark might bring. I cooked us a Johnny cake each on sticks over the flames, to eat with the nardoo. The Johnny cakes were good—they had that taste of real food, the food of home. But there was so little of it. I tried not to think of fish.
Suddenly I heard a noise behind our gunyah. I grabbed my revolver, and Burke snatched his, just as a voice called, ‘White fellow! White fellow!’
There in the twilight was a whole mob of them, painted all over their bodies, carrying bark platters laden with cooked fish. They held them out to us, crying, ‘White fellow! White fellow!’
For a moment a
ll I could think was: Where did they learn the English words? Then terror overtook me.
‘Up and at ’em!’ shouted Burke. We ran at them, firing our revolvers. They dropped the fish and ran.
Burke grinned. It was the first time I’d seen him smile in months. ‘Give ’em an inch and they’ll be round the camp like flies the whole time.’
I nodded. You must have respect, I thought wearily. You must be in control.
Yes, I thought, we’ve shown them.
Shadows seemed to lurk around our tent that night. Mr Burke built the fire high. A spark flew onto the bark gunyah where we’d stored our food and stores. The bark flared up and the whole thing burnt to ashes. All our possessions gone within minutes, even our blankets! All we had left was our swags, a little flour, a revolver and a gun.
And our courage and our duty. I can say with pride that neither of us were lacking there.
We lived on the cooked fish the natives had dropped till Wills came back. I heard him first, tramping through the trees. It had to be a white man. You never hear natives approach, even when the bark should crackle underfoot.
‘Have they come back for us?’ I called. But I knew the answer even before Wills shook his head. If they had come back he wouldn’t have been alone. He would have carried food for us. But his hands were empty.
‘There’s no sign that anyone has been there at all.’ He had buried our journals there and left a note begging anyone who found it to bring us help.
He tried to smile. But deep down I think we all suspected no help could reach us in time now.
Wills had met the natives just after he left us. They’d fed him all the way there and back.
Exactly as I’d thought. But I couldn’t find it in my heart to blame him. Wills has never been a soldier, I thought. Wills doesn’t understand how you must hold the fort, not let the side down, keep the natives’ respect…
‘The natives’ camp isn’t far away,’ he told us.
Burke stared at him. ‘You’re not suggesting we live with the darkies, man?’
‘Why not?’ Wills’s open, friendly face looked puzzled. ‘They obviously want to help us.’
Burke’s face began to redden. He swore, and threw the natives’ empty bark platter into the fire.
‘It’s that or die,’ said Wills quietly. He stood up. ‘I’ll go and find them.’
‘You will not!’ screamed Burke.
I had never seen Wills defy his commander before. He did not argue now. He simply walked away, towards the natives’ camp.
But the natives’ camp was empty. Our revolvers had frightened them away.
We stayed where we were. We had no strength to move. We grew weaker, and weaker still. What was happening? At least we had enough food to fill our bellies. We ate pounds of the nardoo each day, as well as green, fleshy portulaca, a few crows I shot, and some small Johnny cakes as well.
Had the journey south so exhausted us that our bodies refused to accept food? We had had problems with our bowels for weeks. But it was more than that, I knew. A strange weakness had left us trembling and breathless, as though the land were stripping the last energy from our bones. Was this wretched country sucking the life out of our bones?
Wills’s legs failed him. He could no longer even stagger to collect nardoo. Soon he could not even help us pound it. Burke grew too weak to collect the nardoo too. I had to gather enough spores for us all.
But I was weakening as well. My legs felt like sponge, all the water sucked away. My lips felt thick, so I had to force them to shape my words. My heart raced. It ached even when I sat and simply breathed. I couldn’t even bend to harvest more nardoo.
‘You have to find the natives.’ Wills lay helpless by the fire but the flames hardly warmed the deep darkness’s chill. The cold now was as capable a killer as the summer’s heat had been. Dark bruises stained the flesh below his eyes. His voice was almost too low to hear.
I waited for Burke to yell, to argue and forbid it. But he said nothing. I struggled to my feet. I held out a hand to help him up.
‘Leave me,’ Wills began.
‘Don’t talk rot—’
‘Leave me. Neither of you has the strength to carry me. The natives will help you back, to bring me food. There is no choice, old chap, no choice for any of us. You and Burke have to leave me here. You have to go.’
He was right. If we carried him we’d die.
‘Are you sure, old man?’
He only smiled. I do not think I have ever seen a smile of such sweetness. ‘Go,’ he whispered. He handed me a piece of paper. The writing was faint and scrawled. ‘For my father.’
I grasped his hand. It felt cold, even to my chilled fingers. ‘I’ll see he gets it,’ I promised.
Wills smiled again. ‘You always do your duty, King. Nobody can do more.’
I placed enough nardoo for eight days by his side, and flasks of water. Burke and I packed two days’ worth of nardoo in our swags.
I made sure he was as comfortable as possible. The trees dappled their shade across his face.
‘We’ll hurry,’ I told him.
And then we left him. When I looked back he was still smiling. He lifted his hand in farewell, then lay back and gazed up at the sky, as though listening to the birds at a picnic, back in the green fields of home.
I do not think I have ever seen such bravery. Even our trek to the Gulf did not demand such courage as this. To stay alone, too weak to move. To know that he might die alone.
That first day Burke managed to stagger through the drifts of sand along the creek. I helped him as best I could. But my legs still had that mysterious weakness too. The second day he said he felt stronger. But then he sank onto the sand. ‘I’m done for.’
‘No!’ I pulled him to his feet. We staggered on.
One mile, two…Suddenly Burke threw away his swag. ‘Can’t carry it,’ he muttered.
I said nothing. I threw away all I had too, even the nardoo, except for my gun, powder, matches and shot, so I could help him walk.
But he soon collapsed again.
It was impossible to stay here, on the sand, exposed to all the wind. The cold would kill us in the night. I forced him up. I carried him to the next small waterhole. I shot a crow. My body screamed with weakness but I forced it to pick and pound more nardoo. I made Burke a good meal, the best I could.
He ate well. But then he looked up at me and said, ‘A few more hours, King, and I’m done.’
‘No, sir!’ I said. He shook his head. He handed me his watch and his notebook. He whispered, ‘Stay with me. No man should die alone. Stay with me until I go.’
‘I’ll stay,’ I said. I didn’t try to argue with him. Death was in his eyes.
‘Put the pistol in my hand,’ whispered Burke. ’Don’t bury me. Promise me that.’ And then he muttered, ‘You must save your strength.’
I nodded. I said, ‘I will obey.’
He smiled at that. ‘You always do.’
He was silent awhile, and then he said, ‘We did it, didn’t we? We walked across Australia. It wasn’t a dream.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said. ’We did it. They will still talk of us in a hundred years.’
He smiled again. He shut his eyes. I stayed until he died.
I left him unburied, just as he asked. Sometimes I dream I see him lying there, and the crows have pecked out his eyes.
I glanced at his notebook later. His last words read: ‘King has behaved nobly…He has left me, at my own request, unburied, and with my pistol in my hand.’ On another page he had written that we had fulfilled our task, but the depot party had abandoned their post.
The words swam. Sweat or tears? I couldn’t tell. Abandoned, I thought. They have all left me…
No. One man was left. Wills…
CHAPTER 58
John King’s Story
Cooper’s Creek, August 1861
I kept walking. I slept in the natives’ abandoned gunyahs. Loneliness weighed on me, like a stone I had to
carry on my shoulders, but at the same time I felt light, as though the night wind might blow me away. One man by himself is nothing in the wilderness. You need company to feel that you are really there.
I shot another crow. The sound of the shot comforted me. It was the sound of civilisation, here in the emptiness.
I collected more nardoo. But all the time I was in terror that the natives would come, and steal my meat or my nardoo. I did not know what I feared more, to find them, or to stay alone.
I slowly found my way back down the creek to Wills. I shot three crows, thinking of his smile when he saw their meat.
But he was dead. Of course poor Wills was dead. I had known it all the time, had pretended to myself that he would be alive, waiting for me, that soon I’d hear his voice, another white man’s voice.
His face was still turned up to the sky. He still smiled, too, as though he really had been far away, on that picnic back home.
The natives had covered him with branches. He was their friend, I thought. I took them off. I scratched out a grave for him. My fingers bled as I did it, the skin was stretched so thin.
I buried him in the sand. At least I buried him, like a white man, an Englishman, a member of the Empire. It was all that I could do for him.
I don’t know how long I sat there.
The shadows clung to the trees when I remembered the letter Wills had pressed into my hand. It was almost too dark to make it out. Part of me felt guilty at sharing something so private. But it was so much comfort to hear Wills’s voice as I read the words:
Cooper’s Creek
27 June 1861
My Dear Father,
These are probably the last lines you will ever get from me. We are on the point of starvation not so much from absolute want of food, but from the want of nutriment in what we can get…
…We have had very good luck, and made a most successful trip to Carpentaria…
We had also every right to expect that we should have been immediately followed up from Menindie by another party with additional provisions and every necessary for forming a permanent Depot at Cooper’s Creek. The party we left here had special instructions not to leave until our return—unless from absolute necessity. We left the creek with nominally three months’ supply, but they were reckoned at little over the rate of half rations. We calculated on having to eat some of the camels…We got back here in four months and four days, and found the party had left the Creek the same day, and we were not in a fit state to follow them.
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