20 September 1934

'GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN' 

Bushman's Sacrifice For His Friend

Although years of drought and of winds driving the sand before them have obliterated the one-time pastures of Simon's Bore, there still remain the ruins of the buildings built there in those days. 

Conspicuous among the plains that dominate the country in the vicinity is a small range of hills north-west of the station known as the Hang Out Range. 

From the highest point of the hills water trickled out of a rock crevice year in, year out. It ran down a little gully and filled a small rock basin, providing drinking water of excellent quality for drovers, and more so for any stock that wandered away from the main water supplies. That tiny trickle of water, however, required constant attention, as the slightest obstruction at its source was sufficient to block the flow. 

In that gully, known to us as Carey's Gully, there lived a man in the employ of the station whose only work consisted of keeping the spring clean and of attending to any stock searching for the water. 

Jim Carey first came to Simon's Bore as a tramp looking for work. He got a job of stock-droving, but tired of it, and the boss then gave him the job of attending to the spring. A shack was built for him, and once a month he received his rations and tobacco. His pay was not worth mentioning. 

As soon as his shack was erected Carey moved into it, and commenced to live the life of a recluse. He wrote and received letters, and had several large boxes and trunks sent up to him from the city. 

He had been living in his shack for five years when I first got to know him. He was quiet and well spoken, always clean shaved, and did not possess the familiar bushman's appearance. His voice was very soft and musical. Although still a young man, his hair was snow white, and he often seemed sad. Very few saw him, and he avoided all he could. I 'tuckered' him regularly, and we got friendly. 

Later I was given a boundary-riding job and camped in a shack a few miles from him. We often visited one another and played cards. Carey was remarkably skilful in his conversation and avoided all mention of his past doings and whereabouts. 

One night I rode over to Carey's to have a yarn and a game. As I approached his camp I noticed a strange horse outside, and on closer inspection I saw the familiar trappings attached to the saddle that a policeman carries. I peered cautiously through the window and saw a man going through Carey's belongings. He had a lot of papers, letters, photographs, and other things. I could clearly see through the window what had brought him there. In Carey's boxes he had discovered a number of newspaper cuttings relating to the mysterious disappearance of a woman friend of a very prominent musician. 

It was then that my mind flashed back and recalled the many classical airs I had often heard Carey humming to himself. Still, he was my best friend up there, and I decided to do what I could for him. I concluded that as Carey was not at home he must have walked over to my camp by the top track while I had ridden over by the cattle track. 

I crept back to my horse, the wind sighing softly in the trees assisting in my noise less retreat. Fortunately I had a note book and pencil with me. I wrote a message, tied the notebook to the saddle, and sent my horse off down the sandy track with a smart smack on the rump. 

Then I walked back to Carey's camp singing as loudly as I could the only piece of classical music I knew. I strolled straight inside and feigned surprise. The constable, however, promptly read out a warrant of arrest to me and cautioned me. He then handcuffed me, thinking that I was James Carey. I maintained a stubborn silence. He ordered me to bed, lashing me down securely, and turned in on the floor with his own blankets. 

At sunrise we ate a hurried meal and, feeling quite elated at having effected such an easy arrest, he mounted his horse and made me walk alongside. It was far from pleasant walking alone on a hot morning with flies tormenting me and a cocksure young policeman trying to 'third degree' me with numerous questions. 

We had been on the track about an hour, and were nearing the end of the thickly wooded ranges near which my camp was located when the horse stumbled, threw its rider and bolted. The constable fell clear, but as my hands were tied by a rope to the back of the saddle I was dragged along in the dust and stones. This lasted for a few chains, and then a knock on the head rendered me unconscious. 

When I came to the constable was bathing my head with water from one of his waterbags, looking very miserable and anxious. I sat up and saw his horse lying dead near us, a bullet hole through its chest. 'Thank God!' he said, 'you're alive. You wouldn't be if someone up in the hills hadn't seen the accident and shot my horse down before he had reached the timber.' 

I kept very quiet and feigned further unconsciousness. Undoubtedly Carey had fired that shot. He was an expert marksman. But why hadn't he cleared off. I had given him time to do so. After some hard thinking I again resumed consciousness and enquired with an effort, 'Where has the fellow gone that fired the shot?' The constable said that he did not know. He was too far behind the runaway. He had heard the shot and seen the horse fall. After that he had been very busy trying to bring me around, and that had taken nearly two hours. 

I was able to walk after a while and he decided to return to Carey's camp, some four miles behind us. I did not mention that my own camp was only a mile away in the trees. Leaning on his shoulder and taking my time, we walked back together. We reached the camp and he let me lie down on the bed. He was obviously worried over my condition and felt very responsible. 

Finally he made up his mind to leave me where I was while he walked back to the station to get help. He set off that afternoon on his 38-mile walk. He could have barely been out of sight when I heard a light step outside, and in walked Carey. He had little to say, but what he said he meant. He told me his story, thanked me for the warning, and regretted the accident. I assured him that I was not seriously hurt. 

I enquired and he explained his reason for not leaving earlier. He wished to secure some music he had composed during his lonely hours, and which he treasured very much. He gathered up what he considered necessary, and, after making me as comfortable as he could, took his farewell. 

I had found him a good friend and have no doubt that he would have done as much and more for me as I had done for him. There is a bond among men in the north that is not easily broken. 

Two days later the station tucker waggon arrived with the constable in charge. When the station hand who accompanied him saw me, he pointed out the error that had been made, and a more confused policeman I nave never seen. 

Six months later I received a parcel, which contained a gold watch, on the inside of the cover of which were engraved the words, 'If all men knew the meaning of love and sacrifice, evil would not exist.' — Campfire Comrade.

Kangaroo Island Oil Find 

It is now about 40 years since the little town of Hog Bay, Kangaroo Island, now known as Penneshaw, was plunged into wild excitement at the reported discovery of a spring of oil on the south coast of the island. In those days large pieces of bitumen were often found on the coast, having been washed up by the sea. 

A young man of the town decided to have a joke with the residents, and he told a friend one afternoon in strict secrecy that he had found a spring of oil. They agreed to say nothing about it until they had pegged out their oil lease, which they decided to do as soon as a miner's right could be obtained. 

It so happened that no miner's right could be obtained at Hog Bay, and they decided to wait until that evening and then ride to Cape Willoughby, a distance of 18 miles, and despatch a telegram for a miner's right. It was agreed that this should be done by the friend, who set off that evening on a medium draught horse on his 36 mile ride. 

The same evening the finder told another friend of his wonderful discovery and he, not being very conversant with mining regulations, went to a local justice of the peace for advice. The latter said that he would ride to Cape Willoughby straight away and wire for a miner's right for each of them, after which they would each peg out a claim. 

While they were waiting for the miner's rights to arrive, the finder arranged with both his friends that, in order to save time, he would meet them near the scene of the discovery. He would walk out there in advance while they, as soon as their miner's right reached them through the post, were to ride out with it as quickly as possible. 

The friend who was first told of the find got a good start, but the justice of the peace, being mounted on a faster horse, soon overtook him. As he did not know the exact locality of the find, he arranged with the other man to share the discovery. 

News of the reported find, however, had by this time leaked out, and a rush had set out from Hog Bay in pursuit of the peggers. All through the morning men continued to arrive and to peg claims, irrespective of the fact that they had no miner's rights. 

The original finder had not put in an appearance yet, and no one was sure of the exact locality of the find, although every likely spot had been pegged. 

He arrived some time after midday, and appeared surprised at seeing such a crowd there. When he was asked to show them the spring, he said he would not show it to a crowd, and nothing could move him from that decision. 

It gradually began to dawn on them that they had been hoaxed, and when this was realised the finder was called everything but a gentleman. So ended the great Kangaroo Island oil find. — 'Kingscote.'

Made Sure Of One Vote

Apropos of the Federal elections many interesting and amusing experiences of past contests come to one's mind. The following incident, which took place in Mintaro some 50 or 60 years ago, will probably be remembered by some of the older residents of the middle north. 

There were three candidates — a butcher who went by the name of 'Tripey,' 'Bumpy,' so called because of a lump on the side of his head, and a prominent local identity named Jimmy Torr. 

On the night of the candidates' policy speeches a large crowd gathered, more for the purpose of hearing old Jimmy's speech than for anything else. The first and second speeches were listened to, more out of politeness than interest, and then came Jimmy's turn. The crowd cheered him to a man, and everyone was hoping to hear something good. 

Jimmy cleared his throat and started. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm no good at making speeches," he said, "but put me into Parliament and I'll do as much for you as 'Bumpy' or 'Tripey' anyway." 

The applause which greeted this remark was deafening, and Jimmy considered himself practically as good as elected; only to find that when the votes were counted he had received but one. 

A few days later, while speaking to one or two people, he said, "If I only knew who gave me that vote, I'd give him £10." Immediately several lads came forward and said, '

"I gave you that vote, Mr. Torr. I gave you that vote, Mr. Torr." But Jimmy met them all with the blunt remark, "You're a liar, my son; I voted for myself."

— 'Argus,' Spalding.

Too Big A Yawn

The most curious thing I ever came across in the course of my work as a veterinary officer was a horse with a dislocated jaw. The jaws were partly crossed, and the animal could neither eat nor drink. The jaw was not much swollen, although it had been two days out. 

It was supposed that the horse had been yawning, and had extended the jaw too far. I have not seen or heard of a similar case. I caught hold of the jaws and pulled with all my strength — one jaw the one way and the other the other way. There was a click, and the bone dropped into the socket. The horse was soon eating greedily.— S.M.J., Maylands.