pluckily, refusing to mount the scaffold for any of them; and when forced up at last, he gave them such a specimen of his vocal endowments, as might have been heard halfway to Kangaroo Point; and being a particular sort of a fellow, he would not stand up to be hanged, along with the other six culprits (five of them whites,) who were ranked up to die along with him,[1] but insisted on having a seat, and was accommodated with a stool, on which he squatted himself to receive the final attentions of Mr. Dogherty, the Sheriff's assistant; which seat, says the Colonial Times quite gravely, "dropped with him when the awful moment arrived which plunged him into &c., &c. The other black, a mere youth, treated the whole legal ceremonies that intervened between his capture and execution, with great unconcern, but his sufferings were painfully prolonged, by an accident that happened at the moment, before strangulation was completed.
Having described above the origin of Musquito's fleeing to the woods, it is necessary to the completion of his history to explain how he was taken at last.
This man had caused the death of so many stockmen that his removal from his old haunts, and associates, either by capture or death, was no longer a simple desire, but a overpowering necessity. But then to lay hands on a man, so overflowing with artifice and difficult to find off his guard as he, and who was known to be a most desperate fellow, was something like the old project for belling the cat, a thing very easy to propose but difficult to achieve. All sorts of rash designs were proposed by aspiring policemen, or officious savans of the outside world, for the capture or destruction of the enemy, that were abandoned as soon as examined, as failures, or sure to be so if tried. However, after a thousand devices had been gravely discussed, with the invariable fate of dismissal as impracticabilities, an idea occurred to a simple tradesman that was worth them all. This man was only a printer and editor—a mere newspaper conductor like yourself, sir.
Mr. Andrew Bent—one of the fathers of the Australian press—was at this time proprietor and conductor of the Hobart Town Gazette and General Advertiser, and combined in his own person, I believe, the entire literary and mechanical staff of the Gazette office. He was editor—he was reporter—he was reader—he was clerk, compositor, pressman, and deuce knows what besides. He was lame, little, and ugly; but as a counterbalance
- ↑ At this horrible gaol delivery, no fewer than twenty-eight men died, They were executed on four nearly following mornings, in instalments of seven, eight, nine, and four persons.
