CHAPTER XVTHE HIGHWAYMEN OF THE BUSH
A countryspacious and sparsely inhabited. A land where men found gold or reared cattle. A remote part of the world into which Dame Fashion dare not penetrate. And, above all, a domain dominated by the terrible bushranger. Such was my earliest conception of Australia. Such is the conception of it which still obtains in the minds of thousands of British people. And how different is the reality! The country certainly is spacious and sparsely inhabited. Men also get gold and rear cattle, but not as once they did. The days of finding are over. And as for Dame Fashion, she is very much in evidence. She is more audacious here than anywhere else, except it be Paris.
But it is of the bushranger that I propose to write; the bushranger whowas, even as late as thirty years ago, but who now no longer exists. The swaggering villain of the time-honoured novel who entered an Australian bar and “held up” proprietor and patrons, and having robbed them took to the road again, he has ceased to be. The last stand made by bushrangers was at Beechworth, amongst the hills. It is an enchanting country, full of naturalwealth and beauty: a place hidden from the eyes of the crowd, but sought by tired town-dwellers, who, weary of dust and noise, aspire after a period of repose in a spot where the air is a veritable elixir of life, and where the earth laughs with flowers and fruits. High as is Beechworth, oranges and lemons grow there. But, despite its attractions, the town is beginning to die. This is the tragedy of Australia—that small towns which were called into existence through the finding of gold begin to perish as soon as the gold is exhausted. The mines are closed down; the miners depart; shopkeepers lose their patrons, and they, too, are compelled to put up the shutters. The city grows, the small country mining towns diminish, and all because the mining towns had only mining upon which to depend. Beechworth sprang into existence in a day as the result of the discovery of gold in the locality. Thousands of men smitten with the gold fever poured into the township and searched for the precious metal. Men became rich in a few weeks. The few who went to church thought nothing of placing upon the collection-plate a nugget of gold when a special appeal for help was made. The rest lavished their money upon all kinds of objects. Bars, it goes without saying, flourished. The saloon-keepers asked what price they liked for liquor, and they always obtained it without demur. A “treat round” has more than once cost £40, which was cheerfully paid. In ten years’ time a saloon-keeper could retire on a handsome competence. Gold was accounted nothing of—it was so plentiful. Thefirst member of Parliament for Beechworth signalised the occasion of his election by riding through the streets of the town upon a horse whose four shoes were made of solid gold. Then came the reaction. The claims were worked out, the miners departed, and Beechworth is suffering. Yet commissioners say that there is more gold left in Beechworth than ever was taken from it, but it is to be obtained at greater cost of money and trouble than formerly. No longer can men dig up the quartz from a foot or two below the surface of the ground. Shafts must now be sunk. But the gold is there for the enterprising.
Gold and bushrangers! There is an affinity between the two. But for the presence of the one, the others would not have come into existence. Beechworth, fair in situation and rich in minerals, was once the centre of the operations of the most desperate gang of bushrangers Australia has ever known. I heard the story from the lips of the “oldest inhabitant,” a vigorous old Scotsman who has passed his eighty-fourth year, and who retains a clear memory and a youthful spirit. He was one of the magistrates who tried the members of the terrible “Kelly gang.” He pointed out the place where stood the prison in which the precious scoundrels were incarcerated. With pride he conducted us to a rock which is named after him—Ingram’s Rock—from which we obtained a marvellous panorama of a hilly country extending many miles in every direction. And there, deep down in the dell, lay caves and otherhiding-places in which the thieves found shelter from the harassing police and soldiery. We stood in the heart of the bushrangers’ country.
The story of that time, when told to-day, makes the flesh shiver. As we surveyed the beautiful landscape, and shared the deep tranquillity of hill and dale, we found it difficult to believe that only thirty years ago this countryside was at the mercy of three or four desperadoes, who kept the inhabitants in a state of continual terror. Three or four men—Irishmen—armed with guns and revolvers, raided where they pleased, killed whom they pleased, and lived as they pleased. Soldiers and police alike were foiled by them, and when they were at last taken it was more by accident than design. Dick Turpin, so far as England is concerned, belongs to a past age. “Dom Q” may be still wandering in some guise or other amongst the Spanish mountains. But that a small band of Irishmen should, at the end of the nineteenth century, and upon British territory, continue the exploits of the old-world robbers is almost incredible.
The father of the Kellys—for such was the name of the gang—was an Irishman and a Roman Catholic who came over from the Emerald Isle with the reputation of being an “informer.” His son Ned—the “terror” of the gang—was a handsome young fellow, who, with his brothers, found it much easier to live upon the produce of other people than to work honestly for his own living. He became a professional cattle-stealer, was caught and imprisoned.Released from jail, he threw off all restraint and took to the bush as a robber. Bushrangers had been common for many years, but at last the race was beginning to thin out. The Kellys determined to revive the gory glory of the ancient times. The country around Beechworth afforded them excellent cover, while the towns and scattered houses and “stations” offered them as much plunder as they desired. A murder was the signal for departing from civilisation and taking to the adventures of the bush. Despite the fact that the countryside was alarmed, and that the police were scouring the country in search of the outlaws, these last continued their robbing profession with almost unbelievable coolness. One day they entered the National Bank at Euroa at a time when many of the inhabitants of the town were at a funeral. They were well dressed, with no suggestion of the outlaw about them. Covering the clerks with their revolvers, they demanded all the cash the bank contained, the sum amounting to nearly £2,000. Then, gathering the entire staff of the bank together, they bade the manager harness a horse and prepare a carriage. And there issued from the bank premises a buggy containing the manager, with his wife and children, together with a cart containing the robbers and the plunder. All were driven to Faithfull’s Creek, where the prisoners were entertained by the thieves until such time as the latter thought fit to leave them, which they did at nightfall. The manager of the bank and his family found their way back to the town as best they could. Meanwhile,the Kellys were safely hidden in one of their favourite places of concealment. For cool daring this exploit has not often been surpassed.
They stopped at nothing. When, after another murder, the police started in a special train to a place where the Kellys were known to be, the robbers raced across the country to a spot where the train had to pass. They commandeered the stationmaster, and afterwards some platelayers to destroy the railway, and so to wreck the coming train. Luckily, however, the disaster was averted. One of the outlaws’ prisoners managed to escape and possess himself of a candle, a red scarf, and matches. With these for danger signals, he reached the railway as the train was approaching, and, lighting the candle, held the red scarf in front of it. The device was successful. The strange red light was seen, and the train drew up a few yards away from the place of danger. Meanwhile, the robbers had achieved the daring business of imprisoning in a large hotel a number of citizens who might have made trouble had they been at liberty. Driven in to the number of sixty-two, they were held at bay by four outlaws, who, by force of arms and reputation, were masters of the situation. The robbers were by this time clad in armour made from stolen ploughshares by a local blacksmith. Head, chest, back and sides were protected by this clumsy metal. Strangely enough, the robbers had not thought of covering their legs, and it was in that vulnerable spot that the chief of the gang was hit. The hotel, within and without, waswrapped in darkness when the armed police appeared and opened fire upon it. Unaware of the fact that women and children were prisoners in the hotel, the police poured into the building a deadly fire from their rifles. When it was discovered by the shrieks of the wounded that the innocent were being struck, firing ceased. Then the non-combatants left the building, and the police and the enemy were left to the work. The scene was an anticipation of the Sidney Street affair in London two years ago, when hundreds of police and soldiers laid siege to two anarchists, who held them for a whole day at bay. Despite the rifle-fire, the outlaws did not yield. One of them, indeed—the leader—managed to escape in the darkness. But, reappearing, he was shot in the legs, and his fighting career was over. The other three remained in the house, stubbornly refusing to surrender. Then at last the police decided to set fire to the house, and either burn out or burn up their enemies. When the fire subsided, the charred remains of two of the robbers were discovered amidst the ruins of the building. How they died will never be known. The survivor was taken to Melbourne, condemned to death, and hanged. And on the evening of the day of the execution the sister of the robbers appeared upon the stage of a Melbourne music-hall.
It is an amazing story. Only in the Wild West or in Australia of that day could such a series of events have occurred.
With the passing of the Kellys, bushrangingpractically ceased. It took a long time to calm the nerves of the populace, for it was believed that other scoundrels of the same type were abroad, quite ready to repeat the exploits of the gang recently broken up. All fear has long since departed. That phase of Australian life has disappeared for ever. The people to fear to-day are not bushrangers, but languorous men who dread the discipline of hard work, and who refuse to contribute their share to the making of a great country.