Guns Beat Spears At Rufus Creek

Annihilation Of Blacks Who Terrorised Overlanders

When overlanders brought their cattle from Victoria and New South Wales over unknown country, they met ruthless natives along the Murray and its tributaries. The journey of Teale's party was as eventful as any, and as tragic as any for natives who dared oppose it 'C.V.H.' tells of the price the natives paid in this Real Life Story.

Towards the end of 1849, an over landing party set out from the Glen Innes district of New England, New South Wales, to the river district of South Australia, bringing with them more than 2,000 head of cattle. Mr. H. W. Teale, Mr. J. Coutts, Mr. W. Sharples— who went to Port Lincoln later— several other white men, and three Clarence River natives made up the party.

Overlanders had never been over a large section of the country, but it was well known that natives were daring and fearsome. Several parties had gone into the Murray districts, but after stubborn fights with the natives, returned. The natives, after these successes, became bolder; so bold that overlanding parties preferred to choose other routes.

Trying to find water for more than 2,000 cattle was a huge problem in the back country, and the overlanders had to fall back to the Murrumbidgee for certain supplies. Natives had been most unfriendly before, but in the river districts they were even worse. They were adept at swimming, and could worry the party from both sides of the river without fear of retaliation. Indeed, so worrying had been the blacks, that constant guard had to be kept over the cattle from the time they had left Glen Innes, and they had become so restless that it was difficult to keep them together.

The party was six months on its journey before it reached the junction of the Murrumbidgee and Murray Rivers, and it became necessary to cross the former. The packhorses were put into the water first, with the object of making the cattle swim after them, but as soon as the horses landed, they were met by spears and boomerangs from natives waiting in ambush.

They turned back into the river, and the huge mob of cattle, already in the water to follow the horses, began to 'ring' in the middle of the stream, and there was chaos. Heedless of the spears and boomerangs, members of the party, in desperate anger, rode their horses into the seething mass of ringing cattle, jumping on the bullocks' backs and laying about them with stock whips.

Reaching the opposite bank, revolvers were used freely, and the party obtained its objective with 30 fewer cattle— some had been speared, others drowned. Horses and cattle were so exhausted that it was useless to try to take them further then, and for the next few weeks, the cattle grazed on rich river feed.

The cattle became quieter after this rest, and Teale and other members of his party were looking forward to the rest of the journey as being comparatively easy, for it was held that the natives were more tractable after the Darling and Murrumbidgee had been left behind. They had reckoned, however, with out the Rufus Creek tribe.

On December 23, the Teale party reached the Rufus, a small tributary of the Darling and Murray, running into the latter near the present Lake Victoria station. The number of signal fires in the vicinity had demonstrated that the party was being watched and followed, and the overlanders prepared for trouble.

The great mob of cattle deceived the natives as to the strength of the party — they could not understand that so many beasts could be held in check by a few men — but when they found out how many men there were, they boldly rushed the cattle and scattered them. Teale and his party tried their hardest to keep the mob together, and fired their revolvers until scarcely a cartridge remained. Coutts had a spear in his arm, and many of the horses had been wounded.

Sharples and one of the black boys pushed on through the bush to Kapunda for help. It was the party's last chance. On January 2, Adelaide knew of the outrage. Inspector Tolmer, with Sergeant Alford, and a strong party of troopers and civilians, pushed out to the relief of the overlanders, determined to avenge the white men who had fallen victims to the Rufus Creek tribe. Not only did the Rufus Creek tribe rule its fellows tyrannically, but every overlanding party had suffered at its hands.

Inspector Tolmer had long recommended a punitive expedition to 'disperse' them, but nothing was done, and the Rufus blacks were left alone on a large tract of river country, murdering, pillaging and outraging white intruders. Teale's party was found in a strong sapling stockade, almost starving. The packhorses, with most of the provisions, had gone away with the cattle, leaving the party with scarcely anything.

Tolmer crossed half of his party to the other side of the river, and pushing them on for some miles, re-crossed again about 10 miles further up. The first half of his party then advanced, and the natives, faced with such a force, fell back in fighting order, little knowing that they were falling into an ambush.

By sundown they had been pushed back on to the party under Sergeant Alford, which had crossed and re-crossed the river. The report that 'in a couple of hours the once powerful Rufus tribe was nearly extinct' tells enough. Those who escaped the white man's guns had to fly through country they had tyrannised, and their formerly subservient natives were only too anxious to settle old scores.

For weeks the relief party tried to muster the great mob of cattle, but only 800 head reached the Gawler yards, and many were in such poor condition through such rough treatment that they were practically unsaleable. For many years, the back country along the Lower Darling was the haunt of wild cattle, undoubtedly the progeny of the mob the Rufus natives dispersed— and paid for with their lives. - C.V.H.

[See also https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rufus_River_massacre ]

Teetotaller Went For The Beer

A number of us were working on a construction job forty-odd miles from town, and going at fairly high pressure. It was customary to send a buggy into town every fortnight for supplies, and bring out enough to last until the next trip, plus a little margin in case of a flood. Fresh meat only appeared on the menu two days out of every 14, unless someone managed to squeeze in a little shooting for the pot, but the boss was very decent, and always saw that a couple of barrels of beer came out with the supplies, which the men usually doubled out of their own pocket. There was no question of carousing, but after a hard day's work on salted junk and damper, a thirst-quencher at sunset was not to be despised, and we all came to look forward to it.

On one or two occasions, the men driving out the buggy had broached a cask on their way, and caused a trace of ill feeling. It was decided that in future a teetotaller should be sent in for everything, and a man named Bill Wyse undertook the task. All went well under his management. The job was drawing on towards its completion when the rains came down on us properly. Day in and day out it poured without cessation, until the road behind us became a quagmire even a blackfellow would have found it hard to traverse.

It was out of the question for the buggy to get into town, although Bill Wyse made a couple of abortive efforts, which led to all hands having to turn to and dig him out. Unfortunately, wet weather did not mean cool weather, for we sweltered far more than usual on the work, and thought longingly of the evening glass to which we had grown accustomed. The loss of our accustomed beer was not nearly so bad as the thought of having lost it and not being able to get any more.

By the time the matter had been discussed with appropriate feeling a few times, even the few men who had never indulged were smacking their lips at the imaginary tang of alcohol. Finally the rains lifted for a few days, and gave the sun a chance to bake a slight crust over the surface of the track to town. Wyse harnessed up and drove off at the first opportunity, laden with a long list of stores, on which a double order of beer was a very prominent item. He had only been gone a few hours when the rain came on again.

Two, three and four days went by without sign or message from him. The gang buckled up their belts and went a shade easier on the tucker box, fully conscious of the fact that no sun meant no food.

Another fine break at the end of the week raised hope to the highest, and everyone looked forward confidently to Wyse's return. He did not let us down, driving in to camp just after sundown one evening. He was bubbling over with good-fellowship.

'Well boys,' he announced, 'you've converted me. I had to hang around in town for days with nothing to do, so I thought I'd try some of that stuff you're all talking about. It was good, too!' 'Heave us down a barrel!' came a unanimous shout. Bill Wyse rummaged beneath the tarpaulin and cast out a subtle feeling of gloom. 'I'm sorry, mob,' he apologised. 'I've had an uneasy feeling all the way out that there was something I'd forgotten to order!' In decency, a veil should be drawn over the next fortnight. — 'Kerriki.'

Junk Dealer Decides To Go Elsewhere

Some years ago the residents of a charmingly laid-out suburb were aggravated by the presence of a second hand dealer's yard in their best street. The dealer had been one of the earliest to settle there, and he rigorously turned down all appeals to try and stack his store of goods more systematically. Instead, he put up an eight-foot galvanized fence around his premises, which made them more of an eyesore than ever, as the iron was none the better for having been through a fire. Fruitless appeals were made to the council.

One day he received a large order from a strange buyer, who told him that he would remove the stuff in a number of truckloads. In due course the truck arrived, and it was suggested that it should be taken round into the back lane and backed up against the galvanized iron fence to facilitate loading, since the bulk of the material was at the lower end of the yard in small bundles.

The carters did as they were told, marking the extremities of their tailboard by set ting up a couple of twigs on the fence. They then proceeded to throw their consignment over the top, intending to square off the load as soon as they saw it appearing over the fence. They had been working for a considerable time when the secondhand dealer came out and spoke to them.

'I suppose you're on the third load by this,' he remarked. 'No, boss,' one of the carriers told him. 'We're still loading up the first trip. I never knew the old lorry to take so much before.' 'I'll just pop round and have a look for pilferers,' remarked the second hand dealer, whose suspicions were aroused.

He lost no time in going through to his front entrance, for in the interests of safety from thieves he had never installed a back gate. To his astonishment, the first thing that met his eye as he emerged was the lorry, empty and unattended, parked at the kerb outside. He rushed round to the back and received the shock of his life. The carriers were still throwing cargo over the fence, and it was accumulating on one of his own tarpaulins, unrolled, which had been set directly underneath the two marking sticks Those who put it there were now gone, but they had evidently spent a busy hour or so for pile after pile of lading was visible right along the lane, each on one of his tarpaulins, where it had been quietly dragged before attaining the height of the fence.

He lost no time in calling out his discovery to the carriers, who be came extremely annoyed at the waste of labor, indignantly drove off in their vehicle and refused to have anything further to do with the job. The dealer rang up his customer and explained the situation, but the latter told him that since there had been a hitch in the time of delivery he was no longer interested in the deal, and called it off. The dealer had no option but to hire a couple of laborers to replace his stock where it originally came from. He never set eyes upon customer or carriers again, for they were all relatives of a resident in the street, who had volunteered to assist in the prank.

The dealer was no fool, sized things up and decided that he ran a risk of having his life made unbearable by similar practical jokes and transferred his business to an industrial suburb.— 'Warrigal.'

German Lass Who Went To Market

In the early days it was not un usual for the settlers to walk many miles to the city with their produce, and to purchase the domestic supplies with the proceeds. It is said that this took place even from as far as Hahndorf.

It fell to the lot of a young German girl to do the journey with the week's make of butter, and as she had not yet mastered a sufficiency of the English language, she was put through a course of instruction before she started on the journey.

If she were asked what she had for sale, she was to reply, 'Fresh butter.' If asked how much it was, she was to say, 'It is a shilling a pound,' and if the enquirer said it was too dear, she need not worry, for if the first enquirer would not buy, someone else would.

In those early days it was customary for persons who met on the road to greet each other in the conventional style. The German lassie met a young man, and he greeted her with a cheery, 'Good morning, miss!'

Not understanding, she replied, 'Fresh butter!' The young man responded with, 'You're surely joking!' And the damsel further remarked, 'It's a shilling a pound!' The young man jokingly told her that he had a 'Good mind to kiss her,' and she innocently finished the lesson she had learned before leaving home with, 'If you don't, someone else will.' What happened has not been handed down in history. — Tanta-Tyga.