18 July 1935

MYSTERY 'MASSACRE' OF ABORIGINES

Conflicting Versions Of What Happened At Waterloo Bay

No episode in connection with the Aborigines in South Australia has raised more controversy than the 'massacre' of Waterloo Bay, somewhere about 1848. There are several versions of the story, one alleging that 260 blacks were driven over the edge of a cliff into the sea; and another which denies that any met their death in that manner.

Waterloo Bay is near Lake Newland, a long, narrow lake running parallel to the coast not far from Elliston, on Eyre Peninsula. The natives in that part of the State were a source of trouble to the early settlers, frequently killing their sheep or driving them away. They were also responsible for several murders, and it was as a reprisal for one of these — that of a shepherd named Hamp [d. 23-Jun-1848]  — that the alleged massacre occurred. One version of the episode, as given by Mr. A. Beviss in a newspaper controversy some years ago, is that a 'drive' was organised by the incensed whites which resulted in 260 Aborigines jumping over a cliff to their death.

While Hamp's son was watching his father's sheep one afternoon, he was told by some natives to look in the camp oven for his dinner when he returned to the camp which he shared, with his father. On arrival at the camp that evening the youth looked in the oven and was horrified to find there the head of his father. The Hamps' camp was near Lake Newland, and their nearest neighbor was another shepherd about six miles away. To him the terrified lad hurried with the news of the tragedy.

Mr. Beviss's version states that investigations showed that Hamp had been killed near the sheepyard. His head had been cut off with a crosscut saw and his body hidden under a heap of bushes at the back of the sheep-yard. The matter was enquired into by Police Sergeant Geharty, who had not completed his investigations before another murder by blacks was reported from Mongulty. The victim this time was the wife of a shepherd, and is described as a fine woman who was beloved by all the district.

This second outrage stirred the settlers, who decided to punish the murderers. Sergeant Geharty, in reporting the matter to Adelaide, advised that a muster of the Aborigines be held and that drastic action be taken to impress on them that white men and women could not be killed with impunity. He also asked for extra police to be sent to help him round up the natives responsible for the murders. The Government granted his request, and he organised a force, 160 strong, to carry out the drive. Not all the men who assisted in the round-up were mounted, and those taking part were armed with anything they could lay their hands on — shot-guns, rifles, pistols, reaping hooks, whips, and waddies.

Eventually the drive started, and the white men gradually surrounded about 260 Aborigines, whom they drove towards the coast. Those natives who escaped between the horsemen were cut down by the men who were not mounted. The gins were the only ones spared of those who tried to break back through the lines. When the blacks found themselves cornered on the edge of a cliff, instead of surrendering as they were expected to do, all except two hurled themselves over the edge into the sea. It was said that for 30 years after the 'massacre,' skulls and bones were washed up on the beach at the foot of the cliffs.

Sergeant Geharty is stated to have received promotion for this 'massacre,' and 'the effect of the drive was tranquility among the blacks from Port Lincoln to Fowler's Bay.' 'Show them a gun or crack a whip, and it is quite sufficient,' he is reported to have said. Mr. Beviss's account of the episode, however, was strenuously opposed by Mr. A. T. Saunders, who gave an entirely different version of the affair — that two Aborigines were tried for the murder of Hamp, not that 260 were killed by jumping over a cliff.

Mr. Saunders quotes evidence given at the trial of two Aborigines for the murder of John Hamp about 1848. He states that neither a cross-cut saw nor a camp oven was mentioned, but that a saw was found near the body, and that the man was believed to have been killed with this. The two prisoners were not arrested until a year after the murder, and when tried were found guilty. Sergeant Geharty gave evidence against them. 

The two men who had been found guilty of the murder of Hamp were sent with two other murderers, with the sheriff and a hangman, by the Yatala to Port Lincoln. The two other natives, who had murdered Captain J. R. Beevor, were hanged at the scene of their crime. The two natives accused of the Hamp murder were brought back to Adelaide after they had witnessed the hanging of the other two murderers, but what happened to them the account does not relate.

Which account of the white man's reprisals is correct? No one seems to know. All that is definitely known is that John Hamp was murdered. The various accounts differ in almost every detail from then on. When the controversy was raging evidence was produced to support both versions which have been mentioned, but just how much credence can be placed on some of that evidence it is hard to say now. - H.

An Old Time Prize Fight 

Compared with modern boxing contests the fights of former days were often marked by their ferocity, their excessive length, and the small puree for which the contestants battered one another. Fights were continued until one of the boxers failed to 'come up to the scratch' — that is, to come to the centre of the ring at the beginning of a new round. 

A typical contest was that which took place near the Flagstaff Inn, on the South road, soon after dawn on a summer's morning nearly ninety years ago. The match was for £20 a side, and the contestants were a local boxer named White, and a strong young fellow of nineteen, named Bellamy, from Sydney. As the men were fairly well matched, and an even contest was expected, more than a hundred onlookers assembled, and bets were freely exchanged.

Although White showed signs of dissipation, the odds were at first a little in his favor, but, as the fight progressed, Bellamy's good showing restored the balance. Gloves were not used, and much that is now forbidden, such as butting with the head and throwing, was considered permissible. 

The rounds varied in length, ending whenever one or both men fell to the ground. The longest ran to two minutes, while the rest ranged from 45 seconds to a minute. In the first five rounds White's supporters were dismayed to see their champion, time after time, thrown heavily to the ground, sometimes falling on his head. But the half-minute interval between each round enabled him to recover and renew the contest with undiminished spirit. 

As the man from Sydney succeeded time after time in flooring the local champion, his backers grew more and more confident. White, however, in spite of the fact that he went down 53 times to Bellamy's seven, came up pluckily after each fall and endeavored repeatedly to score a knock-out by butting his opponent, a move which Bellamy countered by clever foot-work. The spectators were delighted by the dogged spirit of the Adelaide man and the clever, powerful boxing of the youth from Sydney, but after the vigorous contest bad been in progress for an hour and a half, and more than 60 rounds had been counted, with no more than a short 30 seconds' spell between each, both men showed signs of weariness. White was nearly exhausted, and it was clear that nothing but a lucky knock-out could save him from defeat. Bellamy, though weak, was in better condition, although he, too, had been severely punished, and could scarcely see out of his swollen eyes. 

When the 66th round had been in progress for about a minute the long fight was brought to a dramatic conclusion. Seeing an opening, White, who had been waiting this opportunity, butted the half-blind Bellamy, striking him so heavily on the forehead as to score a complete knock-out. 

The victory of the local man was, of course, a popular one, but Bellamy had fought so gamely and had come so near to winning the fight, that a consolation purse of £10 was readily subscribed by the onlookers and presented to him. — 'JEEPEE.' 

Who Were The Fools? 

A few years ago, just before midnight, on March 31, a man standing on the balcony of one of Port Lincoln's hotels thought he saw a column of smoke rising from the direction of the shops in the main street. After watching for some time, he rushed inside to where a party of fellow boarders were playing bridge, and said excitedly: — 'My shop s on fire. I can see the smoke. Come outside.' 

The players were immensely amused and burst into roars of laughter at his apparently genuine concern. 'You cant fool us,' someone said, looking at his watch. 'It's April Fools' Day, old son.' In vain the man argued and stormed. The more genuinely agitated he seemed the more completely amused were his friends. 

By the time he was finally able to persuade someone to come out and have a look, a red blaze was lighting up the sky, and the wind had licked the tiny flames into a huge conflagration. The alarm spread but, in spite of church bells ringing and the excited jangling of the school bell, it did so very slowly. Like the first people to doubt the authenticity of the tale, most of the residents were inclined to treat the alarm as an April Fools' joke, and it was some time before a really strong party of fire-fighters could be got together. 

Indeed, when our next door neighbor came and hammered on our door and cried excitedly, 'Come quickly, the whole town is on fire,' we simply smiled and prepared to go on with our disturbed slumber. Soon, however, the hurrying of motor cars, the shouts of people, and the pungent smell of burning— for we were living quite near to the shopping area — drew us out, and the lurid glow in the sky quickly assured us that this was no April hoax. 

There was no fire brigade and no water laid on in the town in those days, and the fire which had by now gained a firm hold threatened to destroy every shop on Tasman terrace. People in all degrees of dress and undress flocked to the scene. The homes and buildings in the vicinity were seriously threatened. Two shops were already completely gutted. 

There was only one way to fight the fire, and that was from the sea. A chain was formed across the road, down on to the beach, and along this chain passed an endless array of buckets filled with water. Another chain comprised of a number of women passed the empty buckets down to the sea again. Some of the more daring souls scaled the walls of the burning buildings and poured water on the flames. 

So the long fight went on, until the flames were finally subdued and the blackened ruins of the shops stood out grimly in the cold light of the dawn. Had the fire started on any other night, help would probably have been forthcoming immediately, and much valuable property would have been saved. Still it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good, for the old shops were rebuilt in modern style and were such a great improvement that the other shops in the street had to be remodelled on similar lines. — 'Tasman.'

Everybody Happy 

In the early days an elderly woman in Myponga went to the local blacksmith and said, 'I have broken the eye of my darning needle. I have had it for 15 years, and it has been such a good friend. I want you to mend it.' 

'Yes, madam,' replied the blacksmith. 'It as rather a delicate job, and will take time. Can you leave it here until tomorrow?' 

He then went to the local store and purchased a packet of darning needles for fourpence. He picked out one exactly like the broken needle, and handed it to the woman when she came next day. She looked at it and remarked, 'You have made a good needle of it. I cannot see the join. But how did you get it so bright? What is your charge?' 

'The friction of the machinery brightened it,' was the answer. 'The charge is ninepence.' 

'Thank you,' she said. 'I am so glad to get my old needle workable again.'— S.M.J.