Talked Himself Out Of Adelaide's New Gaol

CONVICT POSED AS SENTRY BOX CONTRACTOR

Many people talk themselves into trouble, but Carter, first prisoner to break out from the reconstructed Adelaide gaol, talked his way to temporary freedom. 'Old Stager' tells of his audacity.

In Governor Gawler's time, only a small Adelaide gaol had been built, but it was soon found to be too crowded, and an enlargement was begun. On the top of the 'stone walls' surrounding the gaol were loose open bricks. A man named 'Carter,' a runaway convict from Sydney, had been arrested and placed in the new building, with a number of other prisoners, some of whom had been sentenced to transportation for crimes committed in South Australia, and were being kept there until a vessel could be chartered to take them to Sydney. Carter was celebrated as the first prisoner who escaped from the new and 'secure' establishment. 

Carter and other criminals were confined in No. 1 yard, and every morning with long handled brooms, they had to clean up their cells and the yard. Two convicts held the handle of one of these, and Carter stood on the top end. The two men below pushed him up so that he could reach the top of the wall with his hands, and he then managed to pull himself up and drop safely to the ground outside. 

His escape was not discovered until the roll was called before the prisoners were locked up for the night. The turnkey who called the names, searched for him, in vain; the other prisoners jeered and laughed. 'He must be somewhere— he couldn't fly over the wall — look in those boots.' 

The distracted turnkey soon brought the Governor (Mr. Ashton) on the scene, and the police, too, but their efforts were useless. The prisoner had somehow become possessed of an ordinary carpenter's jacket and cap, which he had put on, and had in his hand a pencil and some writing paper, on which he was making notes, when he met the armed guard and said, 'Good day, guard. I'm the contractor for the new sentry boxes. I want to inspect the one you use as a pattern,' and he moved along and entered it, jotting down his notes as he went. On the outer wall some masons were at work. He paused there, and seemed to be scrutinising the work, and made a note on his paper. All the guards in those days were soldiers, and as he finally passed out he said — 'Good evening, guards.  Just been looking at the sentry boxes. I see they are all constructed the same way,' and he then walked away and made his escape. 

He was next heard of up on the Murray River at Mr. Dunn's place, Mount Charles. The police were soon on his tracks, and were told that a man such as had been described had called there asking for work. He had gone on to the South Australian Company's station, where shearing was in full swing. There a man answering the police description had called the previous day, and had gone on to Mr. Gilbert's place. 

On the following day, towards sundown, the police reached a deserted hut near Pewsey Vale, and saw a man on an opposite rise busy removing hurdles at the sheepyards. Sergeant-Major Alford rode over to him. The man kept his head down, and failed to look up on hearing the approach of a horseman. He hailed the man — 'Hold up your head and let me see who you are. Who are you?' and as he raised his head Alford said: 'Hullo, Carter,' and then the other two troopers, seeing Alford's signal, quickly reached him. 

Carter begged the sergeant not to take him, but he was told he must go quietly. He was then handcuffed and taken to Mr. Gilbert's head station, and hospitably entertained that night. Next morning a horse was lent for the prisoner to ride on to the city. This is only one of the many long journeys which the police had to take in the old pioneer days — to bring to justice the numerous delinquents who visited us. In those old days all policemen had to travel at their own expense, and it is only fair to state that they were always treated most hospitably by the settlers.. — 'Old Stager.' 

Distinction On A Coach 

A good many years ago, railway lines and motor cars weren't too plentiful, all travelling being done by coach. An elderly spinster happened to be leaving her country home for the city, and was advised by the hotelkeeper at the town where she booked her seat to travel first-class on the coach. 'But I don't want an outside seat,' she protested. 'I really can't see any difference at all between inside passengers.' 

'More comfort, Miss — , you take my advice.' She allowed herself to be overruled, and booked first. For the first twenty miles the going was level and monotonous, and she bitterly regretted the waste of hard-earned money she might have saved for her holiday. Then came the awakening. The coach approached a hill with a steep gradient, and the horses drew to a stop of their own accord, as if from long habit. 

'Righto!' yelled the driver. 'First-class passengers sit where you are! Second-class get out and walk! Third-class get out and push!' — C.M. 'Mossie' 

Always Had His Own Way 

In the north of this State there is a man known as 'Mossie.' As a child he was as wild as one could find. As a man he was the same, yet, man or boy, he was the best-natured mate one could wish to have. At school, if the teacher laid the rod on him, he would either run out of school and off home, or else crawl under the desk for the rest of the day. 

His people used to drive him about halfway to school in the buggy (when he could be persuaded to go at all, which was rarely). On the way they had to pass through a gate, and some times when 'Mossie' got out to open it, he would pick up a handful of stones and in pretty blunt language, defy them to drive through the gate. Generally they had to turn round and drive home, and 'Mossie' would follow in his own good time. 

One day at school the children in the grade above 'Mossie' were reading a story about 'Tomassie and the Rabbits,' which told how a tom-cat (Tomassie) went to live with some rabbits and how one day he boxed the youngest rabbit's ears for putting some of his porridge in his pocket to take out to his friends, the birds. 

'Mossie' was listening to this story instead of doing his own work, and when the story came to where the cat boxed the rabbit's ears, he burst out— ''Why couldn't he mind his own b — business It wasn't his b — porridge, anyway!' 

When he became a man he at one time 'shot up' a well-known northern town in real cowboy style. He had had a few drinks too many, and he mounted his big black horse and came thundering into the town of C—— with his revolver in his hand. 

Pulling up with a flourish in front of the hotel, he fired six shots in quick succession at the tie-up post, which was directly before the open bar door, through which some of the bullets flew. Then, wheeling his horse upon its haunches, he galloped away up the street, firing at everything he could see — doors, cats, dogs, windows — anything at all. 

After sweeping the streets he galloped back to his former position in front of the hotel. Catching sight of some bottles through the open window', 'Mossie' started firing at them. Everyone in the bar was crouched against the walls and on the floor to escape the flying missiles. By the time he had finished his little game there wasn't a soul in sight any where; and chuckling to himself, 'Mossie' turned his horse's head and rode home.— 'The Chief.' 

Half-caste Might Have Been Barrister 

Joe was a half-caste, but his father was the owner of a large cattle station in Queensland, and after attaining a certain age, young Joe was taken from his black mother and placed in the charge of a nurse at the station homestead.

Later a governess gave Joe his early schooling, and when old enough the young half-caste was sent to a boarding school in Brisbane. Whilst at school Joe's natural ability became manifest, and as well as showing his prowess at sport, he studied hard and later became dux of the school. 

When the time drew near for Joe to leave school, his father, now very proud of his half-caste son, told the boy he could enter any profession he desired. It was suggested to Joe that he go to the University and study for the legal profession, but that did not appeal to Joe at all. Having plenty of money and a deal of influence, Joe's father tried to encourage the young fellow to enter some profession, but it was of no use, and ultimately, given his choice, Joe decided he'd like to become a saddler! 

His wish granted, Joe was apprenticed to a firm of saddlers and harness-makers, and after having served his term, he was set up in business in a country town not far from where he had been born. In between times Joe had played cricket and football in first-grade matches and represented Queensland at league football. Had Joe taken the time and trouble to have trained he would have become a Rugby champion; he was almost an even time runner. 

For a time Joe did well in his saddlery business, but he acquired a taste for alcohol. Joe had too many calling an him during business hours and few of them had saddles to repair. Meanwhile Joe's father had married and with new responsibilities Joe was left more or less to his own resources; another family caused Joe's father to take a lesser interest in him, and possibly so because he saw how alcohol had got hold of Joe. 

At the death of his father, Joe received a share of the estate, but it went all too quickly, and in order to exist Joe was compelled to take on a job as a stockman. All the education Joe had received went for naught and for a number of years he mixed stock work with drinking. 

The last I heard of Joe he was employed by a cattleman who had known his father. Had the young half-caste obeyed the wishes of his father he might have become one of Queensland's leading barrister; the ability was there, but not so the inclination. Joe will probably finish his days in a black's camp as have so many other half-castes. A pity!— 'Old Timer.' 

Ghosts Scared A Dashing Hero 

A tight rein and sharp spurs would make any horse dance and jump about, and when riding with other lads, Jim's horse would be half a chain or more ahead. 'Can't hold him back,' Jim would say. 

Once when our horses were more than anxious for a mad gallop, we let them go. We soon left Jim behind. He never talked to us again about what his horse could do. 

It was as a flirt that Jim was so well known. He would visit three young ladies on a Sunday and each would think — at the time — that Jim was just 'it.' 

One Sunday night he was riding home along a quiet country road when something large and white rose up from among the bushes along side the road, crossed the track in front of Jim, and disappeared in the scrub. Jim set spurs to his horse, and he rode fast. 

Again, the white something crossed Jim's track to disappear as suddenly as it came. Jim brought his spurs to work, but it was of no use —he could not out-distance the ghost which came and went, disappearing for a time, then suddenly reappearing, flittering across the track. 

As Jim was a teetotaller, the above may take a lot of explaining away if we overlook a party of young men stationed at intervals along the track, each with a white sheet waiting to dart across the track at the approach of Jim.— R.S.