17 October 1935

FOLLOWING THE FLOOD WATERS

An Old Bushman's Reason For Not Eating Rice

Although it is nearly 30 years since the events happened that I am about to relate, I still detest rice.

I had delivered a mob of fat bullocks from south-western Queensland at Hergott Springs, now known as Marree, on the Adelaide-Oodnadatta line. While there we heard from Birdsville that heavy rains further north were likely to keep the Georgina and Diamantina Rivers in heavy flood for weeks. The mailman, who arrived at Hergott the day we finished trucking the bullocks, did not anticipate being able to travel by the main Hergott Springs-Birdsville track for a month or two.

It was imperative that I should be at a station beyond Betoota, South-Western Queensland, as soon as possible. To take the train to Adelaide and thence to Brisbane, with a view to ultimately reaching my desired destination from the Queensland side, offered no alternative; the Cooper, near Windorah, Western Queensland, would assuredly be in heavy flood and thus impassable. Two of us decided to make an effort to get through by striking north along the Birdsville track until we encountered the floodwaters, and then to go 'bush' and follow the Diamantina and Georgina waters around through the sandhill country.

My companion, who said he knew the country well, considered that we would hit the netting fence between South Australia and Queensland in less than three weeks. So confident was he, that he named the boundary rider at the hut on the border fence, where we would eventually see Queensland.

Although I felt a little dubious, I fell in with his plans, and we set off, taking two pack horses and sufficient rations, according to him, to see us through. All went well until we arrived at a station, not far from where we expected to encounter the flood waters. Unfortunately for us, only the cook was at home. For some reason or other he would neither give nor sell us any beef or other rations, and as we did not desire to have the law on our tracks, we did not take what we wanted, although we felt very tempted to do so. As we could not persuade the cook to sell us what we needed for our journey, we were forced to leave on our trip into the unknown with our ration bags weighing light.

As we carried a rifle, we were not greatly worried, thinking that if a "killer" did not come our way, we would be at least assured of shooting ducks, turkeys, or marsupials. Time drags when one's stomach craves for meat. I visioned lots of unpleasant endings when, after two weeks journeying from the station referred to, the sum total of our provisions consisted of a little tea, about two pounds of flour, and a bag of rice, weighing probably ten or a dozen pounds. We had not seen even a dingo to shoot, and we were both suffering from that disagreeable bushman's sick ness, 'meat hunger.'

We travelled on in the direction the floodwaters allowed us, but wide as were our compulsory detours, we knew that our main direction was the correct one. Sooner or later, if we could stay the distance, we would reach that netting fence. Our tea ran out, so did the flour. We had no tobacco and few matches, but we did have that confounded rice. We had boiled rice, we mashed it up and fried it in the camp oven devoid of dripping, and we tried the powdered cooked rice as flour, mixing it with water and cooking it in the same way as 'johnny cake.' The last mentioned attempt, however, proved a complete failure, as, indeed, did any other method, as far as enjoying our sole means of sustenance was concerned.

Things soon became serious. Both of us contracted Barcoo rot, for which we blamed the rice. Weakened as we were by lack of nutritious food, we became almost too helpless to saddle up and pack our hopes. All that the country offered in the way of something to chew were lignum bushes and grains of sand. We rode on praying for sight of some habitation, knowing full well that none could possibly be encountered until the border fence came in sight. Time and again, during the last three days before we reached the border fence, and during which we were without food, I felt as if I just wanted to fall from the saddle and die.

I think that we were too stupid to realise that relief had arrived, for, strange to say, both of us seemed to take it just as a matter of course when, about noon on the third day of fasting, we saw from out of the mirage the galvanized iron hut of a netting boundary rider. Both of us were almost too weak to speak. We merely nodded our heads and pointed. I must admit that I have only hazy recollections of my first meal at the hut. But for the next couple of days it seemed as though we were the old boundary rider's fighting cocks. He fed us as though our holding capacity was limitless. Nothing was too much trouble for him, and after we had regained our strength and started off for Birdsville, nearly 80 miles away, we both felt that it would have been an insult to offer our host any money for his kindness. The old boundary rider insisted on us taking full and plenty from his stocks of rations. We drew the line at rice, however. I have ever since.— 'Old Timer.'

Wreck Of The Fanny

On June 9, 1838, the brig [schooner?] Fanny left Hobart, bound for Western Australia, Besides her crew, the vessel carried a Methodist minister (the Rev. Mr. Longbottom) and his wife and child. For a week all continued well, but when off Kangaroo Island the vessel encountered heavy seas and squally weather, which drove her some distance from her course. After five days of battling against raging seas the vessel met with still heavier winds. which quickly developed into a screaming sou'-westerly gale that drove her to the leeward.

During the night of June 21, heavy seas broke over the vessel and, on soundings being taken, it was found that she was being rapidly driven ashore. The passengers and crew gathered on deck and peered into the impenetrable darkness, while the helpless vessel drove through the night at, mercy of wind and sea. A few hours before dawn the vessel ran among breakers, and shortly later a series of heavy bumps told that she had run aground. Almost immediately she swung side on and canted over, so that the decks sloped at an alarming angle.

Expecting every moment to bring the end, the wretched crew and passengers clung to the deck fittings, white huge breakers hurled themselves upon the wreck, as though eager to tear its planks asunder.

Next morning showed a low stretch of coastline within little more than 100 yards of the wreck. Faint hope returned to the unfortunate people on board the vessel. With break of day, the wind and sea abated slightly. The master of the vessel (Captain Gill) decided to make an effort to get a line ashore, so that the others might be conveyed through the churning surf to safety. Tying the end of the lead-line around himself, he plunged overboard and started to swim ashore. The line, however, proved too short, and after being dragged under several times, he was forced to release himself and swim ashore.

Shortly afterwards two members of the crew succeeded in getting a line to the shore and with the aid of this the captain returned to the wreck in order to assist in getting the passengers to safety. As his first task, he again journeyed through the surf with the minister's small son. After this an attempt was made to land the minister's wife, but on being placed over the side she was immediately dragged beneath the surface. Fortunately, the men managed to haul her back to the wreck, but she was in an extremely exhausted state, and in this condition had to be conveyed through the surf.

One by one the crew made their way through the seething breakers, until, by nightfall, all hands were safely ashore. Cold hungry, and exhausted, they made their way from the beach and sought refuge in the bleak sandhills which were the only protection to be found from the piercing winter wind. Huddled together for warmth, they spent the first cheerless night ashore without fire or food.

The following morning the captain and several members of the crew again made their way to the wreck, and succeeded in landing a quantity of provisions and clothing. Shortly afterwards the wind increased and they were forced to abandon the work. During the morning a party of natives put in appearance. Though, at first it was feared that they might prove hostile, and that greed to possess the belongings of the whites might tend to influence them toward crime, they appeared to be friendly and in every way well-disposed. They supplied the shipwrecked party with a firestick; and later guided them to one of their fresh waterholes. To the surprise of the party, on crossing the sandhills, it was found that a long chain of lagoons stretched away on either side for as far as the eye could see. This chain of lakes formed what is now known as the Coorong.

After selecting a well-sheltered spot the party proceeded to build several rough bough huts. In this work they were assisted by the blacks, who, dur ng the whole of their stay, displayed great kindness.

After making several unsuccessful attempts to reach the whaling station at Encounter Bay, Captain Gill returned to camp, A few days later he was joined by Captain Tyndal, of the brig Elizabeth, which had also been wrecked during the storm at Rivoli Bay. On learning of the difficulties to be overcome before the whaling station could be reached, Captain Tyndal came to the conclusion that it would be easier to cross the Murray further inland. He therefore, decided to walk overland to Adelaide. In company with several of his crew, he set out on the long journey. After making a lengthy detour, he succeeded in finding his way out of the Coorong and in crossing the Murray. In due course he arrived at Adelaide, where he re ported the two wrecks.

Meanwhile, Captain Gill had managed to recover a small dinghy from the Fanny. Though the dinghy had been badly damaged, he succeeded in repairing it sufficiently for it to be used in calm water. The boat was carried across the sandhills and launched in the Coorong. In company with two of his men, Captain Gill rowed down the Coorong to the Murray Mouth. Here they were joined by four more of the crew who had walked along the sandhills. They crossed the Murray and proceeded along the western channel to a spot near where Goolwa now stands. They then continued on foot to the whaling station at the Bluff.

Captain Gill immediately set about making preparations for bringing up the rest of the party from the Coorong. For this purpose, he borrowed a whaleboat. The men at the station informed him that it was impossible for a boat to pass through the Murray Mouth. Acting on this advice, Captain Gill secured the loan of two bullocks, and after sailing to the closest possible point, dragged the boat across the sandhills and launched it in the river. In the meantime he had dispatched two of his men in the small dinghy to inform the party in the Coorong as to the success of his plans and to ad vise them to be in readiness for their departure. To save delay, the Coorong party set out to meet him and had almost reached the Murray Mouth be fore they saw the whaleboat approaching. A camp was made while Captain Gill took careful observations of the estuary. He decided that despite the whalers' advice, under existing weather conditions it would be quite safe to attempt to sail through to the sea. Although the boat was heavily laden, the passage out was accomplished without mishap. In fact, so favorable were the conditions that not a single breaker was met with in the channel; and under such fortuitous circumstances, Captain Gill became the first man to sail out of the Murray Mouth.

After a few hours' sailing, the party arrived at the Bluff, where they were hospitably received by the whalers and their families. At the time of their arrival, a vessel named the Lady Wellington was anchored in Encounter Bay. She had left Sydney eight weeks previously, and had encountered the same gales that had driven the Fanny ashore. Fortunately, she had succeeded in reaching a port of refuge, and had thereby escaped destruction. On board the Lady Wellington, the Rev. Mr. Longbottom and his family managed to obtain a passage to Adelaide; but even on this short voyage they again suffered inconvenience and delay. When entering Port Adelaide the Lady Wellington ran on to a sand bar and broke her back.

The wreck of the Fanny proved a blessing in disguise to at least one section of the community; for, prior to that time, the Methodists in Adelaide had built a small chapel in Hindley street, but they had been unsuccessful in securing the services of a minister. They managed to induce Mr. Longbottom to accept the position, and thereby he became South Australia's first Methodist minister.— A.H B.

[Two men who journeyed overland to the Fanny to recover valuables were not seen again and were presumed to have been killed by aborigines. - http://oceans1.customer.netspace.net.au/sa-wrecks.html ]

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1935, October 17). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 16. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92326759