THE BUSHRANGER.

Waipawa Mail, Volume I, Issue 11, 19 October 1878, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE BUSHRANGER.

Many years ago when I was in Tasmania I was crossing the country at a distance from any habitation, when, to his surprise and fear I beheld approaching me a most daring and noted bushranger, known by the name of “ the Gipsy,” who had latterly with a band of associates, become the dread of the colony. He was a tall well-made man, one apparently above the ordinary character of convicts, and whom it was distressing to see in such a situation. We approached each other with mutual fear and distrust. I know that I had a desperate character to deal with and pointed my gun at him; but the bushranger seemed desirous of a parley, and after a few words, lie laid his gun quietly on the grass, and then passed round me, and sat down at a few yards’ distance, so that I was between him and his weapon. “ Well, Mr. Thornley,” said he, “ will that do ? You see I am unarmed. I don’t ask you to do the same, because I cannot expect you to trust me; but the truth is I want to have a little talk with you. I have something on my mind which weighs heavy on me, and whom to speak to Ido not know. I know your character, and that you have never been hard on your government men, as some are. At any rate, speak to some one I must. Are you inclined to listen to me ? ”

44 I was exceedingly moved at this unexpected appeal to me at such a time and in such a place. There was no sound, and no object save ourselves, to disturb the vast solitude of the wilderness. Below us flowed the Clyde, beneath an abrupt precipice ; around were undulating hills, almost bare of trees; in the distance towered the snowy mountain which formed the boundary to the landscape. I looked at my companion doubtfully ; for I had heard so many stories of the treachery of the bushrangers, that I feared for a moment that this acting might only be a trick to throw me off my guard. Besides, this was the very man whom I knew to have been at the head of the party of bushrangers who had been captured at the Great Lake.

He observed the doubt and hesitation which were expressed in my looks, and pointed to his gun, which was on the other side of me.

“What more can I do,” said he, “ to convince you that I meditate neither violence nor treachery against you ? Indeed, when you know my purpose, you will see that they would defeat my own object ?” 44 What is your purpose, then ? Tell me at once—are you one of the late party of bushrangers who have done such mischief in the island ?

44 1 am : and more than than that, I am—or rather was—tlieir leader. I planned the escape from Macquarie harbor; it was I who kept them together, and made them understand their strength, and how to use it. But that’s nothing now. I do not want to talk to you about that. But I tell you who and what I am, tliat you may see that I have no disguise with you; because I have a great favour—a very great favour—to ask of you; and if I can obtain it from you on no other terms, I am almost inclined to say, take me to Camp as your prisoner, and let the capture of the Gipsy,—ah ! I see you know that name, and the terror it gave to the merciless wretches who pursue me, I say let the capture of the Gipsy, and liis death, if you will—for it must come to that at last—be the price of the favour that I have to beg of you !” “ Speak on, my man,” I said; “you have done some ill deeds, but this is not the time to taunt you with them. What do you want of me ? and if it is anything that an honest man can do, I promise you beforehand that I will do it.”

44 You will ! —but you do not know it yet. Now listen to me. Perhaps you do not know that I have been m the colony for ten years. I was a lifer. It’s bad that; better hang a man at once than punish him for life; there ought to be a prospect, of an end to

her death. But my poor little child ! I thought of hei night and day, wondering and thinking what would become of lier! I could think of nothing else. At last my thoughts began to turn to the possibility of escaping from Macquarie harbor, desperate as the attempt appeared; for, to cross the bush without arms, and without provisions, exposed to the attacks of natives, seemed all but an impossibilitv. But almost anything may be done by resolution and patience, and watching your opportunity.”

(The escape having been effected.) ,( We scrambled away as well as we could, till we got a little distance off, and out of hearing, and then we set to work with a will, and rid ourselves of our fetters, all except three, and those were too tightly fitted to be got off on a sudden without better tools. We got the three chained men along with us, however, as well as we could, for we would not leave them; so we helped them on by turns; and the next day, when we were more easy, we contrived to rid them of their incumbrances. We hastened on all night. I ought to tell you that we heard the bell rung and the alarm given; but we gained an hour good, and the ungagging of the sentinels and overseers, and hearing tlieir story, took up some time no doubt. Besides, it is not easy to hit on a track in the dusk, and as there were fourteen of us, armed with two muskets, our pursuers would not proceed so briskly as they otherwise might, and would not scatter themselves to look after us. We were without provisions; but we did not care about that: and not being used to long walks we were soon knocked up. But the desire of liberty kept us up, and we struck across the country in as straight a line as we could guess. The second day we were all very sick and faint, and the night before was very cold, and we were cramped and unfit to travel. The second night we all crept into a large cave, which was sandy inside, where we were all pretty warm, but we were ravenously hungry. We might have shot more than one kangaroo that day, but it was agreed that we should not fire, lest the report of our gun should betray our resting-place to our pursuers, As we lay huddled together, we heard the oppossums squealing in the trees above, and two of us, who were least tired, tried to get some of them. When we climbed up the trees, they sprang away like squirrels, and. we had no chance with them that way ; besides, it was dark, and we could distinguish them only faintly and obscurely. We did contrive, however, to kill five by pelting them on an overhanging bough; but they remained suspended by their tails, and did not drop, although dead. To hungry men a dead oppossum is something ; so one of us contrived to climb to them and get them down ; and then we lighted a fire in the cave, quite at the extremity inside, to prevent the flame from being seen, and roasted them as the natives do. They were horrid rank things to eat, and almost made us sick, hungry as we were ; but I don’t tliink a hair of them was left among us. The next day we shot a kangaroo ; but we feared to light a fire because of the smoke, so we ate it raw. ”

44 We first struck on the outskirts of New Norfolk, and we debated what we should do. tome were for attacking the settlement, and getting arms ; but 1 persuaded them that it would be better for us to seize some small vessel, and escape altogether from the colony ; and in the meantime to keep ourselves close, and not give any alarm. My companions agreed to this, and we struck across the country to Brighton Plains, and so to Pitt Water, where we expected to find some large boats, or perhaps some small vessel, by means of which we might get away.” 44 And how was it that you did not follow that plan ?” 44 We did follow it: we got into Pitt Witter, and lay snug there for a while ; but we were obliged to rob a settler’s house of provisions for food, and that first gave the alarm. We made a dash at a boat but it was too late; precautions liad been taken, and the soldiers were out after us. We were then obliged to retreat from Pitt Water, intending to get into the neighborhood of the hikes, and go farther westward if necessary, and retreat to the coast, where we judged we should be too far away to be molested.”

“ You did a great deal of mischief at Pitt Water before you left it, if all the stories are true ?”

44 We did, Mr. Thornley, I own it: but my men were determined to have arms, and the settlers of course resisted, and some of my men got wounded, and that made them savage.” “ And afterwards you attacked poor Moss’s cottage ? ” “ My men had been told that lie had a large sum in dollars at liis hut—l am surprised that the settlers can be so foolish as to take valuables into the busli that was all they wanted.”

“ But why did you take poor Moss along with you ?” 44 1 was obliged to do it to save his life. Some of my men would have knocked him on the head if I had not prevented them. It’s true, Mr.

suffering; then the man can look forward to something; he would have hope left. But never mind that. I only speak of it because I believe it was the feeling of despair that first led me to wrong, and drove me from bad to worse. Shortly after my landing I was assigned to a very good master. There were not many settlers then, and we did not know so much of the country as we do now. As I was handy in many things, and able to earn money, I soon got my liberty on tlie old condition; that is, of paying so much a-week to my master. That trick is not played now, but it was then, and by some of the big ones too. However, all I cared for was my liberty, and I was glad enough to get that for seven shillings a-week. But still I was a government prisoner, and that galled me ; for I knew I was liable to lose my license at the caprice of my master, and to be called into government employ. Besides, I got acquainted with a young woman, and married lier, and then I felt the bitterness of slavery worse than ever ; for 1 was attached to lier sincerely, and I could not contemplate the chance of parting from her without pain. So about three years after I had been in this way, I made an attempt to escape with her in a vessel that was sailing to England. It was a mad scheme, I know ? but what will not a man risk for liis liberty !” “ Wliat led you to think of going back to England ? Wliat were you sent out for ?”

“ I have no reason to care for telling the truth. I was one of a gang of poachers in Herefordshire, anil on a certain night we were surprised by tlie keepers, and somehow, 1 don’t know how, we came to blows ; and the long and short of it is, one of the keepers was killed; and there’s the truth of it.”

And you were tried for the murder?’

44 I and two others were; and one was hanged, and I and my mate were transported for life.” Well, the less that’s said about that the better ; now go on with your story; but let me know what it is you would have me ilo for you.”

“ I’ll come to that presently ; but 1 must tell you something about my story, or you will not understand me. I was discovered in the vessel, concealed among the casks, by the searching party, and brought on shore with my wife; and you know, I suppose, that the punishment is death. But Colonel Davey—lie was governor then—let me off; but I was condemned to work in chains in government employ. This was a horrid life, and I determined not to stand it. There were one or two others in the chain-gang idl ready for a start into tlie bush, if they had any one to plan for them. I was always a good one at head-work, and it was not long before I contrived one night to get rid of our fetters. There were three others besides myself. We got on the top of tlie wall very cleverly, and first one dropped down (it was as dark as pitch, and we could not see what became of him), then another dropped, and then the third. Not a word was spoken. I was tlie last, and glad enough was I when I felt myself sliding down the rope outside tlie yard. But I liad to grin on the other side of my mouth when I came to the bottom. One of tlie sneaks whom I had trusted had betrayed us, and I found myself in the arms of two constables, who grasped me tightly. I gave one of them a sickener, and could have easily managed the other, but he gave the alarm, and then lots of others sprang up, aud lights and soldiers appeared, I was overpowered by so many. They bound my arms, and then I was tried for the attempt to escape, and the assault on the constable, and condemned to Macquarie harbor for life.”

“ I have not told you that iny wife brought me a child. It is now seven years old. I loved that child Mr. Thornley, more than a parent usually loves his child. It was all in all to me. It was the only bright thing that I had to look upon. When I was sentenced to Macquarie harbor for life, it would have been a mercy to put me to death. I should have put myself to death, if it had not been for the thought of that little girl. Well, sir, I will not say more about that. When a man takes to the bush, and has done what I have done, he is thought to be a monster without feeling or affection. But people don’t understand us. There is no man, sir, depend upon it, so bad that he has not some good in him ; and I have had some experience; for I have seen the worst of us—the very worst—in the most miserable of all conditions—for that Macquarie harbor is a regular hell upon earth ! There is no time to tell you about the hardships and miseries which the prisoners suffei in that horrible place—it soon kills them. But my greatest misery was being deprived of my little girl—my plaything—my darling—my life ! I liad not been at Macquarie I harbor a month, before news came that my wife was dead. I’ll tell you the truth, sir: attached to her as I was, I was rat er glad than sorry for it. I couldn’t bear the thought of her falling into anybody else’s hands; and as our separation was now absolutely and hopelessly for ever—it is the truth—l was rather glad than sorry wlien I heard of

Thornley, it is indeed—l saved liis life.”

“ Well, that’s something in your favor. And now, as tlie sun is sinking fast, and as the dusk will come on us presently, tell me at once wliat you would have me do for you.” “ Mr Thornley,” said the bushranger, “ I have told you of my little girl. I have seen her since tlie disperse.u of my party at the Great Lake. \on know that I and another escaped. Since then I have ventured in disguise into Hobart Town itself, and have there seen my child. Tlie sight of her, and lier embraces, have produced in me a strange feeling. I would willingly sacrifice my life to do lier good ; and I cannot conceal from myself ihat the chances are that I must be -Liken at last; and that if Ido not perish miserably in the bush, I shall be betrayad, and shot or hanged.” “ And what can I do to prevent it 1” “ You can do nothing to prevent that end, for X know that I am too deep in for it to be pardoned. If I were to give myself up, the government would be obliged to hang me for example’s sake. No, no ; I know my own condition, and I foresee my own fate. It is not of myself I am thinking, but of my child. Mr. Thornley, will you do this for me.—will you do an act of kindness and charity to a wretched man, who has only one thing to care for in this world % I know it is much to ask, and that I ought not to be disappointed if you refuse it. Will you keep an eye on my poor child, and, so far as you can, protect lier 1 I cannot ask you to provide for her; but be lier protector, and let her little innocent heart know that there is some one in the wide world to whom she may look up for advice—-for assistance, perhaps, in difficulty; at all events, for kindness and sympathy : this is my request. Will you have so much compassion on the poor, blasted, and hunted bushranger, as to promise to do for me this act of kindness 1”

I gazed with astonishment, and, I must avid not without visible concern, oil the passionate appeal of this desperate man in behalf of liis child. I saw he was in earnest: there is no mistaking a man under such circumstances. I rapidly contemplated all the inconveniences of such a charge as a hanged bushranger’s orphan. As these thoughts passed through my mind, I caught the eye of the father. There was an expression in it of such utter abandonment of everything but the fate of liis little daughter, which seemed to depend on my answer, that I was fairly overcome, and could not refuse him. “ I will look after her,” I said ! “ but there must be no more blood on your hands : you must promise me that. She shall be cared for; and now that I have said it, that’s enough—l never bleak my word.”

“ Enough,” he said, “ and more than I expected. I thank you for this, Mr. Thornley, and could thank you on my knees. But what is that 1 Look there 1 A man on horseback, and more on foot. I must be on my guard.” As he spoke, the horseman galloped swiftly towards us. The men on foot came on in a moment, and I perceived they were a party of soldiers. Tlie Gipsy regarded them earnestly for a moment, and then ran to his gun, but in his eagerness he tripped and fell. The horseman, who was one of the constables from Hobart Town, was too quick for him. Before he could recover himself and seize liis gun the horseman was upon him. “ Surrender, you desperate villain, oil’ll shoot you.” The Gipsy clutched the horse’s bridle, which reared aud plunged, throwing the constable from his seat. He was a powerful and active man, and catching hold of the Gipsy in his descent, he grappled with him, and tried to pinion his arms. He failed in this, and a fearful struggle took place between them. “ Come on,” cried the constable to the soldiers ; “ let us take him alive.”

The soldiers came on at a run. In the meantime the constable had got the Gipsy down, and the soldieis were close at hand, when suddenly, and with a convulsive effort, the Gipsy got his arms round the body of his captor, and with desperate efforts rolled himself round and round, with the constable interlaced in his arms, to the edge of the precipice. “ For God’s sake !” cried the constable with a shriek of agony, “help, help! We shall Vie over!” But it was too late. The soldiers were in the act of grasping the wretched man’s clothes, when tlie bushranger, with a last convulsive struggle, whirled the body of his antagonist over the dreadful precipice, himself accompanying him in his fall. We gazod over the edge, and beheld tlie bodies of tlie two clasped fast together, turning over and over in the air, till they came with a terrible shock to the ground, smashed and lifeless. As tlie precipice overhung the river, the bodies had not far to roll liefore they splashed into the water, and we saw them no more.

(The reader may bo interested to know that the narrator was better

than his word. - He sought tlie daughter of the unfortunate bushranger, took her home to his house, and afterwards sent her home to England.)