AITA for leading expeditions in the Australian wild that were maybe a little ambitious?

Gutentag, my dear friends. I am writing to you on a fine sunny day somewhere in the deserts of central Australia. I am currently attempting to cross from the Condamine River on the east coast, to the Swan River on the west. We are a little hot, a bit hungry and a little off target, but I will not let these trifles stop us.

I write to you because it has come to my attention that some so called 'historians' have dubbed me 'Australia's worst explorer', and 'a dangerous fool'. I am (of course) deeply offended and would like to correct the record.

My first crossing of Australia, from Moreton Bay to Port Essington in 1844, was a remarkable achievement. They told us we needed at least £5000 to fund this expedition, and I managed with barely £500. They said I could not do it with wagons and bullocks, and... we still had seven of the sixteen left by the end. The wagons broke on day two, and the bullocks were incredibly difficult to manage... but we suceeded.

They told us that we needed good experienced colonial lads to make it through, and I succeeded with a few young chums fresh off the boat. Roper was a fool, Murphy just a boy, Calvert was inoffensive, and Phillips... An ex-convict, but dependable. They may have grumbled and whined the entire time, and lost themselves repeatedly, but the Lord had a plan when he put us on the same ship to Australia all those years ago.

Now, it's true that we ran out of flour. And sugar. And salt. But we made do on all matter of exotic plants, only a few of which made us sick. Not even deathly sick, merely burning lips and loose bowels. We ate the bullocks, ingeniously drying their meat in the sun like the Indians of the Americas. It's true that we could not hunt as effectively as we would have liked - we shot few emus or kangaroos, but we did shoot many hundreds of bats, and they ARE in fact edible... If desperate.

It's also true that we took fourteen months instead of six, but science cannot be rushed. The hundreds of specimens that burdened our bullocks for months would have been invaluable to the science of botany, had they survived that final river... It's impossible to identify what plants I discovered now, but it certainly had the potential to have been impressive.

And I cannot be blamed for the death of poor Mr Gilbert, our ornithologist - we thought it wise to camp in black fellow campsites, because they were always close to food and water, and they held stores of food left behind. The attack on thst fateful night was random and could not have been foreseen. We only ever treated kindly with the blacks, and others had gifted us tasty foods and guided us with kindness - we perhaps were unlucky to mix with the wrong sort.

My chief advisor, a blackfellow named Charlie, deserves far more blame than I for our delays. That drunkard may have saved our lives on several occasions, but he was slow to rise, slow to manage the bullocks, and a rebellious rascal. He corrupted his junior, Brown, and had the gall to beat my jaw with his fist when I scolded him, and threatened to shoot Mr Gilbert in an altercation. He was lucky I found him useful enough to continue with us, and not left abandoned in the wilderness.

My crew survived 14 months of heat and hunger with only minor spear injuries, having accomplished a marvellous feat of exploration.

Which is why we decided to try crossing east to west in 1846, and we would have made it if my crew had not rebelled six months in. These colonial Englishmen accused me of deadly mismanagement, while in Europe I was being awarded medals of excellence for my achievements.

Third times the charm - there will be an enormous celebration when we one day arrive at the Swan River colony.

So please, dear reader, you tell me - am I the ass for leading an expedition that suffered a few setbacks? And another one that admittedly turned back...