3 Aug 1933

FIRST EXECUTION IN THE COLONY

Gruesome Public Display Of Bungling

There occurred in 1838 — nearly a century ago—the first case of capital punishment in South Australia. The victim was one Michael Magee, an Irishman of the lowest class. The affair was terribly bungled.

Governor Hindmarsh had decided to embody a police force sufficient to ensure the protection of the community against wandering felons from the eastern colonies — a measure too long delayed. The force was to consist of a horse patrol and a number of watch-men.

An attempt made by Magee on the night of March 27 to murder Mr. Samuel Smart, the sheriff, hastened the Governor's decision. By an order in council the Governor had power to transport persons under sentence to either the penal colonies of New South Wales or Van Diemen's Land, but in the case of Magee it was deemed necessary to inflict the death sentence.

Many people regretted that a colony destined to teach many lessons to the civilised world should resort to the taking of human life. They thought such a barbarous penalty should never be introduced, and the manner in which the first execution was carried out strengthened their argument. It was horrible in the extreme. Magee was twenty-four years of age. He was found guilty on the clearest evidence of forcibly entering the sheriff's room and shooting at him with the intent to kill. The ball grazed the sheriff's ear, and left blue gunpowder marks on his cheek, but did no further harm. Magee confessed his guilt, but denied that he was a runaway convict from Tasmania.

The execution was dated to take place on May 2. There was an interval of six days between the passing of the sentence and the day fixed for the execution— little enough time in which to find an executioner. The matter became a serious and pressing urgency as the fateful day approached. 'Who was to be Jack Ketch?' Five pounds was offered, and then ten pounds; but in vain. No one wanted ten pounds earned in such a manner. Wednesday drew near, but still no 'Jack Ketch' was found. What was to be done?

The condemned man had a partner In crime, a man named Morgan, and some suggested that he should act as executioner. There were all manner of suggestions, but no practical help. On one point at least all agree— that it would be unseemly for the sheriff, who was the injured party, to act as hang-man. It will probably never be known who the individual was who hanged the first man in South Australia.

Wednesday morning came and nearly the whole of the population of the colony turned out in force at an early hour. Almost half the morbid sight-seers were women. They made their way to the scene of the execution, a wide-branching gum tree on the north bank of the Torrens, on the left-hand side of the road from the Port. It was the only suitable tree on Government land near the town.

At nine o'clock sixteen marines, and the newly mounted police, comprising the whole of the military force of the colony, came into view through the trees. They were followed by a cart drawn by two horses, one before the other. The cart contained a gruesome party. There was a common deal coffin, and seated on the coffin was the prisoner with his hands loosely tied behind him. Seated beside the prisoner was a monster in a mask, his cheeks hideously daubed with white paint, a hump on his back, another on his breast, so deformed and disfigured as to appear like a ghoul guarding his prey. A shiver of horror ran through the crowd. It was a dreadful moment.

Then the voice of the Rev. Mr. Howard, the colonial chaplain was heard reading the burial service, and all hats were removed at the solemn words. The marines with fixed bayonets, the police with drawn cutlasses, drew along with the cart to the sheep pen like enclosure, surrounding the man who was about to be sent in dreadful manner to meet his God. The noose was dangling from the tree ready. The 'monster' greased the rope with filthy fists before he adjusted it round the neck of the prisoner, who was standing In the cart. Magee's composure was astonishing. He appeared the least troubled person there. His courage was deserving of a better end. He admitted his guilt, the justice of his sentence, and denied for the last time that he was an es-caped convict. The cap was adjusted over his face, the prayers concluded, and a motion made that all was ready. The cart was drawn away. People shut their eyes to avoid seeing the poor sinner launched into eternity.

Then began a most appalling scene. The noose had been so badly managed that the knot came under the victim's chin instead of his ear. As the cart was slowly drawn from under him he uttered the most agonising cries. 'Oh. God! Oh. Christ! God. have mercy! Save me!' To make matters worse his badly pinioned hands came loose, and reaching the rope above his head he grasped it to ease the strain on his neck and prevent choking. What was to be done? The hangman was gone. He had been seen to gallop off immediately the cart was drawn away on a horse provided for that purpose. 'Fetch him back! Fetch him back!' yelled the horrified spectators.

One of the policemen departed at a full gallop after the hangman, but in the meantime the tortured man was uttering the most heartrending cries. 'Lord, save me! Christ, have mercy!' No one could help. The more tender hearted cried. 'Cut him down! Oh. cut him down!' Whilst others cried out to the marines to shoot him and end his misery. It was a nightmarish sight to witness— the man twisting on the end of the rope, slowly choking to death; twisting and revolving like a bird roasting before a fire. His loosened hands only prolonged his agony.

The sheriff attempted to address the crowd, but his voice was drowned in cries of 'Shame! Shame!' Then the 'monster' was seen returning, and, amidst a universal shriek of inexpressible horror, hurled himself in a fiendish leap upon the dangling body, and hanging to the legs of the dying man, completed his ghastly job. After a lapse of thirteen minutes faint murmurs and strong convulsions contorted the figure, showing that there was still life in the body. The sight was never forgotten by the seekers after sensation. They had had more than their fill of it that morning. — 'Amberite," Broken Hill.

Running: The Murray Mouth

Having been interested in Goolwa since 1852, I read with much interest your article [No 45 Goolwa] on the town in the 'Towns and Things' series. Possibly your readers would be interested in a few more facts. One of my earliest recollections is going through the mouth of the Murray in the steamer Melbourne, which was the only vessel wrecked there. It was on her next trip that she struck the bar, drifted on to the bank, and remains there to this day. It was said at the time the passage should not have been risked just then, but some passengers were very anxious to get to the Adelaide races.

Another time I was in the 'Albury' (Captain Johnston). She was loaded up with wool. We had to climb over bales of it to get into the deck cabin for lunch. We had a good run to Port Adelaide. Later the owner wanted Captain Sunman to take the Kennedy and barges to Port Adelaide. He had done the trip before, but this time said he would not risk the lives of the men, as he expected bad weather, but would put the steamer through the mouth of the river, and deliver the cargo at Port Victor.

Our pioneer captains had no hesitation about negotiating the mouth of the Murray, but had to choose their times. A favorite time for going out was daybreak, when mostly there was an east wind.

The Queen of the South was built at Glasgow. Captain Johnston went to Glasgow to have it specially designed for the mouth. At the same time, he purchased the engines for the Cadell, a vessel built at Goolwa. The Queen of the South was sailed from Scotland to Port Victor, and successfully negotiated the dreaded passage at Goolwa each week for practically 12 months.

On the occasion when she bumped on the bar, the river was exceptionally low, and Captain Johnston made an error in attempting the passage on that account. The previous week, in attempting to enter she had touched the bar, but backed off and ran to Port Victor, where she discharged the cargo.

On the next trip, when she struck the bar, a river steamer was inside watching the passage, and as the skipper did not have a sea captain's certificate, Captain Johnston took charge of her, attached a hawser to her, and pulled her off. The Queen could not get steerage way on, and with the next swell drifted on the bank on the western side of the channel, where she lay until the next high tide.

The following afternoon the steamer Wentworth having been placed in position, cargo which had been put on deck was jettisoned. The wind rose slightly causing a bigger swell, and she was towed off and up to Goolwa. It was remarked that she had not taken a quart of water to. She was later sold to run on the east coast, somewhere north of Sydney.

It was centralisation that knocked the river trade on the head. The Government spent thousands on Port Victor and Goolwa, and then built the railway to Morgan and killed the river trade to Adelaide.— Edward Goode, Kingston.

A Relic Of Light

My grandfather came from England in the brig Rapid, the same vessel that brought Colonel Light here. He was a sailor, and visited, Australia several times before he settled at the Reedbeds. My mother often told us about Colonel Light's house, and how, when It was burnt down, many things that were saved from the wreckage were sold.

Into my grandfather's possession then came Colonel Light's anvil. Grandfather died in 1904, aged 92, and the old anvil is still in my mother's possession. Seeing a picture of Colonel Light's relics lately, made me realise the historic value of our old implement. However historical it is, the old anvil has also proved of practical value, and has been hammered at by three generations of the writer's family. But, like Colonel Light's own reputation, it stands as firm as ever. — 'A.O.I.D. Cummins.

'Bagged The Wrong Ducks'

In the early eighties the Great Northern Railway was in course of construction, and Gordon was placed on the map. Men of various trades were required in its building, and so one day there came a Scotchman, direct from the green hills of Dunfermline. He was a carpenter, destined in after years to become a man of affluence in a small country town. He stayed with Mrs. Cheesemaker. Gordon in those days as it is now, was noted for its magnificent wild ducks. A pool near Mrs. Cheesemaker's was a veritable hatching ground for them.

Now the new carpenter had a penchant for ducks in general and roast wild duck in particular. On the first public holiday he cleaned his double barrelled muzzle loader and charged it well and truly. Creeping along on all fours, he cast a shrewd Scotch eye over the bank of the creek, and there beheld a sight that would bring water to the mouth of a vegetarian.

On the placid waters of the Kanyaka Creek floated 12 magnificent ducks, preening their feathers, and quacking lustily, seven to the right of him and five to the left of him. With the first barrel he dispatched eight, and with the second four. He collected his quarry, and placing them in a bag, started for home. He went straight to Mrs. Cheesemaker and laid his offering at her feet.

The good lady emptied the contents of the bag to the floor. Then, with a look of deepest agony, she cast her eyes to the heavens and moaned. "O, my ducks, my ducks." The gunman took in the situation in a nut-shell, and faded quickly from the scene of tragedy. 'DANIEL OF THE LION'S DEN.' Gordon.

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1933, August 3). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 15. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90884536