30 March 1933

WHEN SILAS K. CAME TO GORDON

Story Of A Mining 'Boom'

This is the story of a great mining adventure which befell the people of Gordon, some miles north of Quorn, when an affable stranger came amongst them with visions of wealth to be won— and of how the thing fell out.

According to the oldest inhabitant 'Gordon,' somewhere in the eighties, developed sleeping sickness, the cause being diagnosed as general depression. She slumbered long and deeply. About 1900 she became extremely restless, and on opening her big blue eyes be held a possible lover in the person of Silas K. Doem, mining magnate.

Resplendent with baggage and other paraphernalia, he had just stepped from the Saturday morning's express. Of course, his name was not really Silas K. Doem, but as he must have a name, that will do as well as any other.

Gordon took him to her heart at once. But her sons, exercising more caution, held aloof until Silas K., taking in the situation, invited all and sundry to the hotel for light refreshments. There he unwound a story which touched their hearts.

According to 'facts' he laid before them he was a mining magnate, representing the Great Hope Copper Company. He was here to wake Gordon from her state of somnolence, infuse new life and shower wealth untold upon her trusty sons. The source from which the 'bullion' would emanate, he told them, was the old Calabarinda copper mine, which was 'a hotbed of hidden treasure.'

Now, Silas K. was a man of large proportions, possessed of great personal magnetism and an oily tongue, and he expounded such startling facts to Gordon's sons, intermixed with frequent ablutions of double distilled mountain dew, that even the oldest inhabitant himself fell a victim, and thumped him heartily upon the back, exclaiming, 'You're a brick, Silas K. you're a brick.'

Looking deeply into one another's eyes, they vowed they would work the old Calabarinda copper mine to the bottomless depths, to the glory of Gordon and dear old Gordon's sons.

The oldest inhabitant had two nice horses and a double buggy, which he laid at the feet of Silas K., and daily they drove to and from work, talking of the palmy days of Blinman— Blinman in the roaring days. Men possessed of long, seedy whiskers drove up in spring drays and spring carts and masher drays, and asked to be favored with the carting of the ore to the railhead. All received rosy promises. Gordon was awake, indeed.

A goodly band of men were now working steadily on the old copper mine, the wily Doem urging them on by day with golden tinted visions of bulging pockets, and in the evening with sips of the wine that maketh glad, for so popular had he become at the local tavern that he was given a free hand behind the bar. No wages had been drawn to date. All were saving up for a big cheque, something to pay their back debts with, a new suit of clothes, a bit of decent tobacco, and perchance a trip to town.

One day whilst reading a piece of paper wrapping off his lunch, an employe espied something which seemed to indicate that their present employer, Silas K. Doem, mining magnate, would not be adjudged a gentle man by twelve men good and true. He read it to the oldest inhabitant, who calmly lit his pipe and reflected. Eventually it was presented to the magnate himself, who, having as much front as a departmental store, and as many points as a bundle of barbed wire, described it as a vile indictment and a scurrilous attack on his fair name. He called Providence to witness that he would pay every man jack of them in solid gold. But firstly they would have to send a chosen representative of the people with him to headquarters at Blinman— the quarters of the company, who would vindicate his honor.

At that time there lived a man called 'Tom.' He was a man of great courage and initiative. Tom put his best foot forward and volunteered to escort the man of bags to Blinman, collect the 'necessary,' and back to home and mother. Hearts were filled with misgivings on that long gone day when the great northern express pulled out of Gordon station, carrying the august person of Silas K. and Tom, and vanished round the hillock.

On arrival at the jumping off place for Blinman, twenty miles off the railway, Silas K. suggested that Tom should pay their coach fare. Tom remained adamant, saying, 'No, if you can't pay, we walk.' And walk they did. It was an irksome journey for a man of Tom's calibre. It was a nightmare for a mining magnate. But at last they arrived tired and jaded.

After some light refreshment they chartered a room, which had two single beds and looked restful. Tom was happy; delightfully so, for on the morrow he would collect the hard-earned cash. Night fell at last and the two 'pedestrians' retired. The long walk and the somnolent breezes of Blinman soon lulled Tom to sleep, deep, sound sleep with dreams of cash in the offing.

But, strange to relate, it had the reverse effect on Silas K., who became extremely restless. Looking at Tom's recumbent form he decided that towns in general and Blinman in particular were not very healthy places to be in. Walking out into the night, he was never heard of again.

In pugnacious mood Tom hailed the first train home again. There in simple but forceful language he related the episode at Blinman and the fruits thereof. Gordon guffawed, but her sons swore in their whiskers and went to bed.— 'Daniel of the Lions' Den,' Gordon.

Gave Him a Run for His Money.

— Methods of extirpating the ubiquitous rabbit have been the subject of much discussion. One farmer thought he had discovered a quick plan to ensure the exit of bunny. He captured a rabbit, and tying a plug of gelignite to it, put it into a burrow. But bunny had no intention of wrecking his home and loved ones. Instead of remaining in the burrow, he rushed out. He ran straight towards the man, who was standing a little distance off awaiting results of his experiment. When he saw the rabbit coming towards him he decided it was time to quit. Imagine the scene! A stalwart son of the soil, 'Phar-lapping' over the turf with a harmless looking rabbit in hot pursuit. The sprinter never stopped until a loud report from the rear intimated that bunny had gone where all bunnies must go. The farmer never tried that method again.— 'Peggotty,' Cowell.

Joe's Lapse.

— Many tales of the unregenerate days of Franklin Harbor are tucked away with camphor and lavender, and recounted only when the old folk became reminiscent. This story was brought out for an airing recently.

Joe was a 'hard liver' who loved to look upon the wine when it was red — or any other color. At the time of the story he was in the employ of Mr. R——. Mr. R—— wished to kill the fatted pig. Its bulk was more than he could consume, so he arranged with the proprietress of a local hotel to take some of it.

When the pig was prepared for delivery, the problem of transport arose. The bullock waggon was the only vehicle the farm could produce for the purpose.

Joe set out early one morning to deliver the goods and returned late at night in the usual hilarious condition. Going into Cowell a few days later, Mr. R—— enquired of the landlady if the meat had met with satisfaction. To his surprise she said she had not received it.

"But," he said, "Joe brought it in on Tuesday."

"Yes," she replied, "Joe spent the day here, but said nothing about the meat."

On the homeward journey Mr. R—— picked up Joe's waggon tracks following a crazy way in and out among the bushes. Eventually he came upon the carcase half-buried in the sand. Poor Joe had succumbed to the wiles of Bacchus, forgetting his real mission, and going home he was blissfully oblivious of the fact that the jolting of the waggon had caused the undelivered meat to slip out.— 'Peg-gotty,' Cowell.

Flooded Rivers.

— In the early days there were no bridges over the rivers, at Gawler. When floods came down, as they frequently did, residents were greatly inconvenienced. A number had narrow escapes from drowning.

In 1863, two young ladies, Misses Mitchell and Cleland, attempted to cross the South Para when it was flooded. They were washed down the river, and would have been drowned but for the timely assistance of Messrs. J. and W. Busbridge.

This accident awakened people to the necessity for a bridge. With the aid of a Government subsidy, a bridge costing £50 was erected. It was opened on June 16, 1864, by the mayor, and christened with a bottle of champagne by Miss Mitchell. It is recorded that she swung the bottle by a piece of blue ribbon on to the timbers of the bridge, but it refused to break. Some of the onlookers remarked, 'it is easy to see that the ladies aren't used to cracking champagne!' A second effort was more successful, and the bridge was duly opened for public use.

The winter of 1889 was noted for floods in the Gawler district. In April, the Willaston foot bridge and road bridge were both washed away. The North Para was often in flood that year, and finally traffic with Willaston had to be suspended.

Adventurous souls, having pressing business in Gawler, used to put planks over the river, and as likely as not, when the returned the planks had been washed down the river. They then had a three-mile walk by way of the railway bridge. When these floods were up, the mail bags used to be passed over by means of wire and ropes.— 'R.V.H.,' Yeelanna.

Kangaroo as Decoy.

— A farmer reared a kangaroo joey as a pet. It became a fine animal, docile and intelligent.

The farm was surrounded by scrub in which wild kangaroos had their headquarters. At night time they would go into the cleared land and make havoc of the crop. One morning the pet joey was missing. 'He's gone off with the wild kangaroos,' said the farmer, 'and that's the last I'll see of him.'

A couple of days later, when the farmer was working at the back of the house, he heard the 'thump,' 'thump,' of a kangaroo approaching. There were two of them— his pet and a wild one. They were coming slowly along the line of fence, the pet a few yards in advance of the other. The farmer got his rifle. He stepped through the gate, and as soon as the pet noticed him it hopped joyfully towards him, whilst the other wheeled in fright and started to bound away.

The farmer was a good shot, and the wild 'roo' was only about 150 yards off. The pet kangaroo showed no concern over the death of his companion. As a special treat he was given a slice of bread and butter plentifully sprinkled with sugar. This is always a favorite 'dainty' with a kangaroo.

Several days later the joey again disappeared and came home again with another wild mate. The farmer dispatched this one in the same manner as the first. 'If this continues,' said the man, 'Joey is going to prove of considerable value.' Since then seven kangaroos have been lured to their death, and the pet has certainly earned the name of 'the decoy.'— 'R.V.H.,' Yeelanna.

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1933, March 30). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90899408