Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Thursday 27 July 1843, page 2
THE BUSHRANGERS. – Cash and his party, about ten o’clock on Monday morning last stopped the Launceston coach on Epping Forest. They came up in a direction from the South Esk River, by a by-road which leads to one of Mr. Gibson’s farms. They desired the coachman to stop, and all bands to alight. Mr. Jacobs said to Mrs. Cox and another lady inside, “don’t be frightened, these men won’t hurt us.” “No, no,” said Cavanagh, “we are not the men to hurt the women – let’s see what you have got,” and Jones proceeded to search all hands, but used no violence, only asked them for their watches and money. Jones stood by and took the booty whilst the others stood near and watched. They were all well armed ; one was without his hat, and neither had a knapsack. Jacobs gave Jones his purse with four sovereigns in it, and a valuable watch and chain ; Jones then asked Jacobs for the key of his box, which was on the top of the coach, unlocked it, and examined it, and called out “Martin, do we want any clothes?” “Oh, never mind,” said Cash, and Jones only took out of it a pair of trousers ; he took Jacobs’s hat from his head, and tried to put it on his head: Jacobs said, “Give us that back, it won’t fit you.” “No, no,” said Jones, “that won’t do.”
Mrs, Cox gave him her pocket-book, in which were some notes and papers ; she said, “give me my book and papers,” some of which had dropped out with a pound note on the ground ; he returned the book and papers, and she said “Why you are more frightened than us, you have dropped a pound. Pick it up and keep it, you are so civil; why what a miserable life you must lead.” “Miserable, be d—d,” said Cavanagh ; he then took a pound note from Miss Hilton; two pounds from Mr. Darke; and seven one pound notes and a watch from Hewett, the coachman ; searched the residue of the coach, then asked how far it was from Thornhills, and made off the same road they came ; the coach drove on, and soon after met a police party from Campbell Town – so that there is every possible reason to believe, one being without his hat, that they had been closely, and were closely pursued. The above facts have beep sworn to at the police office. – Hobart Town Advertiser
The Midlands Highway as it runs through Epping Forest towards Cleveland.
The following detailed depictions of the final form of the Hall Gang give an intriguing insight into the state of the trio in the period between the murder of Sgt. Parry and that of Const. Nelson. The incident is almost farcical in the sheer scale of the roundup of prisoners (typical of this gang) and the gang appear quite weathered by their criminal lifestyle. There is some discussion of the gang’s own account of what happened at Black Springs, which brings an interesting insight into their attitudes about the events. As none of the gang ever wrote letters or memoirs that have been made public (Hall was illiterate) reports like these are our only insight into their lived experiences.Criminal or not, they had a story to tell and it’s a shame that only one member of the Gilbert-Hall Gang (John Vane) lived long enough to record his memoirs.
LAST Saturday morning, about ten o’clock, as two of Mr. Frederick Taylor’s sons (George and James) were riding from the Fourteen to the Sixteen-Mile Road, a horseman rode down the side of a steep range and told them to “stand,” but at the same time telling them not to be frightened but to come along with him. This was the notorious Dunn, who led his two young captives up the hill, where just over the brow of which were already twenty prisoners congregated under the guard of Hall and Gilbert. The robbers, had chosen their ground admirably; for the captives were so seated that the top of the hill intecepted their view of the road, and the three highwaymen kept just so far down the “off” side of the hill, as to render their horses invisible to passers by. The first person that they, stopped was a storekeeper from Young, named Henry; this was before six o’clock; then another storekeeper named Conley, both of whom they searched, but found nothing upon them but cheques and silver, which they returned. Soon after a lot of diggers and others were brought in. At about, eleven o’clock, Dunn expressed a desire for something to eat, when Hall told Mr. Henry to fetch six or seven dozen of eggs out of his cart, so that all hands might have a feed; meanwhile another man was sent to fill a large “billy” with water; a third was told to make a fire, boil the eggs and roll them out. Gilbert produced some bread, which he divided as far as it would go among all who would accept it, and a hearty meal was the result. Thus matters jogged on for hour after hour, Dunn and Gilbert alternately and sometimes together topping the hill, riding down its declivity, and shortly reappearing with more captives, until at about three o’clock p.m. there were not less than forty prisoners. Any man that had a poorish look or in diggers’s costume was not searched, but was simply told to keep quiet until the gold buying banker from Young passed, and then all hands might stop and see the fight with his escort, or go where they liked, but those who appeared at all like storekeepers were closely watched. It was now four o’clock, and the banditti appeared to wax wrathful at the non-arrival of their longed-for prey — their impatience testifying itself by great restlessness and almost incessant gazing up the road. Suddenly Hall exclaimed “where’s that — boy who was just now sitting there.” At the same time he and his confederates sprang up and commensed hunting about for their late captive, when Gilbert said “by — he’s slithered; come on lads, we’ll take the Young road for it, and see if we can’t meet the — gold buyer.” Whereupon they all jumped on their horses, and after telling all hands to go where they pleased, galloped down the hill and along the road towards the Flat. My informant, who is a very intelligent young man, and who was for six hours a captive, during which time he paid the greatest attention to all that the gang said and did, says that Gilbert and Dunn seemed very cool and jolly, whereas, Hall’s manner was rather serious and anxious. Gilbert and Dunn’s waistcoats were festooned with gold watch-guards, and their general appearance was that of flash well-to-do young stockmen; but, on the contrary, Hall had a quiet and respectable air — by wearing nicely-shaped high boots and a well-fitting pair of brown cord pants, with fashionably cut cloth coat and vest of the same colour, and only one gold chain, and not much of that to be seen. Were I to tell you half of the robbers’ conversation it would occupy too much space, but what I’m about to state you may rely upon as being unexaggerated truth, that is, that it was really said. Respecting poor Parry’s death, Gilbert remarked that he (Parry) fought unfairly, for after he had shouted ” I surrender,” and he (Gilbert) had ridden close up to him to receive his arms, that Parry fired slap at him, whereupon he shot him. Hall said that O’Neill fired one shot, flung his revolver at their heads, at the same time loudly exclaiming “I surrender.” Likewise, Hall said that constable Roche acted the wisest part of the three, for he did just what he (Hall) would have done had he been a trap, he bolted. Mind you, I do not say that poor Parry, or O’Neill, or Roche really acted thus, but that the bushrangers said they did is perfectly true. Gilbert has not the fresh, clear expression of countenance he used to have. His features are now much embrowned by the sun, and the skin in many places is peeling off. He, in the course of conversation, admitted that he bad not long returned from Queensland, and that when there he was three times chased by the police; and furthemore, that on one of these three occasions, upon his horse knocking up, he jumped off and challenged his two pursuers to come on, whereupon they halted and jawed a bit, and then turned tail. Hall is the only one of the three who cultivates any moustache or whiskers, and he is getting fat. Of his two companions in crime, one wears his hair so long as to touch his shoulders, and the other has it in short crisp curls. They all once or twice stated that they were determined never to surrender, but to fight to the last. Each had six large-sized revolvers in his belt. — Yass Courier.
Portrait of Ben Hall made posthumously, but closely resembling descriptions of him during the time described in the following reports.
The Burrangong Argus gives the following account of the affair:—
BUSHRANGERS ON THE DIGGINGS.—Gilbert, Hall and Company have been again very close to Young; exhibiting that coolness and effrontery for which they have long since been notorious. The following are the particulars of one of their escapades in this neighbourhood:— On Saturday morning last Mr. John McLachlan, the news agent of Young, was, as is usual with him on Saturdays, on his way to the Rushes, and had arrived between the Fourteen and Sixteen Mile Rushes when be heard a horse galloping behind him, and on turning round be discovered tbat be was chased by Johnny Gilbert, who called on him to bail up. McLachlan said be had only a few shillings, to which Gilbert replied “Never mind, come with me.” He asked McLachlan if that was not his name; whether he had any firearms ; and what time the bankers would pass that way? Arriving at the outlaws’ “Camp” Mr. McLachlan found about eighteen persons, young and old, in durance ; some of whom had been kept there since daylight in the morning; and among the prisoners was a butcher (Mr. Archer’s partner) who had been laid violent hands on while driving out meat to his customer. During the time he was kept a prisoner, the meat was spoiled; and Ben Hall said he was worse off than any of the others. The bushrangers devoured eagerly the news brought by Mr. McLachlan; and Gilbert, after digesting the contents of the morning’s Argus, asked for a Sydney Mail, which having conned over for a short time, he told Hall that some fellows were sticking up in disguise near Mudgee, and he wondered who they were. About this time arrived Mr. Taylor, store keeper, of the Sixteen mile, and when he hove in sight Ben Hall fetched him in. Mr. Taylor offered his money; but as it was only silver, the bushrangers would not take it. Dunn caught sight of a nugget ring on Mr. Taylor’s finger, and tried for ten minutes to take it off. He could not succeed, however, and Gilbert told him to shove it back; on which he desisted. Mr. Henry, storekeeper, was the next addition to the company. Hall ordered Gilbert to go after Henry, as he was the man who had followed them with a gun at Possum Flat, some two years ago, when McConnell’s store was stuck up. This last arrival also had only silver in his pocket, but his cart was freighted with eggs and butter, tea, sugar, and a 4lb loaf. The “grub” as Gilbert called it, was very acceptable to all hands, especially those who had been there since early in the morning. One of McLachlan’s newspapers was turned, for the nonce, into a butter dish; three or four billies full of eggs were boiled, and every one was satisfied; and all the bread and butter had vanished; Gilbert remarking that Mr. Henry’s liberality was so well known that he would not object to having his eatables made free with. A man from Mr. Pring’s station was next on the list. He had a nine pound cheque, but stowed it away; and it was not discovered. Ben Hall remarked that Pring was one of his greatest friends. Mr. Connolly, baker and storekeeper, joined the crowd next; but he, like the rest, did not much enrich the robbers, having only silver which they wouldn’t take. They questioned each storekeeper narrowly about the bankers. Taylor and Henry told them the bankers would not be there, whereupon Hall rather despondingly observed “then there will be no one shot to-day.” The company at last numbered thirty ; and about three o’clock in the afternoon, one of the diggers told the bushrangers he thought a boy had got away. This intelligence created no small excitement. Hall and Dunn made a strict search for the missing boy in the gully but could make nothing of it; and Hall, then wanted to know who had put it into the boy’s head to run away. Hall said if he could find out, he’d take care, whoever it was, should never do the same again. By this time the bushrangers thought it was time to break up this camp meeting; and, previous to giving the word of command to disperse, Hall harangued the diggers. He told them they were too officious in assisting the “bobbies”; and that if they continued the same course of conduct, he would have no mercy on them whenever they might come into his clutches. The bushrangers then all mounted their horses; and told their captives that they were free, and might now run as fast as they could to the nearest police station and give information. This closed the seance, and the crowd dispersed. Connected with this affair, we may mention that Mr. W. R. Watt, on his way to Young, was showing a person the way to the Sixteen mile Rush ; when on sighting the diggings, be pointed them out to the man, and parted company with him. This man in two minutes time rode right into the bushrangers’ camp, and was made prisoner. From him they took a bridle, giving him an old one in exchange, which was all they appropriated of anybody’s property, besides a whip of Mr. Bremlin’s. One of the diggers had a pound note; being he said he wanted to buy a pick and shovel, they let him keep the money. While reading the newspapers, one of the miners read the inquiry into the conduct of Constable Roche; Ben Hall said Roche ought to be shot for deserting his mates, and that as for O’Neill he was a rank cur. The three spoke in the most contemptuous manner of Sir Frederick Pottinger — Hall saying , that he (Sir F. P) had had two or three chances at him, but he would take care not to give him another. The above particulars we have from persons who were present. It was currently reported early this week that the bushrangers were dancing at Bramler’s, at the Seven mile, on Saturday night. They seemed annoyed at not meeting with the bankers, and evidently had taken that road with the express purpose of sticking them up. Mr. Watt had a narrow escape. He could not have been more than two or three hundred yards distant from them, but they did not see him. Had they made him prisoner they might possibly have exacted a pledge from him not to retire from the contest for the Lachlan district.
While Victoria was home to plenty of bushrangers of various ilks, there was one highwayman that stood head and shoulders above the rest – Harry Power. The curmudgeonly crim was responsible for a huge number of robberies on the roads, though he never had much luck in bailing up wealthy people. Perhaps his most productive day of robbery was one he undertook in Buckland Gap towards the end of Winter in 1869.
The area Power camped out in at the Buckland Gap was right in the middle of the road that coaches and travellers would take when travelling between Bright, Beechworth, Bowman’s Forest, Buckland and Whorouly among other surrounding towns – perfect positioning for an enterprising highwayman. On Saturdays the farmers would frequently pass through the intersection enroute to market, and the nearest homestead was a quarter of a mile away from Power’s camp, allowing him the freedom of relative isolation.
Harry Power [Source: SLV]
Edward Coady was an experienced coach driver, but even the most seasoned veteran might have gone their entire career without ever encountering a bushranger. In May he had been bailed up by Harry Power when he was taking a coach from Bright to Beechworth. Power had interrupted the journey near Porepunkah and demanded gold, but there was none to be had. The passengers were subjected to demands for payment, a Chinese man receiving particular scrutiny from Power who had an aversion to his people. In the end, Power stole a horse from a passing squatter and took his leave, allowing the coach to continue on.
On Saturday, 28 August, 1869, Edward Coady was given a new assignment. He was to drive the Buckland Mail to Myrtleford via Bowman’s Forest. The journey began routinely enough at around 6:00am. The coach trundled along its usual route with its cargo of passengers – a servant girl, Ellen Hart, employed by Mrs. Hay of Myrtleford; Mrs. Le Goo the wife of a Chinese storekeeper in Buckland; and William Hazelton, the Bright storekeeper who took position on the box seat. Part way through the journey the coach stopped at the Gap Hotel. Here the passengers were joined by the young son of Mr. Holloway, the proprietor of the Gap Hotel. The coach soon took off again, mailbags jostling and jumping with every curve and bump along the way. Riding close behind the coach was Mr. Holloway’s daughter, Mrs. Boyd, who had joined the group at her father’s pub. As the horses pulled the coach down the Buckland Gap towards the forest, about 4 miles from Beechworth, suddenly the path was impassable. The horses pulled up and Coady peered down where he saw three large logs laying across the road. He had scarcely any time to think before a voice boomed from the scrub with a slight Lancashire accent, heavily inflected with an Irish brogue.
“Bail up!”
Harry Power emerged, brandishing a double-barrelled shotgun, with two pistols tucked into his belt. He stood slightly less than average height at 5’6 1/4″ tall, and was covered in scars. Beneath his crumpled felt hat his hair flicked out in greasy silver shocks. His face was mostly beard, but when he spoke one could glimpse his mangled and missing teeth, stained yellow, and blackened gums from excessive pipe smoking. His bright blue eyes peered out from behind crow’s feet and a heavy brow as he levelled the shotgun at Coady. The occupants of the coach were ordered to disembark and stand by a fire the bushranger had set up. As they complied, Power demanded the captives take out their valuables and place them on the ground. He scored a gold watch and 4s 6d from Hazelton, £2 16s from Coady, and 13s from the storekeeper’s wife, though he did give her a shilling back so she could buy a coffee down the road. Power was not convinced that the woman had surrendered all her valuables and suggested that if she was not forthcoming he would strip her naked to find her hidden treasures. The terrified woman stood fast by her assertion and it was only the intervention of the other victims that caused Power to relent. Perhaps noticing that Miss Hart was a servant, Power did not bother to get her to turn out her pockets. Finally, he took a penknife and comforter from Holloway’s son but gave him 1s 6d in payment for them. As for Mrs. Boyd, she could not comply with Power’s demand for cash as she had none. Power was unconvinced, stating that a woman riding a horse with a sidesaddle and saddlebags worth upwards of £14 is unlikely to be strapped for cash, then elected to take her mount instead. Mrs. Boyd begged to be allowed to keep her horse and gear, even suggesting she could ride back to her father’s hotel and get him anything he liked if she could keep them. Power refused to bargain with the distressed woman and stated that she could borrow two pounds from one of the other women, whereupon it was brought to his attention that he had just robbed them. Mrs. Boyd’s brother, young Holloway, offered to give the money Power had given him back if the bushranger would allow his sister to keep the horse. Power was amused by the display of solidarity but refused the gesture. Hazelton had, by this point, had a gutful and informed Power that Mrs. Boyd was indeed a poor woman and the gear on the horse was won at a raffle, not purchased outright. The heated exchange was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a rider, to which Hazelton snidely remarked, “Here’s a haul for you.”
Re-enactment of the Buckland coach robbery. [Source: The Bushranger Harry Power Tutor of Ned Kelly by Kevin Passey and Gary Dean]
The rider was promptly bailed up and made to turn out his pockets. When the man reached for his coat pocket Power cocked his gun, stating “It is not there where people are in the habit of keeping their money.”
At this juncture Coady asked Power if he could move the coach as the incline it was stopped on was putting undue strain on the brakes. Power consented to this and ordered Coady to deliver up the mail bags for him to take away and rifle through at his leisure. On second thoughts, Power decided he wasn’t inclined towards potentially stealing letters from the poor and told Coady not to worry about the mail, to which Coady responded that it would have done him no good anyway as letters carrying money were transported by escorts.
Soon more travellers came along the road and were halted by Power. As before, the victims were made to stand by the fire and place their valuables on the ground. With the cooperation of his victims, he was able to take £1 16s from a Whorouly dairyman named Hughes; 17s 6d from a Bowman’s Forest local named Rath; and a saddle and bridle from a man named McGoffin (or McGuffie), who was in a spring cart on their way to O’Brien’s Station from Buffalo. A local miner was bailed up but managed to retain the two ounces of gold he had concealed in a pocket in his coat.
For the next three hours, Power kept eleven prisoners under his command by the fire, occupying their attention by spinning yarns. He gave Coady an earful, claiming he had half a mind to shoot him as he had heard that Coady had been “blowing” in the bar of Fisher’s Commercial Hotel, Beechworth, about what he would like to do to Power. He also mentioned that he had been intending on bailing up James Emptage, a colleague of Coady’s, but as Emptage had been driving much too fast, he had not had a chance to stop him. Despite the number of people at his mercy, none attempted to overpower him. Power eventually grew tired of the work and had returned Mrs. Boyd’s horse, but needed a good mount. Power attempted to take the snip horse from the Buckland coach (the horse on the offhand side closest to the wheel). The horse bucked and refused to allow the bushranger to prepare him to ride, to which Power replied by striking the animal repeatedly with the butt of his shotgun. Power then took the lead horse (named “Little Johnny”) from the coach, equipped it with the stolen saddle and bridle, and disappeared into the bush. He would be spotted near Stanley at 4:00pm. Dazed and confused by the bizarre turn of events they had just experienced, the victims slowly began to return to their conveyances, counting their blessings that things had not escalated.
Views of Beechworth (Detail). [Source: The Leader, 05/05/1894: 31]
When news of the bail ups reached Beechworth, Sgt. Baber launched a search party to head to Bowman’s Forest to find Power’s trail. Alas, as was a common problem, there were not enough men to get a reasonable sweep of the area and thus Power got away without a care.
[Source: Ovens and Murray Advertiser, 19/10/1869: 2]It was not long before the government, frustrated by Power’s ability to avoid capture, offered a £200 reward for his capture. Power was now officially in the big league but his reign would not be long for this world.
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).
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.
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.
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 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.
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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.
The following is an account of one of the many bizarre moments in the career of Fred Ward aka Captain Thunderbolt. Ward’s reputation as a successful, gallant and daring highwayman doesn’t hold up tremendously well when scrutinised and in fact the bulk of the time he was in the bush he kept his head down and avoided the spotlight, punctuated with small scale robberies on the roads. One such incident is that which was reported on 7 January 1864 in The Maitland Mercury and Hunter River General Advertiser:
CAPTAINTHUNDERBOLT – This new addition to the gentry of the road, with his euphonious appellation, has played some of his freaks in this district lately. During the past week he stuck up two of Dr.Glennie’s boys, near Glendon Brook, on the road between Singleton and the Paterson. The boys happened to have nothing else in their possession but a few marbles, which he contemptuously returned to them. In letting the boys go, he enquired for the name of their father, and, on being told, he said that he knew Dr. Glennie well, and that the doctor was a clever fellow; he then rode, away. We learn that on Sunday morning last he demanded breakfast at Mr Brooker’s, at Mirannie Creek, which was given to him, but he did not molest anyone, as he was well known by Mr. Brooker as a man of the name of Ward, formerly an old hand in that neighbourhood, until, according to a colonial phrase, he “got into trouble” Ward has also been seen during the past week in various other places between here and the Paterson, and the police have not been idle in making enquiries after him.
*FYI: “euphonious appellation” is fancy talk for “pleasant sounding name”.
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Source: “SINGLETON.” The Maitland Mercury and Hunter River General Advertiser (NSW : 1843 – 1893) 7 January 1864: 3.
When bushranger Fred Lowry met his end after a heated confrontation with police it created a sensation across New South Wales. Here we have excerpts from an article published in the Sydney Morning Herald about some of the happenings as well as the outlaw himself.
Photograph of the deceased Fred Lowry (Source: National Portrait Gallery)
“ON Sunday last, just as divine service was concluded, considerable excitement was caused by the arrival in town of a party of policemen in coloured clothes with a dray, in which was the dead body of Lowry, the noted bushranger, and the following prisoners :- Lawrence Cummins, charged with robbery under arms, and supposed to be the man who lately shot his brother, John Cummins, when on his way to Binda in custody on a charge of bushranging; Thomas Vardy, licensed victualler of the Limerick Races Inn, Cook’s Vale Creek ; Robert and Henry Hogan, Vardy’s stepsons ; and Thomas Brown, James Williams, a lad of sixteen, and John Watson, an aboriginal native, employed in Vardy’s service. The Last six named prisoners were all charged with harbouring bushrangers, and with being accessory to robberies after the fact.
The body of Lowry was removed to the hospital, where, in the course of the afternoon, it was seen by numbers of people. He appears to have been a very tall young man, measuring six feet two inches, and probably weighing thirteen stone, well made, with small hands and feet, white skin, small moustache, and a particularly well-developed chest. Taken altogether he was physically a very fine man. He is described as having been twenty-seven years of age; and although he must have led a life of mingled dissipation and hardship, he did not appear to be any older.
Some doubt was expressed as to the body being that of Lowry, the bushranger; Mr. Horsford, the gaoler, who had known Lowry at Cockatoo Island, where he was undergoing a sentence under the name of Frederick M’Gregor, considered that the hair was much darker than that of the man he had known, and that he was much stouter, and was of opinion that deceased was not Lowry, though he was not able to speak positively. Mr. Fogg, a settler at the Narrawa, and his wife came into town on Monday and saw the body, which they declared was not that of Lowry; but it seemed they have not seen Lowry for three years, and although called at the inquest they did not attend. On the other hand, the Rev. H. H. Gaud, who had seen Lowry some twelve months back, believed that deceased was he, as did also Mr. Moses Baird, who, however, had not seen Lowry for seven or eight years. The evidence taken at the inquest is all in favour of the view of deceased being identical with Lowry ; and it is quite certain that he was the man who robbed the Goulburn mail on the 2nd July last-Mr. Futter, Captain Morphy, and the coachman (Michael Curran) having positively identified him, and Captain Morphy’s watch having been found in his possession.
There is every reason to believe that he is the man who in conjunction with Foley robbed the Mudgee mail. Foley and Lowry, it may be remembered, escaped together from Bathurst gaol on the 13th February last.”
It is intriguing that despite there being far less consensus about the identity of the corpse there have been no noted conspiracy theories raised in intervening years about Lowry escaping death such as the one about Captain Thunderbolt, which was generated with far less supporting evidence.
The report goes on to give a run down of Lowry’s criminal history using excerpts from other publications to illustrate. The history of the deceased out of the way the article continues with the account of the coroner, Dr. Waugh who states in part (with a seeming addiction to semi-colons):
“I directed [Detective] Camphin to keep guard in front with the same instructions, while Saunderson and myself would search the house; at the same time I told all the men that I suspected Frederick Lowry, the bushranger, was in the house, and to be prepared; we then dashed up to the house; we saw a girl, who seemed to be frightened and who was half-crying; Saunderson and I dismounted, hung our horses up to the front of the house, and went on to the verandah; I asked the girl if there was anyone in her room; she said “no”; I looked in and saw only a little child; the girl was about half-dressed; I then went into the bar and called for Vardy the landlord; Vardy came out of his bedroom into the hall adjoining the bar; I asked if he had any strangers in the house; he said “yes”; I asked where they where; he nodded his head to the room they were in; I asked if he knew who they were; he said no, and to look out; I went to the parlour door adjoining the room he mentioned and leading to it; it was locked inside; I knocked and asked for admittance; I got no answer; I then said if the door wore not opened at once I would break it open; I then knocked my shoulder against the door for the purpose of breaking it open; I failed in the first attempt, and I no sooner took my shoulder away than a shot was fired from inside, and a voice exclaimed “I’ll fight you, b__s”; the shot came through the door and wounded the horse I had been riding in the back; I removed the horse from that place and gave him to Vardy, and told him I should hold him responsible for him ; I then went back to the bar-door, and then the parlour door was opened and a man came out with a revolver in each hand crying out “I’m Lowry; come on ye b__’s, and I’ll fight ye fair”; at the same time he presented one of the revolvers at me; I covered him directly; I think we both fired together; at that time we were four or five yards apart ; he then advanced upon me within three feet; I covered him again, and we both, fired in each other’s faces; the second shot I fired he dropped his revolvers and staggered; I jumped forward and seized him by the neck, struck him with my revolver on the head, and told him he was my prisoner; I brought him into the bar; he continued to struggle; Saunderson came to my assistance; we then shoved the deceased into the yard, threw him on his back, and putting my knee on his chest I handcuffed him ; he then said he was Lowry, and was done…”
To further support the assertion of the corpse’s identity various effects of the deceased’s are detailed in the article:
“Lowry’s vest [a black-cloth vest bound with blue, with buttons like silver] ; it is similar to that described as having been worn by the robber of the Mudgee mail; I produce a thin black cloth sac coat claimed by Lowry, a brown Inverness cape, another heavier one, a cabbagetree hat with broad black ribbon, and an elastic riding-belt: one of the capes
contained a flask of powder, a few percussion caps, two dice, a gold watch, chain, and key ; I believe, from the description, that the watch belongs to Captain Morphy, who was robbed on the Big Hill, Goulburn, on the 2nd July ; I also found two knives, one £50 note, and altogether £164 19s. 6d., in notes stolen from the Mudgee mail, all except £10 in notes, £2 in gold, and 19s. 6d. in silver ; the money, except the silver, was in a little bag in Lowry’s trousers pocket…”
The article closes with a note of what was to come next:
“The body will be kept till Thursday, when Mr. Kater is expected to arrive. In the meantime some photographic likenesses of deceased have been taken by Mr. Gregory.”
Interestingly, the in-depth article detailing the thrilling exploits and capture of one of the Lachlan’s greatest outlaws is followed by two curious stubs wherein we are informed of a morning tea to welcome a new pastor and that a farmer in Wollongong had killed a pig of “unusual size”, highlighting the old adage that life goes on.
The folk song The Wild Colonial Boy is known around the world and has been sung by artists as wide ranging as the Clancy brothers and Mick Jagger. Despite the popularity, very few know of the inspiration for the song: seventeen year old John Doolan.
This mugshot is the first prison portrait of Doolan, a teenage tearaway who went on a spree of highway robbery with another teen, Ned Donnelly, in the early 1870s. Operating in the north of Victoria with the occasional jaunt into southern New South Wales, Doolan and Donnelly stuck up travellers on the highways for fun. Coming from a poor background, some could perhaps see that the poverty was a contributing factor in Doolan’s lawlessness, though Doolan demonstrated poor respect for authority and very little in the way of impulse control.
Doolan stabbed a fellow apprentice during an altercation in 1869 and was imprisoned for one year. Doolan met Ned Donnelly on the prison hulk Sir Harry Smith and the two became instant friends. When Doolan completed his sentence, Donnelly absconded three months later to join him.
Taking to the bush, the boys became a nuisance on the roads and stations around Huntley, stealing clothes and supplies. Their lawless days ended outside the Robin Hood Inn after stealing a spring cart. Chased down by troopers, the boys surrendered.
When the boys were put on trial, their judge, Sir Edward Eyre Williams, decided to impose what he considered to be “deterrent” sentences. John Doolan received fourteen years while Ned Donnelly got seventeen. According to reports at the time, Doolan’s mother became hysterical at the sentencing given to her son. The harsh sentences were publicly denounced but Doolan stayed in prison until 1882 before vanishing from history.
While the song was ostensibly about Doolan, the narrative includes parts of the careers of Harry Power and Jack Donohoe including Donohoe’s death during a gun battle. Despite the artistic license, the song has meant that Doolan remains a familiar name in the Australian “rogues gallery”.
The charismatic and daring Matthew Brady is one of the most renowned characters in Australian history for his fearlessness and chivalrous nature as much as his criminality. Few outlaws in Australian history have been viewed so favourably, most being referred to in quite overblown and dramatic language. While it is indisputable that, as a general rule, Brady exercised much discretion and gentleness during his exploits, he was responsible for innumerable robberies and one murder by his own hand. Unfortunately, most of his story has been lost to time through both poor contemporary recording in both official documents and in the press, meaning that very little of his story is verifiable. Yet, what is recorded demonstrates a tale at least as worthy of recognition as those of Ben Hall or Ned Kelly – if not more so.
Born in Manchester, England, in 1799, Matthew Brady was employed as a gentleman’s servant before being taken on a charge of forgery in 1820. In his records, his name is recorded as “Mathew Bready”, though this is likely the result of a record taker trying to spell the name phonetically from it being delivered in a Mancunian accent. At Lancaster Quarter Sessions on 17 April, he was found guilty and sentenced to seven years transportation.
On 3 September 1820, Brady was sent with 159 other convicts to Van Diemen’s Land on board the Juliana, arriving 29 December that same year. In his records, he was described as standing at 5’5½” tall, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He was also tattooed with images of a man and woman on his left arm, a fish and the letters TB on his right arm.
He was assigned to work in the employ of William Brest, but soon found himself sent to Van Diemen’s Land’s harshest prison of the time, Macquarie Harbour, aka Sarah Island, for repeated infractions – mostly absconding or plotting to escape. Brady had a deep-seated resentment of the authorities, which was only cemented by his treatment by them. During 1821 through 1823 he was flogged repeatedly for infractions ranging from neglect of duty to absconding, enduring a cumulative total of 525 lashes.
Inducing a gang of convicts to escape from Sarah Island with him in June 1824, the men succeeded in stealing a whaleboat, taking the doctor from the penal settlement as a hostage, and traversing the stormy waters off the coast of Van Diemen’s Land. They were pursued at sea by the authorities but were able to trick them by pulling into a cove, out of sight, long enough for the pursuers to pass them. At one point during their flight, Brady’s confederates attempted to flog their prisoner as an act of vengeance, but Brady stayed their hands as the doctor had treated him well on the island. They arrived in the Derwent River after nine days, and upon going ashore became free-booters.
The gang stole firearms from a settler and took to the bush, raiding homesteads to take what they needed. Brady built a reputation of treating women with kindness and respect that endeared him to many. Brady impressed upon his associates a strict code of conduct, through which he was determined that they should never be guilty of injuring the defenceless. This meant a prohibition on stealing more than they needed, and under no circumstances molesting women in any way.
Over the next few months the numbers of the gang dwindled as members were either captured or killed. During one particularly nasty raid, the gang were met with resistance and a gunfight broke out. One of the gang lost and eye during the fight and was located days later wandering aimlessly in the bush on the verge of death from dehydration. Eventually the only men left from the initial band of escapees were Brady and James McCabe. McCabe was an impulsive young man with sharp features and a pockmarked face, but seemed to respect Brady enough to work with him and follow his lead.
The pair began making connections and developing a network of harbourers around the Tasmanian midlands. One of these harbourers was a former constable named Thomas Kenton. He would plan robberies with Brady and McCabe, though never actually took part in them himself, merely taking a cut of the takings in exchange for giving the bushrangers a safe haven. Kenton would put out a white sheet to signal the coast was clear to the men, who were soon joined by a boy named Hyte.
Unbeknownst to the bushrangers, Kenton had been conspiring with the authorities and in early 1825 he arranged a meeting with Brady, McCabe and Hyte as a cover for an ambush. Though Brady had a bad feeling about it, the others convinced him to follow through with the meeting. Brady’s instincts proved to be correct, as when they reached Kenton’s hut they were pounced on by soldiers. McCabe bolted, but the others weren’t so lucky. Hyte was taken easily, but Brady had to be severely bashed before he could be subdued. Their hands were bound and Hyte was taken to town to be lodged in the lockup, but Brady was kept in Kenton’s charge until the soldiers returned. Brady, badly concussed and bleeding from the head, asked to be laid on the bed, which was done, then requested a drink. While Kenton was out of the hut collecting water, Brady thrust his hands in the fire to burn away his bonds. He then took up his gun, and when Kenton returned Brady threatened to shoot him. He relented but informed Kenton that one day he’d get revenge, before escaping.
Matthew Brady [Archives Office of Tasmania.]
Brady and McCabe met up again and formed a new gang. They escalated their operations, and in one raid decided to utilise their victim’s boats to transport the booty. After the man’s servants had scuttled the first boat, the bushrangers transferred everything to a second one and took one of the servants to direct the boat to their hideaway at Grindstone Bay. However, during the night the gang got horrendously drunk and a brawl erupted, during which their captive was killed. As a result, Brady ordered the remaining alcohol be destroyed and swore his gang to temperance in order to prevent further incidents. The one dissenting voice was James McCabe who left the gang after another fight. He was captured two weeks later between Hamilton and Bothwell.
Lieutenant Governor Arthur was greatly vexed by the continued and escalating depredations and put out a declaration in April 1825 stating:
His Honour has directed that a reward of £25 shall be given for the apprehension of either [Brady and accomplice James McCabe]; and that any prisoner giving such information as may directly lead to their apprehension shall receive a ticket-of-leave, and that any prisoner apprehending and securing either of them, in addition to the above reward, shall receive a conditional pardon.
[…]
Fifty acres of land, free from restrictions, will be given to the chief constable in whose district either McCabe or Brady is taken, provided it shall be certified by the magistrate of the district that he has zealously exerted himself in the promulgation of this order, and to the adoption of measures for giving it effect.
In response to this perceived affront, Brady is said to have offered his own proclamation:
It has caused Matthew Brady much concern that such a person known as Sir George Arthur is at large. Twenty gallons of rum will be given to any person that will deliver his person unto me. I also caution John Priest that I will hang him for his ill-treatment of Mrs. Blackwell, at Newtown.
Sir George Arthur circa 1837. [Dixon Library, State Library of New South Wales.]
As Brady’s notoriety grew, so did his ambition. There seemed to be a desire to use the gang’s lawlessness to ridicule the forces of law and order, exemplified in their raid on the township of Sorell. The bushrangers stuck up a wealthy household and kept the occupants prisoner overnight due to intense storms. In the morning the gang trekked into Sorell with their prisoners and stuck up a party of redcoats who had been out looking for the gang in their own barracks. The soldiers had been caught in torrential rain and returned to base empty handed with waterlogged muskets, thus had no defence against the bushrangers. The gang then set their sights upon the town gaol. Upon breaching the stronghold they attempted to free the occupants of the cells, however the inmates were too afraid to leave. The soldiers and the gang’s other prisoners were promptly locked up. They were soon met with resistance from outside, as Lieutenant Gunn had heard of their presence and tracked them down. The two bushrangers on sentry opened fire on Lieutenant Gunn, who was hit in the right arm, injuring it badly enough to necessitate amputation. Before leaving, the gang built a scarecrow to act as a decoy to allow them escape. Surprisingly, it worked as the locals were convinced there was still at least one bushranger guarding the gaol.
Desperate to escape from Van Diemen’s Land, Brady and what remained of his gang managed to steal a brig called Glutton, and intended to use it to gain access to a larger craft called Blue Eyed Maid and make their way across Bass Strait. Unfortunately the gang got cold feet and they retreated back to land.
Following this, Brady learned of what Thomas Kenton had been up to since their last meeting. Kenton had been gaoled for letting Brady escape, and had since his release had been spreading lies about Brady, while attempting to paint himself in a better light. Brady tracked Kenton down to a hotel called the Cocked Hat, and rode there with gang members Bryant and Williams. Brady calmly informed Kenton that he would be killed for his betrayal and slandering. Kenton was unrepentant and proceeded to goad Brady, who responded by shooting him in the head. This was the only murder Brady himself would perform.
One of the various proclamations issued by Lieutenant-Governor Arthur [Archives Office of Tasmania.]
By now it was becoming harder for Brady to trust his gang members as people, tempted to seek the reward, infiltrated the gang in order to act as a spy. By now Lieutenant-Governor Arthur had raised the stakes to 300 guineas or 300 acres of land for settlers and a free pardon and free passage to England for convicts for bringing in Brady.
A matter of days after Kenton’s murder, a posse engaged Brady’s gang in a running gunfight, having been tipped off by a traitor named Cowen. Brady was badly injured by a bullet that passed through his calf. The gang split up, Brady seeking refuge in an island at the North Esk River with his accomplices Murphy and Williams. Cowen led a posse to the hideaway, and although Brady escaped, Murphy and Williams were shot dead in their sleep by their pursuers, leaving Brady alone in the bush without supplies and badly wounded. He was spotted soon after by bounty hunter John Batman, after Brady had spooked some of Batman’s cattle. Brady was hobbling nearby with a sapling he had cut down for a crutch. Batman challenged him with a musket and Brady surrendered.
James McCabe, Matthew Brady and Patrick Bryant as sketched by Thomas Bock.
After being busted when attempting to cut through a prison wall to facilitate escape, Brady and the remaining members of his gang were put on trial, with Brady pleading guilty to all charges. The bushrangers were found guilty and duly sentenced to death by hanging. Thereafter Brady’s cell was allegedly filled with gifts of fruit and sweets, letters and flowers from admiring women. His last act of defiance was complaining vocally about being forced to share a cell with Thomas Jeffries – a bushranger who was a cannibal and murderer. Brady ranted to his guards that if he was not relocated he would cut Jeffries’ head off. When guards searched Brady they found two large knives on his person and promptly relocated him to another cell. Brady subsequently expressed disgust at having to be hanged with Jeffries.
Matthew Brady was hanged in Hobart on 4 May, 1826. He was buried in an unmarked grave, though for a time a small cairn had been placed over his grave to mark it. By the 1870s the cairn had been removed.
Many of the stories associated with Brady have been exaggerated or embellished over the years, thanks mostly to poor research by posthumous authors and inadequate recording of the events at the time they were unfolding. Nevertheless, the little that was recorded demonstrates Brady to have been a man of strong morals, despite his lawlessness, and of remarkable constitution. His gentlemanly manner and audacious crimes have helped keep his memory alive for the almost 200 years since his execution.
Further reading:
Matthew Brady : Van Diemen’s Land bushranger by K.R. von Stieglitz.
Matthew Brady and Ned Kelly kindred spirits, kindred lives by Paul Williams
And wretches hang : the true and authentic story of the rise and fall of Matt Brady, bushranger by Richard Butler.
The Van Diemen’s Land warriors; with an essay on Matthew Brady by George Mackaness.
Brady : McCabe, Dunne, Bryan, Crawford, Murphy, Bird, McKenney, Goodwin, Pawley, Bryant, Cody, Hodgetts, Gregory, Tilley, Ryan, Williams, and their associates, bushrangers in Van Diemen’s Land, 1825-1827 from James Calder’s text of 1873 together with newly discovered manuscripts ; edited by Eustace Fitzsymonds.
