16 April 1936

THE FIRST 'BATTLE OF GLEN OSMOND' 

Chinese Knives Versus Policemen's Sabres

Many a 'Battle of Glen Osmond' has been fought in bygone days on the Mount Barker road between the Big Tree and the Eagle-on-the-Hill between opposing parties of the volunteer forces; but very few of those taking part in those sham fights knew that back in the early days of the State a force of 120 Chinese fought a battle royal there with the mounted police. That was no sham fight, however, the troopers, in order to protect themselves from the long knives of the Chinese, being compelled to draw their sabres, and use them on their opponents,

In 1856, when the fracas in question occurred, thousands of Chinese landed at South Australian ports and made their way overland to the Victorian gold diggings. If they entered Victorian by a port, they were called upon to pay a poll tax of £10 a head, and were also subject to further restrictions. The result was that many thousands of them entered by way of Robe, while others disembarked at Port Adelaide. 

The journey to the diggings from Port Adelaide, although longer than that from Robe, was less hazardous. It was customary for the Chinese to engage a guide and several drivers, and to buy either horses or a bullock team. Their belongings were usually heaped into a dray, and, after having bought sufficient provisions for the journey, the Chinese parties set out to make their fortunes. 

The journey along the Mount Barker road above Glen Osmond was a hazardous one in those days, for not only were the roads unmade, but they were also narrow and unfenced. Floods not infrequently held up the travellers further on, and it is recorded that many were stranded because two or three feet of water lay ahead of them. Others, even when they reached the Victorian border, were not safe, and on one occasion a party of Chinese immigrants and the men driving their drays were arrested and charged with having violated the Customs laws. The police, however, could not substantiate the charge, and the party was subsequently discharged. 

Early in June 1856, a rather larger party than usual—120 Chinamen— bought a bullock dray, bullocks and horses on their arrival at Port Adelaide, engaged a guide and two drivers, and set off for the diggings. They walked as far as the Mountain Hut Hotel, on the Mount Barker road, and decided to camp there for the night. The party had entrusted all its loose money, about £20, to Patoo a member of the party, whose slight knowledge of English enabled him to communicate with the guide. Patoo slept in a tent with five others, and in the morning told the party that the money had been stolen from him while asleep. The loss of this ready money with which the party intended to buy food on the long overland journey, was a serious one. 

The guide, who could see no further payment coming to him, refused to go on, and this brought matters to a head. Some of the Chinese were sceptical regarding the treasurer's statement, and the more they debated the matter the more they became convinced that he knew more about it than he cared to tell. They threatened to lynch him if he did not hand over the money; and whether innocent or guilty, he decided that It would be safer for him to leave the party. That was on a Thursday morning. His leaving confirmed his guilt in the eyes of his countrymen. 

The Chinamen were without means of going on, and a group of them decided to sell the cattle they had bought and travel in less comfort. The landlord of the Mountain Hut Hotel, Mr. P. Fitzpatrick, was willing to buy them, and, believing that he was dealing with the whole party, he concluded the arrangement. This action brought fresh disagreements, and there were violent arguments among the Chinese. 

On the Saturday, the treasurer of the party — not knowing what had happened in the meantime— returned to the encampment, hoping that the feeling towards him might have improved. This was by no means the case, however, and there seemed to be a determination on the part of the travellers to make him— whether innocent or guilty— the scapegoat for the predicament of the whole party and the arguments of the previous days. Some of his friends, however, stood by him, and, with the party divided, trouble seemed imminent. 

Residents nearby at once sent a man to the police barracks for troopers to save the man's life; for the Chinese appeared to have no qualms about using the long knives that most of them carried, and the suspect and his party were easily outnumbered. Two troopers were immediately sent from the barracks and apparently arrived just in the nick of time. Determined not to be thwarted of their revenge, however, the infuriated Chinese attempted to kill the treasurer immediately, but the two troopers, dashing in, rescued him. The Chinamen then closed on the police, and while one of them held the bridle of one of the troopers' horses, another menaced the policeman with his long knife. This manoeuvre was stopped by the trooper drawing his sabre and slashing at the head of the Chinaman holding his horse's bridle. But before the troopers could persuade the Chinese to fall back two others were wounded. 

Inspector Holyroyd and two other troopers arrived shortly afterwards, but by then things were comparatively quiet. A spring cart was sent to bring the wounded Chinamen to hospital, but all help was refused. The party decided to sell its horses, bullocks and drays to Mr. Fitzpatrick, who was prepared to pay £200 for them. The Chinamen intended to go on without a guide or drivers, each carrying his own pack. A difficulty arose, however, from the fact that they had hired the drivers, Martin Keenan and George Redmayne, at £2 a week and rations for eight weeks and as Keenan and Redmayne had left jobs and sold property in order to accept what they considered to be a favorable chance of going to the Ballarat diggings, they were not in the least anxious to break the contract, without even being paid for their past services. As security for their wages, they had obtained a lien over the bullocks, carts and so on, which the Chinese had sold to Fitzpatrick. Fitpatrick, too, had a lien on them for £12 16/ for food for the men and animals. It was a matter which called for diplomacy, and a passer-by, who was well-known to the white men, was invited to arbitrate. 

Fifteen Chinese, including the leaders of the party, Tacoan and Hongka, and Aligali, their interpreter, assembled at Fitzpatrick's hotel with the drivers for a conference. Mr. Fitzpatrick announced that he was prepared, in the circumstances, to forego half his claim for supplies, and to pay the balance of the purchase money as soon as the dispute between the Chinese and the drivers was settled. The drivers said they were prepared to accept four weeks' wages, and this was not unreasonable, as they had already spent three weeks on the road. 

The Chinamen agreed to pay Fitzpatrick, but would admit no liability towards the drivers, whom they said could go to their treasurer, Patoo, for their money. They said they were certain that he still had a lot of the party's money. This was the last thing the drivers were prepared to do, and they could not be expected to relinquish their lien on the livestock and carts, so that they could be sold to Fitzpatrick, and it was possible that a court of law would grant them more than they were now prepared to take. The Chinese were definite in their refusal to pay the drivers, but were still anxious to obtain the money from Fitzpatrick, so that they could go on their journey again. 

Eventually it was decided that the purchase money should be paid, less the amount which would cover the claims of the drivers, which might then be settled in a court of law, and to this the Chinese consented. It was pointed out to the Chinese how expensive a law suit might be, and how it might hold them up, but even though the drivers reduced their claims to £5, they refused to pay them at once. 

After, some hesitation the Chinese offered the drivers £1 each, which was angrily refused. As the result of a long conference they doubled their bid, but this also was refused. Then they offered £4, but finally agreed to pay £6. which was accepted. The drivers left them, the Chinese went on their way to seek their fortunes with an average of about 30/ each. What happened to the treasurer — or the money he once had— has never been ascertained.— C.V.H. 

Blacks Were 'Boss' For A Day 

I had arrived at a station in the Northern Territory to lift a mob of store bullocks, their destination being south-western Queensland. Owing to a misunderstanding the cattle had not been mustered, and being short of white men in his camp, the manager persuaded me and those with me to join in the mustering. Some semi Myall aborigines had also been called into service, and eventually mustering started. 

About a week after starting, when we had secured and were holding more than half of the number required, I awoke shortly after daylight one morning to notice that none of the aboriginal horse-tailers had gone out after the horses. Thinking that one of the men doing the 'dog watch' on the cattle had forgotten to call the blacks, I called out 'Daylight,' with the object of stirring them, and the rest of the camp as well. The station manager wasn't in the camp at the time, but the head-stockman on hearing my call rode in from the cattle, he being on watch at the time. Nodding towards the place where the blacks were still coiled up in their blankets, I remarked about their being late. I was told that the head stockman had himself called them, but from what he inferred I gathered that they intended to have a spell. Realising that horses would have to be obtained for the purpose of tailing the cattle, and showing some annoyance at losing a day for nothing apparently, I asked the stockman who was running the show, he or the blacks. 

'Come on over,' he said, and dismounting, he led the way to where the boys were. 'Where yarraman?' asked the stock man, 'big fella daylight now.' A big aborigine called Bullocky tossed his blanket aside on hearing the stockman speak, and looking blankly at the sky, calmly said, 'Sit down altogether today.' He then lay down again and drew the blanket over his head. 'What's the strength of this?' I asked the stockman, as we walked away. 'Wouldn't a touch of the whip get them into action?' 'It took us two weeks to muster those boys,' came the answer, 'and if I tried any of that stuff on them the whole lot would walk off. I'll get the horses we want, and we'll have to let the blacks have a lay-off today.' 

It seemed queer to me, but it was useless doing any mustering without them, so it had to be. Next morning, earlier than usual, the sound of horse bells approaching the camp at a fast pace was sufficient evidence that Bullocky and his mates were in action. No similar happenings occurred during the muster, and on remarking on it to the manager later, he told me that had force been used it would have been useless, the semi-Myalls would have done just as the head-stockman had said. For one day at least during that muster the 'boys' were boss.— 'Overlander.' 

A Call On Zane Grey 

Gastronomic necessity was the principal reason for a call at Bateman's Bay at one time. There the big tourist cars, en route from Melbourne to Sydney, fed their passengers; and there the casual motorist halted for the night. Bateman's Bay was well-enough known, but far from famous. All that I found altered when I arrived there the other day, for Bateman's Bay has become the headquarters of Zane Grey, American author, who is finding the fishing rod mightier than the pen. 

From Bateman's Bay the word goes forth telling of the Battle of Big Fish, From Bateman's Bay each Sunday night Zane Grey, in pleasant and intelligible American, radios to the world the adventures of his deep-sea fishing. From Bateman's Bay he send his dispatches that will find their way into print in many countries and many languages. And, I gathered, Bateman's Bay will find itself, sooner or later, the back ground for a Zane Grey, epic of the screen. In short, Bateman's Bay is well on the way to being famous. No won der it is patting itself on the back. 

Motoring from Melbourne to Sydney the other day, it was my privilege and pleasure to glimpse what is surely the most spectacular and pretentious fisherman's camp in existence. Six sleeping tents surround a dining-room and a kitchen. Each tent is made of the thickest, weatherproof canvas, and all have boarded floors raised from the ground, no less than 3,000 ft. of timber was used on these floors. Zane Grey prefers the outdoors, but he abominates slovenliness. His is the disciplined existence in the open rather than the vagabond life. I would not have been surprised to see Mr. Grey dressing for dinner. 

The Zane Grey staff numbers fourteen. There is a busy woman secretary, for the author fisherman is bombarded with a 'fan' mail that would make a movie star burn with jealousy. There is a business manager to take charge of accounts, pay salaries and conduct negotiations. There are two expert camera men, for Zane Grey is not one of your fabled anglers, and the moving pictures are ever ready to bear faithful testimony to his fish stories. There axe many expert sailormen who know their ocean, and, last, but certainly not least, two chefs whose culinary culture will turn you out a salad that would do credit to Foyot of Paris. 

I found Zane Grey delighted with his Australian home. Cities apparently have no appeal for him. Fifteen miles from where he has pitched his elaborate camp is the big battle ground— the haunt of the giant sword-fish, the angler's bravest opponent who fights to the last foot of line, and, conquered, has his victor exhausted at the end of a gruelling contest that sometimes lasts many hours. Off the Canadian coast, Zane Grey said, the big fish were not nearly as plentiful as they are off Bateman's Bay. Often he had sought his opponent for six days at a stretch in Canadian seas, while, here In Australian waters, he had on occasions battled with and bagged six in the space of twenty-four hours. 

Mr. Grey is enthusiastic about the possibilities of tuna fishing in Australia. Around his present haunts the big tuna abound, varying in weight from 85 to 150 lb. America makes a thriving industry of tuna fishing. The big fellows find their way into small tins and the world buys them as a delicacy at half a crown a time. Why, asks the author-angler, should not Australia do likewise? So Bateman's Bay, buoyed up by Zane Grey's enthusiasm, looks hopefully to the future, and a fortune that will come out of the sea.— W.V.C.

Betrayed By Their Eyes

In the damp jungles near Darwin, Northern Territory, a beetle less than half an inch long throws out from its tail an intermittent electric spark of wonderful brilliancy. A half dozen of them stuck on a piece of white card board will give enough light for a person to read a newspaper. The darker and damper the night, the brighter the light.

Boys with pea rifles get good shooting at night at flying foxes which infest the banyan and mango trees round Darwin. As a boy moves about under the trees, the fox flashes at him the full glare of his eyes, which resemble two electric torches, and offer a ridiculously easy mark for the lad with the gun. 

Alligators, dingoes and cats have eyes of amazing brilliancy on dark, wet nights. Recently a prospector, camped at Adelaide River, had finished his supper and was retiring to bed in his tent. He had no light other than the dying embers of his camp fire. He was fixing the door of his tent for the night, when he saw two bright lights about 50 yards away. They resembled two electric torches. He had heard nothing; the lights could not be that of a car, they were too close together, and that particular spot was absolutely inaccessible to a vehicle of any kind. He gazed at the phenomenon for a long time. The thing was uncanny. He had never seen the like before. Then he reached for his rifle, took steady aim at one of the lights and fired. They instantly disappeared without the slightest noise. Having no light of any kind, he was compelled to wait until the morning to investigate. Armed with his rifle, and warily clambering over the rocks to the spot where he had see the lights, he found a large dingo. He examined the body but could find no bullet hole until he noticed some blood on the animal's mouth. Evidently the dingo had been watching, mouth open in the usual doggy way, waiting for the prospector to retire so that it could gather up any food round the camp, and the bullet had gone down its throat. 

Alligators locate food supplies with uncanny cunning. If they are seen more than once in the same spot the fisherman or beachcomber knows that they have some worth while game on hand. If they are on a mud flat, there must be large barramundi fish about; if on a sandy beach, then there will be a nest of eggs somewhere close handy. 

The female alligator scratches a hole In the sand above high water mark and there lays her eggs. The old 'bull' seems to know exactly when the young ones will hatch out and make their way into the water. He lays in wait between the nest and the sea, and eats them as fast as they come out. At night alligators' eyes shine even brighter than dingoes', and as at night they are more venturesome in approaching a boat at anchor or a camp on shore, an alligator's 'torches' often prove his undoing. The sleepers on board or in the camp are awakened by the barking of the bull, and any movement causes him to turn the full power of his 'lamps' in that direction, thus offering an easy made for a man with a gun.—J.A.P.