21 March 1935

NATIVE MURDERER WHO LED BANDITTI AT MOUNT BARKER 

Why He Gave Himself Up After Three Years' Freedom

Over-landing in the early days of South Australia was fraught with all kinds of difficulties and dangers, not the least of which came from treacherous blacks who had been engaged to help in the transport of a party's equipment. The murder of George McGrath in June, 1842, is a case in point. 

McGrath left Adelaide with two companions, Chase and Push, for Portland, and on entering the Coorong invited four natives who had come into contact with white men to join the party to carry the provisions. The white men trusted the natives implicitly, and did not trouble even to unpack their guns when they went to sleep at night. 

On the second night the natives attacked them with heavy sticks, killing McGrath outright. Chase and Push, almost naked, ran for their lives after having been hit on the head several times. They arrived eventually at a station, 50 miles away, in a sorry plight, and reported the incident. 

A detachment of police left Adelaide for the spot where the murder had taken place, but when they arrived, a week after the murder, the camp had been stripped of its guns, ammunition, and provisions. 

McGrath's body was found some distance, from the camp, almost unrecognisable. Wild dogs had carried away most of it. 

Although the police tried very hard to track the murderers, they had no success. Despite their own failures, they were confident that the killers would soon be captured by members of neighboring tribes, with whom they were friendly. As a further incentive to natives to capture the murderers, the supplying of blankets and provisions by the State was postponed at Wellington 'until the natives found the guilty parties.' 

Peter, the ringleader of the murderers, was a particularly intelligent native, and during his stay of 14 months in a survey camp, had become an adept in the use of firearms. After the murder of McGrath, he stayed on the banks of the Murray for some time, obtaining sufficient food by using the firearms he had stolen from McGrath's party. 

He was well known among both the natives and whites, but evaded capture for nearly three years, and during that time led to a local banditti which terrorised the settlers in the Mount Barker district. Police efforts to capture the gang in the thick scrub proved fruitless. 

After almost three years of freedom, he walked one day openly among a group of settlers on the Angas, and was at once arrested. His appearance puzzled many settlers who had known him as a desperado, but the protector of aborigines (Mr. M. Moorhouse) in his report puts forward another view. 'He thought that by keeping out of the reach of the police for a few years, the crime would be, by European custom, as by native usages, overlooked, and be consequently ventured to appear among the settlers, and was there captured,' he wrote.

 White man's law, however, has a long memory, and two months later Wira Maldira, alias Peter, stood his trial for murder at the March sittings of the Supreme Court. He was found guilty, and executed at the end of the month. 

First Colonial Chaplain 

South Australia's first Colonial Chaplain, the Rev. C. B. Howard, arrived with Governor Hindmarsh in the Buffalo. 

As soon as the Surveyor General had decided on the site for the city of Adelaide, Mr. Howard started preparations for holding services ashore. For this purpose he borrowed a large sail from a captain of one of the vessels then in port. From this he proposed to construct a tent. 

As there were no conveyances which he could borrow, the difficulty was to get the sail conveyed to the site of the new city.  At last he succeeded in getting the loan of a small truck from his friend, Mr. Osmond Gilles the Colonial Treasurer. 

A new difficulty now arose as to who was going to drag the heavy truck over seven miles of open country. It was found that all hands were fully occupied in landing cargo and similar work. 

As Mr. Howard had particularly wished to hold his first service ashore on the following day, which was Sunday, he was greatly disappointed. He confided his troubles to Mr. Gilles, and declared that if he could only get someone to lend a hand he would drag the truck himself. Mr. Gilles offered to help him, and without further ado the two friends hitched themselves to the truck and set out. 

No doubt, had there been any spectators, they would have been greatly amused at the spectacle presented by the Treasurer— who was a very stout man— and the chaplain, as they toiled along at their self-imposed task. 

While descending a small but steep hill, the truck started to gain speed. All efforts to check it proved of no avail. Faster and faster it went, till finally the Treasurer, unable to keep pace with it, and failing to free himself from the harness, fell over and went rolling down the hill behind the truck. 

After ascertaining that he was unhurt, the two friends sat down on the truck and had a hearty laugh before resuming the journey. 

Despite the unaccustomed warmth of the sun, they stuck valiantly to their task, and by nightfall the sail had been converted into South Australia's first church. It served this purpose till such time as it was found possible to put up a small, ready-to-erect, wooden building, which had been sent out from England. On week days this little structure, which was built in the Arcade in Currie street, served as a Court House. 

This building proved quite inadequate. It was so small that in many instances when services were being held it was necessary for a large portion of the congregation to remain outside. Finding such a building insufficient for the needs of the rapidly growing city, the chaplain and Mr. Gilles became jointly responsible for the sum of one thousand pounds for the building of a fine stone church. Unfortunately, this involved them in financial difficulties. 

At the time Mr. Howard was in very indifferent health, and he worried a great deal over the liability. He became seriously ill, and was forced to retire to his bed. Even while in this condition, a man called at the parsonage and requested to see him urgently. On being granted an interview, the man entered his room and without further ceremony presented a writ for the amount for which he had become responsible. 

A few days later the chaplain died. Much sorrow was felt at his passing; for he was loved and respected by all who knew him. Practically the whole population of Adelaide followed his remains to their last resting place. Almost the whole of the amount owing on the church was paid by Mr. Gilles, who, in order to do this, sacrificed some land which he held in the city.— A.B. 

Boy's Terrifying Experience

Some years ago, when I was about 15 years of age, I went to Adelaide from Broken Hill for a holiday. I was staying with an aunt at Glanville, and went to Cheltenham on Boxing Day to see the Port Adelaide Cup run. 

After the meeting I caught a train which I thought was going to Semaphore, but which ran into the Port Adelaide dock station. I was not acquainted with Port Adelaide, and, after having had a look at the ships in the river, asked a man in the street how I could get to Glanville. He directed me to the Commercial road station, but when I arrived there I discovered that there would not be a train to Semaphore for some time, as one had gone only five minutes before. Instead of waiting for the next train, I decided to walk along the railway line. 

It was dark by this time, but I got on all right until I came to the bridge over the Port River. To cross that I had to go on all fours, feeling with my hands for each sleeper ahead. I had crawled some distance in this way when something made me look behind. To my horror I saw the headlight of a train in the distance. I crawled on in fear, wondering whether I would be able to reach the other side before the train was upon me. 

I made up my mind that if the worst came to the worst I would jump into the river and swim ashore. I was a good swimmer and had no fears about doing that. Before coming to that decision I had considered crossing over the line to the up track, but dismissed that idea when I remembered that trains very often passed on the bridge. 

I continued to crawl on in fear and trembling, expecting every minute to hear the roar of the train behind me. I decided that I would try three or four more sleepers, and that if I did not then reach the embankment on the other side of the river, I would have to jump over the side. I had gone only two more sleepers when I felt the earth, between them. 

I took another quick step, and then lost my balance and rolled down the side of the embankment. As I did so I heard a roar, and the train whizzed past. 

As I lay there bathed in perspiration and trembling like a leaf, the up train also roared past. It was some time before I was able to move. I just lay there until I had recovered my nerve and was able to proceed on my way. Although that happened more than 20 years ago, the experience was so terrifying that even today it is as fresh in my mind as if it happened only yesterday.— 'Merbein W.' 

Does Swearing Help? 

A bullock driver was once driving a bullock dray heavily laden with provisions. The roads were rough and the dray had become stuck in a creek. In order to try to get the bullocks to pull, the man began to swear at them, using all the expressions he knew. 

While he was in the midst of this, a parson rode up and said to him, 'Now, my good man, you should not use such language; swearing won't make the bullocks pull any better.' 

The driver threw down his whip. 'You try and see if you can drive them, sir,' he said. So the parson dismounted and the bullock driver held his horse. 

Then began a series of pattings and coaxings, and the bullocks doubtless were flattered at the sweet names they were called. They, however, swerved to the side and to that, but would not pull. The parson kept his temper for a long time, but finally his patience gave out. 

'Damn the bullocks,' he shouted, and, flinging aside the whip, he mounted his horse and rode off. Always afterwards that particular bullock driver considered that he had absolute freedom to swear as he liked. 

— J. Riley.