216 
THE CHEMIST AND HKHGGIST OP AUSTBALASlA. Oct. 1, 189S. 
NEW SOUTH WALES. 
Wollongong, a distance of about 50 miles down the south 
coast, was neither sought after nor enjoyed, and his live 
years’ business experience in West Maitland did not turn 
out an Eldorado. Discontent with pharmacy was respon- 
sible for the journey south, while he owed his time in the 
north to a desire to establish a good business. After doing 
15 months in the dispensary he turned to law, and engaged 
as a clerk to Mr. George Allen. Some deeds required a 
signature at Wollongong (this was in 1837), and Mr. Pinhey 
was selected for the trip, which was to be made in a small 
schooner. He didn’t half like the idea, but consoled himself 
that it was only a short sail, and all in view of the land. 
Accordingly he went aboard and found the crew to consist 
of an A.B., a galley boy, and a dog. The skipper was a 
new chum, taking charge for the first time, A pleasant 
start was made on a beautiful bright morning, and everyone 
was grateful to the elements. Just off Port Hocking the 
mate, as the A.B. was called, sniffed a southerly, and the 
innocent skipper was eager to make the acquaintance of a 
“buster.” “Look out,” said the old coaster, “it’s a gale 
as’ll blow us fair out of the water;” and, before he had 
time to reef, round, and head back for the harbour the 
From Falk’s Studio. 
“buster” was fair on top of the craft. They got back to the 
heads, and anchored in Watson’s Bay just before dark. 
Next day was mild and clear, and a fresh start was made. 
Quite half the journey had been negotiated, when a stiff 
westerly sprang up and took them well out to sea during the 
night. Daylight broke very late through dense leaden 
clouds, and the land had vanished. The storm increased as 
the day wore on, and rain fell in flakes. There was no 
compass aboard, and the skipper was hopelessly “at sea.” 
He tried to smooth things over by assurances that it would 
be all right “ when the sun came out.” The schooner drifted 
aimlessly for the next 24 hours, tossing about in high and 
dangerous seas, and still the sun didn’t come out. It was a 
thrilling time, as big seas came over them, and a marvel 
how the cockleshell lived at all. The prospect of ever 
reaching port again looked painfully blue. Provisions ran 
out on the third day, and misery was pictured on every 
face. If it lasted much longer what were they to do ? The 
galley-boy took in the situation, and said if the worst came 
to the worst his faithful dog was big enough for a few square 
meals. It wasn’t the most wholesome of anticipations, but 
it was a practical suggestion in which all silently acquiesced. 
With a partial abatement of the storm, the mate shaped 
another course, trusting to luck to get sight of the land in 
the morning. It was a joyful moment when tlie skipper 
made out the land with his binoculars, and Mr. Pinhey felt 
a^ if a ton weight had been lifted off his chest, while the boy 
congratulated his pet mongrel on a new lease of life. For 
nearly 48 hours the quartette had nothing more substantial 
to regale on than the reflection of the poor dog. The mate’s 
chance course turned out fortunate, and took them straight 
into Wollongong. That was Mr. Pinhey’s second and last 
sea trip. 
Mr. Pinhey once arrested a murderer in a singularly 
daring manner and proved that, if only a small man, he was 
not chicken-hearted. Between 1845-50, when he carried on 
a pharmacy at Maitland, his domestic servant, Rose Kelly, 
married a big hulking blacksmith who turned out a regular 
fiend. Not satisfied with doing the John L. Sullivan busi- 
ness on her, he spilled her blood by three premeditated 
stabs and disappeared. Some years after, Mr. Pinhey 
opened in Sydney, and the sight of Peter Macnamara walk- 
ing past his shop with two other men revived the awfulness 
of the tragedy. He followed the trio about Sydney until 
they turned into a public-house at the foot of Market-street, 
near the Pyrmont Bridge wharf, and not seeing a constable 
handy nerved himself for a daring dramatic effort. Enter- 
ing the bar determinedly he seized Macnamara by the 
wrist, accompanied by the words “I arrest you in the name 
of the Queen for the murder of Rose Kelly, your wife.” Big 
and all as he was he made no attempt to draw his arm 
away, and hesitated nervously before opening his mouth. 
“My name is Peter Murphy; see the letters on my arm.” 
“I say you are Peter Macnamara, and you must come along 
with me,” said Mr. Pinhey, with all the fire and earnestness 
at his command, while the others looked on in breathless 
astonishment. The murderer couldn’t utter another word, 
and permitting his arm to remain as held, quietly walked 
off to the police-station. He was tried, convicted, and 
hanged. No one was more surprised than Mr. Pinhey that 
so dangerous and powerful a character could have been 
taken so easily. Had he made any resistance his captor 
would have been a child in his hands, and Mr. Pinhey is 
satisfied to this day that owing to the daring and sudden 
manner in which he pounced on him, the big wife-slayer was 
overawed and so influenced by a magnetic force of character 
and determination that his arrest was, after all, a very 
simple matter. 
The Jessie Nicholls tragedy vividly recalls to the recollec- 
tion of Mr. Pinhey the notorious murder committed by 
Scott, the butcher, 29 years ago. Mr. Pinhey was the 
magistrate who committed Scott for wilful murder, and the 
facts are fresh in his memory. Scott deserted his wife in 
Melbourne and married in Sydney. The wife heard of it 
and threatened him with prosecution for bigamy. To get 
rid of the Sydney wife he cut her throat, skilfully cut the 
body up and packed it into a convenient-sized box with the 
intention of consigning it to the sea between Sydney and 
Newcastle. The foys engaged by him to carry the box to 
the steamer in Darling Harbour put it down near Barkers’ 
Mills on account of blood oozing out, and refused to take it 
further. Scott, who had followed behind, left the box 
where the boys put it down, and it was subsequently 
found and examined. Dr. Renwick, just then from Eng- 
land, said it had been cut up either by a doctor or butcher. 
The boys’ testimony was the means of tracing Scott, who 
was hanged. 
As a pharmacist Mr. Pinhey kept the best medicines 
obtainable, and prided himself on accurate and careful dis- 
pensing. An eye lotion prescribed by the late Dr. Moffatt 
was made up by the assistant in Mr. Pinhey’s presence, and 
the patient a few days later called and stated the doctor 
found fault with it, and said it was improperly dispensed. 
Mr. Pinhey retained the lotion, and went in search of the 
doctor. Not meeting him that day, and smarting with in- 
dignation at so damaging a charge, he immediately wrote, 
challenging him to a duel with pistols. Dr. Moffatt realised 
it was no joking matter, and instantly made a full apology 
and withdrawal of his charge. 
Ladybirds." Mr. A. C. M‘Donald, the expert attached 
to the Agricultural Department of Cape Colony, took his 
departure recently from Sydney with a large collection of 
ladybirds, especially the species wliich feed on the scale 
insects so destructive to fruit trees. They have already 
been found of great service in South Africa and California. 
