THE HIGHWAYMEN OF THE BUSH
A country spacious and sparsely inhabited. A land where men found gold
or reared cattle. A remote part of the world into which Dame Fashion
dare not penetrate. And, above all, a domain dominated by the terrible
bushranger. Such was my earliest conception of Australia. Such is the
conception of it which still obtains in the minds of thousands of
British people. And how different is the reality! The country certainly
is spacious and sparsely inhabited. Men also get gold and rear cattle,
but not as once they did. The days of finding are over. And as for Dame
Fashion, she is very much in evidence. She is more audacious here than
anywhere else, except it be Paris.
But it is of the bushranger that I propose to write; the bushranger
who _was_, even as late as thirty years ago, but who now no longer
exists. The swaggering villain of the time-honoured novel who entered
an Australian bar and “held up” proprietor and patrons, and having
robbed them took to the road again, he has ceased to be. The last
stand made by bushrangers was at Beechworth, amongst the hills. It is
an enchanting country, full of natural wealth and beauty: a place
hidden from the eyes of the crowd, but sought by tired town-dwellers,
who, weary of dust and noise, aspire after a period of repose in a
spot where the air is a veritable elixir of life, and where the earth
laughs with flowers and fruits. High as is Beechworth, oranges and
lemons grow there. But, despite its attractions, the town is beginning
to die. This is the tragedy of Australia--that small towns which were
called into existence through the finding of gold begin to perish as
soon as the gold is exhausted. The mines are closed down; the miners
depart; shopkeepers lose their patrons, and they, too, are compelled
to put up the shutters. The city grows, the small country mining towns
diminish, and all because the mining towns had only mining upon which
to depend. Beechworth sprang into existence in a day as the result of
the discovery of gold in the locality. Thousands of men smitten with
the gold fever poured into the township and searched for the precious
metal. Men became rich in a few weeks. The few who went to church
thought nothing of placing upon the collection-plate a nugget of gold
when a special appeal for help was made. The rest lavished their money
upon all kinds of objects. Bars, it goes without saying, flourished.
The saloon-keepers asked what price they liked for liquor, and they
always obtained it without demur. A “treat round” has more than once
cost £40, which was cheerfully paid. In ten years’ time a saloon-keeper
could retire on a handsome competence. Gold was accounted nothing
of--it was so plentiful. The first member of Parliament for Beechworth
signalised the occasion of his election by riding through the streets
of the town upon a horse whose four shoes were made of solid gold. Then
came the reaction. The claims were worked out, the miners departed,
and Beechworth is suffering. Yet commissioners say that there is more
gold left in Beechworth than ever was taken from it, but it is to
be obtained at greater cost of money and trouble than formerly. No
longer can men dig up the quartz from a foot or two below the surface
of the ground. Shafts must now be sunk. But the gold is there for the
enterprising.
Gold and bushrangers! There is an affinity between the two. But for the
presence of the one, the others would not have come into existence.
Beechworth, fair in situation and rich in minerals, was once the centre
of the operations of the most desperate gang of bushrangers Australia
has ever known. I heard the story from the lips of the “oldest
inhabitant,” a vigorous old Scotsman who has passed his eighty-fourth
year, and who retains a clear memory and a youthful spirit. He was
one of the magistrates who tried the members of the terrible “Kelly
gang.” He pointed out the place where stood the prison in which the
precious scoundrels were incarcerated. With pride he conducted us to a
rock which is named after him--Ingram’s Rock--from which we obtained a
marvellous panorama of a hilly country extending many miles in every
direction. And there, deep down in the dell, lay caves and other
hiding-places in which the thieves found shelter from the harassing
police and soldiery. We stood in the heart of the bushrangers’ country.
The story of that time, when told to-day, makes the flesh shiver. As we
surveyed the beautiful landscape, and shared the deep tranquillity of
hill and dale, we found it difficult to believe that only thirty years
ago this countryside was at the mercy of three or four desperadoes,
who kept the inhabitants in a state of continual terror. Three or
four men--Irishmen--armed with guns and revolvers, raided where they
pleased, killed whom they pleased, and lived as they pleased. Soldiers
and police alike were foiled by them, and when they were at last taken
it was more by accident than design. Dick Turpin, so far as England is
concerned, belongs to a past age. “Dom Q” may be still wandering in
some guise or other amongst the Spanish mountains. But that a small
band of Irishmen should, at the end of the nineteenth century, and upon
British territory, continue the exploits of the old-world robbers is
almost incredible.
The father of the Kellys--for such was the name of the gang--was an
Irishman and a Roman Catholic who came over from the Emerald Isle with
the reputation of being an “informer.” His son Ned--the “terror” of
the gang--was a handsome young fellow, who, with his brothers, found
it much easier to live upon the produce of other people than to work
honestly for his own living. He became a professional cattle-stealer,
was caught and imprisoned. Released from jail, he threw off all
restraint and took to the bush as a robber. Bushrangers had been
common for many years, but at last the race was beginning to thin out.
The Kellys determined to revive the gory glory of the ancient times.
The country around Beechworth afforded them excellent cover, while
the towns and scattered houses and “stations” offered them as much
plunder as they desired. A murder was the signal for departing from
civilisation and taking to the adventures of the bush. Despite the fact
that the countryside was alarmed, and that the police were scouring the
country in search of the outlaws, these last continued their robbing
profession with almost unbelievable coolness. One day they entered the
National Bank at Euroa at a time when many of the inhabitants of the
town were at a funeral. They were well dressed, with no suggestion of
the outlaw about them. Covering the clerks with their revolvers, they
demanded all the cash the bank contained, the sum amounting to nearly
£2,000. Then, gathering the entire staff of the bank together, they
bade the manager harness a horse and prepare a carriage. And there
issued from the bank premises a buggy containing the manager, with his
wife and children, together with a cart containing the robbers and the
plunder. All were driven to Faithfull’s Creek, where the prisoners were
entertained by the thieves until such time as the latter thought fit
to leave them, which they did at nightfall. The manager of the bank
and his family found their way back to the town as best they could.
Meanwhile, the Kellys were safely hidden in one of their favourite
places of concealment. For cool daring this exploit has not often been
surpassed.
They stopped at nothing. When, after another murder, the police started
in a special train to a place where the Kellys were known to be, the
robbers raced across the country to a spot where the train had to pass.
They commandeered the stationmaster, and afterwards some platelayers
to destroy the railway, and so to wreck the coming train. Luckily,
however, the disaster was averted. One of the outlaws’ prisoners
managed to escape and possess himself of a candle, a red scarf, and
matches. With these for danger signals, he reached the railway as the
train was approaching, and, lighting the candle, held the red scarf
in front of it. The device was successful. The strange red light was
seen, and the train drew up a few yards away from the place of danger.
Meanwhile, the robbers had achieved the daring business of imprisoning
in a large hotel a number of citizens who might have made trouble had
they been at liberty. Driven in to the number of sixty-two, they were
held at bay by four outlaws, who, by force of arms and reputation,
were masters of the situation. The robbers were by this time clad in
armour made from stolen ploughshares by a local blacksmith. Head,
chest, back and sides were protected by this clumsy metal. Strangely
enough, the robbers had not thought of covering their legs, and it
was in that vulnerable spot that the chief of the gang was hit. The
hotel, within and without, was wrapped in darkness when the armed
police appeared and opened fire upon it. Unaware of the fact that women
and children were prisoners in the hotel, the police poured into the
building a deadly fire from their rifles. When it was discovered by
the shrieks of the wounded that the innocent were being struck, firing
ceased. Then the non-combatants left the building, and the police and
the enemy were left to the work. The scene was an anticipation of the
Sidney Street affair in London two years ago, when hundreds of police
and soldiers laid siege to two anarchists, who held them for a whole
day at bay. Despite the rifle-fire, the outlaws did not yield. One
of them, indeed--the leader--managed to escape in the darkness. But,
reappearing, he was shot in the legs, and his fighting career was
over. The other three remained in the house, stubbornly refusing to
surrender. Then at last the police decided to set fire to the house,
and either burn out or burn up their enemies. When the fire subsided,
the charred remains of two of the robbers were discovered amidst the
ruins of the building. How they died will never be known. The survivor
was taken to Melbourne, condemned to death, and hanged. And on the
evening of the day of the execution the sister of the robbers appeared
upon the stage of a Melbourne music-hall.
It is an amazing story. Only in the Wild West or in Australia of that
day could such a series of events have occurred.
With the passing of the Kellys, bushranging practically ceased.
It took a long time to calm the nerves of the populace, for it was
believed that other scoundrels of the same type were abroad, quite
ready to repeat the exploits of the gang recently broken up. All fear
has long since departed. That phase of Australian life has disappeared
for ever. The people to fear to-day are not bushrangers, but languorous
men who dread the discipline of hard work, and who refuse to contribute
their share to the making of a great country.