History of Australian Bushranging

Illustrated

By Charles White

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

History of Australian Bushranging

 

 

By Charles White

 

 

 

 

Volume I

The Early Days to 1862

 

 

Author of "Convict Life in New South Wales and Van Diemen's Land" and "The Story of the Blacks"

 

In 4 parts, picture covers, illustrated

 

TWO COMPLETE VOLUMES

THE EARLY DAYS. — Howe, Brady, Britton, Cash, Kavanagh, Jones, Donohoe, Underwood, Webber, Sullivan, The Insurrection at Bathurst, Armstrong, Chamberlain, Dignum, Comerford, McKewin, Davis, "Scotchey", Witton, Williams, Flanagan, Day, etc.

1850-1862. — Gardiner, Piesley, Gilbert, O'Meally, McGuinness, Fordyce, Bow, Manns, Alexander Ross, Charles Ross, O'Connor.

1863-1865. — Ben Hall, Dunn, Lowry, The Mudgee Mail Robbery, Heather, Daniel Morgan, "Thunderbolt", The Clarkes, etc.

1869-1880. — "Moonlight", "Midnight", Power, The Kelly Gang.

 

VOLUME I.

THE EARLY DAYS TO 1862

ILLUSTRATIONS

Tasmanian Black Gin
Sarah Island, Macquarie Harbour, Tasmania
Ticket of Leave
Frenchman's Cap
Port Arthur
Martin Cash
Eagle Hawk Neck
Reward Notice re Cash, Kavanagh and Jones
Early View of Hobart Town
Hobart Town Gaol and Chain Gang
Ticket of Leave Passport
Pass (1)
Prisoner's Remove Warrant (Special)
Judge Therry
W. H. Suttor
Father Therry
Pass (2)
Skull of a Bushranger Shot in Victoria
The Bushranger's Cave
Head of Williams, from a Plaster Cast
Hon. L. H. Bayley
Captain Battye
Frank Gardiner
Eugowra Rocks
Gold-Commissioner Grenfell
A "Bush Telegraph"
Sir Frederick Pottinger
Senior-Sergeant Sanderson
The Weddin Mountains
Johnny Gilbert
The Capture of Gardiner
Mr. Justice Wise
Trial of Gardiner at Darlinghurst
William Bede Dalley; Sir Henry Parkes
Mr. Hargrave, Attorney-General
Gardiner Out of Gaol Again
Sir Alfred Stephen
Richard Driver; William Forster
Sir Hercules Robinson
Gardiner's Mat
Bird's-eye View of Darlinghurst Gaol

MAPS

County of Cumberland

Tasmania

Port Arthur and the Two Necks

Western and Southern Districts of New South Wales

CHAPTER I. HISTORICAL SKETCH.

The early history of bushranging in Australia will never be written, for the facts have never been recorded. Limited though the colony was in extent, its literature—even its journalism—was still more limited. Moreover, the first men who "took the bush" were neither important nor interesting enough to obtain more than a passing mention in those Governors' despatches which are our chief authorities for early colonial history. Owing to the stringent military rule during the first years of convict settlement, the unknown character of the country, and the absence of prey in the shape of men with money or other possessions (the aborigines being the only occupants of the soil outside the properly formed settlements), those who were called bushrangers then were simply men who had broken away from their gangs in the hope of escaping from the torture of labour under Government. The name has been made to carry a very different meaning since then, being applied to men who, some from choice and some from necessity, ranged the bush as freebooters, "sticking-up" settlers and travellers and demanding in orthodox style "your money or your life."

In 1796 Governor Hunter mentioned in despatches "a gang or two of banditti who have armed themselves, and infest the country all round, committing robberies upon defenceless people, and frequently joining the natives for that purpose." On August 24, 1806, the "Sydney Gazette" mentions one "Murphy the bushranger" as having been caught, and then, through carelessness, let go again. But scarcely anything is known of the hundreds of unfortunate men who slipped away into the inhospitable wilds that then surrounded the penal settlement on every hand, kept themselves alive for some time by raids upon the outlying farms or by companying with the blacks, and in the end died off in such numbers that an early explorer declared he had counted on one trip fifty skeletons.

In Van Diemen's Land—for many years a receptacle for the worst class of convicts, who had added to their original offence a record for new crimes in Australia—the escaped convict was a more virulent evil, and his doings smacked of a brutal thirst for vengeance, not only on his former gaolers, but on all, white and black alike, who were less fiendish than himself. The early necessities of the settlement, which compelled the authorities to relax their rule and allow many of the convicts to hunt for sustenance, favoured the after-growth of small bands of "looters", who made raids upon the settlers in the bush, and even upon the inhabitants of the principal townships. These banditti had so increased by 1814 that Colonel Davey, the second Lieutenant-Governor of Van Diemen's Land, declared the whole colony under martial law, in hopes of checking their ravages, and punished by flogging all persons, free as well as bond, who left their houses by night.

Dr. West gives a list of place names then current which denoted the character or tastes of their early visitors and heroes:– Murderer's Plains, Killman Point, Hell Corner, Four Square Gallows, Murderers' Tiers, Dunn's Lookout, and Lemon's Lagoon.

A desire for freedom no doubt excited the convicts in the first instance to break from control and take to the bush, and the pangs of hunger led them to plunder; but they soon assumed a boldness and lawlessness that fairly intimidated the Government. Towards the close of 1813 the colony was reduced to the greatest distress by their raids; and Governor Macquarie, in despair, offered to pardon all who surrendered within six months, provided they had not committed murder—an offer which was taken advantage of by many who resumed their occupation shortly afterwards. Among the worst of these was Michael Howe, whose story—as a typical one—is told at greater length later in these pages. Lemon, another of them, who particularly affected the neighbourhood of Oatlands, has been described for us (with a comrade) in words that may picture his class: "Two savage-looking fellows emerged one from each side of the path. They were dressed in kangaroo-skins, with sandals of the same on their feet, and knapsacks on their backs; each carried a musket, and one had a brace of pistols stuck in his girdle." The author from whom I quote—Mr. Parker, a barrister of those days—goes on a little later to describe the bushrangers' hut, in a dense forest only thirty-six miles from Hobart. "The hut was constructed of turf, low and uncomfortable in the extreme, covered with sheets of bark stripped from the forest trees. The fireplace, also of turf, lined with stones at the bottom, was at one end of the hut, and within it a huge fire soon burned."

Lemon and his mate were at last tracked to this hut: Lemon was shot, and the companion was forced to cut off his head, place it in a bag, and march with it to Hobart between his two captors. But punishment of this kind, brutal as it may seem, was courtesy compared to the deeds of the bushrangers themselves. Dunne, one of Brady's gang (whose depredations are narrated in another chapter) was loathed even by some of his mates. One case will serve to show the villain's cruelty. When out in the bush he sought to get hold of a rather good-looking black gin, who was living with her husband, but the blackfellow naturally objected. With scant ceremony Dunne put a rifle bullet through the objector's breast. The poor gin, heartbroken at the death of her husband, refused to leave the mutilated body; but with devilish brutality Dunne cut off the blackfellow's head, drilled a hole through it, and suspended it by a string round the neck of the outraged wife. Drawing his knife he drove her onward at its point to his bush retreat—the den, indeed, of a tiger.

TASMANIAN BLACK GIN.

A similar story is told of Jeffries, known as "The Monster"; but his victim was a white woman, whose baby was but newly born—and in rage, because she did not walk fast enough, he dashed the child's brains out against a tree.

Yet even men of this stamp found sympathizers. When Dunne was hanged his admirers presented him with an elegant cedar coffin, and a hundred of them followed it to the grave. For the bushranger, as says James Bonwick, "was, in general, looked upon as a sort of martyr to convictism. It was he who had experienced the shame, the lash, the brutal taunt, from which they had suffered. It was he who rose against the tyranny of their prison despot, and the dread consequences of their criminal law. He was the bold Robin Hood of their morning songs, and he was now the unfortunate victim of legal oppression, the captured of the chase. Without denying the atrocities of his career, they would discover many extenuations for his crimes. His reckless daring would be the noblest chivalry; and the jovial freedom of his manners, the frankest generosity. His immoral jests would be cherished for posterity, and the eclat of his life and death would stimulate the worthy ambition of sympathizing souls. The very gallows had a charm."

There was, of course, another side to the question. Convict life was hard at best, and was often made almost unbearable by the petty cruelties of the prison official or the station overseer. It is worth while, by way of representing this other side, to reprint here a narrative which appeared in one of the leading London journals of 1845, and was then vouched for by the writers as correct in every detail.

In crossing the country one day, and at a distance from any habitation, Mr. Thornley, a settler, to his surprise and fear beheld at a short distance approaching him a noted bushranger, known by the name of "The Gipsy", who had latterly, with a band of associates, become the dread of the colony. He was a tall, well-made man, one apparently above the ordinary character of convicts, and whom it was distressing to see in such a situation. The parties approached each other with mutual distrust. Thornley knew he had a desperate character to deal with, and pointed his gun at him, but the bushranger seemed desirous of a parley, and after a few words, says the writer, he laid his gun quietly on the grass and then passed round me, and sat down at a few yards distance, so that I was between him and his weapon. "Well, Mr. Thornley," said he, "will that do? You see I am now unarmed. I don't ask you to do the same, because I cannot expect you to trust to me, but the truth is, I want to have a little talk with you. I have something on my mind which weighs heavy on me, and whom to speak to I do not know. I know your character, and that you have never been hard on your Government men, as some are. At any rate, speak to some one I must. Are you inclined to listen to me?"

 

I was exceedingly moved at this unexpected appeal to me at such a time and in such a place. There was no sound, and no object save ourselves, to disturb the vast solitude of the wilderness. Below us flowed the Clyde, beneath an abrupt precipice; around were undulating hills, almost bare of trees; in the distance towered the snowy mountain which formed the boundary to the landscape. I looked at my companion doubtfully, for I had heard so many stories of the treachery of the bushrangers that I feared for a moment that this acting might only be a trick to throw me off my guard. Besides, this was the very man whom I knew to have been at the head of the party of bushrangers who had been captured at the Great Lake.

 

He observed the doubt and hesitation which were expressed in my looks, and pointed to his gun, which was on the other side of me.

 

"What more can I do," said he, "to convince you that I meditate neither violence nor treachery against you? Indeed, when you know my purpose, you will see that they would defeat my own object."

 

"What is your purpose, then? Tell me at once—are you one of the late party of bushrangers who have done such mischief in the island?"

 

"I am; and more than that, I am—or rather was—their leader. I planned the escape from Macquarie Harbour, and it was I who kept them together, and made them understand strength, and how to use it. But that's nothing now. I do not want to talk to you about that. But I tell you who and what I am, that you may see I have no disguise with you, because I have a great favour—a very great favour—to ask of you, and if I can obtain it from you on no other terms, I am almost inclined to say, take me to camp as your prisoner, and let the capture of the Gipsy—ah! I see you know that name, and the terror it has given to the merciless wretches who pursue me—I say, let the capture of the Gipsy, and his death, if you will (for it must come to that at last) be the price of the favour that I have to beg of you!"

 

"Speak on, my man," I said; "you have done some ill deeds, but this is not the time to taunt you with them. What do you want of me? If it is anything that an honest man can do, I promise you beforehand that I will do it."

 

"You will! but you do not know it yet. Now listen to me. Perhaps you do not know that I have been in the colony ten years. I was a lifer. It's bad that; better hang a man at once than punish him for life. There ought to be a prospect and an end to suffering; then a man can look forward to something; he would have hope left. But never mind that. I only speak of it because I believe it was the feeling of despair that first led me wrong, and drove me from bad to worse. Shortly after my landing I was assigned to a very good master. There were not many settlers then, and we did not know so much of the country as we do now. As I was handy in many things, and able to earn money, I soon got my liberty on the old condition; that is, of paying so much a week to my master. That trick is not played now, but it was then, and by some of the big ones too. However, all I cared for was my liberty, and was glad enough to get that for seven shillings a week. But still I was a Government prisoner, and that galled me; for I knew I was liable to lose my license at the caprice of my master, and to be called into Government employ. Besides, I got acquainted with a young woman, and married her, and then I felt the bitterness of slavery worse than ever; for I was attached to her sincerely, and I could not contemplate the chance of parting from her without pain. So about three years after I had been in this way, I made an attempt to escape with her in a vessel that was sailing for England. It was a mad scheme, I know, but what will not a man risk for his liberty?"

 

"What led you to think of going back to England? What were you sent out here for?"

 

"I have no reason to care for hiding the truth. I was one of a gang of poachers in Herefordshire, and on a certain night we were surprised by the keepers, and somehow, I don't know how, we came to blows; and the long and the short of it is, one of the keepers was killed; and there's the truth of it."

 

"And you were tried for the murder?"

 

"I and two others were; and one was hanged, and I and my mate were transported for life."

 

"Well, the less that's said about that the better; now go on with your story, but let me know what it is you would have me do for you."

 

"I'll come to that presently, but I must tell you something about my story, or you will not understand me. I was discovered in the vessel, concealed among the casks, by the searching party, and brought on shore with my wife; and you know, I suppose, that the punishment is death. But Colonel Davey—he was Governor then—let me off, but I was condemned to work in chains in Government employ. This was a horrid life, and I determined not to stand it. There were one or two others in the chain gang all ready for a start into the bush, if they had any one to plan for them. I was always a good one at head work, and it was not long before I contrived one night to get rid of our fetters. There were three others besides myself. We got on top of the wall very cleverly, and first one dropped down (it was as dark as pitch, and we could not see what became of him), then another dropped, and then the third. Not a word was spoken. I was the last, and glad enough was I when I felt myself sliding down the rope outside the yard. But I had to grin on the other side of my mouth when I came to the bottom. One of the sneaks whom I had trusted had betrayed us, and I found myself in the arms of two constables, who grasped me tightly. I gave one of them a sickener, and could have easily managed the other, but he gave the alarm, and then lots of others sprang up, and lights and soldiers appeared. I was overpowered by so many. They bound my arms, and then I was tried for the attempt to escape and the assault on the constable, and condemned to Macquarie Harbour for life.

SARAH ISLAND.

"I have not told you that my wife brought me a child. It is now seven years old. I loved that child, Mr. Thornley, more than a person usually loves his child. It was all in all to me. It was the only bright thing I had to look upon. When I was sentenced to Macquarie Harbour for life, it would have been a mercy to put me to death. I should have put myself to death, if it had not been for the thought of that little girl. Well, sir, I will not say more about that. When a man takes to the bush, and has done what I have done, he is thought to be a monster without feeling or affection. But people don't understand us. There is no man, sir, depend upon it, so bad that he has not some good in him, and I have some experience; for I have seen the worst of us—the very worst—in the most horrible of all conditions—for that Macquarie Harbour is a real hell upon earth! There is no time to tell you about the hardships which the prisoners suffer in that horrible place—it soon kills them. But my greatest misery was being deprived of my little girl—my plaything—my darling—my life! I had not been at Macquarie Harbour a month before news came that my wife was dead. I'll tell you the truth, sir; attached to her as I was, I was rather glad than sorry for it. I could not bear the thought of her falling into anybody else's hands, and as our separation was now absolutely and hopelessly for ever—it is the truth—I was rather glad than sorry when I heard of her death. But my poor little child! I thought of her night and day, wondering and thinking what would become of her! I could think of nothing else. At last my thoughts began to turn to the possibility of escaping from Macquarie Harbour, desperate as the attempt appeared; for, to cross the bush without arms, and without provisions, exposed to the attacks of the natives, seemed all but an impossibility. But almost anything may be done by resolution and patience, and watching your opportunity."

 

(The escape having been effected.) "We scrambled away as well as we could, till we got a little distance off, and out of hearing, and then we set to with a will, and rid ourselves of our fetters, all except three, and these were too tightly fitted to be got off on a sudden without better tools. We got the three chained men along with us, however, as well as we could, for we would not leave them, so we helped them on by turns, and the next day, when we were more easy, we contrived to rid them of their encumbrances. We hastened on all night. I ought to tell you that we heard the bell rung and the alarm given, but we had gained an hour good, and the ungagging of the sentinels and the overseers, and hearing their story, took up some time no doubt. Besides, it is not easy to hit on a track in the dusk, and as there were 14 of us, armed with two muskets, our pursuers would not proceed as briskly as they otherwise might, and would not scatter themselves to look after us. We were without provisions, but we did not care about that, and not being used to long walks, we were soon knocked up. But the desire of liberty kept us up, and we struck right across the country in as straight a line as we could guess. The second day we were all very sick and faint, and the night before was very cold, and we were cramped and unfit to travel. The second night we all crept into a cave, which was sandy inside, where we lay pretty warm, but we were ravenously hungry. We might have shot more than one kangaroo that day, but it was agreed that we should not fire, lest the report of our gun should betray our resting place to our pursuers. As we lay huddled together, we heard the opossums squealing in the trees about, and two of us, who were least tired, tried to get some of them. When we climbed up the trees, they sprang away like squirrels, and we had no chance with them that way; besides, it was dark, and we could distinguish them only faintly and obscurely. We did contrive, however, to kill five by pelting them on a long overhanging bough, but they remained suspended by their tails, and did not drop, although dead. To hungry men a dead opossum is something! so one of us contrived to climb to them and get them down; and then we lighted a fire in the cave, quite at the extremity inside, to prevent the flame from being seen, and roasted them as the natives do. They were horrid rank things to eat, and almost made us sick, hungry as we were; but I don't think a hair of them was left among us. The next day we shot a kangaroo, but we feared to light a fire because of the smoke, so we ate it raw.

 

"We first stuck on the outskirts of New Norfolk, and we debated what we should do. Some were for attacking the settlement, and getting arms, but I persuaded them that it would be better for us to endeavour to seize some small vessel, and escape altogether from the colony, and in the meantime to keep ourselves close, and not to give any alarm. My companions agreed to this, and we struck across the country to Brighton Plains, and so to Pitt Water, where we expected to find some large boats, or perhaps some small vessel, by means of which we might get away."

 

"And how is it that you did not follow that plan?"

 

"We did follow it, we got to Pitt Water, and lay snug there for a while, but we were obliged to rob a settler's house of provisions for food, and that first gave the alarm. We made a dash at a boat, but it was too late; precautions had been taken, and the soldiers were out after us. We were then obliged to retreat from Pitt Water, intending to get into the neighbourhood of the lakes, and go further westward if necessary, and retreat to the coast, where we judged we should be too far off to be molested."

 

"You did a great deal of mischief before you left it, if all the stories are true?"

 

"We did, Mr. Thornley, I own it, but my men were determined to have arms, and the settlers of course resisted, and some of my men got wounded, and that made them savage."

 

"And afterwards you attacked poor Moss's cottage?"

 

"My men had been told that he had a large sum in dollars at his hut—I am surprised that settlers can be so foolish as to take valuables into the bush—that was all they wanted."

 

"But why did you take poor Moss along with you?"

 

"I was obliged to do it to save his life. Some of my men would have knocked him on the head, if I had not prevented them. It is true, Mr. Thornley, it is indeed—I saved his life."

 

"Well, that's something in your favour. And now, as the sun is sinking fast, and as the dusk will come on us presently, tell me at once what you would have me do for you."

 

"Mr. Thornley," said the bushranger, "I have told you of my little girl. I have seen her since the dispersion of my party at the Great Lake. You know that I and another escaped. Since then I have ventured in disguise into Hobart Town itself. The sight of her, and her embraces, have produced in me a strange feeling. I would willingly sacrifice my life to do her good, and I cannot conceal from myself that the chances are that I must be taken at last, and that if I do not perish miserably in the bush I shall be betrayed, and shot or hanged."

 

"And what can I do to prevent it?"

 

"You can do nothing to prevent that end, for I know that I am too deep in for it to be pardoned. If I were to give myself up the Government would be obliged to hang me for example's sake. No, no: I know my own condition, and I foresee my own fate. It is not of myself that I am thinking, but of my child. Mr. Thornley, will you do this for me—will you do an act of kindness and charity to a wretched man, who has only one thing to care for in this world? I know it is much to ask, and that I ought not to be disappointed if you refuse it. Will you keep an eye on my poor child, and so far as you can, protect her? I cannot ask you to provide for her, but be her protector, and let her little innocent heart know that there is some one in the wide world to whom she may look up for advice—for assistance, perhaps, in difficulty; at all events, for kindness and sympathy: this is my request. Will you have so much compassion on the poor, blasted and hunted bushranger, as to promise to do for me this act of kindness?"

 

I gazed with astonishment, and I must add, not without visible concern, on the passionate appeal of this desperate man in behalf of his child. I saw he was in earnest—there is no mistaking a man under such circumstances. I rapidly contemplated all the inconvenience of such an awkward charge as a hanged bushranger's orphan. As these thoughts passed through my mind, I caught the eye of the father. There was an expression in it of such utter abandonment of everything but the fate of his little daughter, which seemed to depend on my answer, that I was fairly overcome, and could not refuse him. "I will look after her," I said, "but there must be no more blood on your hands; you must promise me that. She shall be cared for, and now that I have said it, that's enough—I never break my word."

 

"Enough," said he, "and more than I expected. I thank you for this, Mr. Thornley. I could thank you on my knees. But what is that? Look there! A man on horseback, and more on foot. I must be on my guard."

 

As he spoke, the horseman galloped swiftly towards us. The men on foot came on in a body, and I perceived that they were a party of soldiers. The Gipsy regarded them earnestly for a moment, and then ran to his gun, but in his eagerness he tripped and fell. The horseman, who was one of the constables from Hobart Town, was too quick for him. Before he could recover himself, and seize his gun, the horseman was upon him. "Surrender, you villain, or I'll shoot you."

 

The Gipsy clutched the horse's bridle, which reared and plunged, throwing the constable from his seat. He was a powerful and active man, and catching hold of the Gipsy in his descent, he grappled with him and tried to pinion his arms. He failed in this, and a fearful struggle took place between them. "Come on," cried the constable to the soldiers, "let us take him alive."

 

The soldiers came on at a run. In the meantime, the constable had got the Gipsy down, and the soldiers were close at hand, when suddenly, and with a convulsive effort, the Gipsy got his arms round the body of his captor, and with desperate efforts rolled himself round and round, with the constable interlaced in his arms, to the edge of the precipice. "For God's sake," cried the constable, with a shriek of agony, "help, help! We shall be over!" But it was too late. The soldiers were in the act of grasping the wretched man's clothes when the bushranger, with a last convulsive struggle, whirled the body of his antagonist over the precipice, himself accompanying him in his fall. We gazed over the edge, and beheld the bodies of the two clasped fast together, turning over and over in the air, till they came with a terrible shock to the ground, smashed and lifeless. As the precipice overhung the river, the bodies had not far to roll before they splashed into the water, and we saw them no more.

 

The reader may be interested to know that Mr. Thornley was better than his word. He sought the daughter of the unfortunate man, took her home to his house, and afterwards sent her to England.

The gangs of bushrangers that infested New South Wales in the early days were not so numerous as those in Van Diemen's Land, neither were they as a rule so cruel and bloodthirsty. But some of the outlaws were terrible characters, and during the period they carried on their nefarious operations the country over which they roamed was kept in a continual state of unrest and fear.

Up to 1815 bushranging—and that of the more harmless kind—was confined to the country between Sydney and Emu Plains, for the first difficulty of mountain travelling had not then been overcome. The men who "took the bush" had escaped either from the barracks at Sydney, or from the road and ironed gangs about Windsor, Richmond, Parramatta, and Emu Plains, or had absconded from the service of townsmen or settlers in the localities named, and were well content if they could, even for a short time only, eke out a bare existence among the roving tribes of half-civilized blacks, or by occasional visits to the few cultivated fields or barns not guarded by the military. These men were, however, sooner or later driven by starvation to surrender, glad to seek food although associated with stripes from the "cat" or drudgery in chains, heavier than that from which they had sought relief by flight. Some were shot down by the soldiers in the bush; not a few fell victims to the blackfellow's spear or waddy; others lost themselves in the bush and perished, their bleached bones—or that portion of them which had been left by the native dogs—being afterwards found near some "blind" gully or amidst the scrub.

The opening of the mountain road from Emu Plains to Bathurst not only extended the area of rapine to the new settlements on the western plains, but gave criminals a far better chance of intercepting valuable booty while in transit over the rugged tableland of the Blue Mountains. But while, as we shall see, the Bathurst district had its full share of trouble, it was still nearer Sydney that plunder was sought by the more daring spirits.

The following extract from a Sydney newspaper of 1826 at once illustrates this type of crime, and brings vividly before our eyes the closeness of the bush to Sydney in those early days:–

Two daring bushrangers, named Mustin and Watkins, were captured on Monday last, between four and five o'clock in the morning, near Burwood, six or seven miles distant from Sydney, by Major Lockyer, J.P., and a party of military, together with Constables Sutland and O'Meara (and some others) of the police. The Superintendent of Police, together with a full bench of magistrates, was engaged for a considerable length of time on Monday in receiving depositions connected with some of the atrocities perpetrated by these desperadoes, of which, it is thought, a considerable number remain undeveloped. It appeared that, on Friday last, between eight and nine o'clock at night, three men, armed with guns and pistols, two of whom were the prisoners, entered the house of Mr. James Coles, publican, on the Liverpool-road, after all the family, with the exception of a man servant and a girl, had retired to rest. Immediately on their entrance, having ascertained that the master of the house was in bed, they, with many threats in case of disobedience, directed the servants to remain in the bar, leaving one of their party as a guard over them, whilst the other two proceeded to the bedroom of Mr. Coles; and telling him that they would blow his brains out if he made the least resistance proceeded to search the place, and demanded what money he had in his possession. Mr. Coles denied having any in the house; but the robbers having discovered a box which they suspected to contain what they were in search of, one of them presented his musket, stating that he would immediately blow it open if the keys were not instantly delivered to him. One of the family, apprehensive of personal violence being resorted to, accordingly complied with the demand by giving up the keys, when the robbers possessed themselves of all the money they could find, amounting to upwards of £60, together with a watch and seals and a pistol. They afterwards repaired to a storeroom and took away a leg of pork and a pig's head; and returning to the bar they ordered the female servant to fill them half a gallon of brandy and the same quantity of wine, which having obtained, together with about four pounds weight of sugar and a pair of boots which hung in the bar, they departed.

COUNTY OF CUMBERLAND.

It appeared, also, that the same party paid a visit to Burwood, the residence of Dr. Dulhunty, on the following night, Saturday. The noise of dogs barking alarmed the family, and Mr. Dulhunty, jun., immediately proceeded to the hut of the Government servants, at some distance from the house, which he found, on his entrance, to be filled with strange men. Some excuse was set up that they belonged to a neighbouring road party, and Mr. Dulhunty returned to the house, when after some time receiving a second alarm from one of his family, having seen a flash from a gun or pistol in the direction of the hut, he again went out, armed with a pistol and stick, and finding the same party, he ordered them away, when using some imprecations they rushed out, and one of them snapped a pistol at Mr. Dulhunty, which fortunately missed fire. A scuffle ensued, in which Mr. Dulhunty was knocked down, and beaten by one of the ruffians with the butt end of a pistol. He afterwards ran towards the house to procure assistance, and on his way perceived a man getting over a fence, at whom he presented a pistol, and happening to slip at the moment, the pistol went off as he fell, and the fellow escaped, but it is thought received his death wound on that occasion, and was hidden in the bush by his companions, as he has not since been discovered. The robbers succeeded in effecting their escape on Saturday night, and on Sunday morning, previous to coming to town to give information to the police, Mr. Dulhunty discovered part of a steel watch-chain, with a gold seal and keys appended, lying close to the fence, and near as he stated to a pool of blood. The chain and seals, together with a watch subsequently found with the prisoners, were identified by Mr. Coles as those taken from the premises on the preceding night. On Monday morning, the constables, accompanied by Major Lockyer, as a magistrate, and a party of soldiers, apprehended the prisoners in the bush, about a mile and a half from Burwood. They were concealed under two fallen trees, with a tarpaulin and brushwood over them, and, on being searched, the money taken from Mr. Coles was found in their possession when they were secured. Major Lockyer said to Mustin, "You are the man Mr. Dulhunty beat last night," he replied, "I am", and, after finding the money, when Major Lockyer directed a further search to be made about the place, Mustin said, "Oh! there is no occasion, you have got enough to hang fifty men." The boots taken from the house of Mr. Coles were identified at the police station, on the prisoner Watkins, and upon the Superintendent ordering them to be taken off, some of the bystanders overheard Mustin say, "You'll make a liar of your mother now, she always said you'd be hanged in your shoes, but you won't." They were yesterday fully committed.

 

In addition to the foregoing, we hasten to give the following from our Parramatta correspondent:–

 

About 11 o'clock on Saturday night last information reached Mr. John Thorn, Chief Constable of Parramatta, that a party of bushrangers were reconnoitering contiguous to the Western Toll-gate, in the Government Domain. Mr. Thorn, in consequence, accompanied by Wardsman Wells and Constable Ratty, aided also by Mr. Piesley, jun., proceeded to the toll-house, where the Chief Constable concerted that Constable Ratty should proceed with a large bundle down the road and counterfeit drunkenness, while the party made a circuitous route on the other side of the road in the bush. Constable Ratty proceeded as directed, and, when at the distance only of about 100 yards from the toll-house, four or five men, as stated by Ratty, jumped over and demanded the bundle: some of the party were armed. Ratty, as pre-directed, said, in a tone of voice to be heard by the party, "Well, if you must take the bundle, you must;" and one of the robbers then took it from him. Ratty immediately fired at and shot the man through the neck, on which two other shots were returned. The party then made up, when the foremost, Mr. John Piesley, found four men contending with Ratty. He fired at one, who fell, exclaiming "I am killed." The night was extremely dark, and the repeated flashes from the firearms rendered it still more impenetrable. Wells then fired, and Mr. Thorn and J. Piesley pursued another of the gang; Piesley fired, but missed him. They continued the pursuit, when the man took the fence. Mr. Thorn jumped also upon the fence, and as the robber was making into the bush, he fired, and the man fell, but before Mr. T. came up he rose, and ran a few yards and fell again, when he was secured. He was slightly wounded in the head by a ball. On coming up to the others of the party, it was discovered that Constable Ratty received a ball which penetrated the middle of his back, and passed through and lodged in his breast, within half and inch of the chin, where the ball was extracted; one of the three robbers that were shot escaped during the engagement, and it is with considerable regret I inform you, that another of them, when within about ten yards of the gaol, escaped from a constable into whose custody he had been given by the chief constable, while he re reported the circumstances to Dr. Harris. Two of the men's names so shot are Cook and Ward; the other, who escaped in the contest, is supposed to be Currey, runaways from the mountain iron gang. Patrols of the constables and military have since been sent out to scour the haunts of those marauders. Constable Ratty continues very ill indeed; considerable danger is apprehended; it is also doubtful whether the shot by which he was wounded was not fired by Wardsman Wells in mistake. Great credit is due to the chief constable and party (in which Mr. Piesley, jun., behaved in a very intrepid manner), for their exertions on this occasion.

 

When information of the foregoing depredations reached Colonel Dumaresq, the Private Secretary, he directly issued orders for three different detachments of military to proceed and surround the country in the neighbourhood of Liverpool Parramatta, &c., so as to completely cut off all chance for the bushrangers to escape; and it is mainly to this promptitude that the inhabitants of those districts are indebted for the capture of such desperadoes. It is worthy of remark, that so efficient have been the means adopted by the authorities of late, that scarcely a robbery has been committed, the perpetrators of which have not been secured within a few days after.

Here is a proclamation issued by Governor Darling a few years later. The Governor's attitude as lecturer on morals is not less interesting than the rewards which he deals out to the supporters of law and order:–

Colonial Secretary's Office:– The Governor having had under consideration the circumstances attending the death of MacNamara and the execution of Dalton, would fain encourage a hope that these awful events will awaken their abettors and associates in crime to a sense of their own situation, and will prove a useful lesson to others, less depraved and vicious, by deterring them from pursuing the like criminal and unlawful courses.

 

Let these but for a moment consider the short and dreadful career of these wretched men, and they will require no further warning. They would find that the utmost success would be no recompense for the anxiety of mind which they must have constantly experienced. Driven by their lawless pursuits to the foulest means—robbery and murder—of obtaining a precarious and guilty subsistence, they wandered in fear and dread of being overtaken, as they were at last; when, as if by the dispensation of a just and unerring Providence, MacNamara, the most atrocious offender of the two, was, in an instant, deprived of life, to be made answerable elsewhere for the crimes he has committed here; while Dalton was reserved to expiate his offences, which he did, in a few days, by an ignominious death on the gallows.

 

The fate of those who commit crimes, such as these men have been guilty of, is certain. They may escape for a moment: it will be for a moment only. The violated laws of God and man seek retribution, and will not suffer him to live who has taken away the life of another.

 

The Governor has been induced to offer these observations, that the inconsiderate (if there be men who commit crimes from want of consideration) may reflect and be made aware of the fate which inevitably awaits the commission of the more serious offences. On the hardened and more confirmed criminals he has but little hope of making any impression; but he trusts the effort to restrain those less devoted to vicious pursuits will not be entirely fruitless.

 

Robberies would be less frequent if receivers were not so numerous. These people may be assured that the utmost rigour of the law will be exercised in their case. Let the fate of Adlan and wife be a warning to them. The former is now under sentence of transportation to Norfolk Island for 14 years, and the latter to Moreton Bay for the same period. These people were the depositories of the plunder of Bowen and Jackson's houses: plunder acquired by acts of atrocity and outrage. The facility of disposing of stolen property leads to the commission of robberies and other serious crimes. Every bushman should feel that it is his duty to bring to conviction the receiver as he would an assassin, with whom the former is generally identified, and not unfrequently the abettor and instigator of his crimes.

 

It now becomes the more pleasing duty of the Governor, which he discharges with the sincerest satisfaction, to notice the meritorious conduct of Mr. John Thorn, the chief constable of Parramatta, who evinced the utmost intrepidity in pursuing and capturing Dalton.

 

Samuel Horn, wardsman of Parramatta, had not only the good fortune to escape the shot of MacNamara, which passed through his hat, but to kill him at the instant, his ball having lodged in MacNamara's breast.

 

Anthony Finn, ordinary constable, though not immediately concerned in the capture of either of the prisoners, has a fair claim to praise for his zeal on the occasion.

 

The Governor has been pleased to order, in consideration of the services of Mr. Thorn, that he shall receive a grant of land of one square mile, free of quit rent for ever; and that the deed shall specify the services for which the grant has been made.

 

Also, that Samuel Horn, holding a conditional pardon, shall receive a full pardon, with a grant of half a square mile of land, free of quit rent; and that Anthony Finn shall receive half a square mile of land, free of quit rent.

 

Having thus noticed the proceedings of the police of Parramatta, the Governor has equal satisfaction in expressing his approbation of the conduct of Mr. Frederick Meredith, junior, chief constable of Liverpool, in the attempt made on Jackson's house, in the month of March last. The assailants, five in number, men of desperate character (MacNamara and Dalton being of the party) were not beat off until after a sharp contest, in which Mr. Meredith was severely wounded. It is very satisfactory to the Governor to advert to the highly commendable conduct of Mr. Jackson, in defending his house: and he has been pleased to order that William Johnson, his assigned servant, who so courageously assisted in protecting his master's properly, shall receive a ticket-of-leave for his services on the occasion.

 

The Governor has further been pleased to order, as an acknowledgment of Mr. Meredith's services generally, and more especially on the occasion of the attack on Jackson, that he shall receive a grant of one square mile of land, the same as Mr. Thorn, the chief constable of Parramatta.

 

His Excellency cannot dismiss this subject without expressing the satisfaction he has derived from learning that Mr. Thorn and Mr. Meredith are both natives of the colony. They have availed themselves in the most spirited manner of the opportunity which their situation afforded them, of serving their country. Let their brethren generally imitate their example as the Government will foster them as its children.

TICKET-OF-LEAVE.

A fuller account of Donohoe and Webber, the most notorious of the Cumberland bushrangers, and of the disturbed conditions which prevailed in the west during the twenties, and culminated in the Bathurst outbreak of 1830, will be found in the body of this work. After that date bushranging ceased to be the serious and all prevailing evil which it had become in the later twenties; though the exploits of Martin Cash in Van Diemen's Land, of the "Jew Boy" in the Hunter Valley, and of "Scotchey" and Witton in the Lachlan district, are important enough to receive separate treatment.

Mail coach robberies were not frequent in these earlier days, for the simple reason that there were then very few mail coaches to be "stuck up". Yet here is one case that occurred some years before the first sod of the first railway was turned at Redfern. A four-horse coach was proceeding with the "Royal mail" from Windsor to Sydney, there being several passengers, one of whom was on the box-seat with the driver, being well armed. At the foot of a hill the body of a man, lying upon his face, was seen in the middle of the road. The driver and his companion at once jumped to the conclusion that the man had fallen a victim to the bushrangers, and as they neared him, the coachman pulled up his team, handed the reins to his companion, and was in the act of descending to see if the man were really dead, when the whole party were startled by hearing the command, "Bail up, or you're dead men!" proceeding from the roadside, while the driver found himself looking fair into the barrel of a gun which was being pointed at him from the spot. At the same time the couchant bandit—for such he proved to be—sprang from the ground, turned the leading horses across the pole of the coach, and then covered the box-seat passenger with his blunderbus before he could get rid of the reins which the coachman had placed in his hands. The driver was then commanded to unhitch the horses, and the passengers were compelled to stand in a row on the roadside while one of the bushrangers "went through" their pockets and appropriated all their money and watches. The mailbags were then ripped open and the letters containing money extracted. The armed passenger had on a pair of trousers which took the fancy of the tallest of the robbers, and much to his chagrin he was compelled to disrobe, being left to shiver in the cold while the footpad drew the trousers over his own. Then taking the two leaders as "mounts", the bushrangers bid their victims "good-day" and departed, leaving the impoverished and frightened passengers to pursue the rest of the journey with two horses instead of four.

The gold discoveries gave bushranging a new lease of life. When the first gold fever set in, the crowds that left Sydney and other centres of population for the distant fields at Summerhill and the Turon, and later still, Adelong and the Ovens, contained not a small sprinkling of those who, if they were not then bushrangers, afterwards became such. It suited them better to waylay and rob those who were going to or retiring from the goldfields than to themselves handle pick and shovel and cradle, and they scrupled not to murder as well as rob if the hapless victims made even a show of resistance. As might be expected, it was the old convict element that first came to the front in this way, and I give in a subsequent chapter two typical sketches of their mode of procedure—the story of Day, the blacksmith bushranger, and that of Williams and Flanagan, the highway robbers of the St. Kilda-road.

But a new era was opening—that of the gangs, made up for the most part of freeborn men, the sons of small farmers settled on the Western mountain slopes, whose begetter and prime exemplar was Frank Gardiner. With them we approach times within the knowledge of most middle aged Australians; many of my readers will have very vivid recollections of the tumultuous years that followed 1860, when Gardiner and Ben Hall, in the west, and the Clarkes in the south, filled the newspapers with their audacity, and men's hearts with the fear of them. In this volume I have space to deal only with Gardiner and his mates: the full development of the gang-system, its wane towards the end of the sixties, and its unexpected revival in 1878 by the notorious Kellys, will require a volume of their own.

CHAPTER II. TASMANIAN GANGS:

HOWE'S — BRADY'S — BRITTON'S.

MICHAEL HOWE AND HIS GANG.

In early life Howe had been a sailor on a British man-of-war; but he grew weary of ship's discipline, deserted, and next appeared as a highwayman on English roads. He was soon caught, convicted, and transported to Van Diemen's Land, arriving there in 1812. On arrival he was assigned to a merchant and stockholder named Ingle; but Howe had large ambitions. "I have served the King," he said, "and will be no meaner man's slave." Upon which he took to the bush, and gathered round him the most troublesome of all the gangs then abroad. When Macquarie made his offer of pardon, Howe and his companions came in with the rest, and took a holiday in Hobart Town; but life was soon tired of town life, and took to the bush again under Whitehead, who was the leader of a gang of twenty-eight.

The gang plundered in a most systematic and relentless way, and did not scruple to shoot down any who made an attempt at remonstrance or resistance. Attacking the settlers of New Norfolk, they took away their firearms, broke open their homesteads, burned their wheat stacks and houses, and carried off all the portable property upon which they could lay their hands. Even the Police Magistrate and the district constable at Pittwater had a fire-stick applied to their stacks, and counted themselves fortunate not to have lost house and life as well. A second attack on New Norfolk was unsuccessfully opposed by a mixed force of settlers and soldiers: the bushrangers shot two, captured a third, and drove their opponents from the settlement. But a second party of soldiers, sent post haste from Hobart Town on receipt of the news, surprised the gang in the midst of its marauding, and mortally wounded its leader. Two others were captured, but Howe and the rest got clean away in the darkness of the night. When Whitehead was wounded he immediately appealed to Howe to cut off his head, so that the pursuers should not get the reward; for it had been arranged between them that whichever survived should do his fallen comrade this service. Howe carried out the agreement, but the head was found in the bush later on, and the body was carried to Hobart and gibbeted at Hunter's Island.

After the death of Whitehead, Howe assumed the leadership of the gang, and at once led them on to fresh depredations. Their movements were very rapid, and covered a large area of country; one day they were reported at Launceston and shortly afterwards at Bagdad, a hundred miles off, where their scouts had given them news of rich booty.

Howe assumed the airs of a chief, and introduced naval rule into his camp. The members were compelled to subscribe to articles of obedience, the oath was administered on a Prayer Book, and penalties were exacted for any breach of discipline. He styled himself "Governor of the Rangers", as opposed to the representative of Royalty in Hobart Town, whom he called "Governor of the Town".

In all his marauding expeditions he was attended by a faithful aboriginal girl named Black Mary, who must have been invaluable to him both as scout and as servant. But his gratitude was as feeble as his morals, and her fidelity had but ill reward. Some soldiers of the 46th, who had been despatched in pursuit of the gang, once came across Howe and Mary apart from the others. Howe ran for his life: the girl could not keep up with him; he saw that the soldiers must overtake her and capture him if he remained with her; so he turned and fired upon her. She fell and was seized. Her master, throwing away his knapsack and gun, plunged into the scrub, through which his pursuers could not follow him. In the knapsack was a primitive-looking book of kangaroo skin, upon which were recorded, in letters of blood, the dreams of greatness which filled the bushranger's mind.

Mary could not forgive her faithless lord. The wounds were not mortal, and when they had healed she determined to have her revenge. Leading his pursuers, she tracked the hunted bushranger from place to place, until the chase grew so close and hot that Howe offered to surrender on terms. He wrote to the "Governor of the Town" and managed to get the letter forwarded by a person who was able to go between the two "Governors" without injury to himself. And, strange to say, Governor Sorell entertained the proposals made by "Governor" Howe, and actually sent one of his officers to treat with him.

Outlaws have dictated terms on many occasions, but never, I venture to say, under such conditions. Society, as West says, must have been on the verge of dissolution when letters and messages could pass between the Government and an outlaw. The surrender took place in due course, and Howe was once more a prisoner.

TASMANIA.

His gang, however, was by no means dispersed. Howe had promised to betray them, but the information he gave was of very little use, and things were soon worse than ever. A reign of terror began. The richer settlers abandoned their homes and took refuge in the town. The boat that carried provisions between Launceston and Georgetown was seized, and recruits obtained from its crew. The Governor appealed to the public, who raised by subscription a reward for the gang's capture. A party of soldiers ran them to earth, but could do nothing against their well-posted force but kill its new leader.

During this time Howe was in prison. Notwithstanding his previous character, he was allowed considerable freedom of movement by the authorities, and soon took advantage of it. He pleaded ill-health, was allowed to walk abroad in charge of a constable, and walked very much abroad, leaving the constable in the rear. Soon he was again at the head of a party, which included some of his old companions in arms. But one night trouble arose; two of the gang incurred the anger of the leader, who decided to make short work of them. At midnight, while both were sleeping, he crept upon them, and put an end to one by cutting his throat from ear to ear, and to the other by clubbing him on the head with the stock of a gun.

By degrees the gang was reduced to three—Howe, Watts, and Brown—and more trouble came. Brown surrendered himself to the authorities, and Watts plotted against his leader to save his own life. At this time there were rewards out for Howe and Watts amounting to £100 each, and knowing this, the men were increasingly watchful; but Watts placed himself in communication with a stock-keeper on a station near, and elaborated plans for capturing Howe. The latter suspected that something was wrong, however, and accused Watts of infidelity, which the latter denied; as a proof that he was prepared to argue the matter calmly he suggested that each should knock out the priming of his gun before coming to an explanation. Howe agreed: Drewe, the stock-keeper (probably an old confederate), came up, and the three proceeded to "camp". As Howe stooped to fan the fire into a blaze with his hat, Watts suddenly pounced upon him, threw him down, and with Drewe's assistance secured his hands. They then took his knife and pistols and went on with breakfast, giving Howe to understand that they intended to take him straight into Hobart Town. When all was ready they started on their journey. Watts going first with a gun in his hand; Howe, with his hands bound, coming next; and Drewe bringing up the rear. They had not proceeded far, however, when the bound leader suddenly exerted his giant strength, snapped his bands, and sprang upon Watts, stabbing him in the back with a dirk which his captors had overlooked in their search. As Watts fell Howe seized his gun and fired at Drewe, shooting him dead. Strange to say, he did not stop to complete his work on Watts, but left him where he had fallen, doubtless thinking that the slow death would be a greater punishment. Watts managed to reach the town, however, and give information, afterwards being removed to Sydney, where he died of his wounds.

Once more free, Howe determined to act for himself, without trusting his liberty to companions; but he spent a terrible time. The Governor added a second hundred pounds to the first reward, as well as a free pardon and a passage to England to any prisoner who might succeed in bringing him to justice. Hunted more persistently than a wild dog would have been, Howe betook himself to the mountains, and only appeared when hunger or lack of ammunition forced him to the settlements: at such times his reputation and his savage looks gained him time to seize the supplies he wanted before his victims could make up their minds to resist him.

Bonwick, who was well acquainted with the locality, thus describes his hiding place:– "Badgered on all sides, he chose a retreat among the mountain fastnesses of the Upper Shannon, a dreary solitude of cloud-land, the rocky home of hermit eagles. On this elevated plateau—contiguous to the almost bottomless lakes from whose crater-formed recesses in ancient days torrents of liquid fire poured forth upon the plains of Tasmania, or rose uplifted in basaltic masses like frowning Wellington;—within sight of lofty hills of snow, having the Peak of Teneriffe to the south. Frenchman's Cap and Byron to the west. Miller's Bluff to the east, and the serrated crest of the Western Tier to the north; entrenched in dense woods, with surrounding forests of dead poles through whose leafless passages the wind harshly whistled in a storm;—thus situated amidst some of the sublimest scenes of nature, away from suffering and degraded humanity, the lonely bushranger was confronted with his God and his own conscience."

FRENCHMAN'S CAP.

In October, 1818, a former accomplice in the pay of a man named Worrall, who had determined to capture him, lured him to his fate by promises of food. The story of his capture is given in the captor's own words in the Military Sketch Book, and I cannot do better than repeat it here:–

"I was now," says Worrall, "determined to make a push for the capture of this villain, Mick Howe, for which I was promised a passage to England in the next ship that sailed, and the amount of reward laid upon his head. I found out a man of the name of Warburton, who was in the habit of hunting kangaroos for their skins, and who had frequently met Howe during his excursions, and sometimes furnished him with ammunition. He gave me such an account of Howe's habits, that I felt convinced we could take him with a little assistance. I therefore spoke to a man named Pugh, belonging to the 48th Regiment, one who I knew was a most cool and resolute fellow. He immediately entered into my views, and having applied to Major Bell, his commanding officer, he was recommended by him to the Governor, by whom he was permitted to act, and allowed to join us; so he and I went directly to Warburton, who heartily entered into the scheme, and all things were arranged for putting it into execution. The plan was this:– Pugh and I were to remain in Warburton's hut, while Warburton himself was to fall into Howe's way. The hut was on the River Shannon, standing so completely by itself, and so out of the track of anybody who might be feared by Howe, that there was every probability of accomplishing our wishes, and "scotch the snake", as they say, if not kill it. Pugh and I accordingly proceeded to the appointed hut. We arrived there before daybreak, and having made a hearty breakfast, Warburton set out to seek Howe. He took no arms with him, in order to still more effectually carry his point, but Pugh and I were provided with muskets and pistols. The sun had just been an hour up when we saw Warburton and Howe upon the top of the hill coming towards the hut. We expected they would be with us in a quarter of an hour, and so we sat down upon the trunk of a tree inside the hut calmly waiting their arrival. An hour passed but they did not come, and I crept to the door cautiously and peeped out. There I saw them standing within a hundred yards of us in earnest conversation; as I learned afterwards the delay arose from Howe suspecting that all was not right; I drew back from the door to my station, and about ten minutes after this we plainly heard footsteps and the voice of Warburton. Another moment and Howe slowly entered the hut—his gun presented and cocked. The instant he espied us he cried out "Is that your game?" and immediately fired, but Pugh's activity prevented the shot from taking effect, for he knocked the gun aside. Howe ran off like a wolf. I fired but missed. Pugh then halted and took aim at him, but also missed. I immediately flung away the gun and ran after Howe; Pugh also pursued; Warburton was a considerable distance away. I ran very fast; so did Howe; and if he had not fallen down an unexpected bank, I should not have been fleet enough for him. This fall, however, brought me up with him; he was on his legs and preparing to climb a broken bank, which would have given him a free run into the wood, when I presented my pistol at him and desired him to stand; he drew forth another, but did not level it at me. We were then about fifteen yards from each other, the bank he fell from being between us. He stared at me with astonishment, and to tell you the truth, I was a little astonished at him, for he was covered with patches of kangaroo skins, and wore a black beard—a haversack and powder horn slung across his shoulders. I wore my beard also as I do now, and a curious pair we looked. After a moment's pause he cried out. "Black beard against grey beard for a million!" and fired; I slapped at him, and I believe hit him, for he staggered, but rallied again, and was clearing the bank between him and me when Pugh ran up and with the butt end of his firelock knocked him down, jumped after him, and battered his brains out, just as he was opening a clasp knife to defend himself."

So closed the last act in Howe's career. His head was cut off and exhibited in Hobart Town, and those who had feared him felt safe at last. Many murders were attributed to him besides those referred to. It was said that among his victims were two of his boon companions, who had committed some trifling offence, and concerning one of these it was said that Howe tied his hands and feet before shooting him.

The remaining members of the original gang all met a deservedly ignominious fate, most of them before Howe's death. M'Guire and Burne were tried and executed for the murder of Carlisle. Geary, who assumed command during the interregnum caused by Howe's temporary surrender, was shot dead in an encounter with the police. Lepton had his throat cut by a recent addition to the ranks named Hillier, who also nearly "did for" Collier at the same time. The latter was subsequently hanged in Hobart, after being tried in Sydney and convicted. Other men who joined the gang at different times also came to a violent end.

BRADY'S GANG.

Brady was a Macquarie Harbour convict, whom the authorities supposed to be as peaceable as he was industrious. Soon after his arrival, however, he set about forming a secret league among his fellow convicts, of whom his size and strength made him undisputed leader. In June, 1824, while the commandant and surgeon were absent from the settlement, the convicts made a rush for the Government boat, but the officer in charge pushed off before they could seize it. They captured the surgeon, however, who could not reach the boat in time, and some of them were about to flog him, when Brady, whom he had treated kindly, interposed and saved him. The convicts then secured another boat, belonging to the soldiers, and put to sea, in spite of pursuit from the settlement. Nine days afterwards they landed at the Derwent*, and at once set about an organised plan of bushranging. As leader of the gang, Brady laid down rules for its guidance; they must neither injure the defenceless, nor molest females, but could kill traitors, revenge injuries, and carry away all that was likely to prove useful to them.

[* "They seized a boat (9th June, 1824) and readied the Derwent on the 18th, visited the residence of Mr. Mason, whom they beat with great cruelty: they next robbed a servant of Lieutenant Gunn of firearms. Gunn pursued them and captured live, who were tried and hanged along with Pearce."—"Fenton's Hist. of Tas." p. 73.]

About a week after their escape. Governor Arthur issued the following proclamation:– "The Lieutenant-Governor feels it necessary to announce that the party of prisoners who escaped from Macquarie Harbour have again passed into the interior. His Honour begs in the most earnest manner to call upon all settlers in their respective districts to enter with increased zeal and determination into measures for the apprehension of these robbers. To the most common understanding, not labouring under the miserable depression of personal danger, means will be presented, after a robbery has been committed, of tracing the movements of the depredators; and it must be understood to be the positive duty of any settler to spread the information immediately, and to adopt the most prompt and energetic steps for closely pursuing these miscreants until they are fairly hunted down. All Crown servants are to be immediately assembled by their masters, and apprized that the Government expects that every man shall give all possible information as may lead to the apprehension of these bushrangers."

Their first appearance was at Clarence Plains, where they stopped, and robbed a Mr. Patrick Brodie. Almost immediately afterwards they possessed themselves of firearms and ammunition by plundering a man in the service of Lieut. Gunn. Gunn, a retired military officer on half pay, was in Hobart Town at the time, but, on hearing of the robbery, at once set out in pursuit, and captured five of them, who were immediately placed upon their trial, condemned, and hanged.

The rest still continued their depredations. The soldiers could not catch them; the settlers were helpless, for their convict servants were more likely to join the bushrangers than "split" upon them. Many, in fact, joined the gang, and those who did not join acted as useful confederates and news-carriers.

On one occasion they were near Oatlands, and were recognised by a lad attached to a settler's farm. Brady learnt from him there were at that moment a number of soldiers in a hut near. "But never mind," said the boy, "we'll beat 'em. Wait a bit—they are tired and hungry; I am getting their supper; when they are feeding you rush them." "But the guns!" exclaimed the leader. "Oh, they are all right in the corner of the hut," replied the boy: "all you have to do is to come softly along when they are at supper, lay hold of the pieces, and the work is done." It was dusk when the traitorous cook carried in the chops and tea. Suddenly a noise was heard at the door; the soldiers looked round, to find they were each covered with a loaded musket. The robbers tied them up, robbed the house, and departed, Brady taking with him the lad, who wanted to join the gang.*

[* Two settlers later on caught this boy and a mate asleep under a tree, and shot both of them without offering them a chance of escape. For this act the settlers each received a free grant of land from the Governor.]

At one squatter's house they demanded free quarters of the overseer, were well looked after by the convict servants, and went off at last with everything of value. When attempts were made to track them they burned a farmer's three years' store of wool. With every exploit they grew bolder.

Up to this time the reward offered for the capture of this gang was only £10 per head, but strong representation being made to Governor Arthur, he caused the following Government Proclamation to be issued:

Government House, April 14th, 1825. It has occasioned the Lieutenant-Governor much concern that the continued outrages of the two prisoners, McCabe and Brady, have led to the death of another settler. His Honour has directed that a reward of £25 shall be given for the apprehension of either of these men; and that any prisoner giving such information as may directly lead to their apprehension shall receive a ticket-of-leave, and that any prisoner apprehending and securing either of them, in addition to the above reward, shall receive a conditional pardon. The magistrates are very pressingly desired to circulate this order and to direct the constables to visit all huts of stock-keepers, shepherds, and others in their respective districts, notifying the rewards offered, and cautioning such persons against receiving, harbouring, or supporting these men, who are charged with the commission of murder. Fifty acres of land, free from restrictions, will be given to the chief constable in whose district either McCabe or Brady is taken, provided it shall be certified by the magistrate of the district that he has zealously exerted himself in the promulgation of this order, and to the adoption of measures for giving it effect.

The magistrates will see the importance of conveying timely information of the movements of McCabe and Brady; and they will consider themselves duly authorised to incur any responsible expense in so doing.

By command of his Honour, the Lieutenant-Governor.
JOHN MONTAGU, Secretary.

Three days after this notice had been circulated, Brady coolly answered it by posting on the door of the Royal Oak Inn at Crossmarch the following:–

Mountain Home, April 20th, 1825.

It has caused Matthew Brady much concern that such a person known as Sir George Arthur is at large. Twenty gallons of rum will be given to any person that will deliver his person unto me. I also caution John Priest that I will hang him for his ill-treatment of Mrs. Blackwell, at Newtown.

M. BRADY.

M'Cabe, the colleague mentioned by Governor Arthur, was not much longer at large. For offering violence to a woman Brady shot him through the hand, disarmed and thrashed him, and expelled him finally from the gang. McCabe then began robbing settlers single-handed; but one of his victims escaped and brought the police upon him, and his race was a very short one. Ten days later the bushranger ended his career upon the scaffold.

One of Brady's boldest exploits was the capture of Sorell Gaol, and release of the prisoners. The gang, eight in number, made a descent upon the Pittwater district, and began by a general plunder. At Bethune's they put up for the night, imprisoning the owner and his servants: and as the next day was wet they stayed on quite calmly. In the evening two visitors arrived, Mr. Walter Bethune and Captain Bunster. Brady rose to the occasion. He called a groom to take their horses, conducted them inside, assured them there was nothing to fear, and ordered dinner for them. During dinner something was said about Brady's giving himself up. He was quite indignant about it. There was not the slightest necessity, he said: the gang was quite at its ease; in case of being hard-pressed they could retire to a mountain farm where they had a stock of flour, with sheep, cattle and horses, and could quietly "lie by" until all danger had passed.

At last conversation flagged, and Brady enlivened it by telling his guests he was about to take the gaol at Sorell. His eighteen captives were tied and marched off with him to the town, about 10 o'clock at night. They reached the gaol most opportunely: the soldiers had been out in the rain all day looking for them, and were just cleaning their guns. There was a rush: the wet guns were easily seized, the inmates of the gaol were freed, the soldiers and the Bethune contingent took their place in the cells. The gaoler ran to fetch the doctor, and the commanding officer, Lieutenant Gunn; but the doctor was caught without trouble, Gunn was shot in the arm, and the two were locked up with Brady's other captives. Then the gang propped a log against the gaol door, dressed it up to look like a sentry, and went off triumphantly into the bush.*

[* Gunn was the only person injured in this encounter, and, as his arm had to be taken off, the Government rewarded him with a pension of £70 per annum, and appointed him to the post of Superintendent of the Hobart Town Prisoner's Barracks.]

PORT ARTHUR.

Of course there was a great stir in Hobart Town. The Governor issued another proclamation, doubled the monetary reward, and added others. The townsfolk were allowed to enrol themselves as special constables.

Soldiers concealed themselves among the luggage on drays, and were driven through lonely paths in the bush in the hope of coming upon Brady or some of his gang. But while he could be seen here, there, and everywhere by the settlers, the anxious troopers could not obtain a sight of him, although they knew he was frequently in the near neighbourhood. One narrow escape from capture is recorded. He had been in the habit of visiting the hut of a confederate of the gang, near Campbelltown, and this confederate at last decided upon betraying him. Brady visited the hut in disguise and unarmed; and, being quite worn out with long fatigue and watching, he threw himself upon the bunk and was soon fast asleep. As soon as his betrayer saw him in the land of dreams he stole away to the town to give information. A couple of soldiers returned with him, and Brady was rudely awakened by their seizure and the pressure of a rope on his wrists. He took things very coolly, and asked for a drink of water; his captors went off together to bring water from the stream (for the night was very dark, and the men afraid to go alone), and in their absence he held his hands over the blazing fire until the rope was so far burned that he could snap it. Thus free he awaited the return of the soldiers, and as soon as they entered he fastened the door upon them, and made his way back to his band. For many days he nursed his wrath against the betrayer. At last they met in the hut of Bill Windsor, of the Cocked Hat Hill, near Launceston, a well-known receiver of stolen goods and friend of the bushrangers. Brady did not settle the score at once: he only said "I'll give you while I have my supper." The man knew that there was no escape, and while others in the hut vainly interceded for his life he indulged in joking. At last Brady rose from his seat, and, gun in hand, called to his betrayer, "Just walk to that tree yonder." The wretched man started to obey the command, but had only taken two or three steps when a ball crashed through his brain.

Yet it cannot be said that the gang were brutal or even savage, and they were most scrupulous in their treatment of females, as even the Hobart Town papers acknowledged. One man, who had asked a servant girl for a kiss, was at once knocked down by his leader, and one of the plundered settlers afterwards said that Brady's first word was "Are there any ladies in this house?" and receiving a reply in the affirmative, he said "Then tell them to get up, and let them dress themselves and go into one room, and no one shall molest them."

Presently the leader of the gang thought they had got enough plunder, and decided to seize a vessel and escape in her from the colony. This design being frustrated, partly by the treachery of a comrade and partly by bad weather, Brady calmly notified the Commandant at Launceston, "with the bushrangers' compliments", that he proposed to rob Mr. Dry's house (about a mile out of Launceston) and attack the gaol on the same night. The authorities treated this message as a capital joke. But when evening came the parties concerned learned that bushrangers' jokes are rough articles. Mr. Dry's house was duly visited; the family and servants, with some visitors, were secured; some of the gang kept guard, others searched the house for valuables, and Brady entertained the ladies in the parlour with amusing stories, and even a sentimental song to his own accompaniment on the piano. But one of the servants had escaped and given the alarm in the city. Colonel Balfour, with ten soldiers and a few volunteer civilians, hurried to the spot. The bushrangers were made aware of their approach and retired behind a hedge, from which they kept up an active fire. When this suddenly ceased the Colonel, thinking they must have run away, hastened back to town in case the second half of the joke was also serious. An attack, indeed, had been made, but nothing came of it beyond the wounding of the local doctor.

There was another spasm of excitement. Another proclamation was issued by the Governor, and a reward of three hundred guineas, or three hundred acres of land free of quit rent, was offered for the capture of any of the gang; while an offer of free pardon and free passage to England was made to any prisoner of the Crown who should succeed in capturing one of them. The Governor himself took the field in search, and men who had before been indifferent, or friendly to the bushrangers, also sallied out in hopes of securing the reward. Several desperate conflicts took place between pursuers and pursued, both parties being well armed, and several of the gang were captured and lodged in gaol.

The desire of the settlers for vengeance was very great, and it is on record that a petition signed by fifty prominent citizens was presented to Colonel Arthur, praying that the prisoners might be speedily executed, in order that all fear of their escape from gaol might be removed. Such, indeed, was the condition of society at this time that no less than thirty-seven prisoners were condemned to death at one sitting of the court.

But Brady was still at large, and he did not want for followers. Escaped convicts rallied round him as to a common centre, and every day carried its record of daring deeds. The following extract from the "Van Diemen's Land Annual" furnishes an idea of the systematic course of outrage and plunder that was followed: "On the night of the 5th, the bushrangers set fire and burnt down the stockyard, with all the wheat belonging to Mr. Abraham Walker and Commissary Walker, opposite Mr. Thomas Archer's. The extent of the damage is not yet ascertained. The bushrangers were seen between the punt and Mr. Gibson's stockyard, and on the 6th they sent word to Mr. Massey, on the South Esk, Ben Lomond, that they would hang him and burn his wheat. A great fire was seen in the direction of his house, but it is to be hoped that they have not executed their threat. The bushrangers have Mr. Dry's two white carriage horses with them. They shot Thomas Kenton dead at the punt on the South Esk; they called him out of his house, and deliberately shot him. Two runaways were last week sent into Launceston from Pressnell's, where they were taken. One of them broke out of gaol, and was met by the bushrangers, who asked him to join them, and on his refusal, they shot him dead. Brady now wears Colonel Balfour's cap, which was knocked off at Dry's. When the bushrangers were going down the Tamar they captured Captain White of the "Duke of York" in his boat; Captain Smith, late of the "Brutus", who was with him, being mistaken for Colonel Balfour, they knocked him down, but discovering their mistake they apologised. They then made Captain White go down upon his knees, and were going to shoot him, but Captain Smith interfered and saved his life, on representing to them the misery it would inflict on his children. During the night Captains Smith and White were allowed to depart, and they made the best of their way to Launceston, where they gave the necessary information; but unfortunately it was too late, the bushrangers having crossed the river and proceeded to commit the dreadful enormities before stated."

Gradually, however, the band was scattered, and pursuit was concentrated on Brady himself. Once he was shot in the ankle, but still evaded capture. At last John Batman, hereafter to be known from his exploits in the Black War, and still more famous for his settlement of Port Phillip, set himself to hunt the bushranger down among the contorted gullies of the Western Tiers. His search was successful. One day he espied a man of dejected, care-worn aspect, slowly limping along through the bush with the aid of a cut sapling, and evidently in great pain. Suddenly the man caught sight of Batman, and at once the stick was thrown aside and his gun was at his shoulder. With finger on the trigger Brady called out "Are you a soldier officer?"—for soldiers were his abhorrence, and Batman was wearing a frock coat and foraging cap. "I'm no soldier, Brady," was the reply; "I'm John Batman; surrender, there is no chance for you." For a moment or two Brady communed with himself, and then said "You are right. Batman; my time is come; I will yield to you because you are a brave man."

It was natural that his capture should be received with demonstrations of joy by the populace. Yet, strange to say, hundreds of persons, including ladies, openly expressed sympathy with him, some of the latter freely shedding tears at the recital of the sufferings of the "poor man" whose chivalrous treatment of all females was one of the distinguishing characteristics of his career in the bush. He was taken to Hobart Town in company with a notorious scoundrel named Jeffries, and was very indignant at being made to keep company with such a "low character". Conviction followed trial, and he was sentenced to death. "Yet", says Bonwick, "petition followed petition for his deliverance from the halter. Settlers told of his forbearance, and ladies of his kindness. His cell was besieged with visitors, and his table was loaded with presents. Baskets of fruit, bouquets of flowers, and dishes of confectionery prepared by his fair admirers, were tendered in abundance to the gaoler for his distinguished captive. The last moment came. The dramatic scene was maintained to its close. Pinioned, he stood on the scaffold before a dense mass of spectators, who cheered him for his courage, or grieved bitterly for his fate. He received the consolations of the Roman Catholic faith; he bade a familiar adieu to the gentlemen about him, and he died more like a patient martyr than a felon murderer."

BRITTON'S GANG.

During 1832-3 four escaped convicts, Beaven, Britton, Jefkins and Brown, kept the country side in terror. Beaven was a native of the Hunter, in New South Wales, and had been transported to Van Diemen's Land for horse-stealing. Britton was a convict from the old country, his offence being smuggling; but during the affray in which he was captured he saved the life of one of the coast-guards, who had been knocked overboard, and the sentence of death passed upon him was on that account commuted to penal servitude for life. After several assignments to settlers, during which he made a very bad name for himself, he took the bush with Beaven, who had absconded from the Cataract Hill gaol gang.

Before the two men had been out very long they killed Mr. Bartlett and his servant at the Supply Mill. The murder was discovered by a Mr. Cathcart, from whom the police received information, while a clerk in the Commissariat Department named Wilson went to bring Mrs. Bartlett away from the scene of the murder. On his way he saw and shot a large mastiff belonging to Beaven, and for that act the bushranger posted notices in public places that he would shoot Wilson in return. Later on, indeed, the gang (now including another escapee, Jefkins) stuck up Neale's farm in the hope of finding Wilson there on official work: failing to discover him they ransacked the place and tried to extort information about him from the overseer, whom they threatened to shoot. In the end they spared the man and made off.

On this visit they had a woman with them whom they had taken from the Female Factory in George Town, after shooting the gatekeeper, an old man of 60. She appropriated some of the overseer's clothes and afterwards accompanied the gang in man's attire.

In the "Government Gazette" of May, 1832, the following rewards were offered:– £250 and 500 acres of land for the apprehension of Britton, dead or alive; £200 and 500 acres of land for Beaven; £150 and 250 acres of land for Jefkins; or to any prisoner of the Crown a free pardon, his passage paid to England, and £200. Hearing of these rewards, and knowing something of the outlaws and the country where they "ranged", a prisoner named Hall, volunteered either to kill or capture them, and the authorities accepted his services. He was thereupon allowed to go into the bush, and at once joined the gang, who were pleased to receive an old "mate" and admit him into their circle. They then planned a robbery, and while Britton and Jefkins went to reconnoitre, Hall stayed with Beaven to watch the road. The two men were standing together when suddenly Hall placed his gun close to Beaven's head and fired. The shot was fatal, the back part of the bushranger's skull being nearly blown off, and the man fell dead.

Hall rushed off to give information to the police, who returned with him to the spot and removed the body. An inquest was subsequently held and a verdict of "justifiable homicide" was returned. Upon Hall's return he informed the police that an assigned servant in the town, named Brown, had been assisting the bushrangers; but when search was made for this man it was discovered that he had joined Britton and Jefkins in the bush.

Hall then set out with the police in pursuit of the two remaining members of the gang, and knowing the country he was able in a short time to drive them from their haunts. The unfortunate woman whom they had taken from the factory was discovered alone in one of the gullies, the bushrangers having left her behind in their flight. The search was continued for several weeks without success, and it was generally believed that all three criminals had escaped from the colony. Hall received the reward from Government, and obtained an appointment in the Sheriff's office, which he held for many years, after which he left the colony.

The bushrangers had not gone. In April, 1833, they appeared on the Tamar, plundering right and left. In October they became more daring. Lieutenant Vaughan, Mr. Henty, of Landfall, and a neighbouring hotelkeeper were all visited and robbed with much audacity. Having shot a constable during this last raid, the idea occurred to them of pretending to be constables looking for themselves, and in this guise they plundered the George Inn at Georgetown. The Launceston press waxed indignant: rewards were again offered for their capture, and increased: the police were doubly active: but all to no purpose. Their hunting through the bush was fruitless, although on one occasion they came across a boat which the bushrangers had only just left, and apparently in haste, as though closely pressed; for in it were found some bedding, a couple of guns, and some provisions—the boat having been hauled up a small creek that runs into the Tamar.

On New Year's morning, 1835, the pilot on the river conveyed some information to the police at George Town which set them in active motion. He had been looking through his glass and had observed three men on the western beach, who he at first thought must be excursionists or a hunting party; but closer observation led him to the conclusion that they were either police or bushrangers. The chief district constable and three others at once set out for Kelso Bay, where the men had been seen, and on the road met a shepherd who informed them that at midday he had seen three men with heavy knapsacks and firearms crossing the Badger. Camping on the road that night the constable picked up the tracks on the following morning on the beach, and from their freshness it was decided that the men could not be far off. Resting on this discovery, the party leisurely breakfasted, and then followed the tracks to the edge of the bush. But here they were confronted by Britton, who stepped out about sixty yards from them, challenged Constable Smith (who happened to have come to the colony in the same ship with him), and at once fired. The fire was returned with interest by the police, when Britton dropped on one knee as though to shelter himself behind a bush. Smith wanted to advance; the chief constable, urging that it would be an unnecessary exposure of life, ordered a retreat, saying he would get reinforcements and resume the pursuit next day. Accordingly eight constables were told off next day to follow the runaways, but, as might be expected, the game had disappeared.

About three weeks after this Brown and Jefkins made their appearance at a limeburner's hut at Port Sorell. They were emaciated, and declared they were starving, having had no water for three days and nothing to eat for five days but a parrot and a cockatoo. They had pieces of blanket and leather tied about their feet instead of shoes, while Brown had a grey jacket drawn on instead of trousers and Jefkins had pieces of blanket sewn around him. They tied their host up, and camped with him for the night, but while moving across to a bark-chopper's hut the next morning they were surprised by the police. Brown shot a constable (Britton's enemy, Smith), and was himself shot in the shoulder. Jefkins ran up to his help, calling out to his opponents "Come on, there's enough of you to eat me." He fired two shots harmlessly, and was then hit in the head.

Brown was taken with the two dead bodies to George Town, but he did not long survive. As for Britton, no more was ever heard of him. Brown before death owned that he (Britton) had been hit in the first fight, and had been left behind in the bush with a badly-injured leg while the other two went in search of food.

The remains of Constable Smith were honoured with a public funeral at which the whole of the police and military attended. The others who were with him at the time of the skirmish received the rewards that had been offered for the capture of Jefkins and Brown, and one unfortunate constable, who had been very active in the pursuit, but had been sent on other duties on the day the capture was made, took the loss of the reward so much to heart that he shot himself in the stomach and died instantly. He was a prisoner constable, and doubtless hungered for the free pardon and passage "home" which would have been his portion of the reward had he been present at the time of the capture.

CHAPTER III. TASMANIAN GANGS. — (Continued.)

CASH, KAVANAGH AND JONES.

Among the more notorious of the Van Diemen's Land convict bushrangers of later days was Martin Cash, who, first singly, and then in association with Kavanagh and Jones, committed many depredations among the small settlers during 1843, and some time previous.

Cash was born in County Wexford, Ireland, and in 1827, at the age of about 18 years, was transported to Botany Bay for seven years for a deliberate attempt to murder a rival of whom he was jealous. He was well connected, and strenuous efforts were made by his wealthy friends and relatives to obtain a mitigation of the sentence, but without avail. He reached Sydney in February, 1828 (by the "Marquis of Huntley"), and was soon assigned to Mr. Bowman, of Richmond, who presently placed him on a cattle station in the Hunter district between Denman and Merriwa. By steady service in a responsible position he won favour from his master, and in due time obtained a ticket-of-leave, which enabled him to engage with another stock-owner as overseer at £20 per year. Gaining his freedom by similar good conduct, he determined to settle down on his own account; but here, after nine years of quiet, his troubles began. One morning he was innocently branding cattle for an acquaintance when two strangers rode up, watched the operation, and again rode away; after which his friend informed him the cattle were stolen beasts and the men who had ridden away would certainly report what they had seen. This alarmed Cash considerably. "Norfolk Island for life" was the punishment for illegally branding, and he made up his mind to leave the colony as quickly as possible. He took with him a woman whom he had some time before induced to leave her husband (for convenience we will call her Mrs. Cash in future), and, leaving her at Mudgee, set off to collect for sale some cattle of his own from a distant Namoi station. His treacherous friend of the branding episode had, however, sold these behind his back. Cash accordingly recouped himself from his friend's herd, sold the animals on his way back to Mudgee, picked up Mrs. Cash there, and struck southwards to Bathurst. His account of his stay there is an interesting contribution to the social history of the time.

"On our entrance I noticed two gentlemen on the verandah, one of whom proved to be the landlord. We had not been long in the sitting-room before we heard a knock at the door, a policeman making his appearance immediately after, who at once requested to know what I was (meaning if I was free or bond). I answered that I was a free man. He next asked if I had anything to show for it. On this I produced my certificate of freedom, which satisfied him at once. I treated him to a glass of brandy, after which he excused himself by saying that one of the men who was standing in the verandah was no other than the district constable (Mr. Jones) who instructed him to make the before-mentioned inquiries.

MARTIN CASH.

"On the following morning I presented one of the £5 cheques which I received from "Gentleman Jones" (who had purchased the cattle on the Namoi) in payment of my bill. The landlord, after examining it for some time, returned me the change, and having remained that day and the next, I changed the other £5 cheque also, and on finding that the landlord kept a general store, I purchased wearing apparel and other necessaries to the extent of £50, presenting a £150 cheque in payment. He examined this with greater minuteness than the others, wishing to be informed how it was that there appeared to be two different handwritings on the face of the cheques, observing that the amount on all the cheques which I had presented was evidently filled in by a lady. I accounted for this by telling him that the lady who filled up the cheques resided with "Gentleman Jones", but in what relation she stood to that gentleman I could not attempt to say. Not appearing to be satisfied with this explanation, he observed that if I wished he would send it to the bank, but I would not agree to this, telling him that I knew where I could get it cashed in a moment. He then suggested that as there happened to be a son-in-law of "Gentleman Jones's" (a Mr.———) keeping a public house at Gorman's Hill, within one mile from Bathurst, he would send for him if I had no objection, and if that gentleman vouched for the correctness of the cheque, he would cash it in a moment. To this I consented, and in the course of an hour Mr.——— arrived, and at once pronounced the cheque genuine. He therefore gave me a written order on the Bank at Maitland, on presenting which the cashier commenced counting the notes. I told him that as I did not believe they were current in all parts of the colony, I preferred gold, but I had to take it in silver, and my companion indulged in a laugh on seeing the bag that contained it."

From Bathurst Cash made for Goulburn, and soon got an engagement as dairyman under Captain Sturt, the famous explorer, on his Mittagong station: but quarrels with a new overseer forced him to throw up this job, and he started for Sydney with a view of taking ship to Hobart Town. Near Camden he narrowly escaped arrest by knocking down the constable who stopped him, but reaching Sydney in safety he secured passages to Hobart Town (£20 for himself and Mrs. Cash, £5, exclusive of fodder, for his horse), and arrived in the island early in 1837.

Within twelve months of setting foot in Van Diemen's Land Cash's troubles commenced. On two occasions he was wrongfully charged with theft; and, although the first case against him broke down, lie had beaten the arresting constables so badly that he became a "marked man". When brought up on the second occasion he was convicted and sentenced to seven years' transportation to one of the penal settlements, some distance from Hobart Town. But he had not been there more than a day when he effected his escape, having been sent out with a road-making party to draw stones in a handcart. Choosing a suitable spot and a favourable opportunity, he slipped away from his companions and hid in the bush until darkness had set in, when he started on his way back to Campbell Town, where he had left the disconsolate Mrs. Cash. During the night he stealthily entered the kitchen of a settler, appropriated a quantity of provisions, and pursued his journey until daylight, when, turning off into the bush, he was in the act of cooking some of the victuals at a fire he had kindled, when he was pounced upon by three soldiers and retaken. For thus escaping he was subsequently brought before the Police Magistrate at Oatlands, and received an additional sentence of nine months' hard labour in a chain gang, and nine months in a road party.

While in gaol awaiting transit, Cash formed the acquaintance of a fellow convict, to whom he unfolded a plan of escape; but the expected opportunity did not present itself until some time after he had arrived at his destination, and as his custodians had received a report concerning his previous attempt at flight, he was subjected to stricter surveillance than the other prisoners. For greater security he was leg-ironed with a pair of seven pound cross irons, and placed in a barrack, surrounded by a stockade twelve feet high. But he was equal to the emergency. Although within sight and hearing of a gang of billeted hands, who were working in the yard, he seized his opportunity, procured a goodly sized stone, and resting the centre ring connecting his leg irons upon another stone, struck and broke it, thus disconnecting the irons, although each leg still retained its separate adornment. Fastening the chains about each leg beneath the knee, he was prepared for action. The fitting moment arrived when the billeted gang left the yard for "grub", and seizing two night tubs that were lying near he placed them end on end and mounting managed from this perch to spring and catch the top of the palisade with his hands and drag himself over into the public thoroughfare. It was past 3 o'clock, and midwinter, so nobody observed his descent into the street, and walking quietly away he gained the bush, where he hid until darkness had set in. Late at night he broke into a mill and obtained a supply of provisions, then walking on till dawn, when he camped in the scrub and spent the day getting rid of his irons. Near Springhill he stole a good outfit of clothes, abandoning his prison suit, and so was able to make his way less cautiously to Mrs. Cash, at Campbelltown. They determined to leave Tasmania for Melbourne as soon as might be: and, with a view to raising the necessary cash, betook themselves to the Huon, having many narrow escapes by the way.

PORT ARTHUR AND THE TWO NECKS.

In this district Cash and his escapades were unknown, and after a steady year's work the money was saved. But Justice was not to be baulked so easily of its prey. They were detained a day or two in Hobart, Cash was recognised, seized by six constables, and again lodged in prison. Tried on the charge of absconding, his twelve months' honest work was put down to "cleverness". "But," said the presiding magistrate, the well-known John Price, "you will not best me, Martin" and he got two years added to his original sentence, and four years at Port Arthur besides.

What Port Arthur meant will be known to all readers of Marcus Clarke. Cash, however, was comparatively well off; he was strong and able to do all the log-lifting imposed upon him, and so did not come under the displeasure of the brutal overseers and sub-overseers.

Still, he determined to escape—not immediately, for it was midwinter—and took every opportunity of learning the bearings of the land; particularly he marked Eagle Hawk and East Bay Necks, the two strips which must be crossed in order to reach the main land, and which were guarded by armed sentries and chained bloodhounds posted at equal distances along them. But his movements were accelerated by the harsh treatment of a sub-overseer; he knocked the man down, threw him over a steep bank into Long Bay, and made a start for liberty. After a night and a day in the bush he swam the inlet at Eagle Hawk Neck, but lost his way soon after, and five days after bolting was captured, half starved, within a mile of the second Neck. When brought before the commandant, O'H——a B——h, he escaped the lash by assuming a very penitent attitude, but was sentenced to eighteen months' hard labour in chains, and sent to work in a stone quarry with other ironed prisoners. Here he met with two men, Kavanagh and Jones, who had been transported for robbery under arms, committed near Sydney; and the three plotted a scheme for simultaneous flight. These new comrades of his relied greatly upon the man who had already proved his ability as an absconder, and said they would trust implicitly in his guidance when once they set foot upon the road to liberty.

On the afternoon of Boxing Day Cash, who was one of a gang that drew the stone carts, walked across the quarry and looked steadily at his two mates. At once they dropped their picks and sprang into the scrub, followed by Cash himself. Almost as soon as they started their absence was discovered by the sentries; a hue and cry was at once raised, and the rest of the gang placed under strict guard, while as many soldiers as could be spared set about searching for the runaways; the semaphore signals were also kept in full play, so as to put all the sentries on their guard. Having picked up a bundle containing some provisions, which had been placed conveniently for them by one of the cooks on the settlement who had been let into the secret, the trio made their way through the scrub to the foot of Mount Arthur. Here they hid for three days, hoping that by that time the sentries at the Neck would have relaxed their vigilance. On the third night they left their hiding place, and worked their way northwards through the scrub, often on hands and knees for a mile at a time, till their clothes were torn to shreds. At dusk next day they came in sight of Eagle Hawk Neck, and saw that the line was literally ally swarming with constables and prisoners. They concealed for three hours waiting for the coast to become clear, and then, with some trouble, swam the inlet, as Cash had done before, but when they reached the further side each one was stark naked, the clothes having been washed from their heads by the waves which had buffeted them in crossing.

Travelling without boots over rugged ironstone ridges and forging through prickly scrub without clothing to protect the body, were not pleasant exercises. Cash, therefore, led his mates to a roadside hut which he had noted on his last bolt, and fortunately reached it when the soldiers and prisoners were absent, except one man, who acted as cook. They made a simultaneous rush, Kavanagh arming himself with an axe which was standing at the door; the cook, seeing three naked men enter, completely lost his head, and before he could recover his senses was seized and securely lashed to one of the centre posts of the hut. They then helped themselves to clothes, of which there was an abundance, belonging to the prisoners who were away at work, as well as to a quantity of flour, beef, tea, sugar, and a flint and tinder box, and departed.

Knowing that this last enterprise would give their pursuers a clue to their whereabouts, and that a double watch would therefore be kept at East Bay Neck, they decided to conceal themselves for three or four days. During this time they had a very narrow escape from recapture, as a party of soldiers passed within a few feet of the spot where they lay concealed; and a little later on they nearly walked into the camp of one of the parties in pursuit. Creeping towards the neck, however, on the third day and hiding in the bush until nearly midnight, when only a few sentries remained on duty, they took off their boots, crawled past one of the sentry boxes, and got over the line into a paddock of wheat on the other side, through which they again crawled to the dense bush beyond. At last they breathed freely. "If I had a crown of gold," said Jones to Cash, "I would give it to you." "A little of it in my pocket would be more useful", said Cash, sardonically. Then for three hours they skirted the bay—on the right side of it now—and at the first halt, dropped sound asleep till long after sunrise.

EAGLE HAWK NECK.

Next day when Kavanagh put the question what was to be done, Jones answered, "Take up arms and stand no repairs", and to this they all agreed, though the decision meant certain death if they were ever caught. Their next move, therefore, was towards the more settled districts in the valley of the Derwent. At Pittwater they obtained provender from a hut, and proceeded towards Jerusalem, securing on their way a couple of guns, with ammunition, and some decent clothes. At Jerusalem a third gun and more provisions were obtained, and a complete outfit of clothes for each of them at the Bagdad public-house. Still making westward, they stuck up a farmer's house at Broadmarsh, and then camped for a few days to prepare for more serious business. They now decided to attack the Woolpack Inn, about ten miles from New Norfolk; but before reaching the place they fell in with a convict shepherd who told them that they would encounter an armed party at the inn, as a party of constables were stationed there. To this Cash replied that an encounter would suit them very well, as it would give them an opportunity of proving their arms.

Having planted their swag about a quarter of a mile away, they took the nearest road to the inn, and immediately "bailed up" the landlady, her two sons, and three men who were drinking there. While dealing with them people were seen moving outside; these proved to be the advancing party of constables, who had been made aware of the presence of the three desperadoes. The latter at once marched outside the house, Cash taking the lead. The leader of the party challenged Cash to stand. He stood, but only to take surer aim, and the challenger fell. There was an exchange of shots, but the darkness prevented any proper aim, and no damage was done on either side. Kavanagh and Jones now retired without acquainting their leader of the fact, and when he turned to speak to them he found that he was alone. He then retreated to the house, the constables apparently not caring to follow, and having secured a keg of brandy got out into the darkness and started for the spot where the swag had been left. Here he found his two companions; and after holding a "council of war", and testing the quality of the brandy, the gang retraced their steps to the Dromedary. Three days later, after pillaging a farmhouse for provisions, they reached the house of an old acquaintance of Cash's, who entertained them on the best and promised to take a message to the town for Mrs. Cash, who was residing there. On the way they learned that two of the constables had been seriously wounded by their fire, but not fatally.

Next morning the promise was fulfilled and Mrs. Cash joined the party, who had in the meantime made a kind of fortress of logs for themselves on the top of the Dromedary. For three days they remained quiet, and then set out to make a raid upon a large establishment owned by a Mr. Shone. On the way they fell in with a friend of the family, whom they compelled to go with them, and having obtained entrance to the house (the door having been opened to the voice of their prisoner) they immediately ordered the occupants, among whom were some ladies, to sit upon the floor. Six or seven working hands belonging to the establishment were also brought up from an outhouse to keep the owner and his family company, and two young ladies and three gentlemen who drove up in a vehicle on a visit were also, much to their surprise, placed "under cover" with the other prisoners. Kavanagh kept guard over the imprisoned company while Jones ransacked the house—"it being understood," says Cash, "that the professional process exclusively belonged to him"—and Cash watched outside. Before the bushrangers left the ladies and gentlemen in the room were relieved of their watches, jewellery, and purses; but the young ladies were not at all alarmed, having heard that Cash and his mates were very considerate in their treatment of the "weaker vessels" who chanced to fall into their hands, and being now in a position to personally test the accuracy of the report. Taking a respectful leave of their victims the bushrangers marched off, carrying their booty to what they termed their fortress. They literally loaded Mrs. Cash with silk dresses and jewellery from the store which they had so readily acquired.

For three days the party remained at the fortress, and then learned that a detachment of H.M. 51st King's Own Light Infantry under Major Ainsworth were scouring the bush in search of them. They then decided to remain in hiding for a few days longer; and in order that Mrs. Cash might not be exposed to danger in case of an attack they escorted her part of the way into the town and then left her. But the police were on the watch, and she had not been long in town before she was arrested on a charge of receiving stolen property, some of the articles belonging to Mrs. Shone being found in her possession.

Meanwhile the outlaws were not idle. They found shelter for a time at the house they had visited before, and from here they made two or three sorties upon residents in the district. One of the places "stuck up" by them was Mr. Hodgkinson's, that gentleman being at home with his wife and daughter (described by Cash as "a very pretty young woman about eighteen years of age") at the time. Before searching the premises they tied the old gentleman, although they admitted afterwards that there was more need really to tie the old lady, who persistently endeavoured to get out of the house, the while giving the robbers "the length of her tongue". At the request of Miss Hodgkinson they set her father at liberty, but this did not satisfy the mother, who made attacks upon Cash, and when the three were leaving she followed them and kept screaming after them until they were clear out of sight of the farm.

A few days afterwards they attacked the residence of Mr. Charles Kerr, in the Hamilton district. On the morning of their arrival they secured two of Mr. Kerr's shepherds, who gave them the necessary information concerning their master's premises, number of hands in his employ, together with similar information concerning other neighbouring settlers. Going up to the house with these two men about dusk they were met by a young lady, who immediately ran back crying "Here are the bushrangers", and then fainted. Leaving Kavanagh in charge of the men in the kitchen. Cash repaired to the drawing-room where he found Mrs. Kerr and the young lady, whom he urged not to be alarmed, as they should not be subjected to any insult. At Cash's request Mrs. Kerr pointed out the men's hut, and Cash and Kavanagh went there to find Mr. Kerr and three working hands. Kavanagh ordered one of the men to tie the others, but not liking the manner in which he performed his work he did the tying business over again himself, having to threaten Mr. Kerr before he would submit to the indignity. When the whole of the occupants had been placed in one room, the robbers released Mr. Kerr and permitted him to sit down in the room, and Jones, having produced writing materials, wrote the following letter to his Excellency the Governor:–

"Messrs. Cash and Co. beg to notify his Excellency Sir John Franklin and his satellites that a very respectable person named Mrs. Cash is now falsely imprisoned in Hobart Town, and if the said Mrs. Cash is not released forthwith, and properly remunerated, we will, in the first instance, visit Government House, and beginning with Sir John, administer a wholesome lesson in the shape of a sound flogging; after which we will pay the same currency to all his followers.

"Given under our hands, this day, at the residence of Mr. Kerr, of Dunrobin.

"CASH
"KAVANAGH
"JONES.

"His Excellency the Governor."

It thus appeared that the gang had become aware of the fact of Mrs. Cash's arrest. At the same time they wrote and signed the following note to Mr. Shone:– "Understanding through the public press that Mrs. Cash is in custody for some things you have sworn to, we hereby give you notice that if you prosecute Mrs. Cash we will come and burn you and all you have to the ground." These letters Jones read to the imprisoned company, and then the gang gathered up the valuables in the house and took their departure, Mr. Kerr urging them to give up their evil ways, and offering to intercede on their behalf with the Governor; but they replied that they thought their letter would be a powerful appeal on their behalf, and Mr. Kerr's kindly offer in this direction was politely declined. They left the letters with him, however, to be forwarded to their destination.

Two more attacks on stations in the Hamilton district brought them in so much spoil that they determined to rest awhile at their friend's house under the Dromedary, where they had an old Irish fiddle: to play to them.

Meanwhile the police were actively searching for them, but without success. In addition to a pecuniary reward offered for the apprehension of the outlaws, the Governor offered a free pardon and a free passage from the colony to any convict who might be instrumental in their capture. The state of alarm into which the community had been thrown was great. Even the officials not actively engaged in the hunt were in fear, as may be gathered from the following paragraph which appeared in the Hobart Town "Advertiser":– "So universal has been the panic among the police that the acting police magistrate, living in one of the most populous towns in the country and at a distance of several miles from the scene of their depredations, has actually applied for a military force for his own particular protection, fancying, as he alleges, that he may be carried off and obliged to pay ransom." The same paper, of a later date, contained the following:– "The perfect insufficiency of the police to apprehend Cash and his troupe is at length acknowledged, after some months' unavailing efforts. The military have been in consequence ordered to their assistance. Thirty-nine men, under the command of Lieutenant Doreton and Mr. Stephenson, have been ordered to occupy several posts in the district which has been the scene of their daring exploits. Here, stationed at different points, they may intercept them in their progress when necessity compels them to leave their haunts, which the knowledge of the locality renders secure while they choose to remain in seclusion. We have no doubt that these measures will prove successful."

REWARD POSTER.

While this arrangement was being made the gang were contemplating an attack upon Mr. Edols' establishment, at the Bluff. They had heard that a party of soldiers and police were stationed at the place and appeared desirous of putting the prowess and bravery of the detachment to the proof. Accordingly they watched the place for some time and having (after the plan usually adopted by them) intercepted one of the men servants and obtained from his not unwilling lips a full account of the strength of the inmates, they made arrangements for the descent, taking the man with them as a guide, and threatening him that if they did not find his story true in every particular they would "send him to sleep with a bullet in his brain." The man told them that the first obstruction they would meet with on the premises would be a very savage dog; and sure enough, as soon as they entered the gate a large mastiff flew at them. Cash met the savage animal, and as it sprang open-mouthed at him, he drew a pistol from his belt and rammed the muzzle down its throat, at the same time pulling the trigger. The dog fell dead at his feet. The members of the gang were in momentary expectation of being fired upon from the house, and they made a rush at once for the verandah. Knocking at the door of a room in which they observed a light and receiving no answer, they together burst the door open and entered the room to find Mr. Edols and his two nephews (young men) sitting there with the ladies of the household, in a great state of alarm. On looking behind the door Kavanagh found three stand of arms all loaded with ball, and subsequently Mr. Edols was found to have about his person a pair of duelling pistols. After twitting their victims with their want of pluck, the gang broke the firearms, being afraid to discharge them on account of the noise they would make, and proceeded to help themselves; then bidding the ladies good night they left the place, and retired to their "fortress".

They now struck northwards across Constitution Hill, but in a few days grew tired of idleness—though Cash seemed to have enlivened things with a discourse on the vanity of human wishes, which made Jones declare that mouths were made for eating, not for jabber. Presently they came into open collision with a magistrate in the bush. Just before this Cash had coolly walked into a public house bar in Greenponds, at which several persons were drinking and purchased two bottles of rum; but although the inmates eyed him suspiciously, and a constable looked in at the door, he was not recognised, and an hour afterwards he had rejoined his companions and was rehearsing the scene to them. The magistrate, whose name was Clark, was riding towards his residence, having as a follower one of his assigned servants, armed, but on foot; and as soon as they came near the party Kavanagh ordered the man to drop his gun, which command was promptly obeyed, and master and man were then detained by the gang and compelled to accompany them to an adjoining farm, which they were about to "stick up"; Cash observing to the magistrate that he would give him a lesson in the art of robbing and then set him at liberty. On the road they met two other men, who were also compelled to go with them. They found the premises (Allardyce's) in charge of an overseer, whom they at once secured, together with the workmen, and having driven them all into a room with the other inmates of the house, they proceeded to ransack the place. Before they left Clark requested Cash to allow him to go to the Governor and sue for terms, but the outlaw declined, saying that when Sir John had them in custody he might dispose of them as he thought fit, but that while they lived they would not ask any favour at his hands.

Having replenished their store of provisions the gang made for the Shannon, and for about a fortnight their chief pastime was firing at targets marked on the trees; Cash declared that he "seldom failed to place a bullet in the circle at a distance of 180 yards and further." Soon the party were ready for fresh exploits; and so we find them creating a sensation near Lake Echo, "sticking up" the settlers, and even making a successful raid upon the establishment of Captain McKay, who was renowned as a very determined soldier, and a vigilant hunter of escaped criminals. As usual they first visited one of the huts and obtained from a shepherd full particulars of the place and the habits of "the master", and then took the man with them to prevent him raising an alarm. On the way to the house, they fell in with a settler named Gellibrand, whom they also took along, making him go forward and gain entrance for them. Captain McKay and his servants were speedily placed under guard, and the gang set to work to "entertain" them, liberally handing round spirits and tobacco among the assigned servants, who were strangers to such luxuries; when McKay protested he was reminded that he was not now in command—"We're in charge now," said Kavanagh, "and I'll shoot the first man who leaves off smoking." Having "looted" the house they loaded two of Mr. McKay's horses with the booty and marched their prisoners to Mr. Gellibrand's, where, after a short delay, Cash gently upbraided his captive host with lack of hospitality, and so secured an invitation to tea for the whole band. McKay was placed at the foot of the table between two of his own men, much to that gentleman's discomfiture. Only Cash's firmness, however, saved him from a worse fate: for Jones was very anxious to flog him as cruelly as he was wont to flog his servants—a retaliation, said Jones, which he had found to work well in New South Wales. Before leaving the place with their "takings" the gang stripped the whole party of their boots, in order to prevent them from following them or giving the alarm to others. They then speedily made their way back to their old camp under the Dromedary, and sent in all haste to Hobart for their fiddler. While here Cash learned from the papers that Mrs. Cash had been released by the Governor, and he flattered himself that this was the result of the threatening letter he had sent to his Excellency shortly after the arrest of that lady; but the truth of the matter was that she had been liberated in the hope that some clue to Cash's movements might be obtained through her, and that he might be even induced to visit Hobart Town if he learned that she was living there in freedom. As will be seen farther on, this ruse proved successful.

EARLY VIEW OF HOBART TOWN.

The next exploit of the bushrangers calling for notice was an attack upon the residence of a well-to-do settler named Kimberley, near Broadmarsh. On reaching the house they found the door barred and the inmates in bed, and as their demand for admittance was not promptly answered, Kavanagh shot the lock off the door and the three men entered. The first thing Cash saw was a man trying to escape through the window: he tried to drag him back, but the man's belt came loose in his hands, and in it Cash found fourteen rounds of ball cartridges. Mr. Kimberley was found in bed in another room, with a loaded gun standing near at hand; he meekly rose when ordered, and was led into another room, where four others had already been placed. Kavanagh stood guard over these while Jones proceeded to further search. Coming to a door that was locked he applied the muzzle of his piece to the lock and was about to fire when Cash made him desist, saying he heard female voices in the room. Mr. Kimberley then called out that his three daughters were in the room, and then Cash told them not to be alarmed, but to dress quickly and come out. This they did, and having been transferred to Kavanagh's keeping, they had to look on with the others while Cash and Jones ransacked the place.

Leaving Mr. Kimberley's they went off to the hut of a friendly convict, left their knapsacks outside, and sat down to supper. Suddenly they heard a voice outside saying "Surround the hut; we have them; here's their swag." A party of soldiers and constables—ten in all—had at last come within reach of the outlaws. On hearing the exclamation Jones at once blew out the light, while Cash seized his gun, opened the door and fired both barrels right and left, at the same time shouting "Come on, my hearties; you have got us!" There was no response, and Cash returned to the door and reloaded his piece, Jones asking what should be done. "We'll have to shoot two or three of them", said Cash, and stepping outside again he loudly inquired if they were all dead, at the same time reminding them of the large reward they would get for capturing them, if they were only brave enough to try. At this time there was a reward of £150 on the head of each of the bushrangers, with 100 acres of land and a free pardon, if the capturer happened to be a convict. The three now advanced together about fifty yards from the hut, but could not see their assailants. At last they heard the soldiers at

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Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.05.2014
ISBN: 978-3-7368-0969-7

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