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Dead Ships – Sydney Heads |
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Genesis of Toowoomba |
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The Townsville Story |
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Fred Campbell |
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Lecture on Aboriginals |
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Cook’s Death |
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The Bunya Terror |
DEAD SHIPS
AND NORTH HEAD
“Who shall ever write the romance
of the North Head of Sydney Harbor? How many people who pass
in and out between those two headlands pause to think of the
weird, wild tales that could be told if those grim, grey,
stern rocks had a voice.”
If all
that has passed in or out of that entrance was photographed by
light on the dark rock front of that North head, what amazing
pictures would fragment on the surface, if they presses on the
forehead of some subtle souled psychometrist, reveal to his
astonished gaze.
Denton’s “Soul of Things,” would be tame by comparison.
Think of the procession of now dead ships that passed that
giant sentinel rock since January 26, 1788, or 134 years ago,
when the Sirius came round from Botany Bay, accompanied by the
transport and store ships, and sailed into that unknown
harbor, and way up to their anchorage in Sydney Cove, off
where the Circular Quay is today.
Picture some Prometheus chained on that headland for
those 134 years, and try to imagine what scenes he would have
witnessed, watching through the dark shadows of the silent
night to the hour when all the sky grew radiant with the glory
of the dawn, and, in the words of Kendall, he “saw the ships,
like sheeted specters, fading down the distant sea!”
On February 14, Phillip Gidley King passed that North
Head in the Supply, with one officer and six marines, nine
men, and six women convicts, one midshipman, and Surgeon
Jamieson, from whom Jamieson Street is named, passing away to
the eastward on that journey from which from which no one ever
returned, and of which nothing was heard until Captain Dillon,
of the research, found some mournful relics on the Island of
Malicoola in 1829.
What dramas, what appalling tragedies, what awful
scenes were represented by some of the ships that passed out
through Sydney heads, never to return!
Among them was a barque called the Peruvian, bound in
1849 from Sydney to China, wrecked far off Cape Cleveland, and
from the solitary survivor the terrible story was heard
seventeen years after.
That survivor was James Murrells, who was 17 years
among the wild blacks of the Burdekin, and was brought to
Brisbane in 1863.
Seven miserable survivors only got ashore at Cape
Cleveland, including the captain and wife and child and
Murrells, and they were kindly treated by the blacks; all
finally died except Murrells.
They had left the wreck on a raft, and made west for
Australia, every day someone dying from thirst and starvation,
to be thrown over to huge sharks that followed them day and
night. They cut off a dead man’s leg, tied it to an oar, and
caught a shark, which they ate raw, and drank his blood.
It is all a terrible narrative, beyond the power of the
imagination.
Buried in
the sand dunes and in the sand beaches of the Queensland coast
and island are the spars and masts and timbers of hundreds of
ships from Moreton Bay to Cape York, ships that sailed out of
Sydney and vanished like La Perouse, trackless into blue
immensity.
Two ships,
called The America and Mary Ann Broughton, passed that North
Head in 1831 and in that year Captain Blackwood, of the Fly,
and M’Gillivray found the names of both vessels cut on two
trees where they were wrecked on the Bunker Group. Some
bottles and broken dishes and the soles of a child’s shoes
were all the remnants. Ah, me! Those two little soles!
And those
were two large ships of 600 and 500 tons. And in 1849 two more
ships, the Countess of Minto and the Bolton Abbey, passed the
North Head, to be totally lost on that same Bunker group where
they had gone for guano.
Captain
Allen, of the Countess of Minto, became in after years,
harbour master at our Newcastle, and there are probably
descendants living there today. A ketch called the Vision
sailed out past the North Head in 1854 in charge of Captain
Maitland, who went to Brisbane, took five white men and an
aboriginal, to the Percy Islands, where four of the white men
were killed by the blacks, one being a naturalist named
Strange, and the one white man who escaped on shore was Walter
Hill, who in 1855 became the first Curator of the Brisbane
Botanic Gardens.
In 1847 a
fine vessel left Sydney for Port Essington, and was wrecked on
the Percy Islands, having on board three priests going to
start a mission among the aboriginals. Two of the priests were
drowned and Father Anjello afterwards got to Port Essington
where he died delirious with fever from deprivation among the
blacks.
Through
the Heads in 1859 passed the barque Sapphire, to be wrecked in
Torres Strait with eighteen of her crew and passengers,
Killed and
eaten by Hammond Island blacks.
Past that North Head on April 29, 1859 sailed the Tam
O’Shanter, Captain Merion, escorted by H.M.S. Rattlesnake,
with all of Kennedy’s expedition of 13 men, of whom only
Carron and Goddard and the aboriginal Jackey (Galmahra) ever
returned.
Through the Heads in October 1831, passed the Stirling
Castle, with Dr. Lang’s 59 Scottish mechanics, and years
after, that vessel, in charge of Captain Fraser, was wrecked,
on Elizabeth Reef, and of all who reached the Queensland
coast, only Mrs. Fraser survived, being brought into Moreton
Bay by a wild white named Bracefell, an escaped convict called
“Wandye” by the blacks with whom he lived for ten years. The
first steamer to Brisbane from Sydney, the James Watts, passed
under that North Head, in 1837. Governor Gipps passed there on
his way to Moreton Bay, on his visit in March 1843.
The steamer Sovereign passed there in 1858 for
Brisbane, to later be totally wrecked at Amity point, and only
ten survived out of 94.
And one morning in 1857 Prometheus awoke after a dark,
tempestuous night to look out from his rock and see the North
Head rock strew with wreckage, and the solitary survivor of
the wreck of the Dunbar clinging to the face of the cliff. All
the crew and passengers had gone down with captain Green into
the remorseless sea.
They were unlucky ships, those Dunbars, as they were
all wrecked, the Duncan Dunbar ending on the Roccas Shoal and
the Phoebe Dunbar wrecking at Moreton Bay.
My brother, the late Alexander Meston, took his passage
in the Dunbar on her fatal trip, and missed the last boat
going out to her at Liverpool in 1857. He then came out to
Melbourne in the Themis, Captain Rogers.
Following the Dunbar, within a week, came the Catharine
Adamson, wrecked inside the South Head.
And from the vanished years I recall my first visit to
that wild North head, on the day Rev. J. A. Pillar – if my
memory is reliable- an eloquent Unitarian minister, and
classical scholar, went over that cliff, by design or
accident, to discover the “grand secret,” and solve the riddle
of what the wild waves are saying.
There is no need to go to Greece or Rome or past ages
for poetry or romance.
On that wild North Head alone there is poetry and
romance in the next hundred years for Australians.
Whether you can see that poetry and romance depends
on whether you are merely a mole, burrowing in the dirt, or
an eagle soaring the star spangled universe stretching away
overhead into Infinity.
WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THE
TOOWOOMBA “CHRONICLE”
That opening of the railway on April 30, 1857, meant
the dawn of a new era for Toowoomba. For a time the town would
be the depot for all the trade of the west, and of settlement
which was rapidly extending in all directions.
What would
otherwise have been a day of great rejoicing was sadly marred
by a series of unfortunate circumstances. There had been a
continuance of heavy rains, so that all the creeks and rivers
were flooded, and all the low lying lands from Ipswich to
Helidon were under water. There were washaways on the line and
there was considerable risk in traveling by rail. Apparently
Sir George Bowen was not prepared to face the ordeal, and
Macalister was prevented from going by some cause which is not
explained. The Governor’s absence was a great disappointment,
as there were elaborate addresses from Toowoomba (signed by
Mayor W. H. Groom) and Drayton (signed by Mayor James
Houston). There was also an excellent and practical address
from the German people, who thoughtfully included a dozen
bottles of wine, and a collection of fruit, vegetables and
flowers.
There were
two trains from Ipswich with visitors, but three wheels of a
carriage of the second train ran off the rails near
Highfields, involving only a delay of about three quarters of
an hour. It is doubtful if this would be rectified so smartly
today.
The trip
up was rather depressing, owing to the damaged state of the
maize and cotton crops and the washed away fences.
The first
arch spanned the railway on top of the Range, and in the town
itself there were seven or eight arches in the streets.
The
“Queensland Guardian,” a paper of that time in Brisbane, said
there were 3000 or 4000 people on and around the hill at the
Royal Hotel, but the “Queensland Times” said there were 7000
or 8000. That is where the addresses were delivered, and the
Minister for Lands received them on behalf of the absent
Governor, and in a brief speech declared the railway opened,
amid tremendous cheering.
An Ipswich
Artillery Corps fired a salute of 17 guns, and an Ipswich
Volunteer Band played the National Anthem.
Then a
procession formed, led by the Oddfellows, who marched away
heroically through beautiful soft red mud from six to nine
inches in depth – very insinuating, and distinctly adhesive.
The
followed a large Cobb’s coach with the P.M.G., Minister for
Lands, and other celebrities, after whom a lot of Peto,
Brassey and Betts’ draught horses, gaily caparisoned and
decorated. But the Rifle Brigade jibbed at the red mud, shook
their heads and “passed!” They were not prepared to rehearse
any trench warfare.
The
banquet was given in a big store belonging to Nutter and Co.,
a building that had been the Theatre Royal. The tables were
laid for 200 guests. The chair was occupied by Mr. W. H.
Groom, M.L.A., and the vice-chair by Mr. T. G. Robinson. Mr.
Groom proposed “The Governor,” and the Minister for Works
replied. Mr. Groom then proposed “Success to the Completion of
the Pioneer Railway of Queensland,” a toast cheered with great
enthusiasm. The vice-chairman proposed “Ministry and
Parliament,” and the P.M.G. responded. Dr. Challinor, M.L.A.,
also replied. Mr. Groom proposed “The Contractors,” a toast
replied to by Mr. P. Ogilvio, representative of Peto, Brassey
and Betts. The general jubilee ended with a grand ball at
night, where all the talent and chivalry of the Downs were
present. Among the guests were D. Challinor, Engineers Cross
and Ballard, Dr. Barke, St. George Gore, Edmund Morey, Father
Brem, and Boyle. Mr. White, the P.M., was the M.C. of the
evening. Alas, how many of all that gay band of revelers are
left to us today! We may feel with Dr. Johnson, when he shed
tears over the thought that all the brilliant assemblage of
Ranelagh Gardens would be extinct in another 70 or 80 years.
Ballard was the man who, in after years, was Chief Engineer,
at Rockhampton, the man who wrote a clever and original book
on “The Pyramids,” a book that attracted much attention in the
scientific world. Ballard’s theory was that the Pyramids were
the Geodorites of the Egyptians.
Edmund
Morey was one of the very early squatters, and took up
Mitchell Downs, on the Maranoa, about 1854. He was afterwards
for many years a well-known Police Magistrate. When the train
was returning next day to Ipswich with the visitors, it was
stopped at Grandchester by the floods.
Mr. Groom
wrote to John Douglas, then Colonial Treasurer, strongly
urging him to establish a bonded store at Toowoomba at
Toowoomba. Douglas replied that he had not provided for it in
the Estimates, but if brought up in the House it would have
his support.
In May of
that year there was a large public meeting to consider the
question of gold prospecting. Mr. W. H. Groom was in the
chair. A man named Bernard Joseph showed some fine quartz gold
specimens which he said were found within 10 miles of
Toowoomba.
In 1860,
Charles Bell got a considerable amount of gold in Canal Creek,
and two Melbourne mining men were much impressed with the gold
bearing probabilities of Thane’s Creek and Gore’s Range. To me
it has always been a surprise that so little prospecting has
been done in the Main Range, the mineral deposits of which we
know next to nothing. One day there will surely be important
discoveries among those at present unknown mountains. There
will be a great opportunity for parties of enterprising
Toowoomba young men to form prospecting parties, accompanied
by an experienced miner, to prospect that Main Range to the
junction of the McPherson.
How many
people remember that after the railway started, the Government
placed a toll bar on the road over the Range, and charged 20/-
per ton on all traffic, to discourage all vehicular traffic in
favor of the railway. Yet that preposterous obstruction – a
relic of the Dark Ages – was actually there for some time
until public opinion swept it away into oblivion. A large
public meeting was held at Ipswich to denounce that toll bar,
and it carried fiery resolutions.
The old
bullock teams “died hard,” and continued in some places for a
long time in competition with the railway, in the same spirit
that made lots of old time sportsmen cling to the muzzle
loader long after the advent of the breech-loader.
Toowoomba
was not to remain a long time as the terminus. On the 18th
of November, in the same year, the line was opened to
Jondaryan, a distance of 27.73 miles, and on April 20, 1868,
was completed and opened to Dalby (a farther 23.79 miles),
only one year after the opening to Toowoomba, so the
Parliament and Government of that time were in deadly
earnest
Cleveland
Bay was proclaimed a port of entry on October 10, 1865.
The first direct vessel from Sydney was the Rangatira,
in charge of Captain Harley, whose arrival was celebrated by a
banquet at the Criterion Hotel, situated on the Strand, the
first hostelry in Townsville.
This vessel arrived on February 15, 1866, and had on
board the Hon. Robert Towns, and marked the occasion of his
first and only visit to Townsville. The wealth and enterprise
of his firm, and his political influence, combined with the
careful and vigorous administration by J. M. Black, were
highly instrumental in placing Townsville on a firm
foundation. Black, the real founder of Townsville, called the
hill overlooking the site after Castletown, and suggested the
same name for the town, but the Lands Office called it
Townsville, as a compliment to Robert Towns.
Robert Towns was born in Longhorsley, Northumberland,
England, on November 10, 1794, and died at Cranbrook, Rose
Bay, Sydney, on April 4, 1873. A portrait by the Australian
artist, Lawson Balfour, was recently presented to the City of
Townsville by the Bank of New South Wales, and is now hung in
the Town Hall. This was a fine gesture by a grand old banking
institution which opened a branch in the city on March 20,
1866, and enjoys the distinction of being the first bank of
its kind in Australia. Robert Towns became a director in 1851,
and later president of the Bank of New South Wales and he took
an active part in its wonderful expansion.
Cleveland Bay is a very attractive feature of
Townsville. It was first seen and named by Captain Cook on
June 6, 1770.
Perhaps the first whites to land on any part of that
coast were the unfortunate people wrecked far east of the Cape
in 1849, in the barque Peruvian, bound from Sydney to China
with a cargo of timber, and washed ashore after terrible
hardships on the north-east side of the Cape. They were
evidently well treated by the natives but all died within a
year or two, except a seaman named James Murrells, usually
called Jimmy Morrill, who remained with the natives for 17
years, until rescued by his old countrymen in 1863.
On January 25, 1863, he walked up to the newly formed
Jarvisfield Station, on the Burdekin, and was nearly shot
before he was recognised as a white man. He had scrubbed
himself with some sand, and even then was as dark as a
mulatto. He called out: “Don’t shoot; I’m a British object!”
having almost forgotten his own language.
Murrells was living at Bowen during the first land sale
there of Townsville land, and an allotment in Flinders Street,
on which Woolworth’s premises now stand, was knocked down to
him for the upset price of £8, and sold later by his son for
£10,000. That was the year of the land boom, when syndicates
purchased suburban lands from the pioneers for subdivision
into allotments and sale at public auction, which left many
Townsville men the wiser and sadder for the experience.
The bay is a glorious expanse of water and ideal for
the boating fraternity. In the winter months the water is
invariably calm, and at intervals so placid that not a ripple
can be discerned on its wake surface, and the wake of a vessel
remains visible for some miles. During the rough weather,
usually between December and March, it can change its mood and
assume an angry appearance, the waves lashing the shore with
great fury, creating a roar like the distant roll of thunder.
Along the shore is a very fine stretch of about a mile
and a half from Ross Creek to Kissing Point, of clean, hard
beach, which forms a natural esplanade, and available at any
turn of the tide. A retaining wall has been constructed along
this portion of the foreshore, and the Strand is now a
delightful promenade and drive. As money becomes available the
whole length of the sea frontage along the Strand will be
further improved and beautified, for it is indeed the dress
circle of Townsville. Already an example of what can be
accomplished is the enclosure known as the Strand Park. This
park is situated near the imposing building known through the
north entrance as the Queen’s Hotel, and is tastefully laid
out with ornamental trees, shrubs with foliage of variegated
colours, and lawns of couch, giving the whole scene a
wonderful and tropical effect.
There are some handsome memorials to fallen soldiers
and noted citizens. Band concerts are held in the rotunda, and
on these occasions many people are attracted, and may be seen
either reclining on the soft turf surfaces or sauntering about
the lawns and beach while enjoying the excellence of the
instrumental items. It is also a popular place for children,
where every provision is generously made for their enjoyment.
There is also a splendid bowling green, where the demon
bowlers while away their leisure time in a game of that very
ancient sport.
Adjoining the park are the Tobruk Memorial Baths, built
to Olympic standards, having underwater lighting and provided
with filtration and sterilization plant, and considered one of
the finest baths of its kind in Australia. These baths are a
great asset to Townsville, and are much used by the people at
night, as well as the day, throughout the year. It was here,
amidst picturesque surroundings and ideal climatic conditions,
that some of the contestants did their training to which they
attributed in some degree their amazing success at the last
Olympic Games in Melbourne.
Alongside these baths, is a popular children’s
playground, a memorial to the late Sister Kenny, who carried
out her first work on the treatment of sufferers from
poliomyelitis in Townsville.
Past the Convent, which occupies a commanding
position on the Strand, to a point opposite the Hotel Seaview
is fringed with Moreton Bay fig trees, providing acceptable
shade from the tropical sun. In fact, the whole length of the
Strand is now tree lined as a further step in the
beautification of this area.
A short distance from the site of the fortifications at
Kissing Point are erected well furnished huts for the use of
country members of the Country Women’s Association, or others
who may desire a change of scene and climate from the inland
towns.
From Kissing Point, on whose brow the aboriginals
chanted their dismal songs in opposition to the mourning
wailing of the restless surge, the beach sweeps away north to
Cape Pallarenda, a favourite picnic resort and motor drive,
and is then lost to view. Between these two points nestles
Rowe’s Bay, charmingly situated amidst peaceful and
interesting surroundings, a spot to soothe and make vivacious
the spirit of man. In Rowe’s Bay is located the Bush
Children’s Home in this growing residential area. A road
around Kissing Point, or through the hill, would be a great
advantage to Townsville people, and tourists visiting the
north.
There was much diversity of opinion in the past
regarding the climate of North Queensland. Provided we pay the
slightest attention to ordinary hygienic laws, there is no
part of Queensland we need be afraid to reside in.
No climate is to be held responsible for defective
drainage, disregard for sanitation or contempt for rational
dietetic laws. The temperate man who lives in accord with
nature and his surroundings will find all parts of Queensland
adapted fro himself and family, Townsville schools will show
boys and girls whose health and vivacity and vitality are
equal to those of any part of Australia, though they may not
wear the fresh rosy colour conferred by colder climates and
higher altitudes. The general health of the North, the low
death rate and the longevity of life combine to frame a
splendid testimonial to the climate.
The person who can appreciate the beautiful will see
much to admire in the scenery visible from the deck of a
vessel in Cleveland Bay. The Cape Cleveland Range may be seen
to the east, the stately form of Mount Elliott rising to a
height of 4050 feet away to the south-east, and from the south
to the west one can see the fantastic peaks and domes and
serrated ridges of the Main Coast Range. At the northern
entrance to the bay are Cape Pallarenda Range and Many Peaks,
and to the north the gorges and ravines of Magnetic Island,
and away are Bay Rock Island and Palm Islands and the lofty
summits of the mountains of Hinchinbrook Island and the
Cardwell Range. Southwest of the mainland is the city of
Townsville.
The first white man’s architecture in Townsville was a
lagoon in North Ward, where Comerford’s Dairy was one
situated, the site now being occupied by modern homes. The
first was built on Melton Hill, erected by John Melton Black
from timber sawn out of tea trees growing on the edge of this
same lagoon. Most of the early settlers resided on The Strand,
between the Tobruk Memorial Baths and Ross Creek. The township
was then approached from the west side of Castle Hill.
The opening up of Flinders Street and the building of a
wharf were the first undertakings of Black, without any
assistance whatever from the Government of the day but the
pioneers were rewarded latterly to some extent by certain
concessions in the nature of pre-exemption for improvements on
allotments at the first sale of town land.
The first sale of Townsville allotments took place at
Bowen on July 31, 1865. They comprised 69 blocks of one
quarter of an acre each, and embraced the main street
frontages from Ross Creek to the corner of Stanley Street,
down Wickham Street, and along the Strand to and including the
Harbour Board’s land. About half of the allotments was subject
to computation by arbitration. J. M. Black, who had ridden
across from Townsville on behalf of principals, Towns and Co.,
was the foremost purchaser. Bidding was keen and every piece
found a buyer.
In January, 1865, Francis Charles Hodel arrived with
material for building purposes to cope with the demand at the
time when the population and trade were increased by branches
of Bowen firms, who found it notice to use the port at
Townsville for their western business.
The first woman resident was Mrs. Peter Lander, who
kept a store where the old premises of the Bank of New South
Wales stand and the first white native was William Townsville
Boyes, born on August 5, 1865. He was the son of W. W. Boyes,
who arrived with his wife in 1865 in the three masted schooner
Policeman (Captain Till). Boyes, senior, built the first
baker’s oven and made the first baker’s bread.
The first Police Magistrate, Lang Agent, and Collector
of Customs, was James Gordon, the only passenger on the Santa
Barbara when she entered Bowen in 1859. As Crown Land Agent,
he once offered all the allotments in Flinders Street East for
sale, and sold those not passed in at £5 each.
The first water was obtained from a well sunk nearly
opposite the old post office, which was situated on the land
adjoining the old premises of Bartlams Ltd. In Flinders
Street.
The first beef came from a bullock shot by Andrew Ball
on the front beach, and it was duly consumed by the assembled
population of some sixty persons. The first export trade was
confined to pastoral produce.
An extensive boiling down establishment was
afterwards started by Towns and Co., on Ross River, on the
position on which the late William Clayton later had his
residence at Hermit Park.
On Thursday morning last a man named Gavin Hamilton, a
clearer on the second section of the railway, met with his
death in a most shocking manner. He, in company with a mate,
was engaged in burning off in the gully by Beard’s cutting. A
tremendous fire was flaming at the bottom, and Hamilton, who
was on one side of the gulch, called to his mate to help him
roll down a heavy log.
As soon as it started, however, Hamilton somehow lost
his balance and was precipitated right into the burning mass,
head first.
His companion made desperate efforts to extricate him,
getting severely burned about the arms in his courageous
attempt to save Hamilton, but without avail. He shouted for
help, and his cries brought the men down from the cutting,
who, with buckets of water, succeeded in reducing the fire.
Hamilton was by this time charred to a cinder, but by
means of a forked stick and rope, they succeeded in drawing
his body out of the furnace.
His remains were at once placed upon a stretcher and
conveyed to Hart’s Hotel at Barronville, the proprietor with
his usual kindness at once placing a room at the disposal of
the contractor.
The accident occurred at about 4 o’clock in the
afternoon, and at 8 pm, Mr. Meston, J.P., held a Magisterial
inquiry into the circumstances attending his death. The
deceased was unmarried, twenty three years of age, and a
native of Paisley (England), but had been for many years in
Canada.
Mr. Buchanan, on hearing of the occurrence, at once
gave instructions for a coffin to be made, and at midnight it
was completed and the remains of the unfortunate man placed in
it.
The funeral left Hart’s Hotel yesterday for the
cemetery. We may add that this is the first fatal accident
that has occurred on Robb’s contract.
To the Editor of the Brisbane Courier,
Sir,-
First let me say that the late “Fred. Campbell” of Amity Point
and I were intimate acquaintances for several years, and that
he entrusted me with some of his private papers and a sketch
of the lives of his father and himself. The article you
published yesterday he read over to me three years ago, and we
had a long discussion on the various incidents. I called his
attention to one or two errors which he intended to correct
before publication. He mentions the Moravian missionaries at
Stradbroke Island, whereas the missionaries at Dunwich were
Catholic priests sent there in 1842 by Archbishop Polding, who
removed them to the Sandwich Islands in 1846. Their names were
Reos, Snell, Lewis and Morris.
The Moravian Germans went to German Station in 1838,
and stayed there, except those who left the colony. He
mentions Pamphlet and Finnegan, coming to Amity Point from
Point Lookout, whereas their own narrative proves that they
were wrecked on Moreton Island, and were ferried over in
canoes by the Amity blacks. Parsons was the third man.
The story of the mailman walking from Dunwich to Sydney
and back is of very doubtful origin, though Campbell was
satisfied it was correct. The first version I heard under the
following circumstances:-
In 1870, when on a visit to Queensland, I was staying
with Muir, of Benowa, on Nerang Creek. Accompanied by a
half-caste named Billy Harper, and a blackfellow named
“Tullaman,” I walked from Nerang Creek to Point Lookout, where
we found a camp of eight or ten blacks. While camped beside
them for three days, I heard of the white man killed there a
long time ago, and the locality and mode of killing were
minutely described. [Billy Harper and three white men were
afterwards drowned out of Rawling’s boat in crossing the
Nerang bar, and Tullaman was killed in a night row near the
present Nerang township].
That fact appears to be established; but the mail
theory is a wild improbability, when we consider the chances
of a solitary man traveling along 400 miles of coast across
many rivers, and round many bays and inlets, and safely
running the gauntlet of wild blacks for the whole distance –
seeing no whites until he reached the penal settlement at Port
Macquarie. There was in any case no such desperate necessity;
for there was regular communication by sea; as schooners ran
to and from Sydney bringing supplies and taking away produce,
and interchanging convicts.
There is a record that Logan instructed the blacks at
Stradbroke and Brisbane to kill certain desperate runaway
convicts who were described for identification. Probably the
Point Lookout victim was a runaway who had wandered far to the
south and was returning to the penal settlement. In 1870 the
blacks called this mysterious stranger “Jalwang-booyal” –
“Knife long,” or “long knife,” probably referring to a cutlass
he carried Apart from this –
He
passed, nor of his name and race,
Hath left a token or a trace.
Referring to the wrecked vessel out of which came the
flour and tar for the corrobboree, we have to remember that
soon after Captain Philip started the Sydney Cove Settlement,
many ships took the Northern route by Timor and Batavia, and
several were wrecked on the Queensland coast at least twenty
five years before Pamphlet and Finnegan. Embedded in the coral
of the Barrier Reef, and buried far under the sandhills of the
coast and islands, lie the remains of many a good old oaken
ship that went down with her crew and cargo to a nameless
grave, far back in the by-gone years.
And at least the blacks of St. Helena (“Noogoon”) and
Bribie Island saw Flinders and his men in their cruise round
the Bay in 1799, and those of Bribie had enough cause for an
unhappy remembrance.
You are right in saying that Campbell’s untimely death
is to be earnestly regretted. Such a man could have written an
interesting and instructive book. He spoke two aboriginal
dialects, the “Cateebil,” of Ipswich, and “Coobennpil,” of
Lytton and St. Helena.
His father, old John Campbell, was the fifth squatter
on the Darling Downs, where he took up Westbrook in 1841, and,
subsequently, Tamrookum, on the Logan, in 1842. He started the
first Queensland boiling down and fellmongery at Kangaroo
Point in 1843, the same year James O’Brien inaugurated
boiling-down at Yass. I hope in the future to give a
biographical sketch of the late Fred. Campbell, and extracts
from some papers placed in my care.
In the meantime, I may inform your correspondent “T.
W.” that Campbell was not born at Kangaroo Point. His birth
was on the 1st September, 1838, at Murrurundi, in
New South Wales, the first white child born in that locality.
This was four years before his father moved to Kangaroo Point,
I am, sir,
etc
A. Meston.
Mr. Meston’s Lecture
Entertainment
An Unqualified Success
The Telegraph Wednesday
Evening, September 30, 1891.
Seldom if ever has the Theatre Royal been more densely
packed than it was last evening on the occasion of Mr. A.
Meston’s lecture on “The Aboriginals of Australia,” with
illustrations from real life.
The lecture was given in aid of the Bribie Mission
Station. By 20 minutes to 8 o’clock, it was a case of turning
money away, hundreds being disappointed, thus proving that the
management were not at all too sanguine in relying upon the
drawing power of what proved to be the most unique
entertainment ever put on the stage of a theatre. Had the
management secured the Opera House they would have had the
satisfaction of seeing it filled. The curtain rose on a scene
as picturesque as it was novel. Standing in two rows at the
front were the children of the Bribie Mission Station with Mr.
Tyson and the school teacher. Behind them was a number of
aboriginals, representatives of a number of tribes once
numerous about the northern shores of Moreton Bay; but which
are fast dwindling away, until, as in the case of one of them,
the last man only remains.
These aboriginals were “made up” in elaborate fashion,
most of then being decked in the garb of glorious war. A
stuffed cassowary, a kangaroo, a native dog, and a gunyah,
gave additional suggestiveness to the picture.
The wings were representative of forest scenery, and
the black cloth gave an admirable idea of a road in
Queensland, away from the busy haunts of men.
Amid these surroundings Sir Charles Lilley at a few
minutes past 8 stepped to the front, and, in introducing the
lecturer, expressed his delight that so large an audience had
assembled to hear Mr. Meston’s lecture, the object of which
was a benefit for the Bribie Mission Station.
In no man’s hands in Australia, said Sir Charles, could
a lecture of the kind be better placed than in the hands of
Mr. Meston, no man being better equipped to do justice to such
a subject. The remnant behind him (the speaker) was a small
remnant of a very interesting race of man, many more of whom
might have been saved had they in Australia done their duty.
Mr. Meston, who was warmly greeted, prefaced his
lecture by expressing the particular, satisfaction it afforded
the friends of the aboriginals to see that the public of
Brisbane had responded so nobly to assist the mission.
The lecturer then took up the theme of the origin of
the Australian aboriginal nature, showing how widely writers
on the subject had differed. He criticized the argument that
the origin of the race might be traced back through the
similarity of words used by the aboriginals with those used by
other races, and by analogous argument showed the futility of
attempting to prove where the aboriginal came from, describing
it as hopeless a task as to try to prove the origin of the
kangaroo. Regarding the standard of the race, he referred to
Darwin and Haeckel, who had repeated the old mistake that the
Australian aboriginal was the lowest type of humanity. He
denied that such was the case, asserting that those who held
that view spoke in profound ignorance of the subject. There
was a tendency among conquerors to underestimate the races
whom they had conquered, and that was particularly the case
respecting the Australian aboriginal.
Mr. Meston dwelt briefly on the history of Tasmania and
the fate of the native there, beginning with Captain Marion du
Fresne, who, in 1772, had the dubious honour of being the
first white man to come into collision with the aboriginals;
but the first serious collision with the natives occurred in
1803, when Lieutenant-Governor Collins and his party were all
murdered at Hobart, whither they had proceeded with the object
of forming a penal settlement. From that period onward the
destruction of the Tasmanian black was unparalleled, until in
1865, the last black man had died, the last picanniny dying in
1876.
After dealing at some length with the language of the
aboriginals, Mr. Meston alluded to the missionary enterprises
which had been attempted, instancing as the first mission
station that which had been formed at Parramatta, the most
successful mission, having been established in South
Australia, by Bishop Hale.
The first mission in Queensland was the result was the
result of the efforts of the late Dr. Lang, who in 1838
induced 10 German missionaries to settle at German Station,
but it was a failure.
Another mission was started in Queensland by Archbishop
Polding, with two Italian priests, at Dunwich, who, however,
were no more successful than the Germans at German Station.
Another mission was attempted at Port Essington on the
northern coast of Australia, but it ended disastrously.
Latterly mission work had been revived, and was now almost
epidemic. There was the mission at Bribie, there was another
in the Cairns- Herberton district, and one or two were being
established on the Batavia River.
The lecturer then remarked that it was of no use to say
that Queensland had treated its blacks worse than the other
colonies had done. The men who did the pioneering of the
colony had dangerous work to do, and there were many
temptations in doing it. He would say, let the dead past bury
itself. They could not help the past, but they could not atone
for it, and he was certain the people of Brisbane would render
enthusiastic assistance. In traveling over the colony he had
seen much of the blacks, and he had observed how utterly
demoralized they had become, especially outside the little
townships where grog and opium were doing their deadly work.
He wished he could become an absolute despot for six months,
and he would blot out those two things, which were utterly
indefensible. Referring to the collisions which had taken
place with the blacks in Queensland, Mr. Meston maintained
that the troubles between the pioneers and the natives arose
through the races not understanding one another. This was
especially manifest where the pioneers had not respected the
boundaries of the localities of the tribes.
Reference was then made to the collision between
Matthew Flinders and the blacks at Bribie, in 1799; to the
trouble at the Endeavour, where Captain Cook (who was held in
deserved veneration) landed for the purpose of repairing his
ship; and to the cruise of the Rattlesnake.
The lecturer then claimed for the explorers an
honourable record in their dealings with the blacks, affirming
that the troubles recorded arose mostly from the acts of
subordinate members of the expeditions, not through the
explorers themselves.
Special reference in this connection was made to
Leichhardt, McKinley, Walker, and to W. O. Hodgkinson
(Minister for Mines), the last-named never having fired at a
native from the beginning to the end of his exploration trip
in 1876.
The next phase of the subject was the residence of
white men among the blacks, the names mentioned being Buckley,
who escaped from the penal settlement in 1822; James Davis
(Durramboi), who escaped in 1832; John Graham, who went with
the Wide Bay blacks in 1832, and who was instrumental in
saving Miss Fraser; Booraoba, who escaped to the Upper
Brisbane, John Kent, and Jimmy Morrell.
The religious belief of the aboriginals was next dealt
with, the lecturer showing how widely the beliefs of the
tribes differed. Several legends of the aboriginals were then
given. Mr. Meston here left the stage for a brief interval to
appear again in a costume of black tights and trunks more
suited to the exhibition he was about to give.
This was a contest with a weapon called a sword, but
which looked more like a cooper’s stave, and which is claimed
to be an exclusively northern weapon. Mr. Meston used the
sword, unwieldy though it appeared to be, with considerable
dexterity. His opponent, armed with a nullah and a shield,
defended himself with agility, but the heavier weapon
triumphed and the sable warrior was removed from the stage.
Mr. Meston then described the various instruments of warfare
in use by the natives, and showed how they were used, among
which were a Hinchinbrook Island shield, a Russell Island
shield, a spear from the Palmer, a club, and the boomerang.
He also showed how Inspector Kay met his death, at the
hands of a black who was at his side, the inspector being
under the erroneous impression that a spear could not be used
unless it were thrown from a distance.
The lecture was interesting throughout, and was
embellished with many pointed and amusing illustrations, and
stories.
Mr. Meston spoke almost entirely ex tempore, and the
grasp of his subject showed how much he had studied the habits
and customs of the Australian aboriginal.
The lecture was divided into quarter of an hour parts,
and the interval between each part was filled with interesting
exhibitions of native customs and warfare.
The first native scene was a war dance, in which
representatives of 15 different tribes were engaged; then came
a part in which the women did the honours in supplying
exhibition of tracking and then a corroboree and the music.
This was followed by an exhibition of spear throwing at
a wood target fixed at the back of the stage. Most of the
spears pierced the boards of which the target was composed,
some actually entered the cracks made by previous shots, the
lecturer remarking that a man would feel bad if served in that
manner.
The cunning of the aboriginal was fully brought out by
an illustration of the deceiving signs of peace used for the
purpose of decoying an enemy.
Another corroboree followed, the music for which was
given in the Lytton dialect. A nullah and shield combat, in
which four blackfellows were engaged, was the next
performance, followed by a nullah and boomerang contest, the
weapon of defence being a shield in each case.
The “last man” of the Moreton tribe was engaged in this
exhibition, and he made a hit by touching his head on
regaining his feet, after being vanquished by his opponent.
The last performance of the natives was one of the best
pieces of stage acting that could be conceived. A white man is
represented as having camped for the night and has courted
“nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,” never to wake again.
An aboriginal approaches, with catlike stealth until within
striking distance of the unconscious slumberer. The uplifted
spear descends, and a few writhes and contortions, and all is
over. As an example of realistic acting the death struggles of
the blackfellow were really remarkable. Satisfied that his
victim is dead, the murderer departs. He is soon followed by a
black tracker, who, after viewing the body and the
surroundings, gets on the murderer’s trail, and follows it up.
Meanwhile the murderer with a number of his tribe
returns and just as a carousal is about to take place, the
black tracker rushes into their midst, and leveling his gun,
fires point blank at them.
The back scene immediately rises and discloses the
mission children ready to sing a hymn, and they sing “Come,
Let us Adore Him.”
The twin scenes represent the aboriginals in a state of
savagery, and the condition of the young under civilising
influences. The scene was well managed, very realistic, and
was received with enthusiastic applause.
During the interval, Mr. Tyson expressed thanks to the
chairman, the lecturer, and the audience on behalf of the
Aborigines Protection Society.
The success of last evening has induced Mr. Meston
and his friends to give another entertainment this evening,
the proceeds to be given to the Brisbane General Hospital.
The lecturer will deal with phases of the subject which were
not touched upon last evening. The aboriginals will
contribute a highly interesting share of the programme.
THE DAILY MAIL, BRISBANE. 1923
COOK’S DEATH
TRAGIC INCIDENT
MURDERED BY THE BLACKS
What percentage of the people of Australia could tell
us the particulars of Captain Cook’s death, and when, and
where, and how he died?
Very little of Cook’s history is taught in our schools,
and of all that history the least known are the particulars in
the mournful tragedy of his death. The only complete account
of that last, sad, terrible scene, was written by David
Samwell, the surgeon of the Discovery, and he was eye-witness
of the whole tragical spectacle.
Why so able and clear headed and usually extremely
cautious a man as Cook ever placed himself in so perilous a
position, and took such terrible risks, with apparently so
little to gain, is indeed a hopeless conundrum. For once,
evidently, his caution and foresight had deserted him.
In a miserable, sordid, foolish undignified squabble
over a small cutter, probably worth at that time about £25,
the cannibal savages of a Pacific Island brutally murdered one
of the most brilliant and immortal navigators the world has
ever produced. It is only necessary to read the whole of
Samwell’s narrative to be astounded at the want of caution, if
not the actual want of common sense, displayed by Cook and his
people throughout the whole transaction. His allowing himself
to become involved in such a position at all, when any one of
his officers could have been deputed for the interview with
the chief, was error enough, but to trust himself in the power
of dangerous savages, of whose numbers and disposition and
fighting qualities, he knew next to nothing whatever, was a
blunder for which there appears to be no reasonable
explanation. That catastrophe on the island was a truly
pitiable and unromantic termination to a splendid naval
career, not paralleled in its glory even by Colombus.
On February 11, 1779, the two ships Resolution and
Discovery, anchored off the island of Owhyee, now spelled
Hawaii. It matters not who was responsible for the audacity of
changing Cook’s spelling to the present idiotic and misleading
orthography.
Cook wisely spelled all his words phonetically, and the
natives of that island pronounced the name )-why-ee, just as
they do today, and Cook’s spelling was strictly correct. The
Cooktown blacks today pronounce the word “kang-aroo,” not
kang-garoo,” exactly as spelled by Cook in 1770, but the word
was the name of the big toe, and not of any of the marsupials.
When Cook’s ships anchored, a lot of natives came on board to
barter pigs, yams, sugarcane, and feather cloaks for articles
from the ships, especially long iron daggers made on board by
the armourer.
On the second day the natives stole some articles from
the armourer’s forge, and were pursued and fired at, but they
escaped. That was practically a declaration of war, and for
Cook to trust himself on shore at their mercy after that
looked very like an act of madness.
On the same night, they stole one of the cutters, and
the launch and another cutter, with armed crews, went out to
look for the stolen boat. Then Cook went ashore to the village
of Kavaroa to try and coax the chief, Kareopoa, on board, and
hold him as a hostage until the stolen boat was returned.
After actually starting hostilities, he went ashore to take
the chief from the midst of his warriors, when they were very
excited and thirsting for revenge for some of their slain and
wounded comrades. The folly of it all savoured of infatuation,
and is beyond infatuation.
The King apparently consented but Saturday down to talk
it over, a great crowd of natives around them, some very
excited, a few of them armed.
At that moment, a canoe arrived with four men to say
that Cook’s men, who were looking for the stolen cutter, had
killed a chief called Karamon, on the other side of the Bay.
This was fatal spark in that already too sensitive magazine. The natives put on
their war mats, and armed with spears, daggers, clubs, and
stones.
Cook told the marines to march down to the edge of the
water, and form on the rocks, near the boast, as a cover for
the land party. Cook followed, leading the chief by the hand,
an old priest singing a noisy song, doubtless a war song, and
an old woman threw her arms round the chief’s neck, and
implored him not to go on the ship.
A chief named Coho was seen to be watching for a chance
to stab Cook, or one of his men, with a dagger, and an officer
struck him with the butt of a musket.
Then came a shower of stones; the marines fired into
the crowd, threw down their muskets, and rushed into the water
to reach the boats, leaving Cook alone facing a host of
infuriated natives. Cook had fired small shot at one, but the
mat stopped that, and Cook knocked him down with the butt of
his musket. Then the savages rushed on them, dragged those who
could not swim on to the rocks and killed them.
Cook was a few yards ahead of the marines when they
fired, the stones shower had the effect of knocking a
Lieutenant down, and as her was rising a native struck him in
the back with a spear, but he recovered himself, shot the
native dead, and escaped into the water, leaving Cook alone on
the rock.
He was seen walking towards the pinnace, holding his
musket under his right arm, and his left arm on the back of
his head to ward off the stones.
A native stole up behind him, hit him on the back of
the head with a club and ran away. Cook staggered for two or
three yards, fell on one hand and on one knee, and before he
could recover, another native ran up, drew an iron dagger from
beneath his feather cloak, and struck it viciously into the
back of his neck, Cook falling into the water beside the rock,
where it was only knee deep. A crowd followed and tried to
drown him, but being a powerful man, he made an heroic
struggle for his life, got his head up, and waved his hand to
the pinnace for assistance, but the natives got him under
water again, and even once more he got his head up and tried
to scramble to the rock, but a savage struck him on the head
with a big club, and he was not seen alive again.
So we may picture some magnificent brave old lion being
finally torn down and killed by an overwhelming horde of
jackals or hyenas. One savage Saturday on his shoulders, and
hammered his head with a stone, while others struck him with
clubs, then hauled him up dead on the rocks, where they struck
him with their daggers, banged his head on the rock, and used
every ferocity on the dead body.
Four of the marines were killed. Corporal Thomas and
Private Hinks, Pinochet and Allen. About 30of the natives were
shot dead, and several more wounded.
The body
of Cook and his comrades, the four marines, were left lying on
the rocks when the natives fled from the guns in the boats,
which went back to the ships, and left the bodies exposed to
insult from the savages who carried them all away to the top
of a hill.
Cook was killed by a chief named Nooah, and the first
man who struck him with a club was a chief named
Carrima-na-Coaka. On February 15 a native came off to the
ships with a large piece of flesh cut from one of Cook’s
thighs, and on the 20th a chief named Ecapo came
with another bundle containing the thighs and legs joined
together, without the feet, the skull with all the bones, the
face wanting, the separated scalp in the bundle, with the hair
cut short, the two hands complete, with the skin of the
forearms joined to them. The hands had not been in the fire,
but they were salted, and several gashes were cut to receive
the salt. The hands were recognised by a cut on the right,
between the thumb and forefinger.
Cook’s sword and gun were afterwards recovered, and, on
Sunday, February 21, 1779, the mangled remains of the great
navigator were committed to the deep, a salute of 10 cannon
being fired as a final requiem.
One of the early biographers wrote that: “In the extent
and value of his discoveries, Cook surpassed all other
navigators. His surveys, latitudes, and longitudes, are
extremely correct, and he may be said to have been the first
scientific navigator.”
His widow received a pension of £200, and each of his
children £25, about equal to £400 and £50 today.
In 1762, he had married a Miss Elizabeth Batts, who had
six children at the time that Cook was killed.
Cook was born on October 27, 1728, at Marston,
Cleveland, Yorkshire, so he was 50 years 3 months and 18 days
of age when he was killed.
His father was a farm labourer and farm bailiff, and at
13 the son was apprenticed to a haberdasher at Staths, near
Whitby. One writer says he was apprenticed to a grocer.
In 1752 he appears as a mate of a coal ship, and in
1750, as master of a sloop, in the navy, with the fleet in the
St. Lawrence against the French.
His skill as a hydrographic surveyor, his bravery, and
judgment, led to his promotion, and in 1764 he became marine
surveyor of Newfoundland and Labrador, and commander of the
scientific expedition sent to witness the transit of Venus at
Otaheite on June 3, 1769. He was married at the age of 32.
From Otaheite, he went to look for the “Southern
Continent,” sailed round New Zealand, went west until he
sighted the east coast of Australia, on April 19, 1770.
He had come from surveying the Aleutian Islands , and
from Behrings Straits, to winter at the Sandwich group, which
he had discovered, when he anchored ay Owhyee in that fatal
February of 1779.
One marvels how Cook managed to have converse with the
natives a couple of days after his arrival, until we remember
that he was there before, for sometime, and must have learned
a little of the language and prepared a vocabulary, otherwise
how could the chief sit down to talk over the proposal for him
to go on board Cook’s ship, or how could Samwell know the
names of the various chiefs, of even the name of the village,
Kavarea?
That knowledge was acquired on the previous visit, when
the relations were amicable between himself and the natives,
and they rated good friends.
The easy going, complacent, and friendly attitude of
the natives at the first visit evidently entirely misled Cook
as to their true character on his second occasion, otherwise
he would never have made so terrible a mistake as to try to
take the chief from the midst of his tribe, especially after
Cook’s men had actually shot one of the Chief’s people.
There are only two wise methods of dealing with savage
races. You either go among them unarmed, and let them see that
they are implicitly trusted as friends, or go fully armed with
a force strong enough to wreak terrible vengeance if they are
disposed to be hostile.
Cook chose neither one nor the other, with the usual
result with half way house measures.
He choose only a few armed marines, using only muzzle
loading old flintlock muskets of those days, before even the
deadly bayonet was invented by the French; even those marines,
after the first charge, threw down their muskets to save
themselves, and left cook to his fate, an action not at all in
accordance with the traditions of the British Army or Navy. It
is fair to say that Australian soldiers or marines of today
would either have brought their leader into safety or died
beside him. And they would have died as hard as Cook died and
left a much bigger gap in the enemy ranks than Cook’s marines
did.
There is much that is not easy to understand in the
last scene where the splendid man’s life was thrown away.
On Saturday last Senior Sergeant Martin drove me out to
where some of the police were camped on Cabbage Tree Creek, a
distance of about twelve miles from Brisbane.
This was the locality in which the mysterious kanaka
had been camped for some considerable time, probably eighteen
months or a couple of years.
Near here were found the camps which had formed his
base of operations, and from which he sallied forth
periodically to rob hen roosts and dairies and selector’s
gardens.
Near here was the scene of the murder of Bridget Baker,
a crime for which the kanaka is said to be responsible.
On arrival at Collin’s selection, we found all the
police out on search duty except Constable Toomey, whom the
Commissioner had deputed to accompany me on my tour in the
surrounding country. From here Sergeant Martin returned to
Brisbane.
Learning from Toomey that the kanaka was robbing
selectors sixteen miles away in the Basin Pocket, under Mount
Samson, I decided to start over in that direction at once.
Removing my clothes, I put on a pair of close fitting merino
drawers and skin-tight merino shirt, light sandshoes, and
started, armed with a reliable Tranter’s revolver, specially
granted for the occasion by Gartside and Son, and proved by me
on trial to be fairly certain death to any two legged or four
legged animal inside of a hundred yards. In addition, I
carried one of my favourite scrub knives, a weapon quite as
effective as a sword at close quarters. We went across a
series of steep spurs and deep ravines, rough quartz and
gravel country covered by bloodwood, spotted gum, she-oak, and
stringy bark, over the head of the South Pine River until we
arrived at Eaton’s selection on Cedar Creek.
Here, Mrs. Eaton kindly invited us to have something to
eat, and we afterwards followed up the creek to Mr. Owen’s
selection, the chief camp of the police in search of the
kanaka, and arrived there in grand form after a rough walk of
twelve miles.
All the police, including Sergeant O’Loan, Constable
Forrest, Detective Johnson, and two blacks trackers were away
over at Glover’s, about six miles distant, the scene of an
extensive robbery the day before.
In the morning, Toomey and I started with the first
dawn of daylight, and, after a rough walk of six miles,
arrived at Glover’s at 6 o’clock. About an hour afterwards
Sergeant O’Loan, Detective Johnson, and the two trackers
arrived from a neighbouring selection. I was informed that
they had followed the tracks for a mile and a half the
previous day, and were now off to continue on the trail. Mr.
Glover’s house was robbed some time before daylight on Friday
morning. The kanaka had entered a back door, opening on to a
skillion storeroom, out of which another door opened into a
dairy. Out of the dairy, he took 20lb of fresh butter, and,
out of the storeroom, 70lb of flour, 60lb of sugar, half a
blanket, five pumpkins, and sundry small articles. Out of the
kitchen, he took a small saucepan. On the east side of the
house, he opened a bedroom window, put his hand in and took
out half-a-pound of tobacco and a box of caps, leaving
untouched a purse containing £9, lying on the dressing table.
It appears he has a soul above money, and never was
known to include this base and sordid article in any of his
robberies. The box of caps he left on the grindstone outside.
The extremely delicate nature of his movements will be
understood when we find him entering the two rooms, at least
three or four times, and opening a bedroom window, and robbing
it while young Glover was calmly sleeping on the bed.
The total weight of the articles actually taken away,
including four pumpkins and a gramma, was about 215lb. About
fifty yards from the house was a spot where he had put down
the flour, and evidently had adjusted the whole of his swag to
make it more convenient to carry.
Glover’s house stands about 100 yards from the edge of
thick scrub extending over a series of steep spurs on to the
head of Cedar creek, and thence down the valley and along the
watershed of that creek to the South Pine River. At the back
of the house, a timber track runs away for a mile and a half
into the scrub. Along this road, the trackers professed to
have found the kanaka’s tracks. Relying on their statement,
and, unfortunately making no search myself at the starting
point, I accompanied the whole party to where the trackers
turned off the road up through thick scrub out on to a forest
spur and found themselves at fault.
Not caring to interfere with Johnson and the blackboys,
I took Toomey and went away along the spur, turned down into
the scrub towards the creek, and crossed and recrossed the
gorges in various directions in the vague hope of intercepting
tracks running to the east or south.
We came to a deserted hut in which the kanaka had
camped one wet night, and made his fire just beside the bunk
on which he had slept. Round this hut was a considerable area
of felled scrub, over which had grown a dense rank
undergrowth, which I traversed in all directions, the thin
drawers not saving me very effectively from the stinging tree
and the thorn apples. We followed down a branch of the creek
along the ravines, through thick scrub, and over loose rocks,
until we reached the junction, and then returned up a long
spur to the hut in time to save ourselves from a very heavy
thunderstorm, during which rain fell in torrents for about an
hour.
We were joined at the hut by Sergeant O’Loen, Detective
Johnson, Forrest, and the two trackers. When the worst of the
rain was over, we travelled across country to Owen’s on Cedar
Creek. The trackers had never recovered the tracks on the
forest spur, and had been traveling all day at random.
Before starting that morning from Glover’s, I saw at a
glance that the trackers were worse than useless. One of them
is an ancient patriarch familiar to Queen Street citizens as a
collector of stray pence, and a pathetic appealer for
substantial sympathy on the ground of being one of the last
surviving monarchs of a rapidly expiring race. His chief diet
for some years has consisted chiefly of rum. After a month or
two of enforced sobriety, he might possibly detect an odd
track or two of an elephant across a ploughed field.
The other was a younger and more active black, whose
tracking powers were equal to following the trail of a timber
wagon along a muddy road. These two talented myalls were about
as effective warriors on the war trail as two old women with
sandy-blight and smoked spectacles. Moreover, they moved along
in mortal dread of the kanaka, not daring to walk ten yards
away from Johnson.
Believing them to have led Johnson entirely astray, I
started next morning alone, followed the range round until
opposite the basin, and struck straight across the scrub to
Glover’s.
There was, of course, only a very remote chance indeed
of finding a track after a heavy thunderstorm and a wet night.
My opinion was that the kanaka had simply walked up the timber
track to the forest spur and back to mislead his pursuers, and
that he had either skirted the scrub and entered it at another
point, or gone straight across the open valley into the scrubs
at the foot of Mount Samson. Had I looked for his tracks the
previous day, before any rain fell, instead of being misled by
the blacks, I should certainly have found them and never left
them until the rain came on. In any case I should have made
sure of the direction he travelled. I crossed the valley to
the Mount Samson Range, skirted the spurs of that range to the
head of Cobble Creek, ascended the eastern ridge, followed
that ridge until it entered the scrubs at the head of Cedar
Creek, and came round on to the track emerging behind Glover’s
house.
On arrival there, I found Constables Leslie and
Perkins, who had discovered the four pumpkins and a gramma on
the steep bank of a creek behind the cultivation about 200
yards from the house. I followed the fence round and found two
tracks, one where the bare foot had flattened out a piece of
rotten wood, and the other where one heel had left an
indentation in the side of a cow track beside the small
raspberry bush. I was, therefore, correct in my belief that he
had doubled back, and either entered the scrub elsewhere or
gone across the basin to the opposite range.
It was impossible to follow the track as the grass had
completely recovered itself, and all other marks were washed
out by the rain. Had another tour round the scrubs behind
Glover’s, and returned there at night to camp. These scrubs
today were full of leeches, and my drawers from the knees down
were red with blood. Ticks are also very numerous, the most
poisonous I ever met with. Constable Forrest took over twenty
off himself during one day.
On Tuesday morning, I started across to the Samson
Range, accompanied by young Glover, a strapping hardy youth of
18 years, ascended the range behind Michael’s selection,
passed right along the summit, over Mount Samson, where on the
highest point I cut my hand on a board nailed on to a stump,
beside the signal pole, and I followed the range right around
to the head of Cedar Creek, over all the peaks. This gave me a
complete knowledge of the whole country. It was no holiday
excursion. No trace or sign of the kanaka. Of course once the
tracks were lost they could only be recovered by mere chance.
We were not even aware of the way he went and might be
searching for him at the head of Cedar Creek, and the artful
dodger many miles away. He carried off enough provisions to
last himself six weeks at least, and he could afford to remain
in close concealment for that period.
One rare and splendid chance of capturing this kanaka
was unfortunately thrown away. He had robbed a selector
familiarly known as “Harry,” living on the crest of a hill two
miles to the northeast of Owens’. He carried away about a
hundredweight of groceries and beef, and took all down through
the scrub to his camp, about a mile and a half in the ravine
below. This camp was accidentally found by Constables Forrest
and Toomey about 9 o’clock in the morning. The kanaka heard
them coming, let the tent fall flat on the ground, and then
left abruptly. Forrest remained on watch, and Toomey went away
for Detective Johnson. During his absence, the kanaka came
cautiously back, but saw Forrest before reaching the camp and
vanished in the scrub, Forrest making a hopeless effort to
overtake him.
In the evening, Forrest, Johnson, and Toomey waited for
his return. He came back with great caution, saw Johnson,
threw up his hands and ran, two of the police firing at him
without any result. He evidently sustained no injury, as a day
or two later he committed the robbery at Glover’s.
He is evidently an active powerful man, not at all
likely to be taken alive unless surprised when asleep. He is
profoundly cunning, and devotes his whole reasoning faculties
to the planning of fresh robberies and schemes for evading
capture. At present the locality he inhabits is merely a
subject of wild conjecture. In the absence of tracks his
discovery must be purely an accident. Perhaps not a sign of
him will be found until he is driven to commit a fresh
robbery.
Two first class trackers, the best obtainable, ought to
be sent out to replace the two aboriginal fossils who are at
present simply misleading the police.
He commands a practically unlimited area of cover among
the adjoining ranges. In diet he is rather an epicure, being a
connoisseur of butter and fat pullets. In one of his camps
were found the remains of over a hundred fowls. He is fond of
fowls, butter, eggs, pumpkins, sugar, rice, and jams.
The police have performed their duty conscientiously,
and a lot of very hard work has been done by Detective Johnson
especially, while Sergeant O’Loen and Constables Toomey,
Forrest, Leslie, and others had their fair share of what is
really very unpleasant and disheartening work in by no means
agreeable country. It is my duty to mention here the genial
hospitality received in the households of Mr. Owens and Mr.
Glover, and the courtesy everywhere shown to me by the police,
particularly Sergeant O’Loen.
In the absence of tracks I was personally able to do no
more than four days’ rough work, when urgent business demanded
my return to town, but I hope to go back in a day or two and
make a further effort to obtain a personal interview with the
mysterious kanaka who has, for at least three years, defied
all attempts at capture.
In conclusion, I have to express my grateful thanks to
Mr. Commissioner Seymour for the very kind and graceful manner
in which he assisted me to obtain even this amount of reliable
information regarding the “Bunya Terror”.
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