Nine
An Excess of Bravery

‘The desert is not just a place where greedy men may find precious metals. It has something more to offer in making us aware of the ultimate questions in life.’

Manning Clark

Menindee lay in Baagandji Aboriginal territory and took its name inexplicably from their term milhthaka, meaning egg yolk. There were a few bark huts, a pub, a store and a police station. Only the Darling River brought the area to life. Its ‘coffee and plenty of milk’ coloured waters rolled through the sandhills and life in Menindee settled down to much the same pace.

This was as far as European settlement had penetrated. The pioneers had come in search of grazing land but, as the climate grew more fickle and the countryside less productive, farming became a precarious exercise. It took a particular brand of obstinacy and optimism to believe that imported sheep and cattle would thrive here. Hermann Beckler was amazed that anyone would attempt to exploit such an unforgiving environment:

If one were to show this country to an expert just arrived from Europe and tell him that this was good pasture land…he would laugh in your face…for the most part it was a miserable country of a strangely sombre nature…grasses were hardly to be seen. Small gaunt trees made the country seem even poorer and half of these were dead.

Menindee owed its continued survival to the riverboat pioneer Francis Cadell. He set up a fortnightly steamer service and a small trading post in 1859. When the river was high enough, boats brought supplies up from Adelaide and returned south laden with cargoes of wool. Once the shearing was finished and the fleeces disappeared around the last bend in the river, the only entertainment was to drink rum at Thomas Paine’s Hotel, until the heat, the flies and the dust melted into oblivion.

Ludwig Becker’s sketch features Thomas Paine’s Hotel where members of the expedition spent much of their spare time.

Today the pub has been remodelled by fire and renovation. It is still possible to sit and stare at the faded portraits of Burke and Wills on the wall, but these days the outside world is beamed in via satellite, and the saloon jangles with television commercials and poker machines. The surrounding countryside has been transformed by a series of dams and giant artificial lakes, but ten minutes’ walk into the dunes takes you straight back into the same arid land that the explorers found in 1860.

After rain, the light is soft and the land green and smothered in wildflowers. But in the dry season, the sun is blindingly intense. It scorches away the deeper tones to leave behind earth that is not black and brown, but orange and yellow. The grass withers to a jaundiced beige and even the sky is bleached white around the edges. As the summer heat melts the landscape into a quivering canvas of deception, the only solid point of reference is found around the riverbank, where lines of river red gums stand like sentinels guarding the precious water of the Darling. Each October, the time of year Burke’s party arrived, a fierce wind blows down from the north-west; a whirling force that sends dust skittering along the water’s edge. To stare across the dunes, screwing up your eyes against the dust and the sun, is like gazing at an over-exposed photograph. Only rain will restore the balance.

The expedition had reached Menindee far later than expected. It was the ‘wrong time of year’ to leave the safety of the Darling River system for Cooper Creek, nearly 600 kilometres away to the north. Summer was beginning to shrivel the waterholes, but Burke was determined to push on. Before resigning, Landells and Beckler had petitioned strongly to wait out the summer on the banks of the Darling. They argued that since the expedition had missed the cool season between April and September, it would be better to stay put where there was access to fresh supplies. But the thought of delaying for another three months only seemed to exacerbate Burke’s desire to escape—postponement would be an admission of defeat.

Transport (too little) and supplies (too many) were still the expedition’s main problems. To make matters worse, as the men began unloading the rations from the steamer Moolgewanke, it was discovered that the dried ‘pemmican’ meat had rotted. If the whole party was to reach the Cooper, it would take at least a month to procure fresh supplies of dried meat.

It seems incredible that such a lavish expedition should find itself facing logistical problems before it had left the settled districts. Perhaps the answer lay in reducing the party to more manageable proportions? Burke’s instructions, however, required him to take his entire outfit to Cooper Creek. If he officially split the party now, it would be in direct contravention of his orders. The alternative was to send a forward party up to the Cooper with half the supplies, then return the pack animals to retrieve the remainder. This was a risky option. Burke had few experienced men, insufficient pack animals and only one qualified navigator. The history of Australian exploration is littered with the corpses of men who underestimated the power, the size and the unpredictability of the outback.

Burke’s solution was to extract the ‘best’ elements of his party for himself and leave the remainder behind to fend for themselves. He decided to take Wills (as his deputy and surveyor), John King (to look after the camels), William Brahe, William Patten, Thomas McDonough, Charley Gray and Dost Mohomet, along with three-quarters of his remaining horses and camels. This would leave the rest of the men plus seven horses and ten camels on the banks of the Darling with a vague promise that they would be called up to the Cooper at a later date.

On 17 October, in a final hollow gesture towards scientific endeavour, Burke asked Becker to join the forward party, saying:

Do you like to stay in the depot, or to go on with me now to Coopers Creek? If you like to be with the party, you are welcome, but I must tell you, there is no time for scientific researches, nor a horse or camel to ride on, you will have to tramp all the way, and must do the work like the other men.

Burke knew Becker had injured his foot and would have no choice but to refuse. A gifted artist—the only man capable of recording and preserving the expedition’s achievements—was being forced to stay in Menindee, an outpost he could have reached comfortably by river steamer. Having discarded the expedition’s ‘dead wood’, Burke retired to the Menindee pub, where he fell into conversation with a local man named William Wright.

Wright was a man of profuse whiskers and few words. With his rough weatherbeaten hands and slow direct manner, he had all the hallmarks of a hardened bushman. Until recently he had managed the nearby Kinchega sheep station, but the business was being sold and Wright was on the lookout for an opportunity. As the two men talked at the bar, Burke discovered Wright had just returned from a 250-kilometre journey towards Cooper Creek and was keen to explore further. Several drinks later, Wright volunteered as a guide and Burke accepted. Accompanying the expedition may have been an excuse for Wright to survey new sheep runs for a new farming operation, so it wasn’t surprising that he suggested leaving Menindee as soon as possible. He also recommended keeping the expedition together so the entire outfit could reach the Cooper while the waterholes were full.

Burke took the first piece of advice and ignored the second. He asked Hermann Beckler to take charge of a rearguard camp with just four men: Becker, MacPherson, Belooch and Hodgkinson. Beckler was unenthusiastic but agreed to stay on, at least until a replacement officer could be found. Since the recent altercation with Landells, Burke was edgy and secretive. He knew the locals were sceptical of his abilities and that it wouldn’t be long before rumours of his incompetence percolated down to Melbourne. Menindee might be remote but a recall was not out of the question. Public humiliation would follow and his reputation would be ruined.

Burke’s overwhelming motivation was to get away as soon as possible—after that his intentions are difficult to decipher. He kept no written records and, crucially, he issued no written instructions to his subordinates. He told Ludwig Becker, ‘I intend to look for a road up to Coopers Creek, and how the way is, and about the water; and as soon as I have found a spot where to form a depot, I shall send for you to come up with the others and with such things as wanted.’ But did he really mean to fetch up the rearguard party and make a proper depot on the Cooper or was he just setting up a quick dash for the north coast?

If Burke was genuinely planning to reunite his party, he never made it clear whether he expected the remaining men to make their own way to the Cooper with the animals they had left, or whether he planned to send back extra transport to help them. Either way, his strategy made little sense. From now on, many of the expedition’s most valuable supplies would be sitting in Menindee, while the men who needed them most were out in the desert.

This Melbourne Punch cartoon was drawn by Nicholas Chevalier at the height of the inter-colonial rivalry between Victoria and South Australia. The public loved the idea of a race between Burke and Stuart.

Perhaps the biggest reason for Burke’s decision to leave the Darling so soon had arrived aboard the Moolgewanke. It carried South Australian newspapers revealing that John McDouall Stuart had failed in his first attempt to cross the continent. He had just returned to Adelaide after a journey that had taken him to within 800 kilometres of the north coast. He had planted a Union Jack in the centre of Australia, and then continued north, only to be turned back on 26 June 1860 by an Aboriginal ambush near the present-day town of Tennant Creek. Neither side sustained casualties but with food supplies dwindling and his men and horses weakening fast, Stuart decided to retreat. Burke guessed that it would not be long before his rival set out again. In the meantime he had at least a two-month head start over the South Australians and he was determined not to squander it.

The idea of a race had always appealed to Burke. It implied there would be a winner and, more than anything else in life, Burke needed to prove he was a winner. Stuart’s failure had given him a real chance of success.

On 19 October 1860, a new incarnation of the Victorian Exploring Expedition left Menindee. There were eight Europeans, two Aboriginal guides and a string of sixteen camels and nineteen horses. Burke must have felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he clattered out of town—the wagons and the scientists were gone, he had escaped any censure from the committee, and he was at least two months ahead of John McDouall Stuart. At last the politics were over and the journey into the unknown had begun. Burke was undaunted by the 600 kilometres of wilderness that lay between him and Cooper Creek. Just before he left Menindee, he wrote to the committee, ‘I still feel as confident as ever in the success of the main object of the Expedition.’

Just what was the ‘main object’ of the expedition? All pretence of scientific research had been abandoned. Somehow, between Melbourne and Menindee, the expedition had metamorphosed into a unit strikingly similar to the lightweight outfit employed by Stuart. Did the impracticability of the enormous original party mean that such a transformation was inevitable, or was it a deliberate policy to whittle down the group once it was beyond the public gaze? If so—was it Burke’s idea alone or was there a secret official plan?

The answers lie strewn around in the contradictory objectives of opposing factions in the Royal Society, in Burke’s loyalties to certain powerful members of the Exploration Committee and in his desire to play the role of the hero. Science was rarely a route to glory. If Burke was to fulfil his perceived destiny he had to be first across the continent. He was brave, ignorant and had nothing to lose. It would be easy to take advantage of such a dangerous combination.

Early in 1860, a small group of men began to recognise the expedition’s potential role in opening up northern Australia for commercial exploitation. Chief amongst them was Sir William Stawell, the man who had secured Burke’s position as leader. Stawell had an eye for opportunity and a broad knowledge of Australian politics. He and other committee members such as Thomas Embling, Richard Eades and John Macadam wanted to develop an overland route to a northern port. Aside from the telegraph, it would also allow a direct commercial link to south-east Asia and the construction of a trade centre similar to Canada’s Hudson Bay. And there were other opportunities waiting to be explored.

When Queensland was declared an independent colony in 1860, its newly formed parliament also began drawing up plans for a settlement on the north coast. The scheme was abandoned, however, when it was discovered that a large area of land (now western Queensland) between the 141st and 138th meridians had not been included in the colony when it was first proclaimed. Queensland’s governor George Bowen wrote to the Duke of Newcastle, Secretary of State for the Colonies, requesting that the land be added as soon as possible. Newcastle replied that ‘the government of South Australia had proposed the annexation to that colony of part of the territory which Queensland wanted. Also a certain group of gentlemen in Victoria wanted to form a settlement on the north coast of Australia.’

The ‘unclaimed land’ in the Gulf country was a rich prize for the first colony that could lay claim to it.

The leader of the Victorian group was the merchant and Royal Society member Thomas Embling. He was backed by Sir William Stawell.

Stawell was an expert in constitutional law—he had drafted Victoria’s constitution in 1850. It would not have escaped his notice that a large portion of northern Australia still technically belonged to New South Wales and that, in the absence of that colony’s interest in the area, there was a significant tract of land waiting for the first group to establish a route to the Gulf of Carpentaria on Australia’s north coast. This realisation may have accounted for the sudden change to the expedition’s instructions in June 1860, from a north-western route towards to the Victoria River to a more direct journey north towards the Gulf.

Embling and Stawell pondered the possibilities and developed an ambitious scheme. They enlisted the tacit support of several other politicians including the chief secretary John O’Shanassy for the expedition to explore more than just the flora and fauna of northern Australia. Victoria was rich but small. Perhaps its future lay in the annexation of a northern territory? An expedition cloaked in scientific respectability might also make a secret push for the Gulf and secure the prize before another colony got a chance. Burke was the perfect leader—bold, enthusiastic and naive enough to go as hard as he could to make the north coast first.

It has always been assumed that it was Burke’s decision to split his party at Menindee, a rash gesture to get away before the consequences of his mismanagement caught up with him. Conclusive evidence now shows there had always been a secret plot to divide the expedition. Certain members of the Exploration Committee had never intended the whole party to cross the continent. The proof is contained in a letter, written the day before the expedition left Melbourne, from prominent Royal Society member Alfred Selwyn asking his friend Harry if he wishes to join the expedition as a surveyor. In it, Selwyn admits the party will divide at Cooper Creek.

My dear Harry,

Would you like to join the Exploring Party? Another surveyor is wanted and I think you would be just the man if your wishes are that way inclined. The pay would be less than you make now and you would of course have to go second to Wills, who is already appointed and be under him while you were together, but that would probably not be for long—as the party will have to divide after leaving Cooper’s Creek and a surveyor be attached to each—If you like the idea and feel ambition of the honour and I hope glory to be gained by being attached to such a party, let me know by return of post. [italics added]

Selwyn had been looking out for a second surveyor for some time but no one seemed keen to take up the job. One prospective candidate expressed his doubts about Burke’s capabilities as a leader:

Do you think Mr. Burke has all the qualities that a leader ought to have? Everyone gives him credit for being a kind hearted man with plenty of pluck and determination and with great powers of endurance but some who know him predict disturbance in his party from his too hasty temper and say he acts too much from impulse.

Selwyn’s response was ominous. ‘I have not much faith,’ he confided, ‘in the success of the Expedition as at present constructed.’

The secret plan to divide the party and allow Burke to ‘make a dash for it’ is reinforced by a letter to the expedition leader from Georg Neumayer in Melbourne, written on 25 October 1860 a few days after Burke had left Menindee. Obviously Burke and Neumayer had been discussing the necessity for a second surveyor but Neumayer admitted the plan was proving impossible to implement, ‘I tried in vain to get another surveyor sent after you…There is underground work going on—I am sure about it. I have done my duty. You may be sure about it.’ The professor went on to say that he had also tried to arrange a ship to meet Burke when he reached the north coast so far without success. But Neumayer’s letter never reached Burke, a fact that influenced his plans in two important areas. First, Burke set out knowing that he couldn’t rely on a rescue vessel and would therefore have to cross the continent in both directions. Second and more important, he departed under the misguided impression that Neumayer could procure a second surveyor to join the rearguard party in Menindee.

In dividing his party, Burke acted with the full knowledge and official backing of some of the most powerful members of the Exploration Committee. He guessed correctly that all they wanted was for him to reach the north coast first. Given his transport problems on the way to the Darling, Burke probably thought his best chance of success lay in slimming down the expedition sooner rather than later. This accounts for his decision to disobey his official orders and split the expedition at Menindee instead of the Cooper. The desperation of some committee members for Burke to succeed is evident in a packet of letters sent to Burke at the end of October. Royal Society secretary John Macadam urged him on, saying:

My dearest Burke,

Every success; all well—one especially—you know who! Everyone wishes you well. The honour of Victoria is in your hands. We know and feel assured that you will vindicate the confidence reposed in you. May God bless and preserve you.

This veiled reference to Julia Matthews was designed to fire up the impassioned Irishman even further. Richard Eades told Burke he expected him to be ‘first to cross from sea to sea’ and Thomas Embling exhorted Burke to make sure that Victoria triumphed over South Australia. ‘The two colonies are in jealous rivalry,’ he wrote, ‘and I want you to win your spurs.’ In a final scurrilous paragraph, he warned Burke to be careful in dealing with the Aboriginal tribes. ‘I should like your work not to be sullied with blood as Stuart’s is.’

This remark, falsely accusing Stuart of killing Aborigines during his journey north, was part of a smear campaign designed to undermine the Scotsman’s credibility. Several members of the Exploration Committee had already recruited their friends in Adelaide to dig up dirt on Stuart. The result was a series of ‘tip offs’ to the newspapers and a report compiled by the Royal Society’s assistant secretary Robert Dickson, which suggested Stuart’s last northern expedition might have been a fake. ‘His whole trip is still enveloped in impenetrable mystery,’ wrote Dickson, adding that the Scotsman was so ‘fearfully subject to the Demon Drink’ that he spent most of the journey swigging bottles of preserving fluid and drinking alcohol from his scientific instruments. The committee’s efforts to rouse Burke were all in vain. The packet of letters never reached him.

In Melbourne George Landells’ resignation was causing a major scandal. The camel driver had rushed back to the city desperate to put his side of the story, but in the end Burke won the public relations battle by two newspapers to one. The Age was his major supporter. It decided that the Irishman had shown ‘firmness and self-reliance’ by reducing his party:

The Exploring Expedition, as it recedes from the confines of the peopled districts, and approaches the solitude of the unknown interior, is gradually casting off the ‘Barnacles’ which clung to it, so long as its progress was a mere affair of parade and holiday work. The silent wilderness has terrors for the faint of heart; and any excuse is gladly seized on by them, in order to retreat without open concession of cowardice…If Landells found he could not work in harmony with his chief officer, he should have resigned in peace and with dignified self-respect, without seeking to make himself appear an illused man, and Mr Burke a crack-brained tyrant.

The Argus agreed but the Herald, proclaiming itself ‘impartial, not neutral’, decided this was Burke’s fault, stating that ‘he had already demonstrated his total incapacity to hold his party firmly in hand, and that of itself is a very grave deduction from his concrete merits as a leader’.

As more revelations emerged, the members of the Royal Society squirmed with embarrassment. Matters reached crisis point with the publication of an ‘explanation letter’ from Landells, followed by a long and excruciatingly petty dispatch from Wills accusing the camel driver of disloyalty and duplicity:

Whereupon it came out that Mr Landells has been playing a fine game trying to set us all together by the ears. To Mr Burke he has been abusing and finding fault with all of us; so much so that Mr Burke tells me that Landells positively hates me—when we have, apparently been the best of friends. To me he has been abusing Mr Burke, and has always spoken as if he hated the doctor and Mr Beckler, where as to them he had been all milk and honey. There is scarcely a man in the party whom he had not urged Mr Burke to dismiss.

The Herald was appalled:

Mr Wills, both in his present and former communication has nothing more to tell than that there were continual squabbles about the camels. The other petty details of the small personal bickering and tattlings that went on in the camp are utterly unworthy of serious record. Mr Wills ought not to have condescended upon journalising them…the bare fact that such contemptible trifles are occupying attention in the exploring party, shows clearly enough that the spirit of elevated enthusiasm with which it was started has pretty well evaporated by this time.

On his return to Melbourne, Neumayer attempted to subdue the scandal by holding a public meeting to defend the expedition. With the skill of a spin-doctor, he emphasised Burke’s ‘wisdom’ and ‘judicious’ behaviour. ‘There was not one man who was not pleased with the excellent leader placed over him,’ he declared. The only concession to reality was an acknowledgment that ‘Mr Burke might require some assistance in some scientific matters connected with the journey’.

The committee was by now facing financial problems. An audit revealed that £4500 had been spent to equip the party, one third more than expected. The hired wagons added another £700, which left only enough to pay the men’s salaries until the end of the year. To compound matters, the committee had placed just £150 in Burke’s bank account, not realising he had been writing cheques at will, which were now bouncing back to Melbourne.

By late October, even the tiny store in Menindee was refusing credit for the back-up party. Beckler and Becker had to search their packs for loose change every time they needed so much as a stamp or a new bootlace. Stawell wrote to Burke warning that ‘The Committee was rather alarmed at finding the expense greater than they anticipated.’ The Royal Society was forced to approach the government for more funds and the chief secretary William Nicholson had little choice but to grant another £6000.

To Melburnians, the expedition had been reduced to melodrama. Charles Ferguson was threatening to sue for wrongful dismissal and rumours were circulating about the complete break-up of the party. Melbourne could not wait to hear the next instalment.

As Burke’s reputation was being dismembered in the city, he was making excellent progress towards Cooper Creek. With Landells and the scientists out of the way, it was a more harmonious group that trekked north hour after hour. Wright and his Aboriginal trackers proved to be able guides and water was readily available. Away from the framework of fences and farmland, the environment was like nothing the men had ever seen before, forcing even Wills to readjust his preconceptions. ‘This last season,’ he wrote, ‘is said to have been the most rainy that they have had for several years; yet everything looked so parched up that I should have imagined it had been an exceedingly dry one.’

A journey unconstrained by the artificial structure of tracks and settlements is free to settle into the rhythms of the natural landscape. It was a survival skill the Aboriginal people had perfected over many thousands of years. North of the Darling, tribes such as the Danggali, the Wiljali, the Bandjgali, the Karennggapa and the Kullila all moved around according to the seasons, the locations of the game and the state of the waterholes. Burke made no attempt to learn these patterns of co-existence. He marched for up to sixteen hours day, often passing excellent water in the afternoon and camping late at night. There were no rest days. For now, the favourable conditions allowed him to get away with his cavalier approach but his rapid progress also gave him a false sense of security.

One hundred and twenty-five kilometres north of Menindee, the expedition passed through the Bynguano Ranges, a striking mountainous plateau that rises high above kilometres of flat waterless plains. Known as Mutawintji or Mootwingee, the area remains sacred for the Wilyakali tribe and many other Aboriginal groups.

To wander from the flat scrubby plains into Mutawintji is to enter a haunting spiritual world. The plants, the trees, the earth, even the smell is different. Deep inside the network of red gorges, the atmosphere of secrecy is overwhelming. The narrow tumbling gullies hide dark silent pools, surrounded by some of the most sacred Aboriginal art in south-east Australia. Rocky overhangs are transformed into magnificent galleries adorned with hand stencils, emu tracks, boomerangs and kangaroos, all drawn in striking red ochres and yellow clay paint.

Mutawintji had been a place of ceremony and celebration for indigenous people for thousands of years before Burke and Wills arrived. With its permanent supply of water and game, it also provided a sort of emergency larder, a place of refuge that was not permanently occupied by any particular tribe. Its resources were never squandered and when better times returned tribes such as the Milpulo, Maljangapa and the Wanjiwalku returned to the plains beneath.

The explorers arrived with a different perspective. They spent just a few hours in one of the richest geological, biological, botanical and anthropological areas in New South Wales. Too busy to appreciate the subtleties before them, they filled their waterbags and left, describing the area as ‘dark and gloomy’.

Burke was consumed by his desire to beat Stuart. William Brahe recalled later that speed dominated the expedition’s daily routine:

Delay of any kind chafed Burke. The only angry word I ever had from him was in consequence of it. Some packs had shifted; the horses were delayed. He rode back, asking impatiently what was wrong. I explained, and said ‘It’s all right.’ ‘It’s not all right,’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘It’s all wrong!’ and rode away. In two hours he was back, saying kindly, ‘You must be very tired Brahe. Ride my horse for a while.’ He would blaze up into a temper very quickly, but soon got over it.

The rest of the men had no choice but to keep up. Wills continued with his special ‘camel-back’ system to record basic weather, geological and biological information. He amazed everyone with his stamina. Long after the others had crawled inside their bedrolls, he stayed up to take his nightly observations and plot the party’s position.

Burke did not keep a diary at all along this stretch of the journey, relying on his deputy to record any geographical features. Wills was surprised at the variety of the landscape they traversed. It alternated between ‘as good grazing country as one would wish to see’ and dusty clay flats ‘so arid and barren…one might almost fancy himself in another planet’.

Ten days after leaving Menindee, on 29 October, the explorers reached a low-lying fertile area known as the Torowoto swamp, 250 kilometres north of Menindee. Like ‘river’, ‘lake’ and ‘creek’, the word ‘swamp’ implies a degree of dependability that doesn’t necessarily exist in inland Australian geography. Maps in these areas can only ever be statistical averages, but this fact had not yet registered with European pioneers. Unaware of the enormous seasonal variations, the early explorers often misread the agricultural potential of the landscape. Many farmers followed these optimistic reports, driving their flocks for hundreds of kilometres towards nothing but drought, dust and despair.

Burke was no exception. Keen to fulfil the expectations of his patrons, he wrote to his uncle with misguided enthusiasm:

What we have done up to this will cause a great sensation as we have passed some very fine sheep grazing country not before known for which when my report goes down immediate application will be made. We are now encamped upon a creek not before known. Grass nearly fit to mow…

With the journey progressing so well, Burke was increasingly impressed with William Wright’s abilities as a bushman. At Torowoto, he decided to make Wright his third-in-command and the next morning he lined up the men and announced his intention to proceed to the Cooper at once. Wright was to return to Menindee with his Aboriginal trackers and retrieve the remainder of the stores. Burke outlined his plan, then offered each man the chance to turn back if they wished. All refused.

As usual Burke did not issue written instructions. In this case they would have been superfluous since Wright was nearly illiterate. Nevertheless, he did send a dispatch to the committee ‘explaining’ his decision:

Mr Wright returns from here to Menindie. I informed him that I should consider him third officer of the expedition, subject to the approval of the committee, from the day of our departure from Menindie, and I hope that they will confirm the appointment. In the mean time I have instructed him to follow me up with the remainder of the camels to Cooper’s Creek, to take steps to procure a supply of jerked meat, and I have written to the doctor to inform him that I have accepted his resignation, as, although I was anxious to await the decision of the committee, the circumstances will not admit of delay, and he has positively refused to leave the settled districts. I am willing to admit that he did his best until his fear for the safety of the party overcame him; but these fears, I think, clearly show how unfit he is for his post. If Mr Wright is allowed to follow out the instructions I have given him, I am confident that the result will be satisfactory; and if the committee think proper to make inquiries to him, they will find that he is very well qualified for the post, and that he bears the very highest character. I shall proceed on from here to Cooper’s Creek. I may, or may not, be able to send back from there until we are followed up. Perhaps it would not be prudent to divide the party; the natives here have told Mr Wright that we shall meet with opposition on our way there. Perhaps I might find it advisable to leave a depot at Cooper’s Creek, and go on with a small party to examine the country beyond it.

Under any circumstance it is desirable that we should be followed up. I consider myself very fortunate in having Mr Wills as my second in command. He is a capital officer, zealous and untiring in the performance of his duties, and I trust that he will remain my second as long as I am in charge of the expedition.

The men all conduct themselves admirably, and they are all most anxious to go on; but the committee may rely upon it that I shall go on steadily and carefully, and that I shall endeavour not to lose a chance or to run any unnecessary risk.

The letter was alarmingly imprecise and ominous in its use of the word ‘perhaps’. It failed to clarify whether Wright was to wait until his appointment was confirmed before bringing up the stores or whether he would be receiving extra pack animals to boost his transport arrangements. Burke’s accompanying letter to his uncle only increased the confusion:

I shall proceed on from here to Cooper’s Creek or the Victoria River as it is sometimes called, and from thence to Carpentaria as straight as I can go and if I can go…It is very possible that I may leave half the party behind and push on with the rest if I find I cannot get through with them all.

With the promise that a second surveyor would be sent from Melbourne, Burke might have been justified in assuming that his rearguard party would at least be able to navigate to the Cooper. But he seemed to have forgotten that he had left just a handful of exhausted camels and horses in Menindee—hardly enough to haul tonnes of supplies for 600 kilometres through the desert. Relishing his role as an adventurer in an unknown land, Burke seemed unconcerned about the precariousness of his plan. In the uncluttered landscape of the interior, it was proving all too easy to consign the complications of Menindee and Melbourne to another world.

As Wright dissolved away into the horizon, so did the expedition’s last link with civilisation. A man who had been running a sheep station two weeks earlier was now Burke’s only lifeline.