2 August 1934

MYSTERY MEN OF THE NORTH

One Saves A Woman's Life, And Then Disappears

Central Australia with its great distances and extreme loneliness is an ideal spot for those who wish to 'let the dead past bury its dead' and to live with their former life as far behind them as possible. Many are the strange and unusual characters that drift into that country; all probably with the one object, to get away from their former environment and to leave civilisation, city life, friends and enemies behind them. 

In my young days I was working on a station north of Broken Hill. The owner had recently purchased it, and had married a very pretty girl from the city shortly afterwards. He brought her out to his new home where she, although quite unused to such a life, quickly fitted into her new surroundings in a way that augured well for their future happiness. 

Besides myself, there were three young fellows employed on the station, boundary riding and fence patching. It was one of my jobs to take them out their rations once a week. The only other hand on the run was Joe Brown, handy man around the house and yards. 'Brownie,' as we called him, was a mystery; but no questions are asked in the north. His English was excellent, much better than is usually met with up there. Then he had sworn quite fluently in Dutch on one occasion. I happened to have a smattering of the language and heard him. Also his general bearing, character and conversation marked him as being something different to the usual rouseabout on a station. He was indeed a puzzle, but then there are heaps of them in the north. 

All went well at the station for some time. Shearing came and went, cattle were sent off, and the feed stood well. The summer came, and the owner's wife, now married seven months, bore the heat bravely. 

The afternoon before New Year I returned to the station homestead after having 'tuckered' the boundary riders. As I made my way to the house the owner came out to meet me, pale and wild eyed. "Stan," he gasped, "get on Coral and go for your life to Harding's, and tell them to send out a doctor. The wife's in a bad way." 

There was nothing further to be said. I caught Coral, the youngest and fastest horse on the place, and tore off to Harding's, 68 miles of hard riding to the nearest telephone. I did it in record time, and a few minutes after my arrival Mrs. Harding was on the 'phone to Broken Hill. Her enquiries were not encouraging. The only doctor in the town was unable to leave a case for many hours, but promised to come out as quickly as possible, meaning in about 24 hours. 

My mission completed, I changed horses and rode back, feeling rather sad at heart. The 'boss' was a really decent sort, and his wife was an inspiration to us all. It was sheer misfortune that events should have turned out this way, for the owner had made all arrangements to send his wife down to her home in the coming week. 

In the early morning, as the sun was rising, I pulled my weary self from a sweating horse and walked into the kitchen for breakfast and a cup of coffee. The 'boss' came into the room as soon as he heard me, and I was astonished when I saw him. He seemed relieved. He looked wan and tired, but was actually smiling.

"Stan," he said, "it's a boy. Brownie came to the rescue; don't disturb him. He's having a well-earned sleep in his camp." And then he told me what had occurred. Brownie had noticed things, and when he had seen me sent off in such a hurry, he had enquired the reason. He was told. He had listened in silence, and had then enquired, "Is she really in danger?" The owner said he was sure she was. 

Judge his surprise when Brownie had said, "Then a doctor will get here too late. If you promise to keep right out of my way, I'll do for her all I can." 

"Whatever can you do, you fool?" was the owner's exasperated reply. Brownie said nothing, but walked to his hut and returned a little later with two parcels, which he unwrapped before the 'boss's' amazed eyes. He unfolded them, and wrapped neatly in side two towels, were a comprehensive range of shining surgical instruments, a few bandages, and several bottles of chemicals. Leaving the owner in a dazed state, the mystery doctor, as he now stood revealed, got a supply of hot water from the kitchen, and in the dark hours of a northern night saved a mother's life and brought the infant safely into the world. 

The doctor from Broken Hill when he arrived two days later, said that only a trained surgeon could have done such remarkably skilful work. I was astounded at what I had heard, but being dead tired, I immediately went to bed and fell into a deep sleep. 

The 'boss' passed the rest of the day with his wife. Towards evening he woke me, saying that he had made some tea for us; would I call Brownie? I knocked at his camp. All seemed quiet, so I opened the door and peeped in. The room was deserted, Brownie and all his belongings had vanished. I looked around outside, and noticed that the corral gate was open. He had taken advantage of my slumbers, and the owner's preoccupation, and had disappeared. We didn't bother to pursue him in an endeavor to repay him. It would have served no useful purpose. Why had he left? The reason is simple enough. We now knew too much. His noble act had cost him his obscurity, the objective of all mystery men of the north.— 'Campfire Comrade.'

He Slept Among The Tombs

In the early days of Millicent a man whom we will call Jack, lived in the vicinity of the local cemetery; in fact his short-cut home led past it. Jack's wife had a fearful dread of ghosts, and gave the place a wide berth when she had to pass it at night. 

The old fellow occasionally went on the spree, and remained at the hotel as long as the doors were open, which in those days was 11 o'clock. He knew what he would be in for if he went home drunk, and preferred to sleep it off before putting in an appearance before his spouse. He used therefore to turn into the cemetery, and like one of old he 'slept among the tombs,' knowing that his wife dare not come there to look for him. He evidently preferred to sleep near the dead, than in a wide house with an aggrieved woman. — 'Tanta Tyger.'

Mistaken For A 'Cop.'

About 40 years ago a 'punter' went to a race meeting at Moonee Valley. Luck was against him, so after the third race he went towards the booth hoping to find a friend there. 

However, on his way his attention was attracted by a small crowd gathered round a man with a machine and a monkey. The members of the crowd were buying small square tins with numbers painted on three sides at the price of a shilling each. 

When sufficient had been sold to satisfy the proprietor, he explained to all that the game was quite fair as the monkey would turn the handle of another box and make the marbles it contained revolve. Then he would draw a marble and call out the number on it, which would be the winning number. The prize was thirty shillings. 

Next time the tins were being sold the punter bought one and was pleased when the manager called out his number. This seemed to him better than the races and quite a square show. Luck followed the punter, as he won the next two rounds, but when the owner of this enterprising game came up to him and said, 'Say boss, isn't that enough for today?' he answered hurriedly that of course it was. 

He had been taken for a plainclothes constable, and it had been easy to give him the winning number each time. All the proprietor had to do was to remember what number he had sold to the man he suspected of being a 'cop,' then when he drew a marble he called the number that he had sold the punter, taking no notice what the marble was numbered.— D.C.W., Norton's Summit.

Wreck Of The Osmanlie

[Osmanli]

There seem to be several different versions of the wreck of the steamer Osmanlie in Flour Cask Bay, Kangaroo Island, but the following account which has been verified by relations of some of the crew, is generally considered correct. 

The crew had signed on for a two years' trip, but, arriving at Melbourne when the gold diggings were in full swing, many of the men deserted. It was, therefore, decided that the Osmanlie should be used for the coastal trip between Adelaide and Melbourne. Those of the crew who stood by the ship for three months were to receive double wages. 

Among these was the chief carpenter, Mr. Davidson. His usual wage was £15 a month and now rose to £30. The Osmanlie arrived at Port Adelaide from Melbourne on August 30, 1853, and sailed for Melbourne four days later. The compass was faulty, and the vessel sailed too far south to see the Cape Willoughby light. 

The captain was called from his bunk at 11 p.m., because land was sighted dead ahead. He tried to take the vessel out of the bay. but went a little too far to the east and struck the Osmanlie Reef. 

Down in the cabin were many young fellows returning to the diggings. They were playing cards, and the sovereigns were piled up as high as they would stand. Among the passengers was a man named Tinlin (still remembered by Point Tinlin [Point Tinline]), who had two 80 oz. bars of gold. 

These he took ashore in a carpet bag, and slept with it under his head for a pillow. Never-the-less the gold was missing next morning, and a subsequent search of all hands threw little light on the matter. Davidson, made a pair of tongs about 10 feet long, with which to probe the shaft of the wreck in case the gold had been left behind in the excitement of the previous night, but empty soda water bottles were his only reward. 

The men were afraid to dive below to investigate, in case they should get jammed. The gold has never been recovered. Davidson was the only member of the crew who settled on Kangaroo Island, and he died on the mainland about 30 years ago. The beach where the crew landed in Flour Cask Bay is still known as Osmanlie Beach.— W. J. Hughes.

Rocket Practice

Rocket practice used to be an annual affair on Kangaroo Island until a few years ago, when the Government decided to do away with most of the life saving sheds and equipment.

On such occasions the people from miles around used to come to watch the display, one of the most memorable incidents being when a man crossed from one side of Christmas Cove to the other in a basket. It was thrilling to watch, as he was many feet up in the air, and underneath him were the sea and the sharp rocks. 

Then there was the firing of the rockets, which gave one a fright when they went off. A little boy was once standing nearby who had been taught that God heard everything. When one particularly loud explosion occurred he was heard to say, "I bet that made God jump."— 'K.I.,' Kangaroo Island. 

Shark-Fishing 

At Port MacDonnell Sharks are not very numerous along the coast of the South-East, but there is one spot, Green Point, about 15 miles from Port MacDonnell, where they are plentiful. 

While after snapper there some time back, I made a kerosine tin watertight and fastened a good rope line to it. To the rope I affixed a shark hook and a bait. Taking it out with me, I anchored it near where I was fishing. 

In less than half an hour I had hooked a monster, and I have never seen a performance. He would try to make off, but the drag of the tin would pull his head and the top of his body about 3 ft. out of the water. Then he would dive, and about the same length of tail would appear, while the water was lashed in all directions. He did not seem to be able to make much headway, and I followed him about for a long time. As darkness was coming on, however, I pulled ashore, and that was the last I saw of him. — 'Gumsucker.'