22 August 1935

MYSTERIOUS MURDER WHICH WENT UNPUNISHED 

Ship's Captain Found In His Bunk With His Throat Cut

One of South Australia's most surprising murders, for which no one was ever punished, although the perpetrator was known, was that of Captain John Broadfoot, master of the Jane Lovat, which ran aground near Port MacDonnell in September, 1852. 

The vessel, which had a valuable cargo on board, including several consignments of liquor, was apparently not very seriously damaged, for the master continued to live on board her for more than a year. The crew, however, left soon after the ship ran aground. 

In October, 1853, after the vessel had been ashore for over 12 months, a settler named Ferguson, who had a cattle station near Mount Schank, sent his head stockman. Archie Taylor, to the vessel with a supply of damper and other provisions for Captain Broadfoot. The wreck was only seven miles from the station, and two days after Taylor's visit Ferguson decided to ride over and see how Broadfoot was getting on, as he often did. 

When he reached the vessel he could see no sign of the captain, and on going on board he found him lying in his bunk with his throat cut. Broadfoot was known to be a heavy drinker, and it was thought at first that he had committed suicide. 

An inquest was held on board the Jane Lovat the next day by Mr. Stein, J.P. Captain McKenzie, of the sailing vessel Witness, which had been wrecked not far away, noticed that the razor was in the captain's left hand, which he knew was partially paralysed. 

From this he was certain that the captain could not have committed suicide. His left hand, too, was quite clean, al though the razor was bloodstained. The coroner could not say definitely how Broadfoot died, and consequently brought in a finding of 'found dead.' 

Two shepherds who were employed In the district were known to be frequent visitors to the ship, presumably because of the amount of liquor they could pilfer, and suspicion for Broadfoot's death rested on them. 

It was well known in the neighborhood that the vessel had been plundered periodically, and these two men had been blamed for it. 

On October 18, a week after the murder, Constables Oliver and Dewhurst went to the hut of one of them, John Crawford, and arrested him on suspicion. Crawford's hut was 12 miles from the wreck, and Alex Stevens, the other shepherd, lived four miles from him.

Crawford was handcuffed to Dewhurst, and they remained at the former's hut while Oliver went to arrest Stevens. When Oliver and Stevens returned to Crawford's hut, both Dewhurst and his prisoner were missing, and the constable was never seen alive again. 

Stevens was brought before the magistrates and told a remarkable story, although there was no reason to disbelieve it. 'I was in the hold of the Jane Lovat,' he said, 'to draw a jug of port wine. Just as I was entering the cabin with it, I heard the captain say to Crawford, 'What are you sharpening that razor for?' Crawford replied, 'To cut your throat, and I would as soon cut your throat as a sheep's.' He then cut the captain's throat from ear to ear as he lay in his bunk.' 

Though Stevens, like Crawford, was a former convict, he was much respected in the neighborhood. He was, however, committed for trial. Crawford showed himself as a desperado in ensuing weeks. He appeared frequently to settlers in the neighborhood, menacing them, and saying he would be revenged on Ferguson, and that there would be bloodshed before he was taken. He was armed with a double barrelled gun, which he said he was quite willing to use in case of emergency. 

No one disbelieved him. It was found that he was trying to reach Portland, where it was said, he had an order on someone for £90. He reached the punt over the Glenelg River at Nelson, on his way there, when he recognised two men who knew him, and made into the scrub. He was never seen again. 

Stevens was brought to Adelaide to stand his trial for murder, but, owing to lack of evidence, his case was remanded until the February sittings of the Criminal Court. No witnesses could be found even then, and the case was dismissed. And so one of the most callous of South Australia's murders went unpunished.— H. 

Another account of this story can be found at 15 June 1933

The Lost Child 

One afternoon some years ago Mrs. Brown entered Mr. John Black's store in a country town. She was plainly distressed and worried, and even before he had time to speak to her she burst into tears and exclaimed, 'Oh, Mr. Black— My Georgie!' 

'What's the matter with Georgie, Mrs. Brown?' Black asked, somewhat uneasy at the woman's unrestrained grief. 'He's gone— lost. Oh, Mr. Black!'' exclaimed the apparently distracted woman, with a fresh outburst of tears. 

'Why, surely, there's nothing to worry about, Mrs. Brown,' he said, sympathetically. 'Such a little fellow as Georgie couldn't get very far. Have you told Mr. Brown?' 

'I can't. He's not at home. He went to Croxley this morning.' 'Well, let me help you. Have you looked for him at home, or at the houses near your place?' 

'Yes,' Mrs. Brown said with a sob. 'He's nowhere in the town. He's strayed away into the scrub. He might—he might have fallen into the dam,' and the poor woman again burst into tears. 

Mr. Black stood silent for a moment distressed at the woman's grief. Then his face brightened and he said: — "I'll get all the school children to scour the countryside," and, seeing the hope mounting in the woman's face at his suggestion, warmed to the idea and continued:— "And to make sure, we'll drag the dam; and we won't give up until Georgie is safely at home again."

Mrs. Brown's tears flowed again with her joy. 'Oh, Mr. Black,' she sobbed; but Mr. Black had departed on his mission. He had a tender heart, and tears unsettled him. 

The following hours were full of activity; everybody joined in the hunt, and the school children scoured the countryside with the enthusiasm which only an unexpected release from lessons can occasion. But no sign of the missing boy could be found. 

There were sympathetic hearts in the little town as dusk settled that evening. A tragedy cruel and terrible seemed to strike the hearts of all the mothers, and many women went home with the grief-stricken Mrs. Brown to await the return of her husband, who had been hastily summoned from Croxley. They gathered in the little kitchen, and the weeping and head shaking went on unrestrainedly. 

'He was so young,' said Mrs. White. 'Such a darling child,' said another woman. 'It's a wicked shame,' Miss Harker added. And then a sudden silence settled upon the room as a tiny footstep sounded without, and a tiny figure came to the door. 

'Mummy!' it cried. 'Where you been? I'se been looking for you.' 

It appears that the child had been asleep in an old clothes basket under the spare room table when his mother missed him, and awaking later, had wandered out in search of her. 

Miss Harker recovered first from the surprise the child's appearance caused, and she picked it up and carried it across to its mother. 'He's safe and sound after all,' she said; but Mrs. Brown did not reply. The sudden surprise after the worry and stress of the afternoon had proved too much for her. She had fainted.— A.G. A.

Teacher's Influence 

Three farmers, strangers to each other, were travelling by train from the South-East to Adelaide some years ago. After a time they got into conversation and discussed the weather, crops, politics, and finally a teacher's influence on the lives of children. 

'I went to only one school and had one teacher for six years,' said the first farmer, 'and I can truthfully say that that teacher's influence has dominated my life for good, even more so than my parents'.' 

'I had two teachers,' said the second farmer. 'The first was a man. He was a good teacher, but took no interest in his scholars out of school. He would not allow us to ask questions on any subject in class. What he told us we had to take without comment or enquiry. My second teacher encouraged us to think for ourselves, and to observe and question about everything. She also taught us to be truthful, manly and honest. There is no doubt that I owe most of the good in my life to Joan Sherman's teaching.' 

'Who? What?' exclaimed the first farmer, 'Joan Sherman! That was my teacher. Why, man, where did she teach you?' 

After some further discussion the third farmer said quietly, 'Joan Sherman is my cousin. She is a good woman.' 

'Do you know her as well?' the other two asked. 'How is she? Kindly remember us to her when you see her again.' 

When the cousin gave her the messages from her old pupils, she said, "What a coincidence! Only recently I received a letter from another old scholar — a married woman with six children— who wrote, 'I try to teach my children all you taught us— honesty, obedience, truth, industry, thrift, and kindness to everyone. Your influence over us was always for good. But I think that the secret of your success with us was that you loved and cared for us. True love can level mountains.' " — S.M.J. 

A 'Harrowing' Tale 

Settlers out back, especially when not blessed with much of this world's goods, are often put to strange expedients in order to carry on. While staying recently on a scrub farm, many miles from the nearest township, I had the following unenviable experience:— 

The farmer, not yet having horses and implements of his own, borrowed an aged and slow draught mare, and a single-furrowed plough from his nearest neighbor, several miles away. With these, plus much patience, he contrived to plough a two-acre paddock, returning the horse as soon as the work was done, as he had no chaff for her. 

A few days later he broadcast peas on the newly-ploughed land, and, walking over to his neighbor's, borrowed the old mare once again to harrow in the peas— a set of ancient harrows being the only implement he possessed.

Returning at dusk, he turned the mare into a paddock along with his wife's hack— an old pet—and as tricky as farm pets usually become. Rising early next morning, intent on putting in a good day's work, to his disgust, the farmer found that the pet had let down the slip-rails and let the old mare out, which had promptly made a bee-line for home. 

This, of course, necessitated another tramp across to the neighbor's to bring the mare back once more. By this time half the day was gone, with the result that only two-thirds of the paddock had been harrowed when it was time to knock off and return the mare to her owner, who needed her the next day in his own team. 

'What are you going to do about the rest of the peas?' I enquired. 'Harrow them in by hand,' replied my host promptly. Thinking that if he could do it single-handed, it would be child's play for two, I promptly volunteered to help 

So next morning, undeterred by the jibes of the womenfolk, and armed with a long, strong rope, we repaired to the paddock, where we light-heartedly harnessed ourselves side by side to the harrows. 

In case any of my readers may think it easy to pull a set of heavy harrows across a newly-ploughed field, let me disillusionise [sic] them at once, it is one of the hardest jobs I know. 

Panting and straining, we staggered up and down the paddock. As my harness mate remarked between gasps, 'It's the bumps that hurt.' The smooth places in between were not so bad, but then they were so few and far be tween—it was all bumps! 

Staggering blindly along, bumping into each other, or lying side by side on the grass at the end of every second journey, with pounding hearts and bursting lungs, it did not help much when the wife's hack— the pet of the place— strolled over, and leaning over the fence, grinned at us. 

Personally, I felt it was rubbing it in a bit. A hack! A pet! Never been broken to harness! Had I been the settler, that brute would have had its first lesson in draught inside of five minutes; and the object it would have drawn would have been a set of rusty harrows over a newly-ploughed paddock in which some peas had been recently broadcast! The settler, however, had only recently been married, so much must be forgiven him. — 'Logopoios.' 

A Double Charge 

The recent discussion regarding dingoes and Alsatian dogs reminded me of an incident that happened when I was a boy. 

My mother was feeding the fowls one evening when a large dingo sneaked up and tried to grab one. 

Mother immediately rushed into the kitchen for the old muzzle loader that always stood handy in the corner. Ramming a charge of powder and shot into it and placing a cap on the nipple, she crept out and took a good aim at the dog. 

The gun went off like a cannon and mother shot backwards. We all stood convulsed with laughter while she picked herself up nursing a badly bruised shoulder. The boys had loaded the gun and left it without a cap for safety's sake. 

Mother did not know that and had loaded it a second time, with the result that the dingo got a double charge. 

He was found dead next morning in a gully a few hundred yards from the house. — J.

Picked The Wrong Man

A woman shopper, who had waited for what she considered a reasonable time in one of the large Rundle street stores without being attended to, decided to find a shop-walker and lay a complaint about the lack of service. 

To add to her annoyance she soon noticed one, who was standing with his back to one of the pillars, apparently indifferent to the attempts she had been making to have her wants attended to. 

To him she addressed herself with that not-to-be-imposed-upon-another minute air that usually stirs the average man to instant and energetic redress of feminine grievances. 

'Isn't it possible,' she asked; 'for you to get someone to show me some nightgowns?' 

'Madam,' he replied, as he bowed deferentially and, taking his hands from behind his back, revealed the hat and umbrella he held, 'I would gladly show you a selection myself if it were permitted. If I could do so, I would also serve my wife, and then, perhaps, we could go home.'

— A.D.