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THE LAST
OF
THE BUSHRANGERS
[Illustration: Ned Kelly.]
THE LAST
OF
THE BUSHRANGERS
_AN ACCOUNT OF THE CAPTURE OF
THE KELLY GANG_
BY
FRANCIS AUGUSTUS HARE, P.M.
LATE SUPERINTENDENT OF VICTORIAN POLICE
Illustrated
_FOURTH EDITION._
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1895.
_All rights reserved._
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,
London & Bungay.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Introductory Remarks--Birth--Early Days at the Diggings--Unlicensed
Diggers--Attacked by Fever--Keeping a
Store 1
CHAPTER II.
Lieutenant in Victorian Police--Gold-Escort Duty--Catching
a Burglar--All that was left of him--Brooks the Murderer--At
the Buckland River Station--"Billy the Puntman"--In
Charge of new Rushes--Border Difficulties on the
Murray 19
CHAPTER III.
Power the Bushranger--His Escape--The Squatter's Gold
Watch--£500 Blood-money--A Peacock as a Sentinel--Caught
by the Heels--Some of Power's Adventures--His
Sentence--Gamekeeper to Sir William Clarke 55
CHAPTER IV.
A Sporting Party on the Murray--"Winkle"--How to take
Aim--After the Ducks--A Night with the Snakes--Kangarooing--A
Runaway Bed 77
CHAPTER V.
The Kelly Gang--Ned and Dan Kelly--Steve Hart--Joe
Byrne--The Origin of the Bushranging Outbreak--Search
Party organized--Murder of Kennedy--M'Intyre's Escape--Arming
the Police--Tracking the Gang--Close on
them 92
CHAPTER VI.
Euroa Bank Robbery--Euroa--"Sticking up" Mr. Younghusband's
Station--Mr. Macauley "bailed up"--The
Hawker Gloster--Cheap Outfits--The Raid on the Bank--The
Manager and Family made Prisoners--The Return
to Mr. Younghusband's--The Retreat of the Gang and
Liberation of the Prisoners--Explanatory Statement of the
Author 112
CHAPTER VII.
The Police at Euroa--Aaron Sherritt--Jerilderie--Capture of
the Police Station and Constables--Amateur Policemen--The
Royal Hotel stuck up--Raid on the Bank of New
South Wales--£2000 taken--Kelly's Autobiography--His
Account of the Fitzpatrick Affair--Departure of the Gang--Return
to their Haunts 137
CHAPTER VIII.
Aaron Sherritt--A Disappointment--At Mrs. Byrne's--A
Twenty-five-day Watch--Manufacturing Brands--Sherritt's
Revenge--A Letter from Joe Byrne--Whorouly Races--On
Watch at Mrs. Sherritt's--Mrs. Byrne's Discovery--Break-up
of the Camp--Arrest of Kelly Sympathizers--A
Dynamite Scare--Aaron jilted 159
CHAPTER IX.
Mrs. Skillian's Hoax--A False Alarm--Searching the Warby
Ranges--Among the Kelly Sympathizers--Ill and dispirited--The
Tenant of the Haystack--Relieved after
Eight Months' Camping Duty 203
CHAPTER X.
Black Trackers--Again in Charge with _carte blanche_--Aaron
Sherritt's Doom--The Beginning of the End--Glenrowan--Sticking
up the Hotel--Bracken's Escape--The Police
on the Alert--A Dangerous Journey--Mr. Curnow's
Adventure 227
CHAPTER XI.
The Attack on the Hotel--Wounded 267
CHAPTER XII.
From _The Age_ Newspaper, 29th June, 1880--The Start--The
Journey--A Timely Warning--The Gang surprised--Death
of Byrne--Capture of Ned Kelly--His Statement--The
Prisoners released--Renewal of the Fight 274
CHAPTER XIII.
From _The Age_ (continued). Mrs. Skillian comes on the Scene--The
Hotel fired--Rescue of Sherry--Fate of Dan Kelly
and Hart--Statement of Various Prisoners made by the
Gang--The Incident of the Cannon 291
CHAPTER XIV.
The Outlaws' Plans--Execution of Ned Kelly--Habits and
Customs of the Gang--Katie Kelly's behaviour--Kelly's
distrust of Hart--The Cost of the Destruction of the
Gang 315
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
NED KELLY _Frontispiece_
DAN KELLY _To face page_ 94
AARON SHERRITT " 140
JOE BYRNE " 192
STEVE HART " 240
NIGHT ATTACK ON THE GLENROWAN HOTEL " 270
NED KELLY IN HIS ARMOUR " 284
GROUP TAKEN DURING THE FIGHT " 308
THE LAST OF THE BUSHRANGERS.
CHAPTER I.
Introductory Remarks--Birth--Early Days at the Diggings--Unlicensed
Diggers--Attacked by Fever--Keeping a Store.
When narrating to friendly audiences my experiences in the early days
of the Colony of Victoria in what may be termed the "gold era," and
some of the various incidents which occurred during my connection with
the Victorian police, I have often been asked to give the records of
them a more permanent form. After hesitating long, I have listened to
those promptings, and, greatly daring, have ventured to address a wider
range of hearers. I claim no more than to tell a plain, unvarnished
tale, recalling from the reminiscences stored within my mind, events
and incidents of by-gone days. Perhaps had I written down the facts
while the events were still fresh, I might have been able to put more
spirit into my narrative, but my aim has been to keep within the
record, to extenuate nothing, nor to set down aught in malice. I have
endeavoured to refrain from mentioning names of private persons as much
as possible, but, where I have found myself compelled to do so, I trust
my references will raise no unkindly feelings.
Unfortunately, after the destruction of the Kelly gang, unpleasant
feelings and jealousies sprang up between different officers engaged
in the search, and interested persons kept adding fuel to the fire. In
writing this account of the capture and destruction of the last of the
Victorian Bushrangers, I have endeavoured to avoid locating the blame
for the various unsuccessful attempts. We had a difficult task before
us, and I feel sure each of us spared no effort to do his duty, though
in thus acting all of us, no doubt, committed errors of judgment. In a
matter of this kind every one has a right to his own opinion, and none
but those who underwent the hardships we did can have any idea of our
sufferings during the months we were in pursuit of the outlaws.
It seems hardly possible to imagine that ten years ago a field-gun was
being dragged up Collins Street, Melbourne, to blow down an hotel,
which practically was little more than a wooden hut, within two hundred
yards of one of the principal stations on the main line of railway
between Melbourne and Sydney, as the last resource for the capture
of four men, who for the previous two years had set law, order, the
government, and police at absolute defiance.
Nor is it much more easy of credence that the capture of this gang
should have cost the state, from first to last, over £115,000. And yet
these are facts which cannot be controverted.
The first feeling that will arise in the minds of English people
on reading this, will be one of wonder. How came it that four men
should have been able for two years to carry on their career of crime
unchecked? And what were the police doing? The police, and I speak
from actual knowledge, were doing their "level best." A reward of
£8,000 was offered for the capture of the men, dead or alive, and
there was _kudos_ and promotion to be gained. But there were peculiar
difficulties connected with this undertaking, difficulties which could
arise in no other country. Firstly, it must be remembered that these
men were natives of, and were brought up in, the district in which they
carried on their depredations; they knew every inch of the ground,
bushes, and mountains; they had hiding-places and retreats known to
few, if any, but themselves, and they were acquainted with every track
and by-path. Secondly, the sparseness of the population outside the
towns must be taken into consideration. These men might commit an act
of violence in a town, and disappear into the bush, where they might,
with the knowledge of the locality at their command, ride hundreds of
miles without coming near a dwelling-house, or meeting a human being,
and thus obliterate all traces of themselves for the time being; and
lastly--what aided them more than anything else--they commanded an
enormous amount of sympathy among the lower orders. It was a well-known
fact that they had friends and adherents, either open or semi-veiled,
all over the colony. The families of the Kellys, Hart, and Byrne were
large ones, and members of them were to be found scattered over all the
district ever ready to provide asylum, or furnish information as to the
movements of the police. And outside their own families the sympathy
they obtained was almost as great, though it was of a more meretricious
order. The gang was lavish with its money. They subsidized largely,
instituting a body of spies known by the name of "Bush telegraphs," who
kept them fully informed of every movement of the authorities, and
aided them on every possible occasion to elude capture.
And apart from this money consideration there was a further one, which
appealed quite as effectively to their humble admirers. The gang never
behaved badly to, or assaulted, a woman, but always treated them
with consideration and respect, although frequently compelled by the
exigencies of the situation to put them to considerable inconvenience.
In like manner they seldom, if ever, made a victim of a poor man. And
thus they weaved a certain halo of romance and rough chivalry around
themselves, which was worth a good deal to them, much in the same way
as did the British highwayman during the last century.
And now, with these few necessary words of explanation and
introduction, let me get at once to my story, and the events which led
to my being connected with the capture of the last of the Bushrangers.
I was born at the Cape of Good Hope, at a small village called Wynberg,
about eight miles from Cape Town, and near the celebrated vineyards of
Constantia. I was the youngest son of a family of seventeen! My father
was a captain in the 21st Dragoons. The whole of his regiment was
disbanded at the Cape; all the officers settled down amongst the Dutch
inhabitants, and nearly all of us were born at Wynberg. When I left
school I joined a brother who had a sheep farm, with which he combined
horse-breeding and agriculture. After I had been on the station four
or five years, I disliked the life so much that I was persuaded to
emigrate to Australia. I arrived in Melbourne on 10th April, 1852,
about six months after gold had been discovered. I did not know a soul
out there then, and after a short time went on to Sydney, where I found
a few people to whom I had letters of introduction.
After staying in Sydney a few months I returned to Melbourne with two
mates whom I had picked up there, one a fellow-passenger I met going
to Sydney. The voyage lasted seventeen days. My other mate was a
runaway convict from Norfolk Island. He had been employed as workman
and gardener in my other mate's family, and was a very hard-working
old scoundrel. Melbourne at this time was a place to be remembered;
the scenes that occurred in the streets and in the hotels would hardly
be credited. The principal objects throughout the day to be seen in
Collins and Bourke Streets were wedding-parties. Diggers used to come
from the diggings with pounds' weight of gold, for the purpose, as
they called it, of "knocking it down," and they managed to do this in
a marvellously short space of time. You would hear of a man calling
for two or three dozen of champagne (£1 per bottle), throwing it into
a tub, and having a bath in it. Again, men would call for two slices
of bread, put a ten-pound note between them, and eat the note and
bread as a sandwich. Hardly a day passed without seeing six or seven
wedding-parties driving up and down Collins Street, dressed in most
gorgeous attire. It was said the same women were married to different
men over and over again. When the man had spent all his money he would
go back to the diggings to make another "pile," and when he had made
it he would return to Melbourne. In those days there were no hotels,
theatres, or places of amusement on the diggings, and any one who
wanted any enjoyment had to run down to Melbourne. Gold was easily
got--a man had only to sink a hole from four to twenty feet deep, and
if he was on the "lead," the probabilities were he would get some
pounds' weight of gold. At this time it was most difficult to secure
any accommodation in Melbourne. You might offer any sum of money you
thought fit, and yet not procure a corner to sleep in. I happened to
get a bed at Hockin's Hotel, at the corner of Lonsdale and Elizabeth
streets. I was awakened in the night hearing some one who was being
garroted calling out for help; but help there was none. The colony was
infested with convicts from the other colonies, and the most daring
robberies in the streets of Melbourne were of nightly occurrence.
My two mates and I started with our swags on our backs from Melbourne
to Bendigo, and camped out all the way up. The roads were very bad,
and it was impossible to get a conveyance, so we humped our swags. As
we went we joined in with large parties of men, all bound in the same
direction as we were, for the purpose of our mutual safety. All along
the road we heard of gangs of bushrangers sticking up parties of men.
The dreaded spot on the road was the Black Forest, between Gisborne and
Woodend. Having passed that we were tolerably safe. It took us eight
days to reach Bendigo, and we pitched our tents on Golden Gully. Our
first duty was to take out a licence to dig for gold, which cost us
30s. each, and then to sink a hole, which we bottomed, and took two or
three ounces of gold. We then sank another, but were not so successful.
About this time a new rush broke out at a place not far from Golden
Gully, called Kangaroo Flat. We left our tent pitched in the same
place, and went off to peg out a piece of ground, and set to work to
sink a hole. This we bottomed, but it was also a "shicer." We sank
another, and found it a little better, and got a few ounces out of it.
All the diggers were very unsettled. It was the general belief that a
mountain of gold would be discovered, and every one was anxious to be
first in the rush, so as to mark out a portion of the mountain. Rumours
of new finds frequently reached us, but those that were far off always
appeared the most attractive somehow.
I must give some idea of the life on the diggings in those days. The
parties consisted of from three to six men. One had to cook for the
week, turn about. The leads of gold were always found in the gullies,
and on each side of these gullies the diggers pitched their tents.
Every party was provided with fire-arms, and at night it was the custom
to fire off and reload them after dark. It was a peculiar sight to
see the fires lighted all round each tent, and the diggers sitting
about, and many of them having lighted candles as well. Bendigo in
those days consisted of an irregular number of stores and tents erected
where Sandhurst is now built. My ex-convict mate turned out to be an
excellent workman, and would do anything for me. He always volunteered
to undertake my part of the cooking, and was famous for his "damper,"
which was baked in the ashes. As there were no bakers in those days we
had to bake our own bread. There was a quartz reef in Ironbark Gully,
at the back of Bendigo. On Sundays we went there with a hammer and
broke off a handkerchief full of specimens, which were quartz covered
with gold. This reef belonged to no one, and any one might have taken
possession of it. Quartz-crushing was unknown in those days, and I
believe since then this same reef has yielded several hundred thousand
pounds' worth of gold.
After staying at Bendigo for a month or so we heard of a new rush at
the Ovens. So off we started to try our luck. The distance was great,
but that only lent all the greater charm to our prospects. We had
engaged a dray to carry up our swags, and were to have started off on
a certain day, but owing to some reason we were delayed; so, being of
an active disposition, I started off to a little gully by myself to
prospect it. I took with me my pick, shovel, and tin dish; it was not
200 yards from my tent. In the evening I returned to my mates with ten
ounces of gold. We held a consultation as to whether we should remain
or go to the Ovens, and, I regret to say, we decided to leave Bendigo
and the new claim I had discovered, and go to the Ovens. Accordingly
off we started, early next morning. It took us ten days to get to
Beechworth, but being a large party we had a jolly trip. We arrived at
Read's Creek--a few miles below Spring Creek, as it was called in those
days, but now known as Beechworth--a few days before Christmas, 1852.
The first thing, we set to work to make our Christmas dinner--I
remember it as though it were yesterday. I bought the materials for a
plum pudding; for a dozen of eggs I gave £1. I forget the prices of
the raisins, &c., but I shall never forget the pudding! We boiled it
for twenty-four hours!--it took us a week to digest--it was as hard as
a cannon-ball!--it lasted a long time, and was something to remember!
When we arrived at Read's Creek we found it in a most excited state.
The diggers were up in arms against the Government officials, and
whenever a policeman or any other Government servant was seen they
raised a cry of "Joe-Joe." I never heard the origin of the word. The
cause of this excitement was in consequence of a digger having been
accidentally shot by a policeman, as he was obeying some order of a
warden who was settling a dispute.
It appeared that the warden had directed an armed policeman to eject
a man from a claim, and in stepping down he slipped, and his carbine
accidentally went off, killing a digger who was standing on the bank
of the claim. There was a general muster of the diggers immediately,
and they hunted the warden and policeman off the ground, pelting them
with stones, and for some weeks no official was to be seen on these
diggings. My party happened to arrive at Read's Creek a few days after
the accident had happened. The diggings at Spring Creek were quite
different to Bendigo. The ground was very wet, and we sank what we
called paddocks. The sinking was not more than twelve to fifteen feet
deep, and the paddocks generally twelve feet by twelve feet. Not only
did we find gold there, but large quantities of tin, in the shape of
black sand, which was allowed to run down the creek. Eventually this
black sand was collected, and as it was very valuable, large quantities
were sent to Melbourne.
After working about a month at Read's Creek, a new rush was started at
the head of Spring Creek, which was called "Madman's Gully." We started
off there. By this time we had learned enough to know the best place to
mark out a claim, and certainly found the richest hole we had yet had.
The sinking was about fifteen or twenty feet, but gold was seen in a
vein running through the wash-dirt. I used to pick out a match-box full
of nuggets every day. I forget the exact quantity of gold we got out of
it, but my own share came to more than £800 after the gold was sold.
We got very tired of paying thirty shillings a month for our licences,
and only took out one licence between the three of us, trusting to
chance to avoid the police when they were out digger-hunting. I
remember on one occasion having great difficulty in doing so, and
giving them a great chase after me. We had only the one licence, and
suddenly found ourselves surrounded by a large body of police. I saw
them observing us. I had the licence in my pocket. My mates had none.
So off I started across the diggings to a hill on the side of the lead.
My two mates stood where they were. The police, seeing me endeavouring
to hide from them behind some rocks, tried to follow me; but their
horses were unable to face the rocks. They all came after me, and in
about ten minutes I was overtaken. The man who caught me demanded my
licence, and I quietly produced it from my pocket. They asked me why I
had run away. I answered, I was always afraid when I saw a policeman.
In the meantime, my two mates, who had no licences, escaped, and we got
off that month. The next month I was walking into Spring Creek with
one of my mates, having left the other man with the licence behind.
Suddenly the police were on us, before we could make an escape; they
immediately demanded our licences. We made some excuse about not being
able to pay for them, so we were handcuffed, and made to march back,
whilst other non-licensed diggers were searched for. None were found,
and when about four miles from the Spring Creek camp our captors asked
us if we would promise to take out our licences if they let us go.
We said yes. The handcuffs were taken off, and we were allowed to go
free. I could give many instances of the iniquitous law of arresting
diggers because they had not taken out a licence; but I have given two
instances of my personal experience.
Our clothes were washed in a very simple manner. A flannel shirt
lasted a week, and when washing-day arrived was tied to a root of a
tree in the creek and left there for three or four days, then hung out
to dry. We remained at these diggings for about three months. I was
then attacked by a low fever and was gradually becoming weaker and
weaker every day, until the doctor at last suggested I should leave
the diggings and go to Sydney. I was terribly weak, not being able to
walk more than a yard, so my mates found a dray bound for Wangaratta,
and put me on top of the load that was going to town. The shaking of
the dray was fearful. However, we arrived that night at a place called
Tarrawingee, about ten miles from Spring Creek. The weather was very
warm, and we camped under a fine tree. The draymen on the roads in
those days had great difficulty to prevent their horses being stolen,
and the unfortunate men, after driving all day, had to watch half the
night to protect their horses. At daybreak the drayman got up and made
some tea. He offered me some, but I could neither eat nor drink, so he
left me to get his horses, not returning till late in the afternoon.
Whilst under that tree a circumstance occurred I shall never forget.
After the drayman left me a crow took up a position on a branch near
me. And as the day wore on closer and closer he approached me, calling
out unceasingly, "Caw, caw," as I thought to encourage other crows to
come to a feast. As he became bolder I got in a terrible fright that
my eyes would be eaten out before I died. So I exerted myself to drive
him away, but he seemed to know I was too weak to do him any harm. At
last I worked myself up to such a state that I forgot my illness and
only thought of "going for" the crow, and I kept him off until the
drayman returned. From that hour I improved. The next day we reached
Wangaratta, where I remained a few days, until I was strong enough
to bear a journey in the two-wheeled dog-cart, or mail cart, the only
conveyance running in those days. I fastened a strap round my waist,
sat with my back to the horses, and so went down to Sydney. My two
mates soon afterwards dissolved partnership, and I never saw the
escaped convict again.
After remaining in Sydney some three or four months, I met a cousin of
mine, a Colonel Butterworth, who was the Governor of Singapore. He had
come from Singapore, and advised me to get some settled employment,
and as I knew no one in Melbourne, he promised to do his best for me.
If I came with him to Melbourne, he thought he might be able to get me
into the Government Service. I said I would prefer a cadetship in the
Victorian police, as I was anxious to go in pursuit of bushrangers who
were overrunning the colony.
I accompanied my cousin to Melbourne, but when he reached Queenscliff,
he found a steamer going to Hobart Town, where he had left his wife,
so he gave me letters to Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Latrobe. However, I got
no satisfaction from either of them, so I went off to the Warranga
diggings again, falling in with a Mr. G.D. M'Cormick, a native of
Canada, and we agreed to be mates and work together. I must mention
an extraordinary coincidence with regard to M'Cormick. He was born in
Canada; I at the Cape of Good Hope. He was born on the 4th October,
1830; so was I. We parted from each other for many years, and in 1882
we were both appointed police magistrates for the colony of Victoria.
I met a man from the Cape there who had opened a store, a Mr. Barn
(my father used to buy his snuff from his father at the Cape), and we
used to sleep in the store for his protection. At that time I got an
insight as to how grog was brought to the diggings (it was prohibited
in those days). Flour was imported from America in barrels; and when
it reached Melbourne a two-gallon keg of spirits was put in the centre
of the flour, and the barrel with its double load was sent off to the
diggings. The fine for having spirits in your possession was £50, and
all the liquor confiscated. My Cape friend, wishing to pay a visit to
Melbourne, asked me to take charge of the store during his absence. I
did so, and served out tea and sugar to his customers, bought gold,
and carried on the business for over a fortnight. My mate and I barely
got enough gold to pay our expenses. I found the store-keeping a much
pleasanter occupation.
About three months after I had been at Warranga I received a letter
from my cousin, telling me he had seen Mr. Mitchell, the Chief
Commissioner of Police, and he had given me a commission in the mounted
police. I lost no time, and called on Mr. Mitchell (afterwards Sir
William H.F. Mitchell), and he appointed me lieutenant in the Victorian
police, 1st January, 1854.