In Bad Company and other stories

By this time, however, tables had been covered with an array of bottles of wine and beer, and certain viands in the shape of sandwiches, tongues, hams, rounds of beef, biscuits, and cakes of various hue and shape – all things necessary for a cold but generous collation. The corks being drawn, the sound wine and beer of the country was set flowing, when Bill's health and Jenny's were drunk with great heartiness and fervour.

The Chairman then proposed – 'His friend Mr. Calthorpe, in fact, the friend of all present, as the gentleman who, by equipping Richard Donahue and sending him to find and notice witnesses for the defence, had done yeoman's service for the worthy pair they had met to honour that day.'

In the course of an effective speech in return for the toast of his health, which was enthusiastically honoured, Mr. Calthorpe stated that the directors of the bank which he had the honour to serve always supported their officers in any extra-commercial action – as he might call it – in favour of honourable constituents, such as William Hardwick and his wife. He might take this opportunity to inform them that a partnership was in train, and would probably be arranged under the style of 'Hardwick and Donahue,' as these worthy yeomen had decided to join their selections, indeed to take up additional, conditional leases and devote themselves to dairy-farming on a large scale. They hoped to secure a share of the profits of butter-making which were attracting so much attention in their district of Talmorah, for which the soil, climate, and pasture were so eminently adapted. He might inform them that he had applications in the names of each of the partners, for nine hundred and sixty acres of conditional leasehold. This, with the original selections, would form an area of two thousand five hundred and sixty acres. They would agree with him, a tidy grazing-farm on which to commence the dairying business! Furthermore, he would take this opportunity of stating that there was every prospect of a butter-factory being established in Talmorah within twelve months. He trusted that the new firm's enterprise would inaugurate, in that method, one of the most profitable labour-employing industries, by which our graziers, big and little, have ever benefited themselves and advanced the interests of the town and district at large.' (Tremendous cheering.)

When the applause had subsided, the prospective partners lost no time in getting off, Jenny being aware that all conversation after such proceedings was liable to conclude with the 'What'll you have?' query – one of the wiles of the 'insidious foe.' Bill confessed to two or three 'long-sleevers,' the day being warm and the lager beer cool; but Dick Donahue, who had 'sworn off' before the priest for two years, before he went down the Darling, had touched nothing stronger than tea. Upon reaching their homes, the whole four resumed their working clothes and busied themselves about the farms until sundown. 'We'll sleep better to-night, anyhow,' said Jenny as, after putting the children to bed, she sat by Bill while he had his after-supper smoke in the verandah. 'But we must be up at daylight; it will give us all we know to get the cows milked and breakfast over and clean things on, for church in the township. For we'll go there, Bill, as we've good right to do, after all that's come and gone – won't we?'

'Right you are, Jenny; seems as if we'd been took care of, somehow.'

So the old mare missed her Sunday holiday, and had to trot into Talmorah between the shafts of the light American waggon – the capital all-round vehicle, that in the bush answers so many different purposes; and the Donahues went to their chapel, where, no doubt, Father Flanagan congratulated them on their improved prospects, while admonishing Dick to be more regular in his 'duty' for the future.

From this time forward the fortunes of the firm of Hardwick and Donahue steadily improved and prospered. The wives and husbands were eminently suited for co-operative farm management.

Biddy could milk a third more cows in the morning than any other woman in the district, and had won more than one prize for butter at the Agricultural and Pastoral Show. Jenny was not far behind her in these industries, but in the curing of bacon and hams had rather the best of it, by the popular vote. Dick was the smarter man of the two, having, moreover, a gift of persuasive eloquence, which served the firm well in buying and selling stock; this department having been allotted to him. He was thus able to get the change and adventure which his soul loved, and as he stuck manfully to his pledge, he wasted no time, as formerly, in his attendance upon shows and auction sales.

He began to be looked up to as a solid, thriving grazier, and with hope before him, and increased comfort in his home and family, pressed forward with energy to the goal of success which he saw awaiting him. His children were well fed, well clothed, and well schooled, holding up their heads with the best of the other yeoman families.

Bill worked away with his old steadiness and perseverance, not envying the change and occasional recreation which Mr. R. Donahue came in for. 'He had had enough of that sort of thing to last him for the rest of his life. His home, with Jenny and the children [now an increasing flock], was good enough for him,' he was heard to say.

There was also a run of good seasons, which in Australia is summed up and may be exhaustively described in one word Rain, with a large R by all means. The grass was good; so were the crops; so were the prices of butter, cheese, and milk.

The factory at Talmorah was a substantial, well-equipped, scientific institution, the monthly cash payments from which caused the hearts of the storekeeper and the tradesmen of that rising township to sing for joy. The only persons who discussed the change from 'the good old times' with scant approval were the publicans, who observed that the farmers sent the monthly cheque for milk to their account at the Banks of Barataria or New Holland, and their orders by post to the tradespeople, instead of 'going into town like men and stopping at the hotel for a day,' whenever they sold a ton of potatoes or a load of wheat.

From such modest commencements many of the most prosperous families in New South Wales and Victoria have made their start in life. Such families not infrequently hold the title-deeds of thousands of acres of freehold land. Contented to live economically and to re-invest their annual profits, they acquire large landed estates. As magistrates and employers of labour their position year by year becomes one of greater provincial importance and legislative influence. In physique, energy, and intelligence their sons are an honour to their respective colonies, and a valued addition to the loyal subjects of the British Empire – that Empire, in whose cause they are, even as I write, sending the flower of their youthful manhood to a far-off battlefield, holding it their proudest privilege to fight shoulder to shoulder with the 'Soldiers of the Queen.'

MORGAN THE BUSHRANGER

For several years the announcement 'I'm Morgan,' uttered in the drawling monotone which characterises one section of Australian-born natives, sufficed to ensure panic among ordinary travellers, and if it did not cause 'the stoutest heart to quail' in the words of the old romancers, was seldom heard without accelerated cardiac action. For the hearer then became aware, if he had not earlier realised the fact, that he was in the power of a merciless enemy of his kind – blood-stained, malignant, capricious withal, desperate too, with the knowledge that the avenger of blood was ever on his trail, that if taken alive the gallows was his doom, beyond doubt or argument. A convicted felon, who had served his sentence, he bore himself as one who had suffered wrongs and injustice from society, which he repaid with usury. Patient and wary as the Red Indian, he was ruthless in his hour of triumph as the 'wolf Apache' or the cannibal Navajo exulting with a foe, helpless at the stake.

An attempt has lately been made to rehabilitate the memory of this arch-criminal, so long the scourge and terror of the great pastoral districts lying between the Upper Murray and the Murrumbidgee rivers. We are not disposed to deny that there were individuals not wholly abandoned among the misguided outlaws who ravaged New South Wales in the 'sixties.' There was usually some rude generosity in their dealings with victims. They encountered in fair fight, and bore no ill-will to the police, who were paid to entrap and exterminate them. They were lenient to the poorer travellers, and exhibited a kind of Robin Hood gallantry on occasion. Among them were men who would have done honour to their native land under happier auspices. For, with few exceptions, they were sons of the soil. But Daniel Morgan differed from Gardiner, Hall, and Gilbert, from the Clarkes and the Peisleys, from O'Malley and Vane, from Bourke and Dunn. He differed as the wolf differs from the hound, the carrion vulture from the eagle. His cunning on all occasions equalled his malignity, his brutal cruelty, his lust for wanton bloodshed. Rarely was it, after one of his carefully-planned surprises, when he swooped down upon a defenceless station, that he abstained from injury to person or property.

He was skilful and persevering in discovering his 'enemies,' as he called them, – a not too difficult task, – for he had abettors and sympathisers, scoundrels who harboured and spied for him, as well as those who, fearing the vengeance of an unscrupulous ruffian, dared not refuse food or assistance. Those whom he suspected of giving information to the police or providing them with horses when on his trail he never forgave, often wreaking cruel vengeance on them when the opportunity came. He would reconnoitre from the hill or thicket for days beforehand. When the men of the household were absent or otherwise employed, he would suddenly appear upon the scene, to revel in the terror he created; certain to destroy valuable property, if indeed he did not imbrue his hands in blood before he quitted the spot.

It was, for the most part, his habit to 'work' as a solitary robber; he rarely had a companion, although in the encounter with Mr. Baylis, the Police Magistrate of Wagga Wagga, when that gentleman showed a noble example by bravely attacking him in his lair, it is supposed that his then companion was badly wounded. Mr. Baylis was shot through the body, but that man was never seen alive again. The popular impression was that Morgan killed him, so that he might not impede his flight or give information. The tale may not be true, but it shows the quality of his reputation.

It seems wonderful that Morgan should have been so long permitted to run the gauntlet of the police of two colonies. It may be doubted whether, in the present efficient state of the New South Wales force, any notorious outlaw would enjoy so protracted a 'reign,' as the provincial phrase goes. He had great odds in his favour. A consummate horseman like most of his class, a practical bushman and stock-rider, with a command of scouts who knew every inch of the country, and could thread at midnight every range and thicket between Marackat and the Billabong, Piney Range and Narandera, it was no ordinary task to capture the wild rider, who was met one day on the Upper Murray and the next morning among the pine forests of Walbundree. Horses, of course, cost him nothing. He had the pick of a score of studs, the surest information as to pace and endurance. In a horse-breeding district every animal showing more than ordinary speed or stoutness is known and watched by the 'duffing' fraternity, fellows who would cheerfully take to the road but for fear of Jack Ketch. It may be imagined how easily the hackney question is settled for a bushranger of name and fame, and what advantages he has over ordinary police troopers in eluding pursuit.

I was living on the Murrumbidgee during a portion of his career, in the years 1864 to 1869. He was seen several times within twenty miles of my station, and I have had more than one description from temporary captives, of his appearance and demeanour. There is not an instance on record of his having been taken by surprise, or viewed before he had been employed in reconnoitring his antagonist.

Some of his adventures were not wholly without an element of humour – although the victim well knew that the turn of a straw might change the intent, from robbery to murder. The late Mr. Alexander Burt, manager of Tubbo and Yarrabee, was riding on the plains, at a distance of ten or twelve miles from the head station, when a horseman emerged from a belt of pines. He wore a poncho, but differed in no respect from ordinary travellers. Without suspicion he rode towards the stranger. As he approached and, bushman-like, scrutinised horse and man, he observed the JP brand, and recognised the animal as one stolen from the station. A tall, powerful Scot, Mr. Burt ranged alongside of the individual in the poncho and reached over to collar him. At that moment a revolver appeared from under the poncho, and a drawling voice uttered the words 'Keep back!'

It was unsafe to try a rush, and the snake-like eye of the robber told clearly that the least motion would be the signal for pulling the trigger.

'What's yer name?' queried the stranger.

'My name is Burt.'

'Then Burt – you get off – that – horse.'

Being unarmed, he had no option but to dismount.

'Give – me – the – bridle. So – you – tried – to – take – my – horse – did – yer? I've – a – dashed – good – mind – to – shoot – yer. Now – yer – can – walk – home. I'd – advise – yer – to – make – a – straight – track.'

And with this parting injunction he rode slowly away, leading Mr. Burt's horse, while that gentleman, cursing his hard fate, had to tramp a dozen miles before relating the foregoing adventure.

At another time he surprised the Yarrabee Station, 'bailing' Mr. Waugh the overseer, Mr. Apps, and others of the employés of Mr. John Peter, but beyond placing the JP brand in the fire, and swearing he would put it on one of them, as a suitable memento, he did nothing dreadful.

At Mr. Cochran's of Widgiewa, as also at Mr. M'Laurin's of Yarra Yarra, preparations were openly made for his reception; yet, though he made various threats of vengeance, he never appeared at either place.

At Round Hill Station, near Germanton, he enacted one of his murderous pranks. Suddenly appearing in the shed at shearing time, he terrorised the assembled men, fired on, wounded and threatened the life of the manager. After calling for spirits and compelling all to drink with him, he turned to ride away, when, incensed by a careless remark, he wheeled his horse and fired his revolver at the crowd. A bullet took effect in the ankle of a young gentleman gaining shearing experience, breaking the bone, and producing intense agony. Appearing to regret the occurrence, Morgan suggested to another man to go for the doctor. Having started, Morgan followed at a gallop, and overtaking him, said with an oath, 'You're not going for the doctor – you're going for the police.' With that he shot the unfortunate young man through the body, who fell from his horse mortally wounded.

About the same time he was seen by Police Sergeant M'Ginnerty riding near the Wagga Wagga road. Having no suspicion, he galloped alongside, merely to see who he was. Without a moment's hesitation Morgan fired through his poncho. The bullet was but too sure – it may be noted that he rarely missed his aim – and the ill-fated officer fell to the ground in the death agony. He coolly propped up the dying man in a sitting posture, and there left him.

When it is considered that he killed two police officers, besides civilians, Chinamen, and others, and that he shot a police magistrate through the body (inflicting a wound nearly fatal, the consequences of which were suffered for years after), it will be admitted that he was one of the most formidable outlaws that ever roamed the Australian wilds.

He is said to have encountered a pastoral tenant, of large possession, whom he thus accosted —

'I – hear – you've – been – pounding – the – Piney – boys' – horses – haven't – you?'

The witness was understood to deny, or, at any rate, shade off the unpopular act.

'Piney Range,' near Walbundree, was understood to be at one time the robber's headquarters. Here he was harboured in secret, and more comfortably lodged than was guessed at by the public or the police. The 'boys' were a horse-and cattle-stealing band of rascals – now fortunately dispersed – who generally made themselves useful by misleading the police, as well as by giving him notice of hostile movements. Towards subsidising them the spoils of honest men were partially devoted.

But this did by no means satisfy the 'terrible cross-examiner.'

'You look here now! If yer don't drop it, the – very – next – time – I – come – over – I'll – shoot – yer. For – the – matter – of – that – I – don't – know – whether – I —won't – shoot – yer – now.'

And as the dull eyes fastened with deadly gaze upon the captive's face – he looking meanwhile at the mouth of the levelled weapon, held in the blood-stained hand of one who at any time would rather kill a man than not – be sure Mr. Blank's feelings were far from enviable.

To one of his victims he is reported to have said —

'I – hear – you're – a – dashed – good – step-dancer. Now – let's – have – a – sample – and – do – yer – bloomin' – best – or – yer – won't – never – shake – a – leg – no – more.'

Fancy performing on the light fantastic before such a critic!

A cheerful squatter (who told me the tale) was riding through his paddocks one fine afternoon, in company with his family and a couple of young friends of the 'colonial experience' persuasion. They were driving – he riding a handsome blood filly. In advance of the buggy, he was quietly pacing through the woodland – probably thinking how well the filly was coming on in her walking, or that fat stock had touched their highest quotation – when he was aware of a man sitting motionless on his horse, under a tree.

The tree was slightly off his line, and as he approached it the strange horseman quietly rode towards him. He noted that he was haggard, and dark-complexioned, with an immense bushy beard. His long, black hair hung on his shoulders. His eyes, intensely black, were small and beady; his air sullen and forbidding. He rode closely up to the pastoralist without word or sign. Their knees had nearly touched when he drew a revolver and pointed it at his breast, so quickly that there was hardly time to realise the situation.

'Which – way – are – yer – goin'?'

'Only across the paddock,' was the answer.

'You – come – back – with – me – to – that – buggy.'

By making a slight detour, they came in front of the vehicle, the occupants of which were perfectly unsuspicious of the strange company into which the head of the house had fallen.

Then he suddenly accosted them, levelling the revolver, commanding them to stand, and directing the young gentleman who was driving to jump to the ground. He was famed for his activity, it is said, but the spring made on that occasion, at the bidding of Morgan, beat all former records. The other young gentleman, though of limited colonial experience, was not 'devoid of sense,' as he dropped two five-pound notes from his pocket into a tussock of grass, whence they were afterwards recovered.

After relieving all of their watches and loose cash, the bushranger asked the proprietor whether he had seen any police lately.

'Yes, two had passed.'

'And – you – fed – 'em, I expect? I'm half – a – mind – to blow – the bloomin' – wind – through – yer.'

'What am I to do?' queried the perplexed landholder. 'I should feed you if you came by. I can't deny them what I give to every one that passes.'

'D'ye – know – who – I – am?'

'I never met you before, but I can pretty well guess. I've never done you any harm that I know of.'

'It's – a – dashed – good – thing – yer – haven't. What's – that – comin' – along the road?'

'The mail coach.'

'How – d'ye – know – that?'

'Well, it comes by every day about this time, and of course I know it.'

'Well – I'm – just – goin' – to – stick – it – up. Don't – yer – tell – no – one – yer – saw – me – to-day – or – it'll – be – a – blamed – sight – worse – for – yer.'

And with this precept and admonition the robber departed, to the infinite relief of all concerned. In a few minutes they heard the pistol shot with which he 'brought-to' the mail-coach.

'Blest if I seen a speck of him till he fired the revolver just over my head,' said the driver afterwards. 'I was that startled I wonder I didn't fall off the box.'

No harm was done on that occasion, save to Her Majesty's mails, and the correspondence of the lieges. My informant gathered up the strewed parcels and torn sheets into a large sack next morning, and forwarded them to the nearest post-office.

In Morgan's whole career there is not recorded one instance of even the spurious generosity which, if it did not redeem, relieved the darkness of other criminal careers. He had apparently not even the craving for companionship, which makes it a necessity with the ordinary brigand to have a 'mate' towards whom, at any rate, he is popularly supposed to exhibit that fidelity which he has forsworn towards his kind. Rarely is it known that Morgan pursued his depredations in concert with any one. He may have had confederates, harbourers he must have had, but not comrades.

He was never known to show mercy or kindness towards women. When they were present at any of his raids, he seems either to have refrained from noticing them or to have derided their fears. There is no record of his having suffered their entreaties to prevail, or to have ceased from violence and outrage at their bidding.

Subtle, savage, and solitary as those beasts of prey which have learned to prefer human flesh, and once having tasted to renounce all other, Morgan lurked amid the wilds, which he had made his home, ever ready for ruffianism or bloodshed – a fiend incarnate – permitted to carry terror and outrage into peaceful homes, until his appointed hour of doom. This was the manner of it.

Morgan's Death, told by the Manager

Peechelbah Station, on the Murray, was a big scattered place, a regular small town. There was the owner's house – a comfortable bungalow, with a verandah all round. He and his family had just come up from town. My cottage was half a mile away. I was the Manager, and could ride or drive from daylight to midnight, or indeed fight, on a pinch, with any man on that side of the country. I was to have gone up to the 'big house' to have spent the evening. But it came on to rain, so I did not go, which was just as well, as matters turned out.

I was writing in my dining-room about nine o'clock when a servant girl from the house came rushing in. 'What's the matter, Mary?' I said, as soon as I saw her face. 'Morgan's stuck up the place,' she half whispered, 'and he's in the house now. He won't let any one leave the room; swore he'd shoot them if they did. But I thought I'd creep out and let you know.'

'You're a good lass,' I said, 'and have done a good night's work, if you never did another. Now, you get back and don't let on you've been away from your cups and saucers. How does he shape?'

'Oh, pretty quiet. Says he won't harm nobody. They're all sitting on the sofa, and he's got his pistols on the table before him.' And back she went.

Here was a pretty kettle of fish! Many things had to be done, so I pulled myself together, and set about to study the proper place for the battle. It was no use trying to rush the house. There were a lot of hands at work on the place and in the men's huts. But in those days you couldn't be sure of half of them. I had a few confidential chaps about, and I intended to trust entirely to them and myself. I was a good man in those days, as I said before.

But here was Morgan in possession – one of the most desperate, bloodthirsty bushrangers that had ever 'turned out' in New South Wales or Victoria. Nothing was surer than, if we made an attempt to besiege the house, he would at once shoot Mr. M'Pherson, and his partner Mr. Telford, who happened to be there with him.

So I had to be politic or all would go wrong.