TERRIBLE BUSH FIRE TRAGEDY.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XII, Issue 588, 15 February 1881, Page 7

TERRIBLE BUSH FIRE TRAGEDY.

Soma weeks back we published a telegram from South Australia briefly announcing a dreadful calamity that had befallen a farmer named McCarthy, who by a bush fire lost his wife and five children, and most of his worldly goods. The incidents of the tragedy, as detailed in Australian paper to hand, are of the most painful dramatic interest.

On December 30th Martin M‘Carthy and four of his sons commenced to reap a wheat field about a mile from their homestead at Franklin Harbor. One of the lads observed a bush fire burning apparently 12 miles distant, but his father paid little attention to it, as the wind was blowing in a direction that prevented danger. At noon his little daughter Catherine brought the reapers their dinners, and when they had finished their repast gaily started to her doom, singing a child’s song. Hardly had she entered the cottage, when the wind veered suddenly round, and almost instantaneously the air became so full of smoke, and the fierce heat so great, that had hot the reapers hurriedly retreated to a vacant clearing of fallow land about 100 yards away, they would inevitably have been burnt. The following extract from a graphic account published in the South Australian Advertiser tells the other incidents of this dreadful story ;—“ Those merciless flames spared nothing that came in their way, and the blanched face of poor Martin M‘Carthy plainly betrayed, as he tremblingly clung to his eldest boy’s arm, a knowledge of this awful fact. ‘ Oh, my boy, my boy, lam ruined !’ he gasped forth, when the smoke had partially cleared away, and his parched lips were able to articulate the words, ‘ 1 am ruined, I am ruined.’ Too well, alas ! did the poor boys comprehend their father’s meaning. They knew that he referred not to his wheat, his house, or his dogs, all of which had perished in those few miserable moments; but to his own dear ones, not a mile away, whom they well knew perished too at the hands of the fiery flames. When the smoke had blown away, and left a clear view, they saw nothing but a black, smouldering, lifeless plain. Their impatience to ascertain the horrible truth broke not an instant’s delay. Over the scorching ground they sped towards the spot where but an hour before had stood home, and in it all they held dear in life. It took but a few’ minutes to reach the spot where the house stood. The father was there first ; .though 50 and odd years of age he outstripped his offspring in that race. Now came the scene of scenes, the heartrending picture, the culminating point in the dreadful tragedy. Mr M‘Carthy first tumbled across what he afterwards said he thought to be a stump, but a moment’s observation revealed the fact that it was the blackened remains of his dead wife. The next incident was extremely touching. There was no loud cry of grief, no utter and helpless priTstration ; but the poor man fell on his knees, clasped his hands together in a supplicating manner heavenwards, and then and there, in earnest, tearless prayer, he besought the Almighty to give him strength in this hour of his trial. Then he rose from his knees, and with his sons, who were sobbing forth in boylike weakness their bitter tears over the body of their mother, began to search around to discover if aught remained. Nothing was standing but the chimney, which was built of stone, and at its foot they found the bodies of five of M McCarthy’s daughters —one of them, a babv jf but two years old, clasped in the arn of her eldest sister. About five yards from the lint they found the body of Joseph Francis M'Carthy, a boy of seven years of age, lying on his back. All were dead, and but to. those who knew them bo well unrecognisable. The dogs that belonged to the place, with every other living thing were burnt—in fact, excepting the atone chimney and the tank, the place looked like a piece of scrub land after a bush fire. Coffins were hurriedly made, and a boat engaged to convey the melancholy freight across the St, Vincent Gulf to Wallaroo, where they were removed by train to Kapunda Cemetery, and there interred.”