Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 112, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 May 1912 — Page 2

The Heroism of John Romanes

by L.Warburton

sertion of the poet, but this must be qualified by the omission of the word “no.” It is so at any date in the case of John Romanes, for his deed was performed in- the silence and solitude of the great Australian bush, without a single spectator who could bear witness to its exemplltude of courage of the highest quality, devotion seldom equaled, and a self-sacrifice so rare that few men unacquainted with the perils of the bush can appreciate it As the subject of Romanes* heroism it shall be my duty to tell to a wider circle of readers the events which earned for a hero no greater reward than my own undying gratitude and admiration. It seems strange to me that, so far, few persons outside of Australia have ever heard of the stupendous efforts the government of Western Australia has made to prevent the incursion of the rabbit pest into the farming and pastoral regions of that state and, as my story has to do with that mammoth work, I feel bound to speak briefly of it. For over fifty years the rabbits, Imported to Australia by some misguided immigrant, have been a fearful scourge to the eastern states of the island continent. Net fences had proved a success in tile east and the government at once entered on the stupendous task of running a rabbitproof fence right across the country to act as a barrier to the : invading hosts. That fence stands today, a completed and successful obstacle to the inroads of the pest. It is over 1,500 miles long, and stretches from Starvation Boat harbor, in the Great Australian Bight, to Condon, in the Ninety Mile Beach, away in the tropic north. It cost the country over $1,500,000. , To maintain the barrier in a state Of effectiveness against the depredations of the hostile natives, the blind attacks of emus and kangaroos and the ravages of flood, tornado and fire, a whole army of men are employed constantly patrolling it In the far north, however, where the fast disappearing bands of black aborigines are still in great numbers and are savage and treacherous, the boundary riders always work in pairs. They have great hardships to encounter and great dangers to brave—consequently they are picked men and re- • oelve high wages. They go armed always, and in the spinifex country, with which my story is concerned, they are mounted on camels, because of the scarcity of water. I was associated in the early days of the construction of the fence with the advanced survey party and, on the completion of the structure, was Induced by the high pay to accept the position of Inspector of a length of fence in the far north. A “length” is the namfe given to a section of the fence which is patrolled or ridden by one boundary rider, or two, as the case might be, but an inspector’s "length” may consist, as in my case it did, of three ordinary lengths, a distance in thifi instance of close on three hundred miles. The inspector establishes a central depot where stores kept, a decent well sunk and where the boundary riders meet after working back along their lengths. ■lt was in April, 1908, that I left Separation Well, the southernmost point of my section of the fence, and proceeded north to the De Grey river, a distance of 200 miles, where 1 had my main depot. There I was to meet Romanes and his mate Gregory, who had to patrol the last hundred miles of jay territory. When I reached the depot, then in charge of two men who were kept there as a relief, I found Romanes in camp, with his mate, who was very ill with malaria and quite unfit to take the track for some time, although his condition was not serious. I was particularly anxious to see the northern section of my part of the fence, because there had been a tropical flood a we£k or two before and from some overlandIng stockmen I had heard thr* the * fence was In a bad state of repair. When I questioned Romanes,/whom I did not know very well—in pact, I had entertained a suspicion of him from the moment the reports as to the state of his particular length came to me—he was rather nettled and challenged me to come out -wth him Without delaying for a. week’s nest to which he was entitled aftjr completing his cut and back ridel The camels were in good fettle and I took Stamm new at his word and decided that SEMUIXJ fit »»kTD Csv USMv

OU will not find the name of John.— Romanes on the scroll of honor, for men win the 2 badge of fame in many ways and there are many degrees of valor and many varying rewards won by its display. “POace has her heroes, no less renowned than war,” is the as-

with him I should go out two days later. This we did, taking with us the two best camels available for riding purposes and a third to carry supplies for a fortnight’s journey. Before leaving the depot I asked both Romanes and the man in charge whether the natives were “bad” along the track. “Queensland Charlie, that ‘boy’ of Turnbull’s at the De Gray station, told me that ’Major’ and ’Toby’ were loose again and heading this way, but I don’t believe it,” said Romanes. “They would make back into West Kimberley to dodge the police. and anyway, if they do get down here Turnbull tells me he had word that they are not armed. I don’t reckon we’ll see anything of ’em, boss.” “Well, I hope not,” I said, “but we’ll take some extra cartridges and keep a sharp lookout.” As events proved, my fears of trouble with the roving band under “Major” and "Toby,” two escaped native prisoners and the worst characters that were ever loose, were better grounded than I knew. It took us eight days to make the one hundred miles of our eastward journey, as we made a careful inspection of the fence, which I found to be in better shape than I expected, although we had to do a lot of strengthening to the temporary repairs which Romanes had effected on his previous trip. At the end of my section near Mount Bruce we met the two boundary riders who had worked south from the next section to the north. They had heard nothing of the movements of Major and Toby and reported everything quiet. We parted company next day, Romanes and myself proceeding on what should have .been a six-day trip back and the other'men returning north.

We made a good day’s march and camped at a rain shed about eighteen miles out, just as it was getting dusk. Not a sign nor a sight of a native had either Romanes or myself seen. In fact, we had not given them a thought. I lit a fire of mulga sticks behind a clump of gidgie bush and was soon busily engaged on the task of making a “damper,” or bread baked in the ashes. A flock of Nor’ West parrots flew screeching overhead. Romanes hobbled the camels and turned them loose with their bells making a monotonous “clamp-clamp,” as they went in search of young and tender spinifex bush. _ _r—“How would stewed parrot go, boss?” Romanes asked me as he looked after the rowdy birds, which bad settled in a solitary gum tree a couple of hundred yards Inside the fence. “Pretty good,” I replied. “Take the gun and bag a few.” Romanes picked up my double-bar-reled Greener gun, stuffed a couple of extra cartridges into his pocket, and was about to follow up the parrots when I advised him to take the Winchester too, saying that he might bring back the tail of a young kangaroo for soup. I lost sight of Romanes a minute later and went on with my preparations for our evening meal. The “daniper” was made and I was just raking out the clean live coals of the fire on which to bake it, wben I beard a rustle in the bush at my back. . As' I turned a spear whizzed by me and stuck fflMvering in the “grub bag” of the, camel saddle a few feet away! ‘ ■'At the same moment Lsaw half a

dozen savages in all their war paint I rose and literally threw myself at the nearest saddle, against which a second Winchester rested. With that in my hand I could make a bolt and protect myself in a running fight. But that was not to be. A second spear, aimed with half a dozen others, went through my left wrist, and, as I involuntarily dropped the rifle and grabbed at the spearshaft, a waddy descended on my head and my senses left me.

What actually transpired from the moment I lost touch with mortal existence until I found myself again in the depot I had to glean from the unwilling answers of Romanes to my question, and fill in the blanks from my Imagination. When he left me to follow the parrots, Romanes did not anticipate going more/than a quarter of a mile, at most, into the scrub and expected to be back in camp within fifteen minutes at the outside, but before he could get a shot at the birds they had led him on for a mile. It was while he was on his way back to the camp that he heard a shout, which resembled very closely the yell of triumph the natives give when they have captured their game, be it human or animal.

Approaching the camp cautiously, Romanes caught sight of the natives raiding the outfit, tearing open the "grub bags” and generally making themselves acquainted with everything in the camel packs. Having "tumbled to what had happened, Romanes’ first thought was to open fire on the blacks and before the natives knew what had happened a double charge of parrot shot struck them. With a yell they arose, the leader (whom it subsequently transpired was Major) grabbing the Winchester and firing wildly in the direction whence the shot had come. Romanes had taken shelter behind a bush which, while it obscured him from view, gave him no protection against bullets. He fired one shot from his rifle, and, dashing from his cover, made for a tree a hundred yards away, the natives following in a body. Once behind a stout trunk he brought his rifle into play ,and emptied the magazine with such effect that three of the natives fell and the others, meeting such a stout foe, bolted into the bush after vainly hurling all their spears and spending what cartridges were in the captured Winchester.

Not knowing how many natives there were, or whether there ..were more than he had seen in the neighborhood, Romanes wasted no time in climbing into the tree, there to wait until it was quite safe for him to make a further move, as the superstitious nature of the blacks Would prevent them from making any further attack. When he had spent a couple of hours in his high perch Romanes quietly slipped down and approached the camp, for the main purpose of endeavoring to get a further supply of ammunition, and to secure one of the camels in order that he might get away from the dangerous locality as soon as he had collected anything of value which the natives had left He expected to find me dead as a doornail and battered beyond recognition, but he got the shock of his life when he bent over me and found me breathing. There was a big wound on the back

of my head,’ and the first thing Romanes had to do was to stop the flow .of blood and pack me up somehow out of the way of swarms of ants that already were busy at work. Having made me as comfortable as possible, Romanes went in search of the camels, his idea being to strap me to one and get away without delay, for if the natives should return in the morning in increased numbers, neither of us would ever leave the spot. Poor John, he little knew then what a burden he had assumed in finding me alive! Better for him would it have been if I had really died then and he could have buried me, and, unhampered by a delirious man, have hastened to safety. His first disappointment came when he stood /jp to listen for the bells of the camels, which should have been heard. He failed to catch the faintest tinkle. His disappointment became alarm when not three hundred yards from the camp he found our pack camel dead, with several spears sticking it, and the other two, fifty yards fuurther on, hopelessly wounded. His determination not to leave me placed him in this predicament: he had first of all to'shlft me to a place of safety before morning brought the natives on us again; and alone he had then to get me into the De Grey depot, a distance of nearly eighty miles, the best part of it over waterless country. It was impossible for me to move of my own initiative, for that had left me and I lay like a log, senseless, delirious. If my life was to be saved I had to be moved from the spot where I fell and be carried to a place of safety. That was the cohclusion Romanes arrived at and before another dawn broke we were ten miles away from the scene of our last camp and I was safely resting in the shade of a bush, while Romanes went in search of water and food.

In the dark hours of the next night Romanes carried me another twelve miles and collapsed beside me near an old native well. How long into that day he slept, Romanes never knew, but when he awakened, probably as the result of my ravings, he saw a native coming along the fence scarcely two hundred yards away. His first thought was to shoot at sight, believing that the black must be one of our old enemies, but feeling certain that the black fellow could not have seen us in our retreat, he decided to wait till he came right up. The native was apparently following our tracks and was already turning off into the bush just where we had left the fence, when Romanes recognized him as a native he had seen at Turnbull’s station.

“Hullo there!” he yelled. The black fellow stopped, saw the strange and dilapidated white man with a rifle in his hand, and turned with a yell to bolt into the bush. Romanes called to him to halt and at the same time used Turnbull’s name, and dropped his lisle. At the familiar name, and seeing that he was not to be shot instanter, the na-tive-stood still while Romanes walked toward him and told him who he was. •The black accepted the peace overtures, and When Romanes learned that he was making for the De Grey station with the news from an outstation that the warlike natives were about, Romanes decided to trust him and conducted him to where I was lying. He inspected my wounds with many grunts and exclamations of concern. He made a native plaster for my wounds, composing it of leaves and sticking it on with wet clay, over ~whleTi~Wttrrl)ound thepieceofoMrt--sleeve which Romanes had first used to staunch the blood. Then with a message to both the depot and his employer, asking them to hasten to our assistance and telling them where they would find us, dead or alive, the native was dispatched by Romanes. Romanes then picked me up again, and, footsore and exhausted as he was, carried me another nine miles. There for three whole days and nights we lay, myself in a high state of fever, happily oblivious to all that, happened, and Romanes incessantly on the watch for blacks. On the morning of the fourth day after our arrival at the shed, relief came. When poor Romanes, by this time half-insane as the result of his hardships, realized that he actually saw white men and that the hordes of furious savages rushing on him were merely the creation of his bloodshot eyes, be broke down and wept. Three days later I awoke to consciousness and found myself in comparative comfort at the De Grey depot, where the surveying party’s cook —a first-rate amateur surgeon—had patched me up and doctored me in great style from the outfit’s medicine chest. I was still a helpless wreck, but my brain was clearing, and when I realized where I was I asked about Romanes. They brought him to me and it was harder work for that brave fellow to answer my question as to how I got safe in from Mount Bruce than it had been for him to carry me the best part of the journey. It was a month before I was well enough to travel down to Geraldton and there convalesce, but before I left I had the satisfaction of knowing that Major and Toby had met with their Inevitable fate. They had “stuck up” the Turkey Creek station, and, on being beaten off by the stockmen, ran into the arms of a police patrol, who killed many of the natives, including the ringleaders, and captured the balance. When I was able to report to headquarters a further piece of Intelligence pleased me. That was that my rescuer, John Romanes, had been promoted to the charge of an inspector’s section and had been assigned to one of the best stretches Of fence in the southern country.

ALONG THE GULF SHORE

FROM New Orleans we cam* leisurely to Mobile, 140 miles east and north, stopping by the way at Pass Christian and Biloxi, resorts on the gulf littoral, popular with the New Orleans people and not unknown to northern tourists, as well, who find the temperate climate more bracing and enjoyable than that of the resorts farther south. Pass Christian is nearest New Orleans, and 57 miles distant, says a correspondent of the New York Evening Post. It is a very old town, of which both France and Spain had the founding, 'and has a resident population today of French, Spanish and English origin. It was named—the legend runs —from the old Spanish explorer who first discovered the deep "pass” or channel in front of the .main shore. Its admirers call it the Newport of the south, with this advantage over its northern namesake, that it is equally beautiful and desirable in both winter and summer. The drive of 14 miles over its firm, smooth shell roads, with the blue waters of the giilf oh one side, and stately and beautiful residences on the other, is one long to be remembered.

From Pass Christian the railroad skirts the gulf shore, at times crossing wide bays or bayous pn trestle work, then dashing into pine forests, through whose leafy vistas one catches the distant gleam of the gulf. Biloxi, 22 miles farther east, set up the claim that it is the oldest city on the coast, and, indeed, in Louisiana territory. Probably Iberville and Bienville did erect there the first fort, but Mobile contends that two full days before they had landed at Dog river, in Mobile bay, and had planted their lily flag on the site of the first permanent fort, which they called Louis de la Mobile.

However this may be, Biloxi is a picturesque old town* reminding one of the French quarter of New Orleans, and with its handsome residences and shell road along the ten mile beach well repays a visit. Between the two lies Beauvoir, and a short distance from its station is the fine old country seat in ample grounds, to which Jefferson Davis retired after his abortive confederacy went to ruin, and in which he death the Daughters of the Confederacy asked Mrs. Davis to sell it to them for an old veterans* home, to which she consented, taking up her abode in New York, and the old home now shelters a number of those who fought for the “lost cause” of 1861-5.

Four hours from New Orleans we reach Mobile, at the head of the bay of the same name, and thirty miles from the gulf. A bright, alert, progressive and pleasing city it is, of 52,000 inhabitants, a city which, like most of the gulf ports, sees in the opening of the Panama canal an opportunity for almost boundless commercial expansion, and is pulling herself together to take advantage of it Famous Shell Road. The city recently has been newly paved and sewered. She has an ample water supply of the best quality, Bienville water being so pure that it 'is used in chemical emulsions and in photography direct from the hydrant. The city is lighted by electricity, has an excellent electric street railway system, good schools, good hotels and Government street, flanked on either side with fine residences in ample grounds, will compare favorably with the residence section of any city in the Union. Mobile lies low on the bay, so low, in fact, that a strong southwest gale sometimes backs up the gulf into the bay and overflows the contiguous streets, but the land rises rapidly in the rear until in the suburbs one finds high pine lands, with fine country seats of merchants, green vegetable gardens and fruitful farms. Spring Hill, several miles westward and reached by trolley, has several fine old country mansions and estates of the old regime—two, at least, owned by titled foreigners—where the hospitality of the antebellum days is dispensed. Here in wide, well kept grounds, is the'Jesuit college, founded 76 years ago. The traveler will find many excursions by water of interest Boats ply to Fort Morgan and little towns along the “eastern shore” of the bay, and to the “Snapper banks” out in its blue waters. Mobile’s famous shell road, along the curves of the bay, was partially wrecked in the great hurricane

of September 1905, but has been repaired and is now again in commission. There is a good hard country road that leads to the bluffs, where the shell road in its original beauty may be entered. Four miles below, at South End, it becomes a wild, romantic forest road, leading down to Dog river, where the French took possession of the country, and where Mobile’s famous Fish and Hunt club has an elegant clubhouse, where the visitor with the proper credentials will find as good sport and as free-handed hospitality as can be desired. It Is, however, of Mobile’s coming commercial greatness that we wish chiefly to speak in this article. “Just look at her position for a moment,” said one of her business men to the writer. "We are here on Mobile river, which is formed 51 miles above us by the junction of the Alabama and Tombigbee rivers, both noble streams, navigable for steamboats for 40 miles, and piercing a country rich in all agricultural products,-espe-cially cotton, in lumber, naval stores, coal, iron, cement and other mineral wealth. We have four trunk lines centering in the city, traversing the richest and most productive states of the Union and putting us in touch with every section. We have fdur miles of water front, and can enlarge it above or below indefinitely whenever the need arrives. We have a 20-foot cham nel to the gulf, which we are about to make 27 feet, find we are 100 miles nearer Panama, the West Indian, South American and European ports than New Orleans or any other large gulf port. “Ip 1860 Mobile was the second cotton port of the south. We expect to get back there in a few years more. Further, a movement has been quietly going on for the last two years that' will make Mobile the greatest coal shipping port of the south inside of two years. I mean the Improvement of the Tombigbee and Black Warrior rivers by a series of locks and dams which will enable steamboats and barges drawing six feet of water to run to Mobile from the Mulberry and' Locust forks of the Warrior in the richest coal and iron measures in the world —a distance of 400 miles, If you wish to learn more of this, call on Mr. William W. Thompson, who can tell you all about this and of another article destined to add not a little to Men bile’s exports—cement” We had a very interesting interview with Mr. Thompson, a man of constructive ability, with all the energy and enthusiasm necessary to carry out his plans. Age of Cement “We have had the stone age,” he began, “the age of gold, of silver, of iron and steel, and now we are coming to the age of cement. Wonderful what is being done just now with this new building material. "Now, 70 miles up the Tombigbee river from Mobile, is St. Stephen’s, site of the first capital of Alabama territory, now wholly deserted, and where is perhaps the greatest 'deposit of cement rock in this country. Fop three-quarters of a mile along the river bank it rises, & solid cliff from 75 to 100 feet high, and extending back from the river no one knows how far. A company haa been formed to work this bed. It will build at St. Stephen's a colossal plant, ship its product by barges to Mobile, thence to the Panama canal and other 'markets. “Beginning at Demopolis on the Tombigbee (from which town there is now good water Jo Mobile), a chain of: seven locks has been constructed on the Elack Warrior, opening navigation to Tuscaloosa. Others have been let and it is expected that within two years there will be all the year round navigation to the Mulberry and Locust forks of the Warrior, 400 miles above Mobile. “When the improvements on the lower river are completed they will probably be continued up to Birmingham, and it Is certain that coal, iron, cement and perhaps oil and salt can then be laid down on the docks of Mobile cheaper than in any other city of the south, if not of the Union."

No Need.

"It is a wonder that women who want to do everything men do nowadays don’t insist on playing footbalL* ' - - --'r S"They don't hare to. They’ve got bargain-counter rashes."