24 October 1935

POLICE RAID ON 'BUSHRANGERS' LAIR'

Fiasco Which Might Have Been A Tragedy

Although South Australia cannot claim to have produced any very notorious bushrangers, there were, nevertheless, a number of instances where escaped convicts staged armed 'hold-ups,' and succeeded in terrorising the settlers in districts near Adelaide. It was while searching for three such desperadoes that Police Superintendent Inman met with an experience that had an amusing sequel, but which might easily have ended in a much more tragic manner.

During December, 1839, one of South Australia's pioneers, Mr. John Carruthers, arrived in Adelaide. His first impressions of the city were not favorable. A fierce midsummer sun beat down upon the scattered wooden houses, while the fiery blast of a strong northerly wind stirred up clouds of dust. At the time, South Australia was encountering its first financial crisis, and consequently, business was in a very depressed state. Mr. Carruthers had intended entering into business in Adelaide, but he found so little confidence expressed in the future of the place that he decided that it would be unwise to risk losing the capital he had at his disposal. He next contemplated securing land in the district, but again was disappointed, for he found that all land near the city had already been taken up. Discouraged, but not beaten, he decided to go further afield.

Greatly attracted by the beauty of the hills beyond the town, he finally succeeded in inducing two shipmates, with whom he had formed a friendship, to enter into a search for suitable land in that direction. In carrying out their plan, the three men decided to follow up the course of the River Torrens. They entered the Gorge, and after proceeding a few miles discovered, within a short distance of the river, a shelf of rock which overhung in such a manner as to form a large open cave. They agreed that it would be a cool and well-sheltered place to camp. With an abundance of wood and water to hand, they found the camp so much to their liking that they decided to make a lengthy stay. They set to work and walled in the front of the cave with boughs. Rough bunks and stools were constructed, and soon the cave had been converted into a cosy home, where they could live rent free and husband their resources until such time as something turned up.

In those days, few people passed through the Gorge; nevertheless, word soon reached Adelaide that three men were living in a cave in the hills. It happened that, at the time, three bushrangers who had been committing depredations on the settlers near Adelaide were being searched for by the police. Several attempts to capture them had been without result, while all efforts to trail them to their hiding-place, known to be somewhere in the hills, had proved futile. The police informant's description of the cave dwellers exactly fitted that of the wanted men.

Without delay, Superintendent Inman, in company with three troopers and a native, set out to investigate. It was night time when the police party arrived at the cave. The three occupants had just retired to rest when they became aware of a continuous rustling sound in some undergrowth near the entrance to their dwelling. At first they thought it possible that stray cattle had caused the noise; but presently one man declared that he could hear human foot steps.

'Listen!' he said. The others listened, but beyond a faint scuffling noise and the snapping of a twig, heard nothing. It was then suggested that if the sounds had been caused by cattle, the firing of a gun would have the effect of stampeding the animals, and they would be heard crashing through the undergrowth. The plan was adopted. First, a challenge of 'Who's there?' was called, but, on there being no reply, a gun was discharged through the cave entrance. The shot was followed by dead silence; therefore, it was evident that the sounds could not have been caused by animals, and the only conclusion left was that bushrangers were considering an attack on the cave. Determined to defend their lives and property, the three men loaded their guns and settled down to keep watch. Several times during the night, they heard sounds that indicated that the marauders were still in the neighbor hood, but the long hours of darkness dragged by without an attack being made.

Meanwhile, the police had concealed themselves in scrub on the opposite side of the stream. They intended taking the cave dwellers by surprise and, with that end in view, had been creeping up when the gun had been fired. Finding their quarry on the alert had thoroughly convinced Superintendent Inman that he had desperate criminals at bay, and he had little doubt that he had at last found the retreat of the three bush rangers for whom he had been searching. Deeming it advisable to wait till daylight before making at attack he had withdrawn his men to cover. His decision was extremely fortunate, for the men in the cave were prepared for trouble, and in the event of an at tack, would not have hesitated to shoot to kill.

At break of day the party in the cave peered forth to find four armed men advancing towards their place of concealment. They called out, desiring to know what the intruders wanted. In reply, the superintendent called out: — 'If you are honest men, turn out and show yourselves.' Greatly astonished by this unexpected greeting, the three men held counsel, and on realising that the invaders were police officers, laid down their guns and stepped into the open. They were next called upon to supply their names and particulars as to the ship by which they had arrived. Their answers produced a most disappointed and ludicrous effect upon the countenances of the police. However, on mutual explanations being made, both parties saw the humorous side of the situation, and the police officers were invited into the cave to partake of rum and coffee.

How narrowly tragedy was avoided may be gathered from the fact that the police had arranged to attack at break of day, and when observed had been creeping up preparatory to making a rush, on the cave. The cave owners pointed to the loaded guns and declared that the invading party would have met with stern resistance. Despite the barren result of their night-long vigil, the police had found little hardship in spending a mid summer night in the Australian bush, and after experiencing the stimulating effects of rum and coffee, they returned to barracks in a fairly contented frame of mind.— 'Memo.'

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1935, October 24). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 15. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92332001

The Fox Whistle

When I was told that foxes could be whistled from their lairs to within a few yards of their decoy, I must confess that I felt a little sceptical; but learning that the whistle-call was an imitation of a rabbit in distress, I realised that the method was feasible, and waited for an opportunity to test it.

In parts of western Victoria foxes are numerous, and one afternoon recently I had the company of one who is an expert in the art of whistling them to their doom. He showed me the home made whistle, merely a piece of tin folded in the shape of a V, with a hole punched through it. The squeal of a rabbit, as my companion produced it upon this primitive instrument, was remarkably realistic right down the scale to the last few quavering notes.

It looked so simple that I tried to copy his production; but, try as I could, twisting my tongue this way and that. I couldn't produce a resemblance to a squeak. It sounded more like an old gentleman with a bad at tack of asthma. Evidently there is a knack in using the whistle.

Leaving the station homestead in the late afternoon, we drove along an old bush track bordered with grass-trees and stringybark gums, until some likely fox country was reached. Here the car was parked. It was a glorious evening, perfect for the purpose, for not a leaf stirred, and in the quietness the distress call of a rabbit would travel far. Taking up our position behind a log, my companion blew his whistle, but after several attempts had failed to draw Reynard, we moved on.

As we walked, our talk was about foxes, and my companion had numerous tales to tell, as this spot and that brought to memoir some, reminiscence of the chase. Here was the place where he had whistled up and shot the first fox; there a fox had come so close he had to point the gun downward; and fire without taking aim. Every small belt of timber had a story to recall, for my friend and his brother had shot some hundreds of foxes in the neighborhood. For that afternoon, however, it seemed unlikely that he would hang more scalps upon his belt, and that I was to be disappointed. We tried five places and disturbed only rabbits. Curiously enough, the rabbits did not seem alarmed, and the fearsome squeal of a comrade in distress only caused one rabbit to sit up on its haunches for a while; then it hopped a few yards and resumed feeding.

Presently we entered a dense thicket of stringybark saplings. The light was duller there, and the last rays of the sun filled the bush with a wonderful pink glow that was in keeping with the quiet hush of evening. Somehow, I felt a sense of relief that we had failed to call up a fox. In that lovely wood, made more beautiful by the sunset color and the perfect stillness, the crash of a gun would seem out of place. But my companion was was out to show the novice that he was not 'pulling his leg.' "This is a likely spot," he said, and again the squeal of a rabbit penetrated the silence. Suddenly I heard a low, quick whisper. "Here comes one," and before I could turn the shot rang out. I caught a glimpse of red disappearing through the trees, with my companion on pursuit. Twenty yards and the fox dropped dead in its tracks. My friend said it was coming through the bush at full speed, and turned off at an angle just as he fired. "They are tough brutes," he explained. "I have seen one run a quarter of a mile after it had been mortally wounded."

In the dusk of evening we sat down behind a grass tree for a last try with the whistle. Below us a little stream wandered away through red and white gum trees on its course to the river. Big fissures led into it here and there, where floodwaters had washed away the soil. On the opposite bank the ground sloped upward to a wood of stringy bark gums several hundred yards away. Somewhere in one of those fissures the fox must have been resting, for the whistle, blown for the second time, had scarcely quavered to silence when we saw a fine dog fox standing in the open, about thirty yards away. He appeared so quickly and silently that in the dusk he seemed to rise out of the ground. Standing there with nostrils suspiciously sniffing the air, he looked a perfect picture, and I regretted that the light was useless for my camera. For half a minute we watched him, and then he saw the sudden movement of the rifle and ran.

Twice the rifle flashed and twice he fell, but was up and off again. Reloading rapidly, my companion fired two more shots, and each shot momentarily stopped the fox; but, gathering speed, he staggered up the hillside and reached the wood. We searched for a time, but the light was fading, and it was useless to stay longer. "I'll find him in the morning," said my companion.

In the dusk, as the kookaburras laughed goodbye to the day, we wandered back to our car and home. It was an interesting experience, but my conscience troubled me. It didn't seem clean sport. The fact that foxes are such a pest is, in my opinion, the only justification for employing the method.—L.G.C.

The Fox Whistle (1935, October 24). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 15. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92332003

The 'Ragged Thirteen'

If one were to listen to some of the old timers talking of the doings of that reckless band of bushmen who became known as the 'Ragged Thirteen,' he might well be forgiven for thinking of them as little short of murderers.

It is true they were wild, and many of them were wanted by the police, but they drew the line at taking life or inflicting injury. One is apt to hear the names of hundreds of men mentioned in connection with the 'Ragged Thirteen,' but most of them had nothing whatever to do with it. As a matter of fact, all or nearly all the members of the 'Ragged Thirteen' used assumed names. They had to; they were 'wanted' for horse stealing or similar offences.

The band owes its genesis to the discovery of the Kimberley goldfield in the north-west of Western Australia in the early eighties. Reports of the discovery of 'gold by the ton' filtered through to parts far remote; so much so that parties were formed in north-western Queensland— then very sparsely settled— with the object of overlanding to the Kimberleys.

In 1882-3 the Durack brothers had started off from the Barcoo country in south-western Queensland with 2,000 cattle bound for Western Australia. To the Durack brothers, and not to the 'Ragged Thirteen' belongs the honor of pioneering the overland track. The Duracks had reached their destination, after a torrid trip lasting two years, before the 'Thirteen' came Into being.

Consisting of young men, all good horsemen and fearless, except perhaps of the law, the band known as the 'Ragged Thirteen' came together in the vicinity of Burketown, north-west Queensland. The combined financial resources of the 'Thirteen' were nil; each of the band had a few horses, the majority of them probably having been stolen, in addition to an inborn incentive to take everything they came across, regardless of ownership. Things were getting too hot for them in Queensland, and the lure of gold in the Kimberleys called to them loudly.

Setting off, after having taken charge of a small shanty then existent at the Punjaub, out from Burketown, the 'Thirteen' followed in the tracks of those who had preceded them on the overland trip to the new Eldorado. If those in occupation of the few stations encountered on the way did not willingly provide the rations demanded, the 'Thirteen' took advantage of their superiority in numbers and commandeered what they wanted.

Eventually, after a series of ration pillagings, the band arrived at its destination, but word of their activities had preceded them. The police on the goldfields anticipated their arrival, but evidently the 'Thirteen' guessed what might happen and separated. Split up into twos and threes, what had been a lawless band by weight of numbers became quite tame once the 'Thirteen' were divided. Some of the band engaged in mining, but the majority took on stock work, and eventually became decent members of the community.

Although one may be licensed to romance, one must refute the tall tales still told of the terrible 'Ragged Thirteen.' The band certainly existed, and caused a great deal of bother to many station managers and proprietors of wayside shanties; but apart from hard drinking, 'lifting' horses, and taking food by force, the 'Ragged Thirteen' did little else to merit the reputation they have gained. They did little or nothing (as is believed by many) to-wards pioneering the overland track from Queensland to Western Australia. Claims may still be made by romancing old bushmen of membership in the 'Ragged Thirteen' but fact is always stranger than fiction: the last of the one and only 'Ragged Thirteen" went the way of all flesh nearly 10 years ago.— A.N.M.

The "Ragged Thirteen" (1935, October 24). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 15. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92331997

Met His Match

A well-known station owner in the South-East used to employ a colt breaker, who was renowned for his skill with light horses, and also for his boasting. Having heard of some of the exploits of this horseman, a passing traveller decided to have a joke at his expense. —

'I heard you saying yesterday that you could put a crupper under any horse's tail,' said the traveller. 'I have a horse here which no man has ever put a crupper on, and I defy you to even attempt to do it. 'That's a bet,' said the coltbreaker, and the stakes were immediately placed with the publican, who collected several other wagers also.

Next day large crowd gathered to see the attempt made. At the appointed hour the horse was led by a groom into the hotel yard. The publican announced the terms of the wager, and the horseman and its owner approached the horse. When a heavy rug, which the horse was wearing, was taken from its back, the stockman dropped the harness in surprise, and the spectators burst out laughing. The horse had no tail! The owner explained later that, owing to an accident, the horse had its tail amputated completely while a foal— C.?.?

Met His Match (1935, October 24). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 15. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92332023