True History of the Kelly Gang (35 page)

In the morning when she woke there was soldiers all round the house and she seen the grand Lord Hill come dressed as for Parliament a powdered wig upon his head. The children wasnt permitted out of doors but nonetheless she observed the remains of the horse being loaded onto the cart it were sickening to see the butchery done to it.

The white blaze were later found in the house out on Thinglow Road the tenant were Michael Connor he were convicted of Swearing Oaths and Theft of Property then he and 5 other farmers were hanged in Donegal.

My da were a United Man said Mary but he give evidence against them all and I will tell you boys if you wish to ride around in this costume the people will not love you. You must ease their lives not bring them terror.

Joe Byrne set down the cup and walked out into the night.

That night inside the hut beside my Mary I were restless my beard hot & itching my limbs as agitated as a threshing machine what horrible visions assaulted me e.g. what were my father doing with that dress in the tin trunk and to what purpose. That is the agony of the Great Transportation that our parents would rather forget what come before so we currency lads is left alone ignorant as tadpoles spawned in puddles on the moon. Laying on the damp floor of the miner’s hut I smelt the smoke and ashes of your mother’s hair she were a sweet young girl she were a stranger from an ancient time.

Joe went to keep his watch & then Steve returned to stretch out upon his oilskin coat. As written he were a little fellow but he had a blacksmith’s snore and once his organ begun to play I pulled on my elastic sides and went out into the air. I were well accustomed to the bush at night but this one were like a nightmare all the black gum trees looked alien and monstrous. Joe Byrne were amongst them somewhere.

At night every river has a secret twin a ghost of air washing above the living water down towards the sea I arrived at a flat white gravel bed where our shallow creek joined the river and there I felt the cold air on my cheek and with it an unholy smell it were poor Joe Byrne he were afflicted by the diarrhoea. He were silent in his agony a contrast to old Harry Power who would moan & thrash & curse the heavens for his pain.

Are you crook old man I asked when he come down to the river. I couldnt see his eyes but his teeth grinned white.

I’d give my bawbles for a pipe said he A little oyouknow would fix me up. He were still smiling but his voice were hard as a spoon rattling in a metal cup.

I had no opium but I did have news to comfort him I told him the letter to Mr Cameron were posted.

This give him no relief the opposite it set him off on a furious bout of leg scratching. O we’ll all be pardoned now said he I’m sure they’ll set your mother free.

Well perhaps they will.

O Christ Ned do you know who this Cameron fellow is? Do you know what sort of house he lives in?

I read what he said in Parliament.

Yes he is an effing politician.

Yes thats what they have in Parliament.

And you think a politician will defend the likes of us? We are weevils in their flour.

What is the matter with your legs Joe?

It aint my legs mate its my effing neck. You should of come to me about that letter I don’t mean no offence but when Cameron sees your writing he’ll think us even worse than what we are.

He would of said more except a spasm took him and for a moment all he could utter were eff and ess. If Cameron were a horse he said at last you’d see he were swaybacked and short necked you’d never effing look at him.

It were in the paper Joe you read it too.

You is a very clever bloke Ned save you don’t know a rat’s arse about politics.

And you aint read my adjectival letter mate.

O Jesus he cried bending over his guts were exceptionally bad O Christ you’re impossible. I got to go he said then stumbled through the ti tree scrub to find a private place.

When the last troubled smudge of Joe were swallowed in the bush I removed my boots I left them on the bank and picked my way through the water out to the larger boulders. Finally I found a flat white rock it were wide but narrow enough so I could lay down and drop my arms and let the river run briefly across my wrists. The story of the poor horse had laid a greasy pall upon me now the cold mountain stream were like a poultice drawing out all the ancient poisons I filled my hat with water pouring it across my head it smelt of earth & moss same as the flesh of a river trout. The clouds was light but queerly yellow on their edges as they moved across the ageless constellations.

I woke in bed next morning to discover Mary sitting over me the baby in her arms. It were still too early for any birds except a solitary robin in the scrub beside the hut. You must leave me here she whispered I replied there were no choice we all of us had to keep on moving.

His fever is too high he cannot travel.

I did not speak roughly but in the leaden light I firmly removed baby George from her arms carrying him out of the hut down under the twisted black ti tree past the wet dresses which Dan or Steve must of washed in the middle of the night the garments was spread like catfish skins upon the river bank.

What are you doing?

We are going to cool him.

At my command she got down in the freezing water then I unwrapped the steaming baby from his shawl it were a shocking vision he had always been a hefty wombat but now his ribs was prominent his skin the colour of lamb fat in the river water.

O the poor darling she wailed as I baptised him holding him under his arms in the mountain water O dear Jesus it is a cruel thing to have a baby in this country.

I paid no attention to her keening for I knew this were exactly how our mother cured our fevers so now I passed the patient back to her then filled my hat and give him another dose onto the head.

It will kill him she cried her eyes was pooled with tears. O Jesus help me what will I do? The baby’s eyes was sunk his protest against the icy water were as weak & thin as paper.

I had no wish to torture a child but could not let my boys be captured and would never abandon this woman and baby unprotected in the bush.

By the time we come back to the hut it were clear he were much cooler his lips was blue so Mary wrapped him in the shawl then all 5 of us squatted round him looking down to see if he might improve. The boys was never short of an opinion but in this case all was silent. They didnt wish to be nabbed on account of a baby yet they was not cruel and it were jittery Joe who dipped his finger in water and put it in the baby’s mouth. If the fingernail were dirty George never minded he sucked it very hard. That very moment we clearly heard the sound of a horse or horses splashing through the river crossing.

Traps cried Dan then Joe violently jerked back his finger from the baby’s mouth. George of course begun to bawl Mary cooed at him but she were too slow for the circumstances so I licked my finger dipped it in the sugar bag and stuck my finger in the sucky mouth. The baby’s silence were as valuable as life itself.

Joe urgently racked a shell into the chamber and slipped out the door Steve were after him but messy Dan waited till now to fumble with his powder flask.

Come Mary I said I’ll put your finger in the sugar too.

But Mary cared only to hold her child and neglected the sugar. So my sugar finger must remain inside the mouth as we crabbed together with the baby on my left hand and my .577 cocked in my right. We edged beside a narrow tributary to a place where tall swordgrass covered the stream and here Mary lay down as in a grave & when I looked in her frightened eyes I knew we could not live like this no more I could not have her follow me as the wives followed their husbands into war in olden days.

A fright of blood red parrots flared & swept through the khaki forest.

Ahead of me some 20 yd. Joe jumped out from behind a grasstree he sprinted towards the river the Spencer in his hand. Racing after him I wondered would I ever lay eyes on my wife again then I seen Steve and Dan rising cautiously from behind a fallen log my ears was filled with my own crashing footsteps I ran through knee high bracken.

A single rider were now clearly visible through the scrub I stopped to raise my Enfield but then he kicked his horse forward and I seen it were Joe’s mate Aaron Sherritt. In his hand he held a small wooden box and it were towards this that Joe Byrne ran & I saw what I must of known before. He were both slave & lover to the Chinaman.

I did not like Aaron he were always whispering in Joe’s ear seeking out Joe’s eye making mention of this place & that time neither one the rest of us could ever know. The minute he come into our camp he took Joe down to the river where the pair of them indulged in the contents of that Chinese box and smoked their pipe and pickled their bodies with celestial taint. When he come back Aaron’s mocking mouth were smiling at us like he knew things he would not tell. And yet and yet and yet I cannot fault Aaron Sherritt he were as tough as nails a mighty bushman.

It were thanks to Aaron’s information we knew a small fire might be risked in the hut’s old fireplace and his gift of bacon & eggs could now be cooked. Mary sat alone on the single bench us men leaned against the dusty log walls smoking pipes & roll ups while Aaron poked peacefully at his frying bacon describing to us the various parties of armed police Captains Commissioners & Superintendents all the most important actors in the colony was in search of us daily racing from hut to hut along the roads across the open plains.

Aaron pulled a battered MELBOURNE ARGUS from his back pocket it were still a shock to see my name so famous. Aaron drew our attention to a squib it showed the Police Commissioner holding a dead possum with all his men arranged behind him as if they had slain a mighty lion the scene were set inside a settler’s hut and a mote of light streamed through a hole in the bark roof illuminating the dead marsupial. The engraving made no sense till we learned of the raid on the Sherritt family’s hut at Sebastopol this is now a famous story perhaps you heard it. Imagining he’d found the Kelly Gang’s headquarters the Commissioner let off a shotgun as he entered and so not only scared the pants off Aaron’s brother Jack but blasted a hole in the bark roof and killed the ringtailed possum. The caption to the drawing read A SAD CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY.

For a change the ARGUS had no cartoons of Superstitious Mick or Ignorant Bridget the Irish maid instead the pictures was of the coppers their point being they did not have the brains to find the Kellys. Here is one from MELBOURNE PUNCH I paste it down upon the page.

Whipper (who has never been beyond Keilor Plains):
“I say, aint it shameful they don’t catch the Kellys? Why don’t the police jump on their horses and ride ’em down?”

Snapper (who has been as far as Dandenong):
“No sir, you’re wrong—quite wrong—strategy, sir—strategy’s the thing—wait for ’em behind a tree!!”

After the Commissioner departed from the Sherritts’ he led the charge onto Joe Byrne’s mother’s property interrupting the old dame’s milking. Aaron had a long lazy jaw and laughing hazel eyes he told this story particularly to Joe he done it very comical performing Mrs Byrne’s Irish curses and Commissioner Standish retreating backwards from the bails and standing in a cow pat with his nice clean boots.

All Joe’s pains was gone he laughed but I began to see the storyteller did not really like me laughing too. I never thought Aaron very clever but always a good natured chap though today I observed a calculating quality about them merry eyes. Soon he abandoned his funny stories asking Joe to keep an eye on the bacon and do it like at Hodgson’s Creek whatever that meant. Can I have a word Ned?

His mouth were still making a smile but he didnt look at me till we come to a sandy patch beneath the ti tree. Here he squatted as a bushman will do then broke a stick and for a moment I believed he intended to draw a map.

Well he said I see you is very adjectival jolly.

I asked him what were eating him.

I aint talking against you.

You aint said nothing yet.

I got to be honest mate everyone knows the b– – – – rs will get you in the end everywhere I go they’re offering money for information. I want to keep Joe’s spirits up but only a fool can’t see how this will end.

I thanked him for his confidence though my sarcasm were wasted.

You should let go of Joe mate said he smiling.

I aint holding him Aaron.

He don’t deserve this punishment he didnt kill no one yet as you well know.

I am sure Joe will go if he wishes to.

You have a power over him Ned he don’t deserve this outcome.

What outcome might that be?

You know he said but he couldnt hold my eye.

Is that to mean that I deserve it Aaron?

Seeing he could not answer I set back off towards the hut.

Theres something else he called I seen he were holding out an envelope. Thinking it were Cameron’s reply I grabbed for what I thought an envelope but it were just a pale green square of paper speckled like a plover’s egg. I asked him what it were but he only shrugged.

Unfolding the paper I seen nothing but the words NED KELLY it were the slow hand of an individual not fully confident of their education. Where is this from?

But I already knew the answer.

It is reckoned to be from your ma.

I seen how Ellen Kelly had secretly laboured upon that scrap and it pierced my heart that NED KELLY should serve not only as name & address but must carry all the weight of shame and subjugation teeming in her breast. Them b–––––ds would not give her paper she must of stole it & pencil both & when she were sent to walk back & forth alone in the yard of Melbourne Gaol she tied her message to a rock and threw it into the rockyard thus did young girls write love letters to their men.

Prison is a hard place the souls within it murderers or worse but them 2 words was carried by some unknown person to someone else unknown there were no gain to it only risk but even the lowest of them prisoners knew what were done against my mother were UNFAIR. The Queen of England should beware her prisons give a man a potent sense of justice.