14 February 1935

WHERE IS THE ANNE MARIAS GOLD? 

An Unsolved Mystery Arising Out Of A Tragic Story Of The Past

Is there a cache of buried treasure hidden in the sandhills that separate the Coorong from the sea? Native tradition dating from the early days of the State says there is, but, although many attempts have been made to unearth it, the shifting sands have guarded their secret well. 

It is known that the brigantine Anne Maria [sic] [Maria] which went ashore in that locality 94 years ago, had on board a quantity of gold which has never been accounted for, and tradition says that it was buried in the sandhills by one of the natives responsible for the massacre of the passengers and crew. 

Close to the township of Kingston, which many persons look upon as the natural port of the upper South-East, is a small stream known as Maria Creek, which takes its name from the ill-fated vessel. 

In July, 1840, the Anne Maria struck on Bundin's reef [sic], on the south-eastern coast. After a while, it was swept off the rocks and drifted on to the mainland at a point a little to the north of Maria Creek. 

It was not until July 25 , however, that the first tidings of the disaster reached Adelaide. According to the report, which was carried to Encounter Bay by two Aborigines; the whole of the ship's company had been murdered by natives of the Milemnura, or as it was better known, the Big Murray tribe. Actually, the Big Murray tribe was made up of several allied tribes, some of which had previously proved themselves to be very ferocious and were greatly feared by the other natives. 

An investigation party set out under the leadership of Mr. Pullen (later Admiral Pullen), who at that time was stationed at Port Pullen (now Goolwa), where he was engaged in surveying the lower Murray. The information proved only too true. 

Accompanied by several friendly natives, the party proceeded down the Coorong. At a spot near where the brig Fanny had been wrecked about two years previously, they came across a ghastly scene. Dismembered and mangled bodies of men, women, and children were found. Arms, legs, and portions of bodies were scattered about. 

In the case of one woman, almost every vestige of flesh, with the exception of that of the feet and hands, had been cut from the bones. Eight bodies were found close together. All were completely naked, and on every face was an expression of stark terror. 

Having collected and buried the remains, the party returned to report what it had found. A wave of horror, mixed with a demand for an example to be made of those responsible for the outrage, which would act as a deterrent in future, swept through Adelaide when the news became known. 

A large and well-armed party was immediately organised by Governor Gawler. It was led by the Commissioner of Police (Major O'Halloran), to whom Governor Gawler gave full power to deal with the culprits as he thought fit. Under Major O'Halloran's command were Inspector Tolmer, Sergeant Major Alford, and a number of mounted police. Mr. Charles Bonney and Captain Nixon also accompanied the party. 

Mr. Pullen, with two of his boats' crews, guided them to where the bodies had been found. With the aid of Mr. Pullen's boats, the horses were swum across the Murray near its mouth. The boats were then taken up the Coorong, while the rest of the party proceeded along the narrow strip of land which separates the lakes from the sea. 

O'Halloran's party, which got ahead of those in the boats, soon fell in with natives, some of whom proved friendly and expressed horror at the terrible thing their people had done. These natives willingly consented to lead O'Halloran to where he would find the men who had committed the massacre. 

After proceeding a short distance past where the bodies had been found, the party encountered natives who were partially dressed in European clothing, some of which was stained with blood. The natives' wurlies were searched, and in many instances were found to contain articles which had obviously belonged to those who had escaped from the wreck. The natives were questioned and, as a result, several more bodies were found. They pointed out two of their men as having been directly connected with the murders. 

The two men immediately broke away and dashing into the Coorong, started to swim towards an island some distance from the shore. They were fired on, and both were wounded, but not seriously enough to stop them. Fearing that they would escape. Inspector Tolmer threw off most of his clothing and, tying a sword behind his back, started to swim after them. He succeeded in overtaking them on the island, but was too exhausted to capture them. They both managed to escape to the mainland, and were not seen again. It was found that most of the natives actually concerned in the killing had already fled. 

Of the natives captured, only two named Mongararawata and Pilgarie could definitely be proved guilty of murder. Pilgarie was also found to have been directly implicated in the killing of two sailors who had been waddied to death some months previously, when they had been on a visit to the wreck of the Fanny. Major O'Halloran, believing that if the culprits were taken back and tried under ordinary English law the effect would be almost entirely lost on the rest of the natives, decided to make full use of the authority given him by Governor Gawler. 

He therefore held a court-martial. Two Encounter Bay blacks named Bob and Peter acted as interpreters. The prisoners, Mongarawata and Pilgarie, refused to answer any questions, but admitted that there were no other blacks present whom they knew to have killed white men. 

After evidence had been taken from a number of the natives, the prisoners were found guilty and sentenced to be hung. They were taken to where the bodies had been found and there, on a cold, wet, winter's day, a gallows was erected midst the dreary Coorong sandhills. The other natives were assembled round the gallows, and in their presence the two prisoners were hung. They met their death with stoical fortitude, but some members of their tribe appeared to be completely unnerved and trembled violently. 

Unfortunately, the hastily constructed gallows did not provide a sufficient drop, and it was necessary to make several attempts before the execution was completed. Before the rest of the natives were liberated, it was impressed upon them that this was white man's justice from which there was no escape, and that they should carry news of what they had seen to the rest of their people. They were ordered to leave the bodies hanging till such time as they should fall from the gallows. 

O'Halloran's methods were successful, and for many years the scene of the execution was avoided by the natives. His action, however, did not meet with universal approval, even in Adelaide, and there were some persons who contended that the real responsibility for the massacre lay with several of the sailors who had interfered with some of the native women. Whether this was so or not could neither be proved nor disproved, as none of the 25 persons carried by the Anne Maria escaped to tell the true story. 

It is certain, however, that none of them were harmed in any way until they had covered a great deal of the distance towards the Encounter Bay whaling station, whither they were being guided by the blacks who eventually turned on them and slaughtered them so ruthlessly. 

Some time later it was rumored that a white woman had been seen with natives near the Murray mouth. It was believed possible that there might still be a survivor of the tragedy, but, although investigations were made, none was ever found. Governor Gawler's action in legalising such summary justice met with severe censure in England. Nevertheless, by those thoroughly conversant with the conditions of the times, it was generally maintained that only by such methods could the black man be taught that the white man's justice was sure to reach him. — A.H.B.

The other side of the story. Late Ngarrindjeri elder Tom Trevorrow spoke about the Maria tragedy in 2003, saying the story was well known among his elders, and that he was told the survivors had met up with their people, who offered them "fire, water and food". "It was the duty of male people to help these people. But every time they'd come to a boundary line, they had to hand them over to the next lakayinyeri (family group) — the Milmendura," he said. 

Mr Trevorrow recalled he was told sailors in the group "kept looking at the young girls, and kept trying to sexually interfere with them". It was not the way of the Ngarrindjeri people, and the sailors were sternly warned the offence was punishable by death under their law, Mr Trevorrow said. It is believed sometime after the incident, a violent fight erupted, and the survivors of the Maria were all killed. Mr Trevorrow said Ngarrindjeri people had carried out Ngarrindjeri law. "They would have had no idea of repercussions that were coming," he said. 

Early Days At Cleve

Christmas is a time that always brings back memories of by-gone days. In the early days of Cleve the residents used to hold sports on Cooniddnie flat, west of where the township now is. 

They were always held on Christmas Day, and people came from all over the Franklin Harbor district to attend them. The prizes were not very big, the Sheffield Handicap being worth about 30/ to the winner; but even those small prizes attracted large fields. The competitors entered more for the honor of winning the events than for the value of the stakes. 

There were often a number of Aborigines about at that time, and they would generally compete. They had an advantage over the white man, in that they were used to going without boots. Running shoes and togs were almost unknown in those days. Most of the competitors used to pull off their boots and socks, roll up the legs of their trousers, and run like that. 

There was one young man in the district at the time, who fancied that he could run. so he came out on one occasion wearing running shoes and tights. There was a dog race on the programme, as most of the settlers had a dog or two following the vehicle they arrived in. Each competitor had to run and lead a dog, and the dog that this young man was leading was in a playful mood. It made a grab for the seat of his trousers, but they were so tight that he took a piece of the man as well. The result was that the runner did not pass the judge's stand. He let the dog go and headed for the dressing tent to repair the damage that the dog had done. 

The programme generally finished with a mile race. This was four times round a 440 yard track, past a big stone near the creek, and a few other land marks, including a fallen dead tree near the run home. On one occasion it was almost dark when the mile race was being run. When the competitors were passing the dead tree on the third lap, one who had been running well, but was just about done, made up his mind to stop. He therefore dropped back last as he got to the tree, and sat down in the brush to rest, unnoticed by anyone. 

By the time the others got round again he was feeling fresh, while they were just about exhausted. He waited till they had passed him, and then jumped out. He finished very strongly and caught the leading man just on the post. He was congratulated by the judge on his brilliant finish. 

Those days, however, are gone. Conditions are totally different nowadays. Then we used to know everyone in the district. At the sports meeting a large tarpaulin would be spread out in the shade, and everybody present would contribute something to a meal which all would partake of together. That communal atmosphere no longer exists, and the district is the poorer for it. — 'Lonesome.'

Two Narrow Escapes

The recent floods in Victoria recall two narrow escapes I had in the big floods that swept through Spalding in November, 1914. They lasted for seven days, six of which saw the waters from bank to bank of Freshwater Creek. 

The first day of those seven I was working in the bed of the creek with another man almost in the township. As we were round a bend of the creek we did not see the flood coming, and but for a woman who knew our position and gave us the warning we would certainly have been drowned. 

As it was, we only just reached the top of the bank as the flood came down— a swirling, roaring mass of muddy water, rushing along from bank to bank and carrying with it great trunks of trees, sheets of iron, and other debris. It swept away several sheds that were built on the banks of the creek, and a bridge that spanned the creek about two and half miles north of Spalding was almost completely demolished. But no rain had fallen near Spalding; it all fell in the hills, miles to the north of the town. 

A couple of days later I went to help a neighbor to clean his wheat. When I crossed the creek on my way over there was just the usual stream in it, still muddy, of course, from the previous flood. Towards the end of the afternoon I started out for home, and soon I heard a faint humming noise like a distant aeroplane. As I rode on the noise increased to a dull roar. I thought that it could not be the creek, as there was no sign of any rain having fallen in the hills. 

I was still wondering what the noise could be when I reached the creek, as there was no sign of floodwaters there. I wheeled my bicycle down the bank; and was just about to push it up the opposite one, when I happened to glance upstream and saw a great mass of seething water rolling down towards me. I threw the machine on my back and hastily clambered up the bank— only just in time. Another four or five seconds and I would have been drowned. An adjoining flat was submerged several feet. 

Some time later I went down to the creek to see what damage had been done. Fences, trees, even rocks, had been washed away, and the flat was littered with logs of wood, and even whole trees. I estimated the amount of wood on it to be about six good trolly loads. 

In the branches of one big tree was a dead bullock. But whether he climbed the tree to escape the flood, or became entangled in it after it was uprooted, I cannot say. 

The storekeepers of Spalding suffered great loss through these floods. The bootmaker lost many pairs of boots, which were littered along the banks of the creek; but as they were good ones they were not given a chance to decay there.

— 'Curly,' Spalding