Lieutenant in Victorian Police--Gold-Escort Duty--Catching a
Burglar--All that was left of him--Brooks the Murderer--At the
Buckland River Station--"Billy the Puntman"--In Charge of new
Rushes--Border Difficulties on the Murray.
I joined the police force on the 1st January, 1854, as a lieutenant.
I was sent off at once to the Ovens district, and my first duty was
to take charge of the gold escort from Beechworth to the Buckland. In
those days there were few roads and no bridges, and the creeks had to
be crossed the best way we could manage. The gold was carried down on
pack-horses and mules, each horse carrying from 1500 to 2000 ounces in
saddle-bags. Frequently we had to swim the rivers. Some of the streams
were very rapid, and when flooded were most dangerous to cross. On one
occasion I lost two pack-horses; they were washed over a log below the
crossing place of the Buckland River, and we never saw them again,
although we searched for them for some days. Fortunately there was no
gold on their backs. The gold used to be placed in saddle-bags, and
sealed up, and we generally had four pack-horses or mules to carry it.
On one occasion, on our return journey, we found one of the creeks so
flooded that it was quite impossible to cross without the danger of
losing some of the men and gold. I took the men half a mile higher up
the creek than the usual crossing place, and opening the saddle-bags
containing the gold (the gold was always put in small chamois leather
bags inside the saddle-bags), gave a few bags to each of the men to put
inside their valises, telling them I expected each man to do his best
to cross the stream, which was about fifty or eighty yards wide. I gave
instructions that they should unbuckle their swords, and carry them
under their arms, so that, in case they were washed down the stream,
they could get rid of them. I had with me a Mr. Morphy, one of the
Wardens of the gold-fields, whom I had picked up on the road, between
two rivers. He put himself under my charge. I told him to follow me,
but to keep at a respectable distance, so that if my horse came to
grief he might avoid the difficulty. Neither of us could swim, so we
were a pretty pair to cross a river fifty yards wide. I started into
the water first, telling my sergeant to remain where he was till all
the men had got safely over. I had not gone ten yards when my horse,
which was a very small one, got his fore legs across a log, and was
unable to get his hind ones over. It was no enviable position for me,
on a horse playing a kind of see-saw in a roaring torrent.
Morphy followed close on my heels, and his horse whilst swimming put
his fore leg on my shoulder, as nearly as possible pulling me into the
water. I leant forward, and in getting clear of me, the horse's foot
caught the hilt of my sword, which tipped up the scabbard. It fell into
the river, and there lay for more than a month before I recovered it.
The men got across safely. One of them struck a log in the same way
I did, and, the horse falling over, he swam ashore. The pack-horses,
having no weight on their backs, were washed down a considerable
distance, but all landed safely on the other side. The gold being
replaced in the saddle-bags, we started off for Beechworth.
Later on, one of the pack mules got away from the man who was leading
him, and bolted off with 2000 oz. of gold on his back! We halted, and
I sent two men off in pursuit, but after half an hour's chase, one of
the men returned, and said it was impossible to follow the mule, which
had got into an impassable place in the mountains. He wanted to know
what he was to do. I told him if he could not catch the mule he must
shoot it, and secure the gold. The trooper galloped back to the place
he had left, the other man watching the mule, and in less than twenty
minutes I heard a shot in the mountains, and shortly afterwards the
two men returned with the pack-saddle and gold on one of their horses,
they having shot the mule, and I was obliged again to divide the gold
amongst the men. About four hours after the usual time of arriving we
reached our destination, Beechworth, and I never was more glad to get
rid of the responsibility of anything placed under my charge than I was
of that gold!
In 1855 I was staying for the night at a station owned by Dr. Mackay,
on the Ovens River. Mrs. Mackay was very ill, and the doctor, who was a
tall, slight man, was by no means strong.
The doctor had sold a number of horses, and had received cash for them.
He had this money, some £700, in his house, and in some way this fact
had become known to, amongst others, a most notorious burglar named
Meakin. There were other visitors staying in the house on this night, a
Mrs. H. and a Miss D., the latter a niece of Dr. Mackay. I had a bed
made up on the sofa in the dining-room. The front rooms opened with
French windows on to the verandah. My room was between Dr. Mackay's and
that occupied by the two ladies before mentioned. The house was away
from the road, and no other building within miles of it. At about two
o'clock in the morning the two ladies came to the door of my room and
awoke me, calling out there was a man outside in the verandah examining
his revolver. They said they saw him put a large knife belonging to
the doctor, which was lying in the verandah, into his pocket. At first
I thought the ladies had been dreaming, and I told them to return to
their rooms, and I would go outside and see who was there. I hastily
put on some clothes, and opening the French windows went outside on
to the verandah, but could not see or hear any one. I went back to my
room, telling the ladies I could see no one, and I thought they must be
dreaming, and I begged them to return to their room, promising to keep
watch, and listen if I could hear any footsteps. The ladies impressed
me with the fact that on no account was Dr. Mackay to be disturbed,
because Mrs. Mackay was so ill that any fright might cause her death.
The ladies retired, and I lay down attired as I was. Five minutes
afterwards I heard the dogs bark. I began to think that some one must
be about. Then I heard one of the ladies calling out, "Who is that
at the window?" I sprang out of bed, opened the window leading on to
the verandah, and saw the figure of a man running across the garden.
I called on him to stop, at the same time following him through the
garden. He fell; I did so also. In another moment we were up again;
he ran through some vines, the branches entangling him. I pursued
him, and again fell. At last he made for a gap in the garden fence.
Taking a short cut I overtook him and laid hold of him, and down we
both fell on the top of a heap of rose cuttings and other rubbish, I
coming on top of him. He had his revolver in his hand. I had no weapon
of any sort. My first thought was to secure his revolver. I laid hold
of the barrel, whilst he held the stock, trying to cock the pistol.
It was a Colt's revolver, and I knew my only chance was to keep the
barrels away from my body. I struck him with my fist; with all my
might I hit him with my left hand, blow after blow, between the eyes.
The struggle was for life, and notwithstanding it was on the top of a
heap of rubbish, principally rose cuttings, men never fought harder.
Once I rolled over, and the ruffian was on top of me, but with almost
superhuman exertion I got on top once more. He endeavoured to throttle
me by putting his hand in the collar of my shirt. Fortunately, it gave
way. In many other ways he tried to disable me, but always failed. The
struggle appeared to me to last for half an hour, but, I suppose, could
not have been more than six or eight minutes. I did not call out for
help, thinking the burglar would have associates, and that they would
come to his assistance. Mackay, having been told by the ladies that I
had the burglar, called out to me. I answered. The man, hearing this,
immediately gave up the struggle, and I took his revolver from him.
Whilst he was on the ground I several times felt him trying to get
something out of his coat pocket, but prevented his doing so. When Dr.
Mackay arrived I put my hand in and found a long dissecting knife which
he had taken from the verandah, also a couple of straps. We took him
to the house. I was completely exhausted, and left the ruffian sitting
in the kitchen, and asked Dr. Mackay to look after him while I got my
coat, as I had nothing on but my pants. Hardly had I got outside the
door when the prisoner made a bolt. Dr. Mackay called out to me, and I
caught him getting over the paling fence which ran between the kitchen
and the house. I pulled him down and dashed him to the ground, and
seizing a huge stone--the only weapon I could find--threatened to smash
his brains out if he moved. Dr. Mackay then got some saddle-straps. We
fastened his legs and arms, and sent to Beechworth for a constable. On
being informed of this, the man, who proved to be Meakin, a notorious
criminal, remained quite still until morning, when he was sent to
Beechworth. Meakin told me he had heard that Dr. Mackay had sold a
number of horses a few days before, having been paid £600 in cash for
them, and it was his intention to have robbed him and tied his feet and
hands so that he could not move till the morning, nor give information
to the police--by that time he would have retired to the mountains. He
said:--"I brought these straps you have bound _me_ up with to tie Dr.
Mackay's legs." We found his boots in the garden, with a large stock of
provisions to which he had helped himself out of the store. He told me
his intention was to have robbed Dr. Mackay, and if he had resisted he
would have shot him; and he might, with the provisions he had secured,
have remained in the mountains for weeks before he need have appeared
again.
The prisoner was taken to Beechworth, and committed for trial on a
charge of burglary; there being many other charges of a similar nature
against him, he was remanded to Kilmore. On his way there he made
several determined efforts to escape. I was at this time stationed
at Wangaratta, the first stage from Beechworth to Kilmore, and he
stayed the night there. In those days the watch-houses were of a
very primitive character--a slab hut with earthen floor. Meakin had
leg-irons riveted on his ankles, and it was only natural to suppose no
man could escape with these on, but he was not to be daunted. He was
locked up in a building like the one I have described, and a sentry
placed at the door, with orders to watch the prisoner during the night.
There was a lamp inside the cell, and several times during the night I
visited the place, found the sentry vigilant, and observed the prisoner
rolled up in his blanket against the wall. Next morning we discovered
that all through the night he had been working--trying to effect his
escape. Underneath where he was lying there was a large hole in the
ground. He put all the earth into his blankets, and as his body was
proceeding through the hole this filled up the space in the blankets.
Unfortunately for him, the night was not long enough, or else he would
have escaped. I was glad to get rid of him, and sent him on next day to
Benalla.
In those days there was no train, and the journey, which now takes four
hours, then took six or seven days. It took five or six days to get him
to Kilmore, and each night he made some effort to escape.
At Kilmore the lock-up was considered especially safe, and it was
thought quite impossible for him to make his escape. By night a sentry
was placed over him, but not in the day-time. One fine afternoon the
watchman went to the cell to give the prisoner some food, when, to his
horror and surprise, he found the cell empty, the man having escaped
through the roof, leg-irons and all, and to this day he has never been
traced or heard of. He must have got some friendly blacksmith to knock
off the irons, and got clear into another colony. After the capture of
Meakin, Dr. Mackay presented me with a handsome gold watch, which I
have worn to this day, with the following inscription upon it:--
Presented to Lieutenant Francis Hare for his gallant capture of an
armed bushranger at Tarrawingee, the 23rd of June, 1855.
About the year 1857 a store was burnt to the ground not three miles
from Dunolly. Some of the property had been dragged out and was in
possession of the police, and the outhouses connected with the store
had also been saved. The owner of the store was addicted to drink, and
as he was missing it was generally believed that he had been burnt,
as his body was nowhere to be found. The coroner of the district was
communicated with; he came to the spot, and pointed out to the police
some calcined bones amongst the _débris_. He ordered a box to be
brought, and he and the constable set to work to collect the bones, and
taking them to the nearest hotel, called a jury and held an inquest.
The coroner declared them to be the bones of a human being, and the
inference was drawn that they were all that remained of the missing
owner of the store. A verdict of accidental death was recorded, the
friends of the deceased procured a coffin, and Jemmy being a favourite
in the district, a great number of sorrowing and sympathetic persons
followed the remains to the grave. A few days afterwards the police
were ordered to sell all the effects of the deceased. A public auction
was held, and the rescued property was disposed of.
At the auction it was rumoured that the deceased was known to have some
underground place where he kept his money, and on the strength of this
report a large sum was given for the ruins. A day or two after the
sale the purchaser made the discovery of an underground passage beneath
the store, and found the body of the deceased lying there! He had
evidently, on perceiving the fire, gone down to secure his money hidden
there, and got suffocated by the smoke, the whole burning mass having
fallen in and prevented his escape. It was then found out that, in the
store that was burnt, a number of hams had hung from a beam, and it
was from underneath this beam the bones had been collected, upon which
the coroner and jury had held the inquest, and which the sorrowing
friends had followed to the grave. The purchasers of the ruins found
a considerable sum of money in the underground passage. A second
inquest was held on the real body, and the mourners again dropped the
sympathetic tear. The coroner was at once called upon to resign, which
he did!
About the year 1858 I was stationed at Maryborough. I had under my
charge a large district, comprising a place called the "White Hills,"
which was about five miles distant from Maryborough. It was famous for
the number of murders committed there. Hardly a week passed but two or
three men were killed in the most cold-blooded manner. I recollect,
one morning about four o'clock, being called up, and informed that
a store-keeper named Lopez and my sergeant, named Barnett, had been
shot during the night at White Hills. I immediately got up, and off I
started to the spot. It did not take me long to ride the five miles.
The police station consisted of a portable building of one room
fourteen feet square, a door in front, and two windows at the back.
I found, lying on the floor in this building, the dead sergeant and
store-keeper, and a wounded man named Brooks, suffering the most
excruciating agony from a stab in the chest, about two inches in width.
From a constable named M'Cormack, who was also stationed there, I got
an account of the affair in the presence of Brooks. He said Lopez,
the dead man, kept a store 100 yards from the camp. About one o'clock
Brooks attempted to break into the store. He managed to get in, but was
confronted by Lopez, who demanded who he was. Without replying, Brooks
presented his pistol, and shot him through the heart. Lopez, after he
was shot, sprang forward and thrust a large dagger, about two inches
in width and twelve inches in length, into the man's body and left
it there. Brooks ran away, and immediately a cry was raised, Brooks
running across the diggings and passing within a few yards of the
police station. Barnett, on hearing the cry, jumped up, and on seeing
a man running away, he pursued and overtook him, when Brooks turned
round, levelled his revolver at him, and shot him dead on the spot. A
second constable (M'Cormack) followed Brooks, who again turned round
and snapped his pistol in his face; fortunately it did not go off,
and Constable M'Cormack knocked him down, took the pistol from him,
and brought him to the police station, when he found he was mortally
wounded. After M'Cormack had made this statement, I asked Brooks if it
was true. He said, "Quite true." I asked him what had become of the
dagger which Lopez had plunged into him. He said, "As I was crossing
the diggings I drew it out and threw it away." I sent a man to the spot
indicated by Brooks, and he brought back the dagger covered with blood.
It had no bone or wooden handle to it. I asked Brooks whether it was in
that state when he pulled it out of the wound. He said "Yes!" I made a
search for the handle, but without success.
About daybreak a great crowd of diggers came round the police station,
and begged me to allow them to lynch Brooks before he died. I told them
I could not possibly allow such a thing. They became most excited, and
demanded that I should hand over the wounded man to them. I saw a long
rope in the hand of a man, so I closed up the door of the building,
with myself and the constable inside. The diggers then threatened to
break in the door and windows, but I remained firm, telling them the
unfortunate man could only live a few hours. The diggers then had a
meeting, and decided to burn down and destroy all the tents where the
thieves and murderers resorted on the diggings. During the time the
diggers were trying to get hold of Brooks, he was calling out from
the agony he was suffering, and they kept mocking him. His thirst was
most intense, and he implored us to keep giving him water, which, of
course, we did, and did everything we could to relieve his sufferings.
About ten o'clock I was told that several tents and grog shanties had
been set on fire. I looked out and saw men tearing up mattresses, and
feathers being thrown into the fire, and all the furniture being broken
up and burnt. About this time a large force of police had been sent
to my assistance, and I was in some measure able to restore order.
Brooks lingered on till about three o'clock in the afternoon, when he
died in the most terrible agony. Lopez was an Italian, and lived in
his store by himself, and was known to be a most determined man. The
doctors held the _post mortem_, and said death must have been almost
instantaneous, as the bullet had gone through his heart. The missing
handle of the dagger was found by the medical man in Lopez' clenched
hand. A tragic occurrence took place at the inquest. It was held by
the coroner in a place used as a theatre, the jury sitting below the
foot-lights. Three inquests had to be held, one on Lopez, the second
on Barnett, and the third on Brooks. The inquest on the latter was not
closed until nine o'clock at night, but while the coroner was taking
the depositions the head of Brooks, which had been removed from the
body, and put on the back of the stage, came rolling down, and fell
on the ground among the jury. The coroner was anxious to keep the
murderer's head, and the doctor, who held the _post mortem_, had placed
the head at the back of the stage, forgetting that all stages slope
towards the front. This skull was kept as a memento by the coroner
until his death, when his widow sent it to me; and I now have it in my
den.
I was sent in charge to the Buckland River station, about April,
1854, shortly after the new diggings were discovered there, and one
of my first duties was to see that the diggers were all provided with
licences. Having been a digger myself, I thought I would be able to
circumvent the men who had no licences. The commissioner (as these
officers were called in those days), named Mr. Hood, told me a few days
after I arrived that he had been informed a number of men were working
at the head of the river, and he proposed that we should take a party
of police and explore the river some distance from the camp--at this
time very little was known about the head of the river--so we arranged
to take four mounted police, and go in search of diggers who were
mining without licences. We followed them up to the junction of the two
arms of the river. I took one side and the commissioner the other, each
of us having two mounted constables with us. I was on the left side,
and the commissioner with two men on the right. After going half a mile
beyond the junction, I got on to a narrow track, the two men following
close behind me. Suddenly I found the track getting more narrow and
steep; my horse went faster and faster, until he could scarcely find
ground to stand on, when away went his hind legs. I felt he was going
over, and slipped my feet out of the stirrups, and as he reared or fell
over, I saw a clump of grass on the edge of the precipice, and laid
hold of and hung on to it. The horse rolled over and over a distance of
100 yards, until he fell into the river. He was terribly cut about,
but with much difficulty we got him out, and led him home; the saddle
was smashed to pieces. The commissioner on the other side of the river
was amazed to see me walking down the hill. After hearing the clatter
of horse, stirrup-irons, and stones, the two men, who were behind me,
seeing the position I was getting into, pulled up their horses, and so
avoided my misfortune. The commissioner suggested that we had better
return to the camp, as we saw no diggers working on the river, so we
went back, considering we had run a great risk to no purpose.
Another story occurs to my mind, whilst I was stationed at the
Buckland. We had a most highly esteemed and worthy police magistrate,
whose name I will not mention. His tent was fixed alongside of mine. It
was the habit in those days for the police to be always on the alert
for persons bringing liquor to the diggings, as no public-houses were
then allowed except in townships. My men had made a large seizure,
and the persons driving the drays were brought before the P.M.,
charged with carrying liquor for illegal sale. The whole seizure was
confiscated, and in those days, instead of selling it, the magistrate
directed that the liquor was to be destroyed. This order was made
with regard to this seizure. On the following day I was about to
carry out the order of the court, when the official came to me, and
said, "Kaffir" (he used to call me "Kaffir" because I came from the
Cape), "don't you think it would be advisable to keep the cask of
port-wine that has been confiscated, for the poor frozen women about
the diggings?" The place at that time was snowed up half the winter. I
replied, "I have no objection, but where shall we keep it?" He replied,
"Between our tents." I agreed to his proposal, and we fixed up the
quarter-cask accordingly, and put a tap in it. From time to time the
old women, and sometimes the young ones, came for a jug of port-wine,
but one night I heard a trickle as if some one was drawing off a jug
from the cask, and thinking that the sentry was having a pull at it
(there was always a sentry over the gold-office, which was within a
short distance of our tents), I got up as quietly as I could, opened
the tent, and saw our worthy official drawing off a jug of port. I
called out to him, "Are you drawing off a jug for some old woman at
this hour of the night?" He looked up surprised, and it was a sore
subject for a long time. Some years afterwards I met him, and related
to some friends in his presence the story of the port-wine, and,
strange to say, he had quite forgotten all about it, and tried to make
me believe he could not have been the official that I referred to.
The cold at the Buckland was intense on those days. The men were
occupied half a dozen times during the night scraping the snow off
the tents and off the police stables, which had merely a covering of
calico, and there was great danger of the snow carrying away both tents
and stables.
I was stationed at Wangaratta in the year 1855, before the bridge over
the Ovens had been built. The only way of crossing the river then was
by a punt, which was worked by a man named Billy. He used to be called
"Billy the Puntman." This man was well known to be a confederate of
the horse and cattle stealers in the district, but he always escaped
detection. A bridge having been erected over the river, Billy's
occupation was gone; and whilst I was travelling by coach to Melbourne
in the latter part of the year, the mail-man, riding one horse and
leading another with the mails, passed the coach some short distance
from Greta, formerly called "Fifteen Mile Creek." The driver of the
coach had hardly gone a quarter of a mile, when we found the mail-man
standing on the side of the road without his horses. He told us that
he had been suddenly stopped on the road by "Billy the Puntman," who
presented a double-barrelled gun at him, and he had ridden off as hard
as he could go when he heard the coach approaching. In those days I
never went anywhere without a revolver. I asked the driver of the coach
if any of his horses were broken to saddle. He replied, "Yes, the
near-side leader is a saddle-horse." I told him to take the horse out
of harness at once, leaving the bridle on him. I made a pair of reins
of a piece of rope, jumped on him barebacked, and rode in pursuit, as
fast as I could go, in the direction Billy had gone. For some distance
I easily followed the tracks of the two horses, but they led into stony
ground, and not having much time to spare I lost the track altogether,
and as I had to overtake the coach, being summoned to attend the
Supreme Court, Melbourne, I galloped round the locality for some time,
and then made my way into Benalla without seeing anything of Billy. I
gave information to the police there, and got a fresh horse and saddle,
and overtook the coach during the night near Euroa, reaching Melbourne
in time for the Court. Billy was subsequently arrested at Albury, and a
quantity of the stolen property, the proceeds of the robbery, was found
on him. He was tried at Beechworth before Judge Forbes, and sentenced
to ten years' imprisonment. He gave a good deal of trouble whilst
being escorted to Melbourne, making several attempts to escape, but
without success, and when he reached the last stage, Donnybrook, he
tied a piece of blanket round his throat, and was found hung the next
morning in the cell.
A good story used to be told in the early days of the Ballarat
diggings, about a pair of boot-trees having saved the life of a
police-officer. He was very ill with an abscess on his liver, and the
doctors had all given him up. A police magistrate had shown him great
attention both day and night during his illness, and when the dying man
had abandoned all hope of recovery, he said to his friend, "My dear
fellow, you have been very good to me during my illness, and I want to
leave you something. I believe I am the only person in camp that has
a pair of boot-trees, and when I die you may have them." The P.M. was
very grateful. Next day he came quietly into the sick-room, thinking
his friend was dying or dead. He picked up the boot-trees and was in
the act of taking them away, when the supposed defunct, who had been
watching him, made a sudden start up, and called out, "Come, come,
Mr. P.M., you just leave those trees alone. I am not dead yet." The
sudden start burst the abscess on his liver, and he recovered. Years
afterwards the boot-trees used to be shown as the "life-preservers."
For four or five years I spent my time in taking charge of "new
rushes." In these days many people do not even know what a "new rush"
means, so I will try to describe one. Back Creek, now called "Talbot,"
is seven or eight miles from Maryborough. I was stationed there shortly
after it opened. Diggers were prospecting for gold all over the
country, and when they discovered a rich deposit, would at once apply
to the Warden for an extended prospecting claim, the holders of which
were allowed a considerable-sized piece of ground, much larger than the
ordinary miner who followed after him.
Most wonderful accounts would immediately be spread all over the
district that some very rich ground had been discovered, and at once
people would flock to the spot and mark out a piece the size allowed by
the regulation, each one driving in pegs in the direction they thought
the lead would run. The fabulous accounts of the great finds would be
published in every paper in the colony, and people would flock in from
all parts. Stores would be erected, theatres built--besides numerous
hotels--streets formed, and within three weeks or a month there would
be about 50,000 inhabitants on a spot where, perhaps, a month previous
there was not a living soul besides the prospectors. This is exactly
what took place at Back Creek. A police camp was formed and several
constables sent out, and I was sent in charge of them. When a rush took
place, the miners from all parts of the colony would make for it. Back
Creek was not wanting in notorious villains of all sorts! I had been in
charge of the police at many large rushes, but never in my life had I
seen so many rogues and villains together as were collected there! The
police were at work day and night, and found it impossible to keep down
the crime that was being committed. Murders were of the most frequent
occurrence. People were found murdered in their stores, and were shot
on the highway. I never went out without my revolver, and when I
retired for the night kept it always beside my bed.
I will give an instance of the kind of crimes that were constantly
taking place. I was in my office, about three o'clock, and a messenger
arrived, saying there was a terrible fight going on a mile away, and
that a man had been killed. I mounted my horse, and on my way met a Dr.
C.; I asked him to accompany me, and left orders for two constables to
follow. Arriving at the place I found a crowd collected, and saw a man
apparently dead, and beside him a piece of his skull about the size
of a man's hand, with brains in it. I ordered the body to be removed
into a tent. Some one said, "We are waiting until he dies before we
remove him." I asked the doctor to examine him, and he said that he
was still alive. The culprit who had committed the offence was sitting
on a log close by, perfectly indifferent about the matter. I asked
some of the bystanders how the man had been murdered, and was informed
that the prisoner and the wounded man had had a drunken quarrel; the
prisoner getting the worst of it, knocked his opponent down, and with
an American axe chopped the piece I have described off his skull. I
ordered his arrest and sent him to the camp, where he was charged and
locked up. I remained half an hour waiting for the man to die, but,
finding he did not do so, I gave orders that he should be removed at
once into the tent, leaving a constable, and giving him instructions
to remain there till he died. The doctor would not do anything to the
wound. He said it was useless, as the man could not live. Next morning
I went to see why the constable had not returned, and, to my surprise,
I found the patient still alive and conscious, and gradually he got
better. The skin grew over the wound, and some months afterwards he
gave evidence against the offender at the Castlemaine Assizes, who was
convicted and sentenced.
Another case I can remember. One night I was called about one o'clock,
a man informing me he had shot two men whilst they were in the act
of robbing his store. His story was that he had closed his place of
business before going to bed, having made everything safe; but he was
awakened during the night, and through the canvas partition saw two
men with a light helping themselves to his money behind the counter.
He took his revolver and, without moving, fired at one of the men,
who dropped, and then fired at the other, who walked a few steps and
also fell. He at once came to report the matter. I accompanied the man
to his store, and there found the two men lying as described by the
store-keeper, with the money beside them. The coroner was informed of
the matter, a jury was summoned, a verdict of justifiable homicide was
returned, and so the matter ended.
Another incident took place at Back Creek, which is most forcibly
impressed upon my mind. One night the lock-up was crowded with
prisoners. The lock-up consisted of two small rooms with a boarded-up
space between them; within this space was the body of a dead man
who had been found murdered on the road, and the supposed murderer
was in the adjoining cell. My quarters not being more than twenty
yards off, I could hear the sentry pacing up and down guarding the
prisoners. I awoke during the night, looked out of my door, which
I always kept open, but could see no sign of the sentry. I walked
down to the watch-house, attired as I was--still I could see nothing
of him. Thinking perhaps he had sat down and fallen asleep in the
small apartment where the dead man was lying, I walked in quietly and
listened, but could see or hear nothing. The sentry, who had happened
to be behind the lock-up, hearing a noise, suddenly came round the
corner, and on seeing me, in a moment cocked his rifle and presented
it at me. I called out, telling him who I was. He dropped his rifle,
exclaiming, "Oh! sir, I thought you were the ghost of the dead man,
and I was going to shoot him!" From that time I was more careful how I
visited the sentry.
It was my duty to attend the court daily and conduct the prosecutions
of all persons charged with offences. I was in regular attendance,
generally from ten o'clock till five or six in the evening. A great
part of the night I spent instructing the men in difficult cases,
and giving general directions as to how they should be managed. In
those days we were not bound down by red-tape regulations, and there
were no newspaper reporters inquiring into every act. We had a very
limited number of men, and they were worked to death, but there were
no complaints even when working for sixteen hours a day! The life was
exciting; gold was obtained by the ounce, and there were hundreds of
thieves preying on the hard-working miner. Theatres, concerts, dancing
saloons, were open till twelve o'clock at night, and the scenes I have
witnessed in them are beyond belief. During my whole career in the
police force, I have never had a hand laid on me. Whether my height
and size protected me, I know not. I have been present when fights and
every imaginable disturbance have been going on, but no one has ever
touched me. I have been stopped at the door of dancing saloons, and
implored by my men not to enter--bottles were being thrown right and
left--still not a soul has interfered with me, and I have managed to
quell the disturbance. It was a common occurrence my being called up at
night, and frightful outrages reported to me. My first question was,
"Have you arrested the offender?" When the reply was "Yes," I would
then turn round in my bed and fall asleep; the next morning I probably
would have forgotten the circumstance until reminded by some one. The
camp life was very pleasant on the diggings, each man had a separate
tent to sleep in, and a large one was used as a mess-room, where all
the officers in the Government service used to mess together, and spend
most sociable evenings, but this state of things only existed at the
head-quarters of the district, where there were a number of officers
stationed.
Writing of mess-rooms recalls to my memory an occurrence which took
place at Maryborough where there was an old waiter named Tom, who was
very fond of liquor, and generally, before dinner was over, was so
drunk he could not bring the coffee in. One of the officers undertook
to find out where he got his liquor from, and he soon ascertained that
when any officer called for a bottle of wine, Tom used to decant it and
leave a third of the wine in the bottom of the bottle, so he devised a
cure for this state of things. One night, just as Tom had decanted the
wine, I ordered him to go quickly and get something from the kitchen,
and whilst he was away, I jumped up and put a good strong emetic in the
bottle, having previously mixed the emetic in some wine; I gave the
bottle a shake and put it down. The next minute Tom returned to the
mess-tent, took up the bottle, and marched off with it. He was watched
when he left the tent, and was seen with the neck of the bottle to his
mouth, drinking the contents; not long after we heard Tom roaring at
the top of his voice, very ill.
Of course we had quarrels amongst the officers, and some ludicrous
scenes took place. One night I had been dining out, and returned about
ten o'clock. On seeing a light, I went into the Warden's tent. The
Warden was not in, but the gold-receiver was sitting on the bed. I
said--
"What is the matter? You are as white as a sheet."
He replied, "I have sent to the police magistrate to ask him to fight a
duel with me in the morning."
I said, "Why, what has he been doing to you?"
"He has insulted me," he said, "in the most gross manner."
"Well," I said, "you need not look so frightened over it." The owner
of the tent soon afterwards entered, looking very serious, and said,
"I conveyed your message to H., and he says he will see you d--d
first before he fights you!" He jumped from the bed, and became most
courageous, and said, "I knew he was a coward, and I would have given
anything to have had a shot at him." Nothing more came of the matter!
On another occasion a row took place over some cards, and a duel was
to be fought early next morning between a police officer and a warder,
the P.M. acting as second to the police officer. It was arranged that
the duel should take place at daylight, next morning, but before going
to bed the police officer called the sergeant-major to bring him twelve
rounds of ball cartridge. He did so, and the pistol and cartridges were
left on his table. Next morning the P.M., who was a very diminutive
little fellow, went to the tent of the police officer, and awoke him
from his sleep, and told him it was time to get up to fight the duel.
The police officer had forgotten all about the arrangement made on the
previous night, and jumping out of bed, caught the P.M. by the back of
the neck, and pitched him out of the tent; the P.M. went to the Warden
and told him he declined to act as second to the police officer, and so
that matter ended. Notwithstanding all these larks, we had no end of
work to get through, and we all took a great interest in our different
duties.
Another anecdote recurs to my memory at Maryborough. There was a very
large rush to a place called Chinaman's Flat, where a fearful amount of
crime went on. Only two constables were stationed there, and they were
kept at work both night and day. One night I was walking about seeing
how everything was going on, when I met two detectives. They told me
that they knew a notorious convict who had escaped from Tasmania,
and that he was in a tent on the diggings, living amongst the worst
characters. We decided to arrest him directly the moon went down, which
would be about two o'clock in the morning. I arranged that one of the
detectives and myself were to go to the front of the tent whilst the
other detective kept at the back, in case of an attempt being made to
escape. Directly we approached the front of the tent a shot was fired.
We lit a candle, threw ourselves on the convict, and dragged him from
his tent. There were two other men with him, but the detectives knew
the man they wanted. No sooner had we taken the prisoner away than we
heard of a rescue being arranged, and in a few minutes a crowd followed
us. I felt sure we had a blood-thirsty set of villains to deal with,
and I blew out the light in our lantern. We doubled back and sat
behind a high bank of earth, at the same time putting a revolver to
the convict's ear, and telling him if he gave the alarm we would blow
his brains out. The mob followed in the direction they had last seen
the light, and passed within a few yards of us. We then went in the
opposite direction with our prisoner and took him safely into the camp.
The police magistrate remanded him next day back to Tasmania, at the
same time telling us we had carried out the most risky undertaking he
had ever heard of. In the course of three years I had the management of
five new rushes. It was the most exciting time of my life, and I was
not willing to leave it, but was persuaded to do so.
When the Echuca railway was being built the New South Wales Government
claimed the River Murray, and issued a proclamation that after a
certain day all boats and dutiable articles found on the river would
be seized and confiscated unless duly registered. One morning I was
prosecuting in the police court in Melbourne, and the acting Chief
Commissioner, Captain Mair, sent for me. I went to his office, and he
told me Sir James M'Culloch wished me to start at once for Echuca with
twenty armed policemen, and go as far as Sandhurst that afternoon. The
instructions I received were but scanty, beyond that I was to protect
all boats on the Victorian side of the river and dutiable articles that
might be landed on the Victorian shore. I had a proclamation, signed
by Sir James M'Culloch, to the effect that I would be responsible for
all boats on the Victorian bank, provided they were given over into
my charge. I started for Sandhurst, by the three o'clock train, and
a ballast engine was provided for me, to convey me from Sandhurst to
Echuca, where I arrived at four o'clock in the morning. At Echuca the
town was in a great state of excitement, fearing their boats would
be seized. I had the proclamation printed at once, and posted on the
trees, and at nine o'clock in the morning got introduced to the New
South Wales Customs officer, who was dressed up in gold lace and
buttons from head to foot.
I had a conversation with him, and he told me his orders were to seize
all boats that were found on the Murray. I told him my orders were to
protect these boats against seizure.
I said, "Then I think we had better bring this matter to an issue this
afternoon. I will start a boat down the river from opposite Moama to
Echuca, on the Victorian side, with a load of dutiable articles; you
come and seize them if you can." I asked him what he would do if he
were prevented seizing the goods. He replied, "I would have to shoot
any one who interfered with me." I said, "All right; I will get a
buggy; you accompany me up the river, previously arranging to have a
boat there, and I will send up some tea and tobacco, put them in the
boat, and start them down the river."
I ordered my sergeant to take up a box of tea and a case of tobacco,
and at three o'clock Mr. G., the Customs officer of New South Wales,
and I drove up the river. I told him, whatever happened, we need not
quarrel. He concurred, and away we started. When we got opposite Moama
I found a boat ready for me. I ordered the sergeant to put the goods in
the boat, and jumped in myself. Mr. G. walked down with a broad-arrow
branding-iron, and said--"I seize this boat in the name of the Queen."
I said, "I would strongly advise your not putting your foot in this
boat. If you do I will throw you overboard." He said, "Do you mean it?"
I replied, "I do." I then landed, telling the sergeant to take the
boat down to Echuca and to keep away from the New South Wales shore.
He did so, and was in no way molested, and landed the goods at Echuca.
I then said to Mr. G., "I suppose now you intend telegraphing for
orders to your Government." He said, "Yes, I do." I replied, "Let us
do everything fair and above board; you show me the message you intend
sending, and I will do the same." He agreed to this, and we each showed
our respective telegrams, and in half an hour I received a reply from
Sir James M'Culloch to the following effect:--"So far all right; if
Customs officer interferes further put him in the lock-up." Needless to
say I did not show this to my quondam friend! Mr. G. did not receive
any reply to his message. I remained at Echuca for a month, but
nothing further transpired. I had a sentry day and night on the boats
placed under my charge, but there was no further interference from the
New South Wales Government, nor do I even know what arrangement was
afterwards made between the two Governments. On my return to Melbourne
Sir James M'Culloch, the Chief Secretary, sent for me and paid me the
highest compliment on the manner in which I had conducted the business.