11 January 1934

OLD DAYS OUTBACK 

Fun With The 'Green' Trooper

Station life in the seventies, when the country around Port Augusta was practically No Man's Land, was rough and lonely. Only experienced bushmen could exist there, and the 'greenhorn' was regarded as a legitimate butt of the station hands, This story concerns a trooper whose dignity was trailed in the dust.

Sixty to 70 years ago, it was the usual thing in the north for the mounted police to go on patrol around the outback pastoral stations, at least once a year. In those days there were some humorous characters in the force. A great many Irishmen amongst them. We on the stations used to derive a lot of amusement from them. 

We only got a mail once a fortnight, so it can be imagined how we hailed the advent of anyone from the outer world. There were no paddocks in those days, and pack-horses were rarely seen. 

On one occasion an old Irish "sergeant" arrived. After having as we thought, hobbled his horse, he sat down to his tea. The sergeant was a good old sort, and many nights amused us with his Celtic wit. He has long since passed in his checks. The morning after he arrived his horse could not be found, and we had to lend him one to carry him home. 

Some six weeks later his own animal turned up at Beltana station, a hundred miles distant where it had been bred, and still had its hobbles on—but both straps were on one leg. The absent-minded sergeant had made a mistake. 

On one occasion this sergeant was giving evidence at the Supreme Court at the trial of a nigger for murdering a hut-keeper. He said:— "I followed him on a pitch dark night over a stony range. He rin and I rin, and we both 'rin' together, and he gained on me, and I gained on him, and at last he rin away altogether, and when I overtook him I found him robbing an empty hut, and I arrested him and cautioned him in the usual manner." 

The prisoner was found guilty and the sergeant (who professed to know the native language) was directed by the judge to interpret the death sentence to the prisoner. He began thus: — 'All-titie, otherwise Jimmy, Big One Master wangener say you cuokabuca (die). Hang um up longa tree. Nother one big one Master have mercy on yer soul.' The prisoner smiled and said, 'Thankee, boss, thankee.' He was just as wise as he was before. 

Another broiling hot day a mounted trooper arrived at the station just before sundown. He was in full uniform, and both he and his horse looked distressed. We immediately set him down as a greenhorn; as old hands never wore their uniforms outback. The boss was not at home, and I, a 'jackeroo,' was in charge. 

After the usual salutations, he asked, "Is this the Government House?" "Yes." "Well, I want some food for my horse." "We have no fodder here," I replied, "but you can put him in the horse paddock. There is good grass there." He said. "That's what they all tell me," and away he went. I naturally thought he had paddocked his horse. 

But before we had finished our evening meal I found he was quite as green as he looked, and had only just joined the force.

Next morning I had scarcely finished breakfast when he came rushing along in great distress. His horse was very bad, constantly lying down and rolling. He said it seemed to be in great pain. After making enquiries, I ascertained that, instead of paddocking the animal as I told him, he had gone to the cook and got some flour from him, on which the horse had fed all night. Now he had given him a good drink of water, consequently the animal had a severe attack of the 'gripes.' 

His distress was so great that he forgot himself and his dignity. "Oh, if my poor ma could only see me now" escaped his lips. I told him the only thing to do to save the animal's life was to keep him exercised and get him in a good lather of sweat. I advised that he had better put him in the stockyard and chevy him round. 

The stockyard was on a very sandy spot, and one's feet got covered with sand when one walked over it. The sun was blazing when his nibs, arrayed in full uniform, started. Three station hands had come to see him at work. The sweat was pouring off him when he stopped. 

All hands shouted, "Go on! Go on!" The unfortunate man threw off his coat and started again. But only for a short time. Then he fell down on the hot sand exhausted. He was advised to put his saddle on and ride the horse about. He put him in the paddock that night. 

His next day stage was one of fifty miles through thick, scrubby country, and not a soul living in between. There was a deserted hut some thirty miles off. Talking to Mick (a station hand) the morning before he started, he said he would camp there for the night. Mick replied that the dingoes were too bad, and it was not safe to do so. 

"I'll get in the hut and shut the door, and I'll be all right then," he replied. But Mick told him that was no good, as the hut was built alongside a steep hill, and the top of the chimney was just level with the top of the hill. "I was camped there one night," Mick said, "and I shut the door, but the brutes commenced coming down the chimney and I had to clear out. It wouldn't be safe for you to camp there." 

Poor policeman. It was his first trip, and he had never camped alone. "Oh, dear, oh, dear, what shall I do? If my poor old mother at Mount Barker could only see me now, what would she think?" 

Mulga wires carried on the news of the approach of the 'green trooper.' On his arrival at Narcoon station that evening he was told of a case of theft. A station hand had stolen a pair of boots. (Of course, a made-up yarn.) He arrested the man and locked him in a vacant room. During the night the trooper thought the matter over and decided to let his prisoner go. Soon after daylight he was up and went to see if the prisoner was all right. After his inspection he purposely left the door open. Then he had his breakfast. An hour later he again visited the prisoner's room, and to his disgust found the door still open and the prisoner sifting quietly on the side of his bunk. 

Turning towards him he casually remarked— "You can go, old chap; I won't bother you any more." "Won't you!" answered the prisoner. "You ——will. You've arrested me, and now you can take me to the town!" (150 miles distant). It was no use 'geeen'un' explaining that he did not want to do so. The prisoner was adamant. At last it was arranged that 'green'un' should pay the prisoner's mail fare (£3 5/) to the town. Green'un eventually returned from his trip, with his horse very much the worse for wear and severely spur marked. He was disrated, put with the foot police, and a few months later left the force. Sixty years ago there were many others in the force of similar calibre.— 'Unohoo,' Medindie.

OUTBACK WEDDING

Some years ago a wedding took place in a small home where there was a large family. 

It was a hot day, somewhat around 110 in the shade. The couple were married in the kitchen with a roaring fire in the stove. It was 2 p.m. The parson used a box to stand on so that he could be seen, and his head was almost against the iron roof, which had no ceiling. 

When the wedding was over a piece of cake was handed round. I saw the parson slip his into his pocket, and he mounted his hack and away he went. Then the fun began. Two 18 gallon kegs came on the scene, and after that no one felt the heat. 

When I left the place the bridegroom was rolling in the dust outside, trying to ride one of the kegs. Next morning, as my dad and I passed the place at sunrise, we saw an old reaper by the house, and sticking out of the back were six pairs of feet, belonging to the guests of the day before.— 'A.H.C.,' Kadina.

FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND

An old bushranger named Burns pitched his tent along the banks of the Burdekin, in the Queensland bush. His only companion was an old bloodhound. 

One day a swagman (Mac) was passing, and Burns asked him if he would chop some wood. After his labor, the swaggie felt sure of being offered a drink of gin, of which a flagon was in a conspicuous place in the tent. However, the swagman was only rewarded with a good feed. Then the two men parted company. 

But Mac wanted that gin. He decided to 'hang' about until nightfall and then steal it. He went back after dark, and found both man and beast sound asleep. Guided by the moonlight, Mac took the gin, carrying it to his own hut on the bank of a river. 

But the dog followed. Just as Mac was having a drink, the dog charged him from the rear. Mac dived into the river, thinking the bloodhound would, not follow. But he did, at the same time making a spring for the man's throat. 

Mac plunged his head beneath the water to keep the beast at bay, and drew his pocket-knife, his only means of defence. A big gash in the throat weakened the beast, and a final gash in the eye sent him to the bottom. Had the encounter occurred on land, the bloodhound must surely have won. Shortly afterwards the swagman himself died, due to the terrible mauling he got from the animal.— 'Devitt,' Adelaide.

TWELVE INCHES TO SPARE

A miss is as good as a mile, they say. It certainly was in my case. Some years back, when muzzle-loading firearm were in vogue, I nearly got my head blown off. I ran down the hill from our house to the river after four pink eyed wild ducks. I crawled in on them, fired, and had the luck to drop three. But, having come away in a hurry, I was without more ammunition, and I wanted to go after the remaining bird. As it happened, a young chap I knew came along. 

"Good morning, Bill. I am out of powder and shot. Will you give me a load?" "Certainly," he replied. I handed him the gun. He loaded it and threw it into position to put on the cap. This done he started to lower the hammer to press the caps home on the nipple. There was a bang. A gust of wind and a charge of shot and smoke whizzed past my face, within inches of my head. I staggered back a pace or two, and thankfully realised that I was unhurt.— G. A. Payne, Marino Rocks.

COW STRUCK BY LIGHTNING

In 1848 the bushlands nearly south off Adelaide were overgrown with scrub, tall trees, and big grass trees. The storms seemed fiercer in those days, and the tall trees seemed to attract the lightning. 

One afternoon, when a severe storm was raging, my mother was standing at an upstairs window, watching the lightning play in and out of the trees and around some cattle. Suddenly she saw a flash go in at a cow's mouth and out at its tail, and set a tree that was in a line with it on fire. The cow was killed. 

In great excitement mother ran to her father and brothers with the news. They skinned the cow and found all its inside black and scorched. Some blacks camping near were glad of the meat, and said — "Cow give big yawn, fire go down."— S.M.J., Maylands.