3 June 1937

CYCLONE QUELLS A REVOLUTION

Enables Administrator To Escape In British Warship

Strange indeed, was the combination of circumstances responsible for the revolt in Darwin in 1918. The main factors leading up to the 'revolution' were horses, beer, and a cyclone; the last-named storm being responsible, more or less, for the start and finish of that demonstration.

During the war years the Cable Station— referred to locally as the B.A.T.— made Darwin a vital link in the chain of communication between Australia, Europe, and the East. Cable traffic poured incessantly through the station, and the cable men earned their pay.

The members of the staff, comprising Englishmen and Australians, spent a large part of their leisure time in horse riding, and had among their stock some very fine animals.

Just before the monsoon broke in October, 1918, there came to Darwin from Singapore an operator named Silas Puckeridge, familiarly known among his colleagues as Cyclone Silas; for it was said that he made a practice of chasing cyclones all over the tropics. Wherever he had been transferred during the previous few years, a cyclone had occurred — Saigon, Hongkong, Borneo and Cocos Island had all been visited by a cyclone just after he had arrived there. An enthusiastic horseman, Silas was delighted with his transfer to Darwin, and his purchase of a mare from the Howard Cattle Station was the first link in the chain of circumstances leading to the revolt.

The B.A.T. quarters were immediately opposite the Administrator's Residency, and between the two properties was a Government paddock, in which the horses of the cable staff used to graze. One night Puckeridge's mare broke loose from her stable and went a'wooing, with the result that several of the horses stabled at the Residency made the night hideous with their serenading, and their vain efforts to keep tryst with her.

The next morning an official complaint from the Administrator was lodged at the Cable Station. Unfortunately, two nights later the mare again broke loose, and one of the Residency's horses also got out of its stable. A fence divided the two animals, and the row they made during their attempts to reach one an other was indescribable. It might not have been quite so bad had not the Cable Guard turned out to stop it.

By the time Silas had captured his mare and the Residency's horse had been restabled, the cable staff, Residency officials, and a good proportion of the town had been involved in an affair which was nothing less than a maelstrom of cross-purposes. The Superintendent of the B.A.T. and the Administrator had exchanged heated words, and diplomatic relations be tween them were severed. The following day an edict prohibiting the use of the Government paddock by the B.A.T. staff for grazing their horses was issued by the Administrator. But the edict on the cable staff was not the only bombshell to emanate from the Administrator that day.

Later in the morning the monthly mailboat from the South berthed, and among the mail she discharged was a document, the purport of which proved the spark that ultimately started the 'revolution.' With an anxious look on his face the secretary to the Administrator handed the latter the fatal paper.

'This is a serious matter, Sir,' he said. The Administrator took the document and read it. 'It will do the crowd good, and teach them to be more moderate in their drinking,'' he remarked. 'Issue the notice.'

A couple of hours later Darwin was indignant. What was considered a gross imposition has been foisted on the people. An increase of 25 per cent, in the Excise duty on beer was the last straw. The same afternoon a deputation representative of all sections of the community waited on the Administrator and asked that he should at once telegraph to the authorities in Melbourne requesting the rescinding of the increase as applied to Darwin, as all liquor landed in that port was shipped from the southern States of the Commonwealth. But the Administrator only smiled and said that he could do nothing.

As a mass meeting in the Town Hall that night beer was declared 'black,' and a unique strike was on. To go 'dry' during the ''Wet' — as the monsoon season is called in Darwin — was a drastic gesture.

A matter of one or two degrees between the reading of the wet and dry bulbs of the thermometer in the tropics means a big variation in the degree of physical discomfort. During the monsoons the human body becomes a porous sponge, and a generous wardrobe is needed for frequent changes of clothing. The sun beats down mercilessly through a grey haze of tropical moisture, and one feels as limp as the linen one wears. Little wonder then that the luxury of a cool beer is more of a necessity than a luxury in the tropics. When such an aid to physical comfort is voluntarily foresworn for the sake of a principle, the temper of those participating in such a mass self denial is apt to be come somewhat frayed, and their perspective rather warped.

As the B.A.T. had its own liquor store the strike was looked upon by the staff as merely a humorous incident until the coolies, who were detailed to bring the stores from the boat to the quarters, were way-laid by the pickets on the wharf. Led by Silas Puckeridge, a dozen or so of the cablemen went down to the wharf, and defying the pickets, brought their consignment of liquor safely ashore and carried it to their quarters. This action annoyed the strikers, who waited on the superintendent of cable station and threatened to declare the B.A.T. 'black,' and call out the coolies. The Superintendent in reply, reminded the deputation that there was a war on, and that the Darwin station was essential to the naval and military authorities in the matter of communications.

'If,' he said, 'you carry out your threat, I shall have no other option but to advise the Admiralty in London that we are unable to carry on.' The leader of the deputation then said something to the effect that the cable staff were hand in glove with the Administrator.

'On the contrary,' replied the Superintendent, 'I and my staff hold no brief for the Residency, and think the Administrator's attitude somewhat unreasonable.'

Three days later a British cruiser anchored in the harbor. A party of marines came ashore and took up positions covering the main approaches to the cable station and the Residency. The following day dawned in an ominous and foreboding stillness. A hushed quiet peculiar to the tropics pervaded everything. Silas, who was on morning duty, scanned the sky and sniffed.

'I've seen a morning such as this on four occasions,' he said to his mate on watch with him, 'and on each of the four something happened.' 'Cyclones are a rare happening here,' replied his mate. 'The last one was away back in 1897.'

Later in the morning the Superintendent walked into the instrument room. 'How are the signals coming in from Singapore?' he asked.

'O.K.,' Silas told him. 'The glass is falling rapidly, and I was wondering if the cable was being affected,' the chief said, and went into his room.

During lunch the members of the staff were agog with excitement. News had come through from the Chinese quarter of a big demonstration that was to take place that afternoon outside the Residency. It was stated that 400 men from Vestey's meat works, together with some 200 men representing the Waterside Workers' Union, were going to march to the Residency and 'shanghai' the Administrator on the Burns, Philp steamer, which had arrived that morning from Singapore on her way south. Speculation was rife as to what the outcome of the affair would be.

'The sooner they start their demonstration the better for the success of the thing,' Silas said. His mess mates looked at him wonderingly. 'Was old Silas pro-revolution?' they asked themselves. Sensing their thoughts Silas said. 'I mean on account of the weather.'

That something was 'in the wind' was shown by the fact that the wives of the married members of the staff were removed from their homes at Mylie Point to the B.A.T.

Just before 2 o'clock a telephone message was received from the rectory, about a mile outside the town, stating that a procession of about 800 men was marching towards the Residency. The demonstrators eventually ar rived and assembled in the Government paddock. They formed a large circle, into the middle of which was driven a motor car of uncertain age. In its tonneau was an effigy of the Administrator, which, after several speeches, was burnt with appropriate ceremony.

The smoke caused a darkening in the sky, but Silas, who was a quiet spectator of the proceedings from a vantage point on the fence enclosing the tennis court, had noticed the sun go behind a heavy bank of clouds some time before the effigy was set alight. Silas was calculating. He estimated that from twenty minutes to half an hour was all the time left for the demonstrators to complete their work and 'shanghai' the Administrator. If the 'revolutionaries'' could be delayed over that period the Administrator would be safe.

More speeches followed, and then six men moved towards the Residency gates. They were probably the 'assassinators in chief.' They were, however, stopped at the gates by an armed guard. The rest of the crowd surged forward, pressing closer around the picket fence. There was a low murmur of voices muttering in anger. Nearer and nearer the crowd moved. Then, crack! Rat-a-tat-tat! The pickets of the fence had broken. The crowd at first thought that it was machine gun fire, and paused uncertain.

There came a sudden darkness; an almost audible hush; then a low whining moan was heard over the harbour. A cool, faint puff of air; stillness— then a vivid flash of lightning: a crash of thunder overhead; the heavens opened as the elements broke loose. Wind, rain, thunder, and lightning; and then a howling wind and deluge. The demonstrators dispersed, seeking shelter where they could.

'I thought so,' said Silas. 'I'm a Jonah. That's what I am— as he ran towards the cover of the quarters. For 48 hours it blew. When the cyclone had passed on the skyline of Darwin was changed. Only the stone buildings of the town were left standing.

The warship, too, had departed, and with it went the Administrator, who, under cover of the storm's first onslaught, had risked the danger of boarding the cruiser anchored in the harbor.

On his desk lay a telegram. It had been received by him on the morning of the revolt. Silas's initials on the form indicated that he had officially received it over the wire. The telegram rescinded the increased excise duty. Pinned to the telegram was a note in the Administrator's hand writing which read, 'The town may now go wet.'

It had — and dry, too; for the boat from the South which had brought the month's supplies on the day the strike had been declared had, because the pickets had prevented the cargo from being unloaded, gone on to Singapore with it still on board. Darwin had to wait until it returned before it could get a drink.— T.W.S.

See also https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darwin_rebellion (the general discontent with autocratic Administrator John Gilruth that brewed over five years was due to much more than just the increase in excise on grog).

Gave His Life For His Sheep

Most South Australians have heard of 'Black Monday'— that day in December, 1869, when one of the worst bush fires in the history of the State raged on Yorke Peninsula, taking its toll of property, sheep, and even human lives. For days the residents walked through the smouldering ashes, slaughtering the sheep that lay scorched and mutilated where the fire had overtaken them.

There is, however, connected with that day, a story of a man's loyalty which few of us have heard. In the cemetery at Port Vincent, Yorke Peninsula, is a stone which bears the following inscription:—

'Sacred to the memory of Augustus Craigie, aged 42 years, and his eldest son, aged 10 years, who were burnt to death in the scrub at Surveyor's Point (now Port Vincent), Yorke Peninsula, on Monday, December 20, 1869, while endeavoring to rescue a flock of sheep in their charge, the property of Mr. Goldsworthy.'

Behind that inscription lies a story of the heroism and unselfishness, probably without parallel in the history of the State. Craigie, who was a shepherd in the employ of Mr. Stephen Goldsworthy, one of the first settlers, gave his life in an effort to save a flock of sheep from the worst fire in the history of the district. Unhesitatingly he stayed with the sheep, pushing them on to wards the beach in a hopeless race with the flames, when by abandoning them he might easily have galloped to safety.

The tragedy occurred in the early afternoon when Craigie, accompanied by his son, was droving a flock of sheep some miles overland. He noticed smoke rising above the trees, and estimating the distance of the fire, hurriedly set the flock moving in an effort to reach the beach. For hours he struggled on, driving stubborn sheep through massed scrub in a tragic race with the flames. Gradually, as the fire approached, the air became laden with smoke, which rolled down on the flock in great black billows.

Craigie, realising the hopelessness of the position, found his son and told him to climb a fairly isolated mallee. This the boy did, and the father struggled towards a clump of bushes where some sheep had become entangled and were bleating pitifully. Here he was overtaken by the flames, and was not found until late that afternoon, when his daughter, becoming alarmed, climbed the steep hill and found him terribly burned, but still alive.

Removing her dress, she placed it round the scorched body, and set out to find her brother. She found his body, and lying beside it was a small pen-knife, which had been brought from Port Adelaide on a steamer, and given to the boy by his parents only that morning. He had left home delighted, with the knife clasped in his hand.

Craigie was taken to the home of Captain Chase, and as he lay in agony during the night he begged Chase, in a scarcely audible voice, to end his life. In a delirium he lived again the horror-filled hours, and finally died in the early hours of Tuesday, December 21, 1869.

The ruins of the home in which Craigie died are still to be seen in Port Vincent — massive stones steeped in memories of that early tragedy. The stone in the cemetery has been renovated during recent years, and the name of the shepherd is still highly respected by the residents. — F. C.

Bridegroom With Magenta Whiskers

Many years ago a- widower in a South-Eastern seaside town decided to again enter the ranks of matrimony, and made many attempts to persuade some of the widows and middle-aged spinsters of his home town to take compassion on him, without the desired effect. He was a steady man with a few young children, and probably the latter were responsible for his local efforts proving a failure.

He therefore decided to try the columns of one of the city papers, in the usual strain, ending up with 'photos exchanged, etc.' In due course he received a number of replies, and selected one, the writer of which appeared the most likely to make a suitable partner. She stated that she had been jilted as a young woman, and at first had decided that she would remain single all her life; but as the years rolled on she had changed her mind.

The widower had not a recent photo of himself, so he sent along one taken some years previously, when his beard and moustache were free of 'silver threads among the gold.' A favorable reply was received, and in due course the bride to be left Port Adelaide by steamer.

The night before her arrival, however, the widower caught sight of his grey hair and beard in the mirror, and mentally contrasted his appearance with the photo he had sent along. So he resolved to bring his hair and whiskers back to something like what they were in the days gone by. He could not obtain any hair dye at such short notice, but having previously stained some woodwork with Condy's crystals, he decided that that would just be the right tone— a moderate brown — and would not be out of place in his advanced years.

The application was made with a cloth around his face, he turned in for the last time before entering upon his second matrimonial venture. But when he arose in the morning full of hope, he found to his horror and dismay that, instead of the nice golden brown he had hoped for, his beard was a bright magenta. Washing and rubbing with one thing and another proved ineffective.

There was no help for it, so he screwed up his courage and met his intended bride. She was a sensible person, and although somewhat surprised and amused, overlooked the unsuccessful attempt to rejuvenate his appearance. She made him a splendid wife, and they spent many happy years together, although she sometimes pleasantly twitted him on his attempts to make himself look younger than he really was. — 'Tanta-Tyga.'