19 September 1935

Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), Thursday 19 September 1935, page 54

Real Life Stories Of South Australia

BEGINNER'S LUCK

After Dogs On The Border Fence

Although men are constantly employed in keeping the vermin-proof fence between South Australia and New South Wales in repair, breaks sometimes occur, and the vermin it is designed to keep out get through. It is common knowledge among those who have had experience with them that wild dogs, when they are hungry, will get over the fence. Running straight at it, they scramble up it and over the barbed wires at the top, and once a dog acquires the knack of getting over it he becomes a menace. Dogs, however, prefer to creep underneath the fence at places where the sand has drifted away and left a gap.

Some years ago conditions on the New South Wales side of the fence were much worse than in South Australia, with the result that stations in this State began to be troubled with dogs from over the border I was employed on one of them, and the men were taking things easily about the sheds one morning when one of the lads, who had gone out to look at a bore near the fence, was noticed riding back fairly fast. It was obvious that some thing was wrong, and we sensed trouble as he reined his horse in.

'Dogs!' he called out. 'They have finished off eighty odd at the bore.' One of the men ran up to the house to tell the 'boss,' while the rest of us went for our horses. Within a few minutes the boss joined us, and we set off for the bore. When we reached it a horrible sight met our eyes. Dismembered sheep lay everywhere. The boss was white with fury, and swore as only a sheep-man can. We searched for tracks, but passing sheep had obliterated any that might otherwise have been visible.

The dead sheep were lashed together, after having been skinned, and were dragged some distance from the water, while hundreds of crows squawked and fluttered over head. It was a very dejected troop of horsemen that cantered back to the station, we could read the boss's thoughts. A mob of dogs was at work, and their ruthless slaughter would continue until they were destroyed.

That same afternoon the few blacks on the station were sent out with traps and ordered to search for tracks. They returned towards evening, and reported that there were no sign of dogs at any of the watering places. We went to bed earlier than usual that night, knowing that routine work would be suspended until the dogs were brought to account. Next morning before sunrise we were out once more in search of trails and the more dreaded slaughtered sheep. At noon we were back at the scene of the first killing for lunch. As we feared, a rider had located some more victims of the dogs, nearer the border fence than the previous ones.

The boss voiced our thoughts, 'They are coming across somewhere; let's have a look at the fence.' A careful examination brought tracks to light, and a black boy who was with us was asked his opinion of them. He said that they were the tracks of two dogs and no more, in a definite tone.

'I don't believe it,' said Jack, an English lad, a recent arrival from the old country who was having his first experience of an Australian sheep station. 'You needn't,' snorted the boss. 'You know nothing about wild dogs, even if you do come from London.' Jack was young and enthusiastic and we were well used to him, but his ideas often caused us much amusement. Any suggestions to be of value at this stage had to come from experienced men.

The boss instructed the blacks to set traps and lay numerous baits, though no one had much faith in them. The usual and best plan of killing such dogs is to ride them down on horseback on a hot day, when they are unable to run any distance after a feed and a drink at a trough. Such a chance was not available to us, as these dogs evidently slipped back over the fence after a raid. As we left the fence that afternoon we drove as many of the sheep as possible away from the vicinity. The tragedy was that the only decent bush left for them was close to it. That night must have been a torture for the boss; as for the rest of us, we were equally concerned. Skinning dozens of dead sheep, is no pleasant task in hot weather.

The following morning we were on the lookout again, working from the station towards the fence; and again another bunch of attacked sheep was found. This time a small mob of thirty odd had been torn to pieces, and the boss nearly wept with anguish. while a very sober and sick at heart group of men surveyed the damage in silence.

Jack, of course, was the first to break out. That lad simply could not keep quiet, and on this occasion we let him prattle on. 'You know,' he said, 'if those doers like creeping under the fence rather than over it, why not make breaks for them to get under and set traps there? In England we set snares for rabbits at the gaps in the hedges and we often catch one.' 'Oh, go and set snares for the dogs you goop,' someone replied. 'I reckon I will,' said Jack. 'Mind if I go home and get a shovel boss?' 'No.' Go and bury yourself with it.' snapped the boss. 'You're worse than a cockatoo.' We took little notice as he left us.

Our work with the dead mob kept us busy for the rest of the afternoon, and the boss decided to have us patrol the fence at night in turns. This slaughter simply had to be stopped. I was the first detailed for the job, and reached my beat a little before sun down. As I was riding along my horse suddenly shied at the fence. A quick glance and the disturbing object was clearly seen. It was Jack's snare, and was so crudely set that my horse had shied of it.

I dismounted, and, more out of amusement and to fill in time than for any other reason, I set the slipknot of thin copper wire in a careful manner, even throwing a bush against the fence after sweeping up the tracks Jack had made.

My patrol was a tiresome job, and the night unbearably hot. By morning I was more asleep than awake, and as the sun rose to scorch the earth once more I heartily wished myself a thousand miles away, where the surf and cooling drinks were to be had. I was cantering my horse slowly home wards along a track leading to the bore where the first killing had taken place, when in the distance I noticed a cloud of dust approaching. As it drew nearer I saw a man on horse back, and in front of him two dogs racing towards me. I gathered up my reins and pulled my horse off the track. As the dogs passed me I gasped, for the horseman behind them was Jack.

I joined him in the hunt. Mine was a tired horse, but better than his, which was almost done. It was a misfortune that neither of us carried a gun. The dogs had a slight lead, and were heading towards the fence, which was not far off. Jack yelled out the information that he had chased them from the trough. At that rate we should get them if we spurted. One dog was much slower than the other, and we caught him up. He was knocked out, and the game was up as for him. I threw Jack the only weapon I possessed — a stock whip with a very heavy handle. 'Finish him off if you can,' I yelled, and put the heels into my tired horse.

I guessed that the dog ahead of me had drunk less than the one we had beaten, and would no doubt race me for the fence. Less than a hundred yards separated us as the dog put on a spurt, and attempted to scramble up the wires; but at that particular point the slope of the fence was against him, and he fell back. By that time I was almost on top of him. so he turned and ran along the fence a few yards ahead of me. His tongue hung out, and he looked behind occasionally, and I knew I would get him very shortly.

I let my horse keep up at a fair pace, when suddenly a dreadful thought struck me. The dog would soon be reaching the break in the fence where the snare was set. I raced my horse instantly, but the hole in the fence was too close. Almost under the horse's front legs the dog dived for the opening, but to my great surprise he never got through. The wire noose tightened around his middle and held him faster than the best of dog-traps. In a second I was on the ground, and, with the aid of a stirrup-iron, promptly killed him.

Within 20 minutes Jack rode up, and his joy knew no bounds when he saw the victim of his snare. I never told him that I had reset his crude trap, and neither did the boss say anything to him for not first letting the dogs have their fill at the trough before setting after them. We were all overjoyed at the end of the marauders, and Jack was patted on the back and congratulated, while the boss gratefully presented him with a fine rifle. As for Jack, he simply would have all hands ride out and view his snare and the trapped dog. Both dogs were skinned, and the pelts tanned. Probably Jack has them to this day. When he next wrote home to his people, he ran the station out of writing paper, and reckoned station life was the only life worth living. — 'Verminproof.'

How Governor Gawler Was Out-generalled

South Australia's second Governor, Colonel Gawler, took a keen interest in the native population of the colony. Shortly after his arrival he arranged that the warriors of the Adelaide tribe should entertain the settlers with an exhibition of spear and boomerang throwing. He promised that in return 'one big fellow' feast would be given.

Delighted at the prospects of a feast, the natives fell in with all arrangements; but at the same time they decided to stage a little joke at the expense of the settlers. On the allotted day the natives, under the leadership of the king of the tribe (King John), were marshalled at the appointed ground near Government House.

In accordance with their custom, all of the warriors were adorned in full war paint, which consisted of numerous lines drawn with clay over face and body. A European touch, however, was added by each of the natives wearing a pair of trousers; while, in the case of the king, a cutlass, which had been formally presented to him aboard H.M.S. Buffalo, was carried in addition to his native arms.

Several settlers who had had considerable experience with the natives, were appointed to superintend operations. A throwing-place was marked off. A full-sized archery target was then placed at a distance of about one hundred yards, which was considered a reasonable test for spear throwing. In deference to his rank, King John was the first invited to dis play his skill.

The king made a grave and dignified inspection of the target. He then returned, shaking his head and saying —'No, no, too much long way,' Upon this protest, the target was brought about 15 yards closer. After carefully measuring the distance with his eyes, the king raised his spear and poised it as if in doubt as to his own capabilities.

At length he lowered his spear and said— 'Blackfellow no throw big one spear that long way.' After the target had been brought to within about 60 yards, the king consented to test his skill. Carefully affixing his womera (a casting agent for long-distance throwing), amidst objecting grunts from his tribe, he threw the spear so that it struck the target slantwise, instead of with the point. At this, the other natives set up a loud chorus implying, 'We told you so!'

Each of the warriors then came forward in turn, and, with well-simulated reluctance, gave a display of spear throwing. Some missed the target entirely, while others emulated the king's example of striking it with the side of the spear. The lubras of the tribe then started to jeer, and the warriors pretended to be greatly ashamed of their display.

An exhibition of boomerang-throwing was next given. For this purpose the returning type was used. To the astonishment of many of the spectators these strange weapons appeared to be of much greater danger to the throwers than to the objects at which they were aimed; for, after going right round the targets, they would take an eccentric flight, and, returning to the starting-point, seemed calculated to strike the natives who had hurled them. Several of the on lookers were moved to comment, 'Poor fellows, they couldn't hit anybody, even at such a close range.'

After the display, many of the settlers were firmly convinced as to the harmless nature of the natives, and wondered how they even succeeded in spearing sufficient animals to supply themselves with food. Although their amusement was well concealed, it is probable that the natives enjoyed their joke almost as much as the good things with which they were provided at the 'big fellow feast' that followed.— 'Memo.'

See also John Wrathal Bull's account.

Curious Swimmers

The kangaroo is such a curiously built animal, and its mode of progression on land is so unique, that anyone looking at it might be forgiven for wondering whether such a creature can really swim.

In 1894 I was spending the Christmas vacation at 'The Hermitage,' Lake Robe, with the late Mrs. Lea and her family. In those days the South-East swarmed with game, and Lake Robe was often black with waterfowl— so much so that at the end of a dry spell the surface was so greasy that when it did rain the raindrops ran about on the surface.

One calm afternoon, when the water was like glass, I was lying hidden in the dense ti-tree that boarded the lake waiting for ducks, when far out in the middle of the lake I saw a ripple with a tiny dark spot in the forefront. It made directly towards the spot where I was, and, watching intently, I saw the head of what looked to me like a deer or sheep steadily approaching me. At last the animal touched bottom and stood up in the shallows— a large kangaroo— which hopped ashore within ten yards of me and disappeared in the ti-tree.

As a lad, I swam across Lake Robe more than once, and can state quite definitely that it was too deep in the middle for the kangaroo to have waded across. The lake may possibly have silted up to a certain extent since then, but 41 years ago there was plenty of water in it.

Only a few years ago, while camping near Vivonne Bay, on the bank of the Harriet River, Kangaroo Island, I watched a large iguana swim across that river. It swam fast and strongly, with its head well out of the water, and called to mind some prehistoric monster, such as the Ichthyosaurus, of which he may indeed be a descendant. — 'Logopoios.'

A Cute Blackfellow

Even if the Australian aborigine Is primitive in intelligence, he can work a good stock exchange now and then. 'Black Bill' was well known in the North a few years ago as a hard case, although few gave him credit for much in the way of constructive thinking. However, they changed their opinion.

There was a mare in the district that most of the residents would have liked to possess, but several good offers had failed to tempt the owner to part with her. One day she died suddenly, a fact that was known only to Black Bill and the owner. Bill was deep in thought for a while; then he approached the bereaved owner. 'What say, boss, you sellem mare now? I give it one pound,' he said. 'A pound for a dead horse, Bill? Him no more good now,' ejaculated the boss. But Bill meant business, and the deal was settled.

He drew from the owner of the mare a promise to keep the death quiet, and also obtained a receipt. Bill took the receipt down to the local hotel to prove to the scoffers that he had bought the mare, but by this time the £1 on the receipt had been changed to £100.

The 'boys' were puzzled to know what Bill was going to do with the mare. 'I tell it,' said Bill. 'Suppose It you feller buy 'em. I raffle it for five pound each.' The idea caught on. There were about 50 fellows there, and most of them handed over a 'fiver.' The raffle, having been drawn, the winner was cheered over to the mare's stall.

The look of surprise on Bill's face when the corpse was discovered deceived everybody, and the joke was enjoyed by the losers in the raffle. Bill rose to the occasion. 'Him too bad you winnem dead horse,' he said to the winner of the raffle; 'me give it 'em fiver back.' He did so, but marched off with the other notes.— F.G.

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1935, September 19). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 54. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92332124