In Bad Company, and other Stories/A Forgotten Tragedy
A FORGOTTEN TRAGEDY
It is difficult for the inhabitants of settled districts in Australia, where the villages, surrounded by farms or grazing estates, are now as well ordered as in rural England, to realise the nature of outrages which, in earlier colonial days, not infrequently affrighted these sylvan shades. It is well, however, occasionally to recall the sterner conditions under which our pioneers lived. The half-explored wilds saw strange things, when émeutes with murder and robbery thrown in compelled decisive action. In the year 1836 immense areas in the interior, described officially as 'Waste Lands of the Crown,' were occupied by graziers under pastoral licenses. Caution was exercised in the granting of these desirable privileges. It was required by the Government of the day that only persons of approved good character should receive them. Being merely permissive, they were liable to be withdrawn from the holders for immoral or dishonest conduct. When it is considered that the men employed in guarding the flocks and herds in these limitless solitudes were, in the great majority of cases, prisoners of the Crown, or 'ticket-of-leave' men, whose partially-expired sentences entitled them to quasi-freedom, it is not surprising that horse- and cattle-stealing, highway robbery, ill-treatment of aboriginals, and even darker crimes were rife.
The labourers of the day were composed of three classes, officially described as free, bond, and 'free by servitude.' This last designation, obscure only to the newly-arrived colonist, meant that the individual thus privileged had served his full term of imprisonment, or such proportion of it as entitled him to freedom under certain restrictions. He was permitted to come and go, to work for any master who chose to employ him (and most valuable servants many of them were), to accept the wages of the period, and generally to comport himself as a 'free man.' But he was restricted to a specified district, compelled at fixed periods to report himself to the police authorities, and he went in fear lest at any time through misconduct or evil report his 'ticket-of-leave 'might be withdrawn, in which case he was sent back to penal servitude. The alternative was terrible. The man who the week before had been riding a mettled stock-horse amid the plains and forests of the interior, or peacefully following his flocks, with food, lodging, and social privileges, found himself virtually a slave in a chain-gang, dragging his heavy fetters to and fro in hard, distasteful labour. This deposition from partial comfort and social equality, though possibly caused by his own misconduct, occasionally resulted from the report of a vindictive overseer, or betrayal by a comrade. It may be imagined, therefore, what vows of vengeance were registered by the sullen convict, what bloody expiation was often exacted.
Taking into consideration the ludicrous disproportion of the police furnished by the Government of the day to the area 'protected'—say a couple of troopers for a thinly-populated district about the size of Scotland—it seems truly astonishing that malefactors should have been brought to justice at all. Even more so that armed and desperate felons should have been followed up and arrested within comparatively short distances of the scene of their misdeeds.
It says much for the alertness and discipline of the mounted police force of the day that in by far the greater number of these outrages the criminals were tracked and secured; more, indeed, for the active co-operation and public spirit of the country gentlemen of the land, who were invariably ready to render aid in carrying out the law at the risk of their lives, and, occasionally, to the manifest injury of their property.
Circumstances have placed in my hands the record of a murder which, in careful premeditation, as well as in the satanic malignity with which the details were carried out, seems pre-eminent amid the dark chronicles of guilt.
More than sixty years ago Mr. Thursby, a well-known magistrate and proprietor, residing upon his station, which was distant two hundred and fifty miles from Sydney, was awakened before daylight, when a note to this effect from the constable in charge at the nearest police-station was delivered to him:—
'Last night the lock-up was entered by armed men, and two prisoners removed. One man knocked at the door, stating that he was a constable with a prisoner in charge. I opened it; when two men rushed in, one of whom, presenting a pistol at me, ordered me into a corner, and covered my head with a blanket. I heard the door unlocked. When I freed myself the cell was empty.'
Upon receipt of this information, Mr, Thursby despatched a report to the Officer in charge of Police at Murphy's Plains, distant eighty-five miles. Taking with him the manager of a neighbouring station, and the special constable quartered there (a custom of the day), Mr. Thursby started in pursuit of the outlaws. Their tracks were not hard to follow in the dew of early morn, but near Major Hewitt's station, seven miles distant, they became indistinct. After losing much time the station was reached, and here a black boy was fortunately procured. With his aid the trail was regained, and followed over rough, mountainous country. Mr. Jones, the manager who had accompanied the party, informed Mr. Thursby that five of the convict servants assigned to the owner had run away previously—'taken to the bush.' They had committed depredations, and had been unsuccessfully followed by the mounted police, whose horses, after coming more than eighty miles, were fagged. However, two of them surrendered themselves next day. One man (Driscoll) was suspected of having spoken incautiously of the leader's doings (a man named Gore), who had vowed vengeance accordingly. Driscoll had been placed in the lock-up, along with Woods, a suspicious character, who said he was a native of Windsor, New South Wales. Gore and the other men were still at large.
After leading the party for some distance through the ranges, the black boy halted, and pointing to a thin thread of smoke, barely perceptible, said, 'There 'moke!' When they came to the fire from which it proceeded, what a spectacle presented itself! On the smouldering embers was a human body, bound and partially roasted. It lay on its back, with legs and arms drawn up. The middle portion of the body was burned to a cinder, leaving the upper and lower extremities perfect. Mr. Thursby recognised the features of the man called Woods, who had been imprisoned the day before. The black boy was so horrified that he became useless as a tracker, and as the day was far advanced, Mr. Thursby had the body removed to Engleroi, a station not more than a mile distant.
Here fresh information was furnished. The tragedy deepened. Before daylight on the previous morning, Driscoll had knocked at the door of the shepherd's hut, breathless and half insane with terror, imploring them for the love of God to admit him as 'he was a murdered man.' Nothing more could be elicited from the shepherds, though it since appeared that they could have named one of the murderers. Fear of the 'Vehmgericht' of the day doubtless restrained them—fear of that terrible secret tribunal, administered by the convicts as a body, which in defiance of the law's severest penalties tried, sentenced, and in many cases executed, the objects of their resentment. The party decided later on to proceed to Mr. FitzGorman's head station, and on the way arrested and took with them the hut-keeper of the out-station. They did not know at the time (as was since proved) that he was one of the murderers.
On leaving the lock-up, the men had stolen the constable's blue cloth suit, and being informed at Tongah that a man in blue clothes had been met with, a few miles down the Taramba River, Mr. Thursby rode forward with the black boy, leaving the hut-keeper secured, to await his return. Some time was lost, as the tracks were not picked up at once, but on reaching Mr. FitzGorman's station, forty miles distant, at midnight, the man in blue clothes was discovered, housed for the night. He was at once secured. On being questioned, he said his name was Burns, and that he was looking for work. He produced a certificate, which did not impose upon his captor, who knew it to belong to the constable, who, being a ticket-of-leave man, required to hold such a document. In his bundle, when searched, several articles taken from the lock-up were found. Gore the bushranger and murderer stood confessed.
Mr. Thursby was at that time ignorant that the second murderer was already in his hands, but determined to follow up the pursuit, caused Gore to be mounted on one of the station horses, and rode back with as much speed as might be to Tongah. Suspecting the hut-keeper (whose name was Walker) of being in some way an accomplice of Gore, Mr. Thursby had both men lodged in the lock-up. Still unrelaxing in pursuit, and believing that the second murderer might be one of the three runaways from Major Hewitt's station, Mr. Thursby raised the country-side, and took such energetic measures that on the following day they were apprehended.
By this time the shepherds, gaining confidence from the capture of the outlaws, of whose vengeance they went in fear, commenced to make disclosures. The constable identified the hut-keeper (Walker) as the man who, at the point of the pistol, ordered him to stand in the lock-up. Driscoll knew him and Gore as the two men who removed him and Woods from the lock-up. He then went on to state that, after being hurried along for several miles after leaving the lock-up, they halted in a lonely place, where Gore ordered them to make a fire. When it was kindled to a blaze, Gore tied them back to back and blindfolded them. At this time Walker held the pistol. Driscoll heard a shot, when Woods dropped on the fire, dragging him with him. The bandage falling from his eyes, Walker struck him twice on the head with his pistol. In his agony, getting his hands free he ran for his life. He was followed for a considerable distance, but eventually escaped to Engleroi. Half an hour afterwards, Gore came up in search of him. What must have been the feelings of the hunted wretch, so lately a bound victim on his self-made funeral pile, when the armed desperado, who made so little of human life, reappeared? However, he contented himself with compelling Driscoll and the shepherds, among whom he was, to swear under tremendous penalties not to disclose the fact of his presence there.
Gore and Walker were brought before the nearest Bench of Magistrates and committed for trial at the next ensuing Assize Court.
There was not sufficient evidence, though a strong presumption, that the other runaways were implicated in the cold-blooded murder. It appeared to have been chiefly arranged by Gore and Walker—the former in order to be revenged on Driscoll, and the latter to get rid of Woods, who had threatened to give evidence against him for robbery and other misdeeds. No doubt their intention was to murder both men, destroying all evidence by burning their bodies. Driscoll had the good fortune to escape, and was thus enabled to give the necessary evidence at their trial. But though not directly implicated in the graver crime, the remaining three bushrangers—for such they were—lay under the charge of being associated with Gore in committing depredations which had alarmed the neighbourhood for the last six or seven weeks. They had not wandered far from the scene of their freebooting, and after eluding the police on several occasions, remained to be delivered up to justice by a party of civilians—headed, it is true, by an experienced and determined personage, exceptionally well mounted from one of the most famous studs in New South Wales. In that day the bushranger, desperate and ruthless though he may have been, was at a disadvantage compared to his modern imitator. He was mostly on foot. Horses were scarce and valuable. There were few stopping-places, except the stations of the squatters, where an armed, suspicious-looking stranger was either questioned or arrested. 'Shanties' had hardly commenced to plant centres of contagion in the 'lone Chorasmian waste.' The 'Shadow of Death Hotel' was in the future—fortunately for all sorts and conditions of men.
It is a curious coincidence, showing at once the just view taken of the circumstances of the locality and the means proper to lead to the extinction of 'gang robbery' (as the East India Company's servants termed the industry), that Mr. Thursby had just forwarded to the Legislative Council an estimate of the cost of a proposed Court of Petty Sessions at Wassalis. He also 'most respectfully begged to submit for the consideration of His Excellency the Governor a suggestion that a mounted police force would be advantageously stationed there, as well for the protection of the district as for the purpose of connecting the detachments of police at Murphy's Plains and Curban.'
'Many a year is in its grave' since the incidents here recorded affrighted the dwellers in the lonely bush.
It is satisfactory to note that Wassalis was promoted to be a place where a Court of Petty Sessions is holden.
Walker and Gore, being found guilty, were sentenced to death, doubtless by Sir Francis Forbes, the Chief Justice of the day—indeed the first Chief Justice of Australia. They confessed their guilt in gaol, and were duly hanged—let us hope repenting of their crimes. The brother of the magistrate whose courage and energy led to their arrest, frequently visited them in gaol, where they confessed everything. The constable, on recommendation, was promoted. The police station at Wassalis is now organised and equipped with good horses, smart men, revolver at belt and carbine on thigh. Telegraphs in every direction are available for giving or receiving information; but it is doubtful whether armed and desperate felons, red-handed with the blood of their fellow-men, were ever more closely followed up, more quickly brought to justice, than the murderers of Woods.