Powerwas a desperate ruffian. He had been convicted several times of different offences. He was under sentence when he escaped from Pentridge, previous to his turning bushranger. He managed his escape in a most extraordinary manner. The prisoners were carting rubbish in a small go-cart from the stockade outside the walls. Power was one of the men drawing the cart. There was a large heap where they were tipping up the cart. Power got under the rubbish unobserved by the sentries. The other prisoners, taking no notice of him, drew the cart back, while Power remained in his hiding-place until evening. When the prisoners were mustered he was missing. Search was immediately made for him, and the spot where he had secreted himself was discovered, but he had disappeared. Information was given to the police, and every effort was made to find him, but without success. Power at once commenced his bushranging career. He told me afterwards his first idea was to get a change of clothing, as he had nothing but his prison dress. This difficulty was overcome by stealing a suit of clothes from a farm-house. His next trouble was to procure arms. He found a blade of an old sheep-shears, fastened it on the end of a long stick, and made a kind of a lance. With this weapon he started bushranging. Before long he came across an old gentleman riding along the roads, and he took a revolver and some money from him. Thus armed he began his career, which lasted over eighteen months. He was the most fortunate bushranger (so he considered himself) we ever had in Victoria, and he boasted of having stuck up thirty men in one day.
The plan he adopted was as follows:—He chose a suitable position along a main road, where he could be quite unobserved by passers-by. He would probably take a coach road, wait until the coach came within ten or fifteen yards of him, then call out to the driver to surrender—"Bail up, or I will blow your brains out," at the same moment pointing a double-barrelled gun at him. The driver in every instance obeyed his orders. The bushranger would then order all the passengers to throw up their hands, and one by one to get out of the coach, and stand on the road, and turn their pockets inside out, letting the contents fall on the ground; Power himself keeping them all at a distance of twenty yards. He then made them march into the bush and sit down on a log about thirty or forty yards distant from the road. He was careful to select a suitable position in which to place his victims, commanding a view of the road as well as of those he had already captured.
On one occasion he stopped the coach with six male passengers, and two females, and he remained on the road three or four hours sticking up every man who passed by, till he had thirty under his control; he then mounted his horse, which was hidden in the bush, and told his victims they might go home, he taking all the cash and jewellery they had in their possession.
Power used to take most wonderfully long rides, frequently covering sixty and seventy miles a day. He had hiding-places in the mountains where he kept spare horses, and if hard pressed would make for one of these. He informed me the secret of his success was that he had no companions and never spoke to a woman. When captured, he was full of anecdotes. He was a very vain man, and had in his possession extracts from papers referring to his exploits, and had not the least hesitation in telling of his different robberies, and how he had escaped the police. He was a thorough bushman, and knew every gap and hiding-place in the mountains. The police were out after him day and night for eighteen months, and no money nor trouble was spared to effect his capture, many of the best bushmen amongst the police being selected from all parts of the colony, and sent into the district he frequented to try and capture him.
Captain Standish sent for me one day, and told me that Sir James M'Culloch (the Chief Secretary) had directed him to instruct me to proceed at once to the North-east district, and gave mecarte blancheto do anything I chose, and incur any expense I thought advisable. I at once wired to my clerk, who had a thorough knowledge of the district, and whom I had previously sent up to make some inquiries, to meet me at a certain spot in the bush on the following Sunday. I, accompanied by one of my brother officers, left Melbourne on Friday at six a.m., and reached the meeting-place arranged on Sunday evening. We had also secured the services of a black tracker, and we all remained that night at a squatter's station, some miles from Benalla, who had himself been stuck up by Power whilst engaged with his sheep on the run. Power had stolen the squatter's gold watch, which was an heirloom, and very much valued by the gentleman. He knew Power very well, and had been very kind to him, and as he naturally felt very much hurt at being robbed in this way, we could not have stayed at a house where we were more welcome. Power had sent a message to this gentleman (the squatter) that if he was anxious to get his watch he would return it to him if he sent £15. The difficulty we had to contend with was to get some trusty person, who had Power's confidence, to take the money to him and bring back the watch. After a day or two we were introduced to a man whom I must call L——. It was a very delicate matter we had on hand, but my brother officer, who was used to dealing with men of this kind, undertook the task.
The Government had offered a reward of £500 for the capture of Power, and my brother officer offered this tempting bait to L——. The man threw all kinds of difficulties in the way, but we both stuck to him, till at last he gave way and consented to undertake the task. We had no end of obstacles to overcome, but we were determined to succeed. The first thing we had to do was to find a route in the mountains where we could travel unseen, as Power had so many spies—"bush telegraphs," as they were called—throughout the district, that had we been seen by any one, our chances of success would have been small. The next thing was, to get the £15 from the squatter to send to Power. I put my initials on the coins, and we started away on Thursday morning, the party consisting of L—— as guide, my brother officer, myself, my clerk, and a black-fellow.
We left the station early in the morning, unobserved by any of the station hands, with one day's rations, as we expected to be in the vicinity of Power's whereabouts some time next day. We found our guide was a very bad bushman and was constantly losing himself, but my clerk had a good idea of the country, and we got on tolerably well. We travelled in a most inaccessible country, on the tops of mountains very thickly timbered, and with great difficulty managed to get through creeks, gullies, and sidlings. The first night we came upon a deserted house, which was locked up, but we put the black-fellow down the chimney and made him open the door. The only food we found was some tea and sugar, so we camped there that night, my brother officer and myself lying on an old bedstead with a sheep skin as covering, the clerk and black-fellow before the fire on the floor.
Next morning we caught our horses, which were hobbled, and while the black-fellow was catching them I saw a fowl on the roof of the hut, and with some difficulty I managed to secure it. Not wishing the black-fellow to see I had taken the fowl, I wrung its neck, tied it up in a bag, and fastened it in the front of the saddle used by the black guide. We had not been mounted ten minutes when I turned round and saw the darkie laughing very heartily. I said, "Donald, what makes you laugh?" He replied, "I 'mell him, I 'mell him!" I said, "What you 'mell?" He said, "Chicken, ha ha!" I asked, "Where?" "In my swag," he replied. I was very much astonished at his smartness. This was the only food we had besides a bone of a shoulder of mutton.
As I said before, we expected to have been near Power on the Friday morning. We rode all day, and about sunset arrived at a deep gully, where the party were to remain whilst L—— went to a farm-house to endeavour to ascertain whether it was safe to approach Power. The farm-house was occupied by a notorious family, two or three brothers, all of whom were convicted thieves and bushrangers. L——, on leaving, led us to believe that he would return early the next morning, as he had only to ride about ten miles. We made a meal off the fowl, but it was the poorest creature four men ever dined off. We had great difficulty with our horses, they were tired, cold, and hungry, as they had travelled two days with very little food, so we merely sat on a log all night waiting for daylight to appear, holding the horses. No tents or covering of any kind, except one rug amongst us!
Saturday morning came, and there we remained all day, without food. It was raining in torrents, and the cold was intense, and no fire. We sat waiting all Saturday, the water pouring down the sides of the mountain like rivers, but L—— did not return, and we began to think we had been made fools of, when about four o'clock in the afternoon we heard the sound of horse's hoofs, and to our great joy found it was L——. Our first greeting was, "What luck have you had?" He made no reply, dismounted, took a handkerchief out of his pocket, untied it, and there displayed the squatter's watch and chain. We saw at once that L—— must have had an interview with Power, and we made him relate all that had happened during the time. He told us the Quinns doubted his honesty in wishing to see Power, and he was obliged to remain there for a day before he could even broach the subject of an interview with him, but after a good deal of caution Quinn consented to one of his associates taking L—— to Power's hiding-place in the mountains.
These Quinns were the only people in the colony who knew where Power was hidden. L—— used to be a great companion of Power, and used to be paid well, both in horses and money, for any information concerning the movements of the police, but the temptation of getting the reward of £500 was too much for him, so he consented to sell his friend for the blood-money. We then took counsel with L—— as to the best course to adopt in order to reach Power's place of concealment. L—— suggested waiting till Sunday night, forgetting that our party had had scarcely any food for two days. He threw every obstacle in the way of our starting that evening, telling us that if we were seen about the Quinns' house that night he would be shot, and that it was quite impossible to pass the house, which we should have been obliged to do to get into the mountains where Power was, as the rivers were all flooded, and the house watched by dogs, so that neither man nor beast could pass without being observed, and if we were on foot we should certainly be torn to pieces. Besides this, he said there was a peacock which always roosted on top of the Quinns' house, and no stranger could approach without the bird giving notice by uttering a shrill cry.
However, we were all determined to start that night, and we did so. We arranged our plans so as to pass Quinn's house about two o'clock in the morning, thinking as it was Saturday night that they might have been up late, and would be asleep by that time. Just as we were starting a terrific storm of rain came on, and our horses refused to face it. L——, being superstitious, took it for a bad omen, but we made a fresh start after the rain had stopped. We had a difficult gap in the mountains to cross, and L—— was in a terribly frightened state, and would have given anything to have retracted his agreement, and bolted from us, but we were firm and severe, and threatened to shoot him if he attempted to escape. We got through the pass much quicker than we anticipated, thanks to my clerk, and found ourselves within five miles of Quinn's house at about nine o'clock at night. Here we resolved to remain till twelve o'clock, and then make a fresh start. My brother officer and myself spent most of the time in walking up and down endeavouring to get warm, leaving my clerk, Donald, and L——, with the horses.
We were greatly excited at the prospect of securing Power, as he had baffled so many officers and men for the last eighteen months. At twelve o'clock we mounted our horses, and L—— was to lead the way to the place arranged, within sight of the Quinns' house. When there, we could decide on what was best to be done after seeing the surroundings of the house. We started away and got entangled amongst high ferns, logs, and creeks. We kept on riding for miles, and at last found—whether designedly or otherwise—that L—— had lost himself utterly. We were in despair! I asked the black-fellow whether he could find his way back to the point from which we started. He replied, "Yes, you have been going round and round all night." He then took the lead, and in half an hour showed us the log we had started from. We again set out, my clerk leading the way, as he alone besides L—— knew anything about the country, and in an hour's time we arrived in sight of the long-looked-for house. We decided to leave our horses in charge of Donald, about 300 yards from the Quinns' house, while the four of us endeavoured to pass the house unobserved.
No sooner had we dismounted than a terrific fall of rain commenced again, which was very much in our favour, as the dogs no doubt would seek shelter, and the peacock put his head beneath his wing. It was a most exciting moment. Strange to say, we passed the door in safety, having to keep within a few feet of the house, where some of the biggest ruffians in the colony were sheltered. Very much relieved at having succeeded, we began the ascent of the mountain behind the house. L—— had given us a good description of the locality where Power was camped. He told us it was a most difficult place to find. He had followed a track for some time, and had dropped pieces of bark and leaves of trees, so that we might know it again. He also described a hollow tree along the track, with a few old rags in it, within 200 or 300 yards of the spot where Power had his gunyah. We searched and searched for this track, but could find no trace of it. Our excitement was growing intense. It was just getting daylight, and it was more necessary that we should reach Power if possible before he awoke, as, in addition to being well armed, the country was so rugged that if he saw or heard us approach he could escape, and it would be next to impossible to find him.
In despair we held a council of war, and I suggested that the black-fellow should be sent for to endeavour to find the tracks of L—— and his friend on the previous day. My clerk opposed the idea of leaving our horses without protection, as they were sure to be stolen or let loose. But both my brother officer and I agreed that the black-fellow should be given a trial; so we sent the clerk back alone to get the black-fellow, and strange to say, they managed to pass unmolested or observed by the house, without either rousing the dogs' or peacock's attention. All this time my brother officer and self had our work to do, endeavouring to look after and quiet L——, who did nothing but cry, and try to escape from us. I never saw a man in such a terrible fright!
We thought the black man could be of little use after such a heavy rain. However, he appeared to get on a track of some sort, and followed it till he came upon the hollow tree described by L——, with a bed inside it. My brother officer, who was with the black tracker, beckoned me and pointed out the tree. I then said to Donald, "Can you see any smoke?" for we imagined Power by this time would have been up and had his fire alight. Donald replied, "Yes, fire up there along mountain." We started off at once in the direction the black-fellow pointed, and came upon a track, leaving L—— at the hollow tree. We ran up a steep hill and saw the smoke ourselves. We continued running, my brother officer leading the way, till we saw the fire and a kind of shelter under some gum trees, and as we approached I saw a pair of legs sticking out beyond the shelter. I went straight up to the legs, revolver in hand, and, in less time than I can write this, seized hold of the ankles, and pulled the man from under the shelter and away out of reach of his fire-arms. He was fast asleep, and uttered a tremendous howl, like a man in a nightmare, but there he was lying helpless at our feet. The first words he said were, "What police are you, and how did you get up here?" I replied, "We came from Melbourne, and passed the Quinns' house;" he said, "No fear, you could not have passed without the dogs and peacock giving the alarm." I replied, "We did pass there." The clerk put a pair of handcuffs on Power, then went to look after the horse. Power, meanwhile, dressed himself, and told us he had a presentiment that night, somehow, that something would happen to him, and hardly closed his eyes all night. At daylight, he got up and lighted his fire, and put on a "billy" of water to boil, and while waiting had lain down and fallen asleep.
We then searched his tent, and found his six-chambered Colt's revolver, loaded; and from the ridge-pole of his tent hung his double-barrelled shot gun, fastened by two strings, commanding a view of the path we had come up. It was loaded with slugs, and doubtless had he been awake, we should have had the contents in our bodies; but it was not to be.
The first thing we did was to ask Power to give us something to eat, as we were starving. He said, "If you go to that tree," pointing to it, "you will find some fine corned beef;" and so it turned out. We also found some tea, sugar, and bread in his tent. We threw away the water that was boiling, for fear it might have been poisoned, refilled the "billy," and made some tea. When the black-fellow saw the bread and meat he exclaimed, "Oh, golly, what a feed we shall have!" And so we did. Power tried to eat some breakfast, but complained that we had taken his appetite away. The only money we found in his tent or gunyah consisted of the three five-pound notes with my initials on them.
The spot on which the gunyah was situated was a most commanding position, and it would have been almost impossible to approach it without observation, had Power been awake. It was within half a mile of Quinn's house. I found out afterwards that the signal given by the Quinns when danger was near was the crack of a stock-whip, which meant, "Be on the look-out." The dogs and peacock were also signals, but, as luck would have it, appeared to be off their guard that night.
The place where Power was captured was about fifty miles from the nearest watch-house, and after breakfast we started on our journey. The first difficulty we had to contend with was how the two of us, viz., my brother officer and myself, were to pass these desperadoes at Quinn's house without an attempt at a rescue. The clerk had aroused the Quinns when he had passed to secure the horses, and when we were within sight of the house, we saw six or eight men standing at the door, and the dogs were barking at a great rate, and the peacock shrieking. My brother officer went in advance with Power, revolver in hand, while I remained some distance in the rear armed with Power's double-barrelled gun, so as to protect them if an attempt at a rescue had been made, but no attempt was made, not even a remark while he passed. Of L—— we saw nothing more; after we found the hollow tree he returned to Greta as fast as he could, without, as far as we know, being seen by any one. We mounted Power on the black-fellow's horse until we were able to secure another for him, and at seven o'clock on Sunday night we had him in the Wangaratta lock-up, safe and secure. During the journey he related many of his exploits, and seemed quite proud of his doings. Many of his stories were most amusing, and whenever we met any one on the road he called out, "They have got poor Power at last, but they caught him asleep."
On arriving at Wangaratta, we found the inhabitants were all going to church; in some way it became known that Power was captured, and in a few moments the churches were emptied, and every one flocked to see the notorious bushranger who had kept the whole colony in such a state of excitement for so many months.
It would take me too long to relate one tenth of his anecdotes, nor had I any guarantee as to the truth of them, but I may give one or two for a sample. He stated that he had robbed a number of stores and draymen, at Bright. The morning before he committed the robbery he changed his clothes, putting on very old ones, and mounted a miserable old roan horse which he had picked up for the occasion, leaving his own horse and clothes in some secure place in the bush. After committing the robberies, he started off to his retreat in the mountains, riding in the most unfrequented passes. About sunset in the evening, he met three young men who appeared to him like office lads, or bank clerks; each of them had a revolver round his waist. They came up to him, and said, "Have you seen a man riding a roan horse?" at the same time describing the dress Power had worn in the morning. He replied, "No; who is he?" The young men replied, "We are looking for Power the bushranger, who has stuck up a number of drays and stores near Bright this morning." Power then told them he had seen no one answering the description they gave. Power asked them where they intended spending the night; they said they were going towards Myrtleford; he said he was going in that direction also, and would accompany them in their search for Power. They rode along talking about the robberies, the three young fellows never dreaming they were talking to Power.
After they had gone some distance, Power got them in a certain position, and ordered them to hold up their hands on pain of being shot, at the same time pointing his revolver at them and informing them he was Power the bushranger. He made them all dismount from their horses, undo the belts of their revolvers, let them drop on the road, and move away from them. He then ordered them all to undress and place their clothes on a log, even down to their shirts, and ordering them away from the log, lit a fire and burnt every article! He let their horses go, and then told them they might return to Bright, and inform their employers they had seen Power! I never could ascertain whether this story was true, beyond the fact of his having stuck up the stores and draymen on that road.
Another story Power told me is worth recording. He said he had stuck up a number of draymen on the road between Avenel and Seymour, and after stopping some eight or nine of them and seeing another approach him, he stepped from behind a tree, and ordered the driver to "bail up," calling out, "I am Power, the bushranger," at the same time covering him with his double-barrelled gun. The drayman pulled up his horses, and Power demanded his money, but the driver, who proved himself to be a Scotchman, most positively declined to hand it over. He said, "I have worked hard for my money, and have only £9 upon me, and nothing in the world will induce me to give it up." Power replied, "You see all these gentlemen here," pointing to the drivers of the other waggons, "have given me up all their money, and you will have to do the same." The drayman still remained obdurate, and Power then said to him, "Look here my good man, you see the position I am in; if I allow you to pass without giving me your money, my occupation will be gone. I am a bushranger, and make my living as a highwayman. Suppose I let you pass, the next person I stick up will also refuse to hand over his money, and the public will say I am afraid to shoot a man. I will therefore give you five minutes to think over the matter, and if after that time you still refuse, I will have to shoot you." Power said to me, "I did not want to shoot the poor fellow, so I left him and went behind a tree and prayed to God to soften his heart, and the Lord answered my prayer. At the end of the appointed time, I again called on the drayman to hand over his cash, and he handed it to me without a murmur."
Power was a most careful man in his dress. No one would have thought he was a bushranger, his clothes were always so clean and neat, and he always rode splendid horses (of course, stolen property). After his capture I was a good deal with him. I drove him to Beechworth in my buggy, and he talked all the way; and subsequently I was asked by Captain Standish to bring him from Beechworth to Melbourne by coach, and all the way down he related his adventures and experiences since his escape from Pentridge. On his arrival in Melbourne by the coach, which carried the mails, we stopped at the post-office, where a large crowd awaited his arrival. He put his head out of the coach window and took off his hat to the people, and then, when the coach arrived at Cobb's office, he wanted to make a speech to the crowd, but I prevented his doing so.
On the way from Beechworth after the sentence was passed, he thanked me for all my kindness towards him, and told me he would like to make me a present of a magnificent black mare he had in the mountains (telling me where she was). I asked him how she came into his possession, but he replied, "You must not ask me that question." I said, "Did you get her on the square?" His reply was "No." "Then I can have nothing to do with her," I replied. He afterwards offered me his pipe, but as I was not a smoker I declined the offer.
Power was put on his trial at Beechworth, charged with highway robbery under arms, which meant sticking up the Myrtleford coach and robbing the passengers. He pleaded guilty to one charge, and was sentenced to fifteen years in Pentridge; he served over fourteen years of this sentence, and was then released. He was afterwards employed as gamekeeper to Sir William Clarke, at Bald Hill Station. I had a conversation with him whilst there. He appeared very dissatisfied at the unexciting life he was leading. He was a hale, strong man even then, very fond of telling his experiences to any one who would listen to him.
Our guide, L——, I never saw again after leaving him at the hollow tree the morning of Power's capture. I had letters from him, and paid the £500 reward promised to him, to a gentleman he named, who paid him portions of the sum as he required it, but he made no good use of the money. He squandered it, and it became known in the district that he had informed against Power, in consequence of his having so much money at his disposal. He was galloping his horse one Sunday after he had drawn the last instalment, and in riding home from the hotel, where he had been drinking heavily, he fell from his horse and broke his neck. Power himself never suspected L——, but thought the Quinns had given information, or, as it is termed, "put him away;" he thought it quite impossible for our party to have passed Quinn's house unobserved.
I might add that afterwards the squatter who had given us £15 to obtain his watch, and through whose instrumentality the capture was made, sent in an application to the Government to refund the amount, but the Chief Secretary point blank refused the request.
CHAPTER IV.
A Sporting Party on the Murray—"Winkle"—How to take Aim—After the Ducks—A Night with the Snakes—Kangarooing—A Runaway Bed.
A Sporting Party on the Murray—"Winkle"—How to take Aim—After the Ducks—A Night with the Snakes—Kangarooing—A Runaway Bed.
Perhapsas a change from the somewhat lurid record of crime, which from the very nature of things must constitute the principal portion of a police officer's reminiscences, I may be allowed to turn to the lighter incidents of a sportsman's recreations. Sport was a very different thing years ago, before the progress of settlement had driven the game away from the more readily accessible regions. I can recall many happy days spent on the Murray plains in the exciting chase after the bounding kangaroo, or in dealing devastation among the feathered fowl, which then abounded on the lagoons and swamps along the river's course. For the amusement of my readers I will recall one occasion, which was not without a spice of humorous incident. A party of four, we started from Melbourne for a week's shooting on the Murray river. Three of us were well accustomed to this branch of sport, but the fourth member of the band, a very good fellow, and a valued friend to us all, was better acquainted with legal sharpshooting than with modern arms of precision. Still, he had been seized with a sudden desire to distinguish himself in a new line, and, like Mr. Winkle, was prepared to uphold his reputation. Not owning, and never having owned, a gun, he deputed me to select a weapon, the best breech-loader that money could buy, determined that the birds should not escape, at any rate through any fault of the weapon. I fulfilled the commission accordingly. Intending to camp out most of the time, we laid in a stock of provisions and other necessaries, and, proceeding to Echuca by train, started off to our destination lower down the Murray. We camped the first night at a water-hole near Gunbower, and next morning after breakfast the new gun was brought out to be inspected.
I should state that in all shooting parties it is usual to appoint one of the number as captain. He decides what is to be done each day, and his instructions are law. I was appointed on this occasion. Winkle highly approved of my purchase, eyeing the gun, nevertheless, as if it were a doubtful point of law, of whose possible consequences he was exceedingly dubious. Another member of the party, who dearly loves a practical joke, suggested that the new weapon ought to be tried without delay, and turning to me, with a twinkle in his eye, said—"Make him fire off the gun at the black shag sitting on that log in the water."
Winkle trembled at the suggestion, never having fired off a double-barrelled gun in his life, but with legal acumen he objected, on the ground that such a weapon should not be desecrated by being turned against an ignoble object like a shag, and said with dignity he would prefer commencing his shooting when he got amongst the game. This plea, however, availed him not. I told him he must obey orders; and accordingly, having put a couple of cartridges into the gun, I handed the weapon to its owner, who received the gift with manifest consternation. Still he obeyed. First he fixed his eyes steadfastly on the shag, then firmly closed them, and, without taking aim, levelled his weapon, and pulled the trigger. As might have been expected under such conditions, the shot struck the water thirty or forty yards from the bird, which soared away with contemptuous deliberation.
"What on earth do you mean by shooting in that way?" called out our humorous friend.
"What do I mean?" repeated the sporting novice with astonishment.
"Why, you never took aim at the bird," was the reply.
"No," responded Winkle, with virtuous surprise. "Why should I? I have often heard Hare say, and also many other sportsmen, that they never aimed at a bird; they merely looked at it, and pulled the trigger." The retort was evidently considered a crushing negative, though any sportsman will understand the difference between firing off the gun without covering the bird, and pulling the trigger, and not letting the gun follow the eye.
We went on our journey for some distance. We had two buggies, our waggish friend driving with me, and the novice with the remaining member of the party in the second buggy. I was driving about a quarter of a mile ahead, when we saw a huge snake lying in the road. I drove over it, and broke its back, preventing it from moving. We pulled up our buggy and waited till the others came up. Then, for another bit of fun, I ordered Winkle to get out his gun, put it together himself, and shoot the snake. The order, given with the utmost seriousness of countenance, was received with horror. He objected most strongly, pleading that I knew his antipathy to snakes; besides, he had always heard that where there was one snake there was sure to be another close by, and as the grass was long he begged not to be compelled to get out of the buggy. He was quite unaware that the back of the snake was broken, and that the reptile could not move, though it kept raising its head viciously, and wriggling about in a manner quite sufficient to alarm the uninitiated. My companion, alive to the joke, urged me to insist. At last, with the utmost reluctance, he slowly and with unwilling step reached the ground. I told him to aim at the snake. With trembling caution he raised the gun to his shoulder, keeping the while at a respectful distance from the disabled snake, and then pulled both triggers. Belying on the sporting doctrine that it is quite unnecessary to take aim, he fired at random, and I need hardly say that neither shot went anywhere near the snake. Then he got into the buggy as quickly as he could, afraid apparently that the snake was in eager pursuit.
We laughed, and told him that the snake could do him no harm, as its back was broken. He took the joke good-humouredly, but with more seriousness repeated that he had a horror of snakes, and he begged us not to play any practical jokes of this kind upon him.
That night we reached our destination, and met the then manager of the station, who gave us a good account of the game we were likely to see. My companion and I used to have a shooting trip every year to this station, and the manager was accustomed to reserve all the unmanageable horses he met with during the year for us to break in. Turkey shooting in those days required a good deal of skill in getting near the birds, and we often had a pair of horses which would take a considerable time to yoke up, but would return in the evening tired out and quite broken in. The manager began to tell us what a pair of devils he had for us next morning. We were not dismayed, thinking the more spirit the horses had the better, but our verdant friend did not at all coincide with this view. When he went out shooting, he said, he wanted to shoot, and did not like his attention distracted by the antics of wild, untamed animals. The manager, all hospitality, agreed that he should have a quiet, steady pair.
After a good night's rest, off we started in the direction where the game was to be found. At first Winkle declined to repeat his shooting experiences. He preferred holding the horses, and it was not until the afternoon that we could prevail on him to take his gun and creep along a gully where some ducks were hiding in the reed-beds. He was not used to country life, nor to stalking game, and when we called on him to keep as close to the ground as possible, he put down his head and raised another part of his body to such a height, that we could scarcely wonder the ducks rose in affright over such an extraordinary figure, long before he got within range. He, however, was no whit disappointed. Having been directed to fire he obeyed orders, and though more than 200 yards away he discharged both barrels, and came back much satisfied with himself. He explained that we must have started the ducks, but when we showed him the figure he presented when stalking them, he was not surprised at the birds flying off.
We had a good day's sport, and made up our minds to stay at a deserted hut on the run that night. In those days the snakes were very plentiful on the Murray Flats. This was long before selection took place, and the huts deserted during the winter months were taken possession of by those reptiles. On being made acquainted with this strange fact in natural history, our friend was strongly averse to anything which would savour of the nature of trespass, and disclaimed any desire to serve a writ of ejectment. The manager, who was with us, said that it would be safer to take refuge in the hut than to camp out, as at that season snakes always travelled by night. When we arrived there we found three old bunks, consisting of four posts driven into the ground with bars across them, and an old bag fastened over them. As old campaigners, my companion, myself, and the overseer took possession of the bunks, leaving the less astute members of the party to lie on the floor. Our friend put on his glasses and took a good survey of the position. "Ah!" he said, "I see what it is, the three old birds have taken possession of the bunks, and we," turning to his companion, "have to lie on the floor." As night came on we made ourselves as comfortable as we could under the circumstances, and turned in early. In the night friend number two called out to the snake-hating Winkle, "Lie quiet, a snake has just crawled over me!" At once a light was struck, but the snake could not be found, but the alarmist, who was a very old bushman, declared he distinctly felt a snake crawl over him.
Next day we had another good day's sport, and saw no end of snakes, and again we started our friend off to stalk another lot of ducks. He positively refused to crawl along on his hands and knees, as he did not care about the snakes pecking at his nose and face, so the same exhibition occurred as the day before, he presenting a figure that I feel sure the game in the district had never before seen. There was the same result, the ducks flew away unharmed. On this occasion he did not fire at them, but coming back to the buggy his gun went off of its own accord. On his return we asked him what he fired at, and he candidly admitted that the gun was responsible and not himself. He stated positively he would never again attempt to fire off a gun, for, said he, "I don't quite know which hammer I am to put my finger on when I put the gun on half-cock." It then appeared he put his thumb on the left hammer, whilst his finger was on the right trigger; consequently, the gun went off. We all recognized that there was a great risk in shooting with our friend, and were glad that he decided to put away his gun, and so avoid bagging bigger game than we had any intention of securing.
We decided to cross the Murray and stay the night at a station on the opposite bank. We arrived late in the evening, and were disappointed to find the owner absent from home. However, bush fashion, we went up to the house and told the housekeeper we intended staying there for the night. Our friend at once asked the housekeeper whether there were any snakes about. She replied, "I don't think there are many. One was seen on the verandah this morning, and he got under the floor of the house, but a good many were seen some time ago." He did not at all relish the idea of sleeping there that night. After a good dinner we went to bed early, our friend, with due regard to his personal comfort, being given the owner's bed. Two of us were sleeping in the next room, and during the night my friend awoke me and said that he heard groaning in the next apartment, and asked me to see what was the matter. I lighted a candle and went into the room.
Such a sight I never witnessed before or since. There was our snake-haunted friend sitting doubled up on the bed, fully dressed, with gaiters on, and bandages round his wrists and neck. He was groaning as if in great pain.
"What on earth is the matter with you?" said I.
"Oh, Hare! Such a night I never spent before in my life. The snakes have been running up and down the wall after the mice, and I have been afraid that the mice would run up my legs or arms, and the snakes would follow, so I got up, dressed, and put on my gaiters, and tied handkerchiefs round my wrists."
I could scarcely stand for laughing, and went next door and called in my companion, who, appreciating the humour of the situation, exploded with laughter. Never before having slept in a wooden room with a paper partition, our frightened friend did not know that mice invariably amused themselves running races all night within the paper lining. We explained matters to him, and he undressed and got into bed again.
Next day we intended changing our sport, and having a day's kangaroo hunting—the owner of the station being known all over the district as having the best kangaroo dogs on the Murray. The manager warned our friend against getting into a buggy with me driving, saying that I did not know the danger I ran, galloping across the plains as hard as the horses could go, following the dogs. Under this influence he came to me and said, "Hare, I don't think I care about kangarooing; I won't go out to-day." I told him it was his duty to obey orders, and as I had decided we were all to go out kangarooing, he must come with us. I drove the buggy; the horses played up when starting, and he begged to be allowed to stay at home, but we would not hear of his staying by himself, and at last we made a start. The hounds were sent out in a cart, and at an appointed place we all met. The kangaroos were in hundreds, and a pair of dogs were slipped by a man on horse-back when at full gallop. The two buggies and half a dozen station hands and blacks, perfectly naked, went in full gallop across the plains, the kangaroos running in every direction, one hound following one kangaroo, and the other another; such a helter-skelter was never before seen. Our friend was perfectly quiet and resigned to his fate. The game took to a clump of timber, and I saw my way to dash through it. The manager, who galloped past us, called out that it was perfect madness to allow me to drive as I was doing. However, I got through all right, but was pulled up on the other side by a deep ravine. Then my friend begged me to stop, and said he did not see anything in kangaroo hunting, and he preferred shooting ducks. We had another run, but he still declared that as far as he was concerned he could see no sport in kangarooing, and he had seen enough to last him his life.
We stayed another night at the station, and the next night crossed the Murray, and went back to Victoria. We had another good day's turkey and duck shooting, and that night we camped on a sandhill near a shepherd's hut. After selecting a spot whereon to camp, our friend strolled about, and met the wife of the shepherd. He at once entered into conversation with her, and said, "My good woman, are there any snakes about here?" She replied, "Law, sir, the place is stiff with them. They have been carting in a supply of wood for the winter, and in every hollow log there appears to be a snake." He returned to us downcast and dejected, and taking me aside, said, "Hare, I cannot sleep on the ground to-night; you must let me sleep in the waggon." I consulted with the others, and we agreed, after the miserable nights he had passed, he should be allowed to clear out the waggon, and put his 'possum rug in it. I must describe the position we selected for our camp. It was a steep hill on the side we were on, with a wide creek at the foot of it. His attention was drawn to the position, and we pointed out the possibility of the waggon running down the hill; but he took the precaution of putting chocks under the wheels, so as to prevent such an accident. I had no idea at the time of the reason why my waggish friend took so much trouble to point out the position of the waggon. However, I plainly saw the reason afterwards! We had our tea, which consisted of kangaroos' tails boiled in water, with some pepper and salt, which were not by any means palatable, but after a hard day's shooting anything goes down! Having selected our sleeping places round the fire, we all turned in, and our friend getting into the waggon, coiled up in his rug, began to chaff us, and ask us if there were any snakes knocking about. He little thought what was going to take place during the night. We all fell asleep, and later on I was awakened by dreadful screams from the waggon, calling out, "Hare, Hare, the waggon is off down the hill, and I will be drowned." I jumped up, and there saw the wag of the party at the pole of the waggon, pulling it down the hill. I could scarcely stand for laughing. The frightened occupant jumped out, and not seeing the joker at the pole, called out, "Good heavens, what a narrow escape I've had."
Next morning there was a discussion whether we should go back to Melbourne, or continue shooting.
One of the party was for having another day's sport, but the amateur sportsman turned upon him and told him he knew nothing about shooting, and begged us take no notice of what he said, but to make back to the station at once and endeavour to reach Echuca next day. Finally we agreed to do so.
On the road back one of the blacks who was with us started off in a gallop and rescued our little dog from being picked up by a huge eagle-hawk that was pouncing down upon the spaniel running ahead of us. These eagles, when hungry, generally hunt together, and have often been seen following a large kangaroo until it could scarcely stand; then they would attack it, and tear it to pieces and eat it. We got back to Echuca that night in time to catch the train. Our bag consisted of thirty-five turkeys, 120 couple of ducks, fifty geese, and no end of kangaroo tails. Our friend gave me his gun to sell, and I believe he has never since fired off a shot, and never intends to do so again. He got back to the bosom of his family, and registered a vow that he would never again go for a shooting trip as long as he lived, as he found he was not a sportsman, although highly thought of in his profession.
CHAPTER V.
The Kelly Gang—Ned and Dan Kelly—Steve Hart—Joe Byrne—The Origin of the Bushranging Outbreak—Search Party organized—Murder of Kennedy—M'Intyre's Escape—Arming the Police—Tracking the Gang—Close on them.
The Kelly Gang—Ned and Dan Kelly—Steve Hart—Joe Byrne—The Origin of the Bushranging Outbreak—Search Party organized—Murder of Kennedy—M'Intyre's Escape—Arming the Police—Tracking the Gang—Close on them.
Theevents in connection with the outbreak of the Kelly gang, from the murder of the ill-fated party of police in the Wombat Ranges, in October 1878, until the capture and death of the bushrangers at Glenrowan, in June 1880, are still too fresh in the minds of the public to need more than the briefest recapitulation as an introduction to my own experiences in their pursuit. Perhaps there was no one who had a better opportunity of obtaining information concerning their career than myself. Not that I wish to take any special credit, but I am merely mentioning facts that came to my knowledge and experiences during the search for the outlaws. For nearly ten months I was engaged searching for them, and both before I went to the north-eastern district and after I was relieved, Captain Standish, the Chief Commissioner of Police, consulted me concerning all the information that came to hand.
Ned Kelly, the leader of the gang, was born in 1854, at Wallan Wallan. At an early age he took to criminal courses, and was regarded as a horse and cattle stealer from his earliest boyhood. He was known to steal carriers' horses at night, "plant" them in the bush until a reward was offered for their recovery, and then in the most innocent manner claim the reward. Afterwards he took to stealing and selling any horses he found straying about. When he was sixteen years of age he joined Power, although he never assisted in any of his sticking-up cases; still, he was with him on two or three occasions when Power committed some of his depredations. He merely took charge of Power's horses at a distance, but he could not be recognized by any of the victims, and consequently he was never tried for any offence in connection with him; but he served two or three sentences for horse and cattle stealing. When with Power, Ned Kelly was a flash, ill-looking young blackguard. He told me the reason he left him was because Power had such an ungovernable temper that he thought Power would shoot him. He told me that when they were riding in the mountains, Power swore at him to such an extent, without his giving him any provocation, that he put spurs to his horse and galloped away home. It was generally supposed by the public that Ned Kelly gave the police some information which led to Power's arrest; but this is entirely untrue. Power would not at that time have trusted Kelly with the knowledge of his whereabouts. Power had a very poor opinion of Kelly's courage, and told me that once or twice Ned Kelly suggested that they should surrender, more especially when Kelly and he were trying to steal some of Dr. Rowe's horses at Mount Battery station, Mansfield, and Dr. Rowe fired on them with a long distance rifle. Power said Kelly turned deadly white, and wished to surrender. He had the greatest difficulty in getting him off the ground, he was in such a fright. Between the interval of his exploits with Power, and the time of the outbreak of the gang of which he was the leader, Ned Kelly had grown into a man, and had become so hardened in crime as to be perfectly reckless.
dan
Dan Kelly.
Ned Kelly had two brothers and four sisters, Dan, Jim, Mrs. Gunn, Mrs. Skillian, Kate and Grace. His father, who died in 1865, was a notorious criminal, having been transported from Ireland. He married a Miss Quinn, and all her people were thieves. The mother (Mrs. Kelly) is still alive, but was in gaol during most of the time her sons were outlaws, having been convicted of aiding in the shooting of Constable Fitzpatrick.
Dan Kelly was born in 1861, and was a good deal mixed up with Ned in his criminal pursuits. They were the terror of all persons who travelled with stock in that part of the district, and many drovers were accustomed to go miles out of their way to avoid Greta, for fear of their cattle being stolen. Dan was always known to be a cunning low little sneak, he would be prowling about half the night seeing what he could pick up; of course he knew every road, lane, and mountain gully in the district, and could ride about the darkest night and find his way as if in his own garden.
Steve Hart was born in 1860, near Wangaratta, he also was a horse-stealer, and was frequently prowling about of a night to pick up a stray drayman's horse, or any other animal that did not belong to him.
Joe Byrne was born in 1857 at Woolshed, near Beechworth. He was a fine strapping young fellow, but he took early in life to evil courses, and received a sentence of six months in Beechworth for cattle-stealing. He was educated at the Eldorado school, where he and Aaron Sherritt were most intimate friends.
Aaron Sherritt, who figures conspicuously throughout this narrative, was born near Beechworth. His parents and sisters were respectable and well-conducted people, his father having been in the police force in the old country. He was a strapping, tall, well-made young fellow, and associated himself with the Kellys and Byrne in their horse-stealing raids, giving himself up entirely to a disreputable life.
It will be observed that as the Kelly family lived near Greta, the Hart family near Wangaratta, with the Warby ranges behind them, and Joe Byrne's family resided at Woolshed, they had miles of ranges to retreat into with which they were well acquainted, and to this fact I attribute in a great measure their successful evasion from arrest. If, for instance, the police made up their minds to search the interminable ranges at the back of Greta, extending for over one hundred miles, the outlaws would, through their sisters, get the information furnished to them that the police were in that district, and they would shift their position during the night to the Warby Ranges, at the back of Hart's place; if parties of police were sent there, they would move over to Byrne's friends. In this manner they could find retreats over hundreds of miles of impenetrable mountains, amongst which they had been brought up all their lives, and where they knew every road, gully, and hiding-place.
The origin of the bushranging outbreak was the shooting at a young constable named Fitzpatrick in April 1878. He had been sent to arrest Dan Kelly at his mother's house near Greta. He was invited into Mrs. Kelly's hut and there set on by a number of people, and in the scuffle Ned Kelly shot him in the wrist. Mrs. Kelly, the mother of Ned and Dan, with two or three others, was subsequently arrested, tried, and convicted for aiding in the shooting of Fitzpatrick, and received long sentences. Warrants were then issued, and a reward of £100 offered for the arrest of Ned and Dan Kelly. For some months nothing was heard of them; they were doubtless in the district, but the police could not lay their hands on them, although every effort was made to capture them.
In October 1878, search parties were organized of three or four men, and were sent to search the mountains. The party in charge of Sergeant Kennedy, one of the best men in the force, comprised also Constables Lonergan, Scanlan, and M'Intyre. They had orders to scour the Wombat Ranges. They left Mansfield on the 25th of October, 1878, with pack-horses and provisions to last them some days. Sergeant Kennedy was a shrewd, intelligent man, and there is every reason to believe he had received information of a most positive nature as to where the Kellys were to be found, the information being supplied by a man whom I must call P——, a well-educated fellow, who had held various responsible positions in the district, on the promise from Kennedy that if he arrested the offenders, the reward offered by the Government for their apprehension should be paid to him. It is also stated, that no sooner had P—— given this information to Kennedy and seen the police started in search of the bushrangers, than he went straight to the Kellys and told them that Kennedy was to camp in a certain spot in the Wombat Ranges. Kennedy never for a moment thought the Kellys would attack him; such an idea never entered his head, and he camped for the night in a spot he had selected in the Stringy Bark Ranges, about twenty miles from Mansfield; the country was almost impassable from the impenetrable scrub.
The following morning Kennedy and Scanlan got their horses and started off to search the ranges, leaving M'Intyre and Lonergan in the camp; the former was acting as cook for the day. The camp consisted of a tent, which the men slept in. About two o'clock that day the two men left in camp were suddenly called on to "bail up and throw up their hands" by four armed men, who were presenting rifles at them. M'Intyre, being unarmed, immediately obeyed and threw up his hands, his revolver being inside the tent. Lonergan, instead of following the example, ran to get behind the shelter of a tree, at the same time drawing his revolver out of the case, but before he got to the tree he was shot in the forehead, and dropped down dead. The armed men were found to be Ned and Dan Kelly, Joe Byrne, and Steve Hart; they at once took possession of Lonergan's arms and all the other arms lying about the camp. M'Intyre was made to sit on a log, and he had a good opportunity of seeing the faces of the four men. Either Ned or Dan Kelly shot Lonergan, and M'Intyre states that Byrne and Hart were dreadfully cut up at the turn things had taken, especially Byrne, who was nervous and downcast.
The bushrangers were evidently aware that Kennedy and Scanlan were away, and would shortly be returning. They arranged that M'Intyre would sit in some conspicuous place where he could be seen by his comrades, and they themselves laid down in some sheltered spot where they could not be seen, and they advised M'Intyre to induce Kennedy and Scanlan to surrender, saying that if they consented they would not be shot. M'Intyre told Kelly that he would induce his comrades to surrender, if he promised to keep his word.
Kennedy and Scanlan rode into the camp. M'Intyre went forward and said, "Sergeant, I think you had better dismount and surrender, as we have been captured." Kelly at the same time called out, "Put up your hands." They both appear to have grasped the situation in a moment, for Scanlan threw himself from his horse to get behind a tree, but was shot before he reached the ground. Kennedy jumped from his horse, and getting the animal between him and the bushrangers, opened fire upon them. The horse bolted and passed close by M'Intyre, who vaulted on it and galloped off, throwing himself on the horse's neck. Several shots were fired, but, fortunately, none hit him, and he rode off as hard as he could. Kennedy was left then to fight these four scoundrels.
What happened no one knows, beyond what Ned Kelly stated himself. He said that Kennedy was a brave man, and fought the four of them until he had fired all the shots in his revolver. His body was afterwards found a quarter of a mile from where M'Intyre last saw him, with several bullet wounds and fearfully mutilated. Ned Kelly said that after Kennedy was wounded and fell, they all ran up to him, and Kennedy begged them to spare his life for the sake of his wife and children, but the inhuman brute said that he did not like to leave him in the bush in such a state, and so out of compassion he blew his brains out. An inquest was held on the bodies of the murdered men. Lonergan had received seven bullet wounds, one of them through the eye-ball. Scanlan's body had four shot marks on it, the fatal bullet had gone through his lungs. Kennedy's body was fearfully mutilated, he had three bullets through his head, and several in his body. Aaron Sherritt afterwards gave me another version of this matter. He said Ned Kelly told him that he made both Joe Byrne and Steve Hart fire into Kennedy whilst he was lying wounded, as neither of them had shot either Scanlan or Lonergan, and he made them kill Kennedy so as to prevent their turning informers against him and his brother. In support of this theory, it may be noted that when Kennedy's body was found, it was apparent that the bullets which put an end to his life must have been fired by men standing close over him, as the skin was burnt by the powder.
M'Intyre after his escape rode off as fast as the nature of the country would permit, until his horse fell and threw him across a log, on his loins, and then bolted off. M'Intyre felt sure he was being followed by one of the gang, and no doubt they did endeavour to overtake him, but the country was so dense with scrub that they were unable to follow on his tracks. After being thrown from his horse, he ran as far as he could, until through exhaustion he fell down, and close by he found a wombat hole, into which he crept, hoping to evade his pursuers. Whilst he was in this hole in the earth, he tore a sheet out of his pocket-book and wrote as concise an account as he could, thinking if the Kellys did overtake him, he would leave the slip of paper in the hole, in the hope that it might be found some day. Fortunately darkness came on, and M'Intyre got out of the hole and travelled all night on foot. Towards morning he found himself near Mr. Tolmie's station, between Mansfield and Benalla. At first he was rejoiced at seeing some habitation, but to his horror he fancied he saw the police horses which had been ridden by Kennedy's party feeding near the house, and he thought the bushrangers had come down and taken possession of the place. Acting on this idea, he made off as fast as he could. He found his way into Mansfield some time during the afternoon.
I afterwards spoke to M'Intyre concerning these horses, and he told me he felt perfectly convinced in his own mind that he saw the horse he had been riding, together with the three others, but it turned out that they were only the station horses. M'Intyre was much blamed for the way he had acted in the affair, but my own idea is, that unless he had been a brave man, he could not have seized the opportunity in the way he did in vaulting on Kennedy's horse as it passed him. He was of no use to Kennedy, he had no arms in his possession, and the fact of his bolting off as he did, gave Kennedy a better opportunity of shooting one or two of the bushrangers if they attempted to pursue him. He had seen his two companions shot dead and the third fired at; clearly his best course was to escape and give the alarm. There can be no question that if M'Intyre had also been shot (which he would have been, had he not escaped), the world would never have known the fate of the four men. The bush near the spot where the tragedy took place is so dense that, if the bodies had been burned and the ashes covered up, no sign of the bodies could have been discovered.
To show how difficult it was to find anything in the locality, it may be mentioned that poor Kennedy's body, although only a quarter of a mile away from the others, was not found for two or three days, although dozens of people were searching. When found, it was covered with a coat, although Lonergan's and Scanlan's bodies were lying in the camp uncovered. Afterwards I asked Sherritt the cause of Kennedy's body being covered, and he said Ned Kelly told him he was the bravest man he had ever heard of, and out of respect he went all the way to the camp, got a cloak, and threw it over the body, and I have not the least doubt that was the case.
M'Intyre having given the alarm at Mansfield, a party of police were sent out at once to the Wombat, and after much difficulty they reached the spot described by M'Intyre, and found the two bodies, and some days afterwards the remains of Kennedy were found as stated. The bodies had to be tied on horse-back to be brought out of the forest, and they were buried at Mansfield, where a monument has been erected to the memory of the murdered men. Kennedy was a great favourite with every one. He left a wife and children at Mansfield. The Government behaved liberally, allowing the widow to draw her husband's full pay to support herself and children ever since.
The news of these murders was very soon sent to all parts of the colonies, and caused great consternation. Captain Standish at once despatched the inspecting superintendent to the district, and mounted constables from all parts of the colony were sent in pursuit of the offenders. The police were blamed for being unprepared for such an outbreak, but, to my certain knowledge, for years Captain Standish had been asking for authority to arm his men with proper carbines, but his request was refused, the men not even being supplied with ammunition to practise with, because of the expense. Yet when this outbreak took place, blame was heaped upon the head of the department for being in such a state of unpreparedness. Authority was then given to purchase arms that were thought suitable for the purpose, but rifles of the description required could not be obtained. The military sent some old-fashioned rifles, but they were not to be depended on. Captain Standish then obtained authority to purchase from a gun-maker in Melbourne a large number of shot-guns, breech-loaders, and these were sent to the north-eastern district, and were well adapted for the purpose, and the men felt great confidence in using them. Each of these breech-loading shot-guns cost the Government about £8. However, we had to purchase some reliable weapons, and these shot-guns were considered the best, especially for inexperienced men.
The inspecting superintendent, and the officer in charge of the district, at once set to work to organize search parties to go in pursuit of the gang. The whole district at this time was in an intense state of excitement, and reports came from all parts of the district that suspicious persons answering the description of the bushrangers had been seen. There were several hundred square miles of country which the murderers knew every inch of, and it was difficult to say in which direction they would fly. One of the parties organized to search for the offenders found, within a few miles of the spot where the murders were committed, a very strong stockade, built of logs laid one on top of the other, with loop-holes all round, through which shots could be fired, and the person firing remain quite unseen, the trees within one hundred and fifty yards being full of bullet marks, where evidently considerable practice had taken place. It is believed that the bushrangers were living in this stockade when they attacked Kennedy's party, and from all appearances had been living there for some considerable time.
Aaron Sherritt told me it was quite by accident that Joe Byrne and Hart happened to be with the Kellys when they attacked the police. They were always great friends and companions in their horse-stealing raids, and Sherritt said they had no idea of shooting the police the morning they started to attack the camp. Their chief aim was to secure some good fire-arms and horses, and they were under the impression that all they would have to do was to cover them with their rifles, and the police would surrender. Instead of this they had to shoot the police to save their own lives.
Of course the bushrangers took away everything belonging to the murdered men. The police had good Webley revolvers, a Spencer carbine, and two shot-guns, the latter borrowed from some one at Mansfield. The police horses were also taken away by the gang.
The Government immediately offered a reward of £1000 for information that would lead to the apprehension of the offenders, they were outlawed, and every inducement was given to people to inform against them. After the murders the first information that was received concerning them was from the Murray River, below Wodonga, about ninety miles from the scene of the murder. They called at the house of a German, who knew them. They were riding the police horses belonging to Kennedy's party, and had their arms in their possession, and were seen going towards the Murray. They evidently meant to cross the river, but it was flooded, and they got on some of the islands and were very nearly drowned. The police had information of this, but they either disbelieved it, or failed to take action. At all events, a day or two afterwards the outlaws were seen making their way back riding through the water, and obliged to swim their horses to get out. When they reached the shore they had to make a fire to dry their arms, and they remained there some hours.
The next thing heard of them was their going through Wangaratta about daylight, crossing the bridge through the town, the whole country being flooded to such an extent that they were compelled to come through the town. Four men were seen crossing under a culvert on the railway, and it was known that no one but persons who had resided in Wangaratta could have known how to cross the creek in the swollen state it was in, as there was great risk in doing so. Information was given to the police at Wangaratta, but they doubted the truth of the report. After a day or two convincing proof was given that the four men seen passing under the railway were the bushrangers. An effort was then made to follow their tracks. This could be done by the men in full gallop, as the country was so boggy the tracks were plainly visible. The police tracked the foot-prints of the outlaws' horses to a well-known sympathizer's house, where it was afterwards ascertained the outlaws had breakfasted. Then the tracks were followed up still further into the Warby Ranges, and the police found Kennedy's horse, which the outlaws had abandoned. The animal was knocked up and its feet were bleeding from travelling over stones without shoes.
This I consider the best opportunity thrown away of capturing the offenders throughout the whole of the search. But unfortunately there was an officer at that time stationed at Wangaratta who was from physical and other disqualifications quite unfit to be sent on duty of this kind. Instead of following up the tracks when he found the lame and bleeding horse with signs of having recently been ridden, he threw up the search and made all his men return back to Wangaratta to show he had found the horse. It was afterwards discovered that the outlaws at this time were completely done up; their horses had been some days without feed, and they themselves were wet and tired out. There would have been no difficulty in capturing them. Unfortunately the inspecting superintendent was engaged in some other part of the district, and so also was the officer in charge of the district. The outlaws had got back to near where their relations lived. They had the Kellys' house on one side of them, and the Harts' on the other, and they could go to their own blood relations for any food and help they required.
Search parties were kept up all over the district, men sleeping out, or I should say staying out without fire or shelter; badly-fed horses knocked up, reports coming in from every direction hundreds of miles off, that the Kellys had been seen here, there, and everywhere. Many of these reports were circulated for the purpose of deceiving the police. The inspecting superintendent had had a great deal of experience in the detective force, and was able to obtain information from persons that no one else would think of getting it from. He set to work to endeavour to organize men of this class and get information as to the whereabouts of the outlaws, but there was the greatest difficulty in doing this. The murders committed by the outlaws had created such a scare in the district, that any person who did know anything of their movements was afraid to say anything about it; besides which, they had such a crowd of relations in the district, that it was impossible to find a person who was not in some way or other interested or connected with the gang. No one but the police themselves knew the hardships they went through all that winter whilst searching for the outlaws. They did it most cheerfully, one and all. Their whole aim and object was to fall in with the Kellys. The officers had a most trying time. They had to decide between false and deceiving reports, and those that were true. They were constantly on the move themselves, meeting persons in the bush quite alone, and obtaining information concerning the outlaws, some purposely misleading with a view of favouring the outlaws and getting payment for their services.
CHAPTER VI.
Euroa Bank Robbery—Euroa—"Sticking up" Mr. Younghusband's Station—Mr. Macauley "bailed up"—The Hawker Gloster—Cheap Outfits—The Raid on the Bank—The Manager and Family made Prisoners—The Return to Mr. Younghusband's—The Retreat of the Gang and Liberation of the Prisoners—Explanatory Statement of the Author.
Euroa Bank Robbery—Euroa—"Sticking up" Mr. Younghusband's Station—Mr. Macauley "bailed up"—The Hawker Gloster—Cheap Outfits—The Raid on the Bank—The Manager and Family made Prisoners—The Return to Mr. Younghusband's—The Retreat of the Gang and Liberation of the Prisoners—Explanatory Statement of the Author.
Thenext exploit of the gang was the Euroa Bank robbery, on the 11th Dec. 1878. Euroa is situated on the main railway line between Melbourne and Sydney, about one hundred miles from the former. The town at that time had about three hundred inhabitants; there was a police station, where one mounted man was stationed, and it had two hotels and some substantially built buildings in it. A court was held there once a month, and the town was built close by the railway line. The bank that was stuck up was within fifty or sixty yards of the railway station, and trains are constantly passing throughout the day; the nearest townships on each side of Euroa are Lowground on the Melbourne side, about nine miles distant, and Violet Town on the north side, about eleven miles. A considerable amount of business is, however, done in this place. It is the outlet for a large agricultural district, reaching down the valley of the Goulbourne river; at the back of it, and but a short distance away, are the Strathbogie ranges, which are covered with thick scrub, and heavily timbered for thirty or forty miles, reaching to near Mansfield, giving excellent cover for any persons trying to escape justice.
About noon on Monday, the 18th of December 1878, anemployénamed Fitzgerald, on Mr. Younghusband's station, was sitting in the hut eating his dinner, when a man who looked like an ordinary bushman quietly sauntered up to the door, and taking his pipe out of his mouth inquired if the manager, Mr. Macauley, was about. Fitzgerald replied, "No, but he will be back towards evening. Is it anything in particular? Perhaps I will do as well." The bushman said, "No, never mind; it is of no consequence," and then walked away from the hut. Fitzgerald continued eating his dinner without taking any further notice of the man; but he happened to look up, and saw the bushman beckoning to some person in the distance. About five minutes afterwards, two more rough-looking characters joined the bushman; they were leading four very fine horses, in splendid condition, they were three bays and a gray. The three men went to the homestead, which was close to the hut, and walked in. They met Mrs. Fitzgerald, the wife of theemployéalready mentioned, who was engaged in some household duties.
The old dame was considerably surprised at the strangers walking in without an invitation, and asked them who they were, and what they wanted. One replied, "I am Ned Kelly, but you have nothing to fear from us, we shall do you no harm; but you will have to give us some refreshment, and also food for our horses. That is all we want." The old lady was naturally very much surprised, and called out to her husband to come to her. Fitzgerald left his dinner at the hut, and walked over to the house, when his wife introduced him to the strangers, saying, "There is Mr. Kelly, he wants some refreshments, and food for his horses." By this time Kelly had drawn his revolver, evidently to show them there was no joking on his part; and Fitzgerald, no doubt thinking discretion the better part of valour, accepted the inevitable, and resignedly said, "Well, if the gentlemen want any refreshment, they must have it."
Shortly after this conversation had taken place, the station hands began to drop in for their dinner. Joe Byrne took up his position outside, keeping watch over the place, and Dan Kelly found the horse-feed, and was attending to the horses. Ned Kelly and Hart, as the men approached the homestead, made prisoners of all of them; Ned took possession of a detached building, which had been used as a store-room, into which he put Fitzgerald, and each man that came up to the station was served in the same manner, and the door locked. The women on the station were in no way interfered with, and they were all assured that no harm was intended to anybody; as each man walked up for his dinner, they were very quietly ordered to "bail up," and were unresistingly marched into the storehouse, no violence being used towards any of them, as they went quietly. Ned Kelly put several questions to each of the workmen, making inquiries about every one on the station, so as to test the credibility of each of them; their answers appeared to satisfy him, he was very quiet in his manner, and kept telling the men they had nothing to fear, provided they did not interfere with him or his companions.
About five o'clock in the afternoon Mr. Macauley, the manager of the station, rode up to the homestead (he had been to one of the out-stations), and when crossing the creek which led up to the station he noticed, with some surprise, the quietness which reigned about the place, and the absence of the station hands about the huts. However, he did not give it a second thought, and proceeded on his way, until nearing the storehouse, when he suddenly reined up. This was in consequence of Fitzgerald calling out to him from the building, "The Kellys are here, you will have to bail up." He could not believe this at first, but almost at that instant Ned Kelly came out of the house, and covering him with his revolvers, ordered him to "bail up." Macauley without dismounting said, "What is the good of your sticking up the station? We have got no better horses than those you have." Ned Kelly replied, "We are not going to take anything, we only want some food, and rest for our horses, and sleep for ourselves."
Macauley, seeing it was no use offering any resistance, at once dismounted, and surrendered. They did not treat him as they did the others, but allowed him to remain at liberty for some time, but always keeping a watchful eye upon him. Even then Macauley did not believe they were the Kelly gang, but when Dan Kelly came out of the house, he recognized, as he said, "his ugly face" from the photos he had seen of him. Macauley said, "Well, as we are to remain here, we may as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible, and have our tea." The outlaws however were too cautious, and only two of them sat down together, whilst the others kept a look-out, and then they relieved each other. They also took great care that some of their prisoners should taste the food first, being apparently afraid of poison being put in.
About this time a hawker named Gloster, who had a shop at Seymour, but was in the habit of travelling about the country with a general assortment of clothing and fancy goods, drove his waggon up to the entrance of the station, and according to his usual custom unharnessed his horses, and made preparations for camping out for the night; and having made all in readiness, he walked up to the station to get some water to make his tea with. When he reached the hut, he was told "the Kellys" were there, and that he would have to "bail up." Macauley, knowing Gloster to be a plucky fellow, was afraid that he might draw his revolver and there would be blood shed; however, Gloster got his water from the kitchen, and was going back to his cart, when Ned Kelly called out to him to stop. Gloster turned round and looked at him, but thinking it was all a lark, went on his way towards his cart. Dan Kelly immediately raised his gun, and was about to fire, when Ned Kelly ordered him not to do so. Macauley called out to him to "bail up," in order to prevent bloodshed. Gloster, who appeared a very obstinate fellow, took no notice of the threats of the Kellys, or the entreaties of Macauley, but steadily continued on his way and got up into his cart. Ned Kelly appeared to be losing his temper, and went down to the cart followed by his brother Dan. Ned then put his revolver to Gloster's cheek, and ordered him to come out of his cart, or he would blow his brains out. Many angry words passed between them, and it was only by the endeavours of Macauley that Ned Kelly was prevented shooting Gloster.