Forgotten Bushrangers: Robert Burke

Robert Burke (aka Bourke) was a small time bushranger who had one major incident in his career that made him particularly noteworthy, as many bushrangers tended to. Hardly prolific, Bourke gained his spot in the pantheon by an unfortunate incident that ended in disaster at a station in Diamond Creek.

Burke, whose real name was Clusky, was born in Dublin in 1842. He, his brother James, and sister were sent to Australia in 1854 from Liverpool by their uncle and were taken in by a family in Melbourne. Clusky was trouble though and soon absconded from his job and foster family, taking to the bush. He was a member of the Church of England and likely had a decent education for the time as he could read and write. It would appear that for a time he worked as a sailor, possibly gaining a little taste of the wider world while travelling. Possessed of a taste for theatre and an immutable vanity, by most accounts he was rather a refined gentleman (as far as bushrangers were concerned), prone to reciting poems or Shakespeare. He was also fluent in French and had spent time in a French boarding house in Melbourne flying completely under the radar thanks to his grasp on the language. He was a fine specimen of the Victorian era man. Standing at five feet and eight inches tall, he had handsome features, light brown hair and blue-grey eyes under a dark, heavy brow. He bore scars on his forehead, right elbow, back of the head on his left side and his right knee.

In 1862 Clusky ended up getting three years on the roads on a charge of robbery under arms near Ararat. On 16 October, he had bailed up a man named Pope near Mount Mistake. Threatening the man with his pistol, he pulled the trigger but the gun was not loaded. Clusky stated “I have another one yet” and drew another pistol, which aided in his alleviating Pope of £5. When tried before Chairman Clarke, Clusky stated that he had only robbed out of desperation, unable to find employment though he was willing and needed money to send to his sister in Melbourne. Despite getting a three year sentence, he only served two years in Pentridge. As soon as he was out he headed back to Ballarat where he obtained employment and he then found work in Bullarook Forest before crossing the border into Yass Plains. While here he was treated poorly by his employer and took off on a borrowed horse and went back to robbing mail coaches, sticking up three coaches single-handedly. After his initial robberies he returned his steed with a letter being sent to his old master informing him of where to find the animal. He was known to be an admirer of Dan Morgan, his contemporary, though he was not a fan of his bloodthirsty reputation and preferred not to shed blood.

Robert Clusky’s prison record.

Burke was not an unsuccessful bushranger, having stuck up the Jugiong-Gundagai coach. He stole a mob of horses but set them loose near Picton and sent a letter to the local police telling them where to find them, the letter signed “Burke the Bushranger”. Having accrued a decent amount of cash Burke headed to Sydney where he lived a short while before heading to Melbourne on a ship called Rangatira. He stayed in lodgings near the Olympic Theatre in Lonsdale Street and visited the Bourke Street waxworks, which he found very displeasing. He soon took off on foot, next seen in Kew and then headed for Dandenong where he raided the home of a man named Horner. Upon Burke leaving, the matter was reported and Superintendent Smith of the Greensborough police was duly notified of Burke’s intentions of heading in that direction. The journey was gruelling, his clothes becoming raggedy and filthy lending him the appearance of a tramp. Burke would use this to his advantage in gaining sympathy from settlers on occasion but he still found that blue steel was the best incentive.

Burke attempted to gain entry to a house in Eltham but, when refused, fired several shots into the wall. The occupants then allowed him inside whereupon he ransacked the place but found nothing of value and left empty handed. A brief visit to a farm in Kangaroo Ground saw Burke taking tea before heading off at daybreak. He was then spotted in Diamond Creek, a large rural region North East of Melbourne bordering on the township of Greensborough. The irregular, frequently mountainous terrain was peppered with yellow box gums and farms taking advantage of the sparkling waters of the Diamond Creek, so named because of the quartz in the creek bed that shimmered like diamonds in the sun. In 1851 gold had been discovered nearby in Warrandyte and kicked off the Victorian Gold Rush but Diamond Creek had avoided being tainted by the madness. It was here on 4 October that Burke headed to the most prominent cattle run perched on a slope near a bridge. The property was known then as Diamond Creek Station, though now it is better known as Allwood.

It was 8:00am when Burke reached the property. He was careful about which building he approached and passed through a paddock, greeting Robert Hurst, the station’s manager, before heading to the homestead. Ellen Hurst answered and asked what he wanted. Burke was fidgety and avoided eye contact stating only that he wanted food and, thinking him to be a tramp, Ellen brought him into the kitchen and gave him breakfast. As Burke dug in Ellen noticed her brother Henry enter the house and beckon her. She excused herself and found her brother in the bedroom.

A sketch of the crime scene

Henry Facey Hurst was a well liked personality around Diamond Creek, the sort of person you could reliably referred to as a “top bloke”. Handsome, athletic and hard working, Henry was a fine example of the squatter class. Perhaps his most famous achievement was the construction of a bridge nearby from which that town would later gain its name – Hurstbridge. When Ellen entered the bedroom Henry inquired about the identity of the man in the kitchen. Ellen told him it was a tramp.
“I don’t like the look of him.” Henry whispered. He proceeded to load his fowling piece as a precaution. The pair entered the kitchen and stood behind the visitor.
The grubby, rumpled figure slurping tea from a pannikin at the dining table barely shifted at the arrival. Henry gently placed the fowling piece in the corner. As Burke reached for some bread his pistol, stolen from a Mr. Mathison during one of his robberies, was visible beneath his coat.

“Good morning, mate, where are you from?” Hurst asked.
“Cape Schanck.” came the brusque reply behind a forearm wiping liquid out of his moustache.
“And where are you going?” Hurst continued.
“To Kilmore.” came the reply.
“The deuce you are; You’re going a round-about way of it!” Hurst exclaimed. The game was up and Burke knew it. He swiveled to face his inquisitor.
“Are you the master of the house?” Burke rumbled.
“Yes.” Henry stood defiantly with his arms folded. Burke pounded his fist on the stool.
“I will never take an insult from any man; I came to get my breakfast!” Burke rose to his feet, flicking his coat back and drew his revolver. “Do you know who I am? I am a bushranger!”
“Please don’t shoot!” Ellen shrieked as Henry stooped for his gun. Henry threw his sister a look and gestured for her to get help, which she did immediately, running to find a friend of the Hursts named Joseph Abbott. Burke, suddenly spooked, aimed for the girl and quick as thought, Henry raised his fowling piece and fired a shot which whizzed past Ellen’s head and lodged in the wall as she ran out. Hurst jumped on Burke and tried to wrestle the pistol from his grip. In the scuffle the revolver went off, which could be heard outside the building. Ellen ran as fast as her legs would take her and saw Abbott in the stockyard and frantically gestured to him.
“You must go unto the house, a bushranger has shot my brother!”

Meanwhile, the pair continued to wrestle in the kitchen, limbs entangled awkwardly in a furious attempt to restrain each other. Burke reeled off two shots before he managed to get his arm over Hurst’s shoulder and fired. The bullet passed down through Hurst’s body and out, lodging in Burke’s left thigh.
“You’ve done for me you wretch!” Hurst groaned in agony as the pair continued to grapple.
“Let us quit for I’m wounded, myself.” Burke begged as Abbott burst in and continued the struggle as Hurst collapsed. Abbott grabbed Burke by the throat and tried to restrain him as the bushranger roared “I’ll shoot you if you don’t let me go!” In response Abbott struck the revolver from Burke’s hand, which was later found to be empty.


Meanwhile Ellen had informed the stockmen what was happening and some of them had ridden for Eltham to fetch the police. The others had rushed into the house and assisted in disarming Burke as he collapsed from blood loss and restrained his hands and feet. Hurst was lifted onto the bed where Ellen found him in precarious health. A messenger was sent immediately to find the local doctor to attend the dying man. Robert Hurst returned to the homestead whereupon he sent his daughter Emily to fetch the Queenstown police. He was directed to the spot where found Burke, now conscious, was bound in the yard to a wheel under a tree.
“You villain, why did you shoot my son?” the distraught father bellowed.
“He insulted me and I will not be insulted by any man.” Burke grumbled.

Soon the stockmen returned with Constable Hall who ensured that Burke was immediately taken into custody. Constables from Heidelberg notified Superintendent Smith at Greensborough but by the time they arrived on the scene police had already arrived from Eltham, Whittlesea and Queenstown and ascertained the bushranger’s identity and relieved him of his revolver, 50 revolver bullets, 90 firing caps, a map of Victoria, a list of squatters and their station names, a compass, a leather pocket book containing two cheques and a deposit receipt, a letter, a French grammar book and a photograph of an actor named G. V. Brooke.

Gustavus Vaughan Brooke: Burke the bushranger carried a photograph of this Irish actor on him at the time of his capture.

Though Hurst was attended by Dr. Ronald and Dr. Barker nothing could be done for him. Hurst died from his wounds eight hours after the encounter at 5:00 pm. He was later carried across to a spot by the creek and buried. Burke was removed to Greensborough police station where Dr. Barker tended his leg wound but considered it serious enough that he should stay put until stabilised. Once well enough to travel, Burke was escorted to Melbourne by Constables Gorman, Hall and Senior Constable Harty. Once in the city he was lodged in Melbourne Gaol under the care of Detective Nicolson, who had only ten years earlier helped capture the notorious Bradley and O’Connor. An inquest was undertaken in the wake of the killing by Superintendent Hare in the Diamond Creek Hotel. Burke was escorted from Melbourne in irons for the inquest. Due to his leg not being properly healed, the wound burst several times during the inquest and bled.


Burke was taken to Melbourne Gaol to await execution. A group of concerned citizens convened at the Mechanics’ Institute and created a petition begging the executive council to commute the sentence to life imprisonment as there wasn’t enough evidence of malice aforethought. Despite gathering 7000 signatures, the council declined to overturn the death sentence and Burke was subsequently hanged on 29 November 1866 by William Bamford. His last words were:

Just as I am—without one plea
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bid’st me come to Thee,
O, Lamb of God, I come.

As was customary, his body was buried under quicklime in the gaol grounds. Within weeks Burke was being used as a cash cow by showmen. And advertisement appeared in the Geelong Advertiser for a series of phrenology lectures at the Geelong Mechanics Institute by Thomas Carr wherein Burke’s phrenological analysis would be presented for a shilling (or two shillings for reserved seats).

Selected Sources:

“BURKE’S EARLY CAREER.” Leader. 20 October 1866: 7.

“No title” The Herald. 9 October 1866: 2.

“SHORT-LIVED BUSHRANGERS.” Evening Journal (Adelaide, SA : 1869 – 1912) 1 January 1910: 2

“Advertising” Geelong Advertiser (Vic. : 1859 – 1929) 6 December 1866: 4.

“BURKE THE BUSHRANGER IN VICTORIA.” The Kyneton Observer. 9 October 1866: 2.

“THE DIAMOND CREEK OUTRAGE.” The Herald (Melbourne, Vic. : 1861 – 1954) 16 October 1866: 3.


“THE MURDER AT DIAMOND CREEK.” The Herald. 9 October 1866: 3.

William Westwood: An Overview

*** Revised and updated (2021) ***

William Westwood’s tale is one of a misguided youth who finds himself whisked away from all he held dear to endure a lifetime of punishment and lawlessness in Australia. He took to the bush as a teenager and soon became one of the most renowned highwaymen in Australian history under the pseudonym Jacky Jacky (alternatively written in the press as Jackey Jackey), but met a grisly end on Norfolk Island ten years after first arriving in New South Wales. What follows is a concise, summarised account of his life and bushranging career.

William Westwood was born on 7 August, 1820 and was raised in Manuden, Essex; he was the eldest of five siblings. As a youth he fell in with bad company and began acting up. At fourteen he had his first conviction: twelve months hard labour for bailing up a woman on the road and stealing clothes from her. Westwood’s accomplice Ben Jackson got off lightly with a flogging.

When he got out of gaol, Westwood went straight for a time, but was soon in court again as a result of stealing a coat, which he then pawned off. As this was his second conviction he found himself, at the age of sixteen, being transported with 310 other convicts on the convict ship Mangles on 18 March, 1837, for a term of fourteen years. Westwood was a surprisingly refined young man, with a decent education for the time and a strong grasp of language; he conversed freely with anyone he came across. He was described as standing at 5’5″, ruddy complexion, brown hair and grey eyes; a scar on the right side of his upper lip, another on the back of his right hand, a blister mark between the breasts and several tattoos — left arm: illegible blue mark, 7 Aug 1820, 3 Jan 1837; back of left hand: figure of the sun. The tattoos were likely either made while serving time in gaol or while waiting to be transported. Indeed, one of the tattoos was the date he expected to end his sentence and return to England.

When he arrived in New South Wales he was sent to Hyde Park Barracks. He was kept here until given his assignment. He was eventually assigned as a servant to Phillip King at Gidleigh Station, Bungendore. Westwood, now seventeen, endured a harsh journey from Rooty Hill to the place he was to work off his sentence. Days were hard and nights were spent sleeping on bare ground, chained to the axle of the supply wagon. Eventually he arrived at the station to start work, and it was here that he would spent the next three years under overbearing and tyrannical masters. He was always testing the boundaries, and after being spotted in town one night, having sneaked out of his quarters, was dragged back to Gidleigh and given fifty lashes. This only strengthened his resolve to rebel.

After suffering at the hands of his master, who saw fit to have him beaten and whipped at even the slightest offence, as well as being short changed on his already inadequate supplies and rations by the overseer, in 1840 Westwood absconded again. When he was inevitably caught, he was given another fifty lashes and sent to work in an iron gang near Goulburn. Conditions here were even worse than at his first assignment, but he knew it would be fleeting and expected to be sent to a new assignment when he was done.

Gidleigh, the station in Bungendore that Westwood absconded from, depicted by Phillip King [Source]

After his stint in the iron gang was done he was sent back to Gidleigh, much to his dismay. The routine played out again: Westwood absconded, was caught and given fifty lashes. The next time, Westwood wanted to make sure he stayed at large. He and two other convicts gathered enough supplies to last them until they got clear away, then, on 14 December 1840, they bolted.

It wasn’t long before Westwood fell in with the notorious bushranger Paddy Curran. The pair were associated from their time as convicts, and Westwood was eager to have a crack at bushranging. Unbeknownst to Westwood, Curran was extremely violent and his morals were diametrically opposed to Westwood’s in just about every way, but none so conspicuous as his attitude to women. As the story goes, during a house raid, Westwood walked in on Curran in the process of raping the lady of the house. Westwood struck Curran, preventing him from proceeding, and threatened to shoot him. Westwood decided he would rather work alone than associate with such a despicable person.

As Westwood got the hang of highway robbery, news of his daring began to spread through the region, though much of it was pure fiction. On one occasion it was said that he bailed up a commissary and upon discovering the commissary’s wife was in the coach, opened the door, swept the ground with his cabbage tree hat in a gentlemanly manner and invited her to dance with him – a request that she obliged. This and many other anecdotes have no tangible evidence to back them up however. Some accounts attested to his masterful horsemanship, likely honed while he worked as a groom at Gidleigh as part of his assignment. In one story he reputedly bailed up a man in Goulburn and implored him to note the time, then a few hours later he bailed up another gentleman near Braidwood, almost 100 kilometers away, and implored him to do the same in order to set a personal record. Again, this is not likely to be anything other than a flight of fancy. His taste for race horses was nigh on insatiable, with him stealing such creatures from Terrence Murray and several others in the region, either on the roads or from farms. He attributed his success in evading capture to his choice of fine horse flesh over the run down nags the police rode. Among his crimes, he robbed the Queanbeayan mail, and robbed Mr. Edinburgh among several others on the Sydney road. In fact, he took a particular liking to robbing mailmen as the takings were often rather good.

By his own account, there were several close shaves with police, including one where a supposed friend had taken money from him to purchase a Christmas dinner, but had instead procured the constabulary. On another occasion he narrowly avoided capture by hiding in a tree. Westwood had become a fly in the ointment to law enforcement, but it would only escalate.

William Westwood (illustration by Aidan Phelan)

On the afternoon of Monday 11 January, 1841, Jacky Jacky stole a black mare from Mr. McArthur before attempting to rob a mailman that night at Bungonie, whereupon shots were fired. The next day he raided a store at Boro Creek where he procured fine garments and dressed himself in haute couture so that he may cut a fine figure while about his nefarious deeds, including a rather fetching top hat. Such was the extent of his outrages that the entirety of the mounted police in the region, trackers included, were led by Lieutenant Christie and a Mr. Stewart in hot pursuit.

On 13 January 1841, things came to a head when a man arrived in Bungendore, shouting that he was being chased by a bushranger who meant to shoot him. Sure enough, Jacky Jacky soon arrived on a stolen horse, riding through Bungendore for fully an hour and a half, stopping only to have a chat with a man named Eccleston. Soon word reached the local magistrate, Powell, who went with his brother Frank and a local man named Richard Rutledge to capture the infamous bushranger, despite a distinct lack of weapons with which to defend themselves against the armed bandit. Alas after the posse hesitated in approaching the rogue, he caught wind of them and mounted his steed, riding off at full gallop. The men gave chase. A man named William Balcombe was riding ahead with Revered McGrath in a gig. Stopping the gig in the road, McGrath and Balcombe got out and Balcombe confronted the bushranger, McGrath also pulling a revolver on him. Westwood surrendered, complaining that he could have gotten away if his musket were not in such poor shape.

The desperado was escorted back to the local inn where he was detained. However, Jacky Jacky was not ready to go down without a fight and during the night he overpowered one of his guards and stole his weapons. He bolted out of the inn and across the plains. This did not go unnoticed and Frank Powell saw the fugitive legging it through the open space. Powell fired a pistol at Westwood without effect and gathered more firearms from inside before heading off in hot pursuit with a postman, who had become embroiled in the affair by accident. Soon Jacky Jacky was once more apprehended. But the next day while being escorted to Bargo Brush, Westwood escaped custody on foot. He made it a mile away before being recaptured. Not in the mood for any nonsense, the police tied Westwood to his horse for the remainder of the trip. That night, Westwood broke out of the lock up and stole the guard’s weapon and ammunition before taking a horse and riding to freedom.

The beginning of the end came when he called into the Black Horse Inn on the Berrima Road. Westwood casually walked in and ordered refreshments. He then proceeded to bail the place up. Folklore tells that he was served by Miss Gray, the publican’s daughter, who recognised that this man with pistol braces and fine clothes must be the infamous Jacky Jacky. She screamed and pounced on the bushranger, who fought to throw the girl off as she called for her mother and father. All three tried to restrain Westwood who shook them off time and again until a man named Waters, a carpenter that had been repairing shingles on the inn’s roof, entered and knocked Westwood out cold by striking him on the head with a shingling hammer. In truth it was Grey, the publican, and two assigned servants, Waters and McCrohan, who subdued the bushranger, who took two fierce blows to the head with the shingling hammer to go down. With Westwood captured, the Grays earned themselves a cool £30 reward and Westwood was quickly locked up in Wooloomooloo Gaol.

Westwood was put on trial for robbing the store at Boro and was sentenced to penal servitude for life. He was sent to Darlinghurst Gaol but was shortly caught trying to escape. He was then imprisoned on Cockatoo Island where he organised a party of twenty five other convicts to join him in an escape attempt. Escape from Cockatoo Island was considered impossible, but the impossible was no deterrent for William Westwood. The gang subdued a guard and tied him up. Breaching the boundaries they made it to the water and were about to risk sharks and drowning to swim to Balmain but were deftly captured by the water police. The New South Wales government had had enough of the troublesome Englishman and sent him to fulfill his sentence in Van Diemen’s Land with his co-conspirators. Perhaps Port Arthur could take them down a peg or four.

As the story goes, while being sent to Tasmania, the convict men were put in the brig of the prison ship, naked and shackled in an attempt to prevent any attempts to escape. This of course failed and the men broke free from their cages and tried to reach the deck. Soldiers battened down the hatches and kept things thus until arrival at Port Arthur. When the hatches were opened the prisoners were unconscious in the brig, having been denied food and adequate oxygen due to the captain’s decision not to risk opening the hatches to take food to the men during the several day trip.

Despite Port Arthur’s reputation as an inescapable prison, William Westwood managed to escape from Port Arthur multiple times. Most occasions resulted in a few days of freedom at most. In one attempt at freedom with two other convicts, the trio waded naked into the waters at Eaglehawk Neck. Westwood’s companions were taken by sharks and, in his panic, Westwood managed to lose his clothes after his bundled gear was swept away in the waters as he crossed. He was found days later wandering naked and starving.

Such repeated misbehaving saw him put in solitary confinement for almost three months. When he emerged he was assigned to the commissariat. At this time he helped rescue a boatload of soldiers after their vessel had capsized. His reward was to be sent to Glenorchy Probation Station. Here, as could be anticipated, he once more escaped on 31 July, 1845. This time he successfully took to bushranging with two others. They travelled up through the Tasmanian Midlands in an attempt to reach Launceston, where they planned to steal a boat and sail to Sydney. They became hopelessly lost and were unable to find a boat, resulting in one of the men leaving their company after getting lost, while the other remained until they reached Green Ponds, whereupon he left for fear that Westwood would shoot him as he was the designated guide through the bush and had only succeeded in getting them stranded in unfamiliar territory. When Westwood found himself alone again, he continued on foot towards Launceston, hoping to find a way off the island, but was recaptured before reaching his destination. By this time he was suffering a bout of deep depression and posed no resistance.
Source: The Courier (Hobart, Tas. : 1840 – 1859) 6 August 1845: 2.

Now having exasperated the Van Diemen’s Land government too, he was sentenced to death. The penalty was altered to penal servitude for life on Norfolk Island and Westwood found himself once more sailing to exile, this time headed to what was referred to as the Isle of Despair.

In February of 1844, there was a change of administration at Norfolk Island. Alexander Maconochie, the previous man in charge, had firmly believed in the benefits of rehabilitating offenders rather than simply punishing them, and to this end he reduced work hours, including a work-free Sunday, and created a “marks” system that meant that good behaviour would be rewarded. Flogging incidents were decreased but still strictly enforced in cases of sodomy, which were rampant throughout the prison. Perhaps the most significant measure Maconochie had brought in was vegetable patches. Inmates were given small gardens within which they could grow their own sweet potatoes and other vegetables, and were also given cooking pots and utensils so that they could cook their own meals, allowing them to eat in their cells in privacy. Only able to enact these reforms with the 600 newest inmates, the reforms were still considerably effective, with morale high and major incidents in the prison reduced. Despite Governor Gipps’ recommendations to the government to continue Maconochie’s residency at Norfolk Island, the decision had already been made and Major Joseph Childs became the new Commandant. As a military man with wide campaign experience, and a strict disciplinarian, he decided to institute a few changes to bring the convicts under his thumb. To this end incidents of flogging were increased, hours of labour were also increased, rations were reduced and the small gardens the prisoners were allowed, and the produce they had been growing therein, were banned. In a half-hearted attempt to respond to complaints the administration allowed convicts a cup of peas and a cup of flour every day. Unsurprisingly this was not met with the gratitude that was expected by the administration and Childs set in place a proclamation whereby food was to be served in bulk and individual cooking was prohibited. When the inmates were at work their utensils were confiscated on 1 July, 1846.

Front View of Gaol – Norfolk Island [Source]

This was the final straw and Westwood incited a work party to take up arms against the guards and administration of the island. Approximately 1,600 inmates joined in. Armed with a cudgel, Westwood claimed first blood when he clubbed a particularly despised guard to death. He then took up an axe and headed to the barracks, followed by a seething horde of convicts. Here he entered the kitchen and murdered the cook and upon spying two sleeping soldiers in an adjoining room, used the axe to stave in the skull of one soldier, which alerted the other. The soldier, seeing Westwood before him with the bloodied axe, begged, “Please, think of my wife and children!” to which the unrepentant bushranger replied, “Wife and children be damned.” Westwood then killed the soldier as brutally as the others. Still not satiated, but needing a moment of respite from the mayhem he had caused, Westwood filled a pipe with tobacco and had a smoke while the convicts rampaged around him. Westwood, having had his respite, took up his axe and headed for the commandant’s building. Bursting into the building with an escort, Westwood sought out the commandant. The commandant had secreted himself in a small storeroom adjacent to his office. Westwood tracked him down and took a swing at him, narrowly missing the commandant’s head as he ducked to avoid the blow. Managing to escape, the commandant roused a force of troops that descended upon the marauders and subdued them.

Westwood and thirteen other key figures in the riot, including bushranger Lawrence Kavanagh, formerly of Cash and company, were tried in September and charged with the murders. The evidence was irresistible and twelve of the men were sentenced to execution by hanging.

The morning of his execution, Westwood wrote a letter to the reverend of Port Arthur and also wrote a declaration that he was the only party guilty of the offence that all twelve sentenced men were condemned for. On 13 October, 1846, William Westwood was hanged for his crimes. He was twenty-six years old.

This is claimed to be William Westwood’s death mask. Some doubt has been thrown on the identity of the face in recent times and some now consider it doubtful that it is him.

A cast was supposedly made of his face and is the only visual record we have of the dashing young outlaw, despite its contended authenticity. Westwood was buried with the other hanged men in a mass grave called Murderer’s Mound on the boundaries of the prison. Such was the impact of the riots that the commandant was fired from his post and calls were made for the Norfolk Island penal colony to be shut down and the inmates transferred to Port Arthur. In a sense, Westwood has succeeded in bringing about a change in how convicts were treated, though he would not live to see the closure of one of the most brutal and dehumanising prisons in the British Empire.

Murder’s Mound – Norfolk Island [Source]

Harry Power: An Overview

Yes, I’ve been a bad man, and I am sorry for my sins, but here in my dying bed I can swear that no woman was ever the worse for me – Harry Power

When we picture bushrangers we think of wild young men on horseback dodging police and sticking up coaches but Harry Power certainly did not fit that image. Power (alias Henry Power, Johnstone) is forever remembered as the tutor of Ned Kelly but there was a time when he could capture the imagination on his own terms.

Power was born in Waterford, Ireland, in 1819 before emigrating with his family to England during the great famine. Settling in the north of England, Harry worked in a spinning mill in Manchester. It was not long before his rebellious nature manifested.

Power received three months imprisonment for vagrancy and later did time for drunkenness. His first major offence, however, was stealing shoes which got him transported for seven years, arriving in Van Dieman’s Land on 21 May, 1842. It’s probable that Harry reunited with his mother upon gaining his freedom as she had been transported to Van Dieman’s Land for stealing chickens in 1841. Receiving his ticket of leave in November 1847, Harry soon travelled to the mainland. He worked as a stockman in New South Wales before going south and becoming a horse dealer in Geelong.

In 1855 Harry was accosted by two mounted troopers who questioned him on where he got his horse. They refused to believe that he had legitimate ownership of the animal and when he refused to go with them to the station one trooper drew his sabre and threatened him. In a panic, Power shot the trooper in the arm and fled for the border where he was arrested. He was tried for horse stealing as Henry Johnstone and on 26 September 1855 was sentenced to thirteen years despite having paperwork to prove the legitimacy of his ownership of the horse. He was sent to Williamstown where he was imprisoned on the prison ship Success.

Harry Power’s first prison photo

While doing time on Success, Power was involved in a mutiny. The bushranger Captain Melville led a small group of inmates to steal the tow boat that took the launch boat from Success to shore on 22 October, 1856. During the ensuing scuffle a man named John Turner was drowned and a constable named Owen Owens was beaten to death with a rock breaking hammer. The convicts made it to shore but were soon recaptured. Harry, still as Henry Johnstone, was charged with the other seven men with two counts of murder. Only Melville was sentenced.

In the latter part of his sentence Power attempted to escape from imprisonment by trying to cut a hole in the floor of the prison hospital. Naturally he was foiled.

Power gained his ticket of leave in 1862 and headed back to Geelong where he immediately broke the conditions of his ticket and took to the diggings. He was soon back in court and in 1863 he was convicted of horse stealing in Beechworth. While in prison on that offence more charges were raised and Harry was dragged out of prison and tried again. He was found guilty of these charges, keeping him in prison for seven years. He was sent to Pentridge Prison but it would not hold him too long.

In Pentridge Harry befriended Jack Lloyd and his brother Tom. Harry would later call on them for sustenance when they were all out of gaol. He was prone to visits to the prison hospital due to a bowel stricture that could cause bouts of extreme discomfort and render him useless for labour for two to three weeks at a time.

On 16 February 1869 Power escaped from Pentridge. Having been assigned to a party clearing land by Merri Creek, Harry had made sure that he was on light duties due to his health. Entrusted with taking the refuse to the mullock heap, Power hid in a divot under the heap and when muster was called he slipped out through a gap in the wall. He acquired clothing from a nearby farm and armed himself with a crude handmade spear before stealing a horse and riding to freedom. He set up a camp on a mountain overlooking the King River Valley now known as Power’s Lookout. From here he sought support from the Lloyds and their relatives the Quinns, gradually expanding his network of sympathisers all the way out to Whitfield. Power knew that he would have to keep his sympathisers on his side and began a career of highway robbery in order to fund his supporters.

When Power robbed shanties and farms, unafraid to use violence on occasion, but this proved to be too much work for too little reward. Power now turned to highway robbery. Far from a charming highwayman, Power’s demeanour was coarse and belligerent and won him no sympathy from his victims. This sudden spate of robberies led to a big manhunt and much consternation around the colony. Power was believed to be cohabiting with a woman near Benalla at the time but nobody could find him.

In July he was spotted eyeing off horses at Mount Battery station and fired upon. With him was a young man who was probably fifteen year old Ned Kelly, a nephew of his sympathisers the Lloyds and Quinns. The owner of the station sneaked up behind the pair and fired at them causing young Kelly to momentarily freeze in terror before they mounted and escaped. Power seems to have discarded Kelly from his service after that for a time, courting others as assistants before opting to simply get on with bushranging solo.

One of Power’s most infamous robberies was near Porepunkah when he stopped a mail coach by placing logs in the road. He proceeded to take what little money he could from the travellers and attempted to deprive a young woman of her horse and saddle before sticking up a dairy cart and robbing that too. Power took one of the horses from the cart and used it to get away leaving the small group of his victims standing around a little bonfire he had made.

Power’s Lookout (Source)

Power had quickly become the biggest thorn in the side of the Victoria Police and a £200 reward was offered for his capture. Power ventured into New South Wales at this time and committed a series of robberies around the Riverina. It seemed for all intents and purposes that Power was untouchable. By the end of 1869 Power had seemingly vanished with no reported sightings or leads, rendering police pursuits ineffective.

Unfortunately, Power was not invincible and his health made for a difficult time in the bush. His bowel stricture and bunions resulted in frequent clandestine visits to doctors. To alleviate the pain in his feet he would wear boots so oversized they curled at the toes. The fact that he was well into middle age wouldn’t have been much help either.

February 1870 saw Power re-emerge with a vengeance robbing everyone from stockmen to police officers. After the initial string of robberies Harry Power and Ned Kelly reunited briefly. Likely Ned, in a bid to get some money for his mother who was behind in her rent, had begged Power for another chance. Together they robbed Robert McBean, a well respected magistrate, of his watch, horse and riding gear. The duo travelled as far as Geelong where Power checked out his old haunts with Ned by his side.

When Ned was found trying to open the gates at the Moyhu pound to release impounded stock, the poundkeeper threw him out of the saddle and thrashed him. This resulted in Harry and Ned later bailing the poundkeeper up. Ned threatened to shoot the poundkeeper on the spot but Power gave him three months to get his affairs in order before he’d be shot. Shortly afterwards Ned was arrested for assisting Power. During interrogation, Kelly described Harry as irascible and with a violent temper. He also described a hollow tree Power used as a lookout point (his “watchbox”) and his habit of seeing a doctor about his stricture. Ned was bounced around the courts but the various charges never stuck and he was soon released.

At this time Jack Lloyd was detained on suspicion of highway robbery. It was believed that he had committed several of the crimes attributed to Power, which he denied. Robert McBean, still furious about his encounter with the bushranger, had remembered a statement Power had made that he could buy his watch back from Jack Lloyd for £15. McBean suggested this to the police and soon Lloyd negotiated a deal with superintendents Nicolson and Hare to turn Power in; the temptation of the reward – now £500 – proving irresistible. Lloyd took a police party, consisting of Nicolson, Hare, Sergeant Montford and a black tracker named Donald, most of the way but got spooked and left the police to find their own way up Power’s Lookout during torrential rain. Fortunately, after days without food or sleep, Donald was able to find the camp due to smoke from a campfire. They approached Power’s mia-mia as he slept and Nicolson pounced on him. Dragged out by his feet, Power was unable to resist and was promptly arrested, complaining about not having a fair chance of escape while the starving police ate his food rations.

Power in Pentridge, photographed by Charles Nettleton.

Power was put on trial in Beechworth and promptly imprisoned in Pentridge for fifteen years. While in the gaol he became somewhat of a celebrity, being interviewed for a newspaper feature called the Vagabond Papers where he opened up about his life of roguery. He did not live quietly, frequently getting into trouble for smoking, being where he wasn’t meant to be and generally getting into mischief.

Power’s final mugshot

Once Power had completed his time he was released, in 1885, into a world that had left him behind. The Kelly Gang and the Moonliters had come and gone. The towns were becoming rapidly urbanised with trains and other modern conveniences. The prison ships at Williamstown were decommissioned and scrapped save for one – Success. Power now found himself in his twilight years acting as a tour guide on a craft that was once the source of much misery. Meanwhile, Power was living with his half-sister and her daughter in law. When Success went on tour in 1891 Power stayed behind to do a victory lap of the places he had known when his notoriety was fresh. Shortly after he departed, an unidentified (and unidentifiable) body was found drowned in the Murray River. Many historians have declared that this was Harry Power but without definitive proof his death remains a mystery.

Selected Sources:
“A MONTH IN PENTRIDGE NO. III” The Argus. 10 March 1877: 4.

“The Notorious Harry Power.” The Western Champion and General Advertiser for the Central-Western Districts. 19 December 1893: 3.

“HARRY POWER, THE BUSHRANGER.” The Narracoorte Herald. 13 March 1877: 4.

“A MEMORY OF HARRY POWER” The Argus. 27 June 1936: 6.

“RELEASE OF A RENOWNED BUSHRANGER.” The Herald. 9 February 1885: 2.

“Ned Kelly’s Tutor.” The World’s News. 26 December 1925: 8.

Jimmy Governor: An Overview

Note: The following will be discussing people of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander descent and will also include images of persons now deceased.

Few bushrangers have such a horrific and blood soaked history as Jimmy Governor, the Aboriginal bandit who struck terror in New South Wales at the turn of the last century. Governor ended the lives of nine people, mostly women and children, and signified the end of the colonial era in Australia with his three month rampage at the dawn of federation and he was also the last outlaw in Australia’s history to date. The following is a brief overview of his tumultuous life.

Source: Australian Town and Country Journal, 03/11/1900, p.15

Governor was born to Aboriginal parents though his maternal grandfather was Irish, resulting in him having dark red hair (by some accounts). Governor was a Wiradjuri man and grew up learning the ways of his people. Although there is nothing recorded to definitively confirm this, it is more than likely. Jimmy was a hard worker and skilled. His skill breaking in horses was in high demand around Gulgong and Breelong before he became a police tracker at Cassilis in the 1890s. He soon left the force very disillusioned but having developed vital tracking skills.

Jimmy Governor (right) as a police tracker. [Source]

Jimmy was well liked by many who knew him and seems to have integrated well into white society thanks to his determination to succeed and aptitude for whatever he turned his hand to but he was still far from equal, a pain he carried deep inside. He married a sixteen year old named Ethel Mary Jane Page when he was twenty three and this would prove to be the beginning of the end.

Jimmy received a fencing contract at the Mawbey farm in Breelong and took his new wife with him. Ethel’s parents relocated to Dubbo and this seemed to fuel her isolation, which was firmly entrenched by Jimmy’s choice of accommodation – an Aboriginal camp near a creek outside of the station. The young family had a humpy for shelter, a far cry from Ethel’s previous lifestyle. When Jimmy worked on the fences Ethel would often travel to the homestead to do chores in exchange for rations for Mrs. Mawbey and her family and friends, who were not at all approving of her marriage. In their downtime Jimmy and his brother Joe would hunt possums, Jimmy favouring his nulla nulla (club) and Joe a tomahawk.

Things came to a head when Ethel tried to get a cup of flour from Mrs. Mawbey. Instead of getting the rations she received a verbal shredding about her marriage to Jimmy. Heading back to the humpy Ethel was beside herself. When Jimmy came back to the camp he and Ethel had an argument. Part of the dispute, Jimmy would later claim, was:

“The missis wanted a fortune dropped on her. She wanted us to rob people of money, and leave it at Jim Watson’s corner fence 2 ½ miles from Gulgong. Her brother Willy was to go there and get it when it was all over.”

The blue was explosive and Ethel expressed her feelings about living in away from other white people or family and barely being able to feed herself and their infant son. Jimmy took this rejection of his way of life and the criticism of his capacity to provide for his family as a statement that his wife would leave him. Years of alienation and insecurity welled up inside him and exploded in a murderous rage. “I suppose I am alone in this world with no one to care for me.” he bemoaned. Jimmy’s rage turned to who he felt must be responsible for making his wife feel this way – the Mawbeys. Grabbing his nulla nulla and taking his brother Joe and uncle Jacky Underwood with him Jimmy confronted Mrs. Mawbey and Ellen Kerz the local school teacher.

Jimmy pounded on the door and when Mrs. Mawbey answered he demanded an apology. When not only was the apology not forthcoming but he was met with further insults, Kerz calling him “black rubbish”, Jimmy snapped. The men went on a rampage and slaughtered Mrs. Mawbey, Helen Kerz and three children; Grace and Percy Mawbey and their friend Elsie Clarke.

With the blood of the Mawbeys and Kerz still warm, Jimmy Governor decided to go on a self-destructive spree of revenge killings, hoping to take out as many people who had slighted him as possible before he was inevitably put to death. According to some accounts Jimmy had a hit list of more than twenty potential victims including whites, Chinese and fellow Aboriginal people. This was not a man to be trifled with.

Source: Evening News (Sydney), 23/11/1900, p.4

It seemed like the Governor gang were unstoppable, adding the murders of Elizabeth O’Brien and her infant at Poggi, Kiernan Fitzpatrick at Wollar and Alex McKay at Ulan to their tally. Others were wounded and allegedly there were rapes as well. With more than 2000 people hunting these bushrangers down and Jimmy and Joe Governor being declared outlaws under the Felons Apprehension Act (the last people in Australia to be given such a distinction) with a reward of £1000 for their capture, it was only a matter of time before justice struck swiftly.

The first of the gang to be captured was Jacky Underwood who was quickly tried and executed on 14 January, 1901. His last utterance was asking if he would be in heaven in time for dinner.

Source: The Daily Telegraph (Sydney), 01/11/1900, p.6

Time was running out for the “Breelong murderers” and things came to a head when Jimmy and Joe were ambushed on 13 October, 1900. A shot was fired hitting Jimmy in the mouth but he managed to get away alive. He and Joe split up and Jimmy spent the next few weeks struggling with his injury, living off oranges and honey for sustenance. He soon became too unwell to remain at large and was captured on 27 October by a civilian posse. Governor was taken to Sydney for trial. Mere days later Joe Governor was shot dead near Falbrook Creek, his body laid out and photographed.

Jimmy’s trial was of considerable interest at the time and the papers covered it in detail. The grim events of Jimmy’s bushranging career all seemed to come back to his tumultuous relationship with his wife and his rage against the world. He was found guilty of murder and sentenced to death by hanging.

Jimmy Governor was hanged in Darlinghurst Gaol at 9am on 18 January, 1901. He spent his last night with ministers and his last moments were spent smoking a cigarette. His last words were incoherent to the observers – possibly spoken in his nation’s language – and are thus unrecorded. Thus ended the life of Australia’s last outlaw.

Jimmy Governor’s mugshot

Selected Sources:

“JIMMY GOVERNOR.” The Pioneer (Yorketown, SA : 1898 – 1954) 10 November 1900: 3.

“JIMMY GOVERNOR.” Cootamundra Herald (NSW : 1877 – 1954) 24 November 1900: 2.

Forgotten Bushrangers: “Scrammy” Jack Moreland

There are many Jacks in the pantheon of bushranging, but “Scrammy” Jack Moreland is one of the more obscure.

Moreland was nicknamed scrammy because he was missing two fingers on his left hand (“scrammy” being a term for people with busted hands). He was one of the few notable Queensland bushrangers and operated near the Cape River district in the late 1860s, emerging to prominence in 1870.

Moreland, who would be referred to in the press as Three-Fingered Jack, worked with an Irishman named John Sullivan and an unnamed Aboriginal boy, emerging to raid the store at Francis Town in May 1870. The gang came across a boy bathing in the river and bailed him up, keeping him hostage until his absence was noted. When a man came looking for him, he was bailed up as well and tied up and left on a sandbank in the river. The boy escaped and raised the alarm and a bullock driver named Donald Simpson went in pursuit. He didn’t have to go far as the bushrangers were already descending upon the store. Simpson advised them to surrender and Jack responded with a cry of “Shoot the bloody cur!” upon which Simpson drew a revolver and shot Moreland in the thigh. Wounded but still lucid, Jack fired at Simpson and shot him in the lungs. The Aboriginal boy fled and Moreland and Sullivan mounted their horses. The pair took off but as they did, Francis the storekeeper appeared and fired at Scrammy Jack. The shot hit its mark and Jack slumped in the saddle but kept riding.

Two days later Simpson died of his wounds and a search party set out. Inspector Clohesy took a constable and a tracker to find the culprits but instead only found an aggressive black snake which bit the tracker who died hours later. The inspector learned that Moreland and Sullivan had been seen crossing the river. Moreland had removed his trousers to get a better look at the nasty bullet wound in his thigh and had told the witnesses – one of Francis’ staff and an Aboriginal man named Sam – that he had snagged himself in the river. Moreland and Sullivan then ascertained that the men they were speaking to had gold on them and robbed them at gunpoint before escaping.

Queensland Police Gazette, 04/01/1871

In May 1870 Jack Moreland and John Sullivan were formally charged with the wilful murder of Donald Simpson. Unfortunately for Scrammy Jack he never got to trial. He was arrested in November 1873 and held in remand in Brisbane Gaol where, after a hunger strike, he had a severe bout of diarrhoea and died.

“SATURDAY, MAY 28, 1870.” The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 – 1957) 28 May 1870: 5.
“ATTEMPT TO STICK UP A STORE ON THE GILBERT.” South Australian Chronicle and Weekly Mail (Adelaide, SA : 1868 – 1881) 30 April 1870: 4.
“Current News.” The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 – 1939) 13 December 1873: 2.

Frank Gardiner: An Overview

Few names stand out in bushranging history quite like the self proclaimed “Prince of Tobeymen” himself – Frank Gardiner. Often considered the godfather of bushranging, he was responsible for the largest gold heist in colonial Australian history and introduced many of the big names to bushranging.

Gardiner was born in Rosshire, Scotland in 1830 as Francis Christie. He had a brother and two sisters who accompanied he and his parents on board the ship James to New South Wales in 1834. Settling at Boro Creek near Goulburn, the family kept a low profile until Frank hit adolescence.

Young Frank Christie first veered from the straight and narrow path when he began adopting false names to engage in stock theft. Teaming up with Jack Newton he stole two racehorses from Jugiong Station and took them across the border into Victoria. Adding William Troy to the cohort, they stole more horses and accrued a mob of thirty they planned to sell in Adelaide. The plans were scuppered, however, when police nabbed the offenders near Geelong. Christie was given five years for horse stealing. He was first accommodated in Melbourne Gaol before being transferred to the stockade at Pentridge. On 27 March 1851 Frank Christie escaped from Pentridge and went bush.

Christie assumed the name Clarke and teamed up with Ted Prior and spent a couple of years stealing stock in the Abercrombie Ranges. When he was finally nabbed, “Clarke” was sentenced to fourteen years on Cockatoo Island. In March 1854 he began his sentence and while inside he met John Peisley and the two gelled immediately. It is possible that he may also have encountered Frederick Wordsworth Ward (later known as Captain Thunderbolt) while he was there. On New Year’s Eve of 1859 Frank Christie gained a ticket of leave for the Carcoar district but as soon as he raised freedom he stole a horse and headed for the Kiandra Goldfields where he became a butcher and called himself Frank Gardiner.

Adding William Fogg to his business, Gardiner’s butcher shop was a source of high quality meat of dubious origin. It was widely believed that the animals he was slaughtering were stolen, but nobody could pin him for it until Sir Frederick Pottinger arrived in town. Gardiner and Fogg were arrested on suspicion of cattle theft but were released on bail. On 3 May 1861 Gardiner vanished into the bush. Gardiner became the self-proclaimed “Prince of Tobeymen” with John Peisley and a flash Canadian named Johnny Gilbert as his sidekicks. Gardiner was a well dressed and groomed gentleman of the road – a far cry from the balding and bloated Peisley and the impish Gilbert.

Things became serious when Gardiner took shelter at Fogg’s residence due to suffering from exposure in July 1861. It wasn’t long before police arrived and there was a scuffle. In the fracas Sergeant Middleton and Constable Hosie were shot and wounded, and Gardiner was savagely beaten and captured. What happened next is not known for certain. Some say Peisley helped rescue Gardiner, others say Gardiner bribed the police to free him. Whatever the means, Gardiner once more gained his liberty. From this time on bushranging would never be the same.

Gardiner wrote to the press to disclose his own narrative of the incident with Middleton and Hosie and talked himself up in the process. His reputation was beginning to become part of the popular culture of the day as he began recruiting more offsiders. He roamed the Lachlan with the “Three Jacks” – John Davis, John Connors and John McGuinness – in early 1862. When John Connors was shot and captured by the police at Lambing Flat in April the other two Jacks fled. Gardiner was outraged and turned them away. When John McGuinness was found dead days later it was believed that Gardiner had killed him in his rage.

It was at this time Gardiner took on Ben Hall as an accomplice. Gilbert also became Gardiner’s sidekick, accompanying him on various robberies presumably because of his competence when it came to criminal activities as much as his loyalty. Gardiner now had his eyes clapped on a far bigger prize. He was aware of the route the gold escort took from the Araluen diggings through to Orange and decided to rob it as it took the gold from the diggings to the town at a place called Eugowra Rocks. He recruited John Bow, Alex Fordyce, Henry Manns, Johnny Gilbert, Dan Charters, Ben Hall, John O’Meally and Charles Darcy to help him make the score. The gang hid in the rocks and on 15 June 1862 they blocked the road with a bullock train then as the escort came around the bend Gardiner launched his attack. The coach toppled as the horses bolted and the cabin was riddled with bullets. Some of the troopers were badly injured but no lives were lost on the day and the bushrangers got away with around £6000 worth of gold as well as almost £4000 cash and other goods. Unfortunately Gardiner lost his share of the gold when the gang was intercepted by the police and he was forced to abandon his packhorse.

Gardiner had been wooing Kitty Brown, younger sister of Ben Hall’s wife Biddy, and the two were conducting a secret affair. After the robbery Gardiner took Kitty with him to Victoria where they aimed to make a new start on the Goldfields but when this didn’t work they headed to Apis Creek in Queensland. Here they bought a pub and ran it very effectively until one of Kitty’s letters was intercepted and a detachment from the New South Wales police led by Detective Pye headed north to nab the most wanted man in the empire. Gardiner was dragged out of the pub into the street and forcefully apprehended. He was taken back to New South Wales despite the police having not received permission to go outside their jurisdiction.

Gardiner was put on trial for his crimes and after much anticipation was found guilty and sentenced to thirty four years imprisonment. He was sent to Darlinghurst Gaol but meanwhile Kitty and Gardiner’s sisters were fighting tooth and nail to get him out. All was for nil and Kitty Brown eventually moved to New Zealand with her brother-in-law and committed suicide after months of living in dire poverty.

In 1874 Gardiner was released from Gaol after a movement was passed allowing a number of criminals who had been given longer sentences than were the current norm at that time to be freed. However for Gardiner there was a catch and he was exiled, never to return to Australia. He spent time in Hong Kong before moving to San Francisco where he ran a saloon. When and how he died is a mystery. Some claimed that he was killed in a bar room brawl, others that he married a rich widow and had two sons before dying of old age. The most likely scenario is that he turned to alcoholism and died in a poor house in 1892. Hardly a romantic death for the great Frank Gardiner, Prince of Tobeymen and King of the Road.

John Francis Peggotty: The Birdman of Coorong

The story of John Francis Peggotty is one of the most bizarre in bushranging only made more bizarre by the fact that it seems to be nothing more than an elaborate urban myth perpetuated by an enthusiastic tourism board. South Australia can’t lay claim to many bushrangers, and certainly none of the calibre of those found in New South Wales, Victoria and Tasmania so why did this story capture the imagination? The short answer is novelty.

According to the stories John Francis Peggotty was born three months premature in Limerick, Ireland in 1864. As an eighteen year old he travelled to South Africa where he learned to ride ostriches (ostrich racing being a popular sport there). Peggotty’s tiny, underdeveloped frame was ideal for the pursuit of riding large flightless birds and he became wildly proficient. For reasons undetermined, Peggotty left South Africa for England where he went on a crime spree, his tiny body effortlessly sliding down chimneys to give him access to homes where he could pilfer all he desired like some sort of strange reverse-Santa Claus. Getting nabbed and doing time in gaol did nothing to deter the tiny Irishman and he set his sights on Australia and joined his uncle’s farm in New South Wales. Farming proved to be unappealing to Peggotty and he took his leave and went to South Australia where he soon took up a life of lawlessness.

Peggotty resumed his crime career with his unique modus operandi but it wasn’t long before Peggotty in a Fagin-esque manner began recruiting urchins to join him in his exploits, teaching them his tricks for stealthy break and enter. Peggotty would not trade his ill-gotten gains for cash as many would presume, but rather took much pleasure in wearing the stolen jewellery and was frequently seen bedecked in gold chains of various sizes, glimmering rings and jangling bracelets. Adorned in jewellery and little else, Peggotty was a weird figure indeed.


Tiring of the break-and-enter business Peggotty decided to take inspiration from the likes of Captain Thunderbolt and Frank Gardiner and go bush and become a highwayman. Unable to mount a horse because of his size Peggotty took advantage of the birds brought to South Australia for the lucrative ostrich feather trade, liberating a bird and riding it like it was a gallant steed. Peggotty bailed up travellers throughout the Coorong on his ostrich, liberating them of anything that crinkled or tinkled before word began to spread that this impish outlaw had become a veritable menace. Choosing to haunt the region by the shores of Lake Albert with its towering walls of sand, Peggotty atop his fowl steed was irrepressible. The police soon set out in search of the so-called “Birdman of the Coorong”.

Gallant Steed: Peggotty preferred avian mounts to equine ones

In a short time Peggotty had numerous robberies and two murders to his name and a sizeable reward on his head. Things came to a head when the birdman attempted to rob a fisherman named Henry Carmichael on 17 September of 1899. Carmichael was not in the mood for such nonsense from who he thought was no more than a juvenile delinquent at first but soon realised from the bushranger’s quirky steed that this was the infamous Birdman. Grabbing his rifle and levelling it at Peggotty, Carmichael was determined to claim the reward. Peggotty knew not to mess around and took off, the ostrich leaving Carmichael in the dust. As bullets whizzed past him, Peggotty ducked and weaved but the fisherman was far too proficient and a bullet struck the ostrich and brought it down. Peggotty tumbled to the ground and another bullet penetrated the delicate frame of the bushranger who crawled into the undergrowth and seemingly vanished, never to be seen or heard from again. Some say that beneath the mountainous sand dunes is a tiny skeleton wearing a small fortune in gold and jewellery waiting to be found.

In all probability the lack of records and contemporary news articles indicates that this is in fact pure myth. That Peggotty is a name plucked straight from the works of Charles Dickens also gives it away. That hasn’t stopped the powers that be from using the tale of the Birdman to foster tourism in the Coorong in a bid to help the district recover after a particularly nasty period of drought that caused quite a lot of pain to the locals. The tale is a cracking yarn full of adventure and humour that aims to connect South Australia to the great bushranging tales of the Eastern states. It is also a fantastic way of creating a bit of legend around the wild ostriches of the Coorong, large flightless birds imported for their feathers but let loose when they were either released or escaped. it may not be the truth but it is a cracking good yarn.

Tourist Attraction: Have you got what it takes to be a Birdman?


Jack Bradshaw: An Overview

Jack Bradshaw is one of the most peculiar bushrangers. Renowned for his longevity, questionable reliability as a narrator and his books on the bushrangers, he was a small time bushranger at the right place in the right time to rub elbows with greatness. However, much of what Bradshaw told of his own life is dubious at best and many question the legitimacy of calling him a bushranger in the first place.

Born in 1846 in Dublin, Ireland, Bradshaw emigrated to Australia on May 9, 1860 but unfortunately the relatives that brought him to Australia died not long after his arrival and so as an orphaned teen he was left to find his own way in the world. He tried to make a living in Melbourne but soon exhausted his funds and decided to try his luck on the diggings in the Ovens River district. At this point Bradshaw managed to make a bit of money by shooting cockatoos to sell to the diggers for seven shillings a week but soon his gaze was cast on other horizons.

Taking up the life of the swagman was not something uncommon in these times. Working in one place for a lifetime was almost unheard of for the labouring class and itinerant workers would almost always find employment on the road from stations that needed shearers, harvesters or stockmen of varying capacities. Bradshaw became a shearer and station hand but he still couldn’t settle down – there was something calling him to a life of crime. It would appear, at least according to his own accounts, that at this time he befriended one Daniel Morgan. He stated that Morgan treated him with great kindness and dignity at a time when he was often mistreated by all others. When Morgan was killed at Peechelba Station near Wangaratta and his headless remains unceremoniously dumped in a wooden box in Wangaratta Cemetery, it was Bradshaw who placed a marker on the grave – a sign attached with wire to an old iron bedpost. Bradshaw soon began his career as a huckster and con man in order to swindle his way through Victoria and New South Wales, and he was reasonably proficient at it. Working with “Professor Bruce” Bradshaw would scope out towns and upon finding a suitable one Bradshaw would learn as much information as possible about various townsfolk. When Bradshaw had gathered enough information the alleged professor would roll into town and start giving out phrenological readings for a fee. Using the information provided by his accomplice, Professor Bruce would give eerily accurate readings of a person based on the shape of their head. This enterprise worked a charm but was still not enough to satiate Bradshaw’s criminal leanings.

Phrenology was all the rage in the colonial era and was a psuedo-science easily exploited by Bradshaw and Professor Bruce (Source)

Jack Bradshaw fell in with two bumbling rogues who operated under the intriguing pseudonyms “Red Lance” and “After Dark”. It was with these two that Bradshaw first entertained the idea of bank robbery. Deciding the bank at Merriwa was the perfect target, the three headed to the town and prepared to put their plans into action. On the night before the appointed strike Red Lance got kicked by his horse and ended up in hospital and After Dark lost his own steed. As Bradshaw and After Dark were readying themselves they foiled a thief who had robbed the till of a store. Pocketing the money themselves when they pretended to be constables, they sent the thief on his way believing he’d just narrowly missed getting nicked. Bradshaw and After Dark then stuck up a man they believed to be the bank manager. It turned out to be a neighbouring storekeeper. This error proved to be enough to spook the crooks and they took off into the bush without having achieved anything. This was the last time Bradshaw would be involved with the pair. Bradshaw seemingly decided to make his own way and did so for a considerable amount of time until he encountered “Lovely” Riley.

“Lovely” Riley was a stock thief and bushranger whose real name was John Mulholland and was frequently mistaken for “Riley the Bushranger” who had inherited Thunderbolt’s territory in New England. Riley had many nicknames over the course of his career but Bradshaw knew him as “lovely” for his unfortunate visage and generally unkempt and dirty appearance. Bradshaw’s taste for bank robbery was still unsatisfied and the pair decided to descend upon the bank at Quirindi in May 1880. In typical Bradshaw style it all went belly up almost as soon as it began. They bailed up the bank manager, Richard Allen, which was a great start, and were making headway until the revelation of what was happening out back. The commotion in the bank had roused the manager’s wife who was at that very moment in labour and naturally not in the mood to have her husband pulled away from her side by a pair of gormless bushrangers and emerged from the back room to give the pair the tongue lashing of a lifetime. Being at least wise enough to know when they were licked Bradshaw and Riley took off. They had been beaten this time but they would be back. On the eve of June the pair struck again and successfully liberated the bank of £488 in gold and cash. Having descended upon the bank, they bailed up Allen in the stables and took him at gunpoint into the back room where Mrs. Allen and her sister were. Riley and Bradshaw were disguised in a mask and blackface and proceeded to raid the whiskey supply. After they had sufficiently drank they became more insistent that Allen cooperate and the beleaguered bank manager finally opened the safe for the robbers. Jubilant, the bushrangers did what any rogue would do with such a haul – they went on a pub crawl. As the men became increasingly liquored up Riley began to get a bit more talkative and started letting slip about the bank raid. Bradshaw saw the risk in remaining with Riley at this time and took his cut of the money and ran.

Under the pseudonym George Davis, Bradshaw made his way to Armidale. Finding work on Mihi Creek, he began to woo the daughter of a wealthy landowner. His charms were working in overdrive but it paid off and he was soon married to the heiress. The union soon produced a daughter named Gertrude. Everything seemed to be going well for the bushanger who was now into his forties until the seeds of his past actions bore the fruits of his labours. Bradshaw was arrested in November for his involvement in the Quirindi robbery and was sentenced to twelve years in gaol thanks to evidence provided by Joseph Goodson, a professional tattletale who claimed to have been party to the robbery but due to drawing a short straw had been required to sit the robbery out. While Riley and Bradshaw went to gaol Goodson earned £200 and the life-long ire of Bradshaw.

arrest of bradshaw.Jpeg
“Arrest of Bushranger Jack Bradshaw”, 1973 by Ric Elliot (Source)

Initially locked up in the infamous Berrima Gaol, Bradshaw was transferred after nine months to Parramatta where he kept his head down in prison and managed to get out after nine months in 1888 and return to his family. His wife continued to dote on him despite his criminality and this seemed to be enough for Bradshaw to keep his nose clean for a while. Unfortunately Bradshaw couldn’t suppress his urges indefinitely and was soon busted robbing mail bags and landed in gaol once more, this time in Armidale Gaol. It was during this interment that he began to make a note of the stories told in the gaol and committed them to memory.

When he finally got his liberty in 1901, Bradshaw decided to do something with his notorious past and the wealth of stories he learned in the clink. No doubt there was much for Bradshaw to adapt to in the newly federated Australia and he occupied his time traveling and collecting more stories, meeting relatives of the great bushrangers and writing a book detailing the stories as he knew them. The result was his magnum opus – The True History of the Australian Bushrangers. The book was published in 1930 and was sold in the Sydney Domain where he would travel to from his room in Woolloomooloo and set himself up every Sunday and imparted his tales to anyone that would listen. This was then followed by years of Bradshaw traveling door to door selling his self-published tomes for a sixpence each. He later produced more works detailing his own exploits as well as those of his more notable contemporaries.

Jack Bradshaw in later life

Bradshaw had very strong views about many of the big names in bushranging. While he held Ben Hall, Captain Thunderbolt and Dan Morgan in high esteem he considered Frank Gardiner to be nothing more than a scoundrel who was a major factor in ruining the lives of the young men who took to bushranging under his influence and considered the Clarke gang to be the most dangerous bushrangers in history. In 1931 he sued The Herald and Weekly Times for £1000 over comments published in their papers that he deemed injurious to his reputation.

In the end Bradshaw ended up as a pauper and fell back on his Catholic faith. He was described by those that knew him at the end as incredibly gentle and humble. Cared for initially by a Mrs. Connelly in Darlinghurst, when she fell ill he was sent to St Joseph’s Little Sisters of the Poor Home at Randwick. At the ripe old age of ninety Jack Bradshaw, self-proclaimed last of the bushrangers, passed away in January 1937 and was buried in the Catholic portion of Rookwood cemetery.

One of the last portraits of Bradshaw

Selected Sources:

“Bradshaw, Last Bushranger, Dies At 90” The Daily News (Perth, WA : 1882 – 1950) 14 January 1937: 2

“The Story Of Jack Bradshaw Last Bushranger” The Labor Daily (Sydney, NSW : 1924 – 1938) 15 January 1937: 12.

“BUSHRANGER REPUTATION” Evening News (Sydney, NSW : 1869 – 1931) 19 March 1931: 6.

“Jack Bradshaw” The Henty Observer and Culcairn Shire Register (NSW : 1914 – 1950) 19 March 1937: 5.

“Jack Bradshaw.” The World’s News (Sydney, NSW : 1901 – 1955) 29 December 1951: 25.

“BUSHRANGER REPROVES HORSE THIEF” Truth (Sydney, NSW : 1894 – 1954) 12 November 1933: 21.

“THE QUIRINDI BANK ROBBERY.” Advocate (Melbourne, Vic. : 1868 – 1954) 5 June 1880: 9.

Morton, J, and S Lobez. Gangland Robberrs. Victory Books, 2016.

Blue Cap: An Overview

Some of the more obscure bushrangers have nicknames seemingly pilfered from Grimm’s fairytales. One of the most notable is Blue Cap, the alias of Robert Cottrell. Cottrell was not prolific or prodigious as a bushranger by any far stretch, but he and his gang caused their fair share of trouble along the Murrumbidgee River in the late 1860s.

Many of the exploits of Bluecap’s gang were claimed to have taken place around Berry Jerry.

Robert Cottrell was born around 1835 but next to nothing is known about his formative years. It is known that he took up bushranging when he absconded from the farm at Billabong where he was employed claiming he was being maltreated. Cottrell was not the greatest bushman or criminal due in part to his health. Cottrell suffered from acute Opthalmia – eye problems that made him extremely sensitive to light – so he was frequently seen wearing an eyeshade to protect his eyes from the sun. Cottrell claimed he was forced into crime by desperation, his employer not providing him with adequate accommodation or nutrition. One must presume that he was extremely malnourished indeed if he thought that bushranging would be better able to provide food.

Cottrell gained the moniker “Blue Cap” (sometimes recorded as “Captain Blue Cap”) very quickly during his criminal career though it is not known why exactly. It is possible that his eyeshade may have been mistaken for a blue cap, though usually they came in green. It may have also been a blue jockey’s cap. Regardless, Cottrell was one of many bushrangers operating in New South Wales during the mid to late 1860s, yet he managed to outlive the Hall Gang and was close to the end of Captain Thunderbolt’s time when his career as an outlaw ended.

As 1867 settled in Cottrell teamed up with a convict named Jerry Duce who complemented Blue Cap by adopting the nickname White Chief. Blue Cap and White Chief built up their gang over the course of the year. The strange monikers continued to be a trend as Scotch Jock (allegedly a former telegraph of John Dunn) and Jack the Devil signed up to join in the fun as well as a rogue known as King. Raids on farms were the core of their operation, the gang preferring to steal supplies rather than valuables.

The gang now had enough momentum to step things up and proceeded to perform a string of audacious raids, striking all of the stations and travellers they could along the Murrumbidgee River. At the first station they stole supplies and forced the station manager to play draughts with them while they sheltered and ate. At the next station they again took supplies and forced one of the women of the household to play piano for them. As the string of robberies went on the bushrangers started raiding the liquor cabinets of their victims. This predilection for alcohol would become a recurring problem.

It was at this time that a chap named T. A. Browne had his own experience of the gang. Browne was a well-known squatter in Wagga Wagga, owning the Bundidgaree Station near Narrandera. The Blue Cap gang had been reported as going about their depredations in the area and Browne, who was minding coach horses for his friend James Gormly, was keenly aware that he was likely to cross paths with the bushrangers and warned his friends to secrete any of their valuables until the threat had passed. The experience left a considerable impression on Browne who used it when crafting the character Redcap in his story The Squatter’s Dream, written under his better known nom de plume – Rolf Boldrewood.

The Murrumbidgee River [Source: Bidgee – Own work, CC BY 3.0,]

At one station the gang stuck up they got so stuck into the booze that Blue Cap passed out. Scotch Jock bought a wheelbarrow from the superintendent with his loose change and used it to cart Blue Cap off the premises to a nearby dam and dropped him into the water to sober him up. Alcohol became the cause of major conflict in the gang with the men frequently having heated arguments after a little too much rum.

After one of their audacious raids on the station of a man named Featherstonhaugh the gang were hotly pursued by local police on horseback. One can only imagine what was going through the minds of the gang when they managed to shake off the police pursuit only to reach the flooded Urangeline Creek. Desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures so the bushrangers took their mounts into the creek, all the time struggling against the waters that rushed downstream, foaming and gurgling, pushing the horses away. Cottrell led the group and a gang member named Hammond took the rear. With considerable difficulty all of the gang cleared the creek with the exception of Hammond, whose horse struggled to maintain a footing in the creek. As the rain pelted down in the dusky gloom, the gang could barely see as Hammond’s horse was bowled over into the torrent and Hammond dragged underneath. Rider and mount were washed away like flotsam and there was nothing anybody could do. After a failed search the gang continued on their journey. The drowned horse would be found washed up downstream the next day, still equipped with saddle and saddle bags and Hammond’s waterlogged corpse even further downstream two days later. The incident was too much and the gang, already starting to flake apart, decided to go their separate ways. The White Chief would go on to a reasonably successful run with a gang member named Brookman and new offsiders but not for long, the shadow of the gallows finally catching up with them at the beginning of 1868.

Mrs. Willis interceding for Doolan’s life [Robert Bruce, August 27, 1867] (Credit: State Library of Victoria)

In October, Blue Cap fell in with a postman named Tom Doolan who had grown tired of the straight and narrow. He brought together Blue Cap and some other small time bushrangers and hatched a plan. Doolan had borrowed some pistols from his master William Flood on the pretense he was worried about bushrangers. Doolan proposed that they all stage a mock gunfight during which his accomplices could “steal” the firearms. They would later create a billiards tournament in town to create a distraction while they robbed the bank. Doolan met with confederates Scott and Smyth in town and rode to the station where he was employed. As they approached, Doolan took off and the others, now joined by Blue Cap, chased the postman. As Doolan rode he dropped two of the pistols in the grass for the bushrangers to collect. Doolan and the bushrangers engaged in a gunfight, shots going off everywhere. Staff at the station were baffled and terrified, not realising that the bushrangers were firing with pistols that were capped but not loaded. After a while firing ceased and Doolan was dragged to a spot barely visible to the staff. Doolan went on his knees before Blue Cap and they engaged in a discussion. Doolan provided Blue Cap with a clasp knife and instructed him to cut into his forearm and pretend he had been shot. Scott went to the homestead and grabbed a tablecloth. Blue Cap’s black mare was injured from a bullet wound to the chest. Blue Cap then took blood from the horse and spread it on himself to increase the goriness of his injury. That night he stayed at the station, refusing to let Doolan out of his sight. It wasn’t long before Doolan’s plan was foiled and he was arrested for stealing the firearms and put on trial.

Cottrell’s life on the run came to an end when he attempted to bail up three plain-clothes policemen. Crossing their path with the intention of bailing them up he was greeted with “Hello Bluey” from one of the troopers. Bluecap took off but was soon apprehended after being shot and promptly taken to Wagga Wagga.

Tried on 20 April, 1868, Cottrell pleaded guilty to three charges of robbery under arms and was sentenced to ten years hard labour. On the days leading up to the trial Cottrell had been in extremely poor health and in fact had suffered a series of seizures that required multiple men to hold him down. His face in court was covered by a green eyeshade and he was described as looking sickly, pale and thin.

Cottrell was not in prison anywhere near as long as expected as the New South Wales government issued a controversial amnesty that enabled many prisoners to be released in 1874. Having served almost four years of his sentence it was deemed that he had been a model prisoner and his lack of prior convictions made him a perfect candidate for release. When Cottrell walked out of the gates of Goulburn Gaol he walked out of the pages of history and what became of him has not been recorded.

Selected Sources:

“BLUE-CAP’S GANG.” Illustrated Sydney News (NSW : 1853 – 1872) 22 February 1868: 12.

“THE EARLY DAYS.” The Urana Independent and Clear Hills Standard (NSW : 1913 – 1921) 3 March 1916: 1.

“THE FAMILY CORNER.” Healesville Guardian (Vic. : 1893 – 1898) 12 November 1897: 3

“THE NEWS OF THE DAY.” The Age (Melbourne, Vic. : 1854 – 1954) 10 September 1867: 5.

“NEW SOUTH WALES.” The Mercury (Hobart, Tas. : 1860 – 1954) 27 August 1867: 3.

Boldrewood, Rolf. The Squatter’s Dream. Macmillan and Co., 1891. [ Available online: ]

Jack Donohoe: An Overview


As one delves into the history and folklore of bushranging, the name Jack Donohoe comes up regularly, but there’s usually not a lot of clearly defined information to accompany the name. Donohoe has suffered the fate of Thunderbolt, Hall and Kelly – the myths have become ingrained in the story as much as the facts. Was Jack Donohoe really worthy of folk hero status?

Donohoe was born in Dublin, Ireland in around 1806 and was transported to Australia in 1825 for “intent to commit a felony” as a teenager. Donohoe was not fond of the prison life and as soon as the opportunity presented itself he absconded, taking to the bush. Teaming up with two fellow convicts, Kilroy and Smith, Donohoe engaged in a spot of highway robbery, bailing up three carts just outside Bathurst. The gang got away with a little cash and a keg of rum but were found soon after and tried. Found guilty of highway robbery, the trio were sentenced to hang but the legend of “Bold Jack” Donohoe was just about to begin. Somewhere along the line between Bathurst Gaol and court Donohoe managed to escape custody without being noticed until muster was called. The frantic search turned up zilch and Donohoe went bush in pursuit of pastures new. Kilroy and Smith on the other hand met their fate on the gallows in a disturbing display of the incompetence of colonial executions.

“Bold Jack”: No contemporary imagery exists of Donohoe in life.

Donohoe never worked alone, understanding the importance of division of labour and, perhaps, safety in numbers. Ganging up with eight other bushrangers led by native-born William Underwood, Donohoe quickly made his mark on colonial New South Wales. The robberies were many and the spoils great. Donohoe himself dressed as an upwardly mobile gentleman in his navy blue coat and top hat. It was at this time that the bushrangers understood the value of a sympathiser network, making an effort to reconnect with former convict colleagues that had done their time and acquired properties and businesses for themselves. The gang would provide goods to their friends from their crimes and in turn the sympathisers would provide shelter and protection.

A noted distinction of this gang of Bathurst bushrangers was their ruthlessness. Whereas bushrangers like Matthew Brady, who operated around the same time, had a code of honour in a vainglorious effort to affect an air of decency, Donohoe’s gang believed the end justified the means which is why a disastrous raid on the farm of James Hassall saw the bushrangers use the station staff as human shields during a gunfight. By luck or by providence there were no fatalities. The outrages had caused quite a stir in the community and police forces were mobilised in a search for the notorious bushrangers. One such party stumbled upon the bushrangers’ camp, still kitted out with their tools and supplies, and waited for the men to return. When the gang arrived at camp they were escorting some freshly pinched cattle but seeing the police sitting around their fire they decided to engage them in a gunfight – a bad decision. For the next two hours the bushrangers and police battled each other, at one point the police stopping to eat the bushrangers’ dinner rations and inviting them to join. In the end nearly the entire gang was dead or captured with Donohoe one of the lucky ones to escape. A couple of days later the party encountered the remaining bushrangers and opened fire killing Donohoe’s mate and badly wounding Donohoe’s left arm.

A map of the town of Bathurst in 1833

In late 1830 Donohoe and Underwood were accompanied by William Webber and William Walmsley on their various depradations. Once more Donohoe was in top form but the success was short lived and the men soon resorted to raiding the farms of poor and well-to-do alike. A common modus operandi was for the gang to denude their victims and make them stand on the side of the road stark naked (save for their shirt if they were lucky) while their clothes were rifled through in search of hidden treasures. At this time Underwood mysteriously disappeared and it is supposed he was murdered by other members of the gang when they discovered that he had been keeping a journal of their exploits. However the more likely scenario is that he simply took his leave of the gang as he was allegedly shot by police in 1832. Regardless of the veracity of these claims the remaining trio continued business as usual. The robbery of Mr. Eaton proved to be one of the more horrifying of the gang’s acts. During the robbery Eaton was shot and as he lay mortally wounded on the road the gang stripped him and took all they desired, leaving Eaton on the road where locals found him and took him home where he could be seen by a doctor. With the gang becoming ever more desperate the road for Donohoe was soon to reach a short end at Bringelly.

A police party had once again found the gang’s camp and when they were returning from visiting sympathisers nearby they were set upon. Donohoe took cover behind a tree and taunted the police. Little did he realise he was facing some of the best marksmen New South Wales had to offer and as he poked his head around he was shot in the throat and temple. As Donohoe lay dying his confederates ran away. When Donohoe’s body was searched a small pistol was found in his coat which was supposedly reserved in the event that he should need to take his own life to avoid being taken alive.

After Donohoe died a mold was made of his head for a death mask by a tobacconist. There were two castings made from the mold, prominently showing the bullet wound in his forehead, both have vanished over time. Clay pipes were made of Donohoe’s likeness, the bowl of the pipe sculpted based on the death mask. These morbid curios were quickly snapped up. Songs were written about him, his exploits and his death; nearly all of them were tremendously inaccurate, but the most prominent was a ballad titled Bold Jack Donohoe which later provided a basis for the more famous Wild Colonial Boy that lifted its lyrical content heavily from the former.

As for Webber and Walmsley, Webber was soon shot down by police and Walmsley turned informer in an attempt to overturn his own execution. Walmsley dobbed in all of their sympathisers resulting in dozens of men and women losing their farms and livelihoods and returning to convict status. Despite this Judas act Walmsley met his end on the gallows all the same, the slipknot was the one thing he couldn’t weasel out of.

Death mask of Jack Donohoe

Selected Sources:

“BUSHRANGERS—NOTED AND NOTORIOUS” Truth (Brisbane, Qld. : 1900 – 1954) 20 January 1935: 36.

“TERRIBLE HOLLOW.” Queensland Times (Ipswich, Qld. : 1909 – 1954) 24 March 1932: 4

White, C. History of Australian Bushranging Volume I. Angus and Robertson, 1900.