29 November 1934

SHORT CAREER OF SOUTH AUSTRALIA'S BUSHRANGERS 

Curran, Hughes, And Fox 

More Troublesome In Prison Than When At Large.

South Australia has been comparatively free from bushrangers, and even Curran, Hughes, and Fox— the most notorious of them all— were at large only a few days. There was no wild shooting of police as in Victoria, where the Kelly gang terrified the countryside. The last stand of the Kelly gang at Glenrowan Hotel has no counterpart in South Australian history. 

Curran, Hughes, and Fox were arrested, certainly in an hotel, but they were so drunk that they could not offer any resistance. 

These three bushrangers began operations in their home town, Gawler, and started by raiding Pfender's sly grog shop, five miles from the town ship. Mrs. Pfender was at home alone, and the desperadoes drank to their hearts' content. They demanded money, and when Mrs. Pfender ran away rather than give it to them, they fired at her, but the shots went wide of the mark. 

She communicated with the police at Gawler, and a mounted constable went round warning settlers. This constable arrived at Captain Walker's station about 4 o'clock in the morning, and as a result a guard was kept until daybreak. The manager had as his companions three ex-convicts, who worked as drovers. Sheep and cattle were grazed out as usual, but when the men returned for their breakfast at 10 o'clock the manager found that they had three other men with them. 

Recognising them as men who had often been seen working in the district he took no further notice, of them, despite the fact that they were carrying firearms. The six seated themselves, and Curran, who had assumed leadership of the gang, explained to the manager that they had taken to the bush and required damper, ammunition, and so on for their journey. 

The manager, 'stuck up in a civil sort of way,' told them to take what they wanted, but with admirable discretion they carried off only half his provisions, half his ammunition, tea, and sugar. Meat was stewing on the fire, and the gang decided to wait until it had cooked sufficiently. After passing the brandy bottle round and making many threats against neighboring landowners, the bush rangers left, bidding their victims a cheery good morning.

Before they left the manager noticed that Fox appeared to be very half-hearted regarding things, and advised him to leave the gang at the earliest opportunity. Fox promised that he would. 

The men employed on the station excused their conduct in bringing the bushrangers to the house by saying that the gang had come up to them as they were leaving for breakfast, and had demanded food and ammunition. The bushrangers had promised that if they were taken to the homestead they would take no more than half of any provisions there. Had the drovers resisted they would have been shot or tied to a tree, while the homestead would have been pillaged, once the manager had been overpowered. 

The manager admitted that they had probably acted for the best, and then sent one of them to Gawler with the news of the hold-up. But as the man was an ex-convict, and had been in trouble himself, it was apparent from the time he took over the journey that he did not hurry. 

Four mounted constables were sent on the bushrangers' trail but they did not catch them. After bailing up an old soldier in a shack at Mount Crawford, and stopping the night there (much to the old man's terror) the gang had shooting practice at one of the larger gum trees next morning; but the old soldier was relieved to notice that more shots went astray than on the target. About 3 o'clock that afternoon, when a number of splitters and sawyers from the neighboring district had congregated at Crafers Hotel to spend their weekly cheques, the gang raided the premises and, with the landlady and the ostler crouching, terrified, behind the counter, called for drinks all round. While those present were enjoying themselves in this carouse, someone dashed past the window. 

Curran shot at him but, as his arm had been knocked, the shot went astray. Later Mr. W. J. Bull dashed through the drunken crowd, leaped into the saddle of his horse which had been left in the stable, find started to ride away, but not before Curran had attempted to drag him from the horse. Bull felled Curran with the loaded end of his stockwhip, and set out for Adelaide as fast as his horse could travel. 

When about half-way there he met the proprietor of the hotel, Mr. Crafer, and told him of the position. Crafter as he was unarmed, realised that it would be useless for him to go on to the hotel alone. He therefore galloped on his faster horse to Adelaide and soon had a posse of mounted police on its way to the hotel. On arriving at Crafers, they found the bushrangers and everyone else, hopelessly drunk. They were taken to Adelaide for trial, and sentenced to death. 

Although their capture had not given the authorities very much trouble, it was found harder to keep them in captivity pending their execution. The Adelaide Gaol at the time had only one small stone building, and Cumin, Hughes and Fox were placed in it. On the first night the guard reported that he had heard the prisoners filing their chains. Inspector Tolmer and a number of other policemen opened the door, and found that it was as the guard had said. Rivets were renewed, and a stronger guard placed over the prisoners until morning. It had been found that this 'stone jug,' as it was called, was not escape-proof, and the governor of the gaol sought the removal of Curran, Hughes and Fox, and two other long sentence prisoners, to the police barracks. There they were placed in the sergeants' day room, the only entrance to which was through the guard room. 

Three men with loaded carbines were told off to guard the door of the room, while Sergeant-Major Ashon was instructed to sleep in the same room as the prisoners. There were no bars on the windows of the day room, and a smith was employed to put some there. That night a guard warned Ashon that he had heard the prisoners filing their leg irons. On the pretext of wanting a drink of water, Ashon left the room, and arranged that if he heard the same noise he would pull the blankets from the prisoners. Despite the loud snoring which the prisoners maintained, the filing continued to be heard. The prisoners were more securely chained then, and placed on a form until morning. It was found that the files which had been used had been dropped by the blacksmith. 

From then onwards, the prisoners behaved in a 'most disgusting and riotous style.' Fox's sentence was commuted to transportation for life. The other two repulsed all attempts of the Revs. B. C. Howard and T. Q. Stow to minister to them, and maintained their truculent attitude even on the scaffold. Hughes knocked down the hang man and, using obscene language, threw away a pipe which he had asked permission to smoke. As the bolt of the scaffold trap was being withdrawn, he sprang to the side of the opening, and delayed his end a minute or two by so doing.— C.V.H.

Old Charra Hall

I noticed a contribution recently from 'B.M.,' Buckleboo, dealing with the old Charra hall. This old hall was built by the residents during last century, and served as a school, dance hall, skating rink, and, on Sundays, as a place of worship. As was mentioned by 'BM.,' a new hall was erected in another part of the district, and, as it was near the Charra woolshed, it was named the Woolshed Hall.  

The old hall was then used only for Sunday services, as a place of meeting for various committees, and as a polling booth. The last time a meeting was held in the old building the speakers were unable to make their voices heard above the noise of the starlings, of which there must have been thousands between the ceiling and the roof. Every year these birds would return to the hall to breed. I wonder what their feelings were this year, for the old hall is no more. Only recently this link with the past was sold and demolished, and only a few stones now mark the spot where it stood for so many years, a place of learning by day and the scene of revelry by night. 

The organ mentioned by 'B.M.' was a very striking example of vandalism. About ten years ago the sum of £25 was refused for it, as the hall was used for Sunday worship. When the hall was sold, all that remained of the organ was the outside frame, which was bought for 5/. A young man has fitted it out with pigeon holes and converted it into a writing desk. —'Cutler,' West Coast.

Queen Monarto

Thirty years ago a party of picnickers on the banks of the Murray saw a black woman approaching them with a free swinging step and an upright figure. She looked superior to other black women, and was dressed quietly in grey, bound with red, with the same kind of handkerchief on her head. She spoke good English, with a slight drawl, and introduced herself as Queen Monarto, once a powerful queen with a large following and much land to roam over. 

When the Murray Bridge was opened by Governor Daly, she was in attendance with her tribe. He shook hands with her and gave her a shilling. She had 300 followers with her on that occasion. 

Many years afterwards, when the bridge was renovated and lengthened, and reopened by another Governor, she was there to assist, and again the Governor shook hands with her and gave her a shilling. She had only 40 followers with her then. 

Now she said that she was a poor queen, with no lubra, no piccaninnies, no tribe, no lands, the last of her race. Would we each give her a shilling? When we refused, she said in such a scornful, pitying voice, "Poor things, poor things," and walked proudly off. 

In her old age drink became her bane. The white folks on the Murray cared for her, and at her death had her buried in the local cemetery — 'S.M.J.'

Boys' Good Surgery.

Kangaroo Island is a beautiful and healthy place to live in, but some years ago, when no doctor practised there, it was risky to have an accident. About that time a police sergeant was stationed there, who had had a good training in first aid work. He was a blessing to many people, and he allowed his two sons and other boys to watch him bind up fractures.

One holiday five boys went into the scrub, three miles from the township, for a picnic. They cut down some saplings, trimmed them, set them up with cross pieces eight to ten feet high; then they trimmed long poles and began to practise pole vaulting. This was great fun for a time, until one of them crashed to the ground and broke his arm in three places. Two of the boys rushed to the poles, broke one in two and cut it to the size needed for one splint. A piece of deal was smoothed out for another. Mean while the other two had put the arm straight and held it so. They put the splints on, bound them tightly at each end, and less tightly near the breaks, with their handkerchiefs. 

The injured boy was very weak and white with the shock and could not walk; he was only seven years old. The boys took two coats, turned them inside out, put saplings through the sleeves, buttoned them over, and so made a stretcher. They carried their mate to the police station, where the sergeant put fresh splints on. He said the bone had set well, with no swelling, as they had done the work while the wound was fresh and warm. The boy was carried home to bed and to rest. He had no trouble with his arm at all, and only two little lumps now show where it was broken. Today it is as well and strong as the other arm. — 'S.M.J.'

The Two 'Castaways'

About 50 miles from Esperance, Western Australia, are a number of small islands known as the Recherche Archipelago. They are uninhabited; although the game and fish available in the vicinity make it a veritable sportsman's paradise. There are many almost incredible tales told of the Recherche Archipelago. The following one was told me by a fisherman who pays a visit there regularly every year. 

Attracted by the prospect of a Robinson Crusoe life, a man and his wife established their home on one of the larger islands. But having no boat or gun; they found that they were not too well equipped for the role of voluntary castaways. Further, they soon discovered that trapping fish and game did not provide them with all the food they required. But they were a resourceful couple, and hit upon what they considered an excellent method of solving their problem. Whenever they felt in need of flour, sugar, or some other household commodity they hoisted distress signals. The inevitable result was that some passing ship sent ashore a landing party from which the two settlers got all the supplies they wanted. Naturally, with free food and drink, their life held no worries, and they resisted all suggestions that they should quit their lonely home. 

Ships were compelled to answer the distress signals, which shortly became well known and a thorough-going nuisance. Here was a case in which the cry, 'Wolf, wolf,' did not meet with its customary reception. The 'castaways' joyously hugged their island and metaphorically made faces at the world, daring it to let them starve. Complaints poured in to the authorities and irate shipowners demanded in forceful language that these beggars of the high seas should be stopped from making fools of them. The authorities scratched their puzzled heads. 

Meanwhile, the causes of all the commotion continued to enjoy, quite unperturbed, the hospitality of passing vessels. For some time it was hoped that the couple would tire of their is land home and return to the mainland, thus solving the problem. But nothing of the sort happened. Eventually the forces of law and order were compelled to visit the is land to 'persuade' the couple to vacate it. The man, however, pined for his lonely isle of ease, and shortly after wards he stole back when the authorities were not looking. But he survived no longer than his first signal of distress. The members of the landing party came fully prepared. They were outward bound, and took him on board their ship, eventually putting him ashore so far away that there is no likelihood of his returning again to the Recherche Islands for some time. — G.F.C.

Thought It Was A Swop .

In the early days of Yanyarrie, the majority of the landholders were Germans, who had a very limited knowledge of English. 

One settler went out one morning to harness up his horses, and found that a fine roan mare had disappeared, but that in her place was a bay gelding. He therefore harnessed the bay in his team and went on with his ploughing. The local police, however, were searching for the bay, which had been stolen from somewhere near Quorn, and they questioned the farmer about it. 'Veil,' he said, 'they took my roany and left the bay, so I thought they made me a swop.' — 'Unome.'