“Don't die, Hilton! don't die!” / By Chris Pritchard

“Don't die, Hilton! don't die!” / By Chris Pritchard

“The marsh waters ran red with blood as the giant crocodile clamped its jaws over the man’s arm. Choking back fear, the young girl waded in to save her friend”

            As she climbed into the truck on that bright April afternoon in 1981, 12-year-old Peta-Lynn Mann felt a flutter of excitement. Less than an hour before, she had arrived from boarding school in Darwin to her home at remote Channel Point, 180 kilometres to the south-west. Now she was going for a drive into the tropical countryside she loved so much.

            The region abounded in wildlife—pigs, buffalo, crocodiles and a variety of birds. Here her parents, Robert and Wendy Mann, immigrants from Zimbabwe, had set up a hunting and photo safari business. The Manns were away, so it was their young partner, Hilton Graham, 23, who was taking care of Peta-Lynn. The two were great friends and Graham had planned an outing as a treat for Peta-Lynn. “We’ll shoot a pig for barbecue out on the island,” he said, as he started the truck and headed down the track towards Palm Springs, a spot 20 kilometres away and almost cut off by swamp. Although called “the island,” the area was joined to the mainland by a narrow strip.

            They came to a stop in a clearing under a banyan tree, near where they kept an airboat. (These heavy, flat-bottomed boats carry their propellers well above the waterline to travel easily over reeds and shallows.)

            Graham, tall and strong built, shoved it out on the mud-brown swamp waters. He slung his rifle across his back, steadied the boat while Peta-Lynn stepped in, then pushed clear. Cruising on low throttle round the island, he nosed through the jungle of paper-bark trees and creepers in the hope of surprising and shooting a pig. Peta-Lynn crouched in the bow, staring into the dense vegetation, hardly daring to speak above a whisper.

            Suddenly, at around 5.30 p.m, the boat ran aground in the shallows. Graham unhitched his rifle and clambered overboard to push the airboat into deeper water. As he did so, his pistol slipped from its holster and fell into the swamp. The water reached only to Graham’s calves, so he knelt and groped around on the muddy bottom. “I’ll tie up the boat and give you a hand,” Peta-Lynn said, jumping in and wading a couple of metres to the bank.

            Splash ! Graham was startled by the sudden sound in the water close behind him. He turned and found himself staring down the throat of a crocodile nearly four metres long, its jaws open like a giant trap. As he raised his left arm in a gesture of defence, the bristling rows of rapier-like teeth snapped together. Graham felt a burning pain shoot up his arm.

            Tug-of-war.

            The crocodile, its jaws firmly fastened on Graham’s arm, began to roll over, but for some reason released its hold. Graham gasped in anguish. “Help! Peta! Peta!” he cried to the girl on the bank. She stood riveted with horror. A despairing thought flashed through Graham’s mind,  What could a little girl do anyway?

            Graham got up from his knees as the crocodile thrashed wildly with its tail. Now the reptile lunged at him from the side and struck again. Its jaws clamped tightly on Graham’s right thigh and he felt himself being pulled much more vigorously than before. Blood gushed from his torn forearm. He tried desperately to get a firm footing in the mud. Unless he could hold on, grip something, the crocodile would pull him down into deeper water. He knew crocodiles roll over and over, often drowning their prey before tearing it to pieces.

            Already Graham could feel the reptile’s unbelievable power, as his own feet were slipping further from the security of the near-by bank. He thrust out his right arm and screamed, “Peta! Grab hold!”

            Peta-Lynn felt no fear now. She waded back into murky water and called, “Hang on, Hilton!” the water was up to her knees as she slithered in the mud. Then she reached out for his arms and grabbed it with both hands. She planted her feet in the marsh, flexed her knees and pulled with all her might. It was like a tug-of-war, she thought, with Hilton the rope, and unless she anchored him, he would die.

            Out in the deeper water, the crocodile was splashing with renewed fury. It wouldn’t let go of Graham’s thigh and Peta-Lynn now realized with horror that gradually she was being dragged forward. The crocodile was winning the tug-of-war.

            A bloody sight.

            After what seemed to Peta-Lynn a very long time-actually only a minute or two-the crocodile suddenly spun Graham round full circle under the water. Peta-Lynn was swept off her feet and, still clutching Graham’s arm, was dragged under the water too. The crocodile could easily drown them both, she knew, unless she fought on. Righting herself, she searched for a foothold on the bottom, dug in her toes and pulled with all her might again. If only she succeeded  in holding on, the crocodile might open its jaws just long enough for her to pull Hilton free.

            The water reached above her waist now, but she kept her grip—even when a vicious tug from the crocodile again dragged Hilton’s shoulders, neck and then his face completely under the water. Peta-Lynn had seen the despair on his face, and she thought she’d lost him. But she gasped for breath and kept pulling.

            Suddenly the crocodile stopped rolling. Peta-Lynn felt herself falling backwards into the marsh, dragging Hilton towards her. His head broke the surface and he sputtered, gasping for air. The reptile still had a hold on him, but then five paces from land it unaccountably let go and sank back into the depths.

            Peta-Lynn pulled furiously on Graham’s arm. “Hilton, Hilton! Come on!” He staggered out, stunned, his face deathly white and expressionless. Blood streamed from his arm and thigh.

            They had barely taken two steps when the crocodile broke through the water again with a noisy splash. It snapped wildly at Graham’s right buttock, and succeeded in ripping the flesh through his khaki pants. But Peta-Lynn gave a sharp tug and the giant reptile lost its hold and fell back. Blood streaked the water as the beast lay waiting, its eyes above the surface, watching.

            Desperate.

            The two scrambled up the bank, and Peta-Lynn helped Graham to a tree about 50 metres distant—far enough, she hoped, for the crocodile not to attack again. Graham could barely move, weak from shock and loss of blood. Peta-Lynn settled him against the tree trunk. His shirt was in shreds from the shoulder to the sleeve, his trousers were ripped to tatters. “Wait here,” she said, “and I’ll get to the truck.”

            She sprinted two kilometers along the jungle track, then picked her way through open countryside to the vehicle.

            Fortunately, when she was eight, Graham had taught her to drive in the open country. Now she quickly turned on the ignition in the truck and drove back as fast as she could across the rough terrain. Graham was limping towards the truck when she came upon him. She leapt out and helped him on to the passenger seat. He sprawled there on his left side, his wounded thigh and buttock uppermost and his lacerated left arm hanging limply at his side.

            It was 6.05 and growing dark as they set off for Channel Point. A few hundred metres up the track, Graham passed out. Peta-Lynn wondered whether she should stop. She took a hand off the steering wheel and shook him. Graham groaned, and the girl said, “You’re not going to die on me, are you?”

            Graham grunted an inaudible reply, then fainted again. Just before they reached Channel Point, he began to moan. “Don’t die Hilton! Don’t die!” Peta-Lynn sobbed.

            Her desperation got through to him. Graham now summoned all his strength and replied forcefully, “Die? The hell I will.”

            There was nobody at Channel Point, but Graham dragged himself to the radio and called Welltree Homestead 70 kilometres away. “I’ve been badly mauled by a croc,” he said, “and I must get to hospital. Peta will drive me towards Darwin. Send someone from Labelle to meet us.” Labelle Homestead, where his fiancés and her family lived, was only 30 kilometres down the track, but a hill blocked direct radio contact from Channel Point.

            In the kitchen Peta-Lynn grabbed a tin of antiseptic powder from the family first-aid box. Then she pulled a clean sheet from the linen cupboard. She sprinkled the powder liberally over Graham’s wounds and draped the sheet around him. She decided not to waste time binding his wounds. She had to get him to hospital fast.

            The scars remain.

            They got back in the truck and headed towards Darwin. Graham was slumped in the seat, but his eyes were open. Every minutes, she checked to see if he was still conscious. Occasionally her fear that he might die got the better of her and she asked: “Are you still all right?” Graham would answer with a clipped “Yeah.”

            At last Peta-Lynn saw lights in the distance. It was Graham’s fiancée, June-Ellen Townsend and her brother Henry in a Landcruiser, followed by a second vehicle. At 7.45, the vehicles met, Graham was transferred to the Landcruiser, Peta-Lynn climbed in with him and they sped towards Darwin.

            Just after eleven o’clock, they pulled up at the emergency entrance of Darwin Hospital. Graham was rushed to the operating theatre, where he was given 1,500cc of blood, as well as antibiotic, tetanus and pain-killing injections. Two fractures in his left forearm were set. In his thigh, gaping wounds 25 centimetres long were carefully cleaned and scraped of dead tissue. After a week, when it was clear that infection had not set in, the wounds were stitched. For two weeks he stayed in hospital, and back at school again, Peta-Lynn was a regular visitor.

            “She’s a wonderful, brave little girl,” Graham says, “She had read—and we had even talked—about how dangerous crocodiles could be. But when I was facing death, she risked her life to save me.”

            Now fully recovered but still bearing scars, Graham has often returned to the Palm Springs marsh—but has not searched again for his lost pistol. Crocodiles are territorial, he knows. And while he has not seen his toothy tormentor, Graham imagines as the air boat glides over the dark, still water, that he is being watched.

            On October 6, 1982, in her first official duty of the royal tour of Australia, Queen Elizabeth II presented Peta-Lynn with the Royal Humane Society of Australasia ‘s Clarke Gold Medal for what the  society’s secretary Colin Bannister described as “the country’s most outstanding incident of bravery during 1981.”

“Today’s stress is tomorrow’s good old days.”                       -Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung