29 July 1937

TROOPER ALMOST DIES OF THIRST THROUGH HORSE'S TRICK

Side-Light On Disappearance Of Five Men In Spencer's Gulf

'Lost at sea,' as Captain Kyle and four men were, does not mean that only mariners keep a lookout. The police do so also, and while searching for this boatload from the Runnymede, Sub-Inspector W. J. Whitters, who retired from the police force 15 years ago, almost died from thirst on a lonely stretch between Point Lowly and Port Augusta.

On January 8, 1879, the Runnymede arrived outside Port Pirie in heavy weather. A gale was blowing, and not caring to trust himself in a strange harbor in such weather, Captain Kyle and four men lowered a 16-ft. boat, and despite enormous seas, set out for the eastern light-ship to get information about the Port Pirie road-stead. That was the last ever seen of them.

A few days later Pilot Pleiness, of Port Pirie, who was passing, visited the vessel, which was lying in ballast off Mount Young. The chief officer, without undue anxiety, asked if Kyle and the men with him had reached Port Pirie. The pilot replied that he had not seen them. It was a puzzle. Had the boat swamped in the heavy seas and gone under, or had the boat load been forced to land on a deserted section of the coastline and were famishing?

The Government steamer Lady Diana put off to the lightship. The keeper had not seen a boat; a boat 16 feet long could not have lived in such a sea, he said. Although this supported the theory that the men were drowned, there was still a chance that the crew had had to change its plans, and try to reach the shore for its own safety, rather than try to reach the lightship.

Captain Hay and others searched at different points along the coast, making the Runnymede their headquarters, and police from Port Augusta searched both sides of the gulf. The 'Register' states:— 'The police from Port Augusta have been down to Point Lowly, but they found no trace of the unfortunate men. ... It is feared they are lost.'

Shortly after his retirement, however, Sub-Inspector W. J. Whitters gave a much more interesting version. Instructions were given to the police at Port Augusta to send one officer down each side of the gulf to patrol it in case the missing men had reached the shore. Mr. Whitters's instructions were to go to Point Lowly, 40 miles away, along a track which went along the coast most of the way but at times receded inwards.

It was typical January weather, and across the undulating country it needed a strong mind to be able to appreciate the splendor of the Flinders Ranges on the other side of the gulf. The monotonous journey was made worse by flies, of which there were myriads. It was a relief when he had to get off his horse to open gates.

He reached Point Lowly late in the afternoon, having seen nothing of the missing seamen on the way. On the journey down, he passed the Point Lowly sheep station, and decided to stay there for the night. He turned his horse round, and made for the station — eight miles away — as it was becoming dark. Mr. Williams, the manager of the station, offered him the usual hospitality, and after a few minutes' conversation, his horse was put in a paddock to graze for the night. It was a pleasant evening, and the trooper slept soundly.

He was about early in the morning. Meeting his host, he was greeted with the question, 'Why didn't you close the gate of the horse paddock after you came through yesterday?' 'I have a very distinct recollection of closing the gate securely,' the trooper replied. 'One of my men found it wide open this morning, and some of the horses got out of the paddock,' he replied. The trooper examined the gate at once, and it occurred to him that his horse Peake was the probable transgressor in the matter. Had the horse started home without him?

He examined the hoof marks round the gate, and found that they led north wards. There was, however, another gate a mile and a half away, but the trooper knew Peake well enough to be fairly certain that that one would give him as little difficulty as the one to the horse paddock. He was well-known for his tricks. One of his best turns was to start at a canter, and after going 20 yards suddenly to wheel around on his hind legs, landing his rider head first on the roadway. Mr. Whitters was not the only victim of this trick. Peake could do all kinds of things with his teeth, too. He could turn on the tap at the trough in the police yard, until sometimes a small lake would be formed before someone noticed what had happened. A wooden frame over the tap cut short this trick. Another of his misdeeds was to withdraw the bolt of the half door leading to the forage room which he would enter with one or two others, and cause havoc.

The manager accepted the explanation, and told the trooper that his overseer was about to start with a horse and trap to lay wild dog baits. He would go along the track for three miles, and if the trooper wanted to he could go with him. The overseer took him another three miles, but the trooper was still looking for Peake. In that short time he had opened two gates.

With a 'so long' they parted, and the policeman, 26 miles from Port Augusta West, went his way. After another couple of miles he reflected; there was a gate which did not swing easily. He was carrying his saddle and bridle, and a small canvas waterbag, but after having gone less than a mile he became almost blinded with perspiration. As on the day before, he day was intensely hot, and he decided to leave his bridle and saddle. It was easier going then, but Peake was not found at the next fence. As anticipated, the gate was too stiff for Peake to swing. He had opened the fastening, but that was all. The gate was fairly high, but Peake had taken it in his stride.

The trooper then gave up hope of ever overtaking the runaway. It was nearly 12 o'clock, and the sun beat down unrelentingly. He quenched his thirst from the waterbag, but then realised, to his dismay, that there was only a small drop of water remaining. His position was becoming serious.

On the previous day he had gone past a woolshed belonging to Lincoln Gap Station, about seven miles from Port Augusta West, but the place was not occupied, and there was a remote possibility that he would find water there. He knew that he had not the slightest hope of finding water anywhere else along the route. He drank his last mouthful, and continued to tramp along the rough uneven road. In the dead calm, the full effect of the sun was felt, and the trooper's head began to ache horribly, and his feet became blistered. He took off his coat and vest, and that helped him a little. Near him were the waters of Spencer's Gulf, their apparent coolness mocking him in his plight. His thirst became terrible, but he realised that he had travelled only half the distance between the station and his destination. There was no living creature anywhere in that heat, until he caught sight of a solitary eaglehawk soaring high overhead. It soon disappeared from view.

Presently a huge whirl wind sprang up in front of him. Soon he was encircled, and nearly choked as the fine particles of sand swept round and round him. He plodded on wearily, and the heat seemed to become more intense. He was suffering the agonies of thirst, and there was not a particle of moisture anywhere. He saw the woolshed ahead, but still afar off. He increased the pace as much as he could, and hurried eagerly along. He reached his goal, and peered earnestly into an underground tank. It contained water. It was about 14 ft. from the top of the tank, which was not fitted with a pump, so the trooper hurriedly searched for some means of drawing the water to the surface. Nothing could be found. There was no vessel or anything like that; not even a piece of rope or fencing wire which would have helped him to get down to the water. What could he do?

He just trudged on in the mid-afternoon, with the sun at its fiercest. A feeling of extreme drowsiness came over him. Presently he stumbled and fell heavily on the ground. There he slept in the heat. Completely overpowered, he dreamed, he said afterwards that he was travelling through a beautiful country, along a road flanked with paddocks of green grass. Birds of brilliant plumage were there, and brightly-hued flowers grew in profusion. He was travelling towards a lofty mountain, and hurried onward, enchanted by the scene. At the base of this mountain was a stream of water, clear as crystal flowing along its shallow bed as it emerged from a gap in the hillside. Pondering whether to throw himself down at full length to take a deep draught, or whether to dive into the water, he was awakened by a harsh voice.

A black crow had perched on the ground a few yards distant. 'Shoo!' he called out, 'Get out you black devil; there's nothing doing this time,' and with a loud discordant 'caw' the bird flew away and joined a dozen of his fellows, who were patiently awaiting the result of the visit, to see whether there was any possibility of a feast. It was some consolation to the trooper when they showed their disappointment by flying away.

Invigorated by the sleep, and may be by the dream, the trooper went on his way, but his thirst persisted with almost overwhelming force. Now the houses of Port Augusta appeared in the distance, but it seemed to him that he would never reach his destination. The sun was going down, but about half an hour after sunset he approached the nearest house. A woman opened the door. He tried to speak, but he could not. Making signs that he wanted a drink, he threw himself on the ground. A big glass of cool water was snatched and eagerly drunk. Glassful after glassful followed, and he felt better. Pushing on to the hotel, he threw himself down on a sofa and called for a sodawater. He fell into a sound sleep.

Peake had appeared at Port Augusta West about midday, and had tried to swim the gulf. Half-way across he turned back for the shore. Unlatching gates was a trick of Peake's, which Sub-Inspector Whitters had good reason to remember. — C.V.H.

The Ghost In The Well

Shearing was about to commence on a northern station some years ago, and we were mustering the sheep from distant parts of the run to paddocks nearer the shearing shed. One camp was at a well about twenty miles from the station and consisted of about half a dozen musterers in charge of a jackaroo.

One young fellow was a new arrival at the station, who had a constant dread of getting lost in the bush. He was also too nervous to camp alone, and it was quite evident that he was a misfit in his surroundings. In the circumstances it is not surprising that he was selected by his mates to be the subject of a practical joke, and it was arranged that he should meet a ghost one night.

A few days later, one of the gang arriving home earlier than the rest set himself the task of constructing a ghost. Getting a light forked stick about five feet tall, he attached a head made from a rolled up bag to the single end of the stick. Over this he threw a white calico camp sheet, and tied it tightly to form a neck. Then, after twisting the loose ends of the sheet around each protruding fork, it bore some rough resemblance to a human skeleton. It was then laid aside until dark. It was a moonlight night, but the well was shaded by tall tree shadows.

After dark the joker stole from the camp, and taking about forty feet of light tie wire from some fencing material at the back of the hut, he picked up his ghost and made for the well. There he shut off the windmill and, tying one end of the wire around the ghost's neck, he dropped it about twenty feet down the well. He took the other end of the wire up the mill tower and fastened it to one of he sails on the wind wheel. This done, the stage was set. When the windmill was started the ghost would glide to the top, wound up by the revolving wheel.

Stealing back to the camp he joined the others around the camp fire, and the conversation turned to ghost stories. After a time someone suggested boiling the billy, and on going to the water bucket it was found to be empty. The empty bucket was handed to the new chum, who was requested to get a bucket of water from the well. He was also told to let the mill go and get the water fresh from the pipe. Taking the bucket nervously, he set off for the well.

The others waited, expecting to hear a yell and the patter of running feet. They heard the click of the mill being let go, and a little later heard the calico ghost being torn to shreds in the fans of the windmill; but they heard no sound from the man with the bucket. After a little while they became alarmed, and on going to the well found their mate partly paralysed in the legs, and his speech so badly affected that he could only stutter. He kept repeating the first word of some thing he was trying to say. They helped him to the camp and, stricken with a deep remorse, none went to bed that night, but they listened sorrowfully to the stuttering of their mate.

By morning strength had returned to his legs and he was able to walk, but it was some time before his hands were steady enough to be of much use to him. His mates collected £30 for him on the run, and he left the station.

Some time later they heard from him that he had fully recovered in all but his speech, in which he had an impediment that was likely to be permanent. To my knowledge that was the last practical joke ever played on that station.— 'Bluegum.'

Link With Other Days

Have you ever seen black wheat ? I had a small parcel of it posted to me by Mr. Patrick Cosgrave, of Macclesfield. It looks as though each grain were affected with some strange blight, but in reality it is roasted wheat, and a tragic link with the hot summer of 1859. That year a great fire swept the countryside from Willunga to the Murray, and the whole of the south end of the colony was burnt out. Woe and desolation forced many of the inhabitants to retreat, and this accounted for the fact that much of the district reverted to larger holdings. This black wheat was recently ploughed up on the Blackwood Estate, between Macclesfield and Strathalbyn. At the time of the conflagration, Dr. Rankin was owner of much of the land, and the particular portion from which this wheat -buried for seventy-eight years — was unearthed, is supposed to be where a man named Pendle had his holding. Three rusted sickles or reaping hooks were found with the wheat, which in those days, of course, was hand reaped.