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 THE LAST

 OF

 THE BUSHRANGERS

[Illustration: Ned Kelly.]




 THE LAST

 OF

 THE BUSHRANGERS

 _AN ACCOUNT OF THE CAPTURE OF
 THE KELLY GANG_

 BY
 FRANCIS AUGUSTUS HARE, P.M.

 LATE SUPERINTENDENT OF VICTORIAN POLICE

 Illustrated

 _FOURTH EDITION._

 LONDON:
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED,
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
 1895.

 _All rights reserved._




 Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,
 London & Bungay.




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER I.

  Introductory Remarks--Birth--Early Days at the Diggings--Unlicensed
  Diggers--Attacked by Fever--Keeping a
  Store                                                                1

  CHAPTER II.

  Lieutenant in Victorian Police--Gold-Escort Duty--Catching
  a Burglar--All that was left of him--Brooks the Murderer--At
  the Buckland River Station--"Billy the Puntman"--In
  Charge of new Rushes--Border Difficulties on the
  Murray                                                              19

  CHAPTER III.

  Power the Bushranger--His Escape--The Squatter's Gold
  Watch--£500 Blood-money--A Peacock as a Sentinel--Caught
  by the Heels--Some of Power's Adventures--His
  Sentence--Gamekeeper to Sir William Clarke                          55

  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                                                         77

  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                                                                92

  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                                                             112

  CHAPTER VII.

  The Police at Euroa--Aaron Sherritt--Jerilderie--Capture of
  the Police Station and Constables--Amateur Policemen--The
  Royal Hotel stuck up--Raid on the Bank of New
  South Wales--£2000 taken--Kelly's Autobiography--His
  Account of the Fitzpatrick Affair--Departure of the Gang--Return
  to their Haunts                                                    137

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Aaron Sherritt--A Disappointment--At Mrs. Byrne's--A
  Twenty-five-day Watch--Manufacturing Brands--Sherritt's
  Revenge--A Letter from Joe Byrne--Whorouly Races--On
  Watch at Mrs. Sherritt's--Mrs. Byrne's Discovery--Break-up
  of the Camp--Arrest of Kelly Sympathizers--A
  Dynamite Scare--Aaron jilted                                       159

  CHAPTER IX.

  Mrs. Skillian's Hoax--A False Alarm--Searching the Warby
  Ranges--Among the Kelly Sympathizers--Ill and dispirited--The
  Tenant of the Haystack--Relieved after
  Eight Months' Camping Duty                                         203

  CHAPTER X.

  Black Trackers--Again in Charge with _carte blanche_--Aaron
  Sherritt's Doom--The Beginning of the End--Glenrowan--Sticking
  up the Hotel--Bracken's Escape--The Police
  on the Alert--A Dangerous Journey--Mr. Curnow's
  Adventure                                                          227

  CHAPTER XI.

  The Attack on the Hotel--Wounded                                   267

  CHAPTER XII.

  From _The Age_ Newspaper, 29th June, 1880--The Start--The
  Journey--A Timely Warning--The Gang surprised--Death
  of Byrne--Capture of Ned Kelly--His Statement--The
  Prisoners released--Renewal of the Fight                           274

  CHAPTER XIII.

  From _The Age_ (continued). Mrs. Skillian comes on the Scene--The
  Hotel fired--Rescue of Sherry--Fate of Dan Kelly
  and Hart--Statement of Various Prisoners made by the
  Gang--The Incident of the Cannon                                   291

  CHAPTER XIV.

  The Outlaws' Plans--Execution of Ned Kelly--Habits and
  Customs of the Gang--Katie Kelly's behaviour--Kelly's
  distrust of Hart--The Cost of the Destruction of the
  Gang                                                               315




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


 NED KELLY      _Frontispiece_

 DAN KELLY      _To face page_                                        94

 AARON SHERRITT      "                                               140

 JOE BYRNE           "                                               192

 STEVE HART          "                                               240

 NIGHT ATTACK ON THE GLENROWAN HOTEL      "                          270

 NED KELLY IN HIS ARMOUR                  "                          284

 GROUP TAKEN DURING THE FIGHT             "                          308




THE LAST OF THE BUSHRANGERS.




CHAPTER I.

 Introductory Remarks--Birth--Early Days at the Diggings--Unlicensed
 Diggers--Attacked by Fever--Keeping a Store.


When narrating to friendly audiences my experiences in the early days
of the Colony of Victoria in what may be termed the "gold era," and
some of the various incidents which occurred during my connection with
the Victorian police, I have often been asked to give the records of
them a more permanent form. After hesitating long, I have listened to
those promptings, and, greatly daring, have ventured to address a wider
range of hearers. I claim no more than to tell a plain, unvarnished
tale, recalling from the reminiscences stored within my mind, events
and incidents of by-gone days. Perhaps had I written down the facts
while the events were still fresh, I might have been able to put more
spirit into my narrative, but my aim has been to keep within the
record, to extenuate nothing, nor to set down aught in malice. I have
endeavoured to refrain from mentioning names of private persons as much
as possible, but, where I have found myself compelled to do so, I trust
my references will raise no unkindly feelings.

Unfortunately, after the destruction of the Kelly gang, unpleasant
feelings and jealousies sprang up between different officers engaged
in the search, and interested persons kept adding fuel to the fire. In
writing this account of the capture and destruction of the last of the
Victorian Bushrangers, I have endeavoured to avoid locating the blame
for the various unsuccessful attempts. We had a difficult task before
us, and I feel sure each of us spared no effort to do his duty, though
in thus acting all of us, no doubt, committed errors of judgment. In a
matter of this kind every one has a right to his own opinion, and none
but those who underwent the hardships we did can have any idea of our
sufferings during the months we were in pursuit of the outlaws.

It seems hardly possible to imagine that ten years ago a field-gun was
being dragged up Collins Street, Melbourne, to blow down an hotel,
which practically was little more than a wooden hut, within two hundred
yards of one of the principal stations on the main line of railway
between Melbourne and Sydney, as the last resource for the capture
of four men, who for the previous two years had set law, order, the
government, and police at absolute defiance.

Nor is it much more easy of credence that the capture of this gang
should have cost the state, from first to last, over £115,000. And yet
these are facts which cannot be controverted.

The first feeling that will arise in the minds of English people
on reading this, will be one of wonder. How came it that four men
should have been able for two years to carry on their career of crime
unchecked? And what were the police doing? The police, and I speak
from actual knowledge, were doing their "level best." A reward of
£8,000 was offered for the capture of the men, dead or alive, and
there was _kudos_ and promotion to be gained. But there were peculiar
difficulties connected with this undertaking, difficulties which could
arise in no other country. Firstly, it must be remembered that these
men were natives of, and were brought up in, the district in which they
carried on their depredations; they knew every inch of the ground,
bushes, and mountains; they had hiding-places and retreats known to
few, if any, but themselves, and they were acquainted with every track
and by-path. Secondly, the sparseness of the population outside the
towns must be taken into consideration. These men might commit an act
of violence in a town, and disappear into the bush, where they might,
with the knowledge of the locality at their command, ride hundreds of
miles without coming near a dwelling-house, or meeting a human being,
and thus obliterate all traces of themselves for the time being; and
lastly--what aided them more than anything else--they commanded an
enormous amount of sympathy among the lower orders. It was a well-known
fact that they had friends and adherents, either open or semi-veiled,
all over the colony. The families of the Kellys, Hart, and Byrne were
large ones, and members of them were to be found scattered over all the
district ever ready to provide asylum, or furnish information as to the
movements of the police. And outside their own families the sympathy
they obtained was almost as great, though it was of a more meretricious
order. The gang was lavish with its money. They subsidized largely,
instituting a body of spies known by the name of "Bush telegraphs," who
kept them fully informed of every movement of the authorities, and
aided them on every possible occasion to elude capture.

And apart from this money consideration there was a further one, which
appealed quite as effectively to their humble admirers. The gang never
behaved badly to, or assaulted, a woman, but always treated them
with consideration and respect, although frequently compelled by the
exigencies of the situation to put them to considerable inconvenience.
In like manner they seldom, if ever, made a victim of a poor man. And
thus they weaved a certain halo of romance and rough chivalry around
themselves, which was worth a good deal to them, much in the same way
as did the British highwayman during the last century.

And now, with these few necessary words of explanation and
introduction, let me get at once to my story, and the events which led
to my being connected with the capture of the last of the Bushrangers.

I was born at the Cape of Good Hope, at a small village called Wynberg,
about eight miles from Cape Town, and near the celebrated vineyards of
Constantia. I was the youngest son of a family of seventeen! My father
was a captain in the 21st Dragoons. The whole of his regiment was
disbanded at the Cape; all the officers settled down amongst the Dutch
inhabitants, and nearly all of us were born at Wynberg. When I left
school I joined a brother who had a sheep farm, with which he combined
horse-breeding and agriculture. After I had been on the station four
or five years, I disliked the life so much that I was persuaded to
emigrate to Australia. I arrived in Melbourne on 10th April, 1852,
about six months after gold had been discovered. I did not know a soul
out there then, and after a short time went on to Sydney, where I found
a few people to whom I had letters of introduction.

After staying in Sydney a few months I returned to Melbourne with two
mates whom I had picked up there, one a fellow-passenger I met going
to Sydney. The voyage lasted seventeen days. My other mate was a
runaway convict from Norfolk Island. He had been employed as workman
and gardener in my other mate's family, and was a very hard-working
old scoundrel. Melbourne at this time was a place to be remembered;
the scenes that occurred in the streets and in the hotels would hardly
be credited. The principal objects throughout the day to be seen in
Collins and Bourke Streets were wedding-parties. Diggers used to come
from the diggings with pounds' weight of gold, for the purpose, as
they called it, of "knocking it down," and they managed to do this in
a marvellously short space of time. You would hear of a man calling
for two or three dozen of champagne (£1 per bottle), throwing it into
a tub, and having a bath in it. Again, men would call for two slices
of bread, put a ten-pound note between them, and eat the note and
bread as a sandwich. Hardly a day passed without seeing six or seven
wedding-parties driving up and down Collins Street, dressed in most
gorgeous attire. It was said the same women were married to different
men over and over again. When the man had spent all his money he would
go back to the diggings to make another "pile," and when he had made
it he would return to Melbourne. In those days there were no hotels,
theatres, or places of amusement on the diggings, and any one who
wanted any enjoyment had to run down to Melbourne. Gold was easily
got--a man had only to sink a hole from four to twenty feet deep, and
if he was on the "lead," the probabilities were he would get some
pounds' weight of gold. At this time it was most difficult to secure
any accommodation in Melbourne. You might offer any sum of money you
thought fit, and yet not procure a corner to sleep in. I happened to
get a bed at Hockin's Hotel, at the corner of Lonsdale and Elizabeth
streets. I was awakened in the night hearing some one who was being
garroted calling out for help; but help there was none. The colony was
infested with convicts from the other colonies, and the most daring
robberies in the streets of Melbourne were of nightly occurrence.

My two mates and I started with our swags on our backs from Melbourne
to Bendigo, and camped out all the way up. The roads were very bad,
and it was impossible to get a conveyance, so we humped our swags. As
we went we joined in with large parties of men, all bound in the same
direction as we were, for the purpose of our mutual safety. All along
the road we heard of gangs of bushrangers sticking up parties of men.
The dreaded spot on the road was the Black Forest, between Gisborne and
Woodend. Having passed that we were tolerably safe. It took us eight
days to reach Bendigo, and we pitched our tents on Golden Gully. Our
first duty was to take out a licence to dig for gold, which cost us
30s. each, and then to sink a hole, which we bottomed, and took two or
three ounces of gold. We then sank another, but were not so successful.
About this time a new rush broke out at a place not far from Golden
Gully, called Kangaroo Flat. We left our tent pitched in the same
place, and went off to peg out a piece of ground, and set to work to
sink a hole. This we bottomed, but it was also a "shicer." We sank
another, and found it a little better, and got a few ounces out of it.
All the diggers were very unsettled. It was the general belief that a
mountain of gold would be discovered, and every one was anxious to be
first in the rush, so as to mark out a portion of the mountain. Rumours
of new finds frequently reached us, but those that were far off always
appeared the most attractive somehow.

I must give some idea of the life on the diggings in those days. The
parties consisted of from three to six men. One had to cook for the
week, turn about. The leads of gold were always found in the gullies,
and on each side of these gullies the diggers pitched their tents.
Every party was provided with fire-arms, and at night it was the custom
to fire off and reload them after dark. It was a peculiar sight to
see the fires lighted all round each tent, and the diggers sitting
about, and many of them having lighted candles as well. Bendigo in
those days consisted of an irregular number of stores and tents erected
where Sandhurst is now built. My ex-convict mate turned out to be an
excellent workman, and would do anything for me. He always volunteered
to undertake my part of the cooking, and was famous for his "damper,"
which was baked in the ashes. As there were no bakers in those days we
had to bake our own bread. There was a quartz reef in Ironbark Gully,
at the back of Bendigo. On Sundays we went there with a hammer and
broke off a handkerchief full of specimens, which were quartz covered
with gold. This reef belonged to no one, and any one might have taken
possession of it. Quartz-crushing was unknown in those days, and I
believe since then this same reef has yielded several hundred thousand
pounds' worth of gold.

After staying at Bendigo for a month or so we heard of a new rush at
the Ovens. So off we started to try our luck. The distance was great,
but that only lent all the greater charm to our prospects. We had
engaged a dray to carry up our swags, and were to have started off on
a certain day, but owing to some reason we were delayed; so, being of
an active disposition, I started off to a little gully by myself to
prospect it. I took with me my pick, shovel, and tin dish; it was not
200 yards from my tent. In the evening I returned to my mates with ten
ounces of gold. We held a consultation as to whether we should remain
or go to the Ovens, and, I regret to say, we decided to leave Bendigo
and the new claim I had discovered, and go to the Ovens. Accordingly
off we started, early next morning. It took us ten days to get to
Beechworth, but being a large party we had a jolly trip. We arrived at
Read's Creek--a few miles below Spring Creek, as it was called in those
days, but now known as Beechworth--a few days before Christmas, 1852.

The first thing, we set to work to make our Christmas dinner--I
remember it as though it were yesterday. I bought the materials for a
plum pudding; for a dozen of eggs I gave £1. I forget the prices of
the raisins, &c., but I shall never forget the pudding! We boiled it
for twenty-four hours!--it took us a week to digest--it was as hard as
a cannon-ball!--it lasted a long time, and was something to remember!
When we arrived at Read's Creek we found it in a most excited state.
The diggers were up in arms against the Government officials, and
whenever a policeman or any other Government servant was seen they
raised a cry of "Joe-Joe." I never heard the origin of the word. The
cause of this excitement was in consequence of a digger having been
accidentally shot by a policeman, as he was obeying some order of a
warden who was settling a dispute.

It appeared that the warden had directed an armed policeman to eject
a man from a claim, and in stepping down he slipped, and his carbine
accidentally went off, killing a digger who was standing on the bank
of the claim. There was a general muster of the diggers immediately,
and they hunted the warden and policeman off the ground, pelting them
with stones, and for some weeks no official was to be seen on these
diggings. My party happened to arrive at Read's Creek a few days after
the accident had happened. The diggings at Spring Creek were quite
different to Bendigo. The ground was very wet, and we sank what we
called paddocks. The sinking was not more than twelve to fifteen feet
deep, and the paddocks generally twelve feet by twelve feet. Not only
did we find gold there, but large quantities of tin, in the shape of
black sand, which was allowed to run down the creek. Eventually this
black sand was collected, and as it was very valuable, large quantities
were sent to Melbourne.

After working about a month at Read's Creek, a new rush was started at
the head of Spring Creek, which was called "Madman's Gully." We started
off there. By this time we had learned enough to know the best place to
mark out a claim, and certainly found the richest hole we had yet had.
The sinking was about fifteen or twenty feet, but gold was seen in a
vein running through the wash-dirt. I used to pick out a match-box full
of nuggets every day. I forget the exact quantity of gold we got out of
it, but my own share came to more than £800 after the gold was sold.

We got very tired of paying thirty shillings a month for our licences,
and only took out one licence between the three of us, trusting to
chance to avoid the police when they were out digger-hunting. I
remember on one occasion having great difficulty in doing so, and
giving them a great chase after me. We had only the one licence, and
suddenly found ourselves surrounded by a large body of police. I saw
them observing us. I had the licence in my pocket. My mates had none.
So off I started across the diggings to a hill on the side of the lead.
My two mates stood where they were. The police, seeing me endeavouring
to hide from them behind some rocks, tried to follow me; but their
horses were unable to face the rocks. They all came after me, and in
about ten minutes I was overtaken. The man who caught me demanded my
licence, and I quietly produced it from my pocket. They asked me why I
had run away. I answered, I was always afraid when I saw a policeman.
In the meantime, my two mates, who had no licences, escaped, and we got
off that month. The next month I was walking into Spring Creek with
one of my mates, having left the other man with the licence behind.
Suddenly the police were on us, before we could make an escape; they
immediately demanded our licences. We made some excuse about not being
able to pay for them, so we were handcuffed, and made to march back,
whilst other non-licensed diggers were searched for. None were found,
and when about four miles from the Spring Creek camp our captors asked
us if we would promise to take out our licences if they let us go.
We said yes. The handcuffs were taken off, and we were allowed to go
free. I could give many instances of the iniquitous law of arresting
diggers because they had not taken out a licence; but I have given two
instances of my personal experience.

Our clothes were washed in a very simple manner. A flannel shirt
lasted a week, and when washing-day arrived was tied to a root of a
tree in the creek and left there for three or four days, then hung out
to dry. We remained at these diggings for about three months. I was
then attacked by a low fever and was gradually becoming weaker and
weaker every day, until the doctor at last suggested I should leave
the diggings and go to Sydney. I was terribly weak, not being able to
walk more than a yard, so my mates found a dray bound for Wangaratta,
and put me on top of the load that was going to town. The shaking of
the dray was fearful. However, we arrived that night at a place called
Tarrawingee, about ten miles from Spring Creek. The weather was very
warm, and we camped under a fine tree. The draymen on the roads in
those days had great difficulty to prevent their horses being stolen,
and the unfortunate men, after driving all day, had to watch half the
night to protect their horses. At daybreak the drayman got up and made
some tea. He offered me some, but I could neither eat nor drink, so he
left me to get his horses, not returning till late in the afternoon.

Whilst under that tree a circumstance occurred I shall never forget.
After the drayman left me a crow took up a position on a branch near
me. And as the day wore on closer and closer he approached me, calling
out unceasingly, "Caw, caw," as I thought to encourage other crows to
come to a feast. As he became bolder I got in a terrible fright that
my eyes would be eaten out before I died. So I exerted myself to drive
him away, but he seemed to know I was too weak to do him any harm. At
last I worked myself up to such a state that I forgot my illness and
only thought of "going for" the crow, and I kept him off until the
drayman returned. From that hour I improved. The next day we reached
Wangaratta, where I remained a few days, until I was strong enough
to bear a journey in the two-wheeled dog-cart, or mail cart, the only
conveyance running in those days. I fastened a strap round my waist,
sat with my back to the horses, and so went down to Sydney. My two
mates soon afterwards dissolved partnership, and I never saw the
escaped convict again.

After remaining in Sydney some three or four months, I met a cousin of
mine, a Colonel Butterworth, who was the Governor of Singapore. He had
come from Singapore, and advised me to get some settled employment,
and as I knew no one in Melbourne, he promised to do his best for me.
If I came with him to Melbourne, he thought he might be able to get me
into the Government Service. I said I would prefer a cadetship in the
Victorian police, as I was anxious to go in pursuit of bushrangers who
were overrunning the colony.

I accompanied my cousin to Melbourne, but when he reached Queenscliff,
he found a steamer going to Hobart Town, where he had left his wife,
so he gave me letters to Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Latrobe. However, I got
no satisfaction from either of them, so I went off to the Warranga
diggings again, falling in with a Mr. G.D. M'Cormick, a native of
Canada, and we agreed to be mates and work together. I must mention
an extraordinary coincidence with regard to M'Cormick. He was born in
Canada; I at the Cape of Good Hope. He was born on the 4th October,
1830; so was I. We parted from each other for many years, and in 1882
we were both appointed police magistrates for the colony of Victoria.

I met a man from the Cape there who had opened a store, a Mr. Barn
(my father used to buy his snuff from his father at the Cape), and we
used to sleep in the store for his protection. At that time I got an
insight as to how grog was brought to the diggings (it was prohibited
in those days). Flour was imported from America in barrels; and when
it reached Melbourne a two-gallon keg of spirits was put in the centre
of the flour, and the barrel with its double load was sent off to the
diggings. The fine for having spirits in your possession was £50, and
all the liquor confiscated. My Cape friend, wishing to pay a visit to
Melbourne, asked me to take charge of the store during his absence. I
did so, and served out tea and sugar to his customers, bought gold,
and carried on the business for over a fortnight. My mate and I barely
got enough gold to pay our expenses. I found the store-keeping a much
pleasanter occupation.

About three months after I had been at Warranga I received a letter
from my cousin, telling me he had seen Mr. Mitchell, the Chief
Commissioner of Police, and he had given me a commission in the mounted
police. I lost no time, and called on Mr. Mitchell (afterwards Sir
William H.F. Mitchell), and he appointed me lieutenant in the Victorian
police, 1st January, 1854.




CHAPTER II.

 Lieutenant in Victorian Police--Gold-Escort Duty--Catching a
 Burglar--All that was left of him--Brooks the Murderer--At the
 Buckland River Station--"Billy the Puntman"--In Charge of new
 Rushes--Border Difficulties on the Murray.


I joined the police force on the 1st January, 1854, as a lieutenant.
I was sent off at once to the Ovens district, and my first duty was
to take charge of the gold escort from Beechworth to the Buckland. In
those days there were few roads and no bridges, and the creeks had to
be crossed the best way we could manage. The gold was carried down on
pack-horses and mules, each horse carrying from 1500 to 2000 ounces in
saddle-bags. Frequently we had to swim the rivers. Some of the streams
were very rapid, and when flooded were most dangerous to cross. On one
occasion I lost two pack-horses; they were washed over a log below the
crossing place of the Buckland River, and we never saw them again,
although we searched for them for some days. Fortunately there was no
gold on their backs. The gold used to be placed in saddle-bags, and
sealed up, and we generally had four pack-horses or mules to carry it.

On one occasion, on our return journey, we found one of the creeks so
flooded that it was quite impossible to cross without the danger of
losing some of the men and gold. I took the men half a mile higher up
the creek than the usual crossing place, and opening the saddle-bags
containing the gold (the gold was always put in small chamois leather
bags inside the saddle-bags), gave a few bags to each of the men to put
inside their valises, telling them I expected each man to do his best
to cross the stream, which was about fifty or eighty yards wide. I gave
instructions that they should unbuckle their swords, and carry them
under their arms, so that, in case they were washed down the stream,
they could get rid of them. I had with me a Mr. Morphy, one of the
Wardens of the gold-fields, whom I had picked up on the road, between
two rivers. He put himself under my charge. I told him to follow me,
but to keep at a respectable distance, so that if my horse came to
grief he might avoid the difficulty. Neither of us could swim, so we
were a pretty pair to cross a river fifty yards wide. I started into
the water first, telling my sergeant to remain where he was till all
the men had got safely over. I had not gone ten yards when my horse,
which was a very small one, got his fore legs across a log, and was
unable to get his hind ones over. It was no enviable position for me,
on a horse playing a kind of see-saw in a roaring torrent.

Morphy followed close on my heels, and his horse whilst swimming put
his fore leg on my shoulder, as nearly as possible pulling me into the
water. I leant forward, and in getting clear of me, the horse's foot
caught the hilt of my sword, which tipped up the scabbard. It fell into
the river, and there lay for more than a month before I recovered it.
The men got across safely. One of them struck a log in the same way
I did, and, the horse falling over, he swam ashore. The pack-horses,
having no weight on their backs, were washed down a considerable
distance, but all landed safely on the other side. The gold being
replaced in the saddle-bags, we started off for Beechworth.

Later on, one of the pack mules got away from the man who was leading
him, and bolted off with 2000 oz. of gold on his back! We halted, and
I sent two men off in pursuit, but after half an hour's chase, one of
the men returned, and said it was impossible to follow the mule, which
had got into an impassable place in the mountains. He wanted to know
what he was to do. I told him if he could not catch the mule he must
shoot it, and secure the gold. The trooper galloped back to the place
he had left, the other man watching the mule, and in less than twenty
minutes I heard a shot in the mountains, and shortly afterwards the
two men returned with the pack-saddle and gold on one of their horses,
they having shot the mule, and I was obliged again to divide the gold
amongst the men. About four hours after the usual time of arriving we
reached our destination, Beechworth, and I never was more glad to get
rid of the responsibility of anything placed under my charge than I was
of that gold!

In 1855 I was staying for the night at a station owned by Dr. Mackay,
on the Ovens River. Mrs. Mackay was very ill, and the doctor, who was a
tall, slight man, was by no means strong.

The doctor had sold a number of horses, and had received cash for them.
He had this money, some £700, in his house, and in some way this fact
had become known to, amongst others, a most notorious burglar named
Meakin. There were other visitors staying in the house on this night, a
Mrs. H. and a Miss D., the latter a niece of Dr. Mackay. I had a bed
made up on the sofa in the dining-room. The front rooms opened with
French windows on to the verandah. My room was between Dr. Mackay's and
that occupied by the two ladies before mentioned. The house was away
from the road, and no other building within miles of it. At about two
o'clock in the morning the two ladies came to the door of my room and
awoke me, calling out there was a man outside in the verandah examining
his revolver. They said they saw him put a large knife belonging to
the doctor, which was lying in the verandah, into his pocket. At first
I thought the ladies had been dreaming, and I told them to return to
their rooms, and I would go outside and see who was there. I hastily
put on some clothes, and opening the French windows went outside on
to the verandah, but could not see or hear any one. I went back to my
room, telling the ladies I could see no one, and I thought they must be
dreaming, and I begged them to return to their room, promising to keep
watch, and listen if I could hear any footsteps. The ladies impressed
me with the fact that on no account was Dr. Mackay to be disturbed,
because Mrs. Mackay was so ill that any fright might cause her death.

The ladies retired, and I lay down attired as I was. Five minutes
afterwards I heard the dogs bark. I began to think that some one must
be about. Then I heard one of the ladies calling out, "Who is that
at the window?" I sprang out of bed, opened the window leading on to
the verandah, and saw the figure of a man running across the garden.
I called on him to stop, at the same time following him through the
garden. He fell; I did so also. In another moment we were up again;
he ran through some vines, the branches entangling him. I pursued
him, and again fell. At last he made for a gap in the garden fence.
Taking a short cut I overtook him and laid hold of him, and down we
both fell on the top of a heap of rose cuttings and other rubbish, I
coming on top of him. He had his revolver in his hand. I had no weapon
of any sort. My first thought was to secure his revolver. I laid hold
of the barrel, whilst he held the stock, trying to cock the pistol.
It was a Colt's revolver, and I knew my only chance was to keep the
barrels away from my body. I struck him with my fist; with all my
might I hit him with my left hand, blow after blow, between the eyes.
The struggle was for life, and notwithstanding it was on the top of a
heap of rubbish, principally rose cuttings, men never fought harder.
Once I rolled over, and the ruffian was on top of me, but with almost
superhuman exertion I got on top once more. He endeavoured to throttle
me by putting his hand in the collar of my shirt. Fortunately, it gave
way. In many other ways he tried to disable me, but always failed. The
struggle appeared to me to last for half an hour, but, I suppose, could
not have been more than six or eight minutes. I did not call out for
help, thinking the burglar would have associates, and that they would
come to his assistance. Mackay, having been told by the ladies that I
had the burglar, called out to me. I answered. The man, hearing this,
immediately gave up the struggle, and I took his revolver from him.
Whilst he was on the ground I several times felt him trying to get
something out of his coat pocket, but prevented his doing so. When Dr.
Mackay arrived I put my hand in and found a long dissecting knife which
he had taken from the verandah, also a couple of straps. We took him
to the house. I was completely exhausted, and left the ruffian sitting
in the kitchen, and asked Dr. Mackay to look after him while I got my
coat, as I had nothing on but my pants. Hardly had I got outside the
door when the prisoner made a bolt. Dr. Mackay called out to me, and I
caught him getting over the paling fence which ran between the kitchen
and the house. I pulled him down and dashed him to the ground, and
seizing a huge stone--the only weapon I could find--threatened to smash
his brains out if he moved. Dr. Mackay then got some saddle-straps. We
fastened his legs and arms, and sent to Beechworth for a constable. On
being informed of this, the man, who proved to be Meakin, a notorious
criminal, remained quite still until morning, when he was sent to
Beechworth. Meakin told me he had heard that Dr. Mackay had sold a
number of horses a few days before, having been paid £600 in cash for
them, and it was his intention to have robbed him and tied his feet and
hands so that he could not move till the morning, nor give information
to the police--by that time he would have retired to the mountains. He
said:--"I brought these straps you have bound _me_ up with to tie Dr.
Mackay's legs." We found his boots in the garden, with a large stock of
provisions to which he had helped himself out of the store. He told me
his intention was to have robbed Dr. Mackay, and if he had resisted he
would have shot him; and he might, with the provisions he had secured,
have remained in the mountains for weeks before he need have appeared
again.

The prisoner was taken to Beechworth, and committed for trial on a
charge of burglary; there being many other charges of a similar nature
against him, he was remanded to Kilmore. On his way there he made
several determined efforts to escape. I was at this time stationed
at Wangaratta, the first stage from Beechworth to Kilmore, and he
stayed the night there. In those days the watch-houses were of a
very primitive character--a slab hut with earthen floor. Meakin had
leg-irons riveted on his ankles, and it was only natural to suppose no
man could escape with these on, but he was not to be daunted. He was
locked up in a building like the one I have described, and a sentry
placed at the door, with orders to watch the prisoner during the night.
There was a lamp inside the cell, and several times during the night I
visited the place, found the sentry vigilant, and observed the prisoner
rolled up in his blanket against the wall. Next morning we discovered
that all through the night he had been working--trying to effect his
escape. Underneath where he was lying there was a large hole in the
ground. He put all the earth into his blankets, and as his body was
proceeding through the hole this filled up the space in the blankets.
Unfortunately for him, the night was not long enough, or else he would
have escaped. I was glad to get rid of him, and sent him on next day to
Benalla.

In those days there was no train, and the journey, which now takes four
hours, then took six or seven days. It took five or six days to get him
to Kilmore, and each night he made some effort to escape.

At Kilmore the lock-up was considered especially safe, and it was
thought quite impossible for him to make his escape. By night a sentry
was placed over him, but not in the day-time. One fine afternoon the
watchman went to the cell to give the prisoner some food, when, to his
horror and surprise, he found the cell empty, the man having escaped
through the roof, leg-irons and all, and to this day he has never been
traced or heard of. He must have got some friendly blacksmith to knock
off the irons, and got clear into another colony. After the capture of
Meakin, Dr. Mackay presented me with a handsome gold watch, which I
have worn to this day, with the following inscription upon it:--

 Presented to Lieutenant Francis Hare for his gallant capture of an
 armed bushranger at Tarrawingee, the 23rd of June, 1855.

About the year 1857 a store was burnt to the ground not three miles
from Dunolly. Some of the property had been dragged out and was in
possession of the police, and the outhouses connected with the store
had also been saved. The owner of the store was addicted to drink, and
as he was missing it was generally believed that he had been burnt,
as his body was nowhere to be found. The coroner of the district was
communicated with; he came to the spot, and pointed out to the police
some calcined bones amongst the _débris_. He ordered a box to be
brought, and he and the constable set to work to collect the bones, and
taking them to the nearest hotel, called a jury and held an inquest.
The coroner declared them to be the bones of a human being, and the
inference was drawn that they were all that remained of the missing
owner of the store. A verdict of accidental death was recorded, the
friends of the deceased procured a coffin, and Jemmy being a favourite
in the district, a great number of sorrowing and sympathetic persons
followed the remains to the grave. A few days afterwards the police
were ordered to sell all the effects of the deceased. A public auction
was held, and the rescued property was disposed of.

At the auction it was rumoured that the deceased was known to have some
underground place where he kept his money, and on the strength of this
report a large sum was given for the ruins. A day or two after the
sale the purchaser made the discovery of an underground passage beneath
the store, and found the body of the deceased lying there! He had
evidently, on perceiving the fire, gone down to secure his money hidden
there, and got suffocated by the smoke, the whole burning mass having
fallen in and prevented his escape. It was then found out that, in the
store that was burnt, a number of hams had hung from a beam, and it
was from underneath this beam the bones had been collected, upon which
the coroner and jury had held the inquest, and which the sorrowing
friends had followed to the grave. The purchasers of the ruins found
a considerable sum of money in the underground passage. A second
inquest was held on the real body, and the mourners again dropped the
sympathetic tear. The coroner was at once called upon to resign, which
he did!

About the year 1858 I was stationed at Maryborough. I had under my
charge a large district, comprising a place called the "White Hills,"
which was about five miles distant from Maryborough. It was famous for
the number of murders committed there. Hardly a week passed but two or
three men were killed in the most cold-blooded manner. I recollect,
one morning about four o'clock, being called up, and informed that
a store-keeper named Lopez and my sergeant, named Barnett, had been
shot during the night at White Hills. I immediately got up, and off I
started to the spot. It did not take me long to ride the five miles.

The police station consisted of a portable building of one room
fourteen feet square, a door in front, and two windows at the back.
I found, lying on the floor in this building, the dead sergeant and
store-keeper, and a wounded man named Brooks, suffering the most
excruciating agony from a stab in the chest, about two inches in width.
From a constable named M'Cormack, who was also stationed there, I got
an account of the affair in the presence of Brooks. He said Lopez,
the dead man, kept a store 100 yards from the camp. About one o'clock
Brooks attempted to break into the store. He managed to get in, but was
confronted by Lopez, who demanded who he was. Without replying, Brooks
presented his pistol, and shot him through the heart. Lopez, after he
was shot, sprang forward and thrust a large dagger, about two inches
in width and twelve inches in length, into the man's body and left
it there. Brooks ran away, and immediately a cry was raised, Brooks
running across the diggings and passing within a few yards of the
police station. Barnett, on hearing the cry, jumped up, and on seeing
a man running away, he pursued and overtook him, when Brooks turned
round, levelled his revolver at him, and shot him dead on the spot. A
second constable (M'Cormack) followed Brooks, who again turned round
and snapped his pistol in his face; fortunately it did not go off,
and Constable M'Cormack knocked him down, took the pistol from him,
and brought him to the police station, when he found he was mortally
wounded. After M'Cormack had made this statement, I asked Brooks if it
was true. He said, "Quite true." I asked him what had become of the
dagger which Lopez had plunged into him. He said, "As I was crossing
the diggings I drew it out and threw it away." I sent a man to the spot
indicated by Brooks, and he brought back the dagger covered with blood.
It had no bone or wooden handle to it. I asked Brooks whether it was in
that state when he pulled it out of the wound. He said "Yes!" I made a
search for the handle, but without success.

About daybreak a great crowd of diggers came round the police station,
and begged me to allow them to lynch Brooks before he died. I told them
I could not possibly allow such a thing. They became most excited, and
demanded that I should hand over the wounded man to them. I saw a long
rope in the hand of a man, so I closed up the door of the building,
with myself and the constable inside. The diggers then threatened to
break in the door and windows, but I remained firm, telling them the
unfortunate man could only live a few hours. The diggers then had a
meeting, and decided to burn down and destroy all the tents where the
thieves and murderers resorted on the diggings. During the time the
diggers were trying to get hold of Brooks, he was calling out from
the agony he was suffering, and they kept mocking him. His thirst was
most intense, and he implored us to keep giving him water, which, of
course, we did, and did everything we could to relieve his sufferings.
About ten o'clock I was told that several tents and grog shanties had
been set on fire. I looked out and saw men tearing up mattresses, and
feathers being thrown into the fire, and all the furniture being broken
up and burnt. About this time a large force of police had been sent
to my assistance, and I was in some measure able to restore order.
Brooks lingered on till about three o'clock in the afternoon, when he
died in the most terrible agony. Lopez was an Italian, and lived in
his store by himself, and was known to be a most determined man. The
doctors held the _post mortem_, and said death must have been almost
instantaneous, as the bullet had gone through his heart. The missing
handle of the dagger was found by the medical man in Lopez' clenched
hand. A tragic occurrence took place at the inquest. It was held by
the coroner in a place used as a theatre, the jury sitting below the
foot-lights. Three inquests had to be held, one on Lopez, the second
on Barnett, and the third on Brooks. The inquest on the latter was not
closed until nine o'clock at night, but while the coroner was taking
the depositions the head of Brooks, which had been removed from the
body, and put on the back of the stage, came rolling down, and fell
on the ground among the jury. The coroner was anxious to keep the
murderer's head, and the doctor, who held the _post mortem_, had placed
the head at the back of the stage, forgetting that all stages <DW72>
towards the front. This skull was kept as a memento by the coroner
until his death, when his widow sent it to me; and I now have it in my
den.

I was sent in charge to the Buckland River station, about April,
1854, shortly after the new diggings were discovered there, and one
of my first duties was to see that the diggers were all provided with
licences. Having been a digger myself, I thought I would be able to
circumvent the men who had no licences. The commissioner (as these
officers were called in those days), named Mr. Hood, told me a few days
after I arrived that he had been informed a number of men were working
at the head of the river, and he proposed that we should take a party
of police and explore the river some distance from the camp--at this
time very little was known about the head of the river--so we arranged
to take four mounted police, and go in search of diggers who were
mining without licences. We followed them up to the junction of the two
arms of the river. I took one side and the commissioner the other, each
of us having two mounted constables with us. I was on the left side,
and the commissioner with two men on the right. After going half a mile
beyond the junction, I got on to a narrow track, the two men following
close behind me. Suddenly I found the track getting more narrow and
steep; my horse went faster and faster, until he could scarcely find
ground to stand on, when away went his hind legs. I felt he was going
over, and slipped my feet out of the stirrups, and as he reared or fell
over, I saw a clump of grass on the edge of the precipice, and laid
hold of and hung on to it. The horse rolled over and over a distance of
100 yards, until he fell into the river. He was terribly cut about,
but with much difficulty we got him out, and led him home; the saddle
was smashed to pieces. The commissioner on the other side of the river
was amazed to see me walking down the hill. After hearing the clatter
of horse, stirrup-irons, and stones, the two men, who were behind me,
seeing the position I was getting into, pulled up their horses, and so
avoided my misfortune. The commissioner suggested that we had better
return to the camp, as we saw no diggers working on the river, so we
went back, considering we had run a great risk to no purpose.

Another story occurs to my mind, whilst I was stationed at the
Buckland. We had a most highly esteemed and worthy police magistrate,
whose name I will not mention. His tent was fixed alongside of mine. It
was the habit in those days for the police to be always on the alert
for persons bringing liquor to the diggings, as no public-houses were
then allowed except in townships. My men had made a large seizure,
and the persons driving the drays were brought before the P.M.,
charged with carrying liquor for illegal sale. The whole seizure was
confiscated, and in those days, instead of selling it, the magistrate
directed that the liquor was to be destroyed. This order was made
with regard to this seizure. On the following day I was about to
carry out the order of the court, when the official came to me, and
said, "Kaffir" (he used to call me "Kaffir" because I came from the
Cape), "don't you think it would be advisable to keep the cask of
port-wine that has been confiscated, for the poor frozen women about
the diggings?" The place at that time was snowed up half the winter. I
replied, "I have no objection, but where shall we keep it?" He replied,
"Between our tents." I agreed to his proposal, and we fixed up the
quarter-cask accordingly, and put a tap in it. From time to time the
old women, and sometimes the young ones, came for a jug of port-wine,
but one night I heard a trickle as if some one was drawing off a jug
from the cask, and thinking that the sentry was having a pull at it
(there was always a sentry over the gold-office, which was within a
short distance of our tents), I got up as quietly as I could, opened
the tent, and saw our worthy official drawing off a jug of port. I
called out to him, "Are you drawing off a jug for some old woman at
this hour of the night?" He looked up surprised, and it was a sore
subject for a long time. Some years afterwards I met him, and related
to some friends in his presence the story of the port-wine, and,
strange to say, he had quite forgotten all about it, and tried to make
me believe he could not have been the official that I referred to.

The cold at the Buckland was intense on those days. The men were
occupied half a dozen times during the night scraping the snow off
the tents and off the police stables, which had merely a covering of
calico, and there was great danger of the snow carrying away both tents
and stables.

I was stationed at Wangaratta in the year 1855, before the bridge over
the Ovens had been built. The only way of crossing the river then was
by a punt, which was worked by a man named Billy. He used to be called
"Billy the Puntman." This man was well known to be a confederate of
the horse and cattle stealers in the district, but he always escaped
detection. A bridge having been erected over the river, Billy's
occupation was gone; and whilst I was travelling by coach to Melbourne
in the latter part of the year, the mail-man, riding one horse and
leading another with the mails, passed the coach some short distance
from Greta, formerly called "Fifteen Mile Creek." The driver of the
coach had hardly gone a quarter of a mile, when we found the mail-man
standing on the side of the road without his horses. He told us that
he had been suddenly stopped on the road by "Billy the Puntman," who
presented a double-barrelled gun at him, and he had ridden off as hard
as he could go when he heard the coach approaching. In those days I
never went anywhere without a revolver. I asked the driver of the coach
if any of his horses were broken to saddle. He replied, "Yes, the
near-side leader is a saddle-horse." I told him to take the horse out
of harness at once, leaving the bridle on him. I made a pair of reins
of a piece of rope, jumped on him barebacked, and rode in pursuit, as
fast as I could go, in the direction Billy had gone. For some distance
I easily followed the tracks of the two horses, but they led into stony
ground, and not having much time to spare I lost the track altogether,
and as I had to overtake the coach, being summoned to attend the
Supreme Court, Melbourne, I galloped round the locality for some time,
and then made my way into Benalla without seeing anything of Billy. I
gave information to the police there, and got a fresh horse and saddle,
and overtook the coach during the night near Euroa, reaching Melbourne
in time for the Court. Billy was subsequently arrested at Albury, and a
quantity of the stolen property, the proceeds of the robbery, was found
on him. He was tried at Beechworth before Judge Forbes, and sentenced
to ten years' imprisonment. He gave a good deal of trouble whilst
being escorted to Melbourne, making several attempts to escape, but
without success, and when he reached the last stage, Donnybrook, he
tied a piece of blanket round his throat, and was found hung the next
morning in the cell.

A good story used to be told in the early days of the Ballarat
diggings, about a pair of boot-trees having saved the life of a
police-officer. He was very ill with an abscess on his liver, and the
doctors had all given him up. A police magistrate had shown him great
attention both day and night during his illness, and when the dying man
had abandoned all hope of recovery, he said to his friend, "My dear
fellow, you have been very good to me during my illness, and I want to
leave you something. I believe I am the only person in camp that has
a pair of boot-trees, and when I die you may have them." The P.M. was
very grateful. Next day he came quietly into the sick-room, thinking
his friend was dying or dead. He picked up the boot-trees and was in
the act of taking them away, when the supposed defunct, who had been
watching him, made a sudden start up, and called out, "Come, come,
Mr. P.M., you just leave those trees alone. I am not dead yet." The
sudden start burst the abscess on his liver, and he recovered. Years
afterwards the boot-trees used to be shown as the "life-preservers."

For four or five years I spent my time in taking charge of "new
rushes." In these days many people do not even know what a "new rush"
means, so I will try to describe one. Back Creek, now called "Talbot,"
is seven or eight miles from Maryborough. I was stationed there shortly
after it opened. Diggers were prospecting for gold all over the
country, and when they discovered a rich deposit, would at once apply
to the Warden for an extended prospecting claim, the holders of which
were allowed a considerable-sized piece of ground, much larger than the
ordinary miner who followed after him.

Most wonderful accounts would immediately be spread all over the
district that some very rich ground had been discovered, and at once
people would flock to the spot and mark out a piece the size allowed by
the regulation, each one driving in pegs in the direction they thought
the lead would run. The fabulous accounts of the great finds would be
published in every paper in the colony, and people would flock in from
all parts. Stores would be erected, theatres built--besides numerous
hotels--streets formed, and within three weeks or a month there would
be about 50,000 inhabitants on a spot where, perhaps, a month previous
there was not a living soul besides the prospectors. This is exactly
what took place at Back Creek. A police camp was formed and several
constables sent out, and I was sent in charge of them. When a rush took
place, the miners from all parts of the colony would make for it. Back
Creek was not wanting in notorious villains of all sorts! I had been in
charge of the police at many large rushes, but never in my life had I
seen so many rogues and villains together as were collected there! The
police were at work day and night, and found it impossible to keep down
the crime that was being committed. Murders were of the most frequent
occurrence. People were found murdered in their stores, and were shot
on the highway. I never went out without my revolver, and when I
retired for the night kept it always beside my bed.

I will give an instance of the kind of crimes that were constantly
taking place. I was in my office, about three o'clock, and a messenger
arrived, saying there was a terrible fight going on a mile away, and
that a man had been killed. I mounted my horse, and on my way met a Dr.
C.; I asked him to accompany me, and left orders for two constables to
follow. Arriving at the place I found a crowd collected, and saw a man
apparently dead, and beside him a piece of his skull about the size
of a man's hand, with brains in it. I ordered the body to be removed
into a tent. Some one said, "We are waiting until he dies before we
remove him." I asked the doctor to examine him, and he said that he
was still alive. The culprit who had committed the offence was sitting
on a log close by, perfectly indifferent about the matter. I asked
some of the bystanders how the man had been murdered, and was informed
that the prisoner and the wounded man had had a drunken quarrel; the
prisoner getting the worst of it, knocked his opponent down, and with
an American axe chopped the piece I have described off his skull. I
ordered his arrest and sent him to the camp, where he was charged and
locked up. I remained half an hour waiting for the man to die, but,
finding he did not do so, I gave orders that he should be removed at
once into the tent, leaving a constable, and giving him instructions
to remain there till he died. The doctor would not do anything to the
wound. He said it was useless, as the man could not live. Next morning
I went to see why the constable had not returned, and, to my surprise,
I found the patient still alive and conscious, and gradually he got
better. The skin grew over the wound, and some months afterwards he
gave evidence against the offender at the Castlemaine Assizes, who was
convicted and sentenced.

Another case I can remember. One night I was called about one o'clock,
a man informing me he had shot two men whilst they were in the act
of robbing his store. His story was that he had closed his place of
business before going to bed, having made everything safe; but he was
awakened during the night, and through the canvas partition saw two
men with a light helping themselves to his money behind the counter.
He took his revolver and, without moving, fired at one of the men,
who dropped, and then fired at the other, who walked a few steps and
also fell. He at once came to report the matter. I accompanied the man
to his store, and there found the two men lying as described by the
store-keeper, with the money beside them. The coroner was informed of
the matter, a jury was summoned, a verdict of justifiable homicide was
returned, and so the matter ended.

Another incident took place at Back Creek, which is most forcibly
impressed upon my mind. One night the lock-up was crowded with
prisoners. The lock-up consisted of two small rooms with a boarded-up
space between them; within this space was the body of a dead man
who had been found murdered on the road, and the supposed murderer
was in the adjoining cell. My quarters not being more than twenty
yards off, I could hear the sentry pacing up and down guarding the
prisoners. I awoke during the night, looked out of my door, which
I always kept open, but could see no sign of the sentry. I walked
down to the watch-house, attired as I was--still I could see nothing
of him. Thinking perhaps he had sat down and fallen asleep in the
small apartment where the dead man was lying, I walked in quietly and
listened, but could see or hear nothing. The sentry, who had happened
to be behind the lock-up, hearing a noise, suddenly came round the
corner, and on seeing me, in a moment cocked his rifle and presented
it at me. I called out, telling him who I was. He dropped his rifle,
exclaiming, "Oh! sir, I thought you were the ghost of the dead man,
and I was going to shoot him!" From that time I was more careful how I
visited the sentry.

It was my duty to attend the court daily and conduct the prosecutions
of all persons charged with offences. I was in regular attendance,
generally from ten o'clock till five or six in the evening. A great
part of the night I spent instructing the men in difficult cases,
and giving general directions as to how they should be managed. In
those days we were not bound down by red-tape regulations, and there
were no newspaper reporters inquiring into every act. We had a very
limited number of men, and they were worked to death, but there were
no complaints even when working for sixteen hours a day! The life was
exciting; gold was obtained by the ounce, and there were hundreds of
thieves preying on the hard-working miner. Theatres, concerts, dancing
saloons, were open till twelve o'clock at night, and the scenes I have
witnessed in them are beyond belief. During my whole career in the
police force, I have never had a hand laid on me. Whether my height
and size protected me, I know not. I have been present when fights and
every imaginable disturbance have been going on, but no one has ever
touched me. I have been stopped at the door of dancing saloons, and
implored by my men not to enter--bottles were being thrown right and
left--still not a soul has interfered with me, and I have managed to
quell the disturbance. It was a common occurrence my being called up at
night, and frightful outrages reported to me. My first question was,
"Have you arrested the offender?" When the reply was "Yes," I would
then turn round in my bed and fall asleep; the next morning I probably
would have forgotten the circumstance until reminded by some one. The
camp life was very pleasant on the diggings, each man had a separate
tent to sleep in, and a large one was used as a mess-room, where all
the officers in the Government service used to mess together, and spend
most sociable evenings, but this state of things only existed at the
head-quarters of the district, where there were a number of officers
stationed.

Writing of mess-rooms recalls to my memory an occurrence which took
place at Maryborough where there was an old waiter named Tom, who was
very fond of liquor, and generally, before dinner was over, was so
drunk he could not bring the coffee in. One of the officers undertook
to find out where he got his liquor from, and he soon ascertained that
when any officer called for a bottle of wine, Tom used to decant it and
leave a third of the wine in the bottom of the bottle, so he devised a
cure for this state of things. One night, just as Tom had decanted the
wine, I ordered him to go quickly and get something from the kitchen,
and whilst he was away, I jumped up and put a good strong emetic in the
bottle, having previously mixed the emetic in some wine; I gave the
bottle a shake and put it down. The next minute Tom returned to the
mess-tent, took up the bottle, and marched off with it. He was watched
when he left the tent, and was seen with the neck of the bottle to his
mouth, drinking the contents; not long after we heard Tom roaring at
the top of his voice, very ill.

Of course we had quarrels amongst the officers, and some ludicrous
scenes took place. One night I had been dining out, and returned about
ten o'clock. On seeing a light, I went into the Warden's tent. The
Warden was not in, but the gold-receiver was sitting on the bed. I
said--

"What is the matter? You are as white as a sheet."

He replied, "I have sent to the police magistrate to ask him to fight a
duel with me in the morning."

I said, "Why, what has he been doing to you?"

"He has insulted me," he said, "in the most gross manner."

"Well," I said, "you need not look so frightened over it." The owner
of the tent soon afterwards entered, looking very serious, and said,
"I conveyed your message to H., and he says he will see you d--d
first before he fights you!" He jumped from the bed, and became most
courageous, and said, "I knew he was a coward, and I would have given
anything to have had a shot at him." Nothing more came of the matter!

On another occasion a row took place over some cards, and a duel was
to be fought early next morning between a police officer and a warder,
the P.M. acting as second to the police officer. It was arranged that
the duel should take place at daylight, next morning, but before going
to bed the police officer called the sergeant-major to bring him twelve
rounds of ball cartridge. He did so, and the pistol and cartridges were
left on his table. Next morning the P.M., who was a very diminutive
little fellow, went to the tent of the police officer, and awoke him
from his sleep, and told him it was time to get up to fight the duel.
The police officer had forgotten all about the arrangement made on the
previous night, and jumping out of bed, caught the P.M. by the back of
the neck, and pitched him out of the tent; the P.M. went to the Warden
and told him he declined to act as second to the police officer, and so
that matter ended. Notwithstanding all these larks, we had no end of
work to get through, and we all took a great interest in our different
duties.

Another anecdote recurs to my memory at Maryborough. There was a very
large rush to a place called Chinaman's Flat, where a fearful amount of
crime went on. Only two constables were stationed there, and they were
kept at work both night and day. One night I was walking about seeing
how everything was going on, when I met two detectives. They told me
that they knew a notorious convict who had escaped from Tasmania,
and that he was in a tent on the diggings, living amongst the worst
characters. We decided to arrest him directly the moon went down, which
would be about two o'clock in the morning. I arranged that one of the
detectives and myself were to go to the front of the tent whilst the
other detective kept at the back, in case of an attempt being made to
escape. Directly we approached the front of the tent a shot was fired.
We lit a candle, threw ourselves on the convict, and dragged him from
his tent. There were two other men with him, but the detectives knew
the man they wanted. No sooner had we taken the prisoner away than we
heard of a rescue being arranged, and in a few minutes a crowd followed
us. I felt sure we had a blood-thirsty set of villains to deal with,
and I blew out the light in our lantern. We doubled back and sat
behind a high bank of earth, at the same time putting a revolver to
the convict's ear, and telling him if he gave the alarm we would blow
his brains out. The mob followed in the direction they had last seen
the light, and passed within a few yards of us. We then went in the
opposite direction with our prisoner and took him safely into the camp.
The police magistrate remanded him next day back to Tasmania, at the
same time telling us we had carried out the most risky undertaking he
had ever heard of. In the course of three years I had the management of
five new rushes. It was the most exciting time of my life, and I was
not willing to leave it, but was persuaded to do so.

When the Echuca railway was being built the New South Wales Government
claimed the River Murray, and issued a proclamation that after a
certain day all boats and dutiable articles found on the river would
be seized and confiscated unless duly registered. One morning I was
prosecuting in the police court in Melbourne, and the acting Chief
Commissioner, Captain Mair, sent for me. I went to his office, and he
told me Sir James M'Culloch wished me to start at once for Echuca with
twenty armed policemen, and go as far as Sandhurst that afternoon. The
instructions I received were but scanty, beyond that I was to protect
all boats on the Victorian side of the river and dutiable articles that
might be landed on the Victorian shore. I had a proclamation, signed
by Sir James M'Culloch, to the effect that I would be responsible for
all boats on the Victorian bank, provided they were given over into
my charge. I started for Sandhurst, by the three o'clock train, and
a ballast engine was provided for me, to convey me from Sandhurst to
Echuca, where I arrived at four o'clock in the morning. At Echuca the
town was in a great state of excitement, fearing their boats would
be seized. I had the proclamation printed at once, and posted on the
trees, and at nine o'clock in the morning got introduced to the New
South Wales Customs officer, who was dressed up in gold lace and
buttons from head to foot.

I had a conversation with him, and he told me his orders were to seize
all boats that were found on the Murray. I told him my orders were to
protect these boats against seizure.

I said, "Then I think we had better bring this matter to an issue this
afternoon. I will start a boat down the river from opposite Moama to
Echuca, on the Victorian side, with a load of dutiable articles; you
come and seize them if you can." I asked him what he would do if he
were prevented seizing the goods. He replied, "I would have to shoot
any one who interfered with me." I said, "All right; I will get a
buggy; you accompany me up the river, previously arranging to have a
boat there, and I will send up some tea and tobacco, put them in the
boat, and start them down the river."

I ordered my sergeant to take up a box of tea and a case of tobacco,
and at three o'clock Mr. G., the Customs officer of New South Wales,
and I drove up the river. I told him, whatever happened, we need not
quarrel. He concurred, and away we started. When we got opposite Moama
I found a boat ready for me. I ordered the sergeant to put the goods in
the boat, and jumped in myself. Mr. G. walked down with a broad-arrow
branding-iron, and said--"I seize this boat in the name of the Queen."
I said, "I would strongly advise your not putting your foot in this
boat. If you do I will throw you overboard." He said, "Do you mean it?"
I replied, "I do." I then landed, telling the sergeant to take the
boat down to Echuca and to keep away from the New South Wales shore.
He did so, and was in no way molested, and landed the goods at Echuca.
I then said to Mr. G., "I suppose now you intend telegraphing for
orders to your Government." He said, "Yes, I do." I replied, "Let us
do everything fair and above board; you show me the message you intend
sending, and I will do the same." He agreed to this, and we each showed
our respective telegrams, and in half an hour I received a reply from
Sir James M'Culloch to the following effect:--"So far all right; if
Customs officer interferes further put him in the lock-up." Needless to
say I did not show this to my quondam friend! Mr. G. did not receive
any reply to his message. I remained at Echuca for a month, but
nothing further transpired. I had a sentry day and night on the boats
placed under my charge, but there was no further interference from the
New South Wales Government, nor do I even know what arrangement was
afterwards made between the two Governments. On my return to Melbourne
Sir James M'Culloch, the Chief Secretary, sent for me and paid me the
highest compliment on the manner in which I had conducted the business.




CHAPTER III.

 Power the Bushranger--His Escape--The Squatter's Gold Watch--£500
 Blood-money--A Peacock as a Sentinel--Caught by the Heels--Some of
 Power's Adventures--His Sentence--Gamekeeper to Sir William Clarke.


Power was 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 me _carte blanche_
to 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.


Perhaps as 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 events 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.

[Illustration: 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.


The next 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, an _employé_ named
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 the _employé_
already 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.

Kelly then said he would let him off this time, at the same time
praising his own leniency, by saying not one man in a hundred would
have dealt so leniently with him, after the manner in which he had
behaved. Dan Kelly was evidently eager for blood, as he expressed a
strong wish to put a bullet through "the wretch." Gloster was then
marched up to the store-room, and locked up with the other prisoners.
The four ruffians then proceeded to ransack the hawker's cart, and
provide themselves with a new fit out; they made regular bush-dandies
of themselves, and helped themselves pretty freely to the contents
of the scent-bottles which they found amongst the stock. They also
took what fire-arms he had. Before going to bed for the night, the
Kellys opened the door of the store-room, and let the prisoners out
for a little while to get some fresh air, but at the same time holding
their revolvers in their hands and keeping a sharp look-out after them
all. The Kellys had frequent conversations with their prisoners in a
most friendly manner, and conversed freely on any subject. All night
long two of the outlaws kept guard, whilst the others slept. Tuesday
morning they were up early; they appeared to keep a good watch on the
approaches to the homestead, so that no information would reach Euroa
that would interfere with the successful carrying out of their plans of
robbing the National Bank.

About two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon a party of four men, named Mr.
McDougal, Mr. Dudley, Mr. Casement, and Mr. Jennant, who were returning
from the Strathbogie ranges, were "bailed up," and made prisoners.
Mr. McDougal's account of what took place is as follows:--"We had
just reached the railway gates where there is a crossing to Mr.
Younghusband's station, three of us driving in a spring-cart, and Mr.
Jennant on horse-back. The gates were closed, and nothing was farther
from our thoughts than the idea of the Kelly gang being close to us;
we were laughingly speculating with each other on the chances of the
gates, which are on private property, leading into the run, being
locked. Mr. Jennant got down from his horse, and finding them unlocked,
was opening them, when two men suddenly made their appearance, one
coming from behind us on horse-back, and the other advancing on foot in
front. Both presented revolvers, and called on us to 'bail up.'

"The one on horse-back, who, I afterwards learned, was Ned Kelly,
cried out, 'Surrender, or you will be shot.' As both men looked like
mounted policemen in plain clothes, and held up handcuffs and accused
us of stealing the trap we were driving, we at first thought they were
troopers, and Mr. Dudley called out, 'What right have you to arrest
us?' and appeared as if he was not going to take any notice of their
summons. Ned Kelly then rode close up to him, shouted in a violent
manner, at the same time presenting a revolver at his head, and said,
'I'll shoot you dead on the spot if you give me any cheek.' Fearing
Kelly was going to carry out his threat, I interposed and asked Dudley
to surrender quietly, as it was no use resisting, and said to Kelly,
'You would not shoot an old man!' Kelly replied, 'I won't harm the old
man if he surrenders quietly.' A tall young man (Byrne) told us to
drive up to the homestead. As we approached the gate leading to the
station, one of the station hands opened it, and said in a laughing
manner, pointing to Ned Kelly and addressing us, 'Gentlemen, allow me
to introduce you to Mr. Edward Kelly.' This was the first intimation
who our captors were, and the information was by no means a pleasant
one, and did not tend to re-assure us; in fact we were all greatly
frightened, and for myself I may say my heart was in my mouth. When we
got to the store-room we found Dan Kelly and Hart there guarding the
place, in which the manager Mr. Macauley and about twenty others had
been imprisoned for twenty-six hours.

"The store-room was a wooden building about twenty yards away from the
house; it only had one door and window, near each other, and was easily
guarded. Our party of four were put into the room with the others,
and, there being no ventilation, we soon found the atmosphere very hot
and close. In the meantime the gang had thrown everything out of our
cart, they took possession of a rifle and double-barrelled gun, eighty
bullets, and some powder and caps.

"Our imprisonment lasted eight hours, during which time, however,
several of us were permitted to go out occasionally to get some fresh
air, but we were never allowed out of sight. Only the men were put in
confinement, the women being allowed to walk about, and they were in
no way molested, but from some remark I heard dropped by Dan Kelly
(who appeared the greatest ruffian of the lot and a thorough type of
a larrakin), he did not desire to leave them alone; he said something
about having a lark with the women, but was apparently restrained by
his brother. During the time we were in the store-room four trains
passed, two each way, and when any of these were heard approaching, we
were kept close and told not to make any noise."

This statement of Mr. McDougal, almost verbatim as related, was given
by him to the reporter of the _Melbourne Argus_ on the evening of the
day after the occurrence.

The next step taken by the gang, after capturing these men, and openly
stating their intention of robbing the bank at Euroa, was, about
half-past two o'clock, to destroy the telegraph line, leaving their
prisoners guarded by Joe Byrne. They got tomahawks, and cut down one
of the telegraph posts, tearing away all the wire for a considerable
length, so that it could not be repaired by the usual quantity of wire
carried by a line repairer; they cut down the posts on both sides of
the line, and scattered the wire in every direction. Whilst doing this,
a further capture of four men who were working on the line as gangers,
and who saw them cutting down the wires, was made. These men walked
towards the bushrangers to ask them what they meant by cutting down the
wires, when Ned Kelly called on them to "bail up." They did so, when
told who their captors were, without making any resistance, and were at
once marched up to the store-room, into which they were put with the
rest of the prisoners.

At half-past three o'clock Ned and Dan Kelly, with Steve Hart, started
for Euroa, all dressed in new clothes stolen from Gloster the hawker's
cart. They plainly stated they were going to rob the National Bank, but
before leaving they got a cheque on this bank signed by the manager
Mr. Macauley for a small amount, about three pounds. Ned Kelly drove
Gloster's cart, with a hood over it. Dan Kelly took McDougal's, and
Hart rode one of the horses. They turned their own horses into the
paddock before leaving. Joe Byrne, left in charge of the prisoners, was
heavily armed, having two revolvers in his belt, a double-barrelled gun
in his hand, and two rifles placed within easy reach. He marched round
the building whilst all the prisoners were locked in, and was evidently
most watchful.

Whilst the three were away from the station a train stopped in front
of the door; a man, who proved to be a line repairer, named Watts,
jumped down from the train, coming from the north; he had been sent
to repair the line, and he evidently saw that it had not been injured
by accident. He walked towards the station for assistance, and to
ascertain who had caused the break in the line, when he was suddenly
pulled up by Byrne and ordered to approach him, and he also was put
into the store-room, having been first searched for fire-arms. Byrne
asked him several questions as to the movements of the police and their
numbers at the adjoining townships. Nothing else of note transpired
during the absence of Ned and his companions from the station.

The proceedings of the three outlaws after leaving the station were
as follows. It will be remembered the bank was three miles from
Younghusband's station, and they left it at half-past three o'clock.
These banks as a rule close about this hour, and when the outlaws
reached the township the bank door was closed. It was then five minutes
to four as Ned Kelly drew up the hawker's cart in front of the bank,
sending his brother and Steve Hart to the back of the premises. Ned
then knocked at the front-door; one of the clerks asked who was there.
Kelly replied, "I have a cheque of Mr. Macauley's to change; will you
please cash it?" The clerk answered, "It is after hours; and we cannot
open the door now;" but Kelly begged so hard, saying it would be a
great inconvenience not to get the cash that night, that the clerk
opened the door and admitted him. Ned closed the door after him, and at
once presented a revolver at his head, and ordered him to "bail up."
At the same time Steve Hart, with a revolver in each hand, entered the
back-door, and they took possession of the fire-arms that were in the
bank.

Ned Kelly went in search of Mr. Scott the manager, and found him in an
office adjoining the bank. He stood at the end of the table, at the
same time covering Scott with a revolver, and said, "I am Ned Kelly;
bail up." Mr. Scott's revolver was lying at the other end of the table,
and had he picked it up, he would have been shot dead on the spot.
Scott did not at first throw up his arms, but they pretty soon made him
do so. Ned Kelly then went back to the bank, and left Hart in charge
of Scott, and ransacked the place, and took possession of all the cash
that had been in use during the day, which amounted to between £300 and
£400 in notes, gold, and silver.

Kelly next went over the private apartments where Mr. Scott's family
and servants were, and Scott cautioned him concerning his behaviour
towards them, thereupon Hart at once pointed his revolver at his head,
and told him to be careful how he addressed Kelly. Mrs. Scott was not
the least alarmed when she found out who her visitors were, and began
chaffing Kelly, and telling him he was a much better-looking man than
she fancied he would be; but he was most polite towards her, and told
her he wanted her with all the family to get ready to take a drive to
Mr. Younghusband's station, three miles off. Mrs. Scott at once obeyed
his commands, and told all the children and servants to put on their
hats, as they were all obliged to go for a drive. Kelly went back into
the bank, and told Scott he knew there was more money in the bank, and
he insisted upon having it. The accountant opened the safe, and Kelly
took £1500 in notes, 300 sovereigns, £90 in silver, and thirty ounces
of gold-dust. He then went into the strong-room, but left the bills and
securities undisturbed. Kelly often said whilst in the bank, that it
was no use resisting them, as he had eight armed men outside the bank,
and he could call them to his assistance; but this was only "blow."

Mrs. Scott afterwards told me that when Kelly spoke to her, she could
hardly believe he could be the person he represented himself to be; he
was a tall, handsome man, well dressed (with the hawker's clothes on),
and spoke so kindly to her. She once or twice said, "Oh, nonsense, you
are not that blood-thirsty villain you have been represented to be." I
might here state, that after the murders at the Wombat, the description
of the outlaws was circulated all over the colony, and special measures
were taken to protect the banks, and all kinds of weapons were supplied
to their officers. It was feared that they would stick up one of these
institutions, and Euroa was one of the most likely to be attacked; and
yet the ease with which the whole affair was conducted appears to an
outsider almost ridiculous.

The gang, having secured all the cash and arms in the bank,
commenced to make preparations for their departure, and return to Mr.
Younghusband's station. Provision had to be made for the carting away
of the whole household, which consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Scott, two bank
clerks, Mrs. Scott's mother, and seven children and two servants. Kelly
went to Scott, and said, "You have such a large household, I must have
your buggy; go and put your horse in it." Scott refused to do this,
saying his groom was out, and told Kelly he had better do it himself.
Kelly replied, "Well, I will do it myself." He accordingly harnessed
the horse, and put Mrs. Scott and family into the buggy, she driving
it; and before starting away Ned Kelly, seeing that Mrs. Scott was so
little scared at their presence, said to her, "Now, none of your larks."

He then told Mr. Scott he would have to go with him in the hawker's
waggon; but before leaving the bank, Mr. Scott invited the bushrangers
to have a drink of whisky with him, which they accepted, making Mr.
Scott drink first, for fear of the liquor being drugged. They all drank
each other's health. The remainder of the party were divided, and put
equally in the three conveyances. The hawker's waggon came first, with
Dan Kelly driving, next came Mrs. Scott with her own buggy, and Ned
Kelly drove the other cart, with Steve Hart bringing up the rear on
horse-back. When driving along, Mr. Scott and Ned Kelly had a long
conversation, and he told the bank manager all about the shooting the
police at the Wombat, and showed him the gold presentation watch he
had taken from Sergeant Kennedy's body, and said, "It was I who shot
Constable Lonergan." Scott asked Kelly what Hart would have done to
him when he threatened to strike him in the bank; his reply was, "He
would have shot you dead on the spot." Whilst travelling along to the
station, and when about a quarter of a mile from Euroa, they had to
pass the cemetery; they observed a large party of people returning from
a funeral, and these people were walking towards the cavalcade.

Ned Kelly took his revolvers from his belt and looked at Mrs. Scott,
with a peculiar expression on his face, as much as to say, the first
person who gives the alarm will be the first to die. The return funeral
party passed them without taking the least notice of them, and so they
continued their journey. Mr. Scott asked Kelly which road he intended
taking. Kelly replied, "Oh, the country belongs to us, we can go any
road we like." Scott asked Kelly to drive, as he knew the road, but he
refused this request. The road was very bad, and the cart going up a
steep bank upset. Scott ran to the horse's head, and Kelly lifted out
one of the servants; they got the cart up and made a fresh start. The
money stolen from the bank was lying in the cart which Kelly drove. On
arriving at the station, all the males were put in the store-room, and
the females and children were allowed to go into the house.

It was then half-past five o'clock. The gang began to make preparations
for starting off, when a train was seen approaching from Euroa. It
pulled up opposite the station, with the intention of picking up the
line repairer Watts, who had been left at this spot an hour or so
before. Ned Kelly called out, "Here comes a special train with bobbies,
but we are ready for them, we don't care how many there are, we can
fight them." The train after waiting a short time moved on; the driver,
not seeing Watts anywhere, started for Benalla.

During the absence of the gang at Euroa Mr. McDougal suggested to some
of the prisoners to make an effort to escape, as there were fifteen
or sixteen axes hanging up in the store; "and," he added, "if each
of us takes one, and commences chopping our way out, we can easily
manage it." But the whole party declined to assist in their escape,
for, said they, "some of us must be shot in the attempt." Besides,
it was generally urged that they had nothing to gain by the attempt
which would compensate for the great risk, and they were pretty sure
to be released when the bushrangers returned from Euroa. Tea was got
ready for the women and children, and Mrs. Scott appeared almost to
enjoy the situation in which she found herself. The Kellys had their
tea also, and then, much to the relief of those in confinement, they
saw evident signs of the gang departing. The money taken from the bank
was distributed amongst the gang; so also the arms taken from the
prisoners and bank officials. Ned Kelly came to the store-room, and
announced that they were about leaving, and warned his prisoners they
were not to stir for three hours (it was then about half-past eight);
he said, "If one of you leaves this spot within three hours I will
shoot that man dead. You cannot any of you escape me in this country, I
can track you anywhere, and I can assure you I will keep my word." He
then called upon Mr. Macauley to come to the front, and he said to him,
"I will hold you responsible for the escape of any of these prisoners
until the period I have named has expired. Mind! if you let one of
them go, I will meet you some time or other, and then you may consider
yourself a dead man!" Before leaving, Ned Kelly came to the door of the
store-room, and asked Mr. McDougal for his watch. He handed it to him
and told him it was a keepsake from his dead mother. Kelly apparently
whispered and said, "No, I will never take that from you," and returned
it to him, taking, instead, a watch from Mr. Macauley; and Byrne took
Mr. Scott's watch from him.

The outlaws then mounted their horses, which were all splendid animals;
it was then half-past eight o'clock and quite dark. Hart and Dan Kelly
began to ride about, and show off on their horses, and brag about
what they were going to do when they met the police. It was noticed
by some of the prisoners that, when the gang returned from Euroa with
their prisoners, before they came to the house, signals passed between
them and Byrne, who was on guard; this was evidently pre-arranged, so
as to denote all was well. After the gang left, they rode off in the
direction of the Strathbogie ranges, and nothing more was seen of them.
The prisoners then began to discuss what had best be done; some were
for starting off at once, others thought they would only be risking
their lives, and it was feared the outlaws might have left one of their
party to watch; so the majority decided it was safer to wait until the
three hours were up.

The station hands during their confinement took the matter very easily;
they were well fed, and passed away the time chiefly in playing cards,
knowing nothing serious was likely to happen to them. Most of them
looked upon the affair as a capital joke, which had cost them nothing
but their confinement. At half-past ten o'clock they all agreed it
was time to get out, which they had no difficulty in doing. Mr. and
Mrs. Scott and party returned at once to Euroa, which they reached at
midnight; the rest of the people stopped at the station that night,
except Mr. Casement and McDougal, who went to the house of the former,
who lived not far from Euroa.

It was noticed by all the prisoners, that during their imprisonment,
although they were domineering in giving their orders, no attempt at
violence or roughness was used towards any of them. Ned Kelly was the
most communicative of the gang, and conversed freely with many of the
prisoners during the day, asking questions as to the movements of the
police, and talking of the kick-up which they had caused in the force.
When Mr. Scott got back to Euroa at midnight, the bank was just in
the same state as when he had left it--the doors all locked, and the
inhabitants of the township perfectly unconscious of what had happened
in the midst of them during the afternoon. Some of my readers in
England may possibly not be able to grasp the matter in its true light.
A few remarks in explanation of the doings of the outlaws may therefore
not be out of place.

It was evident the gang knew perfectly well the ways and doings of the
bank, the hour of closing, and who the occupants were. They wanted
a base of operations, where they could confine any one who happened
to see them, so that no information might be given concerning them.
They selected Younghusband's station, which from its position was
well adapted for their purpose. They wanted food for their horses,
and rest for themselves, as they would probably have to ride day and
night before they reached their mountain retreat. They knew the police
would endeavour to follow their tracks, and they had to keep on the
alert. But every pass and track in the mountains was known, and every
hiding-place familiar to the gang. After an exploit of this kind they
seldom rode together. Each man took his own line to the first of
several appointed meeting-places. If something occurred to prevent any
one of them from putting in an appearance there, they made for the
second, and so on until they met. When robbing the bank, they fixed on
a time when they knew it would be closed, and they could remain inside
without raising any suspicion. Fortune favoured them in a marvellous
manner. The hawker, coming to Younghusband's, gave them an opportunity
of dressing themselves so respectably, that no one meeting them would
take them to be bushrangers; the carts also were of great use to them,
and they could scarcely have carried out their plans without them. No
doubt all the prisoners who were put into the store-room will be looked
upon as cowards, but it should be remembered that it was a well-known
fact that, after the Wombat murders, the gang were only too anxious to
shed blood, especially Dan Kelly, who was the most blood-thirsty of
the lot, and on the least provocation would have done so, his brother
frequently having to restrain him from shooting any one he met in the
bush.

The prisoners were all taken by surprise. Although they may have had
fire-arms near them, the moment they attempted to touch them they would
have been shot dead on the spot. Besides, in the store-room the gang
had several of their sympathizers who were put amongst the prisoners,
so that they could give intelligence by signs to the outlaws, should
a rush have been contemplated; the sympathizers were not known to the
others in confinement. People in the bush, or on stations, seldom or
never carry fire-arms; they have no money about them to lose, and
know the bushrangers will not harm them. They do not suspect every
one they meet to be a bushranger, especially fine, good-looking, and
well-dressed men, as Ned Kelly and Joe Byrne were. There is no doubt
the gang had great luck all that day. Their plans were well laid, and
carried out splendidly. They never molested the working men or farmers,
and in that way gained great sympathy amongst all classes of people,
and information concerning the outlaws was withheld from the police.
I have often spoken to respectable farmers, and pointed out to them
that it was their duty to assist the police, and their reply was, "I
want to stand aloof from everything connected with the Kellys; if they
hear the police have been to my place, my stacks will be burnt down, my
fences broken, and probably all my cattle and horses will be stolen."
The only policeman in Euroa on the day of the robbery was absent
from his station on some other duty, but had he been in barracks, he
would probably not have heard of the matter until twelve o'clock at
night. At daylight the police attempted to pick up the tracks of the
outlaws. There were foot-prints of horses leading in every direction.
The sympathizers who had been in confinement up to eleven o'clock that
night, had mounted their horses, and kept riding round the station in
every direction, together with the scouts who had been watching all
day, one starting off in one direction and another in an opposite one,
under the pretence of looking for the tracks of the offenders, whereas
it was for the sole purpose of baffling the trackers when daylight
came.




CHAPTER VII.

 The Police at Euroa--Aaron Sherritt--Jerilderie--Capture of the
 Police Station and Constables--Amateur Policemen--The Royal Hotel
 stuck up--Raid on the Bank of New South Wales--£2000 taken--Kelly's
 Autobiography--His Account of the Fitzpatrick Affair--Departure of the
 Gang--Return to their Haunts.


Very shortly before the Euroa Bank robbery, news came to hand that the
outlaws were about to make an attempt to leave Victoria, and cross the
Murray into New South Wales. The description of the place of crossing
and other details were given in such a circumstantial manner, that it
convinced both the inspecting superintendent and the officer in charge
of the district that the Kellys were to cross the Murray on the night
of the 9th December 1878. The inspecting superintendent went to Albury,
and he had hardly arrived there when he received a telegram, stating
that the bank at Euroa had been stuck up by the outlaws. He immediately
took a special train to Euroa. Before the arrival of the inspecting
superintendent a party of police were on the ground, and were waiting
for daylight in order to find which direction the outlaws had taken.
The police had some black trackers with them, but these were of little
use, being Victorian blacks, whose sense of sight and sagacity had been
destroyed by drink. All day long search was made, but no trace of the
outlaws could be obtained. The police were sent in every direction,
trying to find out some tidings of the outlaws, but without effect.
Some of the men were so knocked up from want of sleep, and the heat,
that it was thought many of them would have to go into hospital. The
inspecting superintendent was also exhausted with the hardships he had
gone through, and was suffering from bad eyes to such an extent, that
Captain Standish had to relieve him.

The day after the Bank robbery took place Captain Standish started for
Euroa. When he got there he found the inspecting superintendent so ill
that he telegraphed for me to come up and take his place, ordering
me to report myself at Euroa that evening. I did so. On my arrival I
heard the statements concerning the robbery, and endeavoured to obtain
all the information about the outlaws I could possibly gather. The
whole community were perfectly scared at what had taken place, and
rumours were coming in from all quarters concerning persons being seen
answering the descriptions of the outlaws.

When the bushrangers appeared at Euroa they were riding three bay
horses and one grey. Every report that came to hand had to be inquired
into and reported on, otherwise complaints were made that the police
took no notice of information furnished to them. The most absurd
statements were made, too ridiculous to be noticed. For instance, a
squatter sent in word to Benalla that the Kelly gang were shooting
parrots near his garden. The messenger who conveyed the information
was told to go and inform the police as fast as his horse could carry
him. The officer in charge of the district sent the messenger back,
and told him to tell his master that he must be mad to send in such an
absurd message. The officer sent a constable to inquire who the people
were that were shooting birds, and found them to be a survey party.
The squatter was under the impression that no inquiries were made
concerning his report, and afterwards wished to bring a charge against
the officer for not capturing the Kellys when he had sent word to him
where they were to be found, and to this day he believes that if
steps had been taken on that occasion the outlaws would then have been
arrested.

On another occasion a message was wired one Sunday morning to Melbourne
to the late Chief Justice, that the gang had been in Mrs. Rowe's
garden cutting cabbages, near Euroa, and similar reports were daily
being made, all of which had to be inquired into. At the same time
information would be sent in that the Kellys were to be found at the
head of some of the rivers, in a country quite unoccupied, and that
they were living on wild cattle, away from all their friends, some 150
miles from Benalla. From time to time reliable information was obtained
that they were seen in different parts, and the spies and agents
employed were hearing of them.

[Illustration: Aaron Sherritt.]

The first active step I took, after I had been round the district and
had obtained all the information I could, was to go to Beechworth to
meet a well-known friend and bush telegraph of the gang, named Aaron
Sherritt. He was a splendid man, tall, strong, hardy, but a most
outrageous scoundrel. It was well known that he and Joe Byrne and Ned
Kelly had been connected with each other in no end of horse-stealing
cases, and that after the murders he had befriended the gang before
they went to the Murray, as before stated. He had supplied them with
food, and guarded them against surprise. I had never seen Sherritt
until that evening, and somehow or other I made a most wonderful
impression upon him. I had some drink with him, and saw that my
influence over him was very great. After being in his company a couple
of hours, and undertaking to give him the £4000 reward that had been
offered for the apprehension of the outlaws, I got him to promise he
would show me where they were to be found. He told me Joe Byrne and
Dan Kelly had called at his house two days before, and wanted him to
accompany them to New South Wales, where they intended to rob another
bank; but he was not certain which place it would be, he thought they
were going to Goulburn, at least they told him so. He said he declined
going with them, and they pressed him very hard, but he refused; they
told him they wanted him to do the scouting for them. We doubted the
truth of this statement, but at once made inquiries, and found that Joe
Byrne and Dan Kelly had been seen by others going in the direction of
the Murray a couple of days before, and they had called for supplies
at a shanty where Byrne was well known. This information was furnished
to the police on the New South Wales side of the Murray, and they
were told that Goulburn was the probable place they would make for, as
the Kellys had a number of relations there. About a week after this,
news was telegraphed that the outlaws had stuck up the township of
Jerilderie, and robbed the bank, on the 11th February 1879.

Jerilderie is a town about sixty miles from the Murray river on the
New South Wales side of the border. It had a population at that time
of about 300 inhabitants; there were three or four hotels, one bank, a
police station with two mounted constables named Devine and Richards,
and a telegraph station. The police station is situated some little
distance outside the township.

About midnight on Saturday the 9th of February, Ned Kelly, Joe Byrne,
Steve Hart, and Dan Kelly surrounded the police station, which was
all in darkness, the constables having retired to their beds, when
they were awoke by some one calling out--"Constable Devine, there is
a drunken man at Davidson's hotel in the township who has committed
a murder. Get up at once all of you." Constable Richards, who was up
first, came outside, followed immediately afterwards by Devine, both
being undressed and unarmed. Ned Kelly began to tell these men there
was a great row in the township, and after conversing with them for
some time, to make sure there were no other constables inside, he
suddenly presented two revolvers at Devine's head, Joe Byrne doing the
same to Constable Richards. The outlaws immediately procured the keys
of the lock-up, took the two policemen and lodged them in their own
watch-house, and locked the door. Having secured the constables, they
attended to their horses, which had been left outside the station;
they put them in the police stables, fed them well, and left them
secure for the night. Whilst this was going on Ned Kelly went into the
police station, secured all the arms belonging to the police, made the
constable's wife and family go into one room, and placed Steve Hart as
sentry over them, telling them if they gave the slightest alarm, that
the two constables who were in the lock-up would be the first persons
to be shot, and they themselves would also suffer the same death. The
outlaws then made themselves as comfortable as they could, leaving one
of their number on sentry until daylight on Sunday morning.

During all that day Mrs. Devine was allowed to go about the station
as usual, so as not to raise any suspicion that anything unusual was
going on. Ned Kelly ascertained from her, that it was her custom to
clean out the church and prepare the place for service, and Joe Byrne
was sent to this place of worship with Mrs. Devine, whilst she carried
out her usual duties there. This took about half an hour, and they both
returned to the station. No one called at the station during the day;
had they done so, they would have been pounced upon and secured in the
lock-up so as to prevent an alarm being given. The people attended
service as usual, but no one came near the station.

Dan Kelly and Steve Hart had dressed themselves up in the police
uniform, and walked about the station in a most conspicuous manner, and
without attracting any attention. In the afternoon Joe Byrne dressed
himself in police uniform, and with Steve Hart also in that dress, took
Constable Richards out of the lock-up to accompany them round the town,
in order that they might be made aware of the positions of hotels,
bank, &c. They ordered the constable, in case any one came up and spoke
to him, to introduce them as new constables about to be stationed
there. Their walk lasted about an hour, and they again returned to the
police barracks. Nothing of any note took place during the evening and
Sunday night. Monday morning Joe Byrne, in uniform, took two of their
horses to be shod by the police farrier in the township; he waited
until they were shod, and then took them back to the police station.

About eleven o'clock, after locking up the policeman's wife and
children with Constable Devine, they took out Constable Richards. Ned
Kelly and Dan Kelly dressed in uniform, and walked to the township,
followed by Hart and Byrne on horse-back. They first went to the Royal
Hotel, owned by a Mr. Cox, when Constable Richards introduced Ned Kelly
to Mr. Cox as Ned Kelly, who told the landlord he wanted to secure some
rooms in the hotel, and that he also intended robbing the bank, but
he did not want to injure any one. Ned Kelly placed the other three
in certain positions, and gave each of them their instructions. Hart
was placed inside the large dining-room, which was used as a room of
detention, and every person who came near the hotel throughout the day
was placed in this room, and all prisoners captured were taken over and
kept in safety in this apartment. Byrne went to the back part of the
establishment and collected all the servants, and made prisoners of
them.

After this was done, they devoted their attentions to the Bank of
New South Wales, in which there were three officers--Mr. Jarleton,
manager, Mr. Living, accountant, and Mr. Mackin, sub-accountant.
Mr. Living was the only one in the bank. He heard some footsteps
approaching from the back-yard, and turned round thinking it was Mr.
Jarleton, when he saw a man close to him. He immediately asked this
man, who had already levelled his revolver at him, who he was. His
reply was "the Kelly gang," and he at once called on him to "bail up."
This man afterwards turned out to be Joe Byrne. Byrne then ordered
him to deliver up what fire-arms he had. Mackin, who was standing
outside the bank in the street, hearing voices, went inside, and Byrne
immediately ordered him to jump over the counter, at the same time
pointing two revolvers at him; this order he obeyed at once. Byrne then
told the two bank officials they must accompany him to Cox's hotel,
remarking at the same time they had all the police stuck up. The three
then went to the hotel, where they met Ned Kelly, who asked for Mr.
Jarleton, and was told he was in his dressing-room. Ned Kelly and Byrne
went back to the bank, but could not find him. Ned Kelly returned to
Cox's and brought back Mr. Living, telling him he had better find him.
Living found him in his bath, and said, "Mr. Jarleton, we are stuck up,
the Kellys are here, and the police are also stuck up." Byrne then
brought over Dan Kelly, and left him in the bath-room in charge of the
manager. Ned then took charge of Living, led him into the bank, and
asked him what money they had in their keeping. Living replied, "There
is between six and seven hundred pounds." Kelly replied, "You must
have at least £10,000 here." Living then handed him the teller's cash,
amounting to £691.

At this time a Mr. Elliot, the local school-master, entered the bank,
quite unconscious of what was going on within, when Ned Kelly covered
him with two revolvers and ordered him to get over the counter. Mr.
Elliot replied he was unable to get over, but Kelly pretty soon made
him do so. Kelly then tried to put the money into a bag, but it not
being large enough to hold it, he got a bag of his own at the hotel and
put the money in that. Kelly asked Living if they had any more money,
and was told they had not. Kelly then went to the safe and asked what
was in it, and Living said nothing of any value. Kelly insisted upon
it being opened, and Living gave him one of the keys. Byrne wished to
smash the safe, but Ned Kelly brought in the manager, who had been
taken over to the hotel, and compelled him to give up the second key.
The safe was then opened, when the sum of £1450 was taken out and
placed in the bag.

Kelly then took down a large tin box from the shelf; he was told it was
full of documents which were of no use. He replied, "Then I will burn
them;" but Mr. Jarleton begged of him not to do so. Kelly took out one
bundle of papers and put them in his pocket. He then told Mr. Jarleton
he intended burning all the books in the office; however, he left the
documents in the tin box, saying, "I will return directly and examine
them all." They all then went to the hotel. Dan Kelly was in the bar,
and Ned took him and another of the party to the back of the premises,
made a fire, and burned four of the bank-books. I might mention here
that Ned Kelly always posed as a friend of the working-man, and all
they wanted was bank money, and not that of private individuals; and
in all their exploits, if any of the gang had taken a watch, or stolen
anything from a private individual, when complained of Ned had made
them return it to the person from whom it was stolen. In this manner he
was looked upon as a great hero, and gained a number of sympathizers,
so in burning the books of the bank he thought he was protecting the
poor man, as against the bank.

About this time a Mr. Rankin and a Mr. Gill, seeing the bank door
open, went in, and they were immediately followed by Ned Kelly, who
ordered them to "bail up." They at once grasped the situation, Rankin
running into the hotel followed by Kelly, while Gill made off in
another direction. The latter was the local newspaper proprietor, the
former a well-to-do merchant, and a Justice of the Peace. When Kelly
got up to Rankin he asked him why he had run away when he had ordered
him to stand; he caught Rankin very roughly by the collar of his coat,
and ordered him into the passage away from the other prisoners, telling
him to straighten himself up, as he intended to shoot him, and levelled
his revolver at him. Several of the prisoners called out to Ned Kelly
not to fire, and he did not do so. He then called Hart by the name
of "Revenge," and ordered him to shoot the first man who showed any
signs of resistance, then addressing Rankin said, "If you attempt to
move, you will be the first man to be shot." Mr. Rankin was a splendid
able-bodied man, but without fire-arms in his possession he was
powerless, and had to submit to be thus treated. Kelly then went and
directed his attention to Mr. Gill, and in company with Mr. Richards
and Mr. Living went to look for him. The policeman had his revolver
with him, but Kelly had previously drawn the cartridges. They sent
to Gill's house, and saw his wife; Kelly said to her, "Where is your
husband?" She replied, "He has run away." Kelly then said, "I have a
statement here which contains a little part of my life, and I want it
published by Mr. Gill, will you take it?" She declined to do so.

Mr. Living then took the paper from Kelly, promising to have it
published. The bushrangers then turned their attention to the telegraph
office; they removed all the clerks from the office, and took them over
to the hotel and put them amongst the other prisoners. Byrne remained
in the office and overhauled all the messages that had been despatched
that day. Kelly then returned and found Byrne in charge; he had cut all
the wires, and Ned Kelly broke the insulators with his revolver. Ned
Kelly told the telegraph master, Mr. Jefferson, that if he attempted
to mend the wires before next day, or offer any resistance to himself
or companions, he would shoot him; he also told him that he intended
to take him a few miles into the bush when he left, and then liberate
him but this he did not do. Kelly informed the company who were in the
hotel, that he intended sticking up the Urana coach that night, and
he would shoot any one who would warn the driver, but Mr. Jarleton
succeeded in dispatching a messenger to Urana directly the outlaws
left, to warn the banks against surprise. But this was only a ruse on
their part, they never stuck up the coach, nor went near Urana. When
Mr. Jarleton was found in his bath he had just returned from a long
ride of forty miles. He stated, when Living told him they were stuck
up, he thought it was a hoax they were playing on him, but when he saw
Kelly and Byrne with revolvers in each hand, he saw the mistake he had
made. Mr. Jarleton made some inquiries of Hart as to the movements of
the gang, but after answering one or two, he pointed his revolver at
him, and in an angry tone replied, "You had better stop asking such
questions."

Hart and Dan Kelly stood sentry a greater part of the day with a
revolver in each hand, and the former evinced a great desire to shoot
somebody in the room. Throughout the day every one who came near the
hotel for any purpose was captured and detained. Occasionally one of
the gang would take a walk up the street. Ned Kelly went into another
hotel kept by a Mr. McDougall, entered into conversation with several
people there, and said, "Any one can shoot me, but they would have to
abide the consequences, as every inhabitant in the town would be shot."

Hart, who always was a thief and sneak, took a new saddle from a
saddler's shop, and he also relieved several men of their watches,
but when the owners complained to Ned Kelly and Byrne he was ordered
to return them. Ned Kelly and his lieutenant Joe Byrne showed great
judgment in the manner they carried out the whole affair. Ned Kelly
took from McDougall's stable a blood mare, and promised to return it in
three weeks, which of course he never did. He also took a saddle and
bridle and pair of spurs belonging to Mr. Jarleton from the bank, also
a pair of riding-trousers, gold watch and chain. This saddle was put on
the blood mare, and Dan Kelly mounted it and rode away to try it, and
returned shortly afterwards.

About six o'clock in the evening the gang began to make preparations
for a start, but before doing so, Ned Kelly made a speech to those
who had been confined in the hotel, with the evident intention of
exciting pity. He said that on the occasion when Constable Fitzpatrick
was wounded, he was not within 400 miles of his mother's place; he
said he had stolen 400 horses from a squatter's run, named Mr. Whilty,
at various times, and had sold them, but beyond this, up to the time
he shot the police at the Wombat, he had not been guilty of any
other crime. Kelly showed those present his revolvers, and pointed
out one which he said was the property of Constable Lonergan, and
further stated, that the musket with which he shot Lonergan was an
old, worn-out, crooked thing. Kelly then took Constable Richards from
amongst the prisoners and walked to the police station.

At about seven o'clock Byrne mounted his horse and started off alone
in the direction of the Murray river, leading a pack-horse with the
treasure strapped across the saddle. This was one of the policeman's
horses, which they took with them. Shortly afterwards Ned Kelly
mounted, leading another police horse, returned to Cox's hotel, and
told all the prisoners they might go home, and he now released them. He
left Constables Devine and Richards in the lock-up, with orders they
were not to be released for some hours. Dan Kelly and Hart, before they
left, rode up and down the chief street of the town flourishing their
revolvers over their heads, and singing at the top of their voices, and
then started in the same direction as the other bushrangers had done.
They must have all met at some appointed place, for they called at a
station some twenty miles distant from Jerilderie, and threatened to
shoot the owner for something he had done against them.

When Mr. Gill bolted from the bank, he went to the creek close by,
and remained hidden there all day, and until the gang left the town.
Both Kellys left the township wearing the police clothing. With
regard to the documents Ned Kelly left with Mr. Living for Mr. Gill
to publish, it was sent to the Government of Victoria, and I read it.
It was a tissue of lies from beginning to end, a wandering narrative
full of insinuations and complaints against the police, and of the
type familiar to all who have had experience of tales which men of the
criminal stamp are in the habit of telling; it is as impossible to
prevent these men from lying as it is from stealing.

According to Ned Kelly, his criminal career commenced when he
was fourteen years old, and received a sentence of three months'
imprisonment for using a neighbour's horse without his consent, as he
put it. After this, convictions were frequent, and, says Kelly, "The
police became a nuisance to the family." At one period of his life
Kelly described himself as a "wandering gamester." He states in this
document, "When the affray with Fitzpatrick took place, the constable
came to apprehend my innocent brother Dan. My mother asked him if
he had a warrant, he replied he had a telegram. My mother said to
Fitzpatrick, 'If my son Ned was here he would chuck you out of the
house.' Dan looked out of the window and said, 'Here he comes.' The
constable turned suddenly round to look out of the window, when Dan
jumped up and seized the constable, and in the scuffle Fitzpatrick was
shot through his wrist."

I quote this fully because certain newspapers in the colony published
statements to the effect that Fitzpatrick had acted improperly towards
Kate Kelly, and that had caused Dan Kelly to shoot Fitzpatrick, and
that Ned Kelly took up his sister's cause. By this means they obtained
no end of sympathy from the general public, whereas there was not
one word of truth in the accusation. And Ned Kelly, not only in the
statement that he gave to Mr. Living, in which he said this was a pure
invention, but also after his capture, stated distinctly there was not
one word of truth in the accusation made against Fitzpatrick; "for,"
said Ned Kelly, "if there had been, I would not have been a man had
I not shot him on the spot." But from Ned Kelly's own narrative it
is apparent that these charges were pure inventions, made solely for
the purpose of raising sympathy for these murderers. It was admitted
that Fitzpatrick was resisted and assaulted while in the execution of
his duty. An account is given in this statement of Ned Kelly's of
the terrible tragedy at Mansfield, but it is obviously a string of
falsehoods, and it would be quite improper to have it published, but
he admitted that the police were not in any way the aggressors at the
Wombat, but were surprised and shot down in cold blood.

The outlaws, after the Jerilderie bank robbery, evidently returned back
to their mountain retreats in Victoria. No end of Bank of New South
Wales notes were in circulation shortly afterwards, but the numbers of
the stolen notes were not known, beyond the fact, that the head office
at Sydney had sent these identical notes to Jerilderie for circulation,
but no account was kept of the notes that were paid out of the bank.
Hence no prosecution could be instituted, as the bank officials could
not swear the notes found in the possession of the friends of the
outlaws had not been paid over the counter. Notwithstanding that all
the wires of the telegraph lines were cut at Jerilderie, and the
outlaws departed from there at seven o'clock, at nine o'clock that
night I received a wire at Benalla from Jerilderie informing me of all
the facts of the matter. I at once took steps to give instructions to
all crossing-places on the Murray river to keep a sharp look out, and
sent men during the night to every known crossing-place, to endeavour
to effect their capture, but all to no effect. The distance between
Jerilderie and Benalla, where I was stationed, was over 100 miles, and
the first tidings we heard of their return was that Dan Kelly was seen
two or three days after the bank robbery making back to the mountains
in this colony, some fifteen miles from Beechworth.

I have written fully on the subject of this bank robbery, because
the plans were well laid, and everything carried out in such an able
manner. I am indebted to the newspapers of the day for refreshing my
recollection of the facts that took place after the bank robbery, as I
did not like to trust to my memory as to the numerous incidents that
occurred during that exciting time.

The Government of New South Wales, together with the banks of that
colony, offered an additional reward of £1000 for the apprehension
of each of the outlaws, making the sum offered by the two colonies
£8000. Sherritt told me, at my first interview with him, that he was
the principal agent of the outlaws in that part of the district,
and everything that was known about them by their friends would be
communicated to him. Besides which he was at this time engaged to
be married to Joe Byrne's sister, and she lived with her mother at
Woolshed. He also told me that if they did rob a bank, they were sure
to call at Mrs. Byrne's on their way back, and leave her some of the
money. He said, "Now if you want really to take them, I will lay you on
them." I told him I would place myself unreservedly in his hands and
do whatever he suggested, and I arranged to meet him again. When he
left, I told the detective who introduced him to me what he had said.
The detective ridiculed the affair and said, "He is only deceiving you,
sir, please don't trust him; he would not sell his friend Joe Byrne for
all the money in the world." I felt convinced my opinion of the man was
correct, and he meant to work for us honestly. Sherritt said "You have
a most difficult and dangerous job before you, but I will do all I can
to assist you." Sherritt had a most exalted opinion of Ned Kelly, and
said he did not believe there was another man like him in the colony.
He said, "He is about the only man I ever was afraid of in my life, and
I certainly give him best in everything." When I found out that the
information he had given me about the two outlaws having called at his
house was correct, I felt very confident that before long we should
fall across them.




CHAPTER VIII.

 Aaron Sherritt--A Disappointment--At Mrs. Byrne's--A Twenty-five-day
 Watch--Manufacturing Brands--Sherritt's Revenge--A Letter from Joe
 Byrne--Whorouly Races--On Watch at Mrs. Sherritt's--Mrs. Byrne's
 Discovery--Break-up of the Camp--Arrest of Kelly Sympathizers--A
 Dynamite Scare--Aaron jilted.


Directly the bank was stuck up at Jerilderie I started off to
Beechworth, and sent for Aaron Sherritt. His first words to me were,
"Did I not tell you they would stick up a bank in New South Wales?" I
replied, "Yes, but you told me they were going to Goulbourn." I said,
"Well, what is to be done now?" He replied, "They will be back probably
to-night, to Woolshed." He told me to meet him that night at a place
indicated by him in the ranges (known to the detective); he would then
show me where they tied up their horses, whilst they went into Mrs.
Byrne's house for supper. I agreed to his suggestion, and told the
detective what I had done. His reply was, "I have known Sherritt for
years, and if he likes he can put you in the position to capture the
Kellys, but I doubt his doing so." I told him Aaron felt sure they
would return from Jerilderie that night, and I had arranged to go with
him, and meet him at eight o'clock that night at a certain spot in the
ranges, which I described, a party of police accompanying us. Having no
men at Beechworth, I drove the detective to Eldorado, which was beyond
Woolshed, where I had a party of police stationed. As the detective was
well known in the locality, and I was not, I put him in the boot of the
buggy under the seat, and he remained in that position nearly all the
way. I merely state this to show how cautious we had to be in all our
movements. Had he been recognized driving in a buggy, the friends of
the outlaws would soon have heard of it. I had to take him because he
had to direct the party where to meet us that night, and I had not been
in the district for very many years, and knew little of it.

At eight o'clock that night the detective and I met Aaron at the
appointed spot in the ranges. We waited anxiously for the men from
Eldorado to turn up. After waiting for an hour, Aaron said to me, "You
will be late, Mr. Hare. We should have been nearly three miles from
this by this time." I was very much annoyed at the men not keeping
their appointment; and I turned to the detective and said to him: "Will
you stick to me, as it will never do to lose this chance of getting the
outlaws?" His reply was: "Yes, Mr. Hare, I will stick to you and do
whatever you tell me to do." I turned to Aaron and said: "All right; we
are ready to go with you now." He turned towards me to see if I meant
it. I said, "Come on."

We mounted our horses. I followed Aaron, the detective following me.
The night was terribly dark, and Aaron took us at a good pace. The
country was rugged and broken, but he rode ahead just as if he was
in his own garden. He appeared to trust to his horse, and I trusted
to him. We rode along without a word being spoken by any of us. He
might have taken me over a precipice, as I could see nothing before
me. Suddenly Aaron stopped, and in a whisper said to me, "This is the
bushrangers' country; no one ever comes in here but them." We were then
about ten miles from Beechworth on the ranges at the back of Woolshed,
and so we rode along, winding round a drain one minute, and over logs
and rocks the next, trusting entirely to our horses. Suddenly Aaron
pulled up, and I went up beside him, the detective doing likewise.
Aaron said, "They are back from Jerilderie. Do you see that fire in the
distance?" I replied, "Yes." He said, "The bushrangers are there; I
have never before seen a fire in this place, and for some reason they
have lighted one, and there they are." We all three dismounted from
our horses and sat down on the ground to decide what was to be done.
Aaron said, "What do you wish me to do? I will do whatever you like." I
thought "nothing venture nothing have," so I questioned him as to the
fire being made by the outlaws, but he was perfectly convinced of it.
I then told him the first thing I wanted to be sure of was whether the
bushrangers were sitting or sleeping near the fire, and he had better
take off his boots, leave his horse with me, and crawl along the ground
as close to the fire as he could get, and see if he could recognize the
voices if he could hear any, if not, to get as close up as he could
and find out whether the outlaws were there. He never hesitated for a
moment, and did exactly what I told him to do, and the detective and
myself were left alone. We both were fully convinced we should have to
"do or die" that night, and we were quite prepared to take the risk.
We stayed in the same spot for about ten minutes, deciding how we were
to make the attack, when we heard footsteps coming towards us at a
quick pace. The detective said, "He has sold us; who is this coming
towards us?" I said, "Keep quiet." We both, with revolvers in our
hands, remained perfectly still until the footsteps came within a yard
of us, and a voice we recognized as Aaron's said, "Mr. Hare, we have
been deceived, that fire is on the opposite range and some miles away."
My first thought was that Aaron had gone up to the fire and started the
bushrangers off, or else had given them notice he would bring us up to
them. I questioned him and he appeared perfectly honest, and said, "If
you will come with me I will convince you that what I am saying is the
truth."

We mounted our horses and found that what he had stated was perfectly
correct. Aaron then said, "We are awfully late, we must hurry on to
Mrs. Byrne's house," and we again followed him in the same order as
before. He commenced to go down a fearfully steep range. I said not a
word but followed him, until he pulled up and said, "I am afraid to go
down here to-night, it is so very dark." I said, "Is there no other way
you can get down?" He replied, "Only by going a mile round." He said,
"Be careful not to move from your saddle, for this is a terribly steep
range, and if you attempt to get off you will roll down some hundreds
of feet." He told me to get off the horse on the off side, he doing the
same himself, and the detective also. We then led our horses round and
got down another gap in the mountains. After riding about a mile Aaron
told us that we had better dismount and tie our horses to a tree, and
walk down to the spot he would take us to.

We did so, and we followed him down the ranges until we came to a
house, which turned out to be Mrs. Byrne's, the mother of the outlaw
Joe Byrne. Here also, as in Power's case, we met some watch-dogs in the
shape of a flock of geese, and they did give the alarm, and no mistake.
However, after a short time, Aaron crawled up to the house, so as to
ascertain if there was any one talking inside. Everything was quiet,
there was a candle burning. He returned and said, "They expect them
to-night. You see, they have left the candle burning, and some supper
ready on the table." He then said, "Let us go up to a clump of trees
at the back of the house, where they generally tie up their horses."
I had previously been told by another agent of this clump of trees,
where marks of horses having been tied up were to be seen. Aaron said
to me, "Go into that clump. They often tie up their horses there, and
lay down beside them and have a sleep, after having their supper at
Mrs. Byrne's." I walked into the clump, but found no horses there,
and returned to Aaron. Aaron then said, "We must now wait in this
stock-yard, which leads up to the clump. If they come they will come
through here." It was then about two o'clock in the morning. We sat
down and waited until daylight, and then, nothing happening, we started
back to our horses, reaching Beechworth at eight o'clock.

Aaron suggested to me that I should bring a party of men and come
and live in the mountains at the back of Mrs. Byrne's house. He told
me he could put me in a spot which was unknown to any one except the
bushrangers, and the only danger of my being discovered was by them. He
said I could stay in the mountains by day, and take up my position in
the stock-yard behind Mrs. Byrne's at night, and that if I had patience
I was certain to get them. I complied with his suggestion, and that
evening I brought a party to the spot indicated by him. We brought
our blankets and some provisions, intending to stay there until we
caught the Kellys, watching by night, and laying in our camp all day.
In camp I arranged that no two men should be together throughout the
day, whether sleeping or at meals, so that if we were attacked by the
outlaws, and some of us were shot, the others could fight.

The life was extremely monotonous, for me especially; but the
excitement kept us up, and we always expected that sooner or later we
should come across the outlaws.

Our daily life was as follows:--At dusk in the evening, one at a time,
we used to leave our camp and make down to the stock-yard, I always
leading the way, and the other men following. We had to be most careful
where we trod, for fear of our tracks being seen on the following
day. We each took up positions behind trees outside the stock-yard,
I taking the opening into the yard myself. I had given orders to the
men not to move from their positions until I called to them, no matter
what happened. We were all lying about ten or fifteen yards apart. The
nights were bitterly cold.

Aaron used to spend his evenings at Mrs. Byrne's with his young woman,
and he obtained all the information they were possessed of, and when
he left their house between twelve and one o'clock he used to lie down
and watch with us. He always took up his position beside me, and used
to relate all kinds of encouraging reports that he had obtained during
the day as to the prospect of the Kellys turning up. Hardly a night
that we took up our positions but we thought we should have some luck.
As day broke in the morning we used to make back to our camp in the
mountains in a very disappointed mood, walking singly, and avoiding the
paths or soft places, so as not to leave any tracks behind us.

The great danger I felt was a surprise when getting into the camp of a
morning and taking up our positions in the evening. I felt sure that
some morning or evening when we took up our post the Kellys would find
out our camps and take possession of them, so therefore I always went
into camp first in the morning and left it first in the evening, and
felt a relief when we all got into our places without being fired on.
We dared not make a fire for fear of the smoke being noticed, so we had
to live on water, preserved beef, and bread. I stayed in this camp for
twenty-five days, and during that time, although we used to see some
members of the Byrne family passing to and fro, they never discovered
our whereabouts. I always kept a sentry by day over the camp, and
the sentry's position was behind a rock near the spot I had made my
resting-place, which was the highest, above all the men.

Night after night Aaron used to go and see his young woman, and bring
back hopes of success. This used to keep up the spirits of the men,
and we all felt sure if we could keep watching without our whereabouts
being discovered we would eventually be successful.

I should have stated before this, that when I went with my party into
the mountains, I also placed four men in a spot pointed out to me
by Sherritt, which was one of the camps used by the Kellys. It was
here they stayed for two days after the murders, while Aaron supplied
them with food. It was a wonderfully romantic spot, on the edge of a
precipice, and only approachable on one side. Two men could keep off
a dozen. This camp was placed under Senior Constable Mayes, a bold,
trustworthy, well-tried man, in whom I had the utmost confidence. He
had a difficulty in getting water for his men, and had to send two
miles for it. Sometimes the men were sent by day, but generally by
night, and through an indiscretion on the part of one of these men,
our whereabouts was discovered. Old Mrs. Byrne was a most active old
party. She was constantly looking about for the tracks of police,
horses, and men. She was walking along the bank of a creek where the
men at the upper camp were in the habit of getting their water, when
she discovered a spot where a man had been sitting and amusing himself
with a stick--as it is called, "whittling" it. She immediately came to
the conclusion that some police were camped close by, and that night
she confided her fears to Aaron, and told him he must have a good look
in the ranges next day. He promised to make every effort to find out if
her surmise was correct, and he came straight to the stock-yard where I
was watching, and informed me of the discovery the old woman had made.
Aaron next day got his horse and pretended to make a search, returning
next night and telling Mrs. Byrne he could find no trace of anybody.
The old lady was convinced there must have been some police about,
because she said the foot-marks were evidently those of a policeman.
These people appear to know the difference between the foot-prints of
police and other persons. However, the old woman could not be convinced
she was wrong, and up to that time had perfect faith in Aaron, and so
also had his young woman, her daughter.

Generally when we left the stock-yard in the morning, Sherritt would
leave us and go to his own hut on the ranges, or else to his father's
place, which was between our camp and Beechworth; but sometimes he
would come into our camp and get his breakfast, and perhaps stop a
part of the day. Very often he had to carry provisions for us from
Beechworth during the night. He was always ready to do anything for
me, and yet many of the men distrusted him. I never did from the first
moment I took up with him, and his end showed I was right in my opinion
of him. Of a night, whilst I was watching with him, he would sit beside
me and tell me the adventures of his life, and give me information of
many things that were formerly unexplained. He told me how he, Joe
Byrne, and Ned Kelly used to steal horses wholesale, and how they used
to dispose of them, and the way they changed the brands of the horses
so that the most experienced hand would not discover the trick. It was
as follows:--Supposing a horse was branded H on the near shoulder, they
would turn the H into H B (conjoined) by getting a pair of tweezers,
pulling out the hairs to make a B, and then prick the skin with a
needle dipped in iodine. This burns up the skin, and for about a month
afterwards it looks like an old brand; new brands were also put on in
this fashion, and they never could be detected. After branding the
horses they had collected, they would make for some squatter's station
where they were unknown, ask permission to put their horses into his
stock-yard, on the pretence that they had met a stranger who wanted to
purchase the mob of horses, this stranger being one of their own party.
Generally speaking, the squatter or some one belonging to the station
would walk down to look at the horses, and he would hear them making
bargains about the price of each animal, so as to lead the people of
the station to believe that it was a genuine sale. At last they would
agree to a price, and then would ask the squatter to allow them to go
into his office to draw up a receipt, in which all the brands would be
entered, both old and manufactured ones. After the receipt had been
drawn up the squatter would be asked to witness it, and the supposed
buyers would start off towards Melbourne, and the seller appear to
return back to New South Wales. If by chance any of the horses were
claimed by their owners, the receipt would be produced, and they would
so avoid being arrested.

Aaron used to tell me they made raids on horses from about Wagga to
Albury, took them a back track to Melbourne, and on their return would
pick up a number of horses in Victoria and take them over to Wagga
or Albury for sale. One of the party used to act as the master, and
the others as his servants; the master always going ahead and making
arrangements where the horses were to be paddocked for the night.

For hours did Aaron relate anecdotes to me of the same description as
the above, and he enlightened me greatly into the ways and the life of
horse-stealers. I cannot refrain from telling another of his stories.
I was sitting beside him one night, when he had brought us some very
hopeful information, and we were all very elated at our prospect of
success. I said, "Well, Aaron, I feel sure you will get the reward
offered for the Kellys." (I had promised him he should have the whole
sum of £8000 if it was upon his information that the Kellys were
captured.) At this time his young woman was getting rather suspicious
that he was working for the police, although she used to meet him of an
evening very near our camp and walk with him. I asked him how he would
like the reward disposed of, supposing he got it? He said, "I should
like to have a few mares and an entire horse, and get a nice farm." I
told him he should get a respectable girl, marry her, leave all his old
associates, and begin life again amongst new people. He agreed with all
I said, and turned round and said to me, "Mr. Hare, do you think, if
you got me the best mares you could buy, and got me the best entire
horse you could purchase, that I could withstand the temptation of
taking my neighbour's horses and selling them? No, I could not, no more
than fly."

On another occasion we were expecting the outlaws to bring some money
they had stolen from the bank to Mrs. Byrne's. Amongst my men I had one
who was a thorough larrakin, and Aaron took a great fancy to him. I
sent him to Beechworth for some supplies, and Aaron met him on the way,
and they both rode into Beechworth together. My man was taken for one
of the Kelly spies, especially as he was in Aaron's company. The people
of Beechworth at once became alarmed, seeing Aaron and his companion
riding about the streets--no one knowing the companion was a policeman.
Numbers of people went at once to the police station and reported that
Aaron and another suspicious person, riding good horses, were seen in
the outskirts of the town. The constable was delighted to have a chance
of being seen with Aaron, and made the most of his opportunity.

On the way back to my camp Aaron took the constable into his
confidence; he told him that he felt certain that the bushrangers would
return from Jerilderie after they had stuck up the bank there, and the
first place they would come to was Mrs. Byrne's. Aaron said to him,
"I want you to join me in a scheme, and if it comes off we shall have
the best of the arrangement." The constable said, "What is it?" He
replied, "I feel sure the Kelly gang will return from Jerilderie either
to-night or during the course of this week. Joe Byrne will be leading
a pack-horse, with the gold and notes fastened up in a brown cloth
coat. Directly Mr. Hare opens fire on the men, the pack-horse will, in
all probability, break away with the treasure. You and I can go after
the horse, catch him, and take his pack off in the bush, hide it, and
let the horse go; and next day, in the excitement, we can slip away
and divide the cash. It can do no harm to any one, because some one
will get it, and we might just as well have it as anybody else." The
constable appeared to agree to Aaron's suggestion, and told me what had
passed between them. I told him not to tell any one else in camp about
the arrangement, and to lead Aaron to believe that he would assist him
in the matter. Unfortunately the Kellys did not put in an appearance,
and so the matter fell through.

I must give one more narrative about Aaron, just to show the peculiar
kind of man he was, even on the chance of being thought tedious. He
came to me one morning and said, "Mr. Hare, I want to go away for a
couple of days to look after some cattle of mine. I will be back within
two days." I questioned him closely, what cattle he was going after,
and asked him if he wanted any money. I had not engaged him at any
fixed salary, but whilst he was watching with me he used to ask me for
a pound or two, and I gave it to him. He often refused to take money
from me, as he thought I was paying him out of my own pocket, whereas
the Government refunded me all I paid him, and he only took sufficient
to pay his expenses. Before he started off after his cattle, I said
to him, "Are you sure you have got enough money to pay your way?" He
replied, "I have a pound of the money you gave me last time;" and away
he started, and returned according to his promise.

Some few days after this, Mrs. Byrne went to the police station, and
reported that a valuable horse of hers had been stolen from Woolshed,
and, after inquiry by the police, it was found in the possession of
Mrs. Skillian, Ned Kelly's sister. She produced a receipt for it, as
having purchased it from Aaron, and signed by him, for the small sum
of £3 or £4. Mrs. Byrne obtained a warrant for Aaron's arrest, for
they all suspected he was then a spy of mine. I spoke to Aaron on the
subject, and he admitted that he had taken the horse and sold it to
Mrs. Skillian. He said, "I could not help doing this. I did not want
the horse, but I felt I must do something to old Mrs. Byrne. She has
not behaved well to me lately, and her conduct towards me is so cool
that I could not resist the temptation of stealing her horse."

All the time Aaron was with me, only the police who were actually in
my party were aware he was working for me, and most of the others were
delighted to hear there was a warrant out for his arrest. They made
every effort to capture him, but could not find him. I was greatly
annoyed with him, because it crippled his usefulness immensely.
However, he kept out of the way of the police, and when I was relieved
from the district I left it to my successor to get him out of his
difficulty. I don't quite know how this was managed, but I was told
he was directed to be at a certain spot one day, and a constable
was ordered to go there and apprehend him. The constable afterwards
took great credit for his capture, not knowing that his arrest was
an arranged matter. He was brought before the police-court, but the
evidence was not sufficient for the magistrates to commit him for
trial, as the horse was not forthcoming, and Aaron was acquitted. I
am not quite sure I am right in all the details of what occurred with
reference to his arrest, but I was told that this was how the matter
was managed.

A number of letters fell into our hands written by the outlaws, most
of them by Joe Byrne. He was, for a bushman, rather clever with his
pen, but I do not intend to disclose how we became possessed of them.
However, I got one addressed to Aaron Sherritt, Sheepwash Creek, near
Beechworth. This was the address of his father. I opened it and could
not understand a word of it, as it was written in bush slang. I at once
went for my boy Tommy, as I christened him, for Aaron was too uncommon
a name to be constantly using. In sending telegrams concerning him to
the members of the force who knew him, I always called him Tommy, for
had I used his name, every one would have guessed who Aaron was. As I
said, I sent for Tommy, and met him on a large granite rock at the back
of Beechworth. I showed the letter to him. He looked at me and said,
"How did you get this into your possession?" I said, "Never mind,
read it to me; and who is it from?" He said, "Why, from Joe Byrne, of
course." He sat down and read the letter without the least difficulty.
I could not make head nor tail of it. I had the original, but I don't
know what became of it. The purport of the letter was to the following
effect. The writer told Aaron to be at the Whorouly races, which were
to take place within a week, and where to meet him, at the back of the
course, ordering him not to say a word about their going to the course.
He also said that he had the black mare which Aaron had ridden in a
steeplechase previously, and that the mare was in good order and sure
to win. I asked Aaron what he thought best to be done? He said, "You
must give me a good horse to ride to the races, and I will assist in
every way possible."

I consulted with my brother officer as to what was best to be done,
and we decided to send the usual mounted constables in uniform, and
we then selected three good riders amongst the men, who were unknown
in the district, and sent them separately to the races. They were all
splendid riders and magnificently mounted. The men and horses could
have been backed against the Kelly gang, man for man, at anything. We
also arranged that I should ride out myself and appear to take great
interest in the races. I did go out, and saw the three constables in
plain clothes. One had a table and was playing the three-card trick;
another had erected an Aunt Sally, and was bawling out at the top of
his voice, and the third kept on his horse riding about. I was more
afraid of the third man than any of the others, because he was a most
excitable fellow and bold, and as good a rider as ever sat on a horse,
but with no discretion. He would have faced the four outlaws if he had
had the chance, and shot them one after another if it were possible.
I may as well give the names of these men. They were the most dashing
of all my party. The first was Tommy Lawless; the second, Faulkner;
the third, Johnstone; three pluckier fellows never trod the earth. My
fear was that the mounted police on duty would arrest some of my men
for gambling, as they were not known to each other; but they were not
interfered with.

After Lawless had been playing his three-card trick for some time, he
thought he would enter his horse for the steeplechase that Aaron was
supposed to ride in, thinking he would thus have a better opportunity
of seeing everything all round the course. At the time appointed for
this race to come off, we were all looking very anxiously for Aaron
to turn up on the black mare, but alas, we were disappointed. I saw
him anxiously looking out in the direction he thought the mare would
appear from, but there were no signs of it. Joe Byrne's brother (Paddy)
was a good deal with Aaron all that day, but the subject of Joe was
not mentioned by either of them to each other. Lawless rode in the
steeplechase and won it, and that was the only bit of excitement during
the day.

An incident occurred during the steeplechase that I must state,
although it is against the discipline of my men. Just before the
steeplechase started, Johnstone saw three men riding outside the
course; he took it for granted they were the outlaws. Without a
moment's consideration, he galloped off alone towards them. I saw him
do this, as I was wondering who the men were, and at a glance saw they
could not be the Kellys. Faulkner was at the time on his horse close
beside me, in the middle of a crush. He looked at me. I shook my head,
and he remained where he was. I walked quietly out of the crowd, and
Faulkner followed me, and we saw Johnstone returning terribly ashamed
of himself. He could give me no explanation of his conduct beyond
saying he could not help himself. He thought the three men were the
outlaws, and he made straight for them.

Aaron Sherritt was noticed by every one riding a magnificent horse
which I had purchased a few days before. He was pointed out to me by
several people as Kelly and Byrne's greatest friend. I was asked why
I did not have him arrested for stealing the horse he was riding, as
he never could afford to come honestly by such an animal. I pleaded
ignorance about either man or horse.

At night a ball was to take place at a public-house near the
racecourse. We thought probably some of the gang might put in an
appearance there; but there was no sign of them again, and we had to
return disappointed.

In writing this narrative I have not kept exactly to the order in
which the things occurred. As I have no paper to refer to, I am simply
trusting to memory. After a time all the men, both in my camp and the
upper, came to believe most thoroughly in Aaron's honesty of purpose,
as I had done from the beginning. He often told me that I had a kind of
influence over him that no other man had ever had before, and he could
not tell me a lie. We kept watching as from the first. Old Mrs. Byrne
began to be very doubtful of Aaron, and treated him very coolly; still
the daughter believed in him, and he continued his visits to the house.
The old woman was constantly abusing him, and telling him that she
thought he had thrown his old friend overboard and was working for the
police. Yet, notwithstanding this, the whole of Kelly's friends used
to confide in him, and tell him all the movements of the police in the
district, which he would repeat to me.

One night he returned, as was his custom, to where I was watching. He
appeared rather anxious, and said, "Is there any news of the Kellys?"
I said, "No; why do you ask?" He replied, "What is the meaning of all
the activity that has taken place among the police to-day in different
parts of the district?" I said, "What do you mean?" He replied, "This
morning at four o'clock two men left Beechworth, and went in the
direction of Woolshed. Three other men started early in the morning
from Eldorado, going in the direction of Woolshed, and some three or
four men started in the direction of Wangaratta." I was perfectly
amazed at the organization of the sympathizers thus to have ascertained
the movements of the police. I said, "Tommy, tell me how you get all
this information." He replied, "I could not do that, but you would be
perfectly astounded if you knew how much we know of the movements of
the police."

To test whether his information was correct, I inquired, and found
every word he said was true; but I never was able to find out how he
obtained his information. I asked him if all the agents in the district
knew as much as he did. His reply was, "Oh, yes, but I am the head over
all of them."

I was in the habit, whilst with my cave party, of getting all
information of everything that was going on throughout the district
concerning the Kellys. One evening Detective Ward came to my camp and
told me that Dan Kelly had been seen near Myrtleford, riding in the
direction of Beechworth. Half an hour afterwards Aaron, on his way to
Mrs. Byrne's, called in at my camp. I told him that Dan Kelly had been
seen that day.

He started up at once, and said, "Then he will call at my mother's
place to-night, or else at my hut, which is about two miles from my
mother's;" and added, "I wish, Mr. Hare, you would bring a couple of
men with you, and come with me to my mother's place; some of the gang
are sure to call there if they are passing by. Let the remainder of the
party go to the usual place at the stock-yard and watch Mrs. Byrne's.
You come with a couple of men to my mother's place, and get two men
from the upper camp and put them in my house."

I consented to this suggestion, and he accompanied me. I left two men
at his house, one of whom knew the outlaws, and I went with two men to
his mother's. I had a conversation with his mother, and she asked me to
be careful and not to shoot any of her sons. She had two besides Aaron,
Jack and Willie. I went inside their barn--a large open building,
within a few yards of their dwelling-house. It was filled with straw,
and the two nights I spent in that building with my two men beggars
description. The pigs slept in the straw, and the fleas beat anything I
ever felt in all my life; the mice, also, were running over me, and I
really believe that a snake went over me also; but there was a chance
of the Kellys coming there, and that was enough for us. I had arranged
with Mrs. Sherritt that if she heard footsteps, or any one coming to
the place during the night, she would call out, as a signal, "Is that
you, Jack, or Willie?" and I could hear their reply. Aaron stayed all
night in his mother's house, in case the outlaws called to see him.

Once or twice during the night I heard footsteps approaching the house,
and, of course, my heart was in my mouth, expecting it might be the
welcome visitors; but, alas! Mrs. Sherritt came to the door when the
dogs barked, and called out, "Is that you, Jack?" and the answer was,
"Yes." I stayed there a second night, but at daylight next morning I
got up and left with my two men. The horrors of that place frequently
come before me, and I shudder when I think of the hours I spent in that
barn.

On my way to my camp I called at Aaron's hut, picked up the two men I
had left there two nights previously, and took up my position under the
rock, feeling as if I had got home again; the bare rock was paradise
compared with the abominable place I had just left.

I must now come to the closing act of my stay at the camp in the
mountains. We had been about twenty-three nights watching there. Our
breakfast consisted of bread and sardines, and a drink of water; dinner
and supper the same, varied with tinned beef. In the midst of our camp
was a large stone, which was used as a table. We never could have a
fire. The food, whatever there was, was placed on the stone. Each man
would get up from his position, take what he wanted, and go back to
where his rifle lay, and eat the food there; no two men went to the
so-called table at the same time.

On the last morning of my stay there, Aaron, who had been watching
with us all the night, came into the camp with us. It was a Sunday
morning. After we had our meal, each of us lay down in the spots we
had selected and fell asleep. I was the highest up the hill, and could
look down upon all the others; near me sat the sentry, and Aaron had
lain down the furthest down the hill, in a hollow below a large rock.
At about eight o'clock in the morning the sentry, without moving from
his post, called me, and said the old woman, meaning Mrs. Byrne, was
in the camp. I sat up in my cave and looked out, and saw her stealing
up. She stood for a moment, saw articles lying about the camp, then
came a few steps further on, looked down in the direction of where one
of the men was lying, then halted for a moment, and retreated. The
camp was so situated that unless a person got within a yard or two of
it, he could not be seen. I watched her, and did not even let her know
that we had seen her. Directly she left I jumped up and went to see who
it was she had seen, and to my horror I found it to be poor Aaron. I
called him up. He was lying partly on his side, and I was not certain
she could have recognized who it was. I told Aaron what had happened,
and he turned deadly pale, and huge drops of perspiration broke out on
his face. He could scarcely speak, and gasped, "Now I am a dead man."
I told him the best thing he could do now was to be off as hard as he
could, and go and show himself to some of his friends, so that if Mrs.
Byrne had recognized him he could prove an _alibi_, and convince her
she was mistaken.

Aaron always wore a peculiar dress, and would have been known by any
one at any distance. His dress consisted of a white shirt, a pair of
trousers and long boots, with his trousers tucked inside. The first
thing I did before I let him leave the camp was to send a sentry over
the hill to see if anything could be seen of the old woman. He returned
in a few minutes and pointed her out on a hill opposite to us.

I should here describe the formation of the country we were hidden in,
to make myself understood. We were on the one side of a deep gully,
with high hills, quite impassable to horsemen, in front and behind
us. A road or track ran at the foot of the gully, and on one side of
the track, about 100 yards from the bottom of this gully, was our
watching-place, about half a mile from Mrs. Byrne's house. We remained
quite quiet, and watched her go up the opposite hill to something white
that was on a rock. This was her shawl, which she had left behind.
It afterwards turned out that she was searching for the police in the
mountains, and when she got to the spot where we saw her pick up her
shawl, she had noticed a sardine-tin on the rock in our camp shining in
the sun. This had been inadvertently left there after breakfast. When
she saw this shining thing, she left her shawl and went to see what it
was, and after being in our camp she returned and picked up her shawl
(this she afterwards told Aaron). I put a watch over her, and saw her
come down the hill again.

When she was out of sight I put my hat and great-coat on Aaron, and
started him off over the back of our camp, so that if the old woman
had seen him walking away she could not have recognized him. When he
was gone, we set ourselves to watch the old woman closely, as she was
bent on finding out how many men we had there. She was evidently under
the impression that she had not been seen by any one in the camp. She
descended the hill and commenced ascending the one behind us. We could
see her crawling down the hill upon her hands and knees, evidently
with the object of looking into our camp to see what she could. I told
Senior-constable Mills to go up the hill and give her a good fright
and drive her off. He ascended the hill in the direction he saw her
coming down, unobserved by her, and lay behind a rock with his rifle in
his hand. The old woman came down to the very rock he had taken shelter
behind, and just as she was going to take a good observation of our
camp, the senior-constable sprang upon her and roared out. She almost
died of fright. She had not the slightest idea any one was near her.
For a moment she shook from head to foot, but soon recovered herself
and began to slang the senior-constable, and tell him she would get
her son with the Kellys to shoot the lot of us, as they did Kennedy's
party. After some conversation she left and went back to her home.

Nothing transpired that day until dusk, when Aaron reappeared as
usual. I asked him what he had done with himself after leaving me that
morning. He said he had gone to an intimate friend of his and shown
himself, and some time afterwards had drawn attention to the early hour
at which he had called. I asked him what he intended doing, if he meant
to go that evening to see his young woman. He said, "Oh, yes, I must go
and see if the old woman recognized me this morning." I said, "Don't
you funk it?" He replied artfully, "But I must find out if she knows
it was me." He went on, "I have brought a penny whistle, and I will
commence playing it within a hundred yards of the house, and perhaps my
girl may come out to meet me, and I can find out from her whether the
old woman has said anything about me."

He left us just as we were going to the watching-place, and about
twelve o'clock came as usual and sat down beside me. He told me he
went with his whistle straight to the door of the house, but his young
woman did not come out to meet him. He walked inside and continued
playing. When he got inside, there was a strange man (a neighbour) in
the room. The old woman said nothing to him, but he said, "I watched
her countenance, and I felt sure she had not recognized me." After a
little while, the old woman went outside, and he followed her. She
said, "A nice trick you have been playing on me." He said, "What do you
mean?" She said, "Who could have put the police into that camp in the
mountains but you?" He replied, "I don't know what you mean." She told
him how she had discovered our camp, and said there were thirty men in
it. He pleaded ignorance, but she said she felt certain he knew all
about it. She asked him how it was that she could find us out and he
could not. He replied he could not tell. She said, "Well, you go there
to-morrow and see for yourself."

From that time I thought it was useless my remaining there any longer,
but all my men begged me to stay, and so did Aaron. I stayed for two
nights longer, but two old women discovered our watching-place. My
men and Aaron pleaded that Mrs. Byrne had no means of communicating
with the outlaws, as she did not know where they were to be found, and
they were sure to seek Aaron out before going to her place. However,
I could not see the use of staying any longer, so I left, though the
men remained for two or three weeks longer. I was not sorry to leave
the spot. It was a most uncomfortable place to sleep in. The days were
terribly hot and the nights bitterly cold.

One circumstance occurred whilst watching which I think worthy of
relating. About ten o'clock at night we were all in our positions, I
at the opening of the stock-yard, lying under a post-and-rail fence
with an old log fence at the bottom, as close to it as I could get,
the men lying behind trees. There were six of us in all. I heard the
footsteps of a man coming down the track from the hills. The footsteps
came closer and closer, until I saw the figure of a man step on to the
rails just above me. At the moment I thought it was most likely to be
Joe Byrne coming down to see his mother, and I was just in the act of
springing up as he jumped down, when I remembered that Aaron was down
at the house, and if it was one of the outlaws he would be able to give
us notice. So I decided to let him pass me. He walked right through the
midst of my men. Not one of them moved, because I had not moved. He
went straight to the house. About two hours afterwards Aaron came to
us. I waited to see if he would say if there was any one there or not.
He did not. I asked him if there were any strangers at Mrs. Byrne's. He
said, "Yes, a man named Scotty, who lives up on the hills, came there."
Somehow or other I fancy the man was Joe Byrne. I have no real reason
for thinking so, but I do, and we let him slip past us. Aaron vowed
it was not, but at the time Aaron was very partial towards his old
school-fellow, Joe Byrne, and frequently he used to ask me to give Joe
a chance of his life if they came into the stock-yard, but he used to
say, "Of course if he fights and shoots at you, you must do the same to
him."

[Illustration: Joe Byrne.]

About this time it was deemed desirable to arrest a number of the
sympathizers who were setting the police at open defiance. They were
galloping round the search parties, watching the movements of the
police and insulting the men. With the sanction of the Government,
we decided to get together all the members of the force in charge of
stations and allow them to submit the names of persons whom they knew
to be Kelly sympathizers, aiding the gang by giving them information
of our movements, and in other ways. The arrest was ordered of about
twenty relatives and friends, and the arrests were made all over the
district on the same day. They were charged with aiding and abetting
the Kelly gang, and were brought before the court and remanded for a
week. No evidence was given beyond the fact that they were known to be
Kelly sympathizers, but upon this statement the magistrates remanded
them from time to time for seven days. They were in confinement for
some two or three months, but still the Kellys were able to find ways
and means of supporting themselves and keeping out of the clutches
of the police. At last the police magistrate, Mr. Foster, refused to
remand them any longer, and discharged the whole of them. It was my
painful duty, week after week, to go up to Beechworth every Friday and
apply for a further remand for seven days, without being able to adduce
a tittle of evidence against them. This move was a very unfortunate
one. It did no good, and evoked sympathy for the men in custody. The
police, I found out, had no evidence against these persons beyond the
fact that they were known to be associates, relatives, and friends of
the outlaws. Had the women been arrested, such as Kelly's sisters, the
act might have done some good, but it was thought advisable not to
interfere with the women. During the time I and several of the police
were going up every Friday night to Beechworth to apply for the remand
of the prisoners next morning, I had to take the constables who knew
these sympathizers every week to Beechworth with me, for I never knew
when the magistrates might call for some evidence, in default of which
they might discharge the prisoners. As these men had been arrested we
were determined to keep them as long as we could, in the hopes that the
outlaws might get infuriated at all their friends being locked up on
their account, but they took not the slightest notice of it.

A few weeks before those arrested were discharged, some of our spies,
or, as we used to call them, "agents," gave me information that the
Kellys had procured some dynamite and intended blowing up the train out
of revenge for our locking up these persons. I took no notice of the
report. On one Monday night the telegraph operator at Benalla informed
me that for some reason the wires would not act between Beechworth and
Benalla. The break was somewhere between Wangaratta and Beechworth, and
the stoppage occurred about nine o'clock. The following morning the
lines were found to be working all right again. The same thing occurred
on Tuesday, and on Wednesday night telegraph repairers from Melbourne
were sent along the line, but could find nothing wrong. Still, each
evening, exactly at nine o'clock, no messages could be sent, and
sometimes the line stopped working in the middle of a message. Thursday
night the same thing occurred, and yet the line was not broken. One
of the operators told me he believed the break was due to some one
putting a piece of wire over the telegraph line and so making a ground
connection. However, the cause was not discovered.

Friday night came, and we were just starting for Beechworth by the
passenger train at about eight o'clock, when the operator at Benalla
sent a message to me at the platform, telling me that the wire had
stopped at about seven-thirty o'clock that night. I remembered then
the information I had received about the line being blown up with
dynamite. The officer in charge of the district and myself held a short
consultation as to whether we should stop the train and inform the
passengers of the danger impending. We, however, decided to get into
the train and say nothing until we got to Wangaratta, when we could
decide on the best course to adopt. We got into a carriage with two
Roman Catholic priests who were chaffing us all the way up about not
catching the Kellys. Still we said nothing about the information we
received. At Wangaratta we decided to go on to Tarrawingee, as it was
between that station and Beechworth the break in the line was known to
be. When I got to Tarrawingee I went to the station-master and told
him to stop the train until I gave him permission to start. He said
he had no authority to stop the train. I then took a constable to the
engine-driver and told the driver he was on no account to start without
my permission, telling him at the same time of my suspicions. The
officer in charge of the district and myself then called the telegraph
operator whom we had in the carriage, and asked him if he could tell in
any way whether the line was open between that station and Beechworth,
as there was no telegraph office at Tarrawingee. The operator said if
he could get up the pole and take the wire between his teeth he could
tell. The difficulty was to get him up the pole, but we got a long
spar and shoved him up, and he discovered connection was open again
to Beechworth. The officer in charge of the district and myself then
decided that we would let the train go on and say nothing at all to the
passengers, who, during the detention at Tarrawingee, were calling out
and grumbling at our keeping the train all that time. We got into the
train and arrived safely at Beechworth, without the passengers knowing
anything about the danger they had been in.

The feeling of alarm over the Kelly gang was so strong at this time,
that had we raised an alarm the passenger traffic on the line would
have been entirely stopped. I have often thought what a terrible thing
it would have been if that train had been blown up, especially going
over some of the steep embankments on the line to Beechworth. For
months afterwards the Government placed men on watch to prevent the
line being interfered with by the Kellys. I remember distinctly saying
to my brother officers, "Well, whatever happens, we shall be in the
thick of it, so they cannot blame us." I also remember the feeling of
relief we both experienced when the train arrived safely at Beechworth.
It was a terrible responsibility on our shoulders, and we had very
little time to decide the best course to adopt, but fortunately
the course we adopted turned out all right. A few days after this
occurrence I was told by one of our "agents" that arrangements had been
made that night to blow up the train with dynamite, but the outlaws did
not know how to use the cartridges that they had been supplied with,
and they were afraid to make the attempt and fail, and so resolved to
defer the dynamite business to some future occasion.

After leaving the cave party, as it was called, I went to Benalla and
organized several search parties, took charge of one of them myself,
and had no end of adventures. My principal place of searching was
the Warby Ranges, and many a hard day have I spent in them. We were
trying to keep a constant watch over the relatives of the outlaws, more
especially over Kelly's sister, whose place was near Greta, within four
or five miles of Glenrowan. The Warby Ranges run just to the back of
Glenrowan. The constables used to watch the house to see if any one
arrived or left during the night. Mrs. Skillian and Katie were aware
they were being watched, and nearly every night before they went to
bed they would take their dogs and hunt round the bush within several
hundred yards of their house. Very often the dogs discovered the police
lying on the ground, and then commenced barking at them until the
women came up. It appeared as if the dogs knew the police were their
natural enemies. At first I used to make one of my men in the search
party carry a lot of poisoned baits, and every now and then drop a bait
in a likely place, but afterwards all the dogs went about day and night
with muzzles on, which were only taken off when they were being fed.

This puts me in mind of another incident in our search. Information
came that the Kellys were expected on the following day, Sunday,
to visit a cousin of theirs, Tom Lloyd, a man who was a notorious
sympathizer, and who made no secret of it. Katie Kelly had been seen
riding from her place to her cousin's with a large bundle in front
of her saddle, which was supposed to be clean clothes, &c. for her
brothers. I was not at Benalla when the news came in, but Aaron
Sherritt happened to be there waiting for me, and Captain Standish sent
out three men with Aaron to watch the place. They left Benalla in a
wagon, and were driven out to within three miles of the spot where they
intended watching. Lloyd lived in a house at the foot of a very high
hill, in fact the mountains surrounded the house on three sides. Aaron
and the three men kept off the road, and did not go within 300 yards of
Lloyd's house. They took up their position in a thick clump of trees,
and got there before daylight in the morning. They had a good view of
Lloyd's house and the surrounding country. Shortly after daylight they
saw a boy come out of the house and unfasten the dogs. They at first
thought he was going to fetch the cows in to milk, but in a very short
time they discovered that the boy had been sent out with the dogs to
see if any one had been about the place during the night. To their
horror they saw the dogs coming on their trail straight towards them,
and they actually followed their footsteps into the clump of trees.
One of the men jumped up, as they did not wish Aaron to be seen, and
immediately the dogs began to bark. The boy ran back to the hut, and
shortly afterwards the inmates came out and looked in the direction
where the men had been hiding. Several shots were fired from the house,
presumably as a signal, and Lloyd got an axe and struck a log of wood,
which was so placed that when it was hit the sound was heard all round
the hills. This also was supposed to be a signal of alarm in case the
outlaws were anywhere in the neighbourhood. The men had to remain where
they were all day, as it would never have done to have allowed Aaron to
be seen with the police.

Shortly after the cave party was broken up. Miss Byrne broke off her
engagement with Aaron, and he was free to look out for some other
girl. He suggested to me that he might try Katie Kelly, and see if she
would engage herself to him. He went there, but Mrs. Skillian objected
to his being about the place. Katie and he got on very well, but she
never mentioned her brother's name to him, nor he to her. They became
very great friends. One night, when Mrs. Skillian went to see a friend,
she left Katie and Aaron in the house together. Aaron induced Katie
to come out for a walk with him, and when Mrs. Skillian returned she
found them both away. She was most indignant, and went to the nearest
police station, Oxley, and laid some charge against Aaron. The police
constable went to the Kellys' house, and when Aaron saw him coming up
to the door he bolted out the back way. The constable followed him,
and fired a couple of shots, but could not overtake him. I received a
report next day from the constable, who stated that to stop Aaron he
had fired a shot at him. Aaron made his way to a school-master's house
that night, a place where the Kelly gang used to frequent. He borrowed
a horse and rode into Beechworth, where he went straight to Detective
Ward and reported the circumstance to him, asking the detective to
wire to me to come up to see him at Beechworth, as he was afraid of
being arrested by the police. This occurrence, strange to relate,
never got into the press, and the constable at Oxley was very much
surprised at the leniency shown towards Aaron. On one occasion Aaron
came down to Benalla to see me. He was unobserved, arriving by train.
I met him in the bush, on the banks of the Broken river. At dusk he
went to the railway platform to await the train to Beechworth. When
he was seen there, there was great excitement, as he was known to be
Aaron Sherritt, the principal agent of the Kelly gang. A messenger
was immediately sent to me in breathless haste to come quickly to the
railway station. I pretended to be very much surprised, but, of course,
Aaron did not recognize me nor I him, and I saw him leave by the train.




CHAPTER IX.

 Mrs. Skillian's Hoax--A False Alarm--Searching the Warby Ranges--Among
 the Kelly Sympathizers--Ill and dispirited--The Tenant of the
 Haystack--Relieved after Eight Months' Camping Duty.


It was perfectly wonderful how all the trains were watched by Kelly
sympathizers. You could tell them in a moment, they were to be seen
on every railway station. It is not to be understood that all these
men could communicate with the outlaws; my opinion is they trusted no
one but their own blood relations, but the information concerning the
police was sent to persons like Aaron Sherritt, there being perhaps
three or four men in the whole district who could communicate to the
outlaws' sisters any information that was obtained concerning the
movements of the police. Hart had a brother and sister, and they were
always on the move. Byrne had a brother and two or three sisters; the
former was always riding about. Reports came in that Mrs. Skillian
used to be seen at all hours of the night riding about the bush,
sometimes with large packs on her saddle.

A curious incident occurred one morning about daylight. Some policemen
had got to Mrs. Skillian's house about two o'clock in the morning, and
were within a short distance of her place, and in some way she must
have become aware of their presence there. She went into the paddock
about three or four o'clock, caught her horse, saddled it and tied a
large bundle on the saddle, mounted the horse, and started off towards
the mountains, the three policemen following her, but without the
slightest idea that she was aware of their presence. She made for a
very steep gap in the mountains, the men following on foot, thinking
they had a good thing on hand. The sun was nearly up when they reached
the top of the gap, and the first thing they saw was Mrs. Skillian
sitting on a log facing them, and her two hands extended from her
nose, and taking what is called a "lunar" at them, with a grin of
satisfaction on her face. They went up to examine the pack on the
saddle, and found it to be an old table-cloth wrapped up evidently to
take a rise out of the police, who had been watching her.

After I left the cave party, I was constantly on the move. My object
was to harass the outlaws as much as possible. I had parties of men
out in every direction, going all day, and watching for fires at
night. I remember on one occasion I had been out in the bush for about
ten days with a party, and having consumed our provisions, we came
back to Benalla. The evening I returned Captain Standish got a letter
evidently from a well-to-do farmer, who stated that he had on the
previous evening seen four men walking in the direction of a certain
man's house, giving a description of the place, and how to find it out.
He gave his reasons for thinking they were the Kellys, and altogether
it appeared a very good opportunity of falling across them. Captain
Standish was in great glee about the information, and I remember
sitting up half the night with him talking about it.

At twelve o'clock I went round to my men, awoke them, and told them
to be ready to start with me at four o'clock next morning. We were up
again about three, got our horses and provisions ready, and away we
started at daylight, and went through the town of Benalla before any
one was up. As it was Sunday morning, and it was an unusual thing
for us to start away on that day, instead of going in the direction
indicated in the letter, I went directly in the opposite one. When I
got into the bush, about five miles from Benalla, I dismounted the men
and read the letter to them. I was afraid to do so before, in case the
information we were going on might leak out. They were all in great
spirits at the probabilities of success, and thought our chances very
good. We camped and let our horses feed in the middle of the day, and
so we travelled along until after sunset, when we doubled back, and
made in the direction of the farm described in the letter.

About four o'clock in the afternoon we passed a hut. Of course every
one, knowing we were in search of the Kellys, came out to see us.
One of my men drew my attention to a man standing watching us, and
told me he was one of the principal spies of the Kellys. I replied,
"Well, he can never guess where we are going, for we have the Warby
Ranges between us and the spot we are making for." We passed on, and
thought nothing more of him. We got into camp about eight o'clock,
tied our horses up, and after having some water, bread, and beef, laid
down until one o'clock in the morning. As the men got out of their
hammocks, Lawless cried out, "I say, Mr. Hare, I think some of these
hammocks will be for sale to-night." He meant by that that some of us
would be shot, as all felt convinced we were going to meet the outlaws
that morning.

The men were all in great spirits. We had to cross the railway gates at
Glenrowan. We often found great difficulty in crossing the railway, for
many of the gate-keepers were in league with the friends of the Kelly
gang. The keeper required a lot of calling before he got up. We then
struck across the bush until we were compelled to get on to the roads;
when amongst the farm-houses we had to travel very quietly to avoid
alarming the occupants, for we looked upon every one as a sympathizer
of the outlaws. After travelling about four hours, the constable who
undertook to take us to the farm referred to, said he thought we were
near the place, so we all dismounted and left our horses on the road
in charge of one of the party. The remainder approached the house
carefully, and we got in front of it just half an hour before daybreak.
I told my sergeant, with three of the men, to take up his position at
the back of the house, and that I would, when it was clear daylight,
put my hat on my rifle as a sign for him to approach. I remained on
the spot with three men for about half an hour. They were strung up to
such a pitch that I thought I should hardly be able to restrain them
from rushing ahead of me.

At the appointed time I gave the signal, and we started for the house.
We had to pass a window before getting to the door, and in doing so
one of the men stepped in front of me. He told me afterwards that he
thought a shot would have been fired out of the window, and he wanted
to get between me and it. We went to the door and listened, but all was
silent within. I knocked, and a man inside called out, "Who's there?"
I replied, "Police; open the door." After a few seconds he did so. I
said, "Have you any strangers in your house?" He said, "I have." I
suppose our appearance there frightened the life out of him, for he
turned deadly pale; but the moment he said there were strangers inside
we all rushed into the house and into every room in the building.
I said to the farmer, "Let me see the strangers," and out came the
individual whom we had passed the previous evening, the greatest
sympathizer Kelly had. I asked him what brought him there. He said he
came over to see his friend and spend the night with him.

We saw at once our chance was gone. I never could learn whether
this man, upon seeing us pass the previous evening, had gone over
to warn the Kellys to be on the look-out. We searched the haystack,
outbuilding, and every place that we could think of, but all to no
purpose. There was nothing to be done but to return to the camp a
disappointed crew. I don't think I ever saw the men so down-hearted.
Whilst returning, I thought I would try to raise their spirits, and so
I took them across country. We got in amongst the fences, and there was
a good deal of jumping to do to get back to camp. One of the men had
a narrow escape of falling off, his horse blundering over a fence. He
landed on its ears, and had the greatest difficulty in getting back to
his saddle. This little incident put the men in good humour again. We
had our breakfast, turned the horses loose, and got into our hammocks,
where we remained all that day, both men and horses requiring rest.
Next day we took a turn in the Warby Ranges, and made back to Benalla.

I had a great many trips with my party in the Warby Ranges. I was
told by a sergeant of police, who ought to have known better, that I
could search these ranges thoroughly in a couple of days. However,
after a month's experience, I found every day new hiding-places where
the outlaws could conceal themselves. I had a splendid lot of fellows
in my party. My right-hand man was Mayes, who acted as my sergeant;
next to him was Mills, and the others were Lawless, Faulkner, Barry,
O'Loughlin, and Kirkham. They were all men who belonged to my own
district, and had served under me for years. There was not a weak spot
in any of them. I felt that I could at any moment have said, "I think
the outlaws are in that cave, go and pull them out," and they would
have been proud to have been selected for the purpose. No work was too
much for them, day or night, and I never heard a grumble. Lawless and
Faulkner were equal to any bush-riders in the world, and I often wished
that they might have a chance of showing whether they or the Kellys
were the best men on horse-back. Johnstone was another of my men, but
he was not always with me. He also was a magnificent rider, but he
required some restraint, being both wild and reckless, and inclined to
lose his head.

Generally speaking, we had two pack-horses to carry our provisions and
rugs, enough to last us eight or ten days; after that the men required
a spell in barracks, for our life was a very hard one, sleeping in
the open without tent or fire, living on potted beef, and biscuit, and
sardines. Bushmen think nothing of camping out for months, but ask any
of them in the winter months to camp out without a fire, and see how
long they will stand it. I remember once, when I was searching the
mountains at the head of the Broken river, the weather was terribly
cold, and the men were getting very down-hearted at not having any
luck. Mayes came to me and asked me to let the men have a fire for
one night, as they were very low-spirited, and were feeling the cold
terribly. He said, "I am sure if we could get to some quiet spot in
the mountains you could let us have one good warm, and we shall be all
right to-morrow." I agreed, and took them to a most retired gully, and
told them they might light a fire that night. They were so surprised,
it acted like magic on them. They selected a large hollow tree, set
fire to it, and there was a grand blaze. They heaped up wood all round,
and sat all night enjoying themselves.

After I had had a good warm I took my hammock and went about a hundred
yards from them, and kept, as it were, watch over them, because I never
knew when the Kellys might have crept on us, and without any difficulty
they might have shot the whole of the men standing round the fire; so
I thought if they were attacked I could have assisted them. First of
all they made bets as to how long it would be before the tree would
fall; one said two hours, another three, and so on. Then they began to
bet how many native bears there would be in the tree when it fell, then
who would catch the first opossum, and so they went on all night, like
a lot of school-boys out for a holiday.

The next day they were quite different men, and we had several
adventures, such as one of the pack-horses rolling down a precipice. I
was riding ahead, and hearing a terrible noise, looked round and saw
that one of the pack-horses had slipped and fallen over the cliff. It
was rolling down, turning over and over like a barrel, the stones and
rattling of the pack on his back making such a noise that I thought
half the men were over. The track was too narrow to turn my horse
round, but I jumped off and looked over the embankment, and there I saw
the poor old horse lying on his side eating grass. I expected to see
him smashed to pieces. We had to work our way down to the bottom, take
off the pack, and lead the horse a mile or two round before we got him
to where the rest were. Strange to say, with the exception of a few
cuts, the horse was all right, but this accident caused a delay of two
hours.

The tracks in the mountains are made by the wild cattle, and I am sure
I often thought it a marvel that we did not roll down the sidlings we
crossed. One night we spent a terrible time. We had arrived at the foot
of a steep mountain, and I told the men to camp there, and fixed the
spot where my hammock was to be slung. I then took three men with me
and ascended the mountain. It was a fearfully wild place. I went up to
see if I could observe any signs of fire in the distance. We stayed on
the top of the mountain for an hour or two, and then descended; but we
had a terrible job to get back with our rifles in our hands. It was
pitch dark, and the difficulty of our position caused much amusement.
Every now and then one of us would come bump up against a rock, and we
would be calling to each other to ascertain whether we were keeping
together, and we were very doubtful whether we should find the spot
where the other men were camped. However, I had taken particular notice
of the hills as I went up, and if there is one thing I am proud of
being able to do more than another, it is being able to find my way
about the bush. I have been thirty years knocking about the country,
and I only once lost myself, and had to stay out all night, and that
was under very exceptional circumstances.

We got to the camp, had some tucker, and I jumped into my hammock,
which had been slung between two saplings, when two or three native
bears began to sing out in a most piteous manner, like children crying.
I stood this for a short time, and then called out to one of the men
to cut the tree down, so as to get rid of the bears. He did so, and I
fastened my hammock to the stump of the tree, and fell asleep. When I
awoke in the morning my rug was frozen, the country round was perfectly
white with frost, and the men told me the running water in the creek
close by was frozen.

One night in the Warby Ranges is forcibly fixed in my mind. We were in
one of the most favourite resorts of the outlaws, and were searching a
side of the mountain. The men were stationed at equal distances from
one another. I was very anxious to search all the gullies leading up
the mountain, so I took the lower position myself, the men being all
above me. They searched every nook and corner, behind all the rocks,
the scrub, and any place in which a man could hide.

As I was riding along I saw a newspaper a day or two old folded up
and stuck between two rocks. It had a long article abusing the police
for not capturing the Kellys, and had evidently been put there for
the outlaws' perusal. Not far from this I found a track leading up a
gully in the mountains. I looked up, and saw Lawless about 100 yards
above me, and beckoned to him to come to me, which he did. I showed him
the track into the gully. He said, "What shall we do?" I told him we
had better search it. We got off our horses, tied them to a tree, and
walked up the gully. I took one side and Lawless the other. We were not
more than eighty yards apart.

Shortly afterwards I saw Lawless trying to attract my attention; he
beckoned to me to come to him; I did so. When I got near he pointed
downwards, as if there was something beneath the rock he was standing
on. He had his rifle in position to fire at a moment's notice. I could
not understand what he meant or what he had seen. He remained where he
was, and I went round to the front of the rock he was standing on. He
said when he jumped on the rock he felt something move it, and heard a
noise as if some one was running underneath it. I went close up to the
opening, and there I saw a large wombat in the hole. I told him what
was there, and his countenance changed in a moment. When I first came
up to him his eyes were starting out of his head with excitement, and
he said, "I thought we had them at last."

We continued our search, but as usual, there was nothing to be seen. We
got on our horses and rode about the place until about five o'clock,
when we came across a nice paddock, and decided upon turning our horses
into it and camping for the night. We had fixed the different spots
for our hammocks, and were just going to our meal, when one of the
men called me, and pointed out the tracks of fresh horse foot-prints
going into the mountains from the direction of the lowlands. The tracks
appeared to be an hour or two old. We were considering what we should
do, and sat down in the usual manner away from each other with our
rifles beside us, when all of a sudden every man jumped to his feet and
called out, "Look out, sir, they are coming straight for us." I stood
up and saw four men riding towards us as hard as their horses could go.
It was the habit of the Kellys to ride like demons through the country.

My whole party rushed to a brush fence and got behind it; I followed
them, and the men came straight for us. When they were within a few
yards we all jumped up and confronted them. They were not the outlaws,
but were well-known spies of theirs. Directly we stopped them they
began to slang and chaff us. Sergeant Mayes turned upon them in the
most indignant manner, and asked if they knew who they were speaking
to. Mayes asked me if he might arrest them, as he felt sure the outlaws
were close by.

I consented, and told him the better plan would be for him to take
three of our men to the house from whence these men had come, and put
the four sympathizers in it, and allow no person to leave the place
that night. I and the three other men would watch the pass leading
into the mountains. Mayes, Lawless, Faulkner, and O'Loughlin went off,
leaving three men with me. They proceeded towards the house, which
was the same place where the outlaws had their breakfast after riding
through Wangaratta, shortly after the murders.

As the party approached, all the occupants came to the door, evidently
thinking the four strangers were the Kelly gang, and there appeared to
be great rejoicing over the prospect of their calling there, but as
the party got closer, and were recognized as policemen, they all beat
a retreat into the house. Lawless, who was a small man, not at all
unlike Steve Hart in figure and appearance, saw a person walking in the
garden, and directly he caught sight of him the man appeared to vanish
out of his sight. Lawless followed him, and when he got near, the man
called out, "Is that you, Steve?" Lawless replied, "No." He said, "Then
it must be his brother." Lawless replied, "It is neither." The man then
took a good look at Lawless and said, "I beg your pardon, I thought
you were some one else." Lawless said, "Who did you take me for?" He
replied, "Some one we expected to-night." Lawless at once reported
this conversation to Mayes, who sent him to where they had left me,
and Lawless informed me of all that had passed between him and the
stranger. I at once decided to watch the place with my three men. About
a mile from the house there was a good stable, with abundance of feed
in it, which was evidently left there for the outlaws. Mayes had told
the inmates of the house they were not to come out during the night, as
he and his men intended keeping watch over the place, and they might
be mistaken for some one else, and shot. When I reached the house they
appeared to be very happy inside; they kept dancing half the night, and
I believe this was a sign for the outlaws, if they were about, to keep
away.

There we remained without covering of any kind until daylight. The
night was bitterly cold, and I, being in the most exposed place, became
nearly frozen. About two o'clock in the morning I had a consultation
with Mayes, and we decided to send a man into Wangaratta to bring out
four additional constables to keep watch, whilst my party tried to
pick up the tracks we had seen the evening before, leading into the
mountains. I sent Faulkner with another man to Wangaratta, at about
four o'clock in the morning; he returned with the four men. On his
arrival, I met him near the house, and directly I approached him he
sheered off from me, and said, "Who are you?" I said, "Don't you know
me?" When he heard my voice, he replied, "Is that you, Mr. Hare? You
are so white with the frost I did not know you." I gave orders to
Sergeant Kelly, who was in charge of the fresh men, to guard the house,
and to allow no person to leave until I communicated with him. I told
him on no account to allow any signals to be put out, especially any
sheet to be thrown over a bush in the garden, this being a well-known
sign of the Kellys as a warning not to approach the house. Sergeant
Kelly afterwards told me, directly the people of the house had finished
breakfast, one of the girls brought out a table-cloth, shook it on the
verandah, and then threw it over a bush in the garden. He removed it at
once.

At daybreak I and my party went to the pass in the mountains, where
we had left all our packs and provisions. We had some breakfast,
and started off immediately to follow the tracks. I had no black
tracker with me, but I had an excellent man named Bellis; he was one
of the special men engaged by the police, who knew the country. He
was a capital bushman, a good shot, a fair tracker, and a thoroughly
trustworthy man. We took our horses with us. Bellis and several of the
men picked up the tracks, whilst the others followed with the horses.
For a mile or so the tracks were very distinct, but after some distance
they appeared to separate, going in different directions. Some of the
men fancied they heard voices ahead, and asked me to allow them to run
over, as they felt certain the outlaws were quite near. I could hear no
voices, but two or three of the men said they did. There was a thick
clump of scrub in the direction where the men thought they heard the
voices, so I beckoned to them to join together, and we rushed towards
the scrub and surrounded it. We searched it thoroughly, but could find
no trace of anybody being there. The men were much excited from want of
sleep, and they appeared hardly to know what they were doing, so I made
them have a rest. Afterwards we went back to pick up the tracks again,
but were unable to do so. We searched the mountains until evening, and
then made back to the spot where we had left our packs.

Next day we started off into the hills. I sent a man from the house
to Senior-constable Kelly, and told him to withdraw his men into the
mountains, so as to keep watch over the house, and to remain as long
as his provisions would last. We searched all the day without finding
any signs of the outlaws. We camped that night at the foot of a steep
mountain, and were starting off next morning when Bellis drew my
attention to what we all thought were the heads of four men looking
over the hill at us. Without a moment's consideration, the whole party
started to get up the hill as fast as they could. It was a difficult
job for the horses, but we urged them on. The only things we could see
were four goats feeding quietly. We looked for traces of men, but could
find none, and so came to the conclusion that we must have mistaken the
goats for four men looking down on us. I myself had grave doubts, and
still think they were men. There was a high point of the mountain in
front of us, which we next proceeded to search.

As my horse was carrying twenty stone, when I got on the top of the
hill I dismounted and walked over to some shelving rocks. There I
found the foot-marks of a man on the green moss, as if done that
morning. I went back to meet my men, and showed the foot-marks to them,
and after we had followed the tracks for some distance we came across a
lot of stones recently moved, the earth being quite fresh. The stones
were up on end, all pointing in one direction, and that was to another
high hill three or four miles off. We lost the tracks in the rocky
ground, so decided to try our luck on the other hill. We kept some
distance apart from each other, making for the steep ground in front of
us. After a most tedious ascent we reached the top, at least four of us
did, and, strange to relate, here we found the stones stuck up on end
just as we had found them on the other hill. We were greatly puzzled
at this, and while we were talking over the matter one of the men saw
a person at the foot of the hill on horse-back, riding along at a good
pace. I sent a man after him to see who he was, and he overtook him as
he was making for the mountain. The man I had sent immediately beckoned
to me to come down, and appeared to be very excited. We all made down
the hill as fast as we could.

This person was a well-known squatter living close by, who had often
aided the police when in want of assistance. He told me that when he
was in the mountains the previous day looking for some sheep, he saw
a tent erected in a retired spot, and it must only recently have been
put there. I asked him if he would take us to it. He said "Certainly."
I collected all my men, and off we started, following our leader.
After riding some four or five miles the tent was pointed out. We
dismounted and surrounded it, and rushed down on it, only to meet with
another disappointment. The tent was quite empty. We searched all
round the place, and found tracks of shod horses where the animals had
been feeding. We retired from the tent and slept that night near the
squatter's homestead, and I dined with him, but slept with my men.

Next morning at daylight we saddled our horses and made back to the
tent we had searched the previous evening. We again crept down,
thinking the occupants, if any, might be asleep; but it was still
empty. Some time afterwards I heard the tent belonged to a party of
men engaged collecting honey, who are known as "bee men." Many of them
were sympathizers of the outlaws, and used to leave horse-feed and
provisions in their tents for them. We continued searching for three or
four days after this, but nothing of any interest transpired.

We were constantly receiving information that the outlaws were likely
to be hiding amongst their friends on the low land below Euroa, where
they were known to have several cousins who did not bear very good
characters. Captain Standish suggested that I should again take a
trip down there. I had made several trips in those parts before, but
some fresh information supplied to us was to the effect that they
were hiding in the flat country. I started off with my party and a
black-fellow called Moses. He was a Queensland man, and a capital
tracker. He had been with me on several occasions before. We searched
about the country, but could hear nothing of the outlaws.

One morning we made an early start to search a place belonging to a
connection of the Kellys. We left our pack-horses behind us, and also
our bedding and provisions, intending to go across country, getting
over the fences the best way we could. After riding two or three hours
we came across a stiff fence, and there was no way of getting over
except to jump it. The men went over it with the greatest ease, but
when I brought my horse up he baulked. I turned him round and put him
at it again, and he made a tremendous spring and got over. Something
gave way in my back, just above my right hip, and the agony I went
through that day was beyond anything I ever experienced.

A most amusing incident occurred on this day. We had received
information that the outlaws were amongst their relations, and during
the day they occupied a very large haystack, near the house of one of
their relatives. I was in great agony when I reached this place; still
the description we had received of the premises was so accurate that
we made straight for the stack, and much to my astonishment found a
chamber or passage leading into it. We all dismounted from our horses,
and I called for a volunteer to creep inside and see what was in it.
Every man begged to be allowed to explore it, and I selected Johnstone.
He disappeared in a moment, but very soon reappeared, coming out a
good deal faster than he went in. He said, "I heard some noise in the
stack, and I came back to tell you to keep a sharp look-out all round."
I started him back, and told him to turn the fellows out, and in he
went again; but he had hardly been away twenty seconds when out he
came again like a flash of lightning. I said, "What is the matter?" He
replied, "Lor, sir, there is an old sow in there with a lot of young
ones, and she _did_ go for me; it was as much as I could do to keep
clear of her." The old pig came out shortly afterwards, and we all had
a good laugh.

We had information about another place further on, but I was unable
to proceed. I lay down in the bush in great pain, and sent the men to
search the locality; and on their return they picked me up, and we
returned to where we had left the camp in the morning, a distance of
about twenty-five miles.

Next morning I was better, and the men got a buggy for me, and I drove
myself into Euroa. I do not to this day know what was the matter with
me, or the cause of the pain I suffered. The party I left behind in
charge of Senior-constable Johnstone remained out for five or six
days, and then returned to Benalla. On my arrival at Benalla I told
Captain Standish that the hardships I had gone through had affected my
constitution, and I was not fit to go out with the search party again,
and I wished him to relieve me, as I had then been camping out for
eight or nine months. He promised to do so, and ordered the inspecting
superintendent to come up and take over charge of the business. I got a
week's leave, and remained quietly at Benalla.




CHAPTER X.

 Black Trackers--Again in Charge with _carte blanche_--Aaron
 Sherritt's Doom--The Beginning of the End--Glenrowan--Sticking up
 the Hotel--Bracken's Escape--The Police on the Alert--A Dangerous
 Journey--Mr. Curnow's Adventure.


Before I close this part of my narrative I wish to say that I have not
given a hundredth part of what actually took place during the time I
was searching for the outlaws. I felt sure, sooner or later, one of
the different parties who were out in search of them would drop across
them, as the outlaws had always to be on the alert, never knowing
when a party would be on them. Ned Kelly said after his capture, the
hardest part of their life was the constantly keeping guard for fear of
surprise. They were dreadfully afraid of the black trackers--I mean the
men that came from Queensland--I was told it was marvellous how these
men could follow a track across the bush. I was out on two occasions
with them, but I did not see anything particularly striking about
them, but other Victorian officers spoke in the highest terms of their
wonderful skill in tracking.

When Moses was with me I saw him do a fine piece of tracking. We were
on a flat at the back of Warby's Ranges, and after lunch started to
search a range in the mountains, leaving our packs at the camp, and a
man in charge. We had been searching several hills, and about half an
hour before sunset one of the men drew my attention to some tracks of
horses coming from the Wangaratta side of the range. I called Moses and
showed them to him. He dismounted, looked about, and said they were
from horse tracks about four days old, three big horses and one small
one; he pointed in the direction they were going. It was exactly in
the opposite direction to where our camp was. He said, "Shall I follow
them?" I replied, "Yes." He took some cartridges out of his belt and
put one in his rifle, and without saying another word, off he galloped
as hard as he could go across country, we all following him. We went
for about five or six miles. Suddenly Moses pulled up, and we found
ourselves on the cross road running from Wangaratta to Yarrawonga.
Moses said, "The tracks have gone into this dusty road, and I can't
follow them any further." I replied, "Surely you have not been on the
tracks all the while." He said, "Oh, yes; I will show you." He got off
his horse and showed me the four tracks--three large horses and one
small one. He then galloped up one side of the cross road and back the
other, to see if the tracks crossed either the one side or the other,
but without any result. We then returned to our camp. We were without
coats, it was bitterly cold, and we had nine or ten miles to ride.

Next morning we started to try and pick up the tracks again, and I
suggested we should work back to see where they came from. We did so,
and found they were coming from the direction of a sympathizer's house
which we had surrounded a few nights before. We rode on for about a
mile, and suddenly Moses pulled up, and said, "They have been camping
here." I could see no signs of anything. I said, "How do you know?"
He replied, "One saddle been there," pointing to a spot, "another
there, and there." I dismounted and could see no signs of anything. We
searched about and found where a small fire had been made. Searching
further he found under some rocks, where the black fellow had noticed
the stones had been removed, the identical tins which we had given
Sergeant Kelly when I directed him to take up his position in the
mountain overlooking the house. I afterwards ascertained that it was
just four days before we were there, that Sergeant Kelly had left this
camp and gone the road Moses had followed the previous evening. I have
given this story just to show the wonderful powers these blacks have in
following tracks.

In addition to going out in search parties, I had a number of agents
always working for me, but I felt the information they gave was of
little use. They would tell us the outlaws were seen at some distant
place, and what they intended doing, but all this information was of
little service to us, beyond letting us know they were in the country.
This we had no doubt of, and I often asked Sherritt if there was any
chance of them leaving the district, and he scorned the idea. He said,
"Most decidedly they can never leave, and the day they attempt to do
so they will be captured." I never could understand why they did not
separate and make for Queensland as swagmen; but Sherritt was quite
right; they never did leave, beyond going across the Murray, where
they had many friends, and they were always within a day or two's ride
of their own relations. They never had horses with them, except when
they went on some raid; otherwise we must some time or other have come
across their tracks. They could not have kept their horses out of
sight. I was told that on two or three occasions I and my party nearly
surprised them, and that once they had to take refuge in the head of a
fallen tree to escape us.

When the inspecting superintendent relieved me he adopted a different
system to mine. He did away with all search parties, and depended
entirely on agents, thinking he might lead the outlaws to believe
that he was under the impression they had left the colony, and thus
beget a feeling of security which might lead them to become careless
about their movements. He had some reliable agents, who were giving
him information of all the movements of the outlaws. Our two systems
were entirely different. I thought mine was the best, the inspecting
superintendent thought otherwise, and he begged to be allowed to
continue carrying out his plans. The press throughout the colony
was calling out about the disgraceful conduct of the police in not
capturing the offenders. A change of Ministry having taken place about
this time, the Government were determined to try some other measures to
effect the arrest of the bushrangers.

One morning Captain Standish told me that Mr. Ramsay, the chief
secretary, had decided I was to relieve the inspecting superintendent,
and take charge of affairs again at Benalla. I protested, and told
him I had already tried my hand and failed, and that there were many
officers in the force senior to me who should have a trial. He replied:
"The Government have decided upon your going, and you must go." I saw
the chief secretary on the subject, and his reply was, "Mr. Hare,
the Cabinet have decided that you are to take charge of affairs at
Benalla. They have the utmost confidence in your discretion, we give
you _carte blanche_ to do whatever you think desirable, you are to
consider yourself independent of all control, and anything you do the
Government will bear you out in." I told Mr. Ramsay that I felt very
much flattered at the confidence reposed in me, and that I was ready to
start at once.

In the meantime the inspecting superintendent, having received orders
to hand over the charge of affairs to me, came at once to Melbourne,
and saw Mr. Ramsay. He told the chief secretary he felt sure if left
in the district a short time longer, he would without doubt capture
the outlaws. He begged to be allowed to remain a little while, and
Mr. Ramsay gave him another month. He went back to Benalla, and
did everything in his power to effect a capture, but all to no
purpose--and I was compelled to go back to Benalla, very much against
my inclination, on 1st June 1880.

I first began to find out what had been going on during my absence from
the district. I saw some of the agents who had been employed by the
inspecting superintendent, and got them to remain in my employ. I then
took steps to remove the trackers, as I had informed Mr. Ramsay, it was
said that as long as they were in the district the outlaws would not
show out, and I was anxious they should do something, as it would give
us a better opportunity of falling across them. Besides, the Queensland
authorities wanted their trackers back, as they belonged to their force
of native police, and the officer in charge was anxious to return also.
I arranged with Captain Standish they should leave as soon as they
could conveniently do so.

After I had found out all I could concerning the movements of the
outlaws at Benalla, I started off to Beechworth and saw Aaron Sherritt.
I found he had married during my absence, and his family and his wife's
relations did not get on together, as she was a Roman Catholic and he a
Protestant, and his family were vexed with him for marrying. Aaron had
taken a cottage on the road from Beechworth to Eldorado near Woolshed,
where he and his wife resided. I had a long interview with him, finding
out all that had taken place during my absence, and the different
interviews he had had with the outlaws whilst I was away from the
district. He expressed himself very pleased at my return, and told me
he did not get on as well with the inspecting superintendent as he did
with me, and he would set to work with fresh zeal and endeavour to find
out where the outlaws were to be found. He told me that a fortnight
ago they were at his mother's house looking for his brother Jack, whom
they wanted to join them, and four constables had been sent to his
house in hopes that they might call on him; but when the inspecting
superintendent was leaving the district, these men had been removed,
and he was of opinion that it would be as well to send them back.

I ordered them back, and directed that they should stay indoors all
day and watch Mrs. Byrne's house by night, as Aaron lived about
three-quarters of a mile from her. I also made arrangements to have the
Harts' house watched from Wangaratta, and for a party to watch Kelly's
house from Glenrowan. The orders to the men were, that after dark
every night they were to leave their abode singly, and walk away to the
watching-place, so that if any of them should be met, no notice would
be taken of a man walking alone. They were to take up their positions
within view of the houses, but not near enough for the inmates to
discover their whereabouts.

I kept moving about and working hard. Rumours were coming in from all
directions that the sympathizers were very active, that something was
about to happen. Old Mrs. Byrne was very jubilant, and she told a
person--who repeated it to me--that the gang was about to do something
that would astonish not only the colony, but the whole world.

Horses were reported as being stolen in several directions, all
supposed to be by the gang. Constable Bracken, who was in charge at
Glenrowan, reported that the four men who had been watching Kelly's
house were completely knocked up, being out night after night in the
wet, and asked me to let them be sent to Benalla to recruit themselves
for a few days. I consented, but I had no other men to replace them. I
paid another visit to Beechworth, saw Detective Ward, and told him I
was not at all satisfied with the way the men were conducting things at
Aaron's house.

Two or three reports came to hand, informing me that Paddy Byrne had
saddled his horse at his mother's place at two o'clock in the morning,
and started off into the ranges, and instead of the men accompanying
Aaron to endeavour to follow him, they let him go alone. I decided to
go down that night to visit the party at Woolshed. Ward and I started
away from Beechworth about eight o'clock, and reached Aaron's house
about 9.30. I stood in the road whilst Ward went to the house to find
out from Aaron's wife where the men were to be found, as they should
have been out watching. We found one of the men at the hut, and he told
us the others were away with Aaron watching Mrs. Byrne's house. I left
Ward at the hut, and got this constable to show me where the men were
watching. He purposely lost his way, and kept me fully an hour going
one mile. I believe he kept me all this while in the bush to gain time
for the men to take up their positions, as it turned out that none of
the men were watching Mrs. Byrne's house but Aaron.

When I got to the watching-place I met the constable who was in charge
of the party. I asked him why he had left one constable behind at
Aaron's house? His reply was, "That man has deceived you, Mr. Hare;
we were all of us at Aaron's house when you called with Ward," he
said. "I was collecting wood on the hills--Aaron alone was watching."
I severely reprimanded the constable for misleading me. I then spoke
to the constable in charge about matters in general. He appeared to be
a smart, intelligent man. I asked if he had made up his mind what he
would do if the outlaws came to Mrs. Byrne's. He said: "I would shoot
the lot of them if Aaron said they were the men." I told him to be
careful not to make a mistake and shoot any one else. I left them, and
Aaron walked back with me to his house to pilot me across the diggings.

No sooner did he get within sight of his house than he said, "You can't
go wrong; there is the house. I will return, as I don't like leaving
the men there alone." I saw he was just as zealous as ever. I thought
all this zeal might have been put on to deceive me, but I listened to
his footsteps making back as fast as he could. I thought after he had
let me go he would probably return to his hut for a cup of tea, as the
night was bitterly cold, and he was dressed as usual, with a white
shirt, trousers, and boots. I sat there fully half an hour, but I heard
no sign of his returning. I went to the hut, picked up Ward and my
horse, and rode back to Beechworth, telling Ward I was convinced that
the men at Sherritt's house were not working as they should, and that
I had decided I would remove them and send others in their place as
soon as I could arrange to do so. Exactly at that time on the following
Saturday Aaron was shot, and two of the outlaws were guarding his place
for some hours afterwards.

On Saturday evening, the 26th June, about nine o'clock, a man named
Antone Wicks, a German, who lived about a quarter of a mile from Aaron
Sherritt's house, was stuck up by Joe Byrne and Dan Kelly. He was
handcuffed by the outlaws, and made to accompany them to Sherritt's
house. He was told to call Aaron out, and say he had lost his way, and
ask him to put him on the road, as it was quite dark. When the three
arrived at Aaron's house Wicks knocked at the door; Aaron said, "Who is
there?" The German replied, "It is Antone Wicks, he has lost his way."
Aaron opened the door, and Wicks said, "Come and show me the way."
Aaron said, "Who is that?" at the same moment stepping out of his door.
Joe Byrne jumped forward and fired at him. He retreated to the middle
of the room, and Byrne stood in the doorway and fired a second shot,
and Aaron dropped down dead without saying a word. It is commonly
believed that Ned Kelly was present at the shooting of Sherritt, but
Wicks stated that only Byrne and Dan Kelly were there; they kept him
handcuffed all the while they remained at Sherritt's house.

It might be as well to explain why they took Wicks up to Aaron's house
to call him out. The outlaws may have heard voices in Aaron's house,
and thought that if they called him outside his door their voices would
have been recognized by him, and he would have been on his guard, so
they got Wicks, who lived close by Aaron, to call him.

Whilst all this was going on at Woolshed, Ned Kelly and Hart were busy
elsewhere. About 2.20 o'clock on Sunday morning 27th June, a railway
line repairer, named Reardon, was awakened by Ned Kelly and Hart at
Glenrowan, and told to get up and dress himself. Kelly presented a
revolver at his head, and told him he wanted him and a man named
Sullivan, also a line repairer, to go and pull up the rails. He said,
"We were at Beechworth last night, and killed several people. I expect
a special train will be sent from Benalla with a number of police and
black trackers, and I am going to kill the lot." Reardon begged Kelly
not to take him, as he had a wife and large family. Kelly replied, "You
must come, or I will shoot you." Kelly told him to pick up the tools he
required. Kelly, Hart, Reardon, and some other workmen walked along the
line to a place about half a mile away from Glenrowan, where there was
a steep embankment with a fall on each side of about twenty or thirty
feet. Hart pointed out the rails to be taken up, and Reardon and the
others took up two rails. They were a considerable time about it, and
Kelly found fault with them for not being quicker, and threatened to
tickle some of them with his revolver if they did not hurry up. When
this was done they all walked back to Glenrowan, and were marched into
Mrs. Jones's hotel, and were kept prisoners there.

[Illustration: Steve Hart.]

It is not positively known at what hour Joe Byrne and Steve Hart
appeared on the scene, but it was some time in the morning. Throughout
the day the four outlaws took possession of the township. They kept
watching for persons passing Mrs. Jones's hotel, and they would call
upon them to "bail up," and march them off to the hotel, which for
the time being was converted into a prison-house by the outlaws. By
the evening they had captured sixty-two people. Amongst those
thus detained was Constable Bracken, an excellent ex-constable, who
rejoined the force for the express purpose of assisting in the capture
of the Kelly gang. He was a clever, shrewd, careful, quiet man. Young
Reynolds, the son of a neighbour, came to the police station about
eight or nine o'clock on Sunday night, and called Bracken to come
outside to his father, who wanted him. The object in getting Reynolds
to call Bracken, was to prevent the constable from recognizing the
outlaw's voice, so the boy, who lived near the police station, was made
to call him.

It was the habit of constables, when called by any one during the
night, not to show themselves unless they had their revolvers in their
hands. Bracken, hearing young Reynolds' voice, got up without taking
this precaution; being unwell, he had gone to bed early. The moment he
opened his door, which led into the yard, Ned Kelly, who was standing
beside the boy, covered him with his revolver, and ordered him back
into the house. One of the other outlaws was also present. Kelly at
the time had his armour on, with a waterproof coat over all. They made
Bracken dress himself, he being the only constable at the station, and
told his wife that she was to remain in the barracks, and, if she gave
information to any one, or answered any call during the night, they
would shoot her husband. Mrs. Bracken said she looked out of her window
two or three times during the night, and saw men watching her house.
This may have been fancy or fear on her part. Bracken was marched
off to Jones's hotel, and found sixty-two prisoners there. Dancing
was going on, and everybody appeared in great spirits. Of course,
amongst these sixty-two prisoners there were several of the Kellys'
sympathizers, who, if a rush had been contemplated, would have given
the gang warning. When Bracken was admitted into the room the doors
were locked, so that nobody could leave. Dan Kelly had charge of the
key which opened the front door, and Bracken kept watching him.

About ten or eleven o'clock at night Dan Kelly commenced to dance,
and before doing so he put the key on a mantel-piece. Bracken sidled
towards the fire-place, and taking the key, slipped it down his boot
unobserved by any one. The dancing was kept up with great spirit until
some one called out, "The train is approaching!" The outlaws at once
went into an adjoining room and began to put on their armour, but no
one knew what they were doing. About ten minutes afterwards the train
stopped, and there was great excitement. Bracken saw his chance of
escape. He took the key from his boot, opened the front door, and ran
towards the railway station. The first thing the Kellys did when they
came out of the side room was to look for Bracken, but they could not
find him, and appeared very much annoyed.

About one o'clock on Sunday afternoon, 27th June, a messenger was
sent to my hotel in Benalla, who told me that there was an important
message for me at the telegraph office. I went there, and found that
intelligence had come that Aaron Sherritt had been shot at his own
house at nine o'clock the previous night by the outlaws. I at once
sent a wire to Captain Standish, telling him of the circumstances, and
requesting him to send the black trackers back to Benalla at once, as
they had left for Melbourne on the previous Friday.

Captain Standish was out of town when the telegram arrived, and it did
not reach him till about five in the afternoon. He then at once placed
himself in communication with Mr. Ramsay, the chief secretary, and,
strange to say, sent me a wire that he would send the trackers up by
an early train next morning. I replied, "If they are not sent up by a
special train to-night, they need not come at all." In the meantime
Mr. Ramsay called on the Minister of Railways, and arranged to have a
"special" ready to take the trackers back to Benalla, and they left
town about eight or nine o'clock that night, and were to reach Benalla
about 12.30 A.M. The officer in charge of the district and myself
remained all the afternoon at the telegraph office, and I can never
forget the assistance rendered me during that trying afternoon by that
officer. Unfortunately, it being Sunday, many of the operators were
away from their offices. We called as many as we could, and had to
engage private individuals to convey on horse-back the intelligence to
others, directing them to be ready for any emergency that might happen.
We felt sure that something of importance would follow such a deed, but
had no idea when or where it would take place, so that every possible
precaution had to be taken.

We sent to the railway station and ordered a special train to be ready
in case the trackers were not coming up that night, and I arranged to
take a party of men from Benalla to Beechworth. Unfortunately, none of
my old men were there, but still I had a very good lot. I had also two
of our own black trackers, "Moses" and "Spider," both Queensland men,
but they did not come specially to Victoria as trackers. I kept them,
and would have taken them had the others not been sent back to me; and
we also arranged, in the event of anything happening during my absence,
to have a party of men ready to start off at a moment's notice.

We got a wire that the trackers would leave Melbourne that night, and
so we decided to keep the special engine that was ready for us to act
as a pilot to our train. Everything was in order to start off directly
the men arrived. My plans were as follows:--The train with my own men,
horses, and trackers would reach Beechworth about four o'clock in the
morning (Monday); we would get our horses out directly we arrived, and
start off to Sherritt's house, put the trackers on the outlaws' tracks,
and endeavour to follow them.

We had made no other plans beyond these. In my own mind I felt
convinced we should never reach Beechworth, but I told no one of my
convictions. About ten o'clock I lay down to get an hour's sleep, and
at midnight had all the horses and baggage put in the train, so that we
could start off directly the trackers arrived. They reached Benalla a
little after one, having had some delay on the road in consequence of
having run through some gates, which flew up and broke the brakes.

It was decided by the railway authorities at Benalla that the engine
that came from Melbourne should act as pilot. I had a consultation with
the two engine-drivers before we started, telling them to be on the
alert and keep a good look-out, as I felt sure either the rails would
be pulled up, or something would happen before we got to Beechworth.
The driver of the Benalla engine asked me to let a constable stand
on the side-plate in front so as to keep a good look-out. I selected
Constable Barry for this post. He was to fasten a strap round the
brass rod which runs along the engine, and to put his arm through that
to hold on by. It was afterwards stated that I had made him sit on
the buffers. However, the driver of the pilot engine dispensed with
his services, so Barry was not put in this dangerous position. I told
the driver of my train on no account to let the pilot get more than a
hundred yards away from him, and consulted the two drivers as to the
most probable place for the rails to be interfered with. They fixed on
the very spot where the rails were taken up. I told them to be very
careful in going down the hill indicated. It was arranged we were not
to stop between Benalla and Wangaratta, there being no occasion for
doing so.

We left Benalla a little before two o'clock. The train from Melbourne
had brought up the officer in charge of the five trackers, and five
reporters connected with the Melbourne papers. The officer in charge
of the trackers having recently been married, we allowed his wife and
sister to accompany him in the train, intending that they should remain
at Beechworth while he followed the tracks of the outlaws. I got into
the compartment with the officer and the ladies, the reporters having
a compartment to themselves, and the constables another. I had put my
rifle on the rack of the carriage, and was just arranging to lie down
and have a sleep, when the engine gave a whistle, and stopped. I jumped
up, put my head out of the window, and saw the three red lights of the
pilot just ahead of us. I loaded my rifle, jumped out of the train,
and met the guard of the pilot coming towards me. We were then about a
mile from Glenrowan. He told me that they had seen a red light on the
line, and pulling up to ascertain what it was, found a man, who said
he was the school-master, and stated that the Kelly gang had pulled
up the line of rails, and he told the driver he must be very careful.
This person then ran away, notwithstanding that the driver begged him
to see me before he left. They told him I was in the train behind; but
he said no, he had to return to his wife, and ran off. It afterwards
turned out the man was Mr. Curnow, the local school-master, who, having
no lamp by which to stop the train, got a red scarf and held a candle
behind it when he heard the train approaching, but, having left his
wife alone, he hurried back for fear some of the gang might see him.

After the guard of the pilot had related this story to me, I called
four of my men, and putting two on each side of the line, we walked
towards the engine. The driver told me the same story as the guard. I
considered for a moment what was best to be done, consulting with my
men, and thinking that the information given by the person representing
himself as a school-master was a ruse, especially as Glenrowan was only
about three miles from Kelly's house, I returned to my train (they
were about 150 yards apart), and told those who were in the train to
be prepared for any emergency, as I could not say what might happen. I
put my senior constable with three men on the tender belonging to the
train engine, and went myself with the three remaining men on the pilot
engine, both being coupled together. In that way we went slowly along,
half the men facing one side of the line, half the other, I myself
standing beside the driver of the pilot engine.

In that way we approached Glenrowan station, which was all in darkness.
When about fifty yards from the station the driver would insist
that there was a man standing on the platform, but it was only his
imagination. We pulled up, but not seeing or hearing any one about, we
proceeded slowly into the station. I ordered the men to jump on to the
platform, and keep a sharp look-out.

In order that the reader may have a clear idea of the events happening
at Glenrowan, I break off here my own personal narrative to insert the
account given before the police commissioner afterwards, by Mr. Curnow,
one of the sixty-two prisoners confined in the hotel by the gang.

"On Sunday morning, 27th June, 1880, I determined to take my wife,
sister, and child out for a drive along the road from Glenrowan to
Greta. We left the school in a buggy at about eleven o'clock in the
morning, accompanied by David Mortimer, my brother-in-law, who rode on
horse-back. When we got in sight of Mrs. Jones's hotel, and opposite
the railway crossing, through which we intended to pass, we noticed a
number of people about the hotel, and at the crossing. I said, 'Mrs.
Jones must be dead; she has been very ill.' As we got near the hotel,
a man ran out of it towards Mrs. Jones's stable, distant about twenty
yards from the hotel. I drove past the hotel to the crossing, and,
seeing Mr. Stanistreet, asked him, 'What's the matter?' He replied,
'The Kellys are here; you can't go through.' I thought he was joking,
and made a motion to drive through the gates, when a man on horse-back,
who blocked up the crossing, and was talking to a young man whom I knew
to be named Delaney, wheeled round his horse and said to me, 'Who are
you?' I then saw that he had revolvers in his belt, and was convinced
of the truth of Mr. Stanistreet's statement that the Kellys were there.
I replied that I was the teacher at Glenrowan. He said, 'Oh! you are
the school-master here, are you? and who are those?' pointing to my
wife, sister, and brother-in-law. I told him. He then said, 'Where are
you going?' I answered, 'Out for a drive.' He then said, 'I am sorry,
but I must detain you,' and directed us to get out of the buggy, which
we did. He then turned again to Delaney and resumed his conversation
with him. I afterwards found that the man who had addressed me was Ned
Kelly, the outlaw. I noticed another armed man near Ned Kelly, and I
afterwards found out that he was Byrne.

"When we got out of the buggy, I led the horse off the crossing, and
tied him to the railway fence alongside, directing Mrs. and Miss
Curnow to go into Mr. Stanistreet's house, which they did. As soon
as I had fastened the horse, I joined Mr. and Mrs. Stanistreet and
others, who I was told had been taken prisoners by the gang, and was
informed by them that Glenrowan had been stuck up since three o'clock
that morning, and that the gang had forced Reardon and others to
tear up part of the railway line beyond the station, for the purpose
of wrecking a special train of police and black trackers, which the
outlaws said would pass through Glenrowan. Some person--I believe it
was one of the boys who had been bailed up by the gang--then told me
that the Kellys had been at Beechworth during the previous night, and
had shot several policemen.

"After some further conversation, we all listened to what Ned Kelly
was saying to Delaney. The outlaw was accusing Delaney of having, some
short time previously, ridden a horse from near Greta into Wangaratta
to oblige a policeman, and of having sought admission into the police
force. He threatened to shoot Delaney for this, and pointed a revolver
at him several times. Ned Kelly declared to all of us who were
listening to him, that he would have the life of any one who aided the
police in any way, or who even showed a friendly feeling for them, and
declared that he could and would find them out. He said that a law was
made rendering it a crime for any one to help them (the outlaws), and
that he would make it a crime for any one to aid the police against the
Kelly gang. The women, who were listening to what Kelly was saying,
asked him to let Delaney off. After keeping Delaney in a state of
extreme terror for about half an hour, the outlaw made him promise
never again to seek admission into the police force, and finally said,
'I forgive you this time; but, mind you, be careful for the future.'
Byrne then produced a bottle of brandy, and offered some in a tumbler
to all adults there. Some accepted it. Byrne drank some himself, and
gave Delaney two-thirds of a tumbler, which he drank. Ned Kelly refused
to take any, and directed some of his boy prisoners to take my horse
and buggy into Mrs. Jones's yard, which they did.

"Ned Kelly and Byrne then went from the railway crossing to Mrs.
Jones's hotel, preceded by the majority of their male prisoners, and
I was with them. When we reached Mrs. Jones's there were, including
those who had just been taken over, about fifty persons in and about
the hotel, all of whom appeared to be prisoners of the gang. We were
allowed to go about in the hotel, except into one room, which the
outlaws used, and of which they kept the key, and we were allowed
outside, but were forbidden to leave the premises. Dan Kelly, a short
time after I entered the hotel, asked me to have a drink, and I drank
with him at the bar. I said to him that I had been told they had been
at Beechworth during the previous night, and had shot several police.
I asked him whether it was true. He replied that they had been near
Beechworth last night, and had done 'some shooting,' and that they had
burned the 'devils out,' alluding to police. Byrne came in the bar,
and, looking at Dan Kelly's glass, said, 'Be careful, old man.' Dan
Kelly replied, 'All right,' and poured water into his brandy. While
talking with Byrne and Dan Kelly, I expressed surprise at Glenrowan
being stuck up by them, and they said that they had come to Glenrowan
in order to wreck a special train of inspectors, police, and black
trackers, which would pass through Glenrowan for Beechworth, to take
up their trail from there. They said that they had ridden hard across
country, often being up to the saddle-girths in water, to get to
Glenrowan, and that they had had the line torn up at a dangerous part,
and were going to send the train and its occupants to h--l.

"About one o'clock I was standing in the yard of Jones's hotel,
thinking of the intentions of the gang, and I keenly felt that it was
my duty to do anything that I could to prevent the outrage, which the
outlaws had planned, from being accomplished, and I determined that I
would try to do so. While standing in the yard, Dan Kelly came out of
the hotel and asked me to go inside and have a dance. I said that I
could not dance in the boots which I had on. Ned Kelly then came out of
the hotel, and hearing me object to dance because of my boots, said,
'Come on; never mind your boots.' I said to him that it was awkward to
me to dance in those boots, as I was lame, but that I would dance with
pleasure if he would go to the school with me to get a pair of dancing
boots. It flashed across my mind that, in passing the Glenrowan police
barracks to reach my house, Bracken, the trooper stationed there, might
see us, and would be able to give an alarm. I knew that Bracken had
been stationed at Greta, and felt sure that he would recognize Ned
Kelly. He (Ned Kelly) said that he would go, and we were getting ready,
when Dan Kelly interfered, and said that Ned had better stay behind,
and let him or Byrne go with me. Some one else also urged Ned Kelly not
to go away, and said that my house was near the police barracks. Ned
Kelly turned to me, and asked if it was. I said, 'Yes, we shall have
to pass the barracks. I had forgotten that.' He then said that he would
not go, and I went into the hotel, and danced with Dan Kelly.

"After we had finished dancing, Ned Kelly said that he would go down to
the police barracks and bring Bracken, and Reynolds, the postmaster,
up to Jones's. I laughed and said to him that I would rather he did
it than I, and asked to be allowed to accompany him when he went, and
to take home my wife, sister, and child. He gave me no reply. The
intention to do something to baffle the murderous designs of the gang
grew on me, and I resolved to do my utmost to gain the confidence of
the outlaws, and to make them believe me to be a sympathizer with them.
I saw clearly that unless I succeeded in doing this, I should not
be able to get their permission to go home with my wife, child, and
sister, and consequently should not be able to do anything to prevent
the destruction of the special train and its occupants, by giving
information to the police in Benalla, which I purposed doing if I could
induce the outlaws to allow me and mine to go home. The outlaws kept a
very sharp watch on their prisoners without seeming to do so.

"About three o'clock in the afternoon Ned and Dan Kelly caused several
of their prisoners to engage in jumping, and in the hop, step, and
jump. Ned Kelly joined with them, and used a revolver in each hand
as weights. After the jumping was concluded, I left Jones's and went
to Mrs. Stanistreet's house to see my wife and sister. They came out
to meet me, and noticing the red llama scarf wrapped round my sister
caused me to think, 'What a splendid danger signal that would make.'
The idea of stopping the train by means of it then entered my mind, and
made me still more anxious for liberty. I went with my wife and sister
into Mr. Stanistreet's house, and saw Hart lying down on a sofa. He had
three loaded guns by his side. He complained to me of having swollen
and painful feet, caused, he said, by not having had his boots off for
several days and nights. I advised him to bathe them in hot water, and
asked for some for him. It was brought, and he followed my advice.

"Shortly after, Mr. Stanistreet and I were walking about at the back
of his house, and Mr. Stanistreet expressed a wish that an alarm could
be given. Mrs. Stanistreet came out to us, and I asked them if they
thought it would be wrong to break a promise given to the outlaws. They
said it would not. I then asked Mr. Stanistreet if the outlaws had
taken his revolver from him. He said they had not. I saw what use this
fact could be made of by me in my efforts to gain the confidence of the
outlaws, and to make them believe that they could safely allow me to go
home. I said to Mr. and Mrs. Stanistreet that we had better go inside,
for I was afraid of being suspected by the gang if they saw us in
private conversation, and we did so. I do not know whether Mr. and Mrs.
Stanistreet suspected the use I intended making of my liberty if I got
it; but afterwards I heard Mrs. Stanistreet saying to Ned Kelly that he
ought to allow me to take home my sister, who was in delicate health.

"I was sitting in Mr. Stanistreet's when Dan Kelly came in, inquiring
for a parcel in a small bag, which he had lost. He seemed very anxious
about it, and examined the house throughout in search of it. He could
not find it, and went to McDonald's hotel to see if it was there. He
came back unsuccessful, and I went to Jones's with him, and he searched
there, but failed to find it. When he gave up searching for it, I
requested him to tell Ned that I wanted to speak to him. I was near
the door of Jones's kitchen then. He went into the hotel and brought
Ned Kelly out, and I told him that Mr. Stanistreet possessed a loaded
revolver from the railway department, and advised them for their safety
to obtain it, as some one might get it and do them an injury. They
thanked me, and I perceived that I had in a great measure obtained
their confidence by telling them this.

"About dusk I heard Ned Kelly saying to Mrs. Jones (they were standing
between the hotel and the kitchen, which was a detached building) that
he was going down soon to the police barracks to capture Bracken, and
that he was going to take her daughter down to call him out. Mrs.
Jones asked him not to take her. Ned Kelly said that he did not intend
to shoot Bracken, and that her daughter must go. I advanced to them,
and said to Ned Kelly that I thought it would be better for him to
take Dave Mortimer, my brother-in-law, to call Bracken out, because
Bracken knew his voice well, and by hearing it would suspect nothing.
Ned Kelly, after a pause, said that he would do so. He then went to
Mrs. Jones's stable, and I followed him, and asked if he would allow
me to take my party home when he went down for Bracken; and I assured
him that he had no cause for fearing me, as I was with him heart and
soul. He replied, 'I know that, and can see it,' and he acceded to
my request. I went over to Mrs. Stanistreet's and brought my wife and
sister to Mrs. Jones's, and took them into the kitchen. Ned Kelly said
that we must wait till he was ready to go. I found, on going back to
Jones's, that a log fire had been made on the Wangaratta side of the
hotel yard, and that many of the prisoners of the gang were standing
around it.

"It was then dark. Other prisoners were in the hotel, and the outlaws
encouraged them to amuse themselves by playing cards. I waited with
my wife and sister in Jones's kitchen for, I believe, two or three
hours, before Ned Kelly directed me to put my horse into the buggy. He
and Byrne then went into the room which they had reserved for their
own use. I drove to the front of Jones's hotel, and put my wife and
sister and Alec Reynolds, the son of the postmaster at Glenrowan, who
was about seven years of age, into the buggy. Ned Kelly directed me to
take the little boy with us. We were kept waiting in front of the hotel
about an hour. Ned Kelly then came to us on horse-back, and told me to
drive on.

"It was then, I believe, about ten o'clock. As we got into the
road, I found that we were accompanied by Ned Kelly, Byrne, and my
brother-in-law, each on horse-back, and by a Mr. E. Reynolds and R.
Gibbins on foot, both of whom resided with Mr. Reynolds, the Glenrowan
postmaster. On the road down, Ned Kelly said that he was going to
fill the ruts around with the fat carcases of the police. The outlaws
each had a light- overcoat on, and I was amazed at the bulky
appearance which they presented. I had then no knowledge that the
outlaws possessed iron armour. Each one carried a bundle in front of
him, and in one hand a gun or a rifle.

"We reached the barracks, and were directed by Ned Kelly to halt about
twenty yards distant from the front door of the building. Ned Kelly
got off his horse, and fastened him to a fence near, ordering my
brother-in-law to do the same, and he did so. Kelly then ordered him to
advance to the barracks' door and knock, which he did. Ned Kelly got
behind an angle of the walls, and levelled his rifle either at Dave
Mortimer, or at the door. No reply came to the knocking or calling,
though they were often and loudly repeated at Ned Kelly's whispered
command. When I saw Kelly level his rifle, I told my party to get out
of the buggy, which they did, and I advanced to my horse's head, for
I thought Kelly might fire. I was then about seven or eight yards
from Kelly. No result being produced by either knocking or calling,
Ned Kelly left his position and advanced to Byrne, directing me, in an
undertone, to call Mortimer away, which I did, and he came. Byrne, who
had remained near us, and Ned Kelly, then spoke to one another, and
Kelly took Alec Reynolds, the postmaster's son, and Mr. E. Reynolds,
and passed with them into Reynolds's yard.

"We neither saw nor heard anything for, I think, more than an hour,
when Ned Kelly appeared, having Bracken, E. Reynolds, and Bracken's
horse with him. Kelly stopped when he reached us, and ordered Bracken
to mount the horse brought round, and Bracken did so. Ned Kelly put a
halter on the horse, which he kept hold of, saying, 'I can't trust you
with the bridle, Bracken.' Bracken said to Ned Kelly that had he not
been ill in bed all day he (Kelly) would not have taken him easily,
and that if the horse he was on was what it used to be, it would take
more than Ned Kelly to keep him a prisoner. Ned Kelly and Byrne mounted
their horses, and I and my party got into the buggy.

"It was then, I believe, between eleven and twelve o'clock. Ned Kelly
then said I could go home and take my party with me. He directed us to
'go quietly to bed, and not to dream too loud,' and intimated that if I
acted otherwise we would get shot, as one of them would be down at our
place during the night to see that we were all right. I then left them
and drove home, distant from the barracks one or two hundred yards,
leaving the outlaws and their captives ready to start back to the
railway station. As soon as we were out of hearing of the outlaws, I
announced to my wife and sister my intention to go to Benalla and give
information as to the intentions and whereabouts of the outlaws. They
both anxiously and earnestly opposed my purpose, saying that it was not
at all likely that we should be allowed to come home unless some of the
agents of the gang were watching; that I should not be able to reach
Benalla, as I should be shot on the road by spies, and that, even if I
succeeded, we should be hunted out and shot.

"While the discussion was going on, and supper was being got ready, I
quietly prepared everything, including the red llama scarf, candle,
and matches, to go to Benalla, intending to keep as close to the
railway line as I could, in case of the special coming before I could
reach there. I declared to my wife that I did not intend to go by the
road--that I meant to keep as close to the line as possible in order
to be safer. At last my sister gave way, but my wife worked herself
into such an excited and hysterical state, that she declared that she
would not leave the house--that if I would go, she would stay there,
and she, baby, and my sister would be murdered. I wanted to take them
to my mother-in-law's farm, about one-third of a mile from our place,
for safety, while I was away. At length Mrs. Curnow consented to go to
her mother's to obtain advice, and, as we were momentarily expecting
the promised visit from one of the gang, I left the doors unlocked, and
wrote a note, leaving it on the table, stating that we were gone to
Mrs. Mortimer's to obtain medicine, as Miss Curnow was taken ill. My
sister wore her red llama scarf, at my request. When we got there Mrs.
Curnow was exceedingly anxious to get home again, and would not stay
there, and we went back. I succeeded in persuading Mrs. Curnow to go to
bed; and my sister and I told her I had given up my project.

"My sister engaged my wife's attention while I went out to harness my
horse to go, for I could not rest, and felt that I must perform what
was clearly my duty. I heard the train coming in the distance as I was
harnessing the horse, and I immediately caught up the candle, scarf,
and matches, and ran down the line to meet the train. I ran on until
I got to where I could see straight before me some distance along the
line, and where those in the train would be able to see the danger
signal. I then lit the candle and held it behind the red scarf.

"As the guard's van got opposite me I caught sight of the guard, who
shouted, 'What's the matter?' I yelled, 'The Kellys,' and the pilot
engine then stopped a little past me, and the guard jumped down. I
told the guard of the line being torn up just beyond the station, and
of the Kelly gang lying in wait at the station for the special train
of police. He said a special train was behind him, and he would go on
to the station and then pull up. I cried, 'No, no! don't you do that,
or you will get shot.' He then said that he would go back and stop the
special which was coming on. He asked me who I was, and I told him I
was the school teacher there, and requested him not to divulge who it
was that stopped and warned him, as I was doing it at the risk of my
life. He promised to keep my name secret. He asked me to jump in the
van, but I declined, as my wife and sister were without protection.
The pilot engine whistled several times while I was talking with the
guard.

"The pilot went back, and I hastened home, and found Mrs. Curnow had
been almost insane while I was stopping the train, and had been made
worse by the whistling of the pilot engine. She would not leave the
house after I had stopped the train, and we blew out the lights to seem
to be in bed. My sister hid the red scarf and my wet clothes, and we
were going to deny that it was I who had stopped the train, if one of
the outlaws came down to us.

"After the first volleys had been fired, I, with an old man who lived
opposite me, went up to Jones's to ascertain who were victorious, but
we were ordered back by the police, and we returned home. While I was
away my sister and wife had a terrible fright through Mr. Rawlings, who
had accompanied the police, coming down to the school. They thought
that he was Ned Kelly when he asked for the door to be opened. When I
reached home I found Mr. Rawlings there. He asked me to draw a plan
of Mrs. Jones's house, which I partly did; but, on hearing the train
returning from Benalla, he hurried out, and stopping it, he got into
it. During the Sunday afternoon I had heard Mr. Stanistreet ask Ned
Kelly to allow the rails torn up to be replaced, and he pointed out
to Ned Kelly the sacrifice of innocent lives which would ensue if the
Monday morning's passenger train was wrecked. The outlaw refused to
allow it to be done. In speaking of and to one another the outlaws had
assumed names.

"In the _Argus_ report (May 16th) of James Reardon's evidence, given
before the Police Commission at Glenrowan, it is stated that James
Reardon said he told me that 'the line was broken,' and that he also
told me 'how the train could be stopped.' Mr. Reardon is labouring
under a wrong impression. I am positive that he did not tell me how
the train could be stopped. Stopping the train, nor how to stop it,
was not mentioned to me by any one. Of this I am absolutely certain. I
have been informed that an impression prevails that it was in my power,
before the outlaws stuck up Glenrowan, to have furnished information
to the authorities relating to the Kelly gang or their friends. Others
assert that I was employed by the authorities to obtain information.
I desire to emphatically state that this impression and assertion are
both false.

"The outlaws were perfectly sober. One of them, I think Byrne, lay down
on the bed about twelve o'clock in the day, and had a sleep, but the
others were quite sober."




CHAPTER XI.

 The Attack on the Hotel--Wounded.


I must now return to my own share in the undertaking. When we arrived
at Glenrowan the station was in total darkness. I saw a light in the
window of the station-master's house, which was about 100 yards from
the platform. I asked a gentleman, Mr. Rawlings, who had come with me
from Benalla in our special, to accompany me to the station-master's
house, leaving all the men on the platform, telling them to keep a
sharp look-out during my absence. I knocked at the window, and a woman,
who was crying, opened it. I said to her, "Where is your husband?" She
would not answer me. I asked her two or three times and could get no
reply. At last I said, "My good woman, do calm yourself and answer me.
I will see no harm come to you." She said nothing, but pointed in the
direction of the Warby Ranges, and also in the direction of the hotel.
I took her to mean that he was taken into the ranges. I said, "Who
took him away?" She replied, "The Kellys." I said, "How long ago?" She
replied, "Ten minutes."

I must here state that Hart guarded the station-master in his own
house, and was with him the greater part of the night, and when
he heard my train stop about a mile away he took Stanistreet, the
station-master, up to Jones's hotel, and reported the matter to Ned
Kelly. Stanistreet was put in with the remainder of the prisoners.
Their object in doing this was, that they thought when the special
arrived at Glenrowan the train might require some signal before it
would pass, and that they would compel the station-master to give this
while they covered him with their pistols. I left Mrs. Stanistreet, and
returned to the platform with Rawlings. I told my men that the Kellys
had been there ten minutes ago and had taken away the station-master,
and ordered our horses to be taken out of the train as quickly as
possible.

I had hardly given these orders, when I heard the sentry placed at
the back of the platform call out, "Who goes there?" The reply was
"Police." I saw a man getting over the back of the platform, and heard
him calling out my name. I said, "Who is it?" He replied, "Bracken. Go
quickly over to Mrs. Jones's, the outlaws are all there, and if you
don't go this moment they will be gone." I called on the men to follow
me. A voice cried out, "What shall I do with the horses?" I said, "Let
them go." The men, when taking out the horses, had put down their arms
and ammunition on the platform, and in the hurry had a difficulty in
finding them. I called out, "Come on, men, or they will be gone." I
saw two men standing beside me ready to start, and off I hurried,
accompanied by these two. By the path we took, the hotel would be about
200 yards from the platform. I looked round whilst running, and saw
several of the men following me.

The hotel, which was in total darkness, was a weather-board house with
a verandah in front; not a sound came from it. The moon was setting
behind the house; our approach could be seen distinctly by any one
standing under the verandah, which to us was in total darkness. When
I was within sixteen yards of the verandah I saw a flash, and heard a
report from a rifle, fired from about a yard in front of the verandah,
and my left hand dropped beside me. Three flashes came from under the
verandah. The man who fired the first shot stepped back under the
verandah, and began firing upon us. He called out, "Fire away, you
beggars, you can do us no harm." One of the men beside me said, "That
is Ned Kelly's voice." The four outlaws continued firing some minutes;
I suppose they must have fired thirty or forty shots at us, as they had
repeating rifles and revolvers. My men returned the fire very briskly;
I fancy we must have fired at least fifty or sixty shots, for there
were not only my men, but the trackers also, who were blazing away
as hard as they could fire. We could only fire in the direction from
which the flashes came, as the figures of the men were invisible in the
darkness.

When we commenced firing, we were unaware there was any one in the
house, until we heard the most fearful shrieks coming from inside the
hotel from men, women, and children. We discovered afterwards that the
front of the building, which the outlaws were standing against, was
composed of thin weather-boards, and the Martini-Henry bullets were
going through the building amongst the occupants. Two or three children
were shot. There was a general cry to lie down, Bracken, with great
forethought, before he left the house, having told them to do so. By
this means most of them escaped without injury. Eventually the outlaws
retreated inside the hotel, which was still in total darkness. There
must have been a terrible scene inside.

[Illustration: Night Attack on the Glenrowan Hotel.]

The moment the outlaws retreated into the house I ordered my men to
cease firing, and told them to surround the hotel and see that no one
escaped, whilst I went to the railway platform to have my arm bandaged.
It was bleeding fearfully; a bullet had entered one side of my wrist
and gone out at the other. I went to the platform, where I found some
of the reporters, one of whom kindly bandaged my wrist up. I made
arrangements for a train to be sent to Benalla to inform the officer in
charge of what had occurred, and to send a few more men up, as I had no
notion what effect the firing had taken upon the outlaws.

At this time I had no idea how serious my wound was, as I had not felt
very much pain in it. I then returned to the hotel. I tried to get
through the fence, but was unable either to get over it or through
it, in consequence of my hand being useless. I could see that the
men had taken up their positions surrounding the house, and sat down
in a position where I also had good command over the house. Having
remained there about a quarter of an hour I began to feel very faint
and dizzy; the wound was bleeding copiously. I attempted to stand up,
but had great difficulty in doing so. I managed, however, to get back
to the platform, but fell down in a faint from loss of blood. Some
restoratives were given me and I recovered consciousness. I was put on
the second engine that was at the platform, and sent to Benalla, the
blood still running fast from the wound. On my arrival there it was
five o'clock. I found a gentleman on the platform, and I asked him to
accompany me to the doctor's house, and then to the telegraph station.
Before I left Glenrowan I told them all I would be back immediately.
I called at the doctor's, told him I had been wounded by Kelly, and
requested him to follow me to the telegraph station, as I wanted
to communicate with the other stations, and get them to send some
assistance.

When I got to the telegraph office I was much exhausted, and terribly
excited. I could not write, but got the telegraph master to write to
my dictation. I sent messages to all surrounding stations, and just
as I had finished, the doctor came in. He took the handkerchief off
my arm and said that I was bleeding from the artery. I asked him to
attend to it at once, as I wished to return to Glenrowan. The officer
in charge also came into the office and I said, "Don't go without me, I
shall be all right in a few minutes." His answer was, "Don't be such
a glutton, you have got one bullet in you, and you want more." I said
I was determined to go back. I remember their pulling a mattress on
to the floor of the telegraph office, and my lying on it, and then I
fainted away and continued unconscious for some time. When I recovered
consciousness I felt terribly weak, and could scarcely stand. I was
assisted to my hotel and went to bed.

I have hitherto merely given my personal experiences with reference to
the capture of the Kelly gang, but I think the history would hardly be
complete without a full account of all that transpired at Glenrowan
during the capture. I have, therefore, taken the following narrative
from _The Age_ newspaper of the 29th of June, 1880--they had their own
correspondent on the ground during the fight. A few errors have crept
in, and these I have corrected in brackets; but on the whole it is a
very fair account of what took place.




CHAPTER XII.

 From _The Age_ Newspaper, 29th June, 1880--The Start--The Journey--A
 Timely Warning--The Gang surprised--Death of Byrne--Capture of Ned
 Kelly--His Statement--The Prisoners released--Renewal of the Fight.


 Benalla, _Monday Night_.

Immediately on the receipt of the news by Captain Standish on Sunday
night that the Kellys had at last broken cover, and committed another
diabolical outrage near Beechworth, he ordered a special train at
once to start from Spencer Street. He was induced to do so because of
the fact that Sub-inspector O'Connor had, with his black trackers,
been withdrawn from the Kelly country. They were on the eve of their
departure for Queensland, and were staying at Essendon. Captain
Standish ordered the special train to convey the blacks to the scene
of the outrage, so that they might there pick up the tracks of the
dreaded gang; but no one at that time imagined that the expedition
would have such a speedy and sensational termination; that, in fact,
it would end in the annihilation of the band in a manner that must
strike terror into the hearts of all sympathizers and men inclined to
imitate the doings of the gang. When the news arrived at the station
that a special train was required, all the engines were cold, and it
was not till a quarter past ten o'clock that a start was made; and the
small party of press gentlemen, who in good spirits took their seats
in the carriage, little thought that the journey they were undertaking
was of such a perilous nature. Only one gentleman was armed. At
Essendon Inspector O'Connor and his five black trackers were picked up,
together with Mrs. O'Connor and her sister, Miss Smith. [Those ladies
intended to proceed to Beechworth and remain there whilst we went in
pursuit of the gang.] The men were evidently in excellent spirits at
the prospect of an encounter. The train proceeded rapidly on its way.
At Craigieburn it ran through a gate, which carried away the brake
of the engine, and necessitated a stoppage of about twenty minutes.
After that, fair progress was made to Benalla, where Superintendent
Hare, who was in waiting with eight men and seventeen horses, joined
the party. Mr. Chas. C. Rawlings also became one of the number. The
night was a splendid one, the moon shining with unusual brightness,
whilst the sharp frosty air caused the slightest noise in the forest
beyond to be distinctly heard. It was thought that the Kellys or some
of their friends might place an obstruction on the line, and in order
that danger in this direction should be avoided as much as possible, it
was determined to lash one of the police to the front of the engine,
so that he might there keep a good look-out. At the last moment this
plan was abandoned, and it is a merciful intervention of Providence
that it was so. Time certainly was lost by the change of tactics, but
the loss was gain. There was a spare engine in the station, and it was
determined to use this as a pilot. [The pilot was arranged for early
in the afternoon.] Accordingly, it started about half a mile ahead of
the special [only 100 yards], which it was intended to run through
to Beechworth. Glenrowan is the next station to Benalla, being about
fourteen miles distant.

However, when within a mile and a quarter of Glenrowan, just opposite
Playford's and De Soir's paddocks, the special came to a sudden halt.
Danger signals from the pilot engine were the cause, and in a very
few seconds the pilot came back with an intimation that a man, in a
state of great excitement, had stopped the engine, and had stated that
Glenrowan was stuck up by the Kellys, who had torn up the lines just
beyond the station in order to destroy the party which they knew would
pass along the line in the special. The news and the stated intentions
of the gang had not a cheering effect, but the police displayed an
eagerness for action. The members of the press barricaded their windows
with the cushions upon which they had previously sat, and in response
to the request which some of the number made, the lights in the train
were extinguished. It was then ten minutes to three o'clock, and
Superintendent Hare was not long in determining what to do. The man
who gave the information disappeared in the forest as soon as he had
imparted his news, and his story was accepted with caution; but it was
soon made apparent that he had saved the lives of those in the train,
which to a certainty would, along with the pilot engine, have been
hurled into a deep gully just below the Glenrowan Station, and behind a
curve in the line which would have prevented the conductors from seeing
the pilot go over the embankment where the rails had been torn up. Mr.
Hare, with one or two of the police, proceeded in the pilot engine
to the railway station, closely followed by the special. On arriving
at the station the horses were quickly got out of the trucks by the
men, whilst Mr. Hare, with one or two men and Mr. Rawlings, proceeded
towards the Glenrowan Hotel to seek information. Mr. Rawlings, when
he left Benalla, jocularly made a boast that they would bring back
the remains of the outlaws. He little thought at that time that his
prediction would prove to be absolutely correct.

The township of Glenrowan consists of about half a dozen houses,
inclusive of two bush hotels, Jones's Glenrowan Hotel being about 200
yards from the station, on the west side of the line, whilst M'Donald's
Hotel is about the same distance on the other side of the line. In
an instant the men on the platform were convinced, by the report of
a shot fired from Jones's Hotel, that they were in the presence of
the desperate outlaws. [This is an error; no shot was fired until we
were within sixteen yards of the hotel.] The next few minutes were
productive of painful excitement. The police abandoned the horses and
rushed to their arms. The black trackers sprang forward with their
leader, and soon took up a good position in front of the house. Mr.
Hare could be plainly seen by the light of the moon. He walked towards
the hotel, and when within about twenty-five yards of the verandah,
the tall figure of a man came round the corner, and fired. The shot
took effect on Mr. Hare's wrist. Senior-constable Kelly and Rawlings
were close to him, and the former promptly returned the fire, which
was taken up by Hare, although wounded, and Mr. Rawlings followed his
example.

Just before Superintendent Hare was wounded, Constable Bracken, the
local policeman, who had been made prisoner in the hotel, courageously
made his escape, and running towards the railway station, quickly
spread the information that the Kellys, with about forty prisoners,
were inmates of the hotel, which was a weather-board building,
containing about six rooms, inclusive of the bar. Behind the building
there was a kitchen, the walls of which were constructed of slabs.
Into this the police fired. When about sixty shots had been sent into
the walls of the building, the clear voice of Hare was distinguished
above the screams of the terrified women and children who were in
the hotel, giving the order to stop firing. This was now repeated by
Senior-constable Kelly to the men who, under cover, were surrounding
the house at the back, but the Kellys fired three or four more shots,
after which one of them gave vent to coarse and brutal language,
calling to the police, "Come on, you ---- wretches, and you can fire
away; you can never harm us." A few straggling shots were then fired,
the sharp sounds of the rifle being echoed from the mount called
Morgan's Look-out, at the foot of which the fight took place.

Then all was silent again, and after the lapse of about a quarter
of an hour Superintendent Hare approached the station and stated
that he had been wounded in the wrist. The wound was a very bad one,
and was bleeding very much. There was no doctor present, but the
representatives of the press succeeded in stopping the rapid loss
of blood. During the trying ordeal, Mrs. O'Connor and Miss Smith
remained unwilling witnesses of the terrible scene. They retained their
seats in the railway carriage, and the courage which they displayed,
notwithstanding that the bullets from the outlaws whistled past the
train, surely ought to have had a good effect on the men who were
facing death in the execution of their duty. Seeing the wound, the
ladies implored Mr. Hare not to return to the fight, but he did so. His
re-appearance in the trenches was the signal for renewed firing, and
the valley was soon filled with smoke. Mr. Hare then became faint from
loss of blood, and was compelled to leave the field. He went back to
Benalla on an engine in order to have his injury attended to, and to
send more men to the front.

A long and tedious interval followed, during which time Mr.
Stanistreet, the station-master, suddenly left the hotel, where he had
been kept prisoner with the other residents of Glenrowan. He walked
boldly away, and had a narrow escape of being shot by the police, but
he saved himself by proclaiming he was the station-master. He reported
that the gang were still in the house, and that the shots of the police
had struck the daughter of Mrs. Jones, a girl fourteen years of age, on
the head, whilst the son, John Jones, a boy of nine years, was wounded
in the hip. Very soon after this, painful, hysterical screams of terror
were heard from Mrs. Jones and a Mrs. Reardon, both of whom were
walking about the place, disregarding the danger to be feared from the
volleys which the police, at short intervals, poured into the hotel.
Mrs. Jones's grief occasionally took the form of vindictiveness towards
the police, whom she called murderers. The police frequently called
upon the women to come away, but they hesitated, and Mrs. Reardon and
her son were afraid to accompany Mr. Reardon to the station. The poor
woman was carrying a baby only a few months old in her arms, and
she eventually ran to the station, where she received every kindness
from the persons there assembled. She was then in a very terrified
condition, and told the following story, which serves to show the
manner in which the gang took possession of Glenrowan.

She said: "My husband is a plate-layer, employed on the railway, and
we live about a mile from the station, on the Benalla side. At three
o'clock on Sunday morning we were all in bed. We were aroused by Ned
Kelly, who knocked at the door, and told my husband, when he opened it,
to surrender. He advised us to dress, and I did so. They had also made
a prisoner of Sullivan, another plate-layer, and Kelly brought us to
the station, where I was kept for some hours. Kelly took my husband and
Sullivan down the line, in order to tear up the line and destroy the
train with the police. He was afterwards taken to the hotel. There are
a lot of innocent people in there now, and they are frightened to come
out for fear the police will kill them. Amongst the people who are in
there are:--James and Michael Reardon, my husband and son, Catherine
and William Rennison, John and Patrick Delaney (who are here coursing),
W.S. Cooke (a labourer), Martin Sherry (a plate-layer), John Larkins
(a farmer), Edward Reynolds (the brother of the postmaster), Robert
Gibbons, the brothers Meanliffe, and other strangers I do not know."

When the poor woman had completed her story, the firing of the
police became very brisk, and it was replied to by the desperadoes
in the hotel. Senior-constable Kelly at that juncture found a rifle
stained with blood lying on the side of the hill, and this led to the
supposition that one of the gang had been wounded, and had escaped
through the forest towards Morgan's Look-out. Just then nine police
with Superintendent Sadleir and Dr. Hutchinson came from Benalla.
Almost immediately after, seven policemen under Sergeant Steele
arrived on horse-back from Wangaratta. The alarm had been given there
by Trooper Bracken, who caught a horse and rode the ten miles in a
surprisingly short space of time. The conduct of Bracken, and the
promptitude of the Wangaratta police, is to be highly commended. Just
before their arrival a heavy volley was poured into the hotel by the
police.

According to the statement of some of the prisoners, afterwards made,
that volley proved fatal to Joe Byrne, who was standing close to young
Delaney, drinking a nobbler of whisky at the bar, when he was shot
in the groin. He was then carried to the back of the building, where
he gradually sank and died a painful death. This fact at the time was
unknown to the police.

The morning broke beautiful and clear. The police were disposed all
round the hotel, when they were beset by a danger from the rear. Ned
Kelly was the cause. It appears he was the man who shot Mr. Hare, and
he himself was wounded in the arm by the fire which was returned. He
could not without danger get into the hotel, so he sprang upon his
horse, and during the excitement which followed, he got away towards
Morgan's Look-out, but it was not the intention of the bold ruffian to
desert his comrades, and he returned to fight his way to them. [This
is quite wrong. Kelly being wounded, tried to escape on foot, but
being shot in the foot was unable to walk. No man left the hotel on
horse-back, but, to make a hero of himself, he told this story.]

[Illustration: Ned Kelly in his Armour.]

It was nearly eight o'clock when his tall figure was seen close behind
the line of police. At first it was thought he was a black fellow. He
carried a grey coat over his arm, [he wore the coat over his armour],
and walked coolly and slowly among the police. His head, chest, back,
and sides were all protected with heavy plates of quarter-inch iron.
When within easy distance of Senior-constable Kelly, who was watching
him, he fired. The police then knew who he was, and Sergeant Steele,
Senior-constable Kelly, with Mr. Dowsett (a railway guard), fired on
the ruffian. The contest became one which, from its remarkable nature,
almost baffles description. Nine police joined in the conflict and
fired point blank at Kelly; but although, in consequence of the way in
which he staggered, it was apparent that many of the shots hit him, yet
he always recovered himself, and tapping his breast, laughed derisively
at his opponents, as he coolly returned the fire, fighting only with a
revolver. It appeared as if he was a fiend with a charmed life.

For half an hour this strange contest was carried on, and then Sergeant
Steele rapidly closed in on him, and when within only about ten yards
of him, fired two shots into his legs which brought the outlaw down.
He was only wounded, and appeared still determined to carry on the
desperate conflict, but Steele bravely rushed him and seized the hand
in which he held his revolver, the only weapon with which he was armed.
He fired one shot after this, but without effect. When on the ground
he roared with savage ferocity, cursing the police vehemently. He was
stripped of his armour, and then became quite submissive, and was borne
to the railway station by Sergeant Steele, Constable Dwyer, and two
representatives of the Melbourne press.

Great praise is due to Guard Dowsett for the plucky manner in which he
assisted the police. He was armed with a revolver, and got very close
to the outlaw. At the railway station Kelly appeared to be very weak
from the loss of blood, and some brandy was given him. He was examined
in the guard's van by Dr. Nicholson and Dr. Hutchinson, who found that
he was suffering from two bullet wounds in the left arm, a bullet in
the right foot near the right toe, and two wounds in the right leg,
those inflicted by Sergeant Steele.

The outlaw was quite composed, and in answer to inquiries he made
the following statement:--"What I intended to do, and in fact was
just about doing, was to go down with some of my mates and meet the
special train and rake it with shot. The train, however, came before I
expected, and I had to return to the hotel. I thought the train would
go on, and on that account I had the rails pulled up, so that these
---- black trackers might be settled. It does not much matter what
brought me to Glenrowan. I do not know, or I do not say. It does not
seem much, any way. If I liked, I could have got away last night. I got
into the bush with my grey mare, and laid there all night. I had a good
chance, but I wanted to see the thing end.

"When the police fired the first round I got wounded in the foot. It
was the left one. Shortly afterwards I was shot through the left arm.
It was in the front of the house where I received these injuries. I
don't care what people say about Sergeant Kennedy's death. I have made
my statement as to it, and if they don't believe me I can't help it.
At all events, I am satisfied Scanlan was not shot kneeling. That is
not true. He never got off his horse. At the commencement of the affair
this morning I fired three or four shots from the front of Jones's
Hotel, but I do not know who I was firing at. I only fired when I saw
flashes. I then cleared for the bush, but remained there near the hotel
all night. Two constables passed close by me talking, and I could have
shot them before I had time to shout, if I liked. I could have shot
several constables at one time. I was a good distance away, but I came
back again. I have got a charge of duck-shot in my leg. Why don't the
police use bullets instead of duck-shot?

"One of the policemen that was firing at me was a splendid shot. I
don't know his name. Perhaps I would have done better if I had cleared
away on my grey mare. [He never had a chance.] It was just like blows
from a man's fist receiving the bullets on my armour. I wanted to fire
into the carriages, only the police started on us too quickly. I knew
the police would come, and I expected them."

Inspector Sadleir here remarked, "You wanted then to kill the people
in the train?" Kelly replied, "Yes; of course I did. God help them,
they would have got shot all the same. Would they not have tried to
kill me?" Every kindness was shown to Kelly by the police, and his two
sisters were permitted to remain with him during the afternoon. He
was also seen by Father Tierney, to whom it is understood he made a
confession, but the reverend gentleman courteously declined to state
the nature of it.

At various times during the morning more police arrived, but the
bushrangers could not be dislodged; and what was more perplexing still,
the prisoners inside could not be persuaded to leave, although the
police repeatedly called upon them to come out. At twelve o'clock,
however, the people inside, consisting of about thirty men and youths,
suddenly rushed out of the front door, carrying their hands aloft. The
police told them to advance towards where they were located, but many
of the unfortunate people were so terror-stricken that they ran hither
and thither screaming for mercy. They then approached the police and
threw themselves upon their faces.

One by one they were called on, and having been minutely searched, were
despatched to the station. When the turn of two youths named M'Auliffe
came. Superintendent Sadleir directed Constable Bracken to arrest them
as Kelly sympathizers. They were accordingly handcuffed, and taken with
the others to the railway-station. Young Reardon, who with his father
had been confined in the hotel, was severely wounded in the shoulder
by a bullet fired from a rifle in the hands of one of the police. The
unfortunate youth was at once attended to by the doctors already named.
Although the wound was a serious one, it was not considered such as
would prove fatal.

The police after this kept up a constant fire on the place, Dwyer and
Armstrong in front of the house, Andrew Clarke, sen., and Constable
Kelly getting very close in at various quarters of attack. It was
noticed that the fire from the besieged bushrangers was not returned
after one o'clock, but it was believed that Dan Kelly and Hart
intended to lie quiet until night, and under cover of the darkness
make their escape. The police for a time also ceased firing. A
consultation was held amongst the officers as to what was to be done
next. During the cessation of hostilities I visited the locality
where the line had been torn up; it is about three-quarters of a mile
on the Wangaratta side of Glenrowan. Several lengths of rails had
been wrenched from their places at a curve terminating at a rapid
decline, and had not timely warning been given, the pilot-engine,
followed closely by the special, would have inevitably toppled over an
embankment into a defile over thirty feet in depth. I arrived back at
the station in time to witness the most tragic and exciting scene of
the day. The police had telegraphed for a field-gun from Melbourne, but
fearing it would not arrive in time to be of any use, it was determined
to adopt another mode of dislodging the remaining outlaws.




CHAPTER XIII.

 From _The Age_ (continued). Mrs. Skillian comes on the Scene--The
 Hotel fired--Rescue of Sherry--Fate of Dan Kelly and Hart--Statement
 of Various Prisoners made by the Gang--The Incident of the Cannon.


Just as they were about to put this newly-conceived plan into
operation, Mrs. Skillian, sister of the Kellys, dressed in a dark
riding-habit trimmed with scarlet, and wearing a jaunty hat adorned
with a conspicuous white feather, appeared on the scene. Father Tierney
earnestly requested her to go to the hotel and ask her brother and
Hart to surrender. She said she would like to see her brother before
he died, but she would sooner see him burned in the house than ask him
to surrender. This, in fact, was the procedure which the police had
decided upon in order to bring the outlaws from their cover. Some 200
people by this time had arrived on the platform.

The police opened up a heavy fire on the hotel from the front and rear.
This was done in order to cover the operations of Senior-constable
Johnstone, who rapidly approached the house on the north side with
a bundle of straw, which he placed against the weather-boards and
set fire to. It was known that Martin Sherry, an old man, was still
in the house, and when the last prisoners had escaped he was alive,
though badly wounded. The thought that the unfortunate man would be
sacrificed, and perish in the flames with the determined bushrangers
who had made so long a stand, caused a feeling of horror to pervade the
crowd.

Kate Kelly at this juncture came upon the scene, but the only
expression which escaped her lips was the one uttered in heart-broken
accents, "My poor, poor brother." Mrs. Skillian exclaimed, "I will see
my brother before he dies," and then sped towards the hotel, from the
roof of which by this time tongues of flame were beginning to ascend.
The police ordered her to go back, and she hesitated.

Father Tierney emerged from the crowd, saying he would save Sherry.
The brave clergyman was encouraged on his mission by a cheer from
the spectators. He walked boldly to the front door, was lost to view
amongst the smoke, and directly afterwards a mass of flames burst
from the walls and roof of the dwelling at the same instant. A shout
of terror from the crowd announced the fear that was felt for the
safety of the courageous priest. Constable Armstrong, with some other
policemen, rushed into the building from the rear, and a few seconds
afterwards their forms, with that of Father Tierney, were seen to
emerge, carrying with them Sherry, who was in a dying state, and the
dead body of the outlaw Byrne.

On reaching a place of safety they stated that Dan Kelly and Hart were
lying upon the floor apparently dead. Nothing, however, could be done
to rescue their remains from the fire. Soon afterwards the building was
completely demolished, and on a search being made amongst the ruins,
two charred skeletons were raked out from the smouldering _débris_.
Wild, Wright, Hart (the brother of Steve), and other well-known friends
were witnesses of this terrible scene. All the bushrangers were clad
in the same kind of armour as that worn by Ned Kelly, which weighed as
much as ninety-seven pounds, and had evidently been constructed by some
country blacksmith out of ploughshares. The marks on Kelly's armour
showed that he had been hit seventeen times with bullets.

The unfortunate man Sherry died soon after being rescued from the
burning building. Ned Kelly was brought on to Benalla by the evening
train, and lodged in the lock-up, to await the inquest to be held in
the morning.

The statement of Constable Bracken is to the effect that the first
intimation of the presence of the gang at Glenrowan was on Sunday night
at eleven o'clock, when he was bailed up by Ned Kelly. He had been
confined to bed through illness. Whilst a prisoner in the hotel he
courageously managed to steal the key of the front door, which enabled
him to escape in time to warn the police that the outlaws were in the
house.

Mr. John Stanistreet, station-master at Glenrowan, states--"About three
o'clock on Sunday morning a knock came to my door, at the gatehouse,
within one hundred yards of the station, on the Melbourne side. I
jumped up, and thinking it was some one wanting to get through the
gates in a hurry, I commenced to dress as soon as possible. I half
dressed, and went to the door. Just when I got there it was burst in,
but previous to that there was some impatient talk, which caused me
to dress quickly. When the door was burst in I asked, 'What is that
for?' or 'Who are you?' The answer was, 'I am Ned Kelly.' I then saw a
man, clad in an overcoat, standing in the doorway. He pushed me into
my bedroom, where my wife and some of the children were in bed. There
were two girls and one infant besides my wife. Then he said to me, 'You
have to come with me and take up the rails.' 'Wait,' said I, 'until I
dress.' He said, 'Yes,' and I completed my dressing and followed him
out of the house.

"On the line there were seven or eight men standing at the gate which
crosses the line to Mrs. Jones's hotel, the Glenrowan Inn. He said,
'You direct those men how to raise some of the rails, as we expect a
special train very soon.' I objected, saying, 'I know nothing about
lifting rails off the line; the only persons who understand it are the
repairers; they live outside and along the line.' Ned Kelly then went
into Reardon the plate-layer's house. Reardon lives outside the line on
the Greta side, about a quarter of a mile away. Steve Hart was present,
and Kelly left us in his charge. When Kelly went away Hart gave me a
<DW8> with his rifle in the side, saying, 'You get the tools out that
are necessary to raise those rails.' I said, 'I have not the key of the
chest;' and he said, 'Break the lock.' He told one of the men to do so,
and on arriving at the station he got one of the men to do it. This was
in the little back shed used as a store-room, between the station and
the gatehouse. The tools were thrown out, and in the meantime Reardon
and Sullivan, the line-repairers, arrived with Ned Kelly. These two
men and Ned proceeded down the line towards Wangaratta to lift the
rails. We were still under Steve Hart, and we remained where we were
over two hours, and then Ned Kelly and the repairers returned. Ned
then inquired about the signalling of trains, as to how I stopped a
train with the signal-lights. I said, '"White is right, red is wrong,
and green is gently, come along."' He said, 'There is a special train
coming; you give no signals.' Speaking to Hart he said, 'Watch his
countenance, and if he gives any signal, shoot him.' He then marched
us into my residence, and left us there under Steve Hart. There were
there then about seventeen altogether, other persons subsequently being
placed in my house also. There were present Reardon's family, the Ryan
family, Cameron (son of the gatekeeper on the other line), Sullivan,
line-repairer, and others whom I do not remember. We were locked up all
day on Sunday, and were only allowed out under surveillance. The women
were permitted to go to Jones's Hotel about five o'clock, and shortly
afterwards all the men but me and my family went away. Steve Hart
stopped with us, and during the night Dan Kelly relieved Hart, and he
was afterwards relieved by Byrne.

"Just before the special train arrived I was ordered to the hotel by
Hart, who was on and off duty all the time, to follow him to Jones's,
and not signal the train. I went into the back kitchen, where Mrs.
Jones and daughter, aged about fourteen, and two younger children were.
There was also a man there named Neil M'Kew. By this time the train had
arrived, and firing was going on furiously. I did not see Ned Kelly
in the room. I with others stood in the chimney. I did not hear any
remark passed by any of the gang, and they disappeared. A ball passed
through the hut, and grazed Miss Jane Jones, fourteen years of age, on
the forehead. The girl said, 'I'm shot,' and turned to me. I saw the
blood and told her it was nothing. The mother commenced to cry, and
soon afterwards I left the kitchen, and went into the back-yard. I then
saw three of the gang there standing behind the chimney. They had their
rifles in their hands. One of them said, I don't know which, 'If you go
out you'll be shot.' I walked straight down the path towards the house.
The firing was then going on all round me, but I was uninjured. One of
the police very nearly shot me, but I said 'Station-master' when he
challenged me. I forgot to mention that during Sunday afternoon Steve
Hart demanded and received my revolver."

Robert Gibbons states--"I am a farmer, and have recently been stopping
at Glenrowan with Mr. Reynolds. I came to the railway-station about
eight o'clock on Sunday night with Mr. Reynolds to ask about his
little boy, who had not been home. When we knocked at the door, Mrs.
Stanistreet told us that Mr. Hart was inside, and that they had been
stuck up ever since three o'clock on Sunday morning. We followed her
in, and saw Steve Hart. She told him who we were, and he then put his
fire-arms down, giving us to understand that we were not to go out. We
remained there about two hours, when Ned Kelly came, and Hart ordered
us to come out of the room. Ned Kelly then told us that we would all
have to go down to the police-barracks with him. He kept us waiting
there for about two hours, he having gone for Bracken. He returned to
us with Bracken. He kept us waiting there about an hour and a half.
Byrne at that time was with us. There he told me and Mr. Reynolds we
would have to go to Jones's Hotel. We went to the hotel, and he told us
to get into the bar parlour. It was then about ten o'clock on Sunday
night, and we remained there until the train came. During that time
the Kellys were going about the place making themselves quite jolly.
Byrne was in charge of the back-door, the other door being locked.
A little after three o'clock the train came. Prior to that the gang
drank quite freely with the others. When the train arrived, Ned came
and said, 'You are not to whisper a word that has been said here about
me. If I hear of any one doing so I will shoot you.' He went to the
door of the room and said, 'Here she comes,' and then the gang busied
themselves in making preparations, but for what I did not know. They
came back and said the first man who left the room in which we were
would be shot. Two of them then mounted their horses, and rode away,
but I could not tell which two. They came back in about ten minutes'
time. When they came back, I saw that Dan was one of the two who had
gone away. Dan went into a back room. All four in turn went into the
same room. Very soon afterwards a hurried move was made, and firing
commenced. There must have been about forty men, women, and children in
the house then. The women and children commenced to shriek, and Mrs.
Jones's eldest daughter was wounded on the side of the head, and the
eldest boy shot in the thigh. The bullets rattled through the side of
the house, and we laid down. We were packed so close that we had to
lie on our sides. It was those who laid next the door who prompted us
to come out, and we did so because we feared that the bullets would
come through faster than ever. We also feared a cannon would be used;
and about ten o'clock we ran out. I heard some of them say that Byrne,
or one of the gang, was lying dead in the back. I know that Dan was
alive when I left."

Arthur Loftus Mauld Steele states--"I am a sergeant of police at
Wangaratta. I arrived here with five men about five a.m. We were at
once challenged by police, and answered, 'Wangaratta police.' My men
were then distributed around the hut, and I got to the tree near the
back door of the hut. There was no firing then. A woman and child
came to the back-door screaming, and I told the woman if she ran in
quick she would not be molested. A man then came to the back-door,
and I asked him to throw up his arms or I would fire on him. He was
only about twenty-five yards distant. The man stooped and ran towards
the stables and I fired. He then turned and ran back to the house,
and I fired again. I am certain I hit him with the second shot, as he
screamed and fell against the door. There was then some hot firing, and
the bullets whistled all around me. The firing was kept up for some
time, and some of the men behind me called out. It was then breaking
day. I looked round, and saw a man stalking down. I thought he was a
black-fellow, and called on the others to be careful. I then saw him
present a revolver and fire at the police. I could see the bullets
hitting him, and staggering him for a moment, with no further effect.
I therefore thought he had armour on, and determined to have a close
shot at him. I ran towards him, and when within ten yards of him he
saw me, and turned round to fire at me. I then aimed at his legs, and
he staggered, but he still tried to aim at me. I then fired the second
barrel on the legs. We were then in the open. He fell, and cried, 'I'm
done, I'm done.' I ran up to him then, and he again tried to shoot me,
but I caught the revolver and pushed it down. I was behind him, and
he could not turn on me quick enough to shoot me. Whilst I held the
revolver away from me he fired the revolver. Senior-constable Kelly
then came up and assisted me to secure him. So did O'Dwyer, and a host
of others at once followed. We only found one revolver on him, and a
bag of ammunition. We divested him of his armour. I was strained after
the scuffle which ensued."

Senior-constable Kelly states--"When we started from the platform we
ran down towards the railway-gates, hearing that the gang were in
Jones's public-house. The men at that time had not sufficient time to
scatter, and all made towards the hotel. As we approached, some one
came out on the verandah and fired on us. Mr. Superintendent Hare, with
Mr. Rawlings, a volunteer from Benalla, was close to me. Mr. Hare said,
'I am shot in the wrist,' but he continued to fire. We sought cover,
and Hare said to me, 'For God's sake, surround the house, and don't
let them escape.' He then fired again, and gave the gun to Rawlings.
He then left, saying, 'Kelly, place the men under cover,' and I placed
the men around the house. Mr. O'Connor and his trackers took up a
position in front of the hotel. I then went round towards the back of
the premises. Constable Arthur was with me, and we crawled about 400
yards. In this way we got to within about fifty yards of the house, at
the back of a tree. In the scrub I found a revolving rifle covered with
blood, and a padded skull-cap." [This was Ned Kelly's. Being wounded
in the thumb, he could not use his rifle.] "We kept strict watch, and
fired upon any one who attempted to leave the hut. There were four
horses saddled and tied up to the back-door. These we shot in order
to prevent the sudden escape of the gang. When we left the station we
met Constable Bracken, who told us that the gang were at Jones's. He,
I believe, jumped on one of our horses, and rode off to Benalla to get
further assistance, and at half-past six o'clock he returned with the
Wangaratta police, Sergeant Steele being at their head. We continued to
fire, and at about eight o'clock, so far as I can remember, Ned Kelly
made his appearance under the brow of the hill, 300 yards from the hut.
He deliberately fired at me. I returned the fire, and my men closed
around him, Sergeant Steele being behind him, myself on one side,
and Dowsett, the railway-guard, on the other. About ten rifles were
brought to bear on him, and we hit him several times. His heavy armour,
however, protected him, and he walked boldly to and fro. Near a fallen
tree he fell, and we rushed forward. I caught him by the head as Steele
grasped his hand, in which he still held his revolver. He fired it,
but did no damage. His armour was taken off, and he was carried to the
railway-station, where he was searched, but only threepence was found
on him, a silver Geneva watch, and a lot of ammunition. I asked him
to tell me where Sergeant Kennedy's watch was, and he said, 'I cannot
tell you; I would not like to tell you about it.' He also said, 'I had
to shoot Sergeant Kennedy and Scanlan for my own safety. I cannot tell
you any more.' We then gave him over to the medical gentleman and Mr.
Sadleir."

During the forenoon Colonel Anderson received information from
Captain Standish that in order to dislodge the two remaining members
of the gang without endangering any further life, the hotel would
have to be blown down, and as the best means for accomplishing that
object, a small cannon would probably be required. The Commandant,
telegraphing for further particulars in order to guide him in the
selection of a gun, received from Superintendent Sadleir the following
reply--"Glenrowan.--Weather-board, brick chimneys, slab kitchen. The
difficulty we feel is that our shots have no effect on the corner, and
there are so many windows that we should be under fire all the day. We
must get the gun before night, or rush the place." Immediately upon the
receipt of this message, Colonel Anderson arranged for the supply of a
twelve-pound Armstrong gun, which was quickly placed upon a truck at
the Spencer-street station. A special train was soon in readiness, and
at twenty minutes past two it departed, carrying the formidable-looking
weapon, a detachment of the Garrison Artillery under Lieutenant
Nicholson, and the Commandant himself. The train, in order to land
the gun at the scene of action while it was yet daylight, started at
a pre-arranged rate of forty miles per hour. Seymour was reached in
due average time, but before the soldiers had time to step upon the
platform, came the not altogether unexpected, though disappointing,
news that the gun was no longer required, as the whole of the outlaws
had been taken. The train proceeded no further, and the gun, officers,
and men returned by the first passenger goods-train to Melbourne.

On Saturday night, at six o'clock, the Chief Secretary was informed
by telegram of the murder at Sebastopol, and he at once communicated
with Captain Standish, Chief Commissioner of Police, with whom he
consulted. Seeing the gravity of the situation, and remembering how
previously the gang had always managed to obtain a good start of
the police after the commission of their outrages, it was decided
to despatch a special train to Beechworth at once. The Minister of
Railways was informed of that determination, and without delay a
train was got in readiness. Superintendent Hare, who was at Benalla,
was telegraphed to, and instructed to proceed to Beechworth, and the
black trackers, under Lieutenant O'Connor, who were at Essendon, where
they were staying previously to their return to Queensland, were also
apprised of the fact that they were required. As their engagement to
the Victorian Government had expired, Captain Standish telegraphed to
the Commissioner of Police at Brisbane, and requested that they might
be allowed to remain, but that permission was refused. Mr. Ramsay,
however, would not allow the Government to be so curtly treated, and he
communicated with Mr. Palmer, Chief Secretary of Queensland, and at two
o'clock on Sunday morning he obtained the required permit.

In the meantime--at about a quarter to ten--the train left Spencer
Street with the tracking party. At a later period of the day--about
nine a.m.--when the news of the commencement of the fight at Glenrowan
was received, the Commissioner and the Chief Secretary again consulted,
and it was then arranged that a reinforcement of police should be
despatched, and an ample supply of ammunition was ordered to be sent
up with it. As it would be almost impossible for any firing to take
place without some of the men being injured, it was considered
necessary that an experienced surgeon should also be sent to the scene,
and accordingly Dr. Charles Ryan, who, it is well known, was attached
to the medical staff at Plevna during the Russo-Turkish war and the
bombardment of that town, was requested to place his services at the
disposal of the authorities. He consented, and at about ten o'clock
another special, taking Captain Standish, Dr. Ryan, Senior-constable
Walsh and five other constables, and a quantity of ammunition, left for
Glenrowan. The circumstances of the wounding of Superintendent Hare,
and the commencement of the attack; that Ned Kelly had been wounded
and captured; that he had been discovered to be wearing a breastplate
of iron, a mask, and helmet; that his wounds were not considered to be
mortal, were all duly telegraphed.

[Illustration: Group taken during the Fight.]

At twenty minutes to eleven a.m., it was officially intimated that the
civilians had been liberated from the hotel; that Byrne had been shot;
and that Dan Kelly and Hart maintained possession, and were firing in
reply to the incessant firing by the police. As there appeared to be
every likelihood that, if the fight was continued, some of the police
might be seriously injured, the Chief Secretary instructed Captain
Standish, if possible, to blow the house up, but before doing so to
see that none but members of the gang were in it. Colonel Anderson was
summoned to a consultation with a view to steps being taken to effect
that object, and the result was that at twenty minutes past two p.m. a
third special, conveying that officer and a detachment of artillery,
with a 12-pounder field-piece, left for Glenrowan, but as the
termination of the conflict before the arrival of the train at Benalla
rendered it unnecessary that it should proceed further, it was detained
at that place. The Chief Secretary also advised by telegram that a
wooden bullet-proof shield should be constructed to be fitted on a dray
or wagon, under cover of which the attacking party might approach the
house and effect its ruin, always assuming that the gang were the sole
occupants. It was also feared by Mr. Ramsay that the fight would not
be concluded before nightfall, and that if that was so, the outlaws
might escape in the dark. He therefore consulted with Mr. Ellery, the
Government astronomer, and asked his advice as to the practicability of
sending up an electric-light apparatus, but that gentleman expressed
the opinion that it would be of little utility adopting such a
course, as it would take quite twenty-four hours after the apparatus
arrived on the ground to get it fairly at work. To carry out the same
idea, however, Mr. Ramsay telegraphed suggesting that large bonfires
should be burnt round the house so as to give the required light and
prevent the bushrangers escaping. But all these precautions were not
required to be put in practice, as before sundown the final scene in
the tragedy had been enacted.

His Excellency the Governor telegraphed about noon to Superintendent
Hare, congratulating him on the bravery displayed by himself and his
men, and encouraging them in the struggle in which they were engaged.
The Chief Secretary, on behalf of the Government, also telegraphed to
Mr. Hare to the same effect; and at twenty minutes past one p.m., Sir
Henry Parkes, Premier of the Government of New South Wales, telegraphed
to the Victorian Government, expressing the great satisfaction which
was experienced in Sydney at the prospect of a speedy destruction of
the gang, and congratulating the Government.

The change which had been lately made in the control of the police
in the Kelly district gave rise at the time it was decided upon to
some comment. Mr. Ramsay states that on assuming office he made the
determination that, if possible, the Kellys should be discovered
without delay. He accordingly summoned Assistant-Commissioner
Nicholson, who was in charge of the police in the district, and told
him of the dissatisfaction which was experienced at the absence of
results from the presence of the force there. He reminded him that he
had been there for ten months, but that nothing had been done, and said
that unless within a reasonable time something definite was effected
or ascertained, an alteration of the arrangements would be made. Mr.
Nicholson requested to be allowed a month longer, but he eventually
returned to his position as Assistant-Commissioner at Melbourne.

Mr. Hare, who had been engaged in the capture of Power, the notorious
bushranger, was spoken to as to his filling the vacancy. In Mr.
Ramsay's opinion he had been very badly treated, inasmuch as he had
not received any recognition of the services he had rendered to the
colony on that occasion. He had had his salary increased by £100 a year
at the time that Superintendent Winch's was also added to, but under
the _régime_ of the late Government his salary had been reduced by
Parliament, whilst Mr. Winch's was continued. He was regarded as being
specially qualified for the duty which he was required to perform, and
he was instructed to choose the best men and officers in the force with
whom to act. He was further assured that he would be untrammelled by
any official rules and regulations.

The Chief Secretary received a later telegram from the Chief Secretary
of Queensland in the forenoon, which stated that from what had been
reported officially, and had been communicated by residents of
Queensland who had visited Victoria, it appeared that a considerable
amount of jealousy was evinced by the Victorian police with respect to
the trackers, and that unless they were allowed to go to the front at
once, it was little use their being required to do so, because if the
white police preceded them and effaced the tracks, they could not do
their work.

The outlaws were disposed of in time to give the police a claim to the
reward of £8000 offered by the Governments of Victoria and New South
Wales. For it was notified on the 20th of April that the reward would
be withdrawn on the 20th of July.

At the inquest on the body of Aaron Sherritt, held at the Vine Hotel,
Beechworth, before Mr. W.H. Foster, P.M., the jury having been
empanelled, the following evidence was heard:--

John Sherritt, father of deceased, deposed that he had seen the body
of the deceased, and identified it as that of his son Aaron, aged
twenty-five years. He did not know from his personal knowledge how his
son came by his death.

William Sherritt, brother of the deceased, identified the body as that
of his brother, but did not know from personal knowledge how he came by
his death.

Ellen Barry stated--"I am deceased's mother-in-law, and identify the
body as that of my late son-in-law. I was at Aaron Sherritt's house
on Saturday last, and was present at his death. I was at the house
between six and seven o'clock, half an hour before the outlaws arrived.
There were also my daughter and the deceased present. I was sitting at
the fire when we heard a knock at the door. The deceased and his wife
were having tea. There was a candle alight in the room in which I was
sitting. An ordinary knock was given at the back-door, that being the
first sign we got of any one being about. Aaron answered the knock, and
said, 'Who's there?' and he heard Antone Wicks reply, 'I have lost my
road, Sherritt; come and put me on the road.' I heard no other noise
at the time. The deceased then opened the door and put his head out.
I heard something said outside, but could not say what. The deceased
appeared to be inclined to step back into the room, but before he could
retreat a shot was fired from outside--by whom I do not know. The shot
was fired very close to the door, and as soon as deceased was struck
he stepped backwards into the centre of the room. After the first
shot, Joe Byrne stepped up to the door and fired a second shot at the
deceased, who was still standing in the centre of the room. Deceased
then fell back to the ground. Byrne remained at the door for a short
time. My daughter then asked, 'Joe, why did you shoot Aaron?' and Byrne
replied, 'If I did not, he would shoot me.' Byrne, who had a gun in his
hand, was in sight during the whole of the conversation. Byrne then
told me to open the door opposite the one at which he stood. I did so,
and saw Dan Kelly outside with a gun in his hand. I was then allowed to
go outside. When outside Byrne asked me, 'Is there a window in front of
the house?' I said, 'Yes,' and Byrne called out, 'Look out, Dan; there
is a window in the front of the house.' Dan Kelly then joined me and
Byrne, and I recognized him. He afterwards returned to the front of the
house. About five or ten minutes elapsed from the time I heard the
knock until I saw Dan Kelly. Two shots had been fired by Byrne before I
went outside, and he afterwards fired two shots at the bedroom. Byrne
was directly in front of the house when he fired at the bedroom."




CHAPTER XIV.

 The Outlaws' Plans--Execution of Ned Kelly--Habits and Customs of the
 Gang--Katie Kelly's behaviour--Kelly's distrust of Hart--The Cost of
 the Destruction of the Gang.


It was noticed by the constables who surrounded the hotel that a number
of horses, saddled and bridled, were ready to be used by the outlaws;
some of them were horses recently reported as stolen, and others
were those which we had frequently seen ridden by Kelly's sisters.
The constables shot some of them so as to prevent the escape of the
outlaws. The prisoners were allowed out soon after daylight, and when
the last of them came away, only Steve Hart and Dan Kelly were alive
in the hotel. The police say Hart and Dan Kelly kept firing out of the
windows up to one or two o'clock in the day, but having the armour
on they were unable to take accurate aim. I have no hesitation in
saying that had they been without armour when we first attacked them
at the hotel, and could have taken proper aim at us, not one of us
could have escaped being shot. They were obliged to hold the rifle at
arm's-length to get anything of a sight. When I was hit I had my arm
under my gun and was running towards them; they were on my right front,
the butt of my gun was under my elbow with the left hand under the
barrels, ready to be used in a moment. Had it been an inch higher or
lower it would have missed me.

The outlaws had provided themselves with another set of horses on the
opposite side of the railway, so that had they been obliged to cross
the line in a hurry, they would have been able to mount their horses
and get off in a moment. The plan they arranged was as follows:--

Joe Byrne and Dan Kelly went to Woolshed to shoot Aaron Sherritt on
Saturday night, whilst Ned and Steve Hart were to go to Glenrowan
and pull up the rails. They knew it was our habit, whenever they
showed themselves in any part of the district, immediately to get a
special train and go to the spot and start on their tracks. They knew,
therefore, directly the news reached Benalla that Sherritt was shot, I
should start off with a party of police and black trackers to pick up
their trail. No trains ran on that line on Sundays; therefore, the only
one likely to come along would be a "special," with a party of police.
There was no telegraph station at Glenrowan, and the special would not
stop there. They thought that the train would get up great speed going
down the incline after passing Glenrowan, and it would be smashed up
and most of the party killed. They were then to jump on to their horses
and go to the spot, and finish off those who had escaped.

The line was taken up about half a mile from Glenrowan. They would then
have started off to Benalla, robbed all the banks, and probably secured
£4000 or £5000. If they had worn their armour with overcoats they might
have been shot at fifty times without being injured. They had arranged
to have placed one of their number on the bridge in Benalla, so as to
prevent any person giving information concerning them. The police were
all on the opposite side of the river, and it was their intention to
blow up the railway bridge at Benalla, so as to stop the traffic on
the line. I believe they had a keg of gunpowder and fuse ready for the
purpose at Glenrowan.

This was what Mrs. Byrne alluded to when she said they were about
"to do something that would astonish not only all the colonies, but
the whole world." Had they succeeded in wrecking our train that
morning, there would have been fearful carnage afterwards. There is
no question of doubt that at Glenrowan they had parties of scouts,
both in the hotel and outside of it; most of them, no doubt, were
their own relations, and their name was legion. The Kellys were very
short of cash when they stuck up Glenrowan. Their sisters were in debt
everywhere, and they were compelled to make a raid in order to get
money.

About a fortnight before they were captured, I was speaking to the
owner of a hotel not far from Glenrowan. He told me the outlaws were
in debt to him to the amount of £26. I asked him how he ever expected
to be paid. He replied--"Oh, they will get another bank some of these
days." I said to him, "I suppose you will be very sorry when they are
captured?" "No," he said, "I won't. I am getting tired of them. They
give us a lot of trouble--destroy our fences and injure our property,
and we dare not say a word about it. If we did we would only get the
worst of it."

Notwithstanding all Kelly's boasted pluck and bounce, how game he would
die, &c., he was the only one who in any way showed the white feather.
When the constables ran up to him after Steele had hold of him, he
begged for mercy, and asked them to spare his life. There is no doubt
that, had he been able to walk, he would have gone off, leaving his
comrades behind him in the hotel. It was always said that Dan Kelly was
the most blood-thirsty wretch of the whole gang, and that Ned had the
greatest difficulty in restraining him from shooting every person he
came across.

After the building was burnt, the charred remains of Dan Kelly and
Steve Hart were pulled out of the fire and were given over to their
relatives; Joe Byrne's remains were taken to Benalla, and an inquest
held on them. Ned Kelly was taken to Benalla, and next day he was
forwarded to the Melbourne gaol, where he was for some weeks under the
care of Dr. Shields. Subsequently he was sent up to Beechworth, where
he was committed for trial, and then sent back to Melbourne, where he
was tried and sentenced to be hanged. He had quite recovered from his
wounds before he was executed. He was allowed to see his mother, who
was an inmate in the Melbourne gaol, the day before his execution, and
say good-bye to her. Her last words to him were, "Mind you die like a
Kelly." The coroner who held the inquest on Ned Kelly told me he seldom
saw a man show so little pluck, and if it had not been for his priest,
who kept him up, he would not have been able to walk to the gallows.

As for myself, I was sent to Melbourne the day after the fight, under
the care of Dr. Ryan, who bestowed the greatest attention on me for
some months. My wound was more serious than I thought. To use the words
of the Police Commission--"In the very first volley Superintendent
Hare received a bullet wound in the left wrist which rendered his arm
useless. The ball passed through the limb, shattering the bone and
severing the artery."

I should like to add a few remarks as to the origin of this outbreak
and the disordered state of the district. For years this part of the
colony had been infested with horse and cattle-stealers. The number
of relations which the Kelly family possessed all over the colony
was surprising. There was hardly a district in Victoria, and also
in some parts of New South Wales, that they could not have found a
blood-relation to have assisted in harbouring them. Joe Byrne was
better educated than any of his companions. He was very fond of
writing, and was a bit of a poet. A great deal of his writings fell
into our hands. They were chiefly directed against the police. Aaron
Sherritt told me that when they contemplated committing a robbery,
such as sticking up a bank, Byrne wrote down the contemplated plan,
and then the party decided what part each of them was to take in the
affair. They were most particular about where they camped not to leave
any marks behind them.

On one occasion, when talking to Aaron, I inadvertently broke a twig
off a tree and began breaking up the leaves. He immediately stopped me,
and said, "You would never do for a bushranger." I said, "Why not?"
He replied, "If Ned Kelly saw any of his men break a twig off a tree
when he was camped, he would have an awful row with them." When the
outlaws travelled on horse-back they never carried anything beyond
one overcoat. This had to cover them day and night, and it seemed
to me wonderful that men could exist in this manner. Sherritt quite
astonished me by the way in which he used to dress in the coldest
weather. I asked him if the Kellys were as hardy as he was, and could
do without sleep as he could. He said that Ned Kelly was ten times as
hardy.

Under the altered conditions which now exist, and the progress of
settlement, there is no likelihood of another Kelly episode in the
history of the colony.

I hardly think any one out of Australia could possibly conceive
the hardships that men of this stamp can endure. They have an
extraordinary way of sleeping; they coil themselves up like dogs. I
remember one night finding Aaron on my door-mat, about one o'clock in
the morning. He came to my quarters, and not finding me, he lay down
and fell asleep; his head appeared between his knees, and he said,
when camping out he always slept in that position. He could go without
sleep for a longer period than any other man I ever met, and he said
that the Kellys could do the same. It was doubtless a most fortunate
occurrence that Aaron was shot by the outlaws; it was impossible to
reclaim him, and the Government of the colony would not have assisted
him in any way, and he would have gone back to his old course of life,
and probably spent his days in gaol, or he might have turned bushranger
himself, when he would have been quite as dangerous a man as Edward
Kelly. The Government gave his widow a comfortable allowance, and she
was much better off without him. Katie Kelly, no doubt, was a most
loyal sister to her brothers, and must have sacrificed a great deal
for them; day and night she was always on the alert, and assisting
them in every possible way. Of course she was very flash, and liked
being noticed. When appearing in any of the townships, she always rode
a good horse and wore a lot of jewellery; but it was noticed that if
there was a long interval between the bank robberies, the jewellery
disappeared. Katie behaved in a most disgusting manner after Ned was
hanged; the evening of his execution in Melbourne she appeared on the
stage of a music-hall with a bunch of flowers in her hand, together
with her brother Jim, and exhibited herself to the public on payment of
a shilling entrance-fee. When the curtain rose, she smiled and bowed
to the audience, and felt proud of having so much notice taken of her.
The Government put a stop to these exhibitions, and she afterwards went
to Sydney, but she was not allowed to exhibit herself there either.
The notes stolen from Euroa by the outlaws were very soon afterwards
circulated amongst their friends. They were aware the numbers of the
notes were not known, and persons passing them could not be convicted
of receiving stolen property; and all debts incurred by their relations
were at once paid with National Bank notes, which were, without doubt,
the proceeds of the robbery. Subsequently the bank authorities took
the numbers of all notes sent to their country branches, so as to
endeavour, if possible, should another robbery take place, to be able
to trace them. But in this case there was a further point in which
the officials failed, for they neglected to take the numbers of the
notes they paid over the counter, and when the stolen notes got into
circulation, they found they bore the same numbers as those sent from
Sydney to Jerilderie, but they could not swear they had not been paid
over the counter.

It was currently reported that Steve Hart, who was a very undersized
man, was in the habit of riding about the country dressed as a woman. I
never believed it, and I feel sure Ned Kelly would not have trusted him
away from himself, for fear of his surrendering and turning informer
against his companions. Wherever Ned Kelly was seen, Hart was always
with him, and Byrne and Dan Kelly went together. The horses stolen
from the police at Jerilderie were some months afterwards found in
the mountains at the head of the King river in Victoria, which the
gang were known to frequent. It was a strange coincidence that none
of the rifles stolen by the outlaws from the police at Jerilderie or
the Wombat ranges were used by them at Glenrowan, but they had most
inferior and obsolete repeating-rifles which had been cut short, and no
proper aim could be taken with them, as they were not sighted.

Jerilderie is about 120 miles from Benalla and the outlaws, with
a change of horses, could have been back in their hiding-places in
thirty-six hours after they left Jerilderie. Possibly they would ride
by night only, and lie in the thick scrub during the day. Parties of
police were sent out to watch the different crossing-places directly
we received information of the robbery; but at that season of the
year, the Murray being low, there were dozens of places where they
could cross, and no one knew the river better than they did, and in
consequence they were able to return without being interfered with.

I need hardly say that the cost of the search for, and the subsequent
destruction of, the Kelly gang came to a very large sum. Mounted
constables were brought from all parts of Victoria and stationed
in the Kelly country; besides, special men were engaged, and many
incidental expenses incurred. After the destruction of the gang a
return was asked for in the Legislative Assembly showing the cost of
effecting the capture of the outlaws, and it was then stated that a
sum of thirty or forty thousand pounds had been spent; whereas if the
salaries and wages of those engaged in the search had been included in
this estimate, the cost would have been over £115,000--a large price
to pay for the capture of four desperadoes and the destruction of a
gang of malefactors. However, this apparently excessive expenditure
on a series of thief-catching expeditions has had results which reach
further, and are of much greater value to the colony of Victoria;
for the habitual criminal in Australia has been taught that, however
romantic and exciting the career of the bushranger may appear, as a
trade bushranging "does not pay"; while the criminal classes have been
shown that the Government of the colony is not to be played with, that
crime will be followed up and put down with a determined hand, and that
no considerations of economy, no saving of trouble, no sacrifice of
time, energy, or even life will be allowed to stand in the way when the
law has to be upheld by the Executive. To the wisdom of such a policy
let this fact bear witness--The execution of the last of the Kelly gang
destroyed the "Last of the Bushrangers."

 THE END.

       *       *       *       *       *

 _Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Last of the Bushrangers, by 
Francis Augustus Hare

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