19 May 1932

NOVEL BATTLE OF THE FIFTIES

HOW A BOASTER WAS SILENCED

A 'whip king' boasted too much about his prowess at a little bush 'pub,' and was given a salutary lesson by a quiet little man in the crowd, This is one of the facts revealed in the fifth budget of real life stories in 'The Chronicle' competition.

Fight With Stockwhips.

(This contribution won first prize in the competition).

— A fight with stockwhips occurred at Mt. Torrens in the fifties between a visiting whip king named Anderson and a local stockman, Dick Bolt. The incident is probably unique in the history of the State, and perhaps of Australia. The fight took place on horseback. It started by the appearance of a stranger at the hotel on a Saturday afternoon. His arrival was announced by a series of pistol-like reports outside the pub. They brought the crowd tumbling out to see what was on.

They found a man astride a horse and coiling up a whip. The rider announced that he was Anderson, the stockwhip king, who could uncork bottles, lift hats, and perform sundry other wonders with the lash. For a time silence reigned. Then, from a bearded stockman standing by a verandah post, 'Um, stranger, there are lots can do those things, and some of 'em are here. I wouldn't talk too loud.' 'Loud, son?' cried Anderson, if there wasn't so many of your pals here I'd lift your hat.' 'It might be done, stranger,' retorted Bolt. 'Just reckon there's no one else here, and do it.' Anderson did not do it. Instead, he left for Adelaide, Bolt, who resided within a quarter of a mile of the pub, hurried home, got his hack, and, taking his stockwhip, cut across country to the Adelaide road, where he awaited Anderson. Bolt would not let two friends accompany him, but told them they could watch from a hill. When Anderson appeared Bolt rode into the road, and asked him if he was still prepared to lift his hat. Anderson's whip uncoiled with a whistle, but a touch of the spur sent Bolt's hack across the road, and Anderson missed badly. The next quarter of an hour must have been an education to Anderson in the use of the stockwhip. Bolt brought him back to his farm a sorry spectacle. His clothes were almost stripped from him and hanging in shreds. Bolt did not escape punishment, but was in much better shape than Anderson, who acknowledged having met a conqueror. — B. T. Bartholomew, Normanville.

Summary Jurisdiction.

— When, in 1867, the South-Eastern drains were in course of construction at Pinchgut, near Millicent, so named because at times there was a scarcity of provisions, the men were supplied from a Government store. Hawkers doing the round of the station provided the little wearing apparel required, and fruit and vegetables were brought from Mount Gambier by itinerant vendors. An occasional bottle of spirits was brought down by these men for a customer. This favor soon grew into a general practice. It became the usual thing for a good supply of liquor to be brought along on spec about the time of pay day. On the particular occasion referred to, a goodly supply was available, and some of the men were out for a general carouse.

A young man named Palmer occupied the position of timekeeper, and Mr. Charles Butte was general manager. Butte was a big, brusque, muscular man, afraid of nothing. The hawker having arrived on the camp, several men laid in a stock of rum, with the intention of having a high old time. Palmer was invited to the revel. Butte happened to be in the camp, and was about early in the morning to make an inspection. The first thing he saw was his timekeeper being escorted from the men's section to his own domicile. His legs were unsteady, and he was being supported by a sturdy navvy on each side.

Butte asked what was wrong. He was informed that Palmer was ill. Butte diagnosed the case correctly. Seizing a navvy in each hand, he bumped their heads together. Then he let the drainers go and sought out the vegetable vendor. He took him to the express waggon and tied him to the rear of it, with a hand to each stanchion. He ordered the driver to harness up, and gave instructions that the man was to be taken back to Mount Gambier (30 miles) and handed over to the police, together with the surplus stock of liquor taken from the hawker's cart.

When all was ready Butte gave instructions to Burke, the driver, to trot all the way, with the rum-seller running behind. On no account was he to be given a ride. The man howled for mercy on hearing the sentence. He had visions of being dragged behind the vehicle by his hands, with his boots worn down to his toenails. But Butte relented, saying, 'I will not make it a police court case. I will christen him.' He mounted the vehicle, and taking tin after tin of the unconsumed liquor, poured it slowly over the man's head. The hawker begged for mercy, and complained that the liquor was getting into his eyes. 'I don't care where it goes,' roared Butte, 'as long as it is not down the throat of my men.' Then, feeling that summary jurisdiction had met the case, he released the man, who bolted in haste and never came back again. — 'Tanta Tyga,' Millicent.

Wellington In the Gold Days.

— "Wellington is a little town— a has been." Yet to those who knew it in the early days it is full of interest. Before the construction of the Adelaide Melbourne railway the 'Wellington punt' was the direct link between the two cities. It was, I think, the only town in South Australia to boast two post-offices, one on either side of the river.

When tales of the rich gold finds in Victoria began to drift across Adelaide saw a veritable exodus. Wellington, too, saw that frantic rush. Humanity in every conceivable kind of conveyance (some too unstable to reach their destination) journeyed to that Mecca with high hopes of fortune awaiting them. Every month the little town buzzed with excitement at the coming of the 'gold escort.' The Commissioner of Police, with a strong stay of troopers, escorted gold up to the value of £200,000.

Those things happened over 80 years ago. When we were children we loved to listen to tales from my father of the river flood of 1890, when huge islands floated down the river. One large one lodged itself against the landing on his property, and as his grass had suffered greatly from the flood, and this island was waving with beautiful grass, they thought to make use of it. He end his brother secured it with wires to the landing, and turned some goats on it to enjoy the succulent fodder. Imagine their disgust next morning to find that island and goats had disappeared. My aunt when a child fell into the river at the punt and was hauled out by the hair by an old native. My uncle, close by, gave him half a crown. But one can never pay a native. For the rest of his life the black paid grandmother periodical visits, always saying, 'You, give Jimmy bacca, tea, flour, Mrs? You know me. Save your piccaninnie.' — 'Willow.' Lockleys.

A Spoilt Race.

— When the South Eastern drains were in progress near Glen's Bridge, in proximity to the Mayurra homestead, not far from Millicent, a number of drainers were one evening discussing foot facing. It was arranged that a handicap race should be run the next Sunday.

At the time the surroundings were bushland. Towards the station was a fine clump of wattles showing a plentiful wealth of bloom, through which wound the track to the homestead. There being no clear country for a straight run of 440 yards, nor any suitable spot for a round course, it was arranged that the run should be up the serpentine track towards the station, round a black post, and back. Men were placed to see that all ran the full course.

An elderly man who had been an old runner was given a fair start, but he was outpaced before the black stump was reached. Nevertheless, he kept going. When the faster runners came in sight of the turn they stopped aghast. All except the elderly man had decided to 'run light.' They had discarded their nether garments, and ran in their shirt tails.

At the turning post stood the station governess and the children. All except the elderly man slunk into the wattles. The old man, being well clad, ran home and was declared the winner. — Tanta Tyga, Millicent.

Petrified In a Cave.

— Nine years after South Australia was founded a tragic incident caused the death of an early settler in the Narracoorte district. Hynam station was owned by two partners, Messrs. Oliver and Brown. A number of strange aboriginals had built their wurlies on the property, and one day Mr. Brown taking a double-barrelled gun, went to see them. He was stooping to get a stick to light his pipe when one of the blacks struck him on the head with a waddy, then seized his gun and killed him. They approached menacingly one of his shepherds who was about a mile away minding sheep, but he escaped. The whites took the law into their own hands. A call to arms was made. Armed with flint-lock muskets and pistols of the same kind they set off, overtook the blacks, and rounded them up near Mt. Light. The whites saw one of the aboriginals carrying Mr. Brown's gun, and a lubra wearing his coat. The whites opened fire. With the first volley many blacks fell. The rest fled. Many years after wards, when the Narracoorte caves were explored, a petrified aboriginal was found! It was assumed that one of the blacks, mortally wounded, had taken refuge in the cave and died. The constantly dripping water with its limestone salts content, had served to petrify him. The petrified body was left where found and excited extraordinary interest. Eventually an enterprising showman stole the body, but the police recovered it at Mount Gambier and replaced it in its original position. A wooden frame with iron bars was made, and the entrance to the small chamber containing the body barred up securely with cement. However, before the cement had dried, the frame was wrenched out and the petrified body again stolen. The frame was replaced, and is still shown to tourists today, it is believed that the thief was successful in smuggling the body out of Australia into America, where he made a lot of money by exhibiting it. Eventually it was recovered and presented to the British Museum. — L. J. Gurry, Narracoorte.

Damages For Trespass.

— The Bluff at Victor Harbour was section No. 1 in the preliminary selection of land. It was purchased by Governor Hindmarsh. After his recall in 1838 it became the property of his son John, who remained in South Australia, and for a number of years resided at Victor Harbour. He considered section 1 a valuable asset in connection with the whaling industry, and a possible extension of shipping facilities. Vessels at that period called regularly for cargoes. The inducement to purchase section 1 was the fact that no road had been reserved in front of it, coupled with the right of four chains in the sea, which gave it the command of the fishery. In 1854 the Government resolved to construct a wharf at the Bluff, and instructed the District Council of Encounter Bay to make a road along the eastern side, extending to the wharf. Due notice of the works was given in the 'Government Gazette.' John Hindmarsh either did not see the notice or resolved to wait. No move was made by him until 1856, when he made a claim on the district council for £48,180 compensation for damages in regard to land taken for the road, 100 feet in width and 35 chains 50 links in length. This had a nerve-shattering effect. It was utterly impossible for the council to meet such a demand. The Government met the situation by dissolving the district council. But Mr. Hindmarsh, who was a solicitor, was not to be beaten, and, as the Government was really the responsible party, he, in 1858, submitted a petition to the House of Assembly. A select committee investigated the claim, and as the result the Government purchased the section from Mr. Hindmarsh for £2,000. — 'Rosetta,' Victor Harbour.

Baby Blown Away In Storm.

— A remarkable cyclone happened at Semaphore and Largs about 30 years ago and did considerable damage. This included the destruction of a newly erected house. The owner was pinned down by a chest of drawers. A rocking chair was blown across the Military road into an allotment, and the legs of it embedded in the trunk of a large tree. A baby was missing, but was afterwards found in some rushes in the same allotment, little the worse for its experience. This happened near the Convalescent Hospital. Some places had galvanised iron fences, and many pieces of this iron were caught at the corners and rolled up tight like scrolls. — Mrs. Caporn, Semaphore.

Owing to the popularity of these stories, it has been decided to continue them. Writers are invited to send in contributions. All matter published will be paid for at usual rates, but will not, of course, be eligible for prizes, which are restricted to stories sent in up to April 14. Contributions should be marked 'Real Life Stories.'