THE LAST OF THE BUSHRANGERS Ned Kelly. THE LAST OF THE BUSHRANGERS AN ACCOUNT OF THE CAPTURE OF 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,
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. NED KELLY THE LAST OF THE BUSHRANGERS.
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.
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:—
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.
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