both served their time in the island, and were, moreover, "townies,"
natives of the same town at home. Nosey began the conversation by
saying to his old friend, "I've been a bad boy since I saw you last
--I done a man in Victoria"; and then he gave the full particulars
of his crime, as already related. But the old chum could not believe
the narrative, any more than did the squatter.
"Well, Nosey," he said, "you can tell that tale to the marines."
In the meantime the runs around Lake Nyalong had been surveyed by the
government and sold. In the Rises the land was being subdivided and
fenced with stone walls, and there was a chance that Baldy's grave
might be discovered if one of the surveyed lines ran near it, for the
stonewallers picked up the rocks as near as possible to the wall they
were building, and usually to about the distance of one chain on each
side of it.
A man who had a contract for the erection of one of these walls took
with him his stepson to assist in the work. In the month of August,
1869, they were on their way to their work accompanied by a dog which
chased a rabbit into a pile of rocks. The boy began to remove the
rocks in order to find the rabbit, and in doing so uncovered part of
a human skeleton. He beckoned to his stepfather, who was rather
deaf, to come and look at what he had found. The man came, took up
the skull, and examined it.
"I'll be bound this skull once belonged to Baldy," he said. "There
is a hole here behind; and, yes, one jaw has been broken. That's
Nosey's work for sure' I wonder where he is now."
No work was done at the wall that day, but information was given to
the police.
Mounted constable Kerry came over to the Rises. The skeleton was
found to be nearly entire; one jaw-bone was broken, and there was a
hole in the back of the skull. The feet were still encased in a pair
of boots laced high above the ankles. There were portions of a
blue-striped shirt, and of a black silk necktie with reddish stripes.
There was also the brim of an oiled sou'wester' hat, a pipe, and a
knife. The chin was very prominent, and the first molar teeth on the
lower jaw were missing. The remains were carefully taken up and
conveyed to Nyalong; they were identified as those of Baldy; an
inquest was held, and a verdict of wilful murder was returned against
Nosey and his wife.
After the inquest mounted constable Kerry packed up the skeleton in a
parcel with every small article found with it, placed it in a sack,
put it under his bed, slept over it every night, and patiently waited
for some tidings of the murderer. In those days news travelled
slowly, and the constable guarded his ghastly treasure for eighteen
months.
Nemesis was all the time on her way to Piney station, but her steps
were slow, and she did not arrive until the seventeenth anniversary
of the disapppearance of Baldy.
On that day she came under the guise of constable, who produced a
warrant, and said:
"Cornelius Naso, alias Nosey, alias Pye, I arrest you under this
warrant, charging you with having murdered a shepherd, named Thomas
Balbus, alias Baldy, at Nyalong, in the colony of Victoria, on the
28th day of February, 1854. You need not say anything unless you
like, but if you do say anything I shall take it down in writing, and
it will be used as evidence against you at your trial."
Nosey had nothing to say, except, "I deny the charge"; he had said
too much already.
He was handcuffed and taken to the police station at Albury. In one
of his pockets a letter was found purporting to be written by Julia,
and disclosing her place of residence.
Soon afterwards Nosey and his wife met in captivity after their long
separation, but their meeting was not a happy one; they had no word
of welcome for each other.
The preliminary examination was held in the court house at Nyalong,
and there was a large gathering of spectators when the proceedings
commenced. On a form below the witness box there was something
covered with a white sheet. Men craned their necks and looked at it
over one another's shoulders. The two prisoners eyed it intently.
It was guarded by constable Kerry, who allowed no one to approach it,
but with an authoritative wave of the hand kept back all impertinent
intruders. That day was the proudest in all his professional career.
He had prepared his evidence and his exhibits with the utmost care.
At the proper moment he carefully removed the white sheet, and the
skeleton was exposed to view, with everything replaced in the
position in which it had been found under the rocks in the Rises.
Nosey's face grew livid as he eyed the evidence of his handiwork;
Julia threw up both hands, and exclaimed:
"Oh! there's poor Baldy that you murdered!"
Nosey felt that this uncalled-for statement would damage his chance
of escape, so, turning to the bench, he said:
"Don't mind what the woman says, your lordship; she is not in her
right senses, and always was weak-minded."
The constable being sworn, related how, on information received, he
had gone to the Stoney Rises, and had uncovered a skeleton which was
lying on a broad flat stone. The bones of the legs from the knees
downward were covered with stones. The boots were attached to the
feet, and were pointing in such a direction as to show that the body
must have rested on the right side. Large stones, but such as one
man could lift, had been placed over the feet and the legs. The
other bones were together, but had been disturbed. With them he
found the brim of an oiled sou'-westr' hat, a clay tobacco pipe, a
rusty clasp-knife with a hole bored through the handle, fragments of
a blue shirt; also pieces of a striped silk neckerchief, marked D. S.
over 3; the marks had been sewn in with a needle. There was a hole
in the back of the skull, and the left jaw was broken.
Just at this time a funeral procession, with a few attendants, passed
the court-house on its way to the cemetery. Julia's father was going
to his grave. He had come over the sea lately to spend the rest of
his days in peace and comfort in the home of his daughter, and he
found her in gaol under the charge of murder. There was nothing more
to live for, so he went out and died.
The two prisoners were committed, but they remained in gaol for more
than seven months longer, on account of the difficulty of securing
the attendance of witnesses from New South Wales.
But when the evidence was given it was overwhelming. Every man who
had known Baldy seemed to have been kept alive on purpose to give
evidence against the murderer. Every scrap of clothing which the
wild cats had left was identified, together with the knife, the pipe,
the hat brim, and the boots; and the prisoner's own confession was
repeated. Julia also took the side of the prosecution. When asked
if she had any questions to put, she said, "My husband killed the
man, and forced me to help him to put the body on his horse."
The jury retired to consider their verdict, and spent two hours over
it. In the meantime the two prisoners sat in the dock as far apart
as possible. They had never spoken to each other during the trial,
and Nosey now said in a low voice:
"You had no call, Julia, to turn on me the way you did. What good
could it do you? Sure you might at least have said nothing against
me."
The pent-up bitterness of seventeen years burst forth. The constable
standing near tried to stop the torrent, but he might as well have
tried to turn back a south-east gale with a feather.
"I was to say nothing, indeed, was I? And what call had I to say
nothing? Is that what you ask? Was I to stand here all day and say
never a word for myself until they were ready to hang me? Tell me
now, did I murder poor Baldy or did you? Was it not you who struck
him down with the axe without saying as much as 'by your leave,'
either to me or to him? Did you say a word to me until you finished
your bloody work? And then you threatened to cut me down, too, with
the axe, if I didn't hold my tongue, and help you to lift the man on
to your horse. It is this day you should have remembered before you
began that night's work. Sorrow's the day I ever met you at all,
with the miserable life you led me; and you know I was always the
good wife to you until you gave yourself entirely to the devil with
your wicked ways. Wasn't I always on the watch for you every evening
looking for you, and the chop on the fire, and the hot tea, and
everything comfortable? And is it to hang me now you want to pay me
back for the trouble I took for you and all the misery I suffered
these long years? And the death of my poor father, who found me in
gaol, is at your door too, for he would have been alive and well this
day but for the deed you done, which broke his poor old heart; the
Lord have mercy on him. And who is to blame but your own self for
being in this place at all? You not only done the man to death, but
you must go about the bush bragging of it to strangers, and twisting
the halter for your own neck like a born idiot; and that's what you
are, in spite of your roguery and cunning."
And so on for two hours of hell until the jury came back. They
acquitted Julia and found her husband guilty. She left the court
without once looking back, and he faced the jury alone.
Judge Pohlman had never before sent a man to the gallows. He made
the usual little moral speech, and bewailed his own misfortune in
having to perform so disagreeable a duty. Then he put on the black
cap and passed sentence. At the concluding words, "May the Lord have
mercy on your soul," the condemned man responded with a fervent
"Amen," adding, "And that's the last of poor Nosey." He seemed
greatly relieved when the ceremony was over, but it was not quite the
last, there was another to follow.
For ten days he remained in his cell, and no one visited him except
the priest. His examination of conscience was not difficult, for he
had often rehearsed it, and much of it had been done for him in
public.
He made his last journey between two priests, joining fervently in
their prayers for the dying. His step was firm, and he showed
neither fear nor bravado. The hangman quickly drew down the cap, but
he seemed more flurried than his victim. The sheriff, without
speaking, motioned him to place the knot in the correct position
under the ear. Then the bolt was drawn and the story of "The Two
Shepherds" was finished.
The man whom Philip met at Bendigo had farms in the country thinly
timbered. North, south, east, and west the land was held under
squatting licenses; with the exception of the home paddocks it was
unfenced, and the stock was looked after by boundary riders and
shepherds. To the south, between Nyalong and the sea--a distance
of fifty or sixty miles--the country was not occupied by either the
white or the black men. It consisted of ranges of hills heavily
timbered, furrowed by deep valleys, through which flowed innumerable
streams, winding their way to the river of the plains. Sometimes the
solitary bushman or prospector, looking across a deep valley, saw,
nestled amongst the opposite hills, a beautiful meadow of grass. But
when he had crossed the intervening creek and scrubby valley, and
continued his journey to the up-land, he found that the deceitful
meadow was only a barren plain, covered, not with grass, but with the
useless grass-tree. There is a little saccharine matter in the roots
of the grass-tree, and a hopeful man from Corio once built a
sugar-mill near the stream, and took possession of the plain as a
sugar plantation. There was much labour, but very little sugar.
In the dense forest, cattle had run wild, and were sometimes seen
feeding in the thinly-timbered grass land outside; but whenever a
horseman approached they dashed headlong into the scrub where no
horseman could follow them. Wild boars and their progeny also rooted
among the tall tussocks in the marshes by the banks of the river,
where it emerged from the ranges into the plains.
Blackfish and eels were plentiful in the river, but they were of a
perverse disposition, and would not bite in the day-time. The bend
nearest to Nyalong was twelve miles distant, and Philip once spent a
night there with Gleeson and McCarthy. A fire was kindled and some
fish were caught, but Philip took none home. Gleeson and McCarthy
reserved their catches for their wives and families, and Philip's
fish were all cooked on the fire at sunrise, and eaten for breakfast.
Fishing was sport, certainly, but it was not profitable, nor
exciting, except to the temper. Sometimes an eel took the bait, and
then twisted himself round the limb of a tree at the bottom of the
river. He then pulled all he was able until either the line or the
hook was broken, or his jaw was torn into strips.
After midnight Philip was drowsy, and leaned his back against a tree
to woo sweet sleep. But there were mosquitos in millions, bandicoots
hopping close to the fire, and monkey-bears, night hawks, owls,
'possums and dingoes, holding a corroboree hideous enough to break
the sleep of the dead.
After breakfast the horses were saddled for home. Philip carried his
revolver in his belt, and Gleeson had a shot-gun. A kangaroo was
seen feeding about a hundred yards distant, and Gleeson dismounted
and shot at it, but it hopped away unharmed. A few minutes
afterwards, as the men were riding along at an easy walk, three other
horsemen suddenly came past them at a gallop, wheeled about, and
faced the fishermen. One was Burridge, a station manager, the other
two were his stockmen. The six men looked at one another for a few
moments without speaking. Both Gleeson and McCarthy had the
Tipperary temper, and it did not remain idle long.
"Well," asked Gleeson, "is anything the matter?"
"I dinna ken yet," said Burridge. "Did na ye hear a gunshot just now?"
"Yes, I fired at a kangaroo."
"A kangaroo, eh? Are you sure it was a kangaroo?"
"Yes, it was a kangaroo. What of that? Oh, I see, you think we are
after shooting your cattle. Is that it? Speak out like a man."
"Sometimes a beast is shot about here, and I'd like to find out who
does it."
"Oh, indeed! you'd like to know who does it, would you? I can tell
you, anyway, who is the biggest cattle duffer round here, if you'd
like to know!" Gleeson touched one flank of his horse with his heel,
and rode close up to Burridge with the gun in his right hand. "His
name is Burridge, and that's yourself. Everybody knows you, you old
Scotch hound. You have as many cattle on the run with your brand on
them as your master has. There is not a bigger cattle thief than old
Burridge within a hundred miles, and you'll be taken off the run in
irons yet. Get out of my way, or I'll be tempted to send you to
blazes before your time."
Burridge did not go off the run in irons; he left it honourably for
another run which he took up, and stocked with cattle bearing no
brand but his own. Evil tongues might tattle, but no man could prove
that Burridge ever broke the law.
One fishing excursion to the bend was enough for Philip, but a pig
hunt was organised, and he joined it. The party consisted of
Gleeson, McCarthy, Bill the Butcher, Bob Atkins, and George Brown the
Liar, who brought a rope-net and a cart in which all the game caught
was to be carried home. Five dogs accompanied the party, viz., Lion
and Tiger, crossbred bull and mastiffs, experienced pig fighters, Sam
as a reserve, and three mongrels as light skirmishers.
The first animal met with was a huge old boar, the hero of a hundred
fights, the great-grandfather of pigs. He stood at bay among the
tussocks, the dogs barking furiously around him. Bill the Butcher
said, "Keep back, you men, or he'll rip the guts out of your horses.
I know him well. He has only one tusk, but it's a boomer. Look out
sharp till the dogs tackle him, he might make a rush at some of us."
The boar was a frightful-looking beast, long, tall, and slab-sided,
in perfect condition for fight, all bone, muscle, and bristles, with
not an ounce of lard in his lean body. He stood still and stiff as a
rock watching the dogs, his one white tusk, long and keen sticking
out above his upper lip. The loss of the other tusk left him at a
disadvantage, as he could only strike effectively on one side. Lion
and Tiger had fought him before, and he had earned their respect.
They were wary and cautious, and with good reason. Their best hold
was by the ears, and these had been chewed away in former wars, till
nothing was left of them but the ragged roots. Bill the Butcher
dismounted, dropped his bridle, and cheered on the dogs at a prudent
distance, "Good dogs; seek him Lion; hold him Tiger."
The dogs went nearer and nearer, jumping away whenever the boar made
an attack. At last they seized him by the roots of his ears, one on
each side, and held on. Bob Atkins and Bill approached the
combatants, carrying some strong cord, of New Zealand flax. A
running noose was secured round the hind legs of the boar; he was
then thrown on his side, and his forelegs were tied together.
Lion and Tiger stood near panting, with blood dripping from their
open jaws. Philip could not imagine why Bill did not butcher the
beast at once; it seemed impossible that a leathery old savage like
that could ever be transformed into tender pork. For the present he
was left prone on the field of battle, and the pig hunt proceeded.
There was soon much squealing of pigs, and barking of dogs among the
tussocks. Gleenson's dog pinned a young boar, and after its legs
were tied Philip agreed to stand by and guard it, while Gleeson
fetched the cart. But the boar soon slipped the cord from his legs,
and at once attacked his nearest enemy, rushing at Philip and trying
to rip open his boots. Philip's first impulse was to take out his
revolver, and shoot; but he was always conscientious, and it occurred
to him that he would be committing a breach of trust, as he had
undertaken to guard the game alive until Gleeson came back with the
cart. So he tried to fight the pig with his boots, kicking him on
the jaws right and left. But the pig proved a stubborn fighter, and
kept coming up to the scratch again and again, until Philip felt he
had got into a serious difficulty. He began to think as well as to
kick quickly.
"If I could only throw the animal to the ground I could hold him down."
The dogs had shown him that the proper mode of seizing a hog was by
the ears, so at the next round he seized both ears and held them.
There was a pause in the fight, and Philip took advantage of it to
address his enemy after the manner of the Greeks and Trojans.
"I have got you at last, my friend, and the curse of Cromwell on you,
I'd like to murder you without mercy; and if Gleeson don't come soon
he'll find here nothing but dead pig. I must try to throw you
somehow." After examining the pig narrowly he continued, "It will be
done by the hind legs."
He let go one ear and seized a hind leg instead, taking the enemy, as
it were, both in front and rear. For some time there was much
kicking and squealing, until one scientific kick and a sudden twist
of the hind quarters brought the quarry to earth.
Philip knelt on the ribs of his foe, still holding one ear and one
hind leg. Then he proceeded with his speech, gasping for breath:
"And this is what happens to a poor man in Australia! Here have I
been fighting a wild beast of a pig for half an hour, just to keep
him alive, and all to oblige a cockatoo farmer, and small thanks to
me for that same. May all the curses--the Lord preserve us and
give us patience; I am forgetting the twelve virtues entirely."
Gleeson came at last with the cart and George Brown the Liar; the
pig's legs were again tied together, he was lifted into the cart and
covered with the rope net. Four other pigs were caught, and then the
hunters and dogs returned to the place in which the old boar had been
left. But he had broken or slipped his bonds, and had gone away. He
was tracked to the river, which was narrow but deep, so he had saved
his bacon for another day.
At the division of the game Philip declined to take any share. He said:
"Thanks, I have had pig enough for the present."
So there were exactly five pigs for the other five men.
Having been satiated with the pleasures of fishing and pig-hunting,
Philip was next invited to try the pursuit of the kangaroo. The
first meet of men and hounds took place at Gleeson's farm. McCarthy
brought his dogs, and Philip brought Sam, his revolver, and a club.
Barton was too proud to join in the sport; he despised inferior game.
It might amuse new chums, but it was below the notice of the old
trooper, whose business had been for many years to hunt and shoot
bushrangers and black-fellows, not to mention his regular duty as
flagellator.
Gleeson that morning was cutting up his pumpkin plants with an axe.
"Good morning, Mr. Gleeson," said Philip. "Is anything the matter?
Is it a snake you are killing?"
Gleeson began to laugh, a little ashamed of himself, and said, "Look
at these cursed pumpkins. I think they are bewitched. Every morning
I come to see if the fruit is growing, but this is what they do. As
soon as they get as big as a small potato, they begin to wither and
turn yellow, and not a bit more will they grow. So I'm cutting the
blessed things to pieces."
Philip saw that about half the runners had been already destroyed.
He said, "Don't chop any more, Gleeson, and I'll show you how to make
pumpkins grow."
He picked up a feather in the fowl-yard, and went inside the garden.
"Now look at these flowers closely; they are not all alike. This
flower will never turn into a pumpkin, but this one will if it gets a
little of the dust from the first flower. The bees or other insects
usually take the dust from one flower to the other, but I suppose
there are no bees about here just now?"
Philip then dusted every flower that was open and said: "Now, my
friend, put away the axe, and you will have fruit here yet." And the
pumpkins grew and ripened.
The two men then went towards the house, and Philip observed the
fragments of a clock scattered about the ground in front of the
verandah.
"What happened to the clock?" said Philip.
"Why," replied Gleeson, "the thing wasn't going right at all, so I
took it to pieces just to examine it, and to oil the wheels, and when
I tried to put it together again, the fingers were all awry, and the
pins wouldn't fit in their places, and the pendulum swung crooked,
and the whole thing bothered me so that I just laid it on the floor
of the verandah, and gave it one big kick that sent it to
smithereens. But don't mind me or the clock at all, master; just
come inside, and we'll have a bit o' dinner before we start."
Gleeson was the kindest man in the world; all he wanted was a little
patience.
The kangaroo gave better sport than either the fish or the pig, and
Philip enjoyed it. His mare proved swift, but sometimes shied at the
start, when the kangaroos were in full view. She seemed to think
that there was a kangaroo behind every tree, so she jumped aside from
the trunks. That was to kill Philip at last, but he had not the
least idea what was to happen, and was as happy as hermits usually
are, and they have their troubles and accidents just like other
people.
The kangaroos when disturbed made for the thick timber, and the
half-grown ones, called "Flying Joeys," always escaped; they were so
swift, and they could jump to such a distance that I won't mention
it, as some ignorant people might call me a liar. Those killed were
mostly does with young, or old men. Any horse of good speed could
round up a heavy old man, and then he made for the nearest gum tree,
and stood at bay with his back to it. It was dangerous for man or
dog to attack him in front, for with his long hind claws he could cut
like a knife.
Philip's family began to desert him. Bruin, as already stated,
sneaked away and was killed by Hugh Boyle. Joey opened his
cage-door, and flew up a gum tree. When Philip came home from the
school, and saw the empty cage, he called aloud, "Joey, Joey, sweet
pretty Joey," and whistled. The bird descended as far as the
lightwood, but would not be coaxed to come any nearer. He actually
mocked his master, and said, "Ha, ha, ha! who are you? Who are you?
There is na luck aboot the hoose," which soon proved true, for the
next bird Pussy brought into the house was Joey himself.
Pup led a miserable life, and died early. The coroner suspected that
he had been murdered by Maggie, but there was no absolute proof.