I Was
Therefore Grievously Disappointed When I Heard The Decision Of My Late
Partners Not To Accompany Me.
Dave Wilson thought it unwise to come
because his health was poor and his blood completely out of order,
As
evinced by the painful sores due to what is termed "the Barcoo Rot." This
disease is very common in the bush, where no vegetables or change of food
can be obtained, and must be something akin to scurvy. It is usually
accompanied by retching and vomiting following every attempt to eat. The
sufferer invariably has a voracious appetite, but what he eats is of
little benefit to him. The skin becomes very tender and soft, and the
slightest knock or scratch, even a touch sometimes, causes a wound which
gradually spreads in all directions. The back of the hand is the usual
spot to be first affected, then the arms, and in a bad case the legs also,
which become puffy at the joints, and before long the wretched victim
will be covered with sores and abrasions. No external application of
ointment or anything of that nature seems to do any good, though
the wounds are deep and leave but little scar. After a month or two
in the bush one is pretty sure to develop this complaint, which in
the dusty, hot weather is further aggravated by the swarms of flies,
whose poisonous nature is made evident to any one who has killed them.
In my own case I have found fine white wood-ashes, preferably of the
mulga, to have a healing and drying effect. Ashes are used by the natives
for healing wounds, and I found them very efficacious in cases of sore
backs amongst camels. Nothing but an entire change of diet and way of
living can cure the "Barcoo"; constant washing, an impossibility
"out-back," being essential. Dave, having had his sickness for some long
time, was physically unable to form one of the party, to my sorrow,
for he was a man in whom I had the greatest confidence, and one whose
pluck and endurance were unquestionable.
Alfred Morris joined his brother in a reef the latter had found, and
Charlie Stansmore was not at all well. Thus I was for the time stranded.
There was no difficulty in getting men - of a sort! but just the right kind
of man was not easily found. My old friend Benstead added one more to the
many good turns he has done me by recommending Joe Breaden, who had just
finished a prospecting journey with Mr. Carr-Boyd and was looking out for
a job. Benstead had known him from boyhood, in Central Australia, and
gave him the highest character - not higher than he merited, though,
as I hope these pages will make clear. Most of us have, I think, an
instinct that tells us at once whether to trust another or the reverse.
One can say on sight, "I have perfect confidence in that man." As soon as
I saw Breaden I felt a voice within me saying, "That's just the man you
were looking for." I told him my plans and the salary I could afford to
give him; he, in his silent way, turned me and my project over in his mind
for some few minutes before he said the one word "Right," which to him
was as binding as any agreement.
A fine specimen of Greater Britain was Joe Breaden, weighing fifteen stone
and standing over six feet, strong and hard, about thirty-five years of
age, though, like most back-blockers, prematurely grey, with the keen eye
of the hunter or bushman. His father had been through the Maori War, and
then settled in South Australia; Breaden was born and bred in the bush,
and had lived his life away up in Central Australia hundreds of miles from
a civilised town. And yet a finer gentleman, in the true sense of the
word, I have never met with. Such men as he make the backbone of the
country, and of them Australia may well be proud. Breaden had with him his
black-boy "Warri," an aboriginal from the McDonnell Ranges of Central
Australia, a fine, smart-looking lad of about sixteen years, whom Breaden
had trained, from the age of six, to ride and track and do the usual odd
jobs required of black-boys on cattle stations. I had intended getting a
discharged prisoner from the native jail at Rotnest. These make excellent
boys very often, though prison-life is apt to develop all their native
cunning and treachery. Warri, therefore, was a distinct acquisition.
Having made so successful a start in the choice of mates, I turned my
attention to the purchase of camels. My idea had been to have twelve,
for it seemed to me that a big number of camels was more a handicap than
an advantage in country where the chances of finding a large supply of
water were so small. Another excellent reason for cutting down the caravan
was the question of expense. Eventually I decided on nine as being the
least we could do with. Nine of the very best they must be, so I spared no
pains in the choosing of them. Mr. Stoddart, the manager of a large
Carrying Company, from whom I bought them, said that he had never come
across any one so hard to please! However, I meant to have none but the
best, and I got them - five splendid South Australian bulls, three of
mature years and two youngsters - all a proper match for my old train of
four. The best camels, unfortunately, are not the cheapest! The average
value of our caravan was 72 pounds 10 shillings - a tremendous amount when
compared with their cost in other countries. In Somaliland, for instance,
for the price I paid for my nine, I could get one hundred and sixty-three
camels! But the Somali camel from all accounts is a very poor performer,
compared to his kinsman in the Antipodes, his load being about 200 lbs.
against the Australian's 6 to 9 cwt.
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