19 July 1934

WET END TO HISTORIC DANCE 

How The French Were Beaten By A Woman

In 1842, the French corvette L'Heroine arrived at Holdfast Bay in connection with the affair of the Ville de Bordeaux, a vessel illegally detained here, as it was alleged, by the action of the Collector of Customs, Robert Torrens. 

On March 21 the colonists gave a ball to her commander, Captain L'Eveque, and his officers, at the theatre, and a few days later the officers responded with a similar entertainment on board. It was an occasion long to be remembered by the guests. 

The corvette lay about five miles off Glenelg, and dancing took place on the flush deck, which, as the vessel had no poop, provided ample space. Flags of all nations were used as decorations, and the ship was illuminated by lamps suspended in the rigging. 

The band, however, was not all it might have been, and the guests chiefly danced to the music of a violin played by one of the officers. About midnight supper was served in the saloon. There was every delicacy provided, and rare French wines and the officers vied with one another in showing hospitality to their guests. As Captain L'Eveque was that night at Government House, the first lieutenant presided, and after the usual toasts had been honored, the company resumed dancing. 

It is related that one of the colonists, taking compassion on the violinist, offered to play in order to give him a chance to join in the dancing. The young lieutenant accepted with pleasure, and went off to enjoy himself. The dance went merrily on to the colonist's playing, and at length he was requested to play a waltz. 

This he did, and the vivacious wife of one of his fellow settlers led off the first lieutenant. As the couple passed he received a whispered request from her to play faster. He obliged, but each time she came round she made a similar request. He accordingly played faster and faster, until the lieutenant had to confess himself beaten and relinquish his sprightly partner. 

Then the second lieutenant sprang forward, anxious to make up for his superior's shortcoming, and the dance went on until he was in no better condition than his senior. From the second lieutenant the lady passed into the arms of the third lieutenant. The violinist still scraped on at a terrific rate, and soon her third partner had to give in. At this, the vivacious creature appeared satisfied, and with sparkling eyes exclaimed, 'There, I have beaten the French!' 

The earlier joy of the gathering was, however, changed to consternation when the first lieutenant suddenly asked all the guests to leave the vessel. This was not due to pique at being out-manouvred by his attractive partner, as some people thought at the time. His action, however, occasioned much adverse comment in the colony. 

But the fact was that a storm was blowing up out of the west, and it appeared that L'Heroine might have to weigh anchor and put out to sea if the breeze threatened unduly. In any case, a shower of rain would have put an end to the festivities on deck. 

All these things, however, did not at once occur to the guests, who were quite taken aback by the request to leave. But under the light of the lamps swinging in the rigging, the boats came alongside, rocking disconcertingly on the ominously heavy sea. The women, particularly, did not not, relish the idea of embarking for a five mile pull in the boats at 2 o'clock in the morning, with a storm threatening to break at any moment. One of them actually declined to leave the boat, and demanded to be shown to sleeping quarters, as she was beginning to feel decidedly ill. But the officer was obdurate, and the embarkation proceeded. 

The night was so dark that as the boats got away they seemed to pass into an isolation of wind and dark pitching water. So far from being able to see each other, the erstwhile revellers could not even make themselves heard from one boat to the next against the wind. 

All in all, it was rather a harrowing end to the party, and it was regarded as a minor miracle that the boats all reached the shore, even though their occupants did land drenched to the skin. However, the proprietor of the hotel was roused as soon as the landing was effected, and a roaring fire soon enabled the guests to thaw out and to dry their clothes, with the result that very few of them suffered any ill effects from their experience.— " Kestrel."

Lesson Taught By Dog

I became friendly with an old pioneer couple. They had much land, some large farms, and had reared a big family respectably. 

What I thought most wonderful about them was their loving consideration for one another. Whenever mother came into the room, father was ready to help her into her easy chair. He anticipated her wants and wishes. When she left the room he was ready to open the door. When taking a walk he would talk pleasantly, and draw her attention to anything interesting. She was equally alert to his comfort or pleasure. 

One day when father was out I asked mother if their married life had always been so happy. She laughed. 'Thereby hangs a tale,' she said, 'but I will tell you. We were devoted lovers, and came out here with a bit of money and determination to succeed. We worked hard, and were happy until we had four children. The little ones would run with the sheep dog to meet father coming home from work. He would notice all of them, and have a good time with them. By and bye we took up more land, and father seemed worried. He worked longer hours. He began to take little notice of the children or me — just came in and took his meals without a word, as if he were thinking and planning things miles away. He became so irritable with the children that I had to keep them out of his sight as much as possible.' 

'But, strange to say, he always patted the dog who went to meet him. This went on for some time. It became so very unpleasant that I determined to speak plainly. At first he listened in surprise, then in irritation. He said, 'He had no time to fondle people and give smiles and kind words. Didn't they know when he was working for them he loved them and was thinking of them?'

 'Yes,' I said, 'but loving words and smiles and a little praise sweetens toil, and the want of them makes people indifferent and selfish. Concentrated on one thing, the children have grown indifferent to you, and I am hurt at your inattention. If you treated the dog as you treat us he'd be indifferent, too. 'Pooh,' he said, 'I can soon win back the children. As to the dog. he'd be affectionate however I treated him.' 

'I doubt it. However, you try and see.' 

Next day father took no notice of the dog. It seemed surprised and troubled, and tried in every way to be petted. Next time the dog whined, put his tail between his legs, and ran off. For a week it tried in every way to win kind notice. Then, seeing it was useless, it went away with the children. 

Some time after this I said, 'So the dog is indifferent?' 

'Pooh,' I'll soon get him back.' 'He whistled. The dog came in a surprised way. But never again did it caper around him. 'My husband tried many times to regain the dog's trust, but without success. Then he saw that with everyone indifferent to his coming or going life was not what it was meant to be. So from that day he started to regain his children's affection, and we all became happy again.' — S.M.J.

Unfortunate Lapse

An old South-Eastern squatter had a flow of language not generally fit for publication. His holding in the early sixties was overrun with kangaroos, and when visitors came along they were generally taken for a hunt. 

On one particular occasion the visitors included a bishop, and when they were engaged in the hunt, Old Ned kept as far away from his lordship as possible, in case he should forget himself. 

In the course of the hunt a clump of timber separated the owner and the gaitered visitor. Old Ned was slightly ahead of the bishop as they emerged from either side of the timber. As the latter came up behind the former he remarked, 'You have a large number of kangaroos here, sir.' 

'Yes,' replied Old Ned, without looking round, 'there are thousands of the b— s.' He then looked round and, seeing the bishop, exclaimed, 'There, after all, I've gone and made a b— mess of things,' and he rode off disgusted with himself.'— 'Tanta-Tyga.'

Parson Got The Wrong Bottle

Some years ago there lived in the Mount Lofty Ranges an elderly lady, who was famous in the district for her make of honey mead. She stored it in a cool cellar, and many a thirsty caller was refreshed with it on a hot day. 

On one occasion she went visiting and left Nellie, a recent arrival from the city, in charge. During her absence, the minister called, and, as it was a very hot day, Nellie invited him in to have some refreshment. As he said he preferred a cool drink to a cup of tea, Nellie brought a bottle of mead from the cellar, and, as it was so nice and cool, he had a second glass of it. 

Nellie went on with her duties, and, returning a little later, was surprised to see the minister looking very queer. He remarked that he did not feel well, so he lay on the couch for a time. Later, he decided to go home, but could not mount his horse. Leading it, he staggered along till he came to some scrub, where one of his church members found him being very sick. 

The member helped him home, very much shocked at the minister's condition. When her mistress arrived home, Nellie told her what had happened. 'What did you give him?' she asked, and Nellie showed her the bottle. 

'Oh, Nellie, Nellie! You gave him the wrong mead,' the exclaimed. 'That is over seven years old. You've made him drunk, and me such a staunch teetotaller. Whatever will he think?'— J.H.J.

Lake Massacre

On the map of the Cooper's Creek country, between Innamincka and Kanowna Station, is shown the grimly named Lake Massacre. It is out of the track of drovers generally, and only occasionally visited by stockmen of the locality, as it rarely has water in it. 

Its name is derived from one of the blacker pages of the pioneering history of the State.  In the early days of the cattle industry, the series of lakes that forms the Cooper from Innamincka to Lake Eyre, was the hunting ground of hundreds of blacks. The lakes, when full, provided them bountifully with game, fish, and eggs of all descriptions, but when the waters dried back, food was not so plentiful, and necessitated long chases after kangaroos, which are not numerous in sandhill country, and much hard digging after wombats. 

With the advent of cattle in that country, the blacks saw a solution of their food problem, and, in spite of warnings from the cattlemen, continued to spear a beast when the larder was low. 

Seeing that their warnings were unheeded, the stockmen from Coongie Lakes Station, with the assistance of the neighbors, made an armed drive down the river, and rounded up a large band of natives on a shallow box fringed lake. Driving them into the water, they opened fire, and when the slaughter ceased, not one of the tribe was left alive. And today, on and around Lake Massacre, scores of grinning skulls and bleached bones give ample testimony as to the significance of its name. — 'C.E.M.'