26 July 1934

RACING FOR A FORTUNE 

Famous Ride Through The Night

The literature of the world contains many tales or adventurous rides upon which the fate of nations or individuals has depended. 

Longfellow has left on record the story of Paul Revere's midnight journey, which is known to all children throughout America. Browning has described how the 'good news' was taken from Ghent to Aix, and Bret Harte's description of the famous ride which brought Santa Claus to the rough Californian mining camp has thrilled thousands of readers. 

Yet there is a story of an exciting ride ultimately connected with the early history of South Australia which is probably quite unknown to any of the present generation, but which may in time take its place as one of the epics of our State. Maybe some day a writer with an abler pen than mine will describe it in swinging verse or impassioned prose. 

For the present, however, the simple narrative of facts, as told some years ago by the chief actor, Mr. W. A. Home, must suffice. It concerns the leading role he played in the exciting drama of the discovery and registration of the famous Moonta mine— the first in Australia to pay £1,000,000 in dividends.

"It was in 1861," said Mr. Horn, "that copper was discovered at Moonta. I was staying on the station, on which it was discovered with Sir William Watson Hughes, then known as 'the captain.' I was out riding one morning about 10 miles from the station, when a special message arrived recalling me. It read:— 'Dear Will— Come back to Wallaroo as fast as you can.— W.W.H.' 

I was mounted on a fine grey mare which has some local reputation for speed, and I sent her into Wallaroo as fast as she could go. From there I had to go on to Moonta, where I saw the captain. He said, 'Will, my boy, there's been a big discovery here by Ryan, the shepherd. The Days have got wind of it, and they started for Adelaide last night. Do you think you can get there before them?' 

I said that it was only a matter of horses to get me through to Quigley's station in the River Light, and I would be in Adelaide by 9 o'clock next morning. He told me that horses were ready at the Wallaroo stables. 

'Make your own selection,' he said, 'and beg, borrow, or steal any you can on the road. Here are the papers for Mr. John Taylor.' Mr. Taylor was then a partner of the firm of Elder, Smith & Company. 

I went back to Wallaroo, and having selected five horses from the stables started off on my long ride, I took Alfred Wills with me. He led two, while I led one. 

'The Days had 17 hours' start on us. and I had already ridden nearly 40 miles that morning. We left in the afternoon. My first horse was a splendid mare, and we pushed on as fast as we could. When she tired I changed to the horse I was leading, and Wills took the fresher of the other two. 

At Port Broughton I got two horses from Mr. R. W. Hall. Then came the parting of the ways. I heard that the Days had taken the coastal track— there was no road in those days— and though the other route through Red Banks station was longer, I decided to take it in order to avoid being seen by them. 

At Baralba I saw a farmer taking two splendid looking mares to water. 'Will you 'sell those horses?' I asked, 'Yes, at a price,' he replied. I want £40 each.' It was no time for haggling. I gave him £40 and our two horses. 

'About 3 o'clock in the morning, after riding hard, we arrived at Red Banks station. We knocked up Mr. H. Roe, who was managing for Mr. Philip Butler, and asked him to sell or lend us fresh horses. He said we could take what we liked, if we could catch them. It was very dark and raining hard, but we found the mob, and drove it into the stockyard. There was only one saddle horse — a bay mare — among them, and she had a foal at foot. Roe told me she was a great backer, but that if I could only get her away from her foal, she would carry me into Adelaide all right.

I changed saddles and mounted. She gave me a taste of her mettle, but horses don't like bucking in the dark, and she soon gave it up. Wills was fairly knocked up, so was his horse, and he said he could not go another yard. 

'I took the mare slowly at first in order to conserve her strength. The next thing I remember was finding myself back at Red Banks. I had fallen asleep, due to fatigue and lack of company. I was terribly disappointed, as I had lost many valuable miles in the race at a time when every minute counted. The mare had turned back while I was asleep, and brought me back to her foal. 

'But off I went once more, determined to keep awake. I found that the only way to do this was to hit myself on the thigh from time to time with my riding whip, until I raised a raw spot by the blows. The darkness and the rain seemed to increase the natural effects of my fatigue. I had had nothing but a cup of tea and a little food at Red Banks — I wouldn't wait for any more. 

But worst of all were the terrible delusions from which I now began to suffer. I thought I could see rows and rows of tents — a regular camp— on the top of each of which sat an imp. Another of them, a cheeky little goblin, also perched himself between my horse's ears. I knew they were but the fancies of my tired body and excited brain, but I could not get rid of them. Then there seemed to be a beam or a bough always ahead of me, just in front of my forehead. I kept on telling myself that it was not there, but all the same I was continuously ducking my head to avoid it. I thought that I could hear my name called, too, though I knew that there was probably no one within miles of me. 

But my wandering mind was recalled by real trouble. I found that the mare was suffering from a plethora of milk, and I had to get off and milk her. I cannot recollect many things of that terrible ride; but all the time I had the thought firmly fixed in my brain that the Days were racing me, and had had a 17 hours' start. 

'I pushed on as fast as I could, but the mare's strength was giving out. At last I reached the bridge over the Torrens. but there the mare gave in. She could not go another yard. I jumped off and continued the race on foot. I ran to Jewell's stables in King William street, obtained another horse, and reached Mr. Taylor's house at 9 o'clock. I had ridden 164 miles in 22 hours, without a spell. 

'Mr. Taylor and I went into the Lands Office, and lodged the claim. As we were coming out we met the Days going in. I had literally beaten them on the post. They were astounded to see me, and when they learned that I had beaten them, I gathered from their remarks that their opinion on the merits of my ride did not altogether coincide with mine.'

A Duck From The Blue

About 12 miles from Robe, there are a number of lakes and swamps, which are generally referred to as 'Long Island.' At one time, some of the best duck shooting in the South-East was to be had there; but, owing to the drainage scheme, most of the lakes now become dry long before the opening of the duck season. 

Not long ago two sportsmen went shooting at Long Island. Ducks were fairly plentiful, but, owing to the water being low, it was difficult to get within gun-range of them. On one small lake there was a nice mob of teal, but they were well out; and, as there was no cover, it was impossible to get near them. 

The sportsmen decided to try a little strategy. It was arranged for one man to wait in a clump of cutting-grass while the other walked into the lake from the opposite side. It was hoped that when the ducks flew they would pass close enough to the concealed man for him to get a shot. 

The plan was duly carried out. The man who put the ducks up watched their flight closely. They appeared to pass almost over the spot where his companion was waiting; but as no shot was fired, he concluded that they must have flown too high. 

He was greatly surprised when he rejoined his fellow-sportsman, a few minutes later, to find that he was carrying a duck. In reply to the obvious question, he was told that the duck had been brought down out of the mob, but had not been shot. 

Greatly mystified, he examined the still warm duck, but could not find the slightest trace of shot marks or other injuries. He made various guesses as to how the duck was got, but, to them all, his companion told him to guess again, and refused to enlighten him. 

He never did guess the explanation; and I doubt whether he has found out even yet how the duck was secured. Just as the mob was passing over the shooter, a duck-hawk swooped down and struck the duck which had fallen almost at the sportsman's feet. But for this stroke of luck the trip would have proved a washout. As it was, the bag consisted of one duck. However, as the sportsman, who is of Scottish extraction, said, there was some consolation in the fact that it was not necessary to use a cartridge to get that one. — 'A.H.B.'

A Sprig Of Parsley

I was doing some repairs to a farm house in the Lower North, and one day the old grandmother of the family asked me to make her a little box. 'I want something to keep my treasures in,' she explained. 

There happened to be an old cedar sofa in the lumber room, and from the back of it I made the box. When I gave it to her she said, 'That will do nicely,' and then hesitated. 'Would you like to see what I call my treasures?' she asked. 

I replied that I would, more out of politeness than anything else, and she showed me the usual things an old woman hoards up — old letters and documents, photographs and miniatures. But there was one relic of which she told me an unusual and moving story. It was a sprig of parsley, pressed in the leaves of an old book.

'I came to Australia when I was a child of eleven,' she explained. 'I was born in Saxony, and the South Australian Government sent my father a letter, in which it pointed out that wonderful opportunities for farmers existed in the colony. My father decided to go, and we left Hamburg on the brig Eisebrock in company with about 50 other German immigrants in September, 1853. 

'It was a long and weary voyage, and Christmas found us still at sea. There were about 20 children on board, and on Christmas Eve we were told to come into the saloon to see the Christmas tree. We did, to see a real little pine tree standing on the table, with bright and fresh green leaves. Behind it stood the ship's carpenter, an old man with a long white beard, looking like Santa Claus himself, and we learned that we owed the tree to him. When leaving port he had put a little pine tree on board for just such a purpose as this, but when he went to look at it a few weeks before Christmas, to see that it was still in good order, he found that the rats had eaten all the needles off, leaving nothing but bare sticks. 

'He was very disappointed, and, after trying to make artificial foliage, he had an inspiration. From the ballast in the hold he took some earthy sand and washed, all the salt out of it with some of his allowance of drinking water. Then he put it in a little basket, sowed parsley seed in it, and hung it at the head of the main-mast, where it would be out of reach of the salt spray. Twice a day he climbed that mast to water the parsley with fresh water from his drinking allowance, swearing the sailors to secrecy. The parsley grew, and on Christmas Eve he took the basket down again, got out the dead pine tree, and on each twig end he tied a fresh green parsley leaf. 

'We had been months at sea without seeing a flower or a blade of green grass; quite a lot of the older people had tears in their eyes when they saw what the old carpenter had done. We children could scarcely believe our eyes at first when we saw that the leaves were real. 

'Even though I am now nearly ninety, I can still recall to memory that little green tree on the saloon table, with the little candles burning on it and the dear old carpenter standing behind it, smiling happily at the effect of his surprise. And this sprig of parsley which I'm showing you now is one of the leaves from that tree.' 

The old lady who told me the story died many years ago, but her family still treasures the book which holds the sprig of parsley pressed between the leaves.— 'Bert the Carpenter.'