24 January 1935

SURVEYOR'S NARROW ESCAPE FROM DEATH IN THE MALLEE

Hid In Dry Native Well While Bushfire Raged Above Him

William Dorricot, also known as 'Bill Day,' came to Australia from England while still a lad. After some years in Tasmania he went to Victoria at the time of the gold rush, and when the alluvial fields were worked out he came to this State, where he drove the mail coach between Wellington and Kingston. Later he worked with a survey party in the mallee country of the upper South-East, and while so employed had a very narrow escape from death. 

The survey party reached a native well, only to find that it was almost dry, and that what water remained in it was so brackish as to be almost un drinkable. Dorricot volunteered to find out if there was any water in another native well some miles away, and rode off late in the afternoon. 

By the time he reached the well both he and his horse were knocked up. When he found that the well was dry he decided to rest for a time, and go back in the early hours of the morning. He lay down on the sand with his rolled coat for a pillow, fell asleep, and towards morning was awakened by the whinnying of his horse. 

He sat up, to find the sky shrouded by a dense pall of smoke, while all along the northern horizon were leaping tongues of flame. The scrub was on fire, and the blaze, driven by a northerly gale, was racing towards him. It needed only one glance at his jaded horse to convince him that it would be hopeless to try to ride out of danger. 

He thought hard for a few seconds, decided that there was only one thing to do, and killed his horse by cutting its throat. Then he skinned it with feverish haste, knocked off one of its shoes with a stone, and with the horseshoe he tunnelled a little cave in the side of the well. Just as the wall of fire raced down on him he pulled the horsehide over the top of the well, and huddled into the little hole in the side of the well. During the next half hour he was nearly roasted alive. 

Finally a flaming branch fell from a dead tree, knocked the hide cover off the top of the well, and let a shower of hot coals and ashes fell into it. A lot of fat had run down from the burning carcase of the horse, and when the coals fell into this fat the choking smoke drove Dorricot out of his shelter. 

The worst of the fire was over, however, and he reached a patch of bare ground, where he sat down to consider his position. 

In the first place, he had no boots. He had taken them off when he lay down to rest, and had forgotten to put them on again in his haste when he saw the fire coming. They were now burnt to cinders. The fire had destroyed all landmarks, the country all about was a maze of charred sticks and trunks, shrouded in a veil of smoke. He was parched with thirst and had no idea where he could get water. 

To protect his feet and legs from the hot ground he made sandals and leggings from part of the horsehide which had saved his life, and then started to walk through the wilderness of charred and smoking trees. 

Like all those who are in a bad way from thirst, his body could no longer produce perspiration to cool his skin, giving rise to a sensation similar to a burning fever. He threw off all his clothes in an attempt to get relief, keeping only one of his shirt sleeves to protect his head from the sun. 

Late that afternoon the blacks at a camp near the Coorong saw the soot smudged figure of a naked white man come tottering out of the scrub, fall prone, and point to his mouth. The blacks rushed to get water for him. They gave him a little every few minutes, and then rolled him up in an opossum skin rug. It was a long time before he recovered from his ordeal, although he had a wonderful constitution.— H.A.L.

A Travail Of The Sea

On the night of January 1, 1856, Mr. A. [Arthur] Banks, sen., with his daughter Mary, stood outside their hut on Davenport's Mayurra Station, and heard the distant booming of minute guns at sea. It was a wild and stormy night, with a gale blowing from the west. 

Being new arrivals in the colony, they did not realise what these ominous sounds portended, or what they would have conveyed to more experienced ears. They therefore took no action, and went about their daily duties as usual. 

One evening, about three weeks later, however, Mr. Peter Begg, of Canunda station, which adjoined Mayurra and extended to the sea coast, passed on his way to Mount Gambier to report, as he told them, a fearful wreck on the coast near Lake Bonney. A number of bodies had been lying on the shingle for about three weeks, and there were no signs of anyone having reached the shore alive. The beach was strewn with wreckage for miles, and there was a large number of tins of oil among the debris. Some empty bags also pointed to the fact that part of the ship's cargo had been sugar, and later it was discovered that the ship was the Varoon from Manilla. Later information indicated that the ship was of about 800 tons burthen. 

On Mr. Begg's report being made to the police at Mount Gambier, a mounted constable was sent to investigate and to patrol the beach. He discovered the ship's mail bag, which revealed her identity, port of despatch, and destination Sydney. Part of the cargo washed ashore consisted of 70 cases of cigars, which were damaged beyond use, but several coils of Manilla rope were little the worse for their immersion in salt water. No sugar how ever, came ashore.

The master was B. Robertson, but the crew were mainly lascars. The magistrate from Mount Gambier eventually held an inquest on the spot, and ordered the bodies to be buried. 

The whole of the cargo except the rope and oil previously mentioned, was a total loss. The wreck occurred about 20 miles from Cape Northumberland, a mile or two from where the Admella came to grief about three years later. 

Hodder, in his 'History of South Australia,' gives the name of the ship as Naroon, but Mr. Robert Grist, who was, about the time of the wreck, licensee of the Mount Burr Hotel, spelled it 'Vroon.' The ship was a total wreck, and when discovered little of her was to be seen except the wreckage on the shore. 

Mr. James Banks, who is about 82 years of age, and is at present living in Adelaide, was probably present on Davenport's station at the time of the wreck, and Mrs. E. [Henry Edwin] Angell, nee Banks, of Perth, Western Australia, was the young girl who, with her father heard the minute guns at Mayurra station on the night of the wreck. She is probably the oldest living representative of Robe in its younger days, although Miss Dening, of Naracoorte, who is a few years younger, was there with her parents a year or so before the Banks family.— Tanta-Tyga.

Mystery Of The Haunted Shed

The residents of a small town on the Murray often speak and smile about what turned out to be an amusing ghost story, but which caused much alarm at the time. 

An old chap once built a galvanised iron shed on the banks of a billabong not far from the township. He had an idea that with a cow or two, some poultry, and a few pigs, he would be able to make a decent and reliable living. Events proved otherwise, however, and when one day he went off as a handyman on a barge, nobody seemed to know, and fewer cared. 

One evening two men from the township got caught in a storm and took refuge from the rain in the shed built by the old man. They were sitting on a log waiting for the rain to cease, when they heard two distinct taps. 

"They came from that south end," said the elder man. Shortly afterwards the tapping was heard again, only much quicker this time. One! Two! Three! Four! The men looked at each other in alarm, and while they did so two more ghostly taps were beard, only much slower. At that moment the rain stopped, and they hurried off home with the news of the haunted shed. 

Their report was eagerly discussed by the residents, some of whom suggested that the tapping was probably the work of the spirit of the old man, who had probably died there in the shed he had built. Some of them, however, laughed at the yarn, especially when, after they had waited that same night in the building for the tapping for nearly two hours, nothing had happened. But that was because the wind had gone with the rain, although they did not know that then. 

Next night they again assembled in the shed to test the men's veracity, and had not been there more than a few moments when the tapping sounded again. One! Two! Three! Four! Five! The taps came in quick succession for there was a fair wind blowing. 

The women screamed and the youngsters set off for home as fast as they could run. Even the bravest of the men seemed affected, and when the tapping was heard again they reckoned that it was time they got the women away home. Unfortunately one of the women was so scared that she had to stay in bed for a while, but she soon recovered and had a good laugh when apprised of the truth later.

The end of it all was that the two men who had made the discovery decided to investigate it in the daylight. When they arrived at the shed the 'ghost' was working with clock-like precision, for the day was squally. The men went to the south end of the building, where the tapping could be plainly heard, and watched. A piece of fencing wire about 6 ft. long was hanging down from an old post, which had been thrown on the roof, and when the wind blew it knocked the wire on to the galvanised iron— hence the tapping.— M.M.

Cupid Finds A Way

In the late sixties and early seventies of last century, when Sevenhills College, situated about four miles from Clare, was still in its infancy, there were few ministers of religion, other than the Jesuit fathers of that institution, available to conduct weddings in the locality. 

The result was that many couples went to the college to be married. Most of the applications were easily disposed of, for there was no doubt of them being genuine cases. Others, however, were more complicated, and had to be thoroughly investigated before the 'fathers' would perform the ceremony. Often, also, they had some very amusing experiences. 

On one occasion a young woman came to the college alone, and asked if she could see 'the boss,' meaning the Father Superior, to whom she handed a letter, which had been written and signed by a young man who was shepherding on Bungaree station, several miles north of Clare. 

It contained a request that the priest should marry him (the shepherd) to the young woman who carried the note, without him being present, as he was unable to leave his flock of sheep in order to attend the ceremony. 

The Father Superior said that he could not do that, but, in order to help them out of their difficulty, he would send a man out to Bungaree to take charge of the sheep whilst the ceremony was performed. This was agreed to, and as soon as the shepherd's locum tenens arrived at Bungaree, the happy couple set off for the College Church. 

But, before the ceremony had proceeded very far, it was found that neither had come provided with a ring, which the priest said was necessary. However, he would again try to help them by sending one of the brothers to a married woman, who lived not far away, to ask her for the loan of her wedding ring. 

As the lay brother, to whom the priest entrusted the message, was a German, who could speak but very little English, although he understood it fairly well. The priest spoke to him in his own language, and asked the brother if he were sure he could translate the request into English. The brother said that he could, and set off; but when he began in his broken English to make the request, he found that he did not know the English name of the article required, never having heard the word 'ring.' 

But, being resourceful and having worked in the college wine cellar, he remembered that the metal bands which bound the staves of a cask together were called hoops. He therefore astonished the lady by asking for her hoop. 

As crinolines were in fashion at that time, she thought that the brother must want to borrow her Sunday dress, but wondered what a Jesuit brother in a college, where all were celibates, should want with a woman's dress. 

But the brother, having another brain wave, said — 'No, not dress hoop, but vine cask hoop; me vant love hoop for marry.' Then the atmosphere was cleared, as the woman remembered having lent her wedding ring on another occasion to an absent-minded couple, who had come unprovided. 

She hastily took off the ring and handed it to the embarrassed brother, who returned with it, and the interrupted ceremony was resumed, for Cupid will find a way.— 'Sandy,' Spalding.