2009
The sheet of water at Bulloo was wide and deep and full of fish and there were ingeniously constructed dams used for catching them. A large ceremonial gathering of tribes from four or five different areas was imminent and the supply party was in the way. The natives were very numerous, said Wright, and as a result he cut logs with which he would later build a stockade. Twice he tried to survey the country to the north, seeking a way through to Cooper’s Creek, but both times he was driven back by the hostility of the natives, who, upon my camping, collected in large numbers, making fires all round me and trying to entice [us] . . . by means of their Women.
The night before Beckler and his two sick men arrived, things were coming to a head: Signal fires were burning around the camp here, and the natives imitated the howl of the native dog. Wright, who seemed imperturbable, spent his time catching rats in a trap he had made. Fifty-one were killed, he observed, but this slaughter . . . did not seem to diminish either their boldness or their numbers. Beckler and his invalids came in at sunset. That night while the doctor was tending to the three dying men and Wright, who couldn’t sleep, was once more catching rats, signal fires again blazed up all around and they heard the cold, eerie, castanet-like clapping of boomerangs being struck together. Wright responded by firing a full charge of powder from a rifle and then letting off one of their biggest rockets: it soared upwards and, with a loud bang, dissolved . . . into marvellous purple, slowly falling stars. There was dead silence for about half an hour; then a murderous howling began, intermingled with curses and wild screaming. Still imitating dingo howls, the Aboriginal group split in two and moved off along the creek, one party going south, the other north.
Next morning eight armed men walked into the camp; all were freshly painted and shone with fat. Upon being told to move off they also split up, two going up the creek and six down. Immediately the men of the supply party realised that there had in fact been more intruders than they had seen: a new coat that Wright had been using as a pillow as he tried to catch up on sleep lost in the night was missing. Indeed there could be no doubt that we were surrounded by large numbers of natives. Not long after the eight departed Beckler saw a much larger group massing on the other side of the creek: all of them smeared with fat and paint and had feathers in their hair; some had large reddish dogs’ tails bound around their heads and over their ears.
Once more they came into the camp. Two men climbed up into the trees where the meat bags were hung, broke them open, pulled out the meat within, sniffed it and threw it contemptuously to the ground. The explorers’ cooking place was close to the creek and some crept up to it on hands and knees. One man lifted up the flap of Purcell’s tent and started unpacking the medical basket. Wright and Smith cleared them off with their guns raised; later they found that the cooking place had been comprehensively plundered of supplies and utensils: camp-oven, pots, bowls, plates, teapots, knives, forks, spoons, all gone.
After the plunder was over the Aboriginal leader, or lead negotiator, a man the supply party called Mr Shirt because in earlier, happier days Wright had given him a shirt and a cap, walked casually into the camp, sat down and explained that a feast was imminent, neighbouring tribes were gathering and the Europeans must leave. He was particularly annoyed that Wright had dug over some ground down by the water and planted seeds there. (As soon as the seedlings germinated, the rats ate them.) While Wright and Mr Shirt talked other individuals approached, some by sliding surreptitiously forward while sitting on the ground; one was a proud, scornful woman who periodically threw back her head and let out a ringing, derisive laugh that showed her shining rows of white teeth. When he realised what was happening Wright demanded Mr Shirt get up and go; when he refused Wright pulled him bodily upright by his shirt collar and pushed him back. Even as Shirt was leaving he picked up dead rats then dropped them again, motioning for Wright to pick them up for him; but Wright thought this was a ruse to get my head in an unguarded position.
Eventually, threat and counter-threat having failed to shift the position of either side, the Aboriginal men called for their weapons, which were brought to them out of the bushes by young boys. They began to clap their boomerangs together, preparing to attack. At this point Stone, the syphilitic, rallied, calling out to them in the broken voice of a dying man, using the language of the tribes of the Darling. We do not want to hurt you, he said. We will not be staying here forever. But we will never allow ourselves to be driven off. It gave the attackers pause but only for a moment. The stand-off resumed and lasted for about three hours before Wright and his active men – there were only three of them, himself, Beckler and Smith, because Hodgkinson and Belooch were still bringing up the rest of the camels from Kooliatto Creek – lost their patience and physically evicted the sixteen or seventeen indigenous people from the camp. Later they found that twelve rats Beckler had skinned and gutted in preparation for cooking had been placed on an anthill and so ruined.That night Stone died; the next day, after burying him, the supply party built a stockade from the timber Wright had previously cut.
It is notable and curious that both here and at Kooliatto Creek the Europeans manhandled Aboriginal people without suffering any physical retaliation. It was in fact remarkable how much violence was threatened on both sides and how little actually occurred. There was even one occasion, at Kooliatto Creek, when a boy came back into the camp minutes after Beckler had physically evicted him and asked for fire; Beckler gave him a box of matches. The confidence of the Europeans was based on their possession of guns but what was the source of Aboriginal confidence? Why were they so sure they could come and go, ransack and pilfer, with impunity? Was it because they knew they would in the end prevail?
The day after the stockade was finished, Purcell also died. He had not been able to eat for some time, or even raise his head from his pillow without fainting. Beckler was woken in the morning and went in to see him; the cook said he was having trouble breathing and asked for water. Fifteen minutes later his head fell to one side, he groaned and died. They sewed him into his blanket but before he could be buried in the hard ground next to where Stone was laid, the Aboriginal people came back in numbers. They gathered around Stone’s grave and became most insulting in their demeanor. One picked up a dead rat and made a harangue upon it; then he threw it at the Europeans. They also flung dirt and stones from the grave into the air and gestured with sticks, evidently mimicking the erection of the stockade. The Europeans understood them to be saying that they would soon share the fate that had overtaken Stone. Wright continued to practise forbearance; I was very unwilling to fire at them, and allowed them to throw several sticks at us rather than commence actual hostilities. By noon they had concluded their demonstrations . . . When darkness fell they began to dig Purcell’s grave. It was the night of 24 April. He was buried at eight next morning. Now, they were only waiting for Becker to die.
The Supply Party: Ludwig Becker on the Burke and Wills Expedition,
East Street Publications, Adelaide, 2009