In Bad Company and other stories

'Nothing of the sort.'

'If it is sworn by a respectable witness that he heard you, will you still deny it?'

'Certainly I will.'

'Call Joseph Broad. (I merely call this witness to be identified, your Honour.) Did you see this man at the shearers' camp?' to Stoate.

'I saw him there, but that's all.'

'That will do, Broad; go out of Court for the present. Did you hear your President speak to him?'

'Not to my knowledge.'

'Did Lynch and another man stand on each side of Hardwick on the bank of the river, and threaten to shoot him if he didn't stop there and hold out his rifle?'

'I didn't hear them.'

'Now listen to me, and be very careful how you answer this question. Did you stand close behind him with a revolver and say, "Don't you move for your life"?'

'Not that I remember. We was all crushed up that close together, as the crew of the steamer fired into us, that a man couldn't tell who was next or anigh him.'

'Very probably. That will do. Stay,' as Mr. Stoate turned away, and left the witness-box with a relieved expression. 'Go into the box for a moment. How did you come here – walk or ride?'

'Rode.'

'Rode your own horse?'

'No, a police horse; I came up with Sergeant Kennedy.'

'Oh, then, he lent you a horse – very kind of him – and accompanied you here. How was that?'

'Well, I believe there was some sort of a case trumped-up against me.'

'Oh! some kind of a trumped-up case, was there? We'll hear more about that, by and by. That will do for the present, Mr. Delegate.'

The witness then left the Court, followed by the strange trooper, so closely indeed, that but for the absence of handcuffs he might have been thought to have been in custody.

'Call Sergeant Kennedy.'

John Kennedy, being duly sworn, deposed as follows: 'I am a senior Sergeant of Police, stationed at Dilga, on Cowall Creek, which runs into the Darling. I saw the last witness at Tandara Run on December the 20th instant. He was given into my custody by Mr. Macdonald, the manager, charged with wilfully and maliciously setting fire to the run. I searched him in his presence and found on him two half-crowns, a knife, a meerschaum pipe, a plug of tobacco, two sovereigns, a copy of Union Shearers' rules, a letter, and a cheque. The cheque was drawn by John Macdonald in favour of William Hardwick, dated 10th October. The amount was £55: 17s.'

When this announcement was made an audible murmur arose from the body of the Court, even a few hisses were heard, which were promptly suppressed. Bill opened his eyes in wonder and amazement, and then turned to where Jenny sat crying peacefully to herself, but not from grief. Their money had been recovered, their traitorous enemy disgraced and confounded. She, in her mind's eye, saw her home once more glorified with Bill's presence – a free, unstained man. God was merciful, and she despaired no longer of His goodness.

'You didn't observe anything in the rules of the A.S.U. as to pocketing the cash of all shearers unfriendly to the Union? No? Then you may go down.'

'I have no questions to ask this witness,' said the Crown Prosecutor, with emphasis – 'at present, that is to say.'

So Mr. J. Stoate, who had departed with the trooper, was for greater safety and security lodged in the modern substitute for the dungeon of the Middle Ages, until the Judge, after the finding of the jury, should have pronounced sentence or otherwise on the other prisoners.

CHAPTER VIII

'Call Cyrus Cable!' for the defence. As the long-legged, bronzed Sydney-sider lounged up to the witness-box, Bill's face, which had assumed a more hopeful expression, became distinctly irradiated. For this man was one of the shearers who had travelled down with him from Tandara, and had agreed to drop all connection with the Union and its revolutionary tactics. They had both been imprisoned at Poliah; had suffered wrong and indignity at the hands of the insurgents. How had he come up from the Darling, just in the nick of time? Bill didn't know, but if he had seen Dick Donahue outside of the Court he might have guessed.

'My name's Cyrus Cable, native of Bathurst. I'm a shearer in the season; have a selection at Chidowla, this side of Tumberumba. I know some of the men in the dock; saw them at Poliah when the row was on and the steamer was burnt.'

'Will you point out any of the prisoners that you can identify?'

'Well, there's Bill Hardwick, an old mate of mine – and fellow-prisoner, if it comes to that. It's dashed hard lines on him to be scruffed and gaoled by those Union scallowags, first for not joinin' 'em, and then locked up and tried because they ill-treated him and he couldn't get away. I call that a queer sort of law.'

The witness is requested to confine himself to answering such questions as are put to him, and not to give his opinion as to the law of the land.

'Do you identify any other prisoners?'

'Yes. I saw that beauty with the hobbles on, fire his gun at the crew on the boat twice; I saw him reload. He was one of the men as hustled Bill, and the rest of our mob that came from Tandara, into the tent and set a guard on us. I took notice of him then, and can swear to him positive.'

'Was the prisoner Hardwick with the rioters?'

'Yes, like me, because he couldn't help himself. I heard the President, as he calls himself – there he is, the t'other end of the "bot" (I mean the dock, but it's so like a branding pen) – say to that Janus Stoate, him as passed the wire with our names when we left Tandara – "Put a good man on each side of Bill Hardwick, so's he can't stir, and they'll take him for a Unionist and keep pottin' at him. What fun it'll be!" and he laughed. "I'll be behind him," says Stoate, "so he won't have no chance of boltin'." That's the way it was worked to bring Bill, as straight a chap as ever sharpened shears, into this steamer-burnin' racket.'

'How was it that you and your mates left your comrade in the lurch?'

'Well, we cleared as soon as the police came. The Union men bolted in all directions and left the free labourers to mind themselves. We thought Bill was comin' after us, and never missed him till we were miles away.'

'Did you not return to rescue him?'

'No fear! We thought the police might run us in for "aidin' and abettin'." It was every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.'

The witness was reprimanded for levity, and directed not to refer to the devil unnecessarily. In cross-examination he stated that he took particular notice of the man in irons, as he had repeatedly struck him and his mates with the butt-end of his rifle. Like the other rebels, he was very brave against unarmed men, but cut it when the police showed they meant business.

'Have you not a revengeful feeling against the prisoner Abershaw, the one who is (very improperly, in my opinion) brought into the Court in leg-irons?'

'Well, I've the feelings of a man, and I don't cotton to a cowardly dog who kept rammin' the butt-end of his gun into the small of my back, when I couldn't defend myself. But I'm here to speak the truth, and to get justice for an innocent man.'

'I suppose you were told that you would be paid your expense for attending this trial?'

'I got a Crown subpœna. So did Martin.'

'Who served it to you?'

'A police constable at Toovale.'

'Was anybody with him?'

'Yes, Dick Donahue. He told me and my mate, Martin Hannigan, that Bill Hardwick was to be tried at Wagga for burnin' the Dundonald and shootin' at the crew. "That be hanged for a yarn!" says I. "Fancy Bill, with a farm and a wife and kids, settin' out to burn steamers and kill people! Holy Moses! Are you sure he didn't rob a church, while he was about it?" But he said it was no laughing matter, and he might get three years in gaol. So of course we come, and would have turned up if we'd had to do it on foot and pay our own expenses!'

'Of course, your Honour will note this witness's evident bias?' said the counsel for the prisoners.

'I shall take my notes in the ordinary manner,' said the Judge. 'It is not necessary for counsel to suggest points of practice to a Judge before he addresses the Court at the conclusion of the evidence.'

'Your Honour will perhaps pardon me; I thought it might have escaped your notice.'

'I trust, Mr. Carter, that nothing escapes my notice in an important criminal case. Let the next witness be called.'

'Martin Hannigan is your name?' said Mr. Biddulph. 'You were at Poliah Camp on the 28th of August, were you not? Do you know the prisoners before the Court?'

'Some of them. I know Bill Hardwick, and the man with the leg-irons, but not his name. Yes; I know the one with the black beard – they called him the President.'

'Who called him by that title?'

'The shearers, or rioters, or loafers, whoever they were. They were six of one and half-a-dozen of the other, if you ask me.'

'Never mind answering what you are not asked. What did you see them do?'

'Well – Mr. President and his mob, all armed, made Bill and me and eight or nine other chaps that came down from Tandara, prisoners of war, in a manner of speakin' – "robbery under arms" I call it, for they boned our swags, our horses, our grub, and our pack-saddles. I found the horses, when they were boltin' from the police, or we should 'a never seen 'em again; two of us had to ride bareback. I seen that gaol-bird there – he's "done time," I'll take my oath – and another man shovin' Bill Hardwick between them towards the river-bank – one of 'em was puttin' a gun into his hand – swore he'd shoot him if he didn't carry it. I saw one of 'em fire at the boat. I'd not swear he hit anybody. I heard the "President" say, "We'll burn the bally boat; that'll learn 'em to bring 'scabs' down the river." I saw the steamer blaze up after the crew and free labourers was out. Then the police came, and Martin, my mate, and I cleared for our lives. We caught our horses in a bend and rode down the river to Toovale, when we got a non-Union shed, and wired in. That's about all I know.'

By the Crown Prosecutor.

'Your name is Martin Hannigan. Are you an Irishman?'

'No, nor an Englishman either. I'm an Australian, and so was my father. What's that to do with the case?'

'I thought you were rather humorous in your evidence, that's all. The Irish are a witty race, you know.'

'So they say. I've never been there. Anythin' else you'd like to ask me?'

'Only a few questions. When were you served with a subpœna to attend this Court, and where?'

'At Toovale, on the Lower Darling. The policeman came to the shed where Cable and I were working and served us. Dick Donahue came with him, and told us that Bill Hardwick was being tried with the other men for burning the Dundonald.'

'Didn't you know before? That seems strange.'

'Well, we were workin' hard to make up for lost time, by this strike foolishness, and we were too dashed tired at night to go in for readin' papers, or anything but supper and a smoke.'

'I suppose Donahue told you all about Hardwick's being arrested, and you had a talk over the case – what evidence you could give, and so on.'

'He didn't say much about evidence. He knew we was there, and seen all there was to see; might have felt something too, if a bullet had come our way – they were flying pretty thick for a few minutes. I seen that President chap fire once, and load again.'

'And that was all that passed?'

'Yes, pretty well all; we weren't "coached," if that's what you mean.'

'You swear that you saw that man fire, and load again?'

'Yes.'

'Did you see the free labourers?'

'Yes, forty or fifty; some looked damp, as they had been chucked into the river. Some had only their shirts on. They were stood up in a line, and counted like a lot of store cattle. They cleared off like us, when the police came, and the Union fellows bolted. We passed little mobs of them makin' down the river.'

'You swear you didn't see Hardwick fire his gun?'

'It wasn't his gun, and he didn't shoot.'

The sensational part of the trial was over; other witnesses were examined for the defence. They agreed in 'swearing up' for the prisoners before the Court, always excepting for Bill Hardwick. 'The other four men had exhibited great mildness, and a desire for peace. They had not seen the captain of the Dundonald assaulted; they saw the steamer on fire – they didn't know how it had started burnin' – might have been from kerosene in the cargo – it often happened. There was some shooting, but the crew of the steamer fired first. They didn't see any of the prisoners firing at the boat, except William Hardwick. Would swear positive that he had a gun, and loaded, after he fired every time – yes, every time. Saw no men thrown overboard. Some of them swam ashore, but they did it of their own accord.'

These witnesses broke down under cross-examination.

The Crown Prosecutor made a brief but powerful address to the jury, pointing out discrepancies in evidence, and the manifest perjury committed by the last witnesses. He trusted the jury would not overlook their conduct, and appraise their evidence at its true value.

The counsel for the defence, a well-known barrister, made a long and impassioned appeal to the jury 'to excuse the more or less technically illegal acts, which, he admitted, could not be defended. It was, however, in the line of "rough justice," the origin of which was a long series of capitalistic tyranny and oppression. They had suffered long from inadequate payment for their skilled labour, for shearing was no ordinary muscle work which could be performed by the mere nomadic labourer of the day. It required an apprenticeship, sometimes lasting for years. It was difficult, and exhausting beyond all other bush labour, having to be performed at a high rate of speed and for long hours, unknown to the European workman. The food was of bad quality, the cooking rude. The huts in which they had to dwell, worse than stables, nearly always. They had besides to travel long distances, expensive in time lost and wayside accommodation. For all these reasons, they had come to the conclusion that the question of pay and allowances, with other matters, required reconstruction, and failing to obtain a conference with the Employers' Union – a combination of squatters, merchants, bankers, and plutocrats generally – they had used the only weapon the law allowed to the workers of Australia and had organised a strike.

'The labour leaders had in all cases counselled moderation and constitutional action for the redressing of their wrongs. But – and it was by none more regretted than by the labour organisers themselves – rude and undisciplined members of the Union had resorted to personal violence, and had injured the property of squatters and others, believed to be desirous of crushing Unionism. Some allowance might be made for these men. They saw their means of livelihood menaced by cargoes of free labourers, bought up like slaves by the capitalistic class. They saw their wages lowered, their industry interfered with – the bread taken out of their mouth, so to speak – by a wealthy combination, which had no sympathy for the workers of the land, who had by their labour built up this enormous wool industry, now employing armies of men and fleets of vessels.

'Were they, the creators of all this wealth, to be put off with a crust of bread and a sweating wage? No! They had been worked up to frenzy by a plutocratic invasion of their natural rights; and if they crossed the line of lawful resistance to oppression, was it to be wondered at? He trusted that his Honour, in the highly improbable event of a verdict of "guilty," would see his way to inflict a merely nominal term of imprisonment, which, he undertook to say, would act as an effective caution for the future.'

His Honour proceeded to sum up. 'In this case, the prisoners were charged with committing a certain act, distinctly a criminal offence, punishable by a term of imprisonment. He would not dilate upon the collateral results, but impress upon the jury that all they had to consider was the evidence which they had heard. Did the evidence point conclusively to the fact that the prisoners had committed the crime of arson – the burning of the steamer Dundonald– then and there, on the 28th of August last, on the waters of the Darling River? With the conflicting interests of the pastoral employers, and the rate of wages, or the propriety of strikes, or otherwise, they had nothing whatever to do. He would repeat, nothing whatever to do.

'Did they believe the evidence for the prosecution? He would take that evidence, seriatim, from his notes.

'First there was that of the officer of Volunteers, which was direct and circumstantial. He deposes to having seen the steamer Dundonald floating down the river, burning fiercely then, with apparently no one on board. He saw a large camp of armed men, who shouted out that they had burnt the steamer, and would roast the captain and crew, for bringing up blacklegs. This last expression, he was informed, meant non-Union labourers. He caused the arrest of several men with arms in their hands, pointed out to him as having fired at the crew of the vessel, or having set fire to her. Among them was the prisoner Hardwick, who had a gun in his hand.

'The next witness was the sergeant of Volunteers. He saw the burning vessel, the crowd of armed men, and also men firing in the direction of a barge containing the crew presumably. He arrested by the colonel's order the six prisoners now before the Court, as well as others. They had arms in their hands.

'Captain Dannaker of the Dundonald deposed to a very serious state of matters. He had as passengers forty-five free labourers. Before daylight, a band of armed, disguised men boarded the vessel – of which they took full possession. Their action was not far removed from that of pirates. They threatened with death the captain, the crew, the agent of the Employers' Union, several of whom were assaulted, and ill-used. They "looted" the steamer, to use an Indian term – smashing cabins and appropriating private property. These unlawful acts they completed by forcing the free labourers to land, compelling the crew to go into the barge, setting the steamer on fire and casting her away, after which she was observed to sink. He also saw men on the river-bank firing at the crew and passengers. He identifies Abershaw, the prisoner in irons, as the man who assaulted and threatened him. He did not notice prisoner Hardwick.

'Mr. Davidson, the agent of the Employers' Union, corroborates the foregoing evidence in all particulars. He himself was assaulted, as were the free labourers. He saw the rioters throw some of the free labourers overboard. He saw them unloosing the steamer and preparing it for burning. His clothes and money were taken out of his cabin. He identifies Abershaw, but not prisoner Hardwick. He identifies Dawker, the man with the large beard, as the "President," so called.

'The witness for the Crown, Janus Stoate, gave, in his (the Judge's) opinion, unsatisfactory evidence after the adjournment. He described himself as a shearer; also a delegate appointed by the Shearers' Union. Though present at the scene of outrage, he apparently saw no one conduct himself indiscreetly, with the exception of his friend and fellow-shearer, William Hardwick. He swears that he saw him load and fire a gun in the direction of the steamer. He did not see the two prisoners Abershaw and Dawker, identified by the other witnesses, say or do anything illegal. He heard the report of firearms, but could not say who used them, except in the case of Hardwick. In several respects his evidence differed from that given before the Bench of Magistrates at Dilga Court of Petty Sessions, when the prisoners were committed for trial. He admitted in cross-examination having had a quarrel with Hardwick at Tandara woolshed, and to having arrived here in custody.

'Sergeant Kennedy, of the New South Wales Police, deposes to the arrest of this witness at Tandara station, on a charge of maliciously setting fire to the grass on the run, and to finding in his pocket, when searched, a cheque drawn in favour of William Hardwick for £55: 17s., said prisoner having previously testified as to its being lost or stolen.

'He would tell the jury here that he had no confidence whatever in the evidence of the witness Stoate. He appeared to have prevaricated, and also to have been actuated by a revengeful feeling in the case of William Hardwick, though, strange to say, he was apparently without eyes or ears in the case of the other prisoners, all of whom had been positively identified as having been seen in the commission of unlawful acts. In conclusion, he would entreat the jury to examine carefully, to weigh well, the evidence in this very serious and important case, and with close adherence to the obligation of their oaths, to bring in their verdict accordingly. The Court now stands adjourned till two o'clock.'

The jury were absent more than an hour, and during that time Mr. Biddulph persuaded Jenny to have a cup of tea, and otherwise refresh herself and the children, who had outstayed their usual meal-time.

She, with difficulty, was induced to touch anything: dead to all ordinary feelings, as she described herself, until Bill's fate was decided. 'How can I think of anything else?' she exclaimed passionately to Dick Donahue, who, with unfailing optimism, tried to convince her that Bill must be let off, and next day would be with her and the children on the way to Chidowla.

'How can we tell?' said she. 'Wasn't there Jack Woodman, and the lawyers told him he must be let off on a point of law, instead of which he got three years, and he's in gaol now.'

'Ah! but that was for cattle-stealing,' replied Mr. Donahue; 'and Jack had been run in before, for duffing fats off Mount Banda – tried too, and got off by the skin of his teeth. This time he shook a selector's poddies, and the jury couldn't stand that. But Bill's innocent, as everybody knows. See what the Judge said about Stoate's evidence! I'll bet you a hat to a new bonnet that Bill's out a free man this afternoon, and that Stoate's in the dock for settin' fire to Tandara, with a six to one on chance of seem' the inside of Berrima Gaol, and those four other chaps to keep him company.'

Jenny couldn't help relaxing into a wintry smile at this reassuring prophecy. But her face assumed its wonted seriousness as she said, 'Well, Dick Donahue, you've been a staunch friend all through this trouble, and I'll never forget you and Biddy for it as long as I live, and Bill won't neither.'

'Don't be troubling yourself about that, Mrs. Hardwick,' said Donahue. 'You were a good friend to her and her children before all this racket – they would have wanted many a meal only for you. But I'm a changed man. I've some hope before me, thanks to Mr. Calthorpe; and if Bill will go partners with me, we'll be Hardwick and Donahue, with a tidy cattle-station one day yet.'

'The Court's sitting,' called out some one, 'and the jury's agreed.' A rush was made by all interested persons and the spectators generally. Not a seat was vacant as the Court official demanded silence, and the Judge's Associate proceeded to read out the names of the jurors, who, headed by their foreman, stood in line on the floor of the Court.

'Are you agreed, Mr. Foreman, on your verdict?'

'We are.'

'How do you find?'

'We find William Stokes, Daniel Lynch, Hector O'Halloran, Samson Dawker, and Jeremiah Abershaw guilty of arson, and we find William Hardwick not guilty.'

The verdict of guilty was received in silence. A number of the spectators were Unionists, and though the more sensible members of the association had always been opposed to lawless proceedings, yet from a mistaken sense of comradeship they felt bound not to repudiate the acts of any of their confraternity. No doubt at the next ballot the voting would have been almost unanimous against injury to property, and such outrages as the law's slow but sure retribution has never yet failed to overtake.

But when the verdict of 'Not Guilty' was announced, there was a cheer which it tasked the stern mandate of the Deputy-Sheriff and the vigorous efforts of the police to suppress. Jenny did not hear much of it, as the fateful words had barely been pronounced when she fell as if dead. She was promptly carried out into the witnesses' room, and measures taken for her recovery. When she came to herself, Bill was bending over her, and the children, smiling amidst their tears, were holding fast to one of his hands.