Sunday, 13th May, 1838

I had mail from England this week, including a letter from Sir Pultney Malcolm who writes

"You have had a bad set to deal with. Had I been aware of the powers of the Commissioners, I would not have advised you to accept the Government. You are considered an ill-used man and when your case is known, will have the sympathy of all good men."

which, let's be honest, is all well and good, but damn all use to me now.

Ned Stephens is cutting up rough and accusing the Government of not paying Company bills.

Last year I ordered the company whaling boat to Boston Bay with a view to warning new arrivals to proceed to Nepean Bay, as there was sod all to be doing at Port Lincoln. Fisher, in his usual manner, countermanded my order and made other arrangements. I have since been informed that no-one ever so much as lifted a finger to prepare to sail for Port Lincoln and there was never any intention to do so. And yet I was presented with an account, which I refused to pay, for the chartering of the boat and the cost of the crew to the Company. 

I also have to hand an account for the loss of a mare, borrowed from the Company by Tom Cotter, Government Surgeon, to go and visit a patient, probably to make the man drink senna pod tea. He returned the horse to the Company yard where two days later it gave birth prematurely to a foal and promptly died.

Stephens, naturally, blamed Cotter and presented me with a bill for the dead animal. Yet when I referred the account to Gilles, he discovered that the day before Cotter rode it, it was borrowed by David McLaren, a man who rides a horse as well as you might expect a Scottish Baptist to ride - that is: badly. Gilles advised the Company that responsibility for the death of the mare was disputed as it could easily have been McLaren's lack of equestrian prowess that brought on the birth.

Now Stephens is using my "non-payment" to try and have me over a barrel. A group of Cornish miners arrived in the Colony and I set them to work digging for water at Port Adelaide. With the exception of Methodist hymns, there is nothing a Cornishman likes so much as digging a hole and the lot of them set to with a will, drilling for water. 

But before they managed to proceed too far they ran out of pipe and, having had their hole in the ground taken away from them, sat around looking even more glum and miserable than Cornishmen do normally. 

To cheer them up I ordered more materials from the Company stores, only to be told that there'd be no more supplies "on tick" while there were outstanding accounts to be paid.

So now I'll be needing to bring supplies in from Sydney or Hobart, with increased expense and fingers smacked by the misers in the Colonial Office in London. Damnation! 

Here at Government House we continue to be beset with George Milner Stephen blighting our lives. It occurred to me to set baits or lay traps in order to rid ourselves of him, but Mrs. Hindmarsh and the girls have taken quite the shine to the man and his easy charm.

The man cheats at cards. It has been my habit of an evening to spend time with Mrs Hindmarsh and the girls playing a harmless game of Five Card Loo, playing for buttons. Once Stephen started playing it was "shall we make it more interesting?" and we were playing for pennies. And damn me if he didn't win the lot. We caught him several times peeking at Miss and just as many times playing a low trump when he had a higher, which he clearly was "saving for later". At the time I took his reminders to "hold your cards up Governor. I can see every last one you have!" to be friendly advice, but later realised that I was sitting in front of the mantle mirror and holding my cards up just gave him a better view. 

Mary assures me that with his talent at musical instruments, his singing, his painting, his poetry writing and his interests in Science he could be described, as she puts it, as a "Renaissance Man".

Sadly, what he could not be described as is "a lawyer", a deficit that might seem fatal in a man occupying one of the chief law offices in the Province. Still, charm outweighs talent I gather and such seems to be the principle Milner Stephen operates under.

Mary tells me that he has offered to take her on as a student of drawing and water colours, which I find suspicious. I spoke to him about it and he tells me that he hopes to "expand her aptitude", which I find doubly suspicious. I don't know about aptitude, but Mr Stephen may well find that I "expand his arse" with my military boot doing the expansion.

A terrible thought struck me during the week. There is still much speculation about the town as to the identity of the Hangman in the Magee execution. The rumours seem to favour the notion that the Cook of the South Australia Company was co-opted into performing the deed. The Cook, however, denies all knowledge of the matter and has produced an alibi for the time of the hanging. However, all seem to agree that "a cook" was involved.

So it seems we are looking for a heftily built cook, incapable of any degree of competence. And for that description there can be only one candidate: The Mad Poisoner herself, Hangman Harvey!   

Sunday, 6th May, 1838

What is wrong with this town that nothing can possibly happen without some damned fool of a jackanapes turning it into a circus? Can we do nothing without it descending into the sort of farce that would be jeered from the stage in the lowest theatre in London?

On Wednesday last it was time for Michael Magee to meet the awful eternal judgement that awaited him in the life to come.

During the past week I have heard many a Colonist tell me that the sentence of death might have been the law, but it was too severe for the nature of the crime. "He took a shot at Sam Smart and missed, Governor. Why should he die for that?" A fair question and one I could not really answer with anything other than "The law must be seen to be done."

It being a Wednesday a crowd of people who had, it seems, nothing better to do had made their way to the execution spot, just down from Strangways Terrace, on the side of the hill by the River. I did not attend, but plenty of witnesses have informed me of what transpired. There are - what? - four or five thousand people in the township and there must have been at least a thousand of them there. Men and women, families, all of them with blankets to sit on and baskets of food, all of them there to see the show. And about nine hundred and ninety-five of them have waylaid me in the streets since to give me the benefit of their opinion regarding the matter.

Naturally the question at the forefront of all 1000 minds was the same. "Who would be the hangman?" No-one had heard if anyone had put their hand up for the £10 on offer and many thought that there was ever the possibility that the whole thing was for naught and they would all go home at the end of the day with no hanging and Magee's sentence commuted. The suggestion also circulated that Bushranger Morgan would be called on to do the deed as a condition of his own death sentence being commuted. The only thing everyone seemed to agree on was that it would be in the poorest taste for Sam Smart to act as hangman. I heard the phrase "conflict of interest" bandied about freely.

Well, at around nine o'clock all was clear, as a procession was seen coming through the trees towards the hanging location. At the head, our 10 mounted police rode in double file, sabres drawn. Behind them, freshly sobered up and with uniforms as spotless as could reasonably be hoped for, came the Marines.

Remarkably, they had bayonets fixed, which seemed a risk to all present, but they had complained about the police sabres "and how will it make us look Governor if the police are armed and we're not?" with the result that compassion over-ruled common sense and they were given permission to fix bayonets on the grounds of "sauce for the goose".

Behind them walked Charlie Howard, decked out in full kit and behind him came a wagon, pulled by two of Mr. Fisher's £500 ponies. And in the wagon was Magee, accompanied by as demonic a figure as has ever been seen in this Colony. 

The hangman.

The fellow had clearly decided that anonymity was the watchword for the day and had done all he could to ensure that none could identify him. He wore a black mask, seemingly fashioned from a cotton sack and painted with grotesque markings below the eye holes, suggestive of a nose and grinning mouth. He wore a shirt, belted, and trousers tied around the waist and ankles, both several sizes too big, but stuffed with, I imagine, straw, so that he had the appearance of a hunchback.

When the cart stopped it was seen that this Mr. Punch had been sitting on the coffin packed on board for the disposal of Magee's body, which seemed macabre enough, but even more so was the sight of Magee himself being forced, by lack of space, to sit next to his own executioner, atop his own coffin, which seemed not merely grotesque, but worse, in the poorest of taste.

At this point, as though the scene was not dreary enough, the Reverend came to life with the Service for the Dead. On hearing about ashes and dust and the resurrection, all rose to their feet. Partly from respect and partly to be ready to make a run for it if Howard went on to "make a few remarks". The only one present who seemed to take Charlie seriously was the Catholic Magee, who listened to the Reverend for a time, then fell to his knees in fervent prayer, probably thinking he could do better himself.

Charlie did not get to make any remarks, however, as, to the relief of all, he was interrupted by a clatter and a degree of swearing as Mr. Punch attempted to get down from the cart. It seems that he could not see properly through the holes in the mask and was unable to find how to descend.

Magee's hands had been tied tightly behind him, but in order that he could assist the hangman in the descent from the conveyance, his bonds were loosened to allow him use of his hands.

Magee then stood and addressed the crowd with a surprising degree of eloquence and, the which we are unused to, brevity.

He admitted his guilt and the justice of the sentence, but denied vehemently that he was an escapee and "on the run". He had never, he insisted, been in trouble with the law.

To be asserting this when standing on a scaffold with the expectation of a noose at any moment certainly suggests a degree of boldness of character that can only be admired and it was clear that the assembled crowd found themselves warming to the man.

While this was happening our hangman was clearly having second thoughts, the nature of the deed sinking in. As he greased the rope and swung from the end of it, the hunchback was heard to say "How it haunts me!"

The hanging being scheduled for ten, Sam Smart had set the alarm on his watch to sound, which it now did, as did several others scattered through the crowd. "The bells! The bells!" cried the Hunchback, who lurched toward the prisoner.

Using a ladder against the tree he climbed up onto the cart, Magee offering him a helping hand, and placed a bag over the prisoner's head and then the noose about his neck. 

He then partly climbed and partly fell down the ladder and whipped up the horses.

Mr Skipper's sketch of the Execution

It was at this point that the thing became less "the law must be seen to be done" and more "the law must be seen to be believed".

In an ideal world the horses would have set off at a canter, Magee would have dropped sharply, allowing the noose to snap his neck and all could have gone home knowing that they had enjoyed a grand day out and that all was right with the world.

Instead, Mr. Fisher's small and sickly ponies walked forward so slowly that Magee simply slid gently off the back of the cart and hung there by the neck, still alive.

Mr. Punch, clearly deciding that he had performed all that £10 could buy, jumped onto the back of a nearby horse and high tailed it as fast as he could.

Meanwhile, it became obvious that the buffoon had put the noose on wrongly, meaning that the knot, instead of tightening and killing the prisoner, was positioned under Magee's chin, both supporting the head and digging in to his windpipe.

Then, because Magee's hands had been loosened, he was able to reach up, grab the rope and lift himself up to ease the pressure on his throat. And, being able to breathe, he began to scream out, "Christ have Mercy! Save me someone!" as he slowly twisted in the wind like a joint before the fire.

So distressing was the scene that the crowd began to call out, demanding that something be done. There were cries of "Cut him him down!" and demands of the Marines to render the coup de grace and shoot him.  (I may add that it speaks well of the trusting nature of the people of Adelaide, bless them, that, all evidence to the contrary, they still believe the Marines to be capable of aiming and hitting a moving target.)

FInally someone had the bright idea of bringing back the hangman and one of the Police Troopers set off on horseback, riding like the devil himself. And all the while there came the screams of "Jesus, help me!" from Magee as he pulled himself up by the rope.

Sam Smart came forward and tried to address the crowd, telling them to remain calm, but the people were in no mood for placation and the whole scene threatened to become most ugly.

Then the Hangman was seen being escorted back by the Police Trooper. I say "escorted", but it seemed far more like he was being forced back at sabre point! When he arrived at the gallows he stood back and surveyed the situation for a moment and then, obviously deciding on a course of action, suddenly leapt up at Magee, grabbing at his legs and swinging from them.

 Magee, unable to support the weight of two by holding the rope, was forced to let go and the two men hung there while Magee slowly choked to death. It is said that it took nearly a quarter of an hour for the man to succumb and that during that time, even when all thought he had breathed his last, the body would twitch and low murmers were heard from beneath the sack covering his face.

And all the while Mr Punch hung from Magee's legs, while the angry crowd called out "Murderer!".

Is it worth pointing out that Magee's offence was only "attempted murder"? It seems to me that when the hangman is so incompetent that, in the course of his duties he is accused of a worse crime than the prisoner he is hanging, then we really do need to ask if we chose the right man for the job.

As it was the crowd was so incensed that, when Jack Ketch the Hunchback finally finished using the Prisoner as a Fairground Swing, he only managed to get away from the scene under Police Escort. Then, rendered sombre and dismal by the whole sorry business, the crowd slowly dispersed, few even waiting for Magee's body to be cut down and placed in his coffin. As one witness said to me, "We were there for a nice family outing to the execution. We thought that, in years to come, the children would appreciate being able to say that they had been present at the first public hanging in the Colony. And instead we had to watch barbaric horrors!"

They were quite upset by the whole incident. But not quite as upset, I imagine, as MIchael Magee.

Sunday, 29th April, 1838

How much longer can Fisher stay on as Resident Commissioner? His latest display of incompetence must surely give those nincompoops in London pause to consider whether he is the best man to represent them here in the Colony.

Seven months ago Fisher decided that what was needed here in the Colony was a supply of horses. (Editor's Note: See entry for Sunday, 17th September, 1837)  And so he hired himself a ship, the Lord Hobart, from the Company and sent it off to Timor on a shopping expedition to Timor with Cornelius Birdseye, in his role as Overseer of the Company's Flocks and Herds, on board to see to the selection.

Once there, Corney finds himself 120 Timor ponies and loads them on board. (In fact, they had shipped 119 and Corney lost count)

Then back they sail to Adelaide, arriving yesterday with their ponies on board.

And so do we now have 119 ponies running free across the Adelaide Plains? No we do not.

Because under the tender care of Mr Birdseye 112 of the horses died on board ship, leaving a mere seven ponies to survive the voyage. And of those seven, at least three of them seem good for nothing but dog's meat and would be best put out of their misery as a kindness.

So, seven months of travel and we are four ponies to the good. At the beginning of the month, Mr Hawdon arrived from Sydney with 20 horses for sale and Sturt is expected to arrive with more horses for sale any day now, which makes Fisher's four seem small beer indeed.

But how much did Mr Fisher's nags cost him?

Well now, Gilles has shown me the account Fisher has presented to him and it appears that McLaren advanced Fisher £600 for the purchase of the ponies. Fisher hired the ship from the Company at a rate of 21/- per ton per month. The Lord Hobart being a ship of about 190 tons and the voyage lasting for somewhat more than seven months we arrive at a figure of £1506-16-6d. Then we have money for Corney Birdseye and his men as well as sundry expences, meaning that these five ponies have cost just over £2600.

Gilles tells me that each pony has set us back roughly £520!

Gilles also tells me that he has positively no inclination to pay any money at all for Mr Fisher's shipping adventure and so I do not doubt that a legal action will soon be underway as Mr Fisher sues Gilles for the money. 

Having thrown two and a half thousand pounds overboard in the pursuit of enough horseflesh to pull a small coach, Mr Fisher now endears himself to the Colony by objecting to the formation of a Police Force on the grounds of expence!

The recent adventures of the Marines, what with court appearances, the leaving prisoners behind in the wilderness, as well as the accumulated ill feeling of the populace towards these drunken wild boys, who seem to have caused as much disruption as they have prevented, have meant that the Colony is almost unanimous in their desire for a proper police force. "Almost unanimous" because Fisher alone has objections!

We have found twenty brawny lads who are keen to take part - ten mounted police and ten foot - uniforms have been found, Mr Hawdon's horses reserved, tenders called for a police station and not one, but two letters from Lord Glenelg authorising both the formation of the Police Force and the related expenditure and all seems set fair.

Except that, like the fly in the ointment, Mr Fisher has decided it is not to be! It is too expensive! 

£2600 for a few ponies without so much as a turned hair! £800 for the Port Canal. But the security of the Province? Oh, no no no  no no! We cannot afford such a thing.

What he really means is that we cannot be spending money on an idea of mine because doing so might make me appear to be active in the protection of the colony.

Well, of course we can and we will. Indeed, we have and our proud new Police Force is up and running! Mr Inman has agreed to act as Commander, taking the rank of Inspector.

Of course the Marines were less than pleased until I told them that they needed to show the new men the tricks of the trade and as soon as they were told that they were the old hands, they were perfectly happy and have been out showing the ropes to the new men and giving the benefits of their knowledge, such as it is.

And speaking of "showing the ropes", Magee's execution date has been set for next Wednesday and, as I predicted, the whole place is at sixes and sevens getting ready for it. We have, it seems, found a suitable tree with a good stout, horizontal branch and a good length of thick rope has been acquired. But do we have a hangman? 

Hangman have we not.

The not inconsiderable sum of £5 was offered, but with no takers and hence the money was raised to £10. But, as yet, we have had no applicants for the job.

And, whilst I understand that acting as executioner and taking a man's life is no trifling matter, still... £10 is £10!

Sunday, 22nd April, 1838

At the invitation of Bill Shephard, I went along this week to the "Adelaide Tavern", a new venture of Shephard's in Franklin Street. He has a hotel, accommodation and the intention to house a Theatre in the building. 

Sadly, I was not impressed. I realise that it is but early days for him, but his claim to "comfort on any scale" can only be credible if the scale runs from Zero to Three. Anything higher is quite out of the question. And his beef a-la-mode gives indication that "la mode" is "sec, dur et non comestible". He claims it is for "the convenience of strangers", which may well be true, as you certainly wouldn't want to subject friends to it.

He is currently casting around for theatrical types to appear in what he describes as a "glittering gala" of an opening night for his Theatre. Well, I wish him luck, but cannot help but think that the artistic resources of the Province might well be stretched to provide enough Thespian capacity to glitter even slightly.

But my strongest concern is his claim to be fitting the thing out in the style of theatres in Paris. I find this very worrying.

From the Gazette and Register 28/4/1838

 Shephard's claim that the theatre will be of the utmost respectability seems at odds with the French influence he claims to be following. The moral lassitude of the French theatres (and, indeed, of French society generally) is a by-word amongst those who practice regular habits and I need hardly sully these pages with a description of the outrages against rectitude associated with them, but suffice it to say that as a home for all that is loose, fast and free from nether garments, the Minor Theatres of Paris are hard to beat. So I'm told.

Well, we will wait and see.

Magee and Morgan have both had their day in court and both have been found guilty of "Shooting with Intent to Kill" whilst one "George Smith", alias "George Scroggins", an associate of theirs, has been apprehended and found guilty of Highway Robbery.

I had been unaware of the case of Scroggins and on first hearing I could not help but think that to change ones name from something as serviceable as "George Smith" to "Scroggins" showed no great judgement or intelligence. Also, to attempt "highway robbery" in a colony devoid of highways can only lead to a life filled with frustration. 

So Scroggins seems, at best, a frustrated simpleton. And since Morgan has already suffered four nights of terror on a Fleurieu Hillside and since neither he nor Morgan actually fired the pistol at Sammy Smart, I have determined to commute their death sentences to transportation. They were, it appears, convicts from Van Diemens Land, so it seems fitting to send them back there and let them be Hobart's problem.

After all, Franklin sent us Milner Stephen, so it seems only fair that we give them something in return.

Magee, however, I can find no extenuation for. The Court has passed a sentence of death and I fear that death it must be. He certainly intended to kill Sam Smart and even though his aim was bad, he fired the pistol with that intent. The Law must be seen to be done.

Also in court was one John Wadcot. And what was Johnny Wadcot, Marine of this Province, in court, being found guilty for?

A fortnight ago young Johnny was duty guard here at Government House. He decided, against all reason and sanity, to help himself to a cup of the coffee that the mad Widow always has brewing on the fire. 

The Widow's method of coffee making is to take a large pot, tip in about three pounds of ground coffee, add water and then place the pot on the hob to boil. After two or three days, when the muck has reduced to a sort of slow bubbling sludge she empties the pot and starts the whole process again. Anyone fool enough to try the foul brew finds themselves with palpitations and a good two days without sleep ahead of them. We have all learned to avoid the horrors of that black concoction. 

Wadcot, however, had not. He sliced himself off a dollop of the coffee, added milk and then took a mouthful. So disgusted was he that he spat it out and spilled the rest of the brew onto his shirt, where the black goo stained it and actually began eating away the material.

And thus he was caught stealing a shirt from Coltman's Stores and found himself up before the jury on a charge. 

I have told Jickling I will administer the punishment. I believe perhaps two cups of the Widow's coffee will be both punitive and reformative. 

Sunday, 15th April, 1838

When I said last week that I had hopes that the Marines could deal with collecting Bushranger Morgan from Encounter Bay I was, in the end, proven half right.

With frightening speed and efficiency and a precision that might almost pass as military to the unfussy, the Marines rode to Encounter Bay, making good time and getting lost hardly at all.

The morning after they arrived they shackled the prisoner and, making him march before them, set out for Adelaide. 

The problem made itself felt when they decided to stop for elevenses. It became perfectly apparent that whoever had packed the rations had miscalculated. The rations had been packed on the basis of six Marines taking two days to travel to Encounter Bay and two days back.

But the true fact of the matter was that there were seven people on the return leg of the journey not six and that seventh was on foot, meaning that the journey was likely to take a two and a half or even three days. Add to these difficulties that Private Fish had eaten rather more cake than was truly his share on the Southern trip and the direness of the situation will be appreciated. 

However,  like an answer to prayer, a solution presented itself and though some might cavil at its ethics, none can criticise it for a lack of boldness. 

They simply chained Bushranger Morgan to a sizeable tree, tossed him Fish's leftover cake and left him there, explaining that they were going to get more food and would be back for him.

They rode off and without Morgan to slow them made good time. Such good time that they decided that there was no need to hurry and, on the second day, to feel that they deserved an extra long lunch. By eating their supper rations as well, they made it into quite the slap up, drawn out affair. As a result it wasn't until dark that they rode down North Terrace and back to camp, exhausted after their exertions. They fell into bed and of course the next morning they slept in, meaning that it wasn't until nearly eleven that they reported to me to tell me of their clever idea and that Morgan was chained to a tree on the side of a hill in the wilderness, somewhere north of Encounter Bay.

Astonished, I immediately organised a rescue party, made up of sensible and reliable people who, taking  the least Spaniel like Marine as guide, rode South like furies, eventually,  after a deal of trouble, finding poor Morgan four fifths dead from heat, thirst, starvation and terror, having spent four days and nights in all weathers, fearful of native attacks and repelling wild dogs by kicking them on the snout. The search party unchained him and set about reviving him as best they could before bringing him up to town.

In the mean time I found an old slipper and a rolled up newspaper and made my way to the Marine's camp, where I gave some disciplinary training to my red spaniels. And a hard lesson it was.

Mr Hawdon has written me a detailed and informative report regarding his Overland Expedition down to Adelaide from New South Wales. I read it with keen interest.

The next time Bingham Hutchinson gives me some of his usual blatherskite I might present him with a copy of this as a model for him to follow. 

Fisher has announced that an advertisment will be placed in the next issue of The Gazette announcing the sale of trunks and stumps felled by his pauper labourers about the town. And no ordinary sale, where you come in, put down your shilling and take away your stump. Oh, no, no, no! Having produced the items for sale at cut rate prices, he is now determined to milk as much cash from the public as possible in the sale of them by selling them at Auction. Highest bidders only thank you and terms, cash only. Is there no bottom to the gaping maw of the man's mendacity?

There arrived in port today the Lord Goderich with some 150 souls on board and there are already extraordinary stories circulating about the town regarding their six month voyage out. I cannot imagine how anyone might take six months to make the voyage, but there are tales of violent disagreements between the Passengers and Captain Andrew Smith. 

Details are scarce, but there are tales doing the rounds of a mysterious evening in March with scenes of drunken debauchery resulting in the death of one of the party. So great were the disagreements between Captain and Passengers that they put in early, before reaching Rio, at Bahia, in northern Brazil, to calm things down. The ship then continued on to RIo with  Lt Edwards of H.M.S. Samarang in charge. The arguments were deemed so serious that it appears, on reaching Rio, that Hesketh, the English Consul, took control of the situation and placed Mr Wethem, the Master's Assistant on board H.M.S. Lyra in charge. 

I am told that the disagreements continued throughout the rest of the voyage and ill feeling ran so high that already, with less than twenty four hours in the Colony, there is talk of Court Cases and litigation and all the fun of the fair! 

I look forward to months of entertainment from these new arrivals and I imagine the rest of Adelaide agrees with me. Go it lads! Have at them!

Newspaper Clipping found between the pages of Hindmarsh's diary

IMPORTATION OF STOCK OVERLAND FROM NEW SOUTH WALES.

His Excellency the Governor has directed the following letter addressed to him by Mr. HAWDON, to be made public for general information:

 Adelaide, April 5, 1838.

SIR

In accordance with your Excellency's wish, I take the earliest opportunity to lay before your Excellency an account of my journey across the interior of the country from New South Wales to this colony. 

In proving the practicability of bringing stock from the sister colony by land, I have been singularly fortunate, having brought with me more than three hundred horned cattle in excellent condition, losing only four animals by the journey. 

The cattle were driven from their station on the River Hume to the Port Phillip mail establishment on the Goulburn River, at which place they were met by the drays conveying supplies for the journey, from Port Phillip, on the 23rd of January. My intended route was to follow the course of this river to the point where Major Mitchell left it on his last expedition, and from thence to cross over to the River Yarrane, hoping that its course would take us to the westward, and thus avoid both the risk likely to be incurred by watering cattle at so large a river as the Murray, and also the danger of passing through the hostile tribes of natives said to inhabit its banks.

Following the course of the Goulburn in a north direction, we discovered that it joined the Hume three days' journey before we fell on Major Mitchell's track going to the south ; its supposed junction at Swan Hill, as afterwards ascertained, being merely a branch of the Hume running out and again joining the main channel. On arriving at the Yarrane, we were disappointed by finding its channel dry, and only a small quantity of water remaining in the holes where Major Mitchell constructed the bridge. 

The flat country to the westward affording no prospect of obtaining water, we were under the necessity of following down the channel of the Yarrane, which took us almost in a northerly direction back to the Hume. Passing its junction with the Murrumbidgee, we followed on the south bank of the Murray to within three miles of the junction of the River Darling, when we crossed over, fording both rivers without difficulty. At the junction of the Darling, we found a bottle buried by Major Mitchell on the 30th of June, 1836. 

On the third day after leaving the Darling, we were following a flooded branch of the Murray, which we found joining the River Rufus within a mile of a beautiful lake about forty miles in cir-cumference, out of which the Rufus takes its rise. The large body of water which flows down this river appears to be supplied entirely by springs rising in the lake, the bed of which is white clay, and discolours the water. We named this Lake Victoria, in honor of her present Majesty. We afterwards passed another lake about twenty miles in circumference, the water of which was impregnated with nitre, a large quantity of which was lying on the edge of the lake. I named this Lake Bonney, after my friend Mr. Charles Bonney, who has accompanied me and shared the difficulties of this undertaking. 

Leaving the river about the latitude of Adelaide, we were compelled by the ranges to go more to the south, and thus passed near to Mount Barker. In that district, we passed over a beautiful and extensive tract of grazing country, especially that lying between Mount Barker and Lake Alexandrina, which equals in richness of soil and pasturage any that I have seen in New Holland. 

The valley through which the Murray flows from the junction of the Murrumbidgee varies from one to upwards of five miles in breadth, and is in many places well adapted for the cultivation of grain ; but the country on either side of the valley consists of red sand generally covered with bush. 

In passing through the tribes of natives, we were extremely fortunate in keeping up a friendly intercourse with them by means of ambassadors sent from one tribe, to another. The tribes are very numerous, and we have frequently counted as many as two hundred in one tribe. On one occasion, when near the Darling, we passed three tribes in one day. 

My party consisted of nine men ; but I should consider this too small a number to travel with safety to the stock over the same country again. 

I have the honor to be, Sir, Your Excellency's obedient humble servant, 

JOSEPH HAWDON. 

Sunday, 8th April, 1838

We had more news from Encounter Bay this week regarding our famous bushranger.

It appears that not only is the bushranger no myth but that his name is none other than Morgan! Bill Morgan, bushranger bold! 

Now need I add that William Morgan was the accomplice to the shooting of Sherrif Sam Smart, and who escaped into the bush and who we were rather hoping never to hear of again?

Instead, this desperate villain had been captured and detained by the whalers at Encounter Bay, probably because he hadn't eaten for days and felt surrender was a small price for a square meal and a round of toast. 

What is it about the whalers that they have a perfect obsession with taking people prisoner? They held Samuel Stephens captive, they captured Black Alick and insisted he face the full penalty of the law and now they have captured a bushranger and are holding him prisoner.

It is almost as if they hope to put their own sins and crimes in a better light by making others look bad. Or perhaps hope to distract attention. A few days detective work and I imagine that most of the whalers could be put on a boat back to Sydney as either undesirables or escapees. 

At any rate,  Marines were dispatched to travel the fifty miles on horseback and bring the wild thieving outlaw back to the Courts and Justice. 

I went on down to wave them off. For all their drunken idiocy I am fond of the lads, in the same sort of way as you might look kindly on an endearingly stupid and troublesome spaniel. Dumb chums all. And now here they were heading off on their own, on horseback, like proper grown-ups, on a task of some responsibility 

Were these really the same lads as nearly took Mrs Stevenson's eye out when they tried to fire the musket salute at the Proclamation only a year ago? How they grow. Sunrise, sunset. Where does the time go? I was certain they were up to the task.

Or at least hopeful.

There is an interesting rumour about our man Smart. It is whispered that the shooting he endured, for all his bandaging and bravery, actually did not wound him at all, but merely grazed him, leaving him with just a gunpowder mark on his cheek and ear. The blood, it is said by some, came from him bumping his head as he fell. If true this means that when he has been swanning about declaring "No, no, it was nothing!" He may have been telling the absolute truth!

The prisoner Magee, it appears, is not only Irish, but, as if that was not enough, of the Popish persuasion. As a prisoner he is, of course, entitled to the comforts of visitation from a priest of his faith, but when it comes to Romish Priests,  the cupboard is bare. 

I was going to ask Charlie Howard to pop along and offer what succour he could, but since, only last week, Howard preached on "The Anti-Christ of Rome" taking Revelation 17:1-6 as his text:

(1) And there came one of the seven angels which had the seven vials, and talked with me, saying unto me, Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters: (2) With whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication, and the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk with the wine of her fornication.(3) So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. (4) And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication: (5) And upon her forehead was a name written, Mystery, Babylon The Great, The Mother Of Harlots And Abominations Of The Earth. (6) And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration.

and offered Magee as an example of the moral turpitude of "those who worship in Babylon"  I felt that Charlie might not be the best source of comfort.

Instead, a fellow Catholic, a wheelwright or stonemason or some such labourer of the lower sort, has offered to wield Veronica's handkerchief to the prisoner and has met with him two or three times in the past week. 

A date has finally been set for the distribution of land in the country survey. On the 12th of May  Holders of the first 437 land orders are all going to troop along to Fisher's office and select our land.

And, in a surprising development, no less a figure than Sammy Stephens is offering to advise people on their choices, for the exorbitant sum of 5 guineas!

Sam's attempted murder trial has been dropped. It was clearly making no progress after Jeffcott's death and it was felt that there was only room for one trial of that nature at a time. With McGee taking up most of the available brain power, Jickling and Milner Stephens declared that there was insufficient evidence in the trial to allow the prospect of a conviction and so Sammy found himself a free man.

Exactly how there was "insufficient evidence" when there were two whale boats' full of witnesses no-one has thought to ask, but the legal genius of Milner Stephen is not to be sneezed at.

And the agricultural genius of Sam Stephens is similarly sternutation proof. He has, it seems, a reputation for sound good sense and sensible judgement when it comes to the potential possibilties of a piece of land. "Capability Stephens" we should call him. 

Of course, closer inspection suggests that rumours of said reputation were started and fostered by Sam himself and have little grounding in truth. This is, after all, the man who thought Nepean Bay was an admirable place for a city. And why Sam should have sound good sense and sensible judgement in  this matter and be a complete drunken ninny in all others is a question few seem prone to ask. Instead people are queuing up to plonk down their 5 guineas and good luck to them. I think 5 guineas bet on a nag at Mr Fisher's picnic races might have more chance of a profitable return, but once again i am in the minority.

Last Tuesday (3rd April) just about sunset a Mr Hawdon rode into town, having left over 300 head of cattle and horses down in the Onkaparinga Valley. He assures us that all are in excellent condition after travelling nearly one thousand miles from New South Wales via the Murrumbidgee, the Darling and the Murray Rivers. 

He found abundant feed along the way and has done excellent work in the establishment of a stock route from Sydney to Adelaide, particularly since he also brought with him two bullock drays, thus demonstrating the practical nature of the route. No doubt he will be rewarded handsomely with the sale of his stock as there are people here keen to purchase. 

He also tells us that there are other parties on the way, one of them being led by Captain Sturt. If Sturt is involved I cannot help but think that they could end up anywhere and take any amount of time, but we shall see. 

Sunday, 1st April, 1838

I have news to hand of a "Bushranger" terrorising the Encounter Bay District.

It has also been brought to me attention that today is All Fools Day and I feel the two facts are not unrelated.

Some poor devil probably did no more than wave an empty pistol about and steal a few potatoes for his supper because he was hungry and the result is that he's Robin Hood, Blackbeard, Rob Roy and King Rat in the Pantomime rolled into one terrible Dick Turpin.

I imagine I will have to dispatch a couple of Marines to the South Coast to deal with the matter of this, no doubt, ambitiously named "bushranger" or at the least appear and look fierce. Probably appearing sober would be enough of a challenge for the lads, but one can only hope.

Mr. Fisher's Pauper Labourers have continued to work about town. They have been busy chopping down trees in Brown and Morphett streets and, if anything, have made the streets even less passable since they have left both the fallen trees and the stumps to lie where they will. A number of people have attempted to help themselves to the wood for home purposes and have been repulsed by Fisher who has told them that the fallen trees are the property of the Company and are to be sold in a forthcoming sale.

They join the growing number of people who have been repulsed by Mr. Fisher. Indeed there is a rumour about the town that letters have been delivered to him from England advising him of his recall as Resident Commissioner. I doubt that they are true as I would have been also notified, but the fact that such rumours are welcomed and repeated is an indication of the depths of his repulsiveness.

The Magee case rattles on. The trial is set down for the coming week, barring unforeseen circumstances, and many will see it as an entertainment and attempt to get seating in the courtroom. Jickling, showing a hitherto unacknowledged exhibitionism, has suggested holding the trial in the open air "for the pleasure of the mutitude", but I have hit that idea on the head pretty quickly. 

And speaking of repulsive, Widow Harvey's brat Harriet,  who continues to infest the house, spoke her first word this week. It was, and I shudder as I write this, "Governor"!  At least that is what Mrs Hindmarsh and Lucrezia aver. Since the infant lump had a mouth full of bread and milk at the time it sounded to me more like an incoherent mumble or, perhaps, a belch. But as I had, co-incidentally, walked into the room just as she uttered it then "Governor"  it was.

Mrs Hindmarsh,  as a result, is like a cow in a nursery rhyme and "over the moon", calling the "Dear little thing" "our First Grandchild"! The whole thing smacks of a child saying of a dog, "It followed me home. Can I keep it?" but I keep my own council. 

Sunday, 25th March, 1838

The mayhem surrounding the shooting of Sammy Smart seems to have subsided slightly. Magee is held prisoner, chained to a log at the prison tent, Morgan has high tailed it to the hills and is beyond mortal ken. With luck he will make his way back to New South Wales and be no longer our problem.

Smart himself is wafting about the town, drawing discreet attention to his elaborately bandaged ear and basking in the attention of all who say "Oh Mr Smart, how brave you were! And how terrifying it must have been!" which gives Sam a chance to say, with all the appearance of modesty, "Brave do you call it? I was merely doing my duty." to the admiration  of all. I say "all". I think he is a pompous, self aggrandising arse, but I am in the minority at the moment.

Anyways, he was appointed Sherriff for a year and his time is up next month, so let him have his moment of glory I suppose.

The problem comes with the question of "What to do with Magee?" He has been charged with "Attempted Murder" and unlike Stephens, whose similar charge is currently in abeyance due to it being carried out on the high seas and thus currently outside our jurisdiction, Magee is firmly within our sights. There can be no question of his guilt, since Smart has identified him as his assailant and he was found with the pistol covered in blood from where Smart grabbed it.

And so I expect he will be found guilty and in the normal order of things he would be given the death sentence and be taken down to be hung. Which raises the question, "Taken down to where?"

We are simply not equipped to be hanging people. We have no appointed hangman. We have no gallows. We have no real prison. Dear me! I'm not entirely sure that we have a decent length of rope of sufficient thickness going spare. But, justice must be seen to be done.

We cannot commute the sentence to life imprisonment, since our prison would hold him for, if we are lucky, an hour at most. We could, at a pinch, sentence him to transportation, but somehow putting him on a boat and sending him off to Sydney smacks more of the holiday excursion than "durance vile".

Well, we shall see. But I cannot help but think that I will be placing a notice in the Gazette soon: 

"Position available for hangman. 

A chance to meet interesting people briefly. 

Own rope an advantage."

And then, after two days of high drama, as sure as night follows day, Fisher can be depended upon to bring the place back to normality without even breaking a sweat.

Let it be noted that the Emmigration Agent is once again Brown, since Hutchinson resigned in order to go a-duelling with Fisher. And let it be noted that one of the tasks of the Emmigration Agent is to interview new arrivals in order to ascertain their skills and abitilties - their names, numbers, trades, or occupations, - and these are to be made public in order to facilitate their employment usefully in the Colony.

Well, it is the constant complaint of all and sundry that this knowledge is never made public, but held tight by Fisher as some sort of secret mystery only available to initiates.

The result is that ship after ship after ship arrives in port, all packed to the gunwhales with newcomers looking for work. And yet people are crying out for workers. Skilled builders, carpenters, stone masons are at a premium and those who can manage to find one are paying 12/- a day to secure their services. Even labourers who spend an hour or two leaning on a shovel watching others work can earn 5/- a day, whilst labourers who actually bend their backs and use an axe or a hoe effectively can demand six. 

Which means that there should be no-one in the Colony without employ and short of a few extra guineas. And certainly, then, there should be no need for the scheme Fisher has set up to support Pauper Colonists.

What "pauper colonists" forsooth? Who exactly is there who cannot find employment when the maimed and the halt and the blind can make £1 a week just by leaning on a shovel?

Yet Fisher has a scheme where the destitute newcomer can gain employment from the Company for a pittance.

So here is Fisher's entire scheme. 

(1) Skilled newcomers arrive in the Colony (2) Fisher learns from them their trade and abilities (3) Fisher keeps this information to himself meaning (4) that no-one in the Colony offers the new comers employment. (5) Because no-one is offering the skilled newcomers employment Fisher offers them "Destitute Labour" at a fraction of the cost they might otherwise make and meanwhile (6) the Colony falters through lack of skilled tradesmen and (7) Fisher has a private army of labourers and (8) saves a fortune!

I have no objection to a man making a shekel and if rules need to be bent a little, well, like Hamlet I am "indifferent honest". But to make money at the expence of an entire Province of the Crown seems to be overdoing it somewhat.

And how does he get away with it?

Henry Jickling was telling me, when we were discussing the McGee case, that since he has been Judge in the Supreme Court he has sat in six cases. And five of them have been actions for libel brought by Fisher agaist someone who has complained about him. The sixth was brought by  Brown, but supported by Fisher. against Gilles for refusing to continue paying Browns wages after I dismissed him.

So there we are. Anyone who makes a public statement about FIddle Fingers FIsher and his Fancy Finances stands in danger of finding himself in the dock defending a charge of criminal libel while FIsher uses the money he saves on labourers to employ what we ironically term "the finest lawyers in the Colony".

I have even heard whispers that Fisher is making moves to have me removed as Governor. There have been letters to London, secret messages, all the usual paraphernalia of cloak and dagger skullduggery.

Well, to be honest, if I am removed, then I am not sure that I will be too upset. Let them get someone else to come out and try and clean up the mess left by Mr Fisher. I can be well out of it and back in London while the rest all go to buggery!

Friday, 23rd March, 1838

Dear Lord! The last night and today have been a crazed circus!

Last night, while I was getting ready for bed, there came a knocking so frantic it threatened to bring the door down entirely. To be honest, the door is so flimsy that any but the gentlest tap presents a danger, but this was apt to tear the thing off its hinges!

I threw on a gown and opened the door to discover William Williams, Sam Smart's deputy. almost beside himself with panic 

"They shot the Sherriff!" he cried.

"But not the deputy," I replied. "So calm yourself and tell me what has happened."

He managed to get control of himself and told me that two men had broken into Smart's home and had shot him in the head!

I asked if the shot was fatal, but Williams was unsure. I immediately sent one of the duty Marines to Tom Cotter's hospital so that the doctor could get down to Sammy and see if he needed to move his bowels (Tom's certain cure for everything, including, probably, bullets to the head.)

The other Marine I sent off the Marine camp on East Terrace to rouse the rest of the troop and get onto the hunt for the culprits. Pausing only to scribble a note to Mrs. Hindmarsh to tell her where I was going, I rushed with Williams to Sam's hut. 

When I arrived I enterd the room, expecting to find Smart's lifeless corpse with the few brains he had spattered across the walls.

Instead I entered to find him sitting in a chair, complaining to any who would listen about the inconvenience of being shot. It transpired that "shot in the head", whilst technically true, may have been an exaggeration. Although the culprit did indeed aim a pistol at Smart's head and pull the trigger, his aim was so bad that all he did was hit Smart in the earlobe. An advantage, I suppose, of having ears like the two open doors of a Hansom cab.

On asking Sam what had happened he told me that he had been sitting writing reports when two men burst into the room. The men were known to him by name: Michael Magee and William Morgan.

Magee sneered and said, "You know too much, see, Sherriff! You're turning into a threat to our business!"

Smart was not shaken. Rather, he spoke to the men fiercely, saying, "People lose teeth talking like that. If you want to hang around, you'll be polite."

Magee patted his waistcoat pocket. "Be careful what you say. I have a pistol and I will use it if I need to."

Smart decided to bluff and let an icy smile play about his lips. "The house is under surveillance by the Marines. The Governor has promised me his protection and declared that you will be taken prisoner."

Magee sneered once more. "I call that bold talk for a one-eyed fat man!"

Morgan, who had been silent up to that point, suddenly yelled, "Finish him Mick and stop his talk!" and Magee reached inside his waistcoat, with a cry of: "Fill your hands, you son of a bitch!" 

Smart dived for the desk drawer where he kept his pistol just as Magee fired his own, striking Smart in the ear. 

Smart, despite his wound, turned and grabbed the pistol from Magee, burning his hand on the hot barrel, and then grappled with the man. Morgan pushed Sam away and then the pair, deciding that their work was done, fled from the scene.

Williams, who was in the police hut next door, heard the shot and rushed out in time to see the two men running from the crime. He went in to see Smart lying on the floor bleeding and rushed to tell me what had happened, getting it wrong in the process

The Marines captured Magee surprisingly quickly, but then he was at his own hut, where he had returned to collect his belongings before fleeing, so they hardly needed to look too hard. Even so they caught him on their third attempt, havig bailed up both Philip Lee and Mrs Stevenson, both of whom they mistook for the swarthy Irishman. Morgan has disappeared into the bush. Dr Tom bandaged up Smart's ear and gave him a purgative to ensure his recovery.

I fell into bed at about four in the morning and was awoken by Henry Jickling, who came to Government House at about nine in order to discuss the details of Magee's trial. 

What with those solemnities to deal with and the Marines rushing hither and yon chasing their own tails on fruitless reports of Morgan being sighted by every man woman and child in the town and Tom Cotter arriving to give me reports three times during the day on Sam's progress ("I believe his bowels have sounded, your Excellency") I have barely had time to scratch myself.

There will be more of this to come. And Fisher has not involved himself in it yet. When he does, no doubt he will make it even more frantic!

Note found between the pages of Hindmarsh's diary, dated Thursday, 22nd March, 1838

10:00pm 

My Dear Susannah;

Good God all mighty! Sam Smart has been shot in the head!

I have ordered out the Marines to try and capture the culprits.

Am going out to direct the operation. Will return later!

John

Sunday, 18th March, 1838

I met today with John Oakden, who recently returned from an expedition to the River Murray, He travelled North to the Para River, then east through the valley called by Light "Lyndoch" and then on to the river.

Here he did excellent work, meeting with a group of natives, befriending them and exchanging gifts of food and spending time with a party of more than fifty of them. It is of interest to speculate whether these natives are of the same tribe as our local aboriginal population. Oakden suggests not, as they seemed to speak a different language and were expert in the use of river canoes, something we have not seen so much amongst the Adelaide tribe. 

And speaking of the Natives, those brave hearts who were all for rounding up a gang of vigilantes and heading down to the Native camp to deal out some firm justice after the killing of Enoch Pegler the other week found themselves having to eat humble pie and like the taste this week. 

Joe Lee, the wheelwright and an Africaine man went out with friends and the lot of them bent their elbows with a few jars right royally. "A few jars" did I say? Man alive! They got themselves completely Osmond Gillesed!

Staggering home they came to the challenge of the wooden bridge across the Torrens. The bridge is barely stable at the best of times, and the men were hardly stable at all. And of course they decided to do a few stunts, walking on the railings and such like. One thing led to another, skylarking led to rough and tumble and before long Joe Lee had fallen into the Torrens. In his inebriate state he soon disappeared below the water. Truth to tell, he was unlucky, as he had fallen in to one of the few ponds along the river deep enough for a man to drown in.  

It took some time for the rest of his drunken friends to realise that something was wrong, but once the knowledge penetrated their skulls into their sozzled brains they sprang into action and promptly fell over again. One of them, either by inattention or design, ended up diving (or perhaps falling) into the pond as well. And while he might have intended to rescue Lee, the upshot was that he too was soon in need of rescue from a watery grave.

At this point a group of Aboriginal men appeared on the scene, took one look at the drunken incompetence of the white men and dived into the water, retrieving both the drunken rescuer and the lifeless body of Lee. Lee had only been, perhaps, ten minutes in the water, but it was long enough to end his life and no effort to revive him was successful.

Meanwhile, the natives went and got help and took the drunken men back to their camp where they sat them by the fire and got them warm.

So, last week the Natives were "vicious" and had "no respect for human life" and "were waiting for the chance to slit all our throats". This week they are out rescuing and nursing drunken ne'er-do-wells unable to walk themselves home safely. And will they get credit for it? Or will they still be spoken of as "murderous savages"? Sadly, I believe I may know the answer.

I had high hopes of the Injunction against Fisher and his land committee, hoping to see the half man half rabbit fall flat on his face. But the man who brought the action against him has gone soft and is offering conciliatory words and an olive branch to boot. And the name of this olive branch bearing soft hearted man? None other than my prospective son-in-law, Thomas Bewes Stangways.

For it was, indeed, he who brought the original action against Fisher before the courts. And now he seems set on saying "If Mr Fisher promises to do the right thing..." and "for the good of the Colony I have no doubt that he will see reason,,," and so on and so forth.

And of course Fisher has put on a look as pure as driven snow and said "Why of course I have nothing but the colonist's interests at heart" and "Of course I will do the right thing..." and so Strangways has taken him at his word and dropped the legal action.

Of course, Bewes Strangways is a dove amongst serpents and the biggest, nastiest snake of them all is that creeping. crawling thing, Mr. Fisher. He has put the innocent Strangways in a trance with his glittering, mesmeric eye and has convinced Strangways to eat of the forbidden fruit. He has promised Strangways not to be a naughty boy in the future and to do the right thing always. Of course, Strangways has believed him!

I predict that with days we will hear of some new disgrace performed by the Serpent Fisher.

Samuel Smart has been to see me. He discovered a message wrapped around a rock. It appears that someone was intending to throw it through his window. But on discovering that Smart's slab hut has no windows they waited until he came outside and then threw it at his hat. Since he was wearing his hat at the time is it just as well that they missed, but for all that, Sam Smart has the message.

It reads:

Stay away Smart. You is getting too cloze

I assume from the poor grammer and spelling that we are dealing with an ignorant, uneducated labourer, probably Irish, given the lamentable handwriting. So either an ignorant, uneducated Irishman or possibly a capable, intelligent person who has been to an English school. 

I asked Smart what he planned to do. He chuckled. "I do not know what I shall do.I do not yet know what I shall tell them. It will prove to be pretty close to the truth. What ever I do, when it's done I want people to say: "You cleaned this town up. You made it fit for women and children to live in." "

I reminded him that no-one actually seemed to be in danger and really all the thieves had done was steal a few trinkets.

He shook his head slowly. "First a few trinkets," he intoned, "then a few lives. These things have a way of getting bigger."

I gave him a troubled look. "Don't try to be a hero!" I said. "You don't have to be a hero, not for me!"

A brief smile passed across his lips.

"Sometimes, Governor, one can do good by being the right person in the wrong place."
And with that he turned and left.

Ah, gives a person a good feeling knowing he's out there doing his job. While he's out there, he's not in here with me.