17 May 1934

REX HALD AND THE 'MAN-EATER' 

FORGOTTEN TRAGEDY OF THE LAND OF MEN

Fifty miles north-west of Houston's Point lies the boundary of Simon's Bore and Jinnamanna. Where the three fences join is a waterhole known as Brown's Bog. 

These station properties do not exist singly nowadays. The adventurous pioneers who settled them in the early days have passed away, and drought has ruined the holdings. Of the station homesteads little remains. The entire properties are now owned by large pastoral companies.  But Brown's Bog has been enlarged and is the only watering place for thirty-five miles in any direction. 

In the days when these stations flourished, cattle and horses were the main stock carried. Sheep had not penetrated that far. Wild horses roamed the plains in hundreds, not the miserable brumbies one sees so often these days, but fine types with a good dash of thoroughbred in them. 

All stations were rivals, but once a year they called a peace and that was at the general round-up. The wild horses had to be kept down, as he is a good eater at all times, and will travel great distances in search of feed. Not only that, but they have a nasty habit of knocking cattle about. On one occasion after a mob of wild horses had rounded up a herd of cows and calves, they killed and maimed over twenty in a few minutes. 

During the round-up of horses odd riders carried high-power rifles, though nowadays they would be regarded as cumbersome muzzle loaders. Any horse that was of a degenerate type or too old to be saleable, was shot. Any particularly fine stamp was kept for station use, and broken in. One hears much about outlaws — horses that never given in and possess vicious traits. But they are nothing compared with the chap known as 'man eater.' These are rare, but they do exist. 

At Jinnamanna they had corralled a beautiful black stallion and attempted to ride him. Bacca, the leading half caste dare-devil horsebreaker of that station, got maimed for life at his first attempt to master him. The stallion threw himself unexpectedly, and the unfortunate Bacca was bitten and kicked frightfully before two heavy stockwhips drove the 'man eater' away from the injured rider. 

Now it was the boast at Simon's Bore that Rex Hall, a blue eyed, fair haired Cockney lad, who was their champion breaker, would tackle anything on earth, provided it could be saddled.  Jinnamanna promptly called his dare by telling everyone that Hall wasn't game to ride the black. It didn't take long for Hall to hear the yarn, and he went across to Jinnamanna to tackle the beast. 

The stallion was corralled and saddled with the utmost difficulty. Hall knew he had a 'man eater' to ride, and for the first time in his life he carried a wire-bellied whip lashed to his wrist, in addition to sharp spurs. Before he mounted he blindfolded the black very thoroughly. The rails were thrown down as Hall slipped into the saddle, and the battle began. No demon ever performed like the black did. But, being blind folded, he was beaten. 

After Hall had him thoroughly cowed he ripped the bandage off his eyes, and started on him with the whip. The stallion had to be beaten thoroughly, or the ride was wasted effort. Sufficient to say, Hall did his work well, with a wonderful display of endurance and riding.  For nine months Hall rode that black stallion wherever he went, and never once did it attempt to buck, bite, or kick. He knew his master. 

When the next annual round up took place. Hall went along to do his share of the work, and carried a rifle in place of the whip. The five riders from Simon's Bore rode along for many miles and reached the Bog, where they came upon the first wild horses, and commenced driving them. As the mob raced away from the waterhole, screaming, kicking, and throwing up the dust, Rex Hall's black seemed to remember his past days, and, throwing down his head, he went mad. 

It all happened so unexpectedly that Hall, with the gun on his arm, was caught unawares and thrown. Before the other riders could get near him, he was past all human aid. The 'man eater' had murdered him. The horse, in his mad rage, kicked, bit, and pawed the helpless rider with such ferocity that the others were afraid to go near him. None had a rifle. Hall's was the only one carried. 

When the murderous work was done, the black stallion raced away across the plain, and was never again corralled. For years after many reported seeing him. The saddle had rotted off his back and left a patch of white hair in its place, which branded him from others of his kind. 

On the west side of Brown's Bog, in a small clump of mulga, lies a heap of white limestone — the last resting-place of one of the most fearless riders ever known. — 'Campfire Comrade.'

'Blowing Out His Bags'

The other day I heard an old bush man blowing out his bags. 

"The worst horse I ever rode," he said, "was one called Ginger, belonging' to Mr. Kidman. He started to buck in the railway yard near the goods shed and when I was up in the air I could see the stationmaster on the other side of the goods shed" (incidentally the goods shed is 50 feet high).

"When I was working at Timarie Station, I was told to ride to Binghibar for the doctor because the boss's missus was crook. When I got to Tarnham Flat I saw a funny sight. Right in front of me was a line of hoopsnakes, wheeling one after the other across the road. As far as one could see to the right and to the left, there was the same endless wheeling formation of hoopsnakes. Nor was that all. There was a second line and a third of snakes. The lines were about a hundred yards apart, all wheeling in the same direction. The snakes were in such close formation that you couldn't get through without touching one. The old mare I was riding stood still for a minute or so as if wondering what to do. Suddenly she gave a plunge and leaped clean through the centre of the hoop. Of course I had to crouch down low to avoid getting tangled with the snakes. The mare did the same at the second and third lines. And that's how we got through quite safely. Thank you." — 'P.O.P.,' Norwood.

Thistle Island

Many of the islands around the coast of the mainland have played an important but little recorded part in the history of Australia. Among these is Thistle Island, which probably was visited by the ill-fated explorer La Perouse, after he left Sydney in 1788.  

On the island are stone buildings about 5 feet high, built without mortar and with an opening for a doorway. The biggest has a large stone let into the ground at the doorway, level with the floor. On this were carved the figures 178 — and another figure close to the 8, which could not be recognised. In 1900 these buildings were examined, and the stone unearthed, but the inscription was completely obliterated. 

An old sealer, who had probably escaped from Van Diemen's Land, made his home on Thistle Island. He was suspected of having killed his companions and lived apart with his two Tasmanian black wives. He lived by wallabying, having obtained in all 7,000 skins. He had a good stone house, poultry, and goats, and cultivated a small wheat and barley patch. 

'In 1838 the South Australian Company established a fishery at Thistle Island, and the first consignment of blubber oil was shipped to London in the brig Goshawk.— Wynnis J Hughes, Wisanger.

Paddy Johnson

This King's county man was one of the two most notable navvies on the long drag, i.e., the Quorn to Government Gums railway. 

A Scotsman named Stewart and Paddy, for fortnight alter fortnight, averaged more than £1 per day at 4d. per yard wheeling dirt on to the formation from the side ditches. He was 6 ft. 4 in. tall, and 16 stone. At 50 years old he could stand and jump 4 ft. 2 in. when sober enough. 

The officers on the line played a cricket match versus the navvies. Paddy, who had learnt to play cricket in 'ould Oireland,' was the star batsman of the match. He was the Jack Lyons of that day, and, as there were no boundaries, everything had to be run. As there were fives and sixes to run from his mighty hits, he had recourse to the cask of beer on the ground after each big hit. 

It was a really hot day. When he had scored something over 60 runs, he hit me away almost to Kingdom come and started running. When half-way down the pitch he fell, and lay laughing. Several navvies ran across and tried to drag him to the crease, but could not for laughing. He just lay and roared. He had a truly homeric laugh, one that was often heard night or morning from one end or the camp to the other. The navvies won, thanks to Paddy's fine score. 

He had a block of land in the hills when I saw him last, wheeling dirt out of the storm-water channel at Happy Valley. At that time, 92, he still had the friendly geniality that won for him the esteem and love of all who met him. There were giants in those days, when wheeling upwards of 60 yards of muck a day up the plank. He was unhurried, but extraordinarily constant and persistent, a true sticker. Paddy was a Catholic and a man. I knew him drunk and sober, at work and play, but never heard one single phrase from his lips I would not like my mother to hear. I may not see his equal if I live to be 90, or hear such a mirthful laugh.— F. M. P. Millington.

Obeyed Orders

The manager of a northern sheep station engaged a discharged sailor to do farm work. He was put in charge of a large flock of sheep. 'Now all you've got to do,' explained the manager, 'is to keep them on the run.' At the end of a couple of hours the manager rode up again. The air was thick with dust. At last he distinguished the form of his new shepherd, a collapsed heap. Surrounding him were the sheep, bleating plaintively, with considerably more than a week's condition lost. 'What the —— have you been doing to those sheep?' howled the almost frantic manager. The ex-sailor managed to gasp out. 'Well, sir, I've done my best. You told me to keep them on the run, and so I hunted them up and down and round. But now, I'm just dead beat myself.'— Raymond Riley, Eastwood.

Drovers And The Goat

The man outback is just as fond of a little diversion as is his city brother. A party of drovers attended the Morgan races last year, and judging by the beer they drank they had a pretty good day. 

The men were spending the night in the little township, so they came out after the evening meal intent on a bit of fun. But they never discovered it until close on midnight. 

A wandering billygoat, with a long rope attached to his neck was prowling down the main street. One of the drovers quickly captured 'Billy,' but didn't know what to do with him. But when they came to a church, one of the man had an idea. 

"What about tying 'Billy' to the church bell?" he suggested. This was done, and then the bushmen hid in the church yard to watch the 'fun.' Billy commenced to ring the bell furiously. Then the police came along to see what was what, and nearly all the inhabitants came running in their night attire. As the goat moved about, to try and get free, the bell would ring, and the police were active searching for the offender. They never suspected the goat, because it was dark the rope was a good long one, and the animal was some distance away from the disturbance. 

It was not until a policeman tripped over the rope that the trick was discovered. A couple of irate policemen tried to find out who played the trick, but by this time the jokers had mingled with the crowd, and were as puzzled as anyone else over the 'mystery.'— A. Daly.

A Dead Heat

Chance took me to a small town on Eyre Peninsula on a Saturday afternoon. A cricket match was in progress between rival districts. The pitch was Mother Earth, with the grass scratched off. Tufts of spear grass were numerous on the ground, making the ball turn disconcertingly, providing a difficult task for the fieldsmen. 

One of the umpires was a local farmer. A batsman made a stroke in which there was really only one run, but owing to the fieldsman fumbling the ball, two were attempted. However, the fieldsman recovered quickly and returned the ball to the wicketkeeper, who appeared to break the wicket simultaneously with the batsman reaching the crease. 'How's that?' came from all over the ground, followed by silence from the umpire for a second or two, and then he roared, 'Dead heat.'

— 'Esau.'