No 5 Morgan and Eudunda

I am not sure that the proper setting for this story is not the Burra, for Mount Bryan, whose name commemorates the victim of the tragedy I am about to relate, is close to the one-time copper city. But the headquarters of the expedition concerned in the affair were at the Nor'-West Bend, near what is today called Morgan. I am referring, of course, to Governor Gawler's fateful expedition of 1839, when his Excellency himself came within an inch of losing his life, and his friend, Mr. Henry Bryan, lost his. Henry Bryan was a high-spirited youth of eighteen, who was a member of the Governor's household. He was one of an expedition of twenty persons, including the Governor and Miss Gawler, and Captain and Mrs. Sturt, who set out in November, 1839, in two boats to explore certain territory along the Murray. All went well until the Nor'-West Bend was reached.

At this point the Murray, flowing westward from Victoria and New South Wales, where it forms the boundary between the two States, takes a sharp dip to the south, almost at right angles, constituting what was in those days called the Nor'-West Bend.

Here the party made their Headquarters. The explorers then pushed out into unknown territory. The women and the men left to guard them entered on a kind of picnic life, fishing and hunting. Governor Gawler had reason to believe that to the north of the bend was a large and fertile region. The discovery of this was the main object of the expedition. It was arranged that the party to invade the north should comprise the Governor, Captain Sturt, Mr. Inman, and two servants to lead the pack horses.

On the eve of their departure Mr. Bryan begged to be permitted to accompany the party in place of one of the servants. The Governor agreed. The Governor was so pleased with the spirit of adventure displayed by the youth that when, next day, they came in sight of a high mountain, he called it Mount Bryan.

It was a frightful journey. The weather was hot. They rode over a plain that seemed to be limitless. There was little shelter. Both men and beasts were soon knocked up.

Towards evening on the second day, when supplies of water were getting low, the Governor decided it was time to turn back. It was then the hand of Fate beckoned him on. He was just about to announce his intention of returning when, riding up a slight knoll, "a magnificent range of mountains came into view, 20 miles distant, and clothed with wood."

That settled the question of retracing their steps. They decided to push on, feeling certain that such excellently timbered country contained water. All the next day they struggled to towards their goal, but without ever seeming to get nearer. Eventually they came to a hillock, which placed them above the effects of refraction. Then they found they had been chasing an illusion. The mountain range was certainly there but it was still 30 miles away, "grotesque, indeed, in its outline, but so barren that the probabilities of finding water were too small to be pursued."

By now the position of the party was critical. The water was practically finished. All that hot, trying day the poor horses had to go without a drink. There was barely enough for the riders. At night Gawler noticed fires on Mount Bryan. That meant natives and natives meant water. The party decided to make for the mount. Progress was slow, for the horses were done. The fifteen miles between them and salvation seemed like fifty. All that day there was no water for the party. It was the second day the horses had had none. They were now 65 miles from the Nor'-West Bend.

They got to the foot of the mount at last. They failed to find either blacks or water, but they saw the remains of the fires. There was nothing for it but to get back to headquarters as best they could. The heat was still terrific.

Killed Horse and Drank Blood

Next morning, everyone trying to hide the agonies of thirst, a start was made back to the Murray. But the poor horses could scarcely drag themselves along. Gawler saw that the situation was getting desperate. There was a consultation, and the Governor decided to gallop ahead, and to send back water to the famished men. He wanted to go alone, but they persuaded him to take young Bryan with him in case of accident.

The pair started off, living by eating "the pulpy fruit of the mesem breanthemum." On the next morning, when they were about 12 miles from the Bend, the Governor's horse knocked up. Bryan suggested that his Excellency should take his horse, and press on alone. Gawler gave Bryan a compass and directions for striking the Murray. Then he rode off, anxious to send help to the party painfully crossing the plain. He told his friend to follow the tracks of his horse. An hour later hot winds developed. His Excellency described them as in tolerable. The heat was insupportable. Horse and rider were completely exhausted, unable to proceed. Both lay under a tree until next morning. As daylight broke he resumed the journey and reached the camp. To his great joy, he found the main party from the plains had just got in before him. They had sustained their strength the previous day by killing one of the horses and drinking its blood.

Then they set out for Bryan. He could not be found. The aid of black-trackers were enlisted. They discovered where he had removed the saddle from the horse, and lain down to sleep. After that all traces of him were lost. Despite a most intensive search, he was never heard of again.

Battle With Blacks

Here is an account of an affray with the blacks near the Nor'-West Bend to 1841. It Is chiefly intended to show how the warriors advanced to an attack. A party overlanding cattle having been molested a few months before, Major O’Halloran established a police post with a corporal and four troopers at the Bend to protect other expeditions known to be en route. As the cattlemen approached the Bend they fell in with hostile natives. The blacks advanced to within 50 yards of the whites in the form of a crescent. The chief struck his spear into the ground and waved his hand. This was the signal to attack. A terrific shout broke from the savages, and they hurled their spears. The first black to launch his weapon was shot dead. The whites thought this would deter the others. But they took no notice. They came on steadily in crescent formation — about 200 of them. Others could be seen lurking in the bush. It soon became evident they were engaged in an encircling movement. The whites were endeavoring to retire to more favorable ground, but their horses were speared, and some of the men wounded.

By now the whites were concentrating on covering the retreat of the wounded, and preventing them from falling into the hands of the enemy. They only fired occasionally, and that when certain niggers became too venturesome. But they made every shot tell, and by this means kept the savages from overwhelming them in a "rush." Every time a spear struck a white man the aboriginals gave a yell of triumph. Under these conditions the cattle men retreated a mile, and got to clear ground. Then the natives retired. The overlanders were too small in numbers to take the offensive.

In this affair the cause of the trouble was that some time previously the natives had stolen a quantity of sheep being brought from New South Wales. The sheep were hidden in the bush in the vicinity, and the attack on the whites was launched to prevent them from attempting to recover the animals.

Tales Of Early Morgan

While we were talking in the council office something cropped up about the local cemetery. Mr. Williams became reminiscent. "I remember," he said, "a curious incident about the surveying of that cemetery. It was laid out by a man named Harvey. I was with him at the time, and he remarked to me, ‘I wonder who will be the first poor blighter to be laid here to rest?' Before the year was out Harvey was drowned in the Murray, and was the first person to be buried in the cemetery."

The police-station and the post office are built on a steep hill. One arrives there after a stiff climb, breathless and incoherent. I am glad I am not a Morgan policeman. I could hardly get myself up there; I am certain I would never arrive there with a resisting drunk in tow. If I saw two "disorderlies" shaping up to each other I would go off the other way, and let them fight it out in peace. I said something of the sort to my friend, the chairman.

"True," he said, "it's a bit of a pull up there. The old gaol was better placed. But it had its disadvantages."

"Yes," I answered eagerly, scenting a story, "what were they?"

"Well, one was that it was easier to get out than to get in. I remember, many years ago, that a man whom we will call Jones, stole a horse belonging to the late Chief Justice Way. It wasn't much of a horse as horses go, but it was an old pet of the Chief's, and it had a big sentimental value. Sir Samuel made a noise about the affair, and we were all on the look-out for the thief. Sure enough he made for Morgan and was arrested. They put him in a cell at the old gaol, and sent the happy news to Adelaide. Somehow he had managed to secrete a knife, and during the night he cut a heap of shavings from the door of his cell. When he got sufficient he set fire to them under the door, and burnt a hole big enough to get out.”

"And he got away?"

"No, not exactly, but he would have done so if the police hadn't bluffed him. He took the horse and galloped over the border. The problem was to get him back. A black tracker was sent after him, and found him sleeping on his horse. The tracker quietly turned the animal, and led him back across the line. Jones was so sleepy that he didn't hear the black. By the time he woke up to a realisation of the situation he was again in South Australian territory, and in the hands of the police."

There were two houses in Morgan when Mrs. John Pendle was born there. She used to be fascinated by the sight of the blacks coming down the river in their bark canoes. They usually travelled in parties of five or six boats, and each had its fire burning. The blacks always carried fire when they could. It saved work— and they were not fond of work. I often wonder if our habit of leaning against posts and looking at the things we ought to do comes to us from these former dusky owners of the country. The natives used to bring along ducks and fish to sell to the settlers. They demanded "white money," which shows that black brother was no fool. When they got it they would try to buy rum. Sometimes they were successful, and then things moved.

When King Billy went on the jamboree en masse he could make trouble without trying. He became noisy, ferocious, and violent. He murdered and beat his gins, and was ready to attack the whites, though the settlers were safe as long as they left him to work out his salvation in his own way. One word more about Mr. Williams before I close. He has a unique record in the district council. He has been a member of the council for 17 years, and all that time he has been chairman. I do not know of a similar case.

Images

EUDUNDA. A town which grew up around a store, and is now the centre of a fertile district, with a population of 1,100.

EUDUNDA

Comedy Of A Main Street

TOWN WHICH GREW ROUND A STORE

To be perfectly frank with you, I don't think you are going to learn a great deal about Eudunda from this article. I don't know much about Eudunda, because Eudunda does not know much about itself. It was never born. Like Topsy, it "just growed." If you are not careful when you leave Kapunda. you are liable to emulate the girl in the pictures— to take the wrong turning. If you hit the right road after heavy rain, as I did, then you can make up your mind that you are in for more second-gear work in the next 18 miles than you have done for a long time. The road is rough and hilly, and you do nothing but climb, until you get the impression that the height of Eudunda is measured at so many miles above sea level.

But when you gaze down into the valleys and the vales, freshly ploughed to expose the rich chocolate soil, you know you are looking into one of the most fertile areas north of Adelaide, while thick flocks of pink and grey parrots sweep overhead, and away in the distance frown the steep ranges.

You come on Eudunda suddenly, as you skim over a rise. Your first impression is that it is a settlement of a few scattered houses. The real town is hidden from you, and it is not until you are right in it that you discover Eudunda to be quite a considerable size. The reason for this is that the town is on undulating ground, and the bulk of it is buried in a sort of irregular basin between the hills. I told you I could not tell you much ? about Eudunda because Eudunda knew so little about itself. Let me illustrate.

I took a photograph of the main street. Three businessmen, old residents of the town, watched me with interest.

"What street is this?" I asked one of them. He looked startled, and then puzzled.

"I'm bothered if I know," he answered after some hesitation. The other two were equally ignorant. They had lived all their lives in the town, had their businesses in its main street, yet did not know its name. They started arguing. I had given them a new subject. One maintained that it was Main street another King William street, and a third Bruce street. Then the local newspaper man happened along, and he plumped for Bruce street. Having a natural belief in the infallibility of newspapers, I accepted Bruce street— but to this day I don't know the real name of the chief street In Eudunda. Neither, apparently, does anybody else.

Genesis A Store

Eudunda has no written history. I discovered that before I left town. I raided the archives, that repository of South Australia's deadly secrets, but they were as bare of records as the celebrated cupboard of Mother Hubbard was of bones. I determined to do the State a service by digging up the murky past of this interesting town, and presenting it free gratis to the custodian of the useful old vault on North terrace. I had a sneaking hope that a grateful Government might recognise my patriotism. I had reckoned without Eudunda.

I called at the local council office. It was closed. I discovered the address of the chairman. He was out. I talked with shopkeepers. They could not help me. Eventually I ran the district clerk to earth.

"History! There isn't any history," he told me.

"But surely there are records of the town," I urged.

"There's the minute book of the first council meeting," he said hopefully. "You can have a look at that."

"God forbid," I answered hurriedly. I know those old minute books. They're about as interesting as an advertisement for Takem's pills. "Isn't there anything at the institute?"

"There isn't any institute."

Historically I had come up against a blank wall. I knew now why the archives were innocent of fiction about Eudunda. The natives had never invented any. Here was a large-sized town, with a population between 1,500. and 2,000, and no one knew how it had got there.

Well I do.

Eudunda had its beginning in the enterprise of a young German Mr. F. G. E. Appelt. Its genesis was a single general store. Sixty years ago this country was largely bush. Nevertheless it was settled by a number of German people, who, with characteristic industry, set about the pioneer work of clearing and developing it. What they have accomplished you can see for yourselves in the rich farm lands and solid homesteads which dot the countryside. In those days, however, the settlers had to go to Kapunda, eighteen miles away, for their supplies.

In 1874 young Appelt happened along, looking for work. He saw the opportunity, and took it. He established a general store. People soon got to know that it was no longer necessary to make the long journey to Kapunda. Appelt's store became the centre of a large trade. Soon it also became the post office, and the enterprising German lad was its first postmaster. Appelt's success attracted others. Soon there was an hotel, blacksmith, and a mill. Eudunda had come into being. The rest was natural growth.

Primitive Conditions

Emus and kangaroos formed the bulk of the population in '74. The country was mostly scrub. The settlers were scattered. These conditions prevailed when the railway to Morgan was built. Eudunda still remembers the gangs of rough navvies engaged on that work, and the trouble they gave the police. Usually there was a solitary trooper in the district, and he was miles away from help. Those navvies knew it, and they saw to it that his job was no sinecure. There were no police cells, and the oldest residents still remember the gangs of prisoners chained to trees because there was no other way to hold them. That is about all the history that Eudunda can provide. I am sure there is a good story of pioneering struggles, grit, and success if one only new where to find it. I do know that at one time during a period of drought the settlement nearly came to grief; that the young people packed up their trunks and departed, and that the old folks stuck to it with indomitable courage — and won through. But those things are regarded as part of the day's business, too insignificant to be left on record.

There is one circumstance regarding that drought of the nineties, however, which ought to be preserved for future historians. It relates to the tiny settlement of Bower, approximately halfway between Eudunda and Morgan.

The people there were reduced to almost unbelievable poverty by the succession of crop failures, and the men became almost too thin and famished to walk to Eudunda for rations. Mothers were forced to feed their children on saltbush to preserve them from starvation.

Town Guards Its Secret

The more I saw of Eudunda the more puzzled I became. I told you in a previous article that you could not know a town unless you could look into its heart. I could not find the heart of Eudunda. It would not yield up its secrets to me. I was a stranger and an alien. I could see all the external signs of a living and pulsating town — solid business premises, well built and substantial villas, evidence of enterprise and progress. But I could not find the hidden Eudunda — the spirit behind these things. Eudunda is a feminine town; it is capricious and inconsistent.

People told me there was no business in the town. Yet I have seen fewer country towns presenting such an external view of well-to-do-ness.

In most towns you visit the trouble is that the citizens are too optimistic. They paint you a picture that you know is not true. You have to dilute their optimism by half in order to get a true perspective. But Eudunda people are not like that. They err towards the other extreme. Most people I spoke to were pessimists. They were just about 50 per cent too modest.

Some of you will probably tell me I could not find the spirit of Eudunda because it is more German than English. I admit that the descendants of the German colonists number probably 80 to 90 per cent, of the population. But that was not the reason of the failure of my quest. I have been closely identified with German people all my life, and many of them I number among my dearest friends. Even the shock of war was not great enough to break the bonds. I know their psychology and how to get underneath their natural reserve. But that did not help me to discover Eudunda.

NEXT WEEK Waikerie: Story of an Experiment.

Images:

THE KING, his most recent picture taken on his 67th birthday last month.

Mr. F. G. E. APPELT, Founder of Eudunda.