No 51 Port Lincoln

In this, the third article on early Port Lincoln, the reader will meet some of the old pioneers who made history, and will read tales, many and strange, of things which happened when the town was young, and, like the young, dreamed ambitious dreams which were never realised.

In this article I hope to introduce you to some of the people who made history in the early days of Port Lincoln— the Hawsons, the Harveys, the Bishops, the Porters, Edward John Eyre, Robert Tod, and some others.

It was Captain W. F. Porter who erected the first house in Port Lincoln, though the Hawsons must have run him pretty closely. Porter was one of the original holders on the Special Survey, and it was he who took the first settlers across in the Dorset, accompanied by Captain J. Bishop, whose son, now 87, and granddaughter still occupy the old Bishop home on the West road. In addition to growing woollies on the undulating plains and the hills and valleys about the port, Captain Porter appears to have filled in his spare time at shipbuilding, for the "Port Lincoln Herald"— they had a paper there in the first year of the settlement, "publised occasionally"— records under the date of November 16, 1839, the launch of the cutter Alice, "the largest vessel built in the colony," from "Mr. Porter's premises last week." This leviathan was a vessel "capable of carrying a cargo of from 26 to 30 tons to Port Adelaide."

Estate Sold For A Lost Cow

I called on Mrs. M. G. Hawson. There, I told myself. I would probably encounter records dating back to prehistoric times. "But," explained that lady, "the Hawsons never kept any." Neither grandpa, nor great-grandpa, nor even their sons or their grandsons could be induced to put pen to paper to leave behind them written evidence, of the things that were. True, they had handed down queer stories by word of mouth as time and the mood indicated. But, like all such transient things, these tales had now been engulfed in the great void of forgetfulness — lost for all time.

There was one, however, that Mrs. Hawson did recall — the sale of the Happy Valley estate. This land was located in the Adelaide hills, near the spot from which the city now draws its water. "The Hawsons sold that property for a cow," she said. "Rather a poor bargain." I remarked. "It was," she agreed, "especially as they lost the cow on the way home!"

For the benefit of historians of the future who might be inclined to conjecture that the Happy Valley concerned was in reality the vale of the same name near Port Lincoln, I emphasise that the location was as I have stated. But, if you want a record of a similar transaction at Port Lincoln, you will find it in the fact that Boston Island itself, that great natural breakwater lying at the entrance to the harbor, was once sold for a team of bullocks.

Graves On Boston Island

There are two unmarked graves on Boston Island. They are those of Dr. Harvey and his wife. This is the same Dr. Harvey who attended young Frank Hawson when he was murdered by the blacks. Harvey in the early forties was a kind of Government Pooh Bah at Port Lincoln - doctor, resident magistrate, harbormaster, collector, government store keeper, and a host of other things.

In fact, he was the only Government representative there, and any odd job of a public nature that had to be done naturally fell to Harvey's lot—from finding provisions for Eyre when he started on his famous overland trek to Albany to enquiring of Mrs. Biljim why she had not given the quinine pills he ordered to her latest offspring. If I am able to give you an intimate though unflattering picture of Dr. Harvey it is because of the excellent record left of him by Mrs. Watt in her priceless account of family life in the province in the earliest days. She tells us that he was (in 1839) a bald headed, middle-aged man, short in stature, ill-made, and plain featured, "with an overweening sense of his own importance, self-opinionated, and dictatorial in the extreme." On the other hand Eyre describes him as "most attentive and courteous." Allowing for the fact, however, that Mrs. Watt was never backward in expressing her opinion on those she didn't like, and that it was obvious she detested Harvey, she seems to have had a better opportunity of studying the man than had the explorer, who knew him for only a few days. "Another estimable peculiarity," adds Mrs. Watt, "was an undisguised contempt for the intellectual capacity of women."

The wife was the very anthesis of him. Twenty five years of age at this time, and the mother of two lads, the legend was that Dr. Harvey had married her when (she was) not more than sixteen years old, having attended her professionally at a boarding school in the South of England.

Mrs. Harvey's Story

"Early in life," continues Mrs. Watt, "she lost her mother and became the pet and plaything of her father — a composer as well as an accomplished musician, himself in delicate health. It was surmised he had been persuaded into consenting to her union with this elderly beau for fear of leaving her unprotected and unprovided for. She developed the hereditary complaint of her family (consumption), and, having lost her domestic helps, she had to do all the work of the establishment, see that the flag was hauled down at night, and even feed the pigs. In the women's eyes she was everything that was lovely and admirable, a skilled musician, a sweet vocalist, of pleasing appearance, and gentle, unselfish nature. The husband was looked upon as a brute." It was this gentle woman who suddenly found herself thrust into the wilds at Port Lincoln at the very period when the blacks were waging their war against the whites. But let me complete her story as supplied to me by a descendant.

One day the Harveys sailed across the harbor to Boston Island. Mrs. Harvey was enchanted with the place. "When I die," she said, little knowing how close she was to the great call, "I want nothing better than to be buried here."

She died in December, 1842, a few weeks after this excursion. Her remains were taken to the island and interred there. Her husband survived her by only a few months, and was also buried on the island.

Mystery Of A Child

Before we leave the Harveys I would like to tell you of a curious incident which occurred to a couple of their employes. These were a husband and wife, named Rush. The man was a sort of coachman and rouseabout, and the woman assisted Mrs. Harvey with domestic work. The Rushes had a child, a pretty little toddler, who had just reached the prattling stage. One morning the child disappeared. A hunt began as soon as she was missed. The harbor, the wells, the scrub — all were scoured in an exhaustive search for the human mite. She was never heard of again. The general impression was that she had been carried off by the blacks. But the presence of a white child among the aborigines could not remain unknown for any length of time, even in the wildest days of the West Coast. To this day the mystery of her disappearance has not been elucidated.

Discovery Of The Tod

My mission to Port Lincoln was historical, not political, so I am not going to comment on the Tod River Reservoir scheme, which not only supplies Port Lincoln with water at the same rate as Adelaide pays, put also conveys it by pipes to distant portions of the peninsula. But I can tell you the interesting story of the discovery and naming of the Tod River, and give you an entertaining line or two about Tod himself. If you look at the picture below, you will not need me to tell you that Robert Tod was a strange specimen of the genus homo. He looks it.

He landed in South Australia somewhere about 1837 or 1838. He held various public offices, and made a hobby of falling out with about everybody who would row with him. Even the over-patient Governor Gawler describes him in one of his reports as "decidedly irritable." At one time he was Auditor of Public Accounts, and at another Deputy Postmaster at Port Adelaide. On one occasion he was placed under arrest as the result of a quarrel with a Customs officer, and was released after being under detention for one day. This was the man who was chosen by the shareholders of No. 1 Special Survey to explore the unknown country, which is Port Lincoln. It was in the course of that exploration in 1839 that the Tod River was discovered. But, contrary to the general belief, it was not Tod himself who found it, but some members of his party whom he had sent on ahead.

Here is Tod's own reference to the incident in his report to Governor Gawler:— "On March 23 the party set out northwards to explore the interior, and proceeded nine or ten miles when a section of the party fell upon a river about 100 feet wide, and six to eight feet deep. They acquainted me that they had named it the Tod, in compliment to the individual under whose direction they had placed themselves." At the time the river was found Tod was conducting an examination of Boston Bay.

First Meeting With Blacks

It was during this inquisitive invasion of Port Lincoln that the blacks first saw the whites. The initial encounter was between the explorers and a lubra and her two children. The woman was digging for roots when she looked up to encounter the strangest sight she had ever seen— a group of men whose color was the exact opposite of her own. Even the presence of some blacks who had accompanied the party from Adelaide as interpreters failed to reassure her. She stood trembling, unable to move.

The black interpreters spoke to her, but she could not understand them. The white men gave her biscuits, but she remained rooted to the spot with fear until they left her. Meanwhile some of the interpreters who had been sent ahead to get into touch with the male aborigines returned to the camp apparently overawed by the size and threatening aspect of the big bucks of the West Coast, for Tod reports. “They saw two natives at a distance, but their height, aspect, and extremely long spears, discouraged intercourse."

More About The Blacks

I would not like you to imagine that the list of outrages by aborigines which I gave you in the previous article constituted the sum total of black brothers murderous activities on Eyre Peninsula, or even in the Port Lincoln district. The list of murders to say nothing of robbings from unprotected huts while the owners were absent, was appalling. There was no improvement for years until Authority, finding its efforts to appeal to the better instincts of the blacks were fruitless, publicly executed a few of them on the scene of their offences. That was the sort of "debil debil" Biljim understood. Then he began to behave himself— except where he was far enough removed from civilisation to consider it safe to continue his iniquities. But even then Authority pursued him and hung him when it caught him. If you want the details of some of these epic hunts after bush , criminals, fully comparable to the exploits of the famous Royal North-west Mounted Police of Canada, read Tolmer.

Just now I want to give you a picture of Port Lincoln when Nathaniel Hailes first visited it in 1841. Hailes had just received an appointment there, and visited the town to make his arrangements before transferring his family to the new settlement. The first thing he heard of on arriving was the murder of John Brown, and the treacherous killing of Frank Hawson.

"This information," he records, "damped the pleasure with which I be held my new locality. It also induced grave consideration as to the future, for I was about to bring a large family, entirely of females and children into an isolated family of Europeans, not including more than 20 male adults while the adjacent country was thickly peopled with natives, whose energies and instincts had not (?) been impaired by contact with the dregs of civilisation. The tribes were a bold athletic, and active race. Although, as a rule, the men were of diminutive proportions, it was by no means uncommon to see very muscular individuals from 5 ft. 9 in. to 6 ft. in height. These were not neighbors to be despised."

A Town In Terror

Hailes returned to Adelaide with news of the murders of Hawson and Brown, and, while he was reporting them, another messenger arrived with the intelligence of the massacre on the Biddle station. It was then that Gawler decided to dispatch a section of the 96th Regiment to Port Lincoln. Hailes travelled back by the same boat as the soldiers, and has left an interesting picture of conditions under which voyages were made in those days.

"I left for Port Lincoln to take up my appointment," he says, "accompanied by a party of the 96th. The boat was small, and passengers, soldiers, baggage, and merchandise were crammed into the interior after a most miscellaneous and uncomfortable fashion. Personally, I fared admirably on some sacks of flour." It took the boat five days and five nights to do the journey between Port Adelaide and Port Lincoln, a distance we now cover in 12 hours, or less, if we are in a hurry. They arrived at night, between 7 and 8 o'clock, and found the settlement wrapped in darkness, and in a state of absolute terror. "The houses were all within sight," says this important chronicler, "having been built at intervals along the curve of the shore for about a mile. At so early an hour as 8 o'clock not a light was visible. The night was too dark to admit of the inhabitants dispensing with candles, and the hour was too early to favor the supposition that all had retired to rest. We felt uneasy. Looking to that portion of the main land which was six or seven miles off, we beheld scores of fires, surrounded, of course, by as many groups of natives. "Had the blacks mustered their forces before the aid which accompanied us could arrive? That was the question we asked ourselves. We held a parley, and decided that the defenceless portion of our party should remain on board ship until the state of matters could be ascertained."

Windows Shuttered And Doors Bolted

Hailes, on landing, found there were no lights showing, because all the houses were heavily shuttered, and all the doors securely bolted. The town was in a state of terror. Every house was, as far as possible, a fortress. The state of "nerves" in which the settlers lived is best illustrated by giving Hailes's own experience when he went to his own place, where caretakers, a man and wife, were installed. He ascended the steps and knocked, but received no answer. A second and louder knock, and then a third, each louder than the last, produced a like result. The place seemed wrapped in the silence of death. Hailes kicked the door, and twisted the handles of the locks, without result. He walked round the house and perceived no sign of life. Just as he was walking off the door was opened cautiously by the woman. Her husband was away. She explained that the knocking had terrified her. She said "the assemblage of the natives during the last fortnight had been so great, and their demeanor so threatening, that the windows of every house in the settlement had been barricaded with boards placed as closely together as practicable."

Blacks As Trackers

In preparing the story of Port Lincoln I found the manuscript journal of this sturdy old pioneer I have been quoting of absorbing interest. I told you in an earlier article that Hailes moved freely among the blacks, and became an authority on their customs. There are one or two pages describing the powers of these men as trackers. I will give you a typical story. It not only illustrates the cleverness of the niggers in picking up tracks invisible to the European eye, but also a remarkable faculty of positively identifying the person who made the footprint.

By this time Hailes had spent two or three years at Port Lincoln, and had become persona grata with the natives. One day he was out in the bush with a native named Ultuita. Suddenly Ultulta became greatly excited. He went on his hands and knees, and jabbered away in his own tongue with every evidence of astonishment. Hailes peered closely at the spot, but could see nothing to account for the black's behavior.

"What the matter?' enquired the white man. "Moullia, him pass this way this morning." grinned the nigger. "Nonsense," retorted Hailes. "Moullia, him in Adelaide in gaol. "Him stay in gaol another year." "No, boss. Moullia, him pass here today," said Ultuita positively. "You wrong this time, Ultuita," remarked Hailes, equally positive.

Moullia, it should be explained, had been arrested twelve months previously for playing a subordinate part in the murder of a white. He was tried in Adelaide, and sentenced to two years imprisonment. He had at this time served only half the term. But Ultuita was positive, and nothing would shake his belief.

"Look," said Hailes, with what he regarded as convincing logic, "if Moullia come from Adelaide, he no come this way; him come by sea." Ultuita shook his head stubbornly. "Moullia, him been come today," he answered firmly.

And, sure enough, when they got back to the town there was Moullia grinning happily. He had been released after serving half his sentence because his health was failing in confinement.

Murder Of Captain Beevor

I do not want to weary you with too many stories about the ebony owners of the country. One can even have too much of a good thing. But I would like to crave your indulgence for just one more, because it illustrates how the blacks revenged themselves on the innocent for the sins of the guilty. This refers to the murder in 1849 of Captain James Beevor on his station, 50 miles north-west of Port Lincoln, and of Mrs. Anne Eastone, the wife of a shepherd employed on the neighboring holding of Mr. Vaux.

Captain Beevor was a quiet, unassuming, kindly fellow, who had treated the blacks well, and had been especially considerate to the young buck who was the first to throw the fatal spear. He was the very last white one would have expected to be murdered by the savages. Prior to coming to Port Lincoln he resided at Mount Barker. One morning he was sitting outside his house making a bush chair when a party of natives stole upon him unawares. He had his back to them and was killed almost before he was aware of the attack. The hut was then plundered and the murderers disappeared into the bush. That in brief is the story of the crime, but not the cause.

The murder of Mrs. Eastone was even worse. She was sitting on her bed, attending to her baby, six weeks old, when she was attacked. The child was found naked but unharmed alongside the body of its mother, which was transfixed to the bed by three spears.

Now the savages had no grievance against either Captain Beevor nor Mrs. Eastone, nor, although in both cases they plundered the homes of their victims, were the murders actuated by robbery. On the confessions of the aborigines themselves the crimes were perpetrated because a shepherd named Patrick Dwyer, employed on the station of Mr. Mortlock, had killed some of their number by leaving poisoned flour where the blacks could steal it. The natives admitted that, as they couldn't find Dwyer, they killed the others. Dwyer was actually arrested for the murder of the blacks, but escaped to California while awaiting his trial.

What Of The Mill?

The most prominent landmark in Port Lincoln is a mill — or part of a mill, for it was never finished. It stands on rising ground on the property of Mr. J. K. Bishop. Everyone who has visited the town knows it. Yet nobody, so far as I could learn, can say how it got there. The constructors built the tower, a substantial piece of work which has weathered the storms of nearly a century, and then left it. Why? There must be a story in it. I asked several people for its history. None of them could tell me. I was certain I would get it from Mr. Bishop himself —but I didn't. "It was there when I was a boy," he said, "and we just took it for granted." Now Mr. Bishop is 87 years of age. If he doesn't know the story of the mill, who does? If, by chance, there is anyone who can enlighten me on the subject, I should be very glad of the information.

NEXT WEEK: Story of Port Lincoln (concluded).

Images:

• Port Lincoln in the sixties, sketched from a hill behind the town, showing Boston Bay, with the Flinders Monument on the extreme right. —Courtesy of the Archives.

• Robert Tod, the explorer of Lincoln, after whom the Tod River was named. — Courtesy of the Archives.

• The old mill, a noted landmark, the story of which has been lost with the years. —Jean Palmer, photo.