No 43 Port Elliot

Beginning Of Things

The story of Port Elliot begins with a pretty native legend, one of those poetic aboriginal stories of which, unhappily, so few have been preserved. Nurunderi, pursuing some runaway wives, arrived at Freeman's Nob. Disappointed at not finding the women, he threw two small nets, called "witti," into the sea. Immediately two small rocky islands arose, which ever since have been called "Wittungenggul." Nowadays we call one of these islands Gull Island (it was formerly Pullen's Island). The other is submerged, but can be plainly seen awash when the state of the tide permits. On an old map published by Arrowsmith in 1846 you will find the name “Wit-i-aganul,” which is based upon this legend. Another old map shows Port Elliot as Cape Kainjemin. The name is also based on a native folk tale of Nurunderi. The story, though, is a trifle indelicate, so I will not give it.

Nurunderi is said to have been a great chief who brought his people from the Darling to Encounter Bay. Freeman's Nob, that headland between Horseshoe and Green Bays, which carries a big obelisk, was named by whalers in 1836 after a comrade, a Malay sailor. The name was given as a mark of gratitude, because this Malay, in the days when food was scarce, and navigation marks primitive and deceptive, successfully, recognised the Nob from a description that had been supplied to him, and landed a cargo of provisions at the whaling station at Encounter Bay.

By the way, touching that obelisk on the Nob, about which there has been some controversy, it was built in 1852 as a landmark for vessels entering the harbor, in the days when Elliott was a port in fact, as well as in name. In a chart prepared by Captain Crosier, the man who named Victor Harbour, Port Elliot is shown as Rocky Point.

First Whites

It is reasonable to suppose that the first whites to set foot in the Port Elliot district were sealers from Kangaroo Island. There is no definite record of this. But it is known that these men, many of them pirates and outlaws, were in the habit of paying frequent visits to the mainland in pre-colonisation days. They roamed the country from the Murray mouth to Yankalilla, killing blacks and stealing their lubras, and laying up for the whites who were to succeed them a store of hate and vengeance in the hearts of the black occupants of the country.

It seems certain, also, that Kent and his party, returning from the Murray after the murder of Captain Barker, crossed the territory which is now Port Elliot, on their way back to their ship. There is in existence a definite record of a journey made to Elliot in 1837 by T. B. Strangways and Y. B. Hutchinson, following an overland trek with a bullock dray from the capital to the whaling station at Encounter Bay. This vehicle was the first in the Port Elliot district.

Settlement Without A Name

Port Elliot was never "born" in the same sense that most of our towns came into existence. The settlers just drifted there in a haphazard sort of way in the days when the place had no recognised name except the comprehensive one of Encounter Bay, which meant anything from Rosetta Head to the Murray mouth. It is true that the early maps had put various designations to the point on which Elliot was eventually established, but the settlers knew nothing of them, and cared less.

In these circumstances it is curious to learn that Elliot, like Goolwa, Victor, and the Bluff, might have become the capital of the State. There was a considerable faction at Holdfast Bay in '36 who were not in favor of Adelaide as the capital, or rather of the site selected by Light for Adelaide, because it was settled that, wherever the city was placed it was to be called after the consort of the Royal William. That had been laid down by the monarch himself. And a great part of this faction favored some part of Encounter Bay as the place for the metropolis. The settlement of Port Elliot did not begin where the town is today, but a mile or two to the north. In any case it wasn't a very big settlement, and you could have passed it by very easily if you didn't know it was there. It was not until 1850 that the place received the name of Port Elliot from the Governor (Sir Henry Young), who named it after his friend, Sir Charles Elliot, the Governor of Bermuda. To my mind that was a senseless piece of nomenclature, because I don't think Sir Charles was ever even remotely interested in South Australia. But is is scarcely worth while taking up the matter now.

Canal Scheme Mooted

The present generation know all about the scheme for a Murray port. They may not know the details, but they know that periodically there is the father of a row over the question with the Government, no matter what its brand of politics, playing one town off against another in the good old fashioned way of shirking a job.

Well, that canal scheme is exactly 83 years old, and it is far less nearer realisation today than it was in 1850. when Governor Young first launched his idea of connecting the Murray with Port Elliot by a canal. That is why Elliot was called "Port," and port it was for some years until experience proved its unsuitability for the job. There was a time when Elliot had its harbormaster, and its ships calling regularly, and that is why the obelisk on Freeman's Nob was built — to assist the ships in entering the harbor. Now there is no harbor, and no ships call, and Elliot takes only an academic interest in the scheme, which still shakes Victor Harbour and Goolwa to their foundations when periodically the old controversy breaks, out like a regular epidemic. I should say it was on the verge of an outbreak now, for during my recent visit to the three towns concerned I had more plans for the construction of the canal poured into my ear than I knew what to do with. They all had the merit of simplicity and inexpensiveness, I was told. I took the word of my informers for it. Unfortunately I am such an ignoramus that I am unable to express an opinion on the subject. Besides, when I was a small boy I agitated a hive of bees with a peg. Those bees taught me a lesson I have never forgotten not to meddle in the affairs of other people. As soon as Sir Henry Young mooted his scheme for a canal Port Adelaide interests rose to a man, and a battle royal ensued, which has never altogether died down. For 83 years the policy of centralisation, vested interests, or whatever other name you like to give it, has fought that scheme tooth and nail, and it seems to me they will go on doing it to the end of time.

First Ship From England

It was in February, 1855, that the first vessel to arrive direct from England berthed at Port Elliot This was the Lady Emma. It was a gala day— and a hectic night. There was a dinner at the old Globe Inn. Captain Kay and the officers of the ship attended in all their trappings, and the "big-wigs" of Elliot who were present included Captain Cadell, of Murray navigation fame, Dr. Clendenning, Captain Nation, and Messrs. J. W. Higgins (in the chair), A. F. Lindsay, J. T. Neilson, Tripp, Tomlinson, Mackie, Barton, Bottomley, Boothby, and Atkinson. There are some good South Australian names there.

Early Houses

Up to 1850 there wasn't a stone house in Port Elliot. Mostly they were wattle and daub. Some were of pise and a few wooden. One was a small building with a rampart of turf in the edge of a cliff. A small wooden erection, just south of the old post office, was reputed to be the first house in Port Elliot. The first stone building was the old Port Elliot Hotel.

Town Proclaimed

In 1853 the District Council of Encounter Bay was formed. This included Encounter Bay proper, Goolwa, and Elliot. On January 5, 1854, Port Elliot was given its independence, and established its own council. But that was only the birth of municipal government. When or where exactly the town began will never now be known. As I said earlier it just drifted into being, and that is all there is to say about it.

Pioneering

Mr. Trigs told me now his people came to Elliot away back in the beginning of time, before the town had a name, and when the country was practically virgin scrub. His father walked there from Willunga. That might not sound very impressive in 1933, when you have a bitumen road, fenced on both sides to keep you to the straight and narrow path. But when there were no fences and no roads, and the scrub was thick and the grass high, it was totally different matter. You were apt to get lost, as Mr. Trigg the elder did, and sleep out in the bush all night, with the wild dogs howling around you in packs, and lie awake, afraid to sleep lest the animals should take it into their heads to add you to their menu.

You see, there aren't any wild dogs, these days, not about the settled country, and you do not find it easy to imagine a night of terror in the wilds. It was in the thick country round the square Water Hole that this eveningof torture was spent, with the rain beating down, and the wind howling like an army of lost souls.

He reached Port Elliot next day, and spied out his land. Then he returned to Adelaide, covering the distance in one day on foot, to bring his wife and family over the hills in a bullock dray to the new home. The bullocks strained and the dray bumped over ground indescribably hilly and difficult, the adventure terminating by a capsize on Cut Hill (that long hill with the stone fence which you descend on the way to Victor Harbour), and the party had to camp for the night beside their overturned stores.

Then, when they got to the Inman— I was told it was the Inman, but probably it was the Hindmarsh— the cart stuck in the middle of the stream, and neither the traditional vocabulary nor the stinging of the lash could get those bullocks to move it. There was nothing to be done but for Mr. Trigg to wade to and from the shore, carrying his wife and family on his back to safety. Those incidents were common those days— too common even to mention. It is only to us who have become accustomed to a life of ease that they make their appeal.

Another method of travel those days was for two men to have one horse between them. They took it in turns to ride and walk alternately. You see, things were not too easy in Port Elliot in 1840. If you wanted to post a letter it involved a 12-mile trek to the nearest post office at Currency Creek. So you didn't do any more writing than you had to.

Story Of Cliff House

I suppose that, writing in an historic sense, Cliff House is the most interesting building in Elliot today. It began life in 1854 as the Globe Hotel, a one-storeyed structure looking out over the ocean. In the course of years it became the official holiday residence of several Governors, then a private house, and finally a guest home. In the fifties, whales were still plentiful in the Bay. The hotel was kept by D. Jones, and in the interval between handing out "handles'" to stray customers— and they were mostly strays those days— Mr. Jones armed himself with a long telescope and scanned the water for the giant mammals. I cannot tell you if he ever saw one or what he did about it if he did.

Mr. Jones's successor was Mr. T. Born, who in turn gave way to one Bailey. This brought the history of the old pub down to the beginnings of the seventies. There may have been other licensees in between. On this point I could not secure definite information. But it was during Mr. Bailey's sojourn as Bung that the hotel was acquired as a residence for the Governors. Sir Anthony Musgrave, who came to South Australia in 1873, was the first of the viceregal occupants of the place. Sir William Jervois and Sir William Robinson were others. This exalted part of the career of the old house lasted nine or ten years.

Then Elliot dropped out of viceregal favor, and Mr. G. C. Hawker occupied the place as a residence. After his death it was purchased by Miss Rose Wood, who ran it as a guest home. The present owner is Mr. J. W. Trigg.

It was in a couple of rooms at the rear of this old hostellery that Ebenezer Ward in 1866 founded the "Southern Argus," whose headquarters were subsequently transferred to Strathalbyn.

I do not want you to think, from the space I have given to the history of the old Globe that it was the first hotel in Elliot. Three years before it sprang into existence, the Port Elliot Hotel was dispensing liquid and other refreshment to dust-covered travellers on the main road to Goolwa. This old house is still standing (it is the two-storey house on the Goolwa side of the present Royal Family Hotel), but you would never recognise it today as the old-time centre of the convivial life of the little settlement of 1851. In its earlier days it was a low building, with a slate roof, kept by Fred Dodd. Fred had a vivid faith in the future of Port Elliot, and when he built the house he provided walls to carry a second storey. This was added later.

Quick Wooing In The Early Days

It was Robert Louis Stevenson, I think, who wrote, "Sour grapes are all very well — but it's a woman's business to be married." But in the early days of the colony there were no "sour grapes" — for women. They were too scarce, and were snapped up as wives almost before they put foot on shore. Some times the husbands-elect didn't even pause to enquire the names of their wives-to-be. It is such a case that I am going to tell you about now.

The scene was Cliff House. A party of immigrant girls had just arrived, and had been installed there, pending allotment as servants to various settlers. As one resident, Edward Blank, strolled by he saw a girl looking over the fence.

"Do you want to be married?" he called, without any preliminary.

"Yes," answered the girl, sans hesitation.

"All right," said Blank, "I'll go and find a parson." When Blank found the minister the conversation went like this: —

"What is the name of the bride?" It was the parson who spoke.

"Bothered if I know," said Blank, scratching his head. "I forgot to ask her."

Nevertheless, the couple were married next morning, and enjoyed many years of wedded bliss. Their descendants are still in the district. I have considered it best to hide the name of the hero of that story, though there is nothing secret about it among the old people of Port Elliot.

The same family, a brother of Edward Blank, was concerned in another unusual incident. He was known as "the man who smiled through life." He was always in a good humor, and had twinkling eyes. At the same time he was a man with deep religious feelings. He had saved up a nice little nest egg for his old age. Then one day, hearing that the church was in need of funds, he sat down and worked put how many years he was likely to live, and how much money he would require for that period. When he had satisfied himself on these points he put aside a sum sufficient, he thought, to last him his lifetime, and gave the balance to the church.

But things did not work out as he expected. He had reckoned to live to 75. Instead he lived to 92— seventeen years longer than his estimate. It would have gone hard with the old man in those later years after his capital was exhausted had not his friends who knew the story secured him the old age pension. I don't know how they managed it, but he never suspected he was getting the pension. He was of a proud and independent nature, and would have refused it had he known.

It is related of the old man that he was convinced of the infallibility of the Bible.

"What," exclaimed one critic on a certain occasion, "do you mean to tell me you believe the whale swallowed Jonah?"

'Yes,' said the old man decisively, "and I'd believe that Jonah swallowed the whale if the Bible said so."

Trifles Are Important

In the lives of towns; as well as of nations, trifles are often important. They will tell you at Port Elliot it was a trifle which was the turning point in the career of the seaside town. There was a time, not so many years ago, when Elliot was a sort of big brother to the adjoining town of Victor. Elliot was in the way of being a fair-sized settlement when Victor was in the thumb-sucking stage.

Then D. H. Cudmore came to Elliot with money in his pocket to buy a block of land to build a mansion. I should have said THE block of land, because there was only one site the big pastoralist would consider. The owners wouldn't sell. So Cudmore went to Victor, and built "Adare." Other wealthy people from the city followed his lead. Victor began to go ahead; Elliot to stand still.

Worsnop As Bush Teacher

I remember when I was a small boy watching petitioners standing in a queue at the Adelaide Town Hall, waiting to interview that august personage, Thomas Worsnop, Esq., town clerk. In those days he was the autocrat of the capital, much more so than mere mayors and aldermen. You couldn't get near his exalted mightiness without running the gauntlet of a whole army of officials intent on shoo-ing you away from the not-to-be-lightly-approached presence.

I could not help think of this when, diving among the old records of early Elliot, I came upon the name of this same T. Worsnop as the first teacher in this sea girt settlement of the south. It was a little bush school in the days before the Government provided their own institutions. It was located on section 30, close to the town. The date! Well, I do not know. But it was long before the public school was inaugurated in 1855. Incidentally Mr. Worsnop, in addition to his scholastic duties, was valuator for the district at £25 a year, and keeper of the public pound.

I have before me a list of the other dominies of both sexes who led the youth of Elliot along the road of knowledge in the days when, like the material reads of the wilds, it was none too smooth. Unhappily dates are missing in most cases. There were Mr.Bowes Mein and his wife, Mrs. Absolom, Miss Fanny Dodd, and Mrs. Miers. Then, when the public school came in '55, there were the Rev. G. Taplin, the Rev. C Hodge, and James Jolly.

Some Swimmer

If you happen to mention swimming at Port Elliot in the presence of one of the old hands you will probably be told of the remarkable feat of a youth— he was a youth in 1860, when the incident happened— in swimming out to a shipwrecked vessel with a lifeline, in the teeth of a roaring gale. The hero of this exploit was A. Dent, and the fact has become a legend.

Those who have been to Port Elliot—and I suppose most of my readers have— know that even in fine weather the breakers come in there with tremendous force, and dash themselves to pieces on the rocky coast, throwing up a cloud of white spray which can be easily watched from Victor, two miles away. You can imagine, therefore, the sort of rollers that come roaring in when the wind howls, and the sea seems intent on crashing the granite rocks to powder, and destroying everything that might impede its course. You would imagine that in a whirlpool of that description no human being could strive against it. But Dent did—and successfully, too.

The vessel in distress was the schooner Flying Fish. Several unsuccessful attempts had been made, both from the shore and the ship, to get a line connected between the two points. Finally it seemed useless to try any further. There seemed nothing else to do but let the sailors take their chance— and their chance of living in that sea was about as remote as one of finding a really honest speaking politician. It was at this stage that young Dent quietly tied a line round his waist and plunged into the seething waters. He progressed by inches— but it was progress. It was a long, desperate, and a stubborn battle. But, in the end he reached the schooner, the line was hauled aboard, and the crew saved. It was one of the most courageous feats in the history of life-saving— but I don't think it was ever officially recognised.

Shock For The Boaster

It was this same Dent who was the hero of another exploit of a totally different character. One day a stranger "blew in" to the bar of a local hotel. It transpired that he was a champion long-distance swimmer from New South Wales. He said he was on his way to Adelaide to find a match— "but he didn't suppose there was anyone there who was worth the trouble." "You don't have to go to Adelaide, mister," said one of the occupants of the room. "I reckon we've got the man here to lay you out." The champion scoffed. Nevertheless, be was prevailed upon to race young Dent. The contest was one mile, from a point on Gull Island to the shore. Dent won. After he had landed he returned to the water and swam out 300 yards to escort the struggling champion to the beach.

THE STORY OF PORT VICTOR NEXT WEEK

Images:

• Obelisk on Freeman's Nob, erected in the fifties as a beacon for shipping entering the port.