25 August 1932

VERDICT AGAINST THE SLAYER

Man Judged By Animals

It was in the bush. A hunter shot a kangaroo doe. In her pouch was a tiny furred baby. While he was skinning the mother, he looked up into the accusing eyes of a ring of old men 'roos, who mutely, but undoubtedly, charged him with murder.

Judged By The Kangaroos.

— There is really nothing new about wireless, except the discovery of a mechanical means of capturing sound. The ear of any living creature is a wireless set of superb make. As an illustration of the abnormal powers of hearing of some of the lower animals, the following story may be interesting.

One day a sportsman in the South-East was hurrying back to camp, with a gun on his shoulder, late in the afternoon. It was his habit in this country of game to travel as silently as possible, avoiding treading on sticks or brushing against bushes. Consequently he was not surprised, on coming to the edge of an extensive open plain, to see a kangaroo suddenly sit up in front of him within range.

As it took its first bound in flight, he brought the gun down quickly and fired. The kangaroo rolled over dead. While he was standing over the body he saw other kangaroos fleeing away in the distance. The report had frightened everything within sound of it.

He was sorry to note that he had unintentionally shot a doe with a joey in her pouch. He pulled it out, and the little creature squirmed out of his hand and hopped away. But, being too young to have learnt the use of its tail as a balance, there was no difficulty in recapturing it. It was not injured in any way, and while being secured with a saddle strap to a sapling, it protested with the tiny, harsh squeaks of a baby kangaroo scarcely audible.

The shooter went back to the dead mother and proceeded to take the skin off — a beautiful soft winter coat. When near completion of the work he heard the thump, thump, thump of a heavy kangaroo. He looked up to discover that, while he had been engrossed in his work, many kangaroos had collected round him. Two were standing near the joey at the sapling, and one big old man stood straight up about twenty yards away. All were motionless, staring straight at him, eight or nine of them. He reached slowly for the gun, but — he couldn't. It would be too much like shooting the judge from the dock.

He shouted, and while they were hopping reluctantly away, he released the joey, to take its chance with them. Anyhow, it would probably not have flourished on condensed milk. While trudging to camp in the dusk with the beautiful skin under his arm, it was impossible for him to shake off a feeling of blood guilt. There it was— murder, evidence, judge, jury, and all. Some of those kangaroos must have been fully a mile off when they had heard the tiny protesting squeak of the motherless joey. — M. Payne, Brighton.

When The Flood Came Down

— 'You won't be able to go to school today,' said mother one morning in 1889, 'it is raining hard.'

And so it was. It rained for four days and four nights, and Red Banks, where we lived, some two miles from Mallala, was soon in the grip of one of the worst floods it has known. The Gawler, Light, the Little Para, and Templers Creek came down and overflowed their banks. The real flood occurred where all the waters meet. Bridges were washed away.

One man, who lived by the Gawler River, lost his wife and daughter. Three men at Lower Light were mending a windmill, and had to stay up all night, until they were rescued by a boat. Red Banks bridge was washed away, and Angus, the mail driver from Wasleys had to go to Paddy Bridge, five miles further down the Light River, and Mrs. Tusten had to draw the mail across the river on ropes. Carcases of horses, cattle, and sheep were washed out to sea.

If you walk along the banks of the Light to day you can still see posts and twisted wires high up in the old gum trees that withstood the water during that memorable week of 40 odd years ago. — E. M. Pahl, Verran.

Organist And The Horse.

— As far back as the early nineties a certain township not 100 miles from the city boasted a beautiful little Anglican church, set in nice grounds, with a clock in the spire. It possessed a pipe organ and a surpliced choir, with usually a male organist. People in the country in those days were proud of their churches, and many influential people in the world today passed through that same church— the choir, Sunday school, or in some other capacity.

I remember a visiting organist being well stuck to the organ seat, my young brother being one of the culprits, for which he lost a good conduct prize.

My story concerns another organist, an Englishman, just out from the old country to gain experience. The usual Sunday school picnic was being held about 10 miles from the town, on a Wednesday afternoon. On this occasion, I accompanied two ladies in a two-seater buggy, with a brown mare, Jenny. Driving through the outskirts we passed our organist standing at a gate. We pulled up to enquire if he were going to the picnic and would he accompany us, which he did.

After spending a pleasant afternoon, finished off with the usual sumptuous country tea, we decided to leave for home. Mr. X. kindly offered to put the horse in and take the reins. On making a start we failed to get through the roomy slip panel. Bang! We went into the post. Still, that was nothing. We were used to worse things than that. So we kept our seats, and, trying again, safely negotiated the opening. Then down the main road for home.

We soon became aware that Jenny was not the demure creature we knew so well. Most skittish she was, going from one side of the road to the other. And such a road; pot holes all over. Even the people we met driving from the town seemed to be greatly interested in us. What was wrong? We were getting so many bumps that we decided to pull up and have a spell.

But that was easier proposed than done. Jenny was not willing to stop. It was only after a lot of trouble that we persuaded her to do it. On dismounting, we made the startling discovery that the bit had never been put in her mouth.

Mr. X. declared he had forgotten it. But we women reckoned he never knew it went there. Jenny has gone to her happy hunting ground many a day now, but I don't suppose she ever forgot that little outing. Certainly we never did. — G.B.G., Adelaide.

Midnight Menace.

— My husband lay very ill. I, myself, had too much to do, with the work, the children, the cooking, and the farm. I had to employ a nurse. She was good, conscientious, and kind, but on the day to which I am about to refer she seemed not quite herself.

This particular night my husband had been restless, and had just gone off to sleep. I heard the nurse creep very quietly into my room. I closed my eyes to make her think I was asleep, lest she might waken my husband, who so badly needed rest. She stood alongside my bed, as I thought, to get some matches. I was about to tell her they were on the table when she moved to the foot of my bed and tucked in the clothes. This, I thought, was a very kind action.

But had I spoken the words they would have been my last. For when she stood so long beside my bed she held a long, sharp butcher's knife high up over my breast, and if I had spoken would have plunged the knife in. I was unconscious of this till the morning. Going out of the room, she muttered to herself, "Poor old thing, she looks so tired and worn, I will leave her for another time."

In the morning the nurse startled me by saying, "Mrs., would you please close your door at night and lock it? Last night I came in to kill you. I do not know what made me do it, but something seemed to goad me on. The only thing that saved you was that you looked so tired and worn."

The poor woman had gone insane. When I made my bed that morning I found the butcher's knife tucked in at my feet. — A. A. Hibberd, Torrensville.

Water Problems Of The Settlers.

— Some thirty odd years ago one of the greatest hardships of the settlers on the far West Coast was the shortage of water. On account of the porous nature of the soil scooping dams was useless. Concrete underground tanks had to be made, and until this was done the water had to be carted from wherever possible.

The settlers within a radius of 20 miles were fortunate in being able to cart from the Charra horse well, which the early squatters had made. But this also had its its advantages, as when once the well was emptied, it took an hour to make a hundred gallons.

During the 'rush' period some of the settlers would have to wait two days before their turn came to fill. Enough horse feed and tucker had to be taken along, but sometimes one would run out. Then the next comer would be heartily welcomed. Very often it would happen that the man before you would leave at dusk, and then you would have a weary wait till midnight before you could fill up.

The windlass was worked by a horse, and sometimes one would have the mishap of the wire rope breaking, and down, would go the cask to the bottom. Many a tale could be told of the hardships experienced, but there was humor as well.

One settler on his homeward way ran into a thunderstorm, and within a short time there were large pools of water everywhere. The roads being in a very bad state from constant carting, he decided to empty his tanks, so that the horses would not get bogged, feeling sure that the storm had hit his block, as it seemed to be travelling in that direction. As he got nearer home the track was getting dryer and dryer, and what was his consternation on reaching home to find that not a drop of water had been caught. As it was late he unharnessed and let his horses go, no doubt feeling anything but happy. Early next morning he took his team and drove to where the pools of water were and dipped up a load. Before he reached home another storm came up, and this time every tank was full and running over. But on this occasion he stuck to his water and took it home. — 'Coaster,' Denial Bay.

Killing Roos On A Huge Scale.

— The story of the sheep slaughtering yard in the South-East brings to mind several such yards here on the West Coast, although of a very different nature.

About forty years ago most of the country between Ceduna and Fowler's Bay was held on lease by squatters. Much of this land was scrub, but here and there were numbers of large plains of native grasses, on which the sheep were grazed. Kangaroos were so plentiful that the squatters engaged men to kill them, and paid a premium of 6d. per pair for the ears.

The men engaged in this work would erect a large yard of titree uprights in the scrub, with two brakes of bush and trees converging out for six to seven miles, into which the roos were driven. The ruins of one of these yards is still to be seen in the Hundred of Catt, where in one drove over thirteen hundred roos were killed.

When these yards and brakes were ready, on a day somewhere near full moon the men, with the help of natives on foot, riding, or driving, would round up the roos on Watraba Plain, and drive them towards the brakes and into the yard, a distance of about fifteen miles, arriving there some time during the night.

Next morning the roos were despatched with waddies, the ears cut off, and the carcase thrown out on a heap and left to rot. One of our nearby farmers has recently been using the decomposed bodies as manure for his garden, and has grown prolific crops of cucumbers and tomatoes. — ''Coaster ' Denial Bay.