22 April 1937

A POLICEMAN'S LOT IS NOT ALWAYS A HAPPY ONE

Thrills In Tracking Horse Thief Who Was Found In Gaol After 12 Days' Search

When a policeman sets out to track a criminal in the backblocks, he very often has a long search — and a wearying one, too — ahead of him. The criminal can probably travel as fast as he can, and very often can obtain all the food he needs from stations unaware of the fact that he is wanted by the police.

It was on one of these treks that Ex-Inspector Le Lievre, as a mounted constable, had plenty of excitement for 12 days. He did not get his man; someone got in before him.

In telling the story many years ago, he said that he left Burra in search of a man who was wanted on a charge of having stolen two horses. He was a noted and slippery character with many previous convictions. The police at Burra had been waiting for him to turn up, but news was received that he had been seen a few miles from Far Away Hill, about 80 miles from Burra, and appeared to be making for the stations outback. He was mounted and was leading a packhorse, which suggested that either or both of them might have been the stolen animals. Having obtained a rough plan of the various stations and dams to Far Away Hill and further back, if the pursuit should be necessary, Constable Le Lievre went on his way with instructions from Sergeant Bentley that, irrespective of how long he took, the man had to be arrested.

Riding a bay horse — the best he had ever ridden, he said afterwards — he travelled more than 30 miles on the first day, and arrived at an old, deserted shepherd's hut. He had intended to camp in the open, but with the moon three parts full, the prospect of a restful night was not encouraging; and, after hobbling his horse, he went inside the hut and lay on his swag, smoking his pipe. Before long he started scratching. He struck a match and saw myriads of fleas hopping about. He was out of the hut in double quick time, took off all his clothing, and shook it thoroughly. He decided to sleep outside after all. Unearthly and weird sounds, how ever, prevented him from sleeping. They came nearer and nearer, until they seemed to stop about 300 yards away. Objects could be seen moving backwards and forwards uttering awful howls. Four or five shots from his revolver scattered them in all directions and their howls remained at a distance. This was his first experience of Australian dingoes.

After putting in what he describes as one of the most wretched nights he ever spent, he saddled up at day break and went on his way with a breakfast of bush biscuits and a drink of water. Spending the next, night at a dam sinker's hut, in which he was hospitably received, he went on until he reached a station where he discovered that the man he was seeking had left about 10 days before to go to Lake Hope station. All went smoothly until one nighthe rode up to a shepherd's hut. The shepherd, his dog at his heels, met him. The constable said that if the shepherd had no objection he would camp there for the night. The shepherd led the way to some slip panels and, after taking them down, said the policeman could leave his horse there. There was no need to hobble it, as it was only a small grazing paddock, and it would be all right until morning. The shepherd then led the way to his hut and cooked some mutton chops. With tea and damper they were most welcome after a long journey.

The shepherd was morose. Efforts at conversation failed dismally. He would not speak beyond giving brief answers to questions. He seemed to be an educated man who had seen better days. He pointed to one of the two bunks in the hut. The trooper could sleep in that one, he said. The constable took off his boots and turned in without removing his clothes. He smoked a while, pulled the blanket over himself, and wished his host good-night. The latter, however, was sitting near the embers of the fire, with his head between his hands, smoking, and appeared to be in deep thought. Although he noticed this, Le Lievre was tired out, and went to sleep.

He awakened with a start. Looking round, he saw the shepherd sitting on the same box. He had a large butcher's knife in his hand and was sharpening it on a whetstone, muttering in a low tone. Why was he doing that at that hour of the night? thought the policeman, lying still, as it must have been long after mid night. Presently the shepherd passed his thumb over the edge of the knife. He took a piece of sheepskin, cut it in two, and muttered, 'This ought to be sharp enough.'

The trooper realised his position. He was alone with a lunatic who was about to cut his throat. He thought, with thankfulness, what a narrow escape he had had from being murdered in his sleep.

'Cautiously, without letting him know I was awake,' said Mr. Le Lievre. 'I grasped my revolver in my hand, determined not to be murdered like a poor sheep in the shambles. I cannot find words to express how I felt. My nerves were at high pitch, expecting to see him at any moment come towards me stealthily to cut my throat. To my astonishment and surprise, he got up and walked out of the hut.'

He was away for what seemed to the waiting 'victim' to be a long time. He dared not get up to see what was happening, for he thought it possible that the shepherd had noticed that he was awake, and was laying a trap for him. He knew that lunatics often acted in a most cunning manner. Knife in hand the shepherd re turned, and muttered in a low voice, 'Well, we'll have mutton for breakfast.'

'Good heavens,' thought the constable, 'What in the name of fortune is he talking about?' Then suddenly he realised that the shepherd had gone out to kill a sheep. Without taking the slightest notice of his guest, the shepherd turned to his bunk, but the policeman did not sleep again that night.

Both got up at daybreak, and the trooper left as soon as he could. His silent friend the shepherd was a strain on his nerves. They had breakfast, and after that the shepherd gave him cooked chops and damper to take on his way; it was a long stage, he said. He made no reference to his having got up to kill a sheep in the night. Neither did the trooper. The only reason the shepherd had done so was to give his guest fresh mutton for breakfast, as he was without any.

At Lake Hope station, the constable ascertained that his quarry had left there three days before, making to wards Burra, but by a different route to that by which he had come. One of the horses he had with him was slightly lame. After having spelled his horse there for a day, the trooper went on again. The homeward journey was trying, and he camped with fencers and well sinkers. For a whole day neither he nor his horse had water. They were bushed, and the day was excessively hot. After travelling some miles, he noticed a hut with smoke coming from its chimney.

'Thank goodness.' he said to himself. 'Water at last.' His tongue and throat were parched, and when he went to the door of the hut a Chinaman met him. Inside there was a bucket filled with water, and a pannican alongside it. Three pannicans of water disappeared in no time. The Chinaman scowled, with eyes and mouth wide open. 'Velly thirsty, John; my horse, too,' the policeman explained. He pulled a two-shilling piece from his pocket and threw it on the table. 'You can have that, John, for the trouble of getting more water,' the policeman told him. He then took hold of the bucket and said to him, 'I'm going to give this water to my horse.'

With that the Chinaman jumped and barred his exit. Holding a large butcher's knife in his hand in a threatening manner he said, 'You takee water, I killee you.' Abashed for the moment, the policeman stood there, but then he whipped his revolver from his pocket and dropped the muzzle to within a few inches of the Chinaman's face. 'You damned Chow,' he said. 'You talk killee me. I've a damned good mind to blow your head off. Drop that knife at once.' The Chinaman immediately did so, and, holding both his hands over his head, said — 'No killee; no killee; takee water.'

'Carry the bucket and take it to my horse, and be damned quick about it,' he was told. He picked it up smartly. 'Me wellee quick, no shoot,' he begged. He was made to give half the con tents of the bucket to the horse, which drank ravenously, and then returned to the hut with the bucket. All orders were obeyed quickly now. The ''killee me," as the constable put it, had been completely knocked out of him. The Chinaman had been engaged as a station cook, and the policeman lost no time in having chops and bacon cooked. A revolver was kept handy, and the Chinaman was always in front of it.

The policeman had visions of a dose of strychnine going into his food or tea. Large quantities were kept for poisoning wild dogs. Before sitting down, the policeman made the Chinaman give the other half of the water to his horse, and after doing justice to the meal, went on his way.

He later heard that a Chinese cook had informed his boss that he had been stuck up by a bushranger, who had robbed him of all his money, after having made him cook his breakfast.

But about the horse stealer. When Constable Le Lievre arrived at Burra late one afternoon, 12 days after he left, he found that the man for whom he had been searching was already in a police cell. The previous night Sergeant Bentley had arrested him at Kooringa — C.V.H.

Message By Albatross

The Crozet Islands are nearer to Antartica than to South Australia, but now that part of the world is an Australian dependency this State probably has the best claim to take over the history of the strangest mystery of the seas that ever occurred in southern waters.

Many years ago the Tamaris, a French vessel, went far off her course and was blown to the south. Eventually she ended up as a complete wreck on Hog Island, in the Crozets, which are uninhabited. Hog Island happened to have on one of those caches of provisions which the British Government places on isolated island groups for the benefit of shipwrecked mariners.

The survivors from the Tamaris came ashore the best way they could and managed to survive for some weeks on the supplies they obtained from the cache. How many lives, if any, were lost in the crash is not known, but it is quite likely that everyone came ashore safely, as the shipwrecked sailors were in apparent possession of a fully equipped lifeboat.

As the supply of food stored on the island was not intended to sustain a whole ship's company for a prolonged period, rations rapidly went down, and the despairing Frenchmen held a council of war. It was decided that some sort of a message should be sent to the outside world of their plight, and the scheme they adopted was probably the most remarkable effort ever made in long-distance communication prior to the invention of radio.

An albatross was caught, probably in a snare, and a collar fitted round its neck. This collar was of tin, made from the lid of a corned meat tin. Through it was punched with a nail a message describing their plight, their location, and other information necessary to effect a rescue. The bird was then released on the most unlikely wild goose chase ever originated by desperate men. The chances of that albatross ever being seen by a human eye, without even considering the probabilities of it delivering its message, must have been several million to one against. Yet, by some curious freak of fate, the message was delivered, not years afterwards, but within sufficient time to be of use to the senders. Some people went down to one of the beaches at Fremantle, and found the bird on the edge of the water, stone-dead! A curious glance revealed the inconspicuous tin collar, and the message was deciphered.

Word was sent off to the authorities, who promptly got into communication with the French. The French navy despatched a cruiser from its Pacific squadron to look for the lost men from the Tamaris, and a rapid run was made to Hog Island. But when the cruiser arrived there was no sign of the missing men at first, but later a message was found from them stating that they had almost exhausted all available supplies and were setting out for Possession Island, where there was an other similar depot of provisions.

The searchers made for Possession Island, delighted to learn that the albatross message was not a fake, as many people had feared, considering the almost miraculous nature of the coincidence by which it arrived at Fremantle. At Possession Island there was no sign of the missing men, and they were never afterwards heard of. No fragments of their boat were ever sighted, so that their ultimate fate remains shrouded in mystery. Fierce storms are common enough in the Southern Ocean; they were short of provisions for their voyage; and there is no land sufficiently hospitable to sustain life unaided in those parts; so it may be assumed that the sea claimed them after all.

It makes the story peculiarly tragic to recall that this sorry ending should have to be written to the tale of one of the most incredible means of communication ever successfully used between human beings. Probably no writer of fiction would dare employ such a device in the plot of the wildest of romances. — 'Greenhide.'

A Deal In Ducks

In the early days of Millicent a woman, whom we will call Mrs. X, raised a brood of ducklings. As they grew older it became evident that the birds were all drakes, and their market value was accordingly less than it would have been had they been ducks. Being a thrifty woman, this fact vexed the soul of Mrs. X, and she resorted to cunning.

Just before the birds were ready for market, she took a pair of scissors and carefully cut off the curling tail feathers which distinguish the male sex. When this alteration was complete, the birds presented the appearance, to all but an experienced eye, of plump and exceedingly well-grown young ducks. Mrs. X then put the birds in a crate and sent them to market with her husband, at the same time telling him to buy some young ducks if he saw any for sale, as she wanted some to breed from.

On his arrival at the market Mr. X handed over the 'ducks' and went about his business in other parts of the town. Just before he left for home he remembered the ducks his wife had asked him to buy, so he hurried to the market where he found a crate of fine ducks just being auctioned. Bidding was keen, but Mr. X eventually secured the birds, and putting the crate on the back of the trap he drove home very pleased with his purchase. He set the crate in the yard and called his wife to inspect the new ducks. She surveyed first the birds and then her husband, and there was the ominous calm that precedes the storm. 'You fool,' she said bitterly; 'you've brought our own birds home again.' — 'Questing.'

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1937, April 22). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 17. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92483682