Sunday, 30th July, 1837

I note with some regret that so intent have I been upon recording the practice of government in this fledgling colony, that I have neglected to sufficiently record happenings of a more familial character.

Of my wife I can say little. It is said that amongst adherents of the Roman Church it is not uncommon for them to secretly wear a shirt of haircloth against the skin as a mortification for wrong doings and a penance. I feel that I am doing something similar with Mrs Hindmarsh. I am laying up treasure in Heaven.

She spends much of her time here at the Vice Regal Palace. I try not to take her out too often for fear of frightening small children and horses, but she accompanies me to Sunday Services each week and follows along when my official duties require me to attend some function where I cut a ribbon, or tell some colonist what an asset he is or grease the wheels of civilised society generally.

Speaking of which, up until recently Charlie Howard has been boring for God and Country beneath the sail that I still suspect he acquired by foul means. However, with the winter months coming in he decided that religion en pleine air was quite impractical and so he has moved services into the new, albeit temporary, Court House that Old Gilles stumped up the cash for. (Two bottles of gin and the man grants wishes like the genie of the lamp in some inebriate pantomime)

To be fair, we have repaid O.G.'s investment by naming the Courthouse the Gilles Building and the laneway outside, Gilles Arcade.

So this morning we all trotted over to the courthouse to hear one of Charlie Howard's finest. Ninety fruity minutes on Hebrews 6:1-6:

Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God, of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment. And this will we do, if God permit. For it is impossible for those who were once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the world to come, if they shall fall away, to renew them again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame.

Or, at least, it would have been ninety minutes of vintage Howard, except that at the seventy-five minute mark, just as Charlie, his countenance ablaze with prophetic fire, turned into the home stretch, I leaned back to check my watch and be buggered! if the vice regal wooden bench, graced by the arses of His Excellency, the Governor; his good lady wife; and his three daughters didn't tilt over backwards, falling to the floor with a crash that woke most of the congregation and sent me and my family bum over bosom.

Of course all but two in the room thought it hilarious. The exceptions were, naturally, Mrs Hindmarsh, who felt that she had been made "an undignified object of derision" (although, in truth, I think that she was more upset at the thought that the colonists of Adelaide might have seen that her drawers were patched) And the other was the Reverend Howard who, sad to say, had his train of thought interrupted just as he was coming to a particularly knotty question regarding "the powers of the world to come".

He never really regained his form and, as a result, even though he carried on manfully for a further twenty minutes, the congregation could only manage a doze and not really attain the deep, restful slumber granted by Howard in peak condition and at the height of his powers

John, my son, treats me with all the disdain and lack of patrial respect natural to a son aged seventeen. I am, it seems, out of touch with all that is new and have no understanding of what seventeen year old boys really want. Actually, I have a pretty damned good idea of what it is that seventeen year old boys want and I can assure him that he'll be having none of it!

My daughters are just as silly as ever, but it appears that this has not stopped them from becoming the darlings of the colony. They suddenly find themselves the sinecure of all men's eyes and the object of all men's desires. They, of course, believe that this has something to do with their own natural vivacity, youthful vitality and beauteous charms. It is, perhaps, cruel to disabuse them of these vapid notions, but the truth is that it appears that any number of young men aspiring to greater things are willing to ignore: their tedious talk of trashy novels; their mooning over the dream-like characteristics of Herr Liszt and Herr Schumann; their inane giggling; their plain looks; and their obsession with horses; and still declare themselves as my daughter's suitors if it means having access to and perhaps even influence with me. The girls, naturally, have declared me a beast for saying so and their mother has, inevitably, sided with them. So, once again, if we had a dog house, I would be in it.

On Wednesday last I arrived home to discover Sammy Stephens sitting in my kitchen. It appears the he did, indeed, tell dour David McLaren, the Scotch Baptist his risible anecdote regarding Adam and Eve and the cucumber and, as a result it has been suggested that he head to Encounter Bay to inspect the Company's whaling station there. It is typical of Sam's lack of practical thought that he traveled from Kingscote to Encounter Bay via Adelaide, just so he could share a bottle of Indian Whiskey with "his dear friend, the Governor".

Sam Stephens, of course, is a riot on legs, but we shared a pleasant evening together before I sent him on his way.

I had a visit from Gouger who told me that the Commissioners in London saw fit to include a Library of one hundred and seventeen books for us all here in the Colony. He had a catalogue of the page turners with him. "A Report of the Commissioners of Sierra Leone". "An Account of the Millbank Penitentiary". Every one a cracking read. Just the ticket to boost morale.

In London these books were packed into a metal trunk (I suspect they had 120, but could only manage to jam in 117. I hope the three left out were not something people would actually want to read.) and loaded aboard The Tam O'Shanter before it left Plymouth for the Colony.

Ah, yes, The Tam O'Shanter. Captained by that prize arse Whiteman Freeman who won his Captain's papers at a coconut shy and managed to run aground on a sandbar in the Port River.

Gouger isn't sure quite what happened, as there are different reports. Some say that the trunk of books was loaded into a dingy, but unsecured and Freeman and his crew of clowns watched it slide off the boat and into the water as they brought it ashore. Other reports, the which I find more credible, say that they tried to float it ashore. Think on that for a moment. They tried to float a metal trunk ashore.

Still, whatever happened, the consequence was that The State Library of South Australia ended up at the bottom of the Port River.

Oh, they fished it out and drained out the water, but it's taken poor old Gouger this long, what with one thing and another, to get the books dry and back to a presentable condition.

And now he wants to know where he can put them.

I restrained myself from the obvious riposte, but honestly: having seen the list of books in the trunk I cannot help but feel that the bottom of the Port River is as good a place as any. Still, I suppose we will have to find somewhere for them, but at the moment they are sitting in the corner of my bedroom.

Honestly - State Library: the tin trunk next to the commode. State Archives: third drawer down on the left side of my desk. If someone suggests a State Forestry I can see my vegetable garden going.

The mad poisoner asked if there were any cook books in the trunk. "Not that it matters," she said, "as cooking like mine don't come from no cook books."

Indeed.

Sunday, 23rd July 1837

A  difficult week this week as I  decided - wrongly as it transpired - that the best way to get rid of all the remaining stock of pickled cabbage beer was to drink it up as quickly as was possible. Since I was unable to induce anyone else to touch the stuff it fell to me to finish it off. It took a deal of heavy work and intensive concentration, but eventually I polished off the remains of the barrel,

Sadly this meant that I spent the Council meeting this week feeling indisposed. In fact I have little recollection of the meeting at all and will need to peruse the written record in order to see if anything too ridiculous was either proposed or enacted by me or by one of the Council members.

Really, someone could have stuck an act to decree that all colonists paint their arses purple in front of me and I would have signed it. I may have done so already and just not know it yet.

They could have put the act in front of me I meant. Not an act decreeing that all colonists paint their arses purple in front of me. What a horrifying thought!

And God damn that greedy monkey Hack! A more money grubbing, parsimonious baboon I have never met!

Since arriving in February he has robbed the colonists blind with his exorbitant prices transporting from the Bay to the Town on his bullock dray and his stocks of stale weevilly flour that he brought with him from England for ninepence and now sells to all comers at prices that will line his pockets with gelt and leave all else poor. Greedy sod that he is.

And now he has upset most of the Colonists by undercutting them all in the tender process for the channel at the Port.

The Company wants a canal dug from what has become known as Tam O'Shanter Reach (after the ship of that name got stuck on a sandbar there due the Captain's utterly stupid incompetence) to the centre of Light's planned Port Town. Their notion is that a canal will make the loading and unloading of cargo all the easier. I think they see it as a test run for the canal from the Port to the River Torrens that Light and I suggested in a fit of prankish high spirits.

There were a number of tenders put forward, most of them saying that they could do the job for about the sum of six or seven hundred pounds or there abouts. Hack put in a tender of four hundred and twenty pounds and the  Company came in like the tide. Dangle a cheap price in front of them and stand by with the landing net, because they'll swallow that bait hook and line and all.

Brown I think it was had the good sense to ask the obvious question of  Hack: i.e. "How was it that every other tenderer couldn't see a way to do the job for less than nearly double what Hack said he could manage it for? If everyone else said seven hundred and Hack said four, where was Hack saving his money? Mightn't it be better to pay the extra and have a decent job of it done?"

Hack assured all that had ears to listen that his quote was the correct costing and all the others had padded theirs out with unnecessaries to line their pockets with government money - a thing not beyond the realm of possibility to be sure.

But I cannot help but feel that Fiddle Fingers Hack is playing the hat trick with us and quoting low in order to charge high. I fancy that once the job is done and he comes to settle up his accounts there will be a number of "onforeseen contingencies" and "unexpected adjustments" and the bill will blow out to exactly the same six or seven hundred pounds that all others tendered for. Of course, I may be wrong, but I am willing to wager that I am not. The Company has assured me that "they know what they are doing", and after I had recovered from a fit of uncontrolled laughter I took them at their word. I ceetainly would not take Hack at his.

The lovely Miss Gandy came to see me this week. She was accompanying Light up to town and she stopped by the Vice Regal Palace to see if Mrs Hindmarsh and I were at home. Since I try and let Mrs Hindmarsh out in public as little as possible, for fear of frightening children and horses, we were, indeed, at home and Miss Gandy spoke to the two of us at length regarding the situation of the natives.

It concerns her, as it does me, that we have arrived on what amounts to their estates without invitation or even a by your leave and propose to co-opt the lot for ourselves.

I am all too aware that the official position is that we are here to bring them to the light of Christianity and to give them the benefits of British society, but truly, when the best examples we have to offer of British Society are old Gilles, Fisher and Morphett and the Light of Christianity is held aloft by Charlie Howard then really I would hardly blame the natives if they told us to shove it where the monkey put the nuts.

Miss Gandy has made the admirable suggestion that we set aside some part of the plains solely for the use of the Natives. She says that the area of the plains far exceeds our use and it would be nothing but greed if we took it all for ouselves.

She had noticed on a map drawn by the Colonel that the Paddy Will Linger Lagoon forms the mouth of two of the streams the flow across the plain: the water course that runs from the foot of the Brown Hill and the Sturt River. With the line of the hills these two rivers form the edges of a large wedge shaped triangle across the Adelaide Plain.

"Would it not be of a goodness, Your Excellency, to gift this triangle in perpetuity to the Adelaide tribe and allow them to live there, undisturbed and in harmony with us?" said Mis Gandy.

Well yes, it probably would. And certainly my orders from England and the Letters Patent I carried with me from England would give support to such a notion.

But I suspect that all our upright pillars of British Society would see if they looked at such a plan would be a vast quantitiy of land that could be theirs if they don't go giving it away to a bunch of natives. When Miss Gandy says "it would be nothing but greed to take all the land for ouselves", she seems to be unaware that "nothing but greed" could be the motto on the family crest of many of our settlers.

But I have promised Miss Gandy that I will put forward her proposal and we will see what happens to it.  Nothing much, I suspect.

During the week Morphett came to see me and asked if I could direct Bromley "to instruct the natives and make them understand that the trees upon the Town Lands are private property and not to be cut down, or lopped, without the consent of the Proprietors." How Bromley is meant to perform this miracle upon people who seem to have little concept of "private property", ""town lands" or "consent of the propietors" is beyond my understanding. But if this is Morphett's attitude then I do not hold out much hope for Miss Gandy's proposal.

Mrs Hindmarsh invited Miss Gandy to stay to tea, which I thought remarkably civil of her, though perhaps hypocritical given the opinions Mrs Hindmarsh had given me the benefit of regarding Miss Gandy and her domestic arrangements with the Colonel.

Miss Gandy had the good sense to graciously decline her offer. Perhaps the qualities of the Vice Regal table are becoming known about town? Certainly when Mrs Hindmarsh rang for tea and Lucrezia appeared with what I took at first sight to be river pebbles, but which the mad poisoner assured me were scones, I understood Miss Gandy's reticence.

I was surprised to see that our scones were served with a dish of jam of some description. Since fruit of any sort is at a premium in the colony I expressed my interest in what was in the dish. Was it jam?

"Oh no bless you, ya rexellenncy," simpered the Widow. "There baint be no jam to be had here. But I find that if you mash up a bowl of sauerkraut with rather a lot of sugar it makes quite an acceptable substitute."

Is the world really so dark and terrible a place that there are people in the world so degraded in their moral sensibilities that sauerkraut and sugar could be considerd "acceptable". I weep for our future.

Sunday, 16th July, 1837

I predict entertaining times ahead in the management of the South Australia Company now that the new commercial manager has settled in and begun to hit his stride.

It was no secret, I think, that Sammy Stephens was not a satisfactory choice in filling the role of head of the company in the colony.

A taste for the imbibulous and a conviviality that has meant that many of his indentured workers seem to be employed only to provide him with drinking partners; an attitude towards account keeping and dispatch writing that could fairly be described as "whimsical"; an enthusiastic use of his idiosyncratic interpretation of the powers vested in him by the company as commercial manager that a Caligula or Heliogabalus might find erratic; a delight at being in the vanguard of every new project no matter its chance of success; a generosity completely at odds with sound business sense - rumour has it that the man has burned his way through fourteen or fifteen thousand pounds in the past twelvemonth; all these factors have meant that the company is in complete financial disarray and Kangaroo Island has gained the reputation of being a drunken orgy surrounded by water.

And into the middle of this farrago of incompetence is thrust David McLaren: as miserable a Scot as ever walked the streets of Glasgow.

I am told, by those who have spent time with him, that he was born into a family adherent to the Church of Scotland, but this not being of a serious enough tone for him he went over to the evangelical, Calvinist Scottish Congregationalists. Finding them of a rather too frivolous nature - they allowed smiling I believe and failed to hold that laughter was the path to damnation - he became a Scottish Baptist and hence reached the very terminus ad quem of Scottish dourness.

He wrote to me at one point before his departure from England and his letter was not filled with frippery and prinkum prankum. He was coming to South Australia, he said, not for a livelihood or to gain a sense of usefulness, nor even because he wanted to. But his sense of debt to Angas made him put aside personal pleasures and preferences and required that he act in a manner consistent with duty. A chuckle and a giggle in every line of it.

And now he has pitched up in Kingscote where he is required to work with that riot on two legs, Samuel Stephens. I say it will last three months. Less if Stephens tells McLaren the joke he told me about Adam and Eve and the cucumber.

Hutchinson is stomping about town complaining to any who will listen that his artistic sensibilities have been violated by me, by Stephenson and by Thomas when we rewrote his piece for the newspaper about the Ascent of Mount Lofty. It would appear that every word of the piece he wrote was carefully chosen for the exact effect it might produce in the mind of the reader and we hamfistedly ruined his piece. Buffoon!

My beer has not be entirely successful. It certainly brewed up well and has an excellent colour and a fine head of froth on it. However, on reflection it might have been improved if I had thought to wash out the sauerkraut barrel before letting the beer brew in it. The result is that the beer has a taste strangely reminiscent of pickles. It is not entirely unpleasant - or at least so I tell those who taste it - but it is not exactly the taste thought desirable in a beer. Fortunately I only made the one barrel of it, because no-one but me seems to want to drink it and I cannot afford to waste the materials by tipping this in the river. So I have rather a lot of pickled beer to drink over the next weeks.

It would appear that Fisher has been up to his usual tricks and all over a load of bullocks.

Throughout the colony there has been great want of means to transport goods and materials from place to place. The Commisioners, recognising this, have sent out a cargo of draught bullocks from the Cape of Good Hope for sale to the general public.

Along with the shipment of bullocks came a shipment of cows, once again, to be sold to the general public, for whom the possession of a cow - particularly to those with young children - would be of the highest value.

Now the rumour about town is that when the bullocks arrived Fisher offered his two sons the first pick of ten of the finest specimens, which, since they have established a carrying business between the Port and Adelaide must have been of benefit to them. He then offered the next eight to Gilles, his friend White and Stevenson. Only after these men had had their choice did the scraps get offered for sale - at high prices - to the public.

The cows seem all to have ended up on the farmlands of Mr Hack, who now seems to have a complete monopoly on milk in the colony.

As if this wasn't enough there is also talk that a shipment of salt pork belonging to the Commissioners was sold at a cheap rate to the South Australian Company. As a side light, what business the Commissioners of the South Australian Company had selling goods at cut rates to themselves in the guise of the South Australian Company is anyone's guess.

Be that as it may, that same pork is now being sold for the extraordinary sum of ten guineas a barrel to the general public by none other than Mr Fisher's two sons.

Mr Fisher, I fear, will shortly be asked some questions that he will need to answer very carefully.

The Ascent of Mount Lofty

[Editor's Note Contained on two loose sheets of paper within Hindmarsh's diary, Hutchinson's original account of the first ascent of Mount Lofty has never before been published. The Governor felt that the tone of the original needed "softening" and gave Robert Thomas the task of rewriting.]

The Dangerous and Heretofore Unattempted

Ascent of that Glowering Presence Above Us

Known to All as

Mount Lofty.

A thrilling adventure

told in vivid style

by

The Adventurer and Leader of the Expedition

Young Bingham Hutchinson

Published for the delight and entertainment of all colonists.
Suitable for families

Our expedition consisted of: myself; James Fisher Junior (son of the Resident Commissioner); Charles Fisher ( younger brother to Jas); and George Gandy, (friend to the Surveyor General) Only each man knew what thoughts went through his own head as he prepared to meet the challenge  - and perhaps his doom - on the treacherous slopes of Mount Lofty - that undiscovered country from which whom of these travellers would return?

Our journey into the dark unknown began by the bank of a brook that flows from a ravine at the base of the mighty mountain that we were about to attempt to climb. We were foolish to attempt it? Some might say so. And as we looked up skywards towards the lowering peak high above us we knew as a certainty that this undertaking would require all our strength and perseverance. We knew that the mountain felt no pity and would claim us for its own if we showed it scant respect.

Almost as soon as we attempted to enter the gully formed by the babbling brook we were met by the slavering jaws of four wild dogs that came galloping out from the bushes, their eyes red with blood lust and fixed upon our throats!

There was the crack! of four baker rifles and the musket balls did their work. The murderous dogs lay dead upon the ground, a fatal wound in the skull of each of them; a testament to the efficacy of British craftsmanship in the hands of an Englishman.

But each member of our party was thinking the same thought. Was not the gateway to Hell in the old myths guarded by a many headed dog? Was this dog attack a sign that we too were about to enter the Hell of the Adelaide Hills? Which, if any of us, would, Orpheus like, return to sing his story?

As we struggled up the natural path by the side of the brook towards our goal our progress was slow, impeded by thick bushes nearly as tall as our heads, and the undergrowth of creeping plants. The bushes scratched and dragged at us, like the fingers of the Harpys long ago and the undergrowth clutched at our feet and legs as if to drag us back, as if it said "Save yourselves! Go no further!"

And then, at the very point we thought the limit of our exertions had been reached,we turned a corner and were remarkably surprised by seeing a wall of sheerest rock towering about fifty or sixty foot above us, which stretched across the ravine, and from the top of it leapt the brook which had so long been our companion.

We each looked at each other and our thoughts were clear enough. Did we dare ascend the cascade and proceed deeper into the unknown, all hope of easy escape from danger cut off by the precipitous drop that would then blocked our way?

Without a word we all four answered the call, leaping to the jagged rocks and beginning the hazardous ascent. Hand over hand we struggled up the vertical wall of rock, finding a hand hold here, a toe hold there, struggling and sweating to make what progress we could.

And then, disaster!

The youngest of our party, Charles Fisher, scarce more than a boy, missed a toe hold and slipped, gashing his leg against a rocky outcrop and near falling to his certain doom! Only the quick thinking and strong hands of George Gandy saved him, snatching him from danger and setting him back on the rock face.

But if we reckoned young Fisher at scarce more than a boy then we had not bargained that he was an boy with the heart of a British Lion.

"Let me go!" he said. "Go on without me! I'll only hold you up with my leg like this. Let me climb down and you go on."

"Don't be a fool, Charles,"said his brother. "You wouldn't last five minutes out there!"

"But we've already seen wild dogs! If there are more around then they'll get the scent of the blood from my leg and come after us! Leave me and go on! I'll be nothing but a burden."

I fixed him with a steely glare and spoke through gritted teeth.

"No man gets left behind," I said. "Not on my watch!"

Without another word we continued the ascent, reaching the top and throwing ourselves down on the level ground  by the brook to catch our breath. Then, revived with water from the fast flowing stream, we continued pushing on through the mysterious vegetation.

These grass trees gave off a sweet aroma - "Too sweet," said one of our party. "The smell of death!"

When we cautiously investigated we found a hard resin at the base of these grass trees the which we risked breaking some lumps of off with a heavy stick. I believe it is this resin which is used by the natives to fasten sharp stones (and since our arrival, broken glass) to the heads of their spears. Perhaps my discovery will be of benefit to the people of the colony. If the natives are able to use this resin to create death dealing spears, what uses might industrious Britons, led by the light of the Christian faith, find for it?

We pushed on up the stream, struggling and sweating despite the drenching rain that now poured down upon us as we traced the stream against obstacles as great as those which we had hitherto met.

After a time we came to a spot where the course suddenly turned to the left, and became so steep, narrow, and obstructed, that the older Fisher gave opinion that "if there are natives about, this would be the place for an ambush!"

"Have any here seen any natives?" I asked.

"Not seen," said Gandy. "Not seen as such. But for the last hour I have had the feeling of being watched!"

The two Fishers nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

"Like eyes drilling into back of your neck," said one.

"But not actually seen any natives?" I asked again.

"But you can feel them Hutchinson," said the other Fisher. "You don't have to see them to know that they are there!"

And so, rather than risk certain death by ambush we were obliged to abandon the stream, and ascend a hill on the right. Soon we observed from this position a fearfully deep and steep, dark ravine, which lay between us and the object of our ambition. Who knows what secrets and mysterious dangers lay in the eerie and ghostly chasm that lay before us?. Perhaps some giant creature from long ago made it home. Had strange rites and sacrifices had been carried out in that fetid place since time immemorial?

But a check of our watches showed that it was time to return, so we commenced a retreat, though not by the course of the stream—we had no desire to try that again.

Eventually we managed to return to the place where we had narrowly avoided a surprise attack from the spears of the natives and began our second attempt on the mountain peak.

We began by ascending the hill on the right hand side of the stream; this took us for some time a great way to the right of the direct course, but still our progress was quicker than if we had held a straight course, and descend the gloomy, mysterious vallies. After some time, the ridge turned to the left, towards Mount Lofty, and we began to flatter ourselves we should arrive there without having to cross any valley. Yet as we walked on in the teeming rain the Mount appeared as far off as ever and vallies seemed to grow and open up where before there had been none, almost as if the ancient spirits of the mountain were barring our way, lest we should conquer them.

But conquer we did and after ascending a very steep and stony hill, covered with gum trees, very close, and shooting up into tall, straight, slender stems, we found ourselves at last on the highest part of the range, after five hours of incessant exertion.  We attempted to light a fire, in order to notify the success of our exertions to our friends in the capital but every thing was so wet, that we were obliged to submit to the frustration of being unable to do so.

Young Fisher's leg was still very red and sore and he appeared unsettled and agitated, perhaps worrying about holding us back on the descent.

Suddenly he struggled to his feet. "I'm going out now," he said. "I may be gone for some time." And with that he turned and walked silently into the thick, screening scrub.

James, his brother called after him, but I silenced him with a look. "Let him go," he said. "He knows what he has to do."

He  was indeed gone for some time; possibly the result of the three bully beef sandwiches he had eaten, be when he returned he seemed much jauntier. "That's much better," he said, with a grin.

With that we stood and began our descent of the mountain.

On our way back down, we thought we observed a ridge on the other side of the ravine through which the stream runs, which led at once from Mount Lofty down to the plain without a single valley to cross, and we thought it worth another day's work to ascertain if such were the case.This day we were absent for nine hours, without having sat down during the time.

After the exertions of the previous day our third and successful attempt, which took us to the summit in three hours, without having to cross a single valley, proved a pleasant day's excursion, instead of one of great labour. By following the course of the stream for a short time until it divided into two branches then by crossing it, and ascending a steep hill, we found a ridge which ran nearly in a straight line to the top of the range. We discovered a great many new and beautiful plants; grass trees abounded, but from the ground having been recently burnt, we observed very few whose stalks were above ground. We discovered several mushrooms, two of which I ate, to satisfy myself of their wholesomeness, and we also saw today the first snail.

Our view was much interrupted by the trees, but between them, we could observe to the eastward and northward, ranges of hills gradually becoming fewer, and covered with wood. To the westward we saw two ranges of high hills across Gulph St. Vincent, and we had a perfect view of all the branches and winding of the harbour. The trees prevented our seeing anything to the southward. We descended by the same track by which we had ascended, satisfied that no easier route can be discovered.

Despite the dangers we faced, despite the risks to life and limb, we four all returned to the capital secure in the knowledge that we had done all that we could to extend the reach of our young settlement and proud of our achievement in planting the claim of the British Crown on the mighty peak of Mount Lofty!

A note, scribbled in Hindmarsh's handwriting, is on the back of the second sheet.

So these young monkeys piss farted about the Hills getting lost in the rain for days, ate a couple of mushrooms (and which they were lucky didn't poison them) and killed some poor native's pet dogs. Then they dress the tale up like a painted whore in the hope that everyone will say what brave lads they are - Charles Sturt, James Cook and Francis Drake all  rolled into one! In point of fact they are ninnies who couldn't even light a fire and, it seems, do not have enough good sense to stay out of the rain. Explorers, my Aunt Fanny's eye! Rewrite it Thomas and perhaps next time they won't be so damned silly.

From The South Australian Gazette and Colonial Register, Saturday, 8th July 1837

[EDITOR'S NOTE: The following newspaper cutting was found in Governor Hindmarsh's diary and is the account of The Ascent of Mount Lofty as it finally appeared after its tone was "softened" by Robert Thomas. Hindmarsh has made a handwritten note in the margin; "Much better. Far less silly."]



ASCENT OF MOUNT LOFTY.

BINGHAM HUTCHINSON.

We have been favoured by Mr. B. Hutchinson with the following account of his ascent to Mount Lofty, which we publish with great pleasure, and in his own words. Mr. Hutchinson's track has since been followed by various individuals, and we are informed that from the summit of the range immediately eastward of Mount Lofty Lake Alexandrina is distinctly visible. Its shores, we regret to say, have not yet been visited or seen by the Surveyors, or by any of the more enterprising colonists, although it cannot be more than forty miles distant. The attempt at present, in the depth of winter is not to be expected but in the course of the coming spring, it is to be hoped we shall know something, of the boundaries of this Lake beyond which Captain STURT disclosed several years ago.

"Our first attempt to gain the summit of Mount Lofty, which was represented to me as an undertaking requiring considerable exercise and perseverance, as well as a sound knowledge of the hills, was begun on the bank of the brook, which flows from a source in the right hand side of the Mount, as seen from Adelaide, Our initial progress was slow, and impeded by the trees and bushes by the side of the brook, being in height nearly as tall as our heads, and by the undergrowth of creeping plants.

So great were the exertions required that we welcome the prospect of rest when we resolved to proceed no further than what was beyond a point which impeded our view. We were remarkably surprised by seeing a wall of rock about fifty or sixty foot high, which stretched across the ravine, and from the top of it leapt the brook which has so long been our companion.

We determined at once to proceed and ascend the cascade; here our attention was first called to the vicinity of the grass tree, our nostrils being invaded by a strong honey-like smell, which proceeded from the resin which exudes from the stalk, accumulating in very hard lumps, at the base. We were not long in discovering the cause of the agreeable odour, and procured some lumps of the resin, which, however, required repeated blows of a heavy stick to remove it from its situation.

Continuing to trace the stream against obstacles as great as those which we had hitherto met, we at last came to a spot where the course suddenly turned to the left, and became so steep, narrow, and obstructed, that we were obliged to abandon it, and ascend a hill on the right.

Observing from this position a fearfully deep and steep ravine, which lay between us and the object of our ambition, and being warned by our feeling as well as our watches that it was time to return, we commenced a retreat but not by the course of the stream—we had no desire to try that again.

Our next attempt was by ascending the hill on the right hand side of the stream; this took us for some time a great way to the right of the direct course, but still our progress was quicker than if we had held a straight course, and descend the vallies. After some time, the ridge turned to the left, towards Mount Lofty, and we began to flatter ourselves we should arrive there without having to cross any valley, but as we proceeded, vallies seemed to grow, and the Mount to appear as far off as ever.

Notwithstanding this, however, after ascending a very steep and stony hill, covered with gum trees, very close, and shooting up into tall, straight, slender stems, we found ourselves at last on the highest part of the range, after five hours of incessant exertion. We attempted to light a fire, in order to notify the success of our exertions to our friends in the capital but every thing was so wet, that we were obliged to submit to the frustration of returning without being able to do so.

During our descent, we thought we observed a ridge on the other side of the ravine through which the stream runs, which led at once from Mount Lofty down to the plain without a single valley to cross, and we thought it worth another day's work to ascertain if such were the case. This day we were absent for nine hours, without having sat down during the time.

The third and successful attempt, which took us to the summit in three hours, without having to cross a single valley, and which proved a pleasant day's excursion, instead of one of great labour, was, by following the course of the stream for a short time until it divided into two branches then by crossing it, and ascending a steep hill, we found a ridge which ran nearly in a straight line to the top of the range. We discovered a great many new and beautiful plants; grass trees abounded, but from the ground having been recently burnt, we observed very few whose stalks were above ground. We discovered several mushrooms, two of which I ate, to satisfy myself of their wholesomeness, and we also saw today the first snail. Our view was much interrupted by the trees, but between them, we could observe to the eastward and northward, ranges of hills gradually becoming fewer, and covered with wood. To the westward we saw two ranges of high hills across Gulph St. Vincent, and we had a perfect view of all the branches and winding of the harbour. The trees prevented our seeing anything to the southward. We met no natives, and with the execution of four wild dogs, which we found at the base of the hills, before we commenced our ascent, saw no living creatures but a very few small birds. Being thirsty, I ate a portion of the base of the young flower stalk of three grass trees, and found it cool, juicy, and of an agreeable flavour. I believe it is the resin of this tree which is used by the natives to fasten sharp stones (and since our arrival, broken glass) to the heads of their spears. We descended by the same track by which we had ascended, satisfied that no easier way can be discovered.

BINGHAM HUTCHINSON

Sunday, 9th July, 1837

As if it wasn't enough that I had to give money to Charlie Howard for the building of an Anglican church (and have yet to see any progress on that front, I might add), this week he was back at me asking for money for the building of a Wesleyan Church.

Just how many Churches does this man represent? He'll be raising money for a Temple to Diana if he gets half a chance. He wittered on in his usual pompous way about "those who dread the evil of our becoming a Sabbath desecrating, and consequently a Godless people, will readily contribute towards so desirable an object as the erection of a house of worship." and  I gave him five pounds just to get rid of him. He went on his way, as happy as a sand boy, but I cannot help but feel that the man is lining his own pocket.

He is certainly in a state at the moment, caught up in the Machiavellian intricacies of church politics. It appears that His High and Mightiness William Broughton of Sydney has decided that, as he rejoices in the title "The Lord Bishop of Australia" then Charlie Howard and what the Lord Bishop has graciously named "The Parish of the Holy Trinity" will henceforth come under his jurisdiction and what little property Charlie Howard has managed to collect for his church will become Broughton's property. What is more Charlie and his flock will pay money to Sydney for the privilege! Charlie has been informed that he is to consider himself Broughton's "surrogate" and will collect fees on The Lord Bishop's behalf,

Will he, bollocks!

The Lord Bishop has graciously let it be known that a marriage licence in Adelaide will cost three pounds, of which, two pounds will go into the coffers of the church in Sydney. This is the only example of the Bishop's parsimony Howard gave me, but I feel certain there are others. I do not doubt that every time a South Australian is hatched, matched or dispatched, the Church in Sydney will have their hands out for their fee.

I do believe that the Council will be communicating with the Lord Bishop of Australia in the near future so that we might offer him the use of one of Widow Harvey's largest saucepans so that he might go and boil his fat head!

Clearly his bed time reading has not included "An Act to empower His Majesty to erect South Australia into a British Province or Provinces and to provide for the Colonisation and Government thereof [15th August 1834] " whereas this delightful and instructive volume has been my constant companion for nigh on two years.

If he had given it the attention it deserves then he would know that His Majesty has given assent to the simple notion that "every person who shall at any time hereafter inhabit or reside within his majesty’s said province of South Australia shall be free and shall not be subject to or bound by any laws orders statutes or constitutions which have been heretofore made, or which hereafter shall be made ordered or enacted by for or as the laws orders statutes or constitutions of any other part of Australia but shall be subject to and bound to obey such laws orders statutes and constitutions as shall from time to time in the manner hereinafter directed be made ordered enacted for the government of his majesty’s province of South Australia." 

In short, not only has Our Gracious Majesty William of Hanover given royal assent to William Broughton boiling his fat head, but, given the opportunity, would probably put a pan of water on the fire so he could do it.

The Colony of South Australia has been established to make up its own mind, not be lectured by some jumped up cleric with delusions of grandeur who condescends from Sydney to tell us what we must do. Be buggered! We will make our own arrangements for ourselves and the great and mighty Sydney can go hang.

And, to be honest, the last person we need in South Australia is a man like William Broughton. A man who believes that the world is made up of two kids of people - the Anglican Church and the damned - is not what we want in our Colony. We have every brand of religion here in the colony you might imagine. Anglicans, Catholics, Jews, Scots Kirk, every kind of dissenter imaginable. (At last count we had five different sorts of Wesleyan, but that was a week or two ago and they might well have had another schism or two since.) I have heard that Joseph Bruce hopes to bring Mohammedan workers to the Colony and of course if Angas has his way we will have Lutherans arriving before long. What a staunch member of the Established church might make of all this I cannot imagine.

And really, does his High and Mightiness really think that he can place a part of our colony under a separate jurisdiction without at least mentioning it to the Government. Which is to say, ME! He could have at least asked first. I would still have said no, but it would have been polite.

Besides, Charles Beaumont Howard, for all his faults, is private property, bought and paid for by the South Australia Company, Old Charlie might not be up to much, but he's ours and The Lord Bishop of Australia can keep his fingers off.

Extraordinary scenes this week as Fisher and his cabal attempted a coup!

Earlier this week I was informed in writing that the Council was to meet at Fisher's house at one in the afternoon. This, it transpired, was incorrect and the Council arrived at Fisher's house for the meeting at ten in the morning. It seems that everyone else's notes had the correct time written on the them, but mine had the nought left off. "10 o'clock" on everyone else's. "1 o'clock" on mine.

I am assured that this was a mere slip of the pen and an accidental oversight, but I am not convinced and suspect foul play.

Well, they sat about twiddling their thumbs for a time and when that lost the value of novelty, sat about twiddling each other's; then they took it into their heads that since I was clearly not attending the meeting they would procedd with the business before the Council without me.

Gilles at least had the good manners to send me a boy with a hastily scribbled note asking me if I was planning to come.

I was out in the garden planting potatoes and onions when the boy arrived and as soon as I read his message I hurried to the meeting. I had time to remove my gardening gloves, but not my boots and Fisher tut tutted about the mud on his floor. His dirt floor I might add.

Mud on his floor? I gave him mud in his eye! giving the lot of them a right bollocking! I told them that it was a most unwarrantable proceeding to take it upon themselves to undertake the business of Council without me and that I viewed it as an attempt to wrest from my hands the powers entrusted to me by His Majesty's Commission.

Well of course they all acted like schoolboys caught behind the sheds. Fisher tried to be as smooth as butter and assured me that no such disrespect was meant and that it was all the merest misunderstanding.

Well! I accepted their grovelling apologies but I shall continue the straightforward exercise of my appointed and important duties without reference to the conduct of these coxcombs. I do not intend to allow their tomfoolery to impede me in the conduct of public affirs and have written to London to tell them so. 

My plan to advertise for a replacement cook came to naught, I am afraid. There was only one applicant, who said that she was highly skilled as a cook: that she always endeavoured to give satisfaction, bur that her current employer was a tyrant and she was looking for a more reasonable position. Stevenson told her my generous terms of employment and we made a time for an interview. I suppose I should have guessed, but the only applicant was, in fact Widow Harvey. Lucrezia Borgia, the mad poisoner herself. 

Well of course, after what happened last time I attempted to hire a cook I decided I should best re-employ the mad woman, lest there be trouble from Mrs Hindmarsh. But the Widow had heard that there was more generous remuneration on offer and so I find myself paying sixteen pounds instead of ten for the same execrable food, I have gained the reputation of "a tyrant" and, to gild the lily, Lucrezia told Mrs Hindmarsh all about it and I am now made a figure of fun in my domestic circle, 

Damnation!

Young Bingham Hutchinson has published an account of his ascent of Mount Lofty. He will, no doubt, be surprised to read it as it bears little relation to his original draft.When I read his original I suggested to our editor at the Register that he soften it down a little. Hutchinson does have a tendency to get carried away at times.

Sunday, 2nd July 1837

Poor old Light came in to see me during the week. He is not looking at all well and I fear he will not be making old bones.

He tells me he has been busying himself surveying the port and has completed a survey of twenty nine sections and laid out a settlement at Glenelg (in a grid pattern, I write without surprise)

But the poor sod finds himself up against it in no uncertain terms.

More and more tongues wag about him and the time it is taking him to complete the survey of the country sections. The settlers bitch and moan about him...

"We were promised on our arrival immediate possession of our property." 

"The surveys were all to have been completed, and ready for choice." 

"We have now been in South Australia for half a year and more, waiting with our servants, for our town acres and country sections."

"The town acres have been sited at a place so far from the sea, that it costs us more money to bring our goods from the beach to them, than from England to the beach."

"It took the Surveyor General and his Staff four months to survey 1000 acres for the town, how long will the survey of at least 100,000 acres, occupy the same party?"

"Ooooo poor old us! Ooooo, we're being inconvenienced! Ooooo, we're left with nothing to do except sit on our fat backsides day in and day out, while the servants bring us tea and scones. Oooooo! Are we not hard done by?"

God rot them for the miserable whining curs the lot of them are! 

I gave Light a drink or two and once lubricated he told me that the problem was that when he took on the job he understood that the Surveying Party would be sufficiently staffed to do the job properly. The reality was that those penny pinching fat heads - our admired Commissioners of the South Australia Company - understood that the Survey Party would be sufficiently staffed to do the job as cheaply as possible.

Light, wanting to do the job properly, has embarked upon a trigonometrical survey - accurate to be sure, but time consuming also. There are quicker, easier and cheaper survey methods but they simply aren't as accurate and when you've laid everything out in grids and boxes things need to line up properly or the thing is shot to Sodom.

He has also sent Kingston back to England. Perfectly understandable to anyone who has spent longer than ten minutes in the same room as the little oik, but it has depleted his staff by one (By two, if you ask Durward) with the result that there are now even less men working with Light to get the survey done. 

Light tells me that the horrid man was not just sent back to London for the sake of peace and quiet, but to plead with the Commissioners for more surveying staff to be sent out so that the job might be expeditiously completed.

My advice to the man was simple. "Let them all go to buggery and to Hell with the Pope!"

We are, after all, trying to build a colony for the ages and an inconvenience of a few months is as nothing to a job done properly for a few hundred years. If these Moaning Minnies of settlers don't appreciate what Light is trying to do then they can bring their complaints here to me at Government House and I will personally shove them so far up their arses that they will be chewing on them for days.

Walter Bromley came during the week and spent an hour with me telling me, solemnly, that he had discovered that the natives have no taste for porridge. I must admit I sat and waited for him to get to the moment when he revealed that this was all a joke, but he went on at great length and with an ever more serious tone about the natives and porridge. I am now more fully informed upon the subject than any man has a right to be. He also told me that he approached Jeffcott for judgement on the matter of the native dog that was killed last month and our noble judge - "a Daniel come to judgement" - told Bromley that the thing was not in hid jurisdiction and that "the Governor is the only man who can deal with the matter". 

I took a piece of paper and scribbled in pencil: "Walter Bromley may obtain a new dog for the injured party." and the man went away as happy as a sandboy.

Widow Harvey seems set fair to achieve her long held goal and actually kill someone.

During the week it occurred to me that brewing some beer would be a sensible thing to do.

It would certainly be better tasting than the water from the Torrens River, which is developing a brackish quality now that more and more people are watering live stock in it and using it for the disposal of night soil.

It would be healthier than drinking water as beer is both nutritious food and cooling drink. Even the Widow's baby brat would grow rosy cheeked and fat -well, fatter - with a little beer each mealtime.

And finally,by laying in a good supply of beer in the winter months when water is plentiful we would have a decent supply of drink during the Summer, when, if last Summer is anything to go by, the river is reduced to a chain of muddy waterholes.

Bobby Cock, who has the happy knack of seeming to be able to sell you anything you want has offered to supply me with a decent quantity of dried hops. Barley, of course, is pretty much unobtainable, but there is wheat to be had at a reasonable price and no-one I know ever objected to a good wheaten beer.  In one of the outhouses I found a number of empty barrels from the Buffalo that held, I believe, sauerkraut, so I can put them to good use. And I can certainly pitch Widow Harvey's washing out of the copper to boil up a mash.

A test batch in the next week or so would demonstrate the efficacy of the exercise, especially to Mrs Hindmarsh, who seems to doubt my practical ability and has made disparaging remarks regarding the possibility of anything good coming of the enterprise.

It was at this juncture that Widow Harvey, with the inevitability of the tide, spoke up to share her wisdom with us. It seems that her "dear ole da", by which appellation I assume she means her father, made many a gallon of good strong beer using naught more than what he found in hedgerows. Haw berries, nettles, sloe, all made a decent drop. And if he could acquire (by which, I guess, she meant steal) enough apples or pears "of the right sort" then he might make scrumpy or perry. And she did not doubt that she could turn her hand to the brewer's art with all the success of dear ole da.

It fell to me to point out the flaw in her plan. We have no apples or pears of any sort and we are similarly ill supplied with hedgerows with a concomitant lack of the ingredients for dear ole da's foul concoctions. The Widow was undeterred. She was sure that there were plenty of berries and fruits "out there" that would make perfect substitutes. I told her that we had no idea of what the qualities of those fruits and berries might be. They might have the qualities of the finest strawberries. Or they might have the qualities of hemlock and kill us all.

'Well sir," she said, "we'll only learn through trial and error."

If she thinks she is going to be using me to test the poisonous nature of her experiments then I have news for her. And it is all bad.