Tag: Lieutenant William Gunn

TASMANIAN HISTORY – A SKETCH OF OLD TIMES; EMBODYING THE BUSH CAREER OF MATTHEW BRADY by J. E. Calder (Pt. 5)

Mercury (Hobart, Tas. : 1860 – 1954), Thursday 21 August 1873, page 3

TASMANIAN HISTORY.

THE FIRST TROUBLES OF GOVERNOR ARTHUR

A SKETCH OF OLD TIMES; EMBODYING THE BUSH CAREER OF MATTHEW BRADY.

Written by J. E. CALDER.

[Continued.]

To return to the scenes enacting at Grindstone Bay, &c.; Brady, after the liberation of Mr. Denne and his other prisoners, shifted his quarters, and moved into the fine district that Howe had so often desolated before, namely, Pittwater; and at Sorell it was that the most audacious and successful enterprise of his chequered career was enacted.

But here, as everywhere, his path was beset with dangers, and he could move nowhere without confronting some trap set for his destruction. At this time there were in Sorell a military party of sixteen rank and file, besides police, the former under the command of the active Lieutenant Gunn. This indefatigable young officer scoured the district, now under his military charge, as no one ever traversed it before, in search of Brady, whom it almost seemed destined he was never to meet. But this was now to take place; Brady having determined on surprising him in his own camp, with a third of his number, that is including the police, and to pay him off for his persevering pursuit of his party.

It was on the 25th of November that the gang reached the farm of Thornhill, that belonged to Mr. R. Bethune. It was a day of rain and tempest; the sky and earth seemed almost meeting, and the downpour from above was so heavy and incessant, that all the roads leading into the district were next to impassable.

But bad as the weather was, Brady’s people remained in the bush till darkness closed in. They had made several prisoners the day before, who they drove through the cheerless bush, thereby preventing an alarm. Amongst those unfortunates was their old captive Denne, who, after his recent visit to the Governor, was now jogging home again, when he was intercepted by the ever-wandering gang at a place called the White Marsh, on the Prosser’s Plains road. Reversely of what he expected, they applauded him for convincing the Governor of their escape from Hobart Town, saying that “he had only done his duty,” which, in this instance, happened to please them, and they now treated him with a little more consideration than on the first occasion of their becoming acquainted.

The tempest was still as violent as ever, and the trees of the forest rocked again under its force, even to the uprooting of many of them, which were heard falling at irregular intervals, as usual in a heavy gale, and plenty of rain. At nine o’clock of this dreadful night, the bushrangers made a move with their prisoners, to the residence of Bethune, who was sitting up with his superintendent after the farm servants were abed. The knock of the bushrangers was answered by the superintendent within, demanding, pistol in hand, to know who they were that sought admittance at such an hour of such a night as this? The challenge was answered by Brady himself, replying “Constables,” when the door instantly flew open, like that of the den of the Forty Thieves, at the mystic open sesame of Ali Baba, and in rushed the gang, who, first knocking the pistol out of his hand, then pushed him into the parlour, where they found Bethune half asleep; but he roused and started up at hearing Brady’s usual exclamation, “We are the bushrangers – sit down and be quiet.”

The brigands then flew to the men’s hut, where eight of them were napping it, who were turned out of bed by a very expeditious process, and marched off with such clothes as they could catch hold of, to finish their toilets by the kitchen fire, where Denne and his companions in distress, were steaming themselves into life again, guarded by their watchful sentinels all the while; Bethune and his superintendent remaining where we left them, under the eye of Brady in person. The conversation in the parlour being all about bushranging, was not very edifying to his two prisoners, but to which they listened, or at least seemed to listen, with great complacency, though doubtlessly not with much comfort. Brady spoke with great apparent warmth against several persons, who were obnoxious to his party, particularly one magistrate, who he vowed to be avenged on before long. One circumstance is recorded in relation to this interview, rather to the credit of Brady. He named a well-to-do settler, who he meant to rob in a day or two. But being told he was just then in great distress, his wife being dangerously ill, he changed his purpose directly, saying, “Oh, if that’s the case, I’ll let him off.” They regaled themselves right merrily, while at Thornhill, but their vigilance never relaxed, and the watch was so well kept that no one escaped; and their presence in Pittwater was therefore known to none but themselves and prisoners.

Mr. Bethune was expecting a visit from his brother the next day; the same who had aided to disperse Brady’s party at the Plenty about fourteen months before. But not caring to resent it now, he insisted on it that the preparations making for his reception, should be continued.

The next day brought no change of weather. The rain came down as hard as ever, and few stirred abroad on this wretched day of storm, but the active Gunn and his soldiers, who were abroad as usual, in the faint hope of coming on the retreat of the men, then resting quietly at Bethune’s, and almost in sight of their quarters.

In the afternoon, the expected visitor and a friend named Bunster, arrived, as wet and miserable as rain and a cutting southwester could make them. As they rode up, they were received by Brady in person with great decorum.

While some of his men led their horses to the stable, he himself marshalled his guests to the house, Bethune and his friend wondering who the mischief this very officious person was who received them with such superlative assiduities, and seemed completely master of the place. But there was not much time for reflection, for drenched as they were, their self-constituted host and some others, hurried them off to a bedroom, where they helped them off with their steaming clothes and supplied them with dry ones. The strangers looked and looked at them, but could not make them out at all, and it was only when someone gave them a hint not to be too curious, that they began to see how matters stood, namely that they had got into a mess, and that their obliging attendants were the men called par excellence “the bushrangers,” so like wise men they bowed to their fate with the best grace they could, virtually if not actually passing their parole to be on good behaviour.

Brady next led the way to the dining room, where an excellent repast awaited them, of which all partook with keen appetite, and things went on quite pleasantly. Bethune and Brady sat together, their good humour in no way damped by any disagreeable recollections of their previous meeting at the Plenty, but which rather improved it than otherwise, more particularly now that the positions of both in reference to temporary power and command were so completely and ludicrously reversed.

The Colonial Times of the 2nd December speaks thus of this meeting: “The gentlemen were treated with the utmost civility. Dinner was prepared and every attention paid them.” But after sitting at their wine for an hour or two, the weary visitors asked to be shown to their bedrooms, pleading fatigue as their reason for wishing to break up so early. But Brady shook his head at this proposal, and surprised them by telling them with a slightly altered look, that they must not think of retiring just yet, for though it was now ten o’clock and the day near closing, its real business was not yet begun, and, in time informed them that he meant to attack the gaol and guardhouse immediately, “and you gentlemen,” he continued with polite solemnity, “must all accompany me down to the township, as I mean to liberate all the prisoners now in gaol, and to put you in, in their places.” They thought he was not in earnest but they did not know their man; but they quickly discovered that he meant what he said, for the words were hardly spoken, when several of the gang stepped forward, armed to the teeth by this time, and then he gave the word arrest, or slay the Franks, telling them at the same time, that they were no longer to consider themselves guests but prisoners, and in less time than I can tell it in, his men – having previously tied up the servants and other prisoners – now served all the gentlemen in the same manner, the Gazette telling us that “they bound them all two and two by the wrists, and marched them to Sorell gaol” (3rd December 1825.) The brothers Bethune – Bunster and another, were siamesed in this manner, and all the rest being coupled up like hounds, the whole of them, eighteen, were ranked up, and ignominiously marched off to gaol, with the armed bushrangers four on each side, for their escort; and in this undignified manner, the whole of them reached the lock up, as fast as their grave looking guards could drive them along.

The Governor of the gaol, Laing, lived in a detached cottage about two hundred yards off; the military force then in Sorell, having quarters in another one, nearer the gaol; Gunn being lodged in the house of a friend, across the street.

The 16 soldiers had had a most fatiguing day of it, having been abroad in the storm ever since breakfast, along with their indefatigable commander; who notwithstanding the tempestuous state of the weather, kept them on the move through the flooded bush to take the men, who were to take himself and whole detachment – police and all – prisoners, before the day was over. But as this gentleman personally shared the discomforts of his men, no one complained. It was dusk when the tired soldiers returned to their barrack.

Having dried and refreshed themselves, the men looked next to their firelocks, which of course needed cleaning after such a day of rain; and they were drying by the guard-room fire, when the bushrangers came unexpectedly upon them. The gaol was however first rushed, and taken directly, and all Brady’s prisoners forced in, where he left them under a guard of four, while he himself with the remaining three, proceeded to attack the guard-house, where the soldiers were resting at the end of the room farthest from the fire, some at cards, others half asleep, and no one watching.

Brady, after reconnoitering the room through a window, and seeing from the posture of affairs within, that no time could be more favourable for an attack than the present moment, dashed in with three others, and took post between the men and their firelocks, and then presenting their own pieces at them, demanded their instant surrender. “I am Brady,” said he to the wonder-struck soldiers, “and if any of you move an inch, we will give you a volley for your pains.” Taken as much by surprise, as if the enemy had dropped on them from above, and completely cut off from their arms, they were mastered before they could unite for defence. A short but sharp struggle, in which only a few joined, is said to have taken place, though this is very unlikely, but whether or no they were every one taken, and driven by Brady into the cell, and locked up with his other prisoners.

It is a singular fact, but vouched for by the Gazette, that the criminals who were in the gaol when Brady took it, refused the liberation that he offered them.

While this unparalleled outrage was proceeding, the governor of the gaol ran to Gunn’s quarters. He was quite wearied with his long day’s march through the bush, and lying down, when the bearer of the evil tidings of the complete defeat of the soldiers presented himself. The lieutenant, a fiery Scotchman, greatly vexed at the news of the inglorious discomfiture of his whole detachment by a fourth of its number, snatched his piece, a double-barrel, and hastened to the scene of disaster, to see if anything could be done to re-take the place, but unhappily failed to reach it, being met on the way by Murphy and Bird, who were in pursuit of Laing to destroy him. Suspecting that they were from the enemy’s camp, he raised his piece for a shot at them. But they were ready first, and sent the contents of their fire-locks into him before he could draw the trigger. His right arm was shattered to pieces by their fire. He was also struck in the breast, but not severely. He fell, and they left him for dead. Just before this, these two, who were the most bloodthirsty of the party, had been to Laing’s house to shoot him, but his absence at Gunn’s saved him. But here they met with sterner resistance than they expected, and were successfully kept out for a time by two men named Scott and McArra. But a shot from the little scoundrel Murphy’s gun breaking McArra’s wrist, they got in, and, learning where Laing had gone to, they followed, when meeting Gunn, who in the dark they thought was Laing, served him in the manner described above. They then returned to the gaol, triumphantly announcing that they “had done for two of the rascals.”

Lieutenant Gunn once told me that it was Murphy who shot him, without naming Bird. But in the darkness of such a night of storm, the excitement of the moment, and his painful wounds, he may not have known there was a second man present. But the following extract from the Gazette of the 17th December shows that he was mistaken: “When Lieutenant Gunn was presenting his piece, and was fired at by Murphy, he hastily pointed at Bird, when he found he could not draw the trigger, his fingers being broken by the shot; and instantly but providentially” (I copy the expression exactly), “received the contents of Bird’s gun in the same arm.”

The quiet little hamlet of Sorell, was now in a ferment of excitement; for what had occurred at the gaol was soon known all over the place; and most of the villagers hastening down to the scene of disturbance, some to help the now helpless authorities, others to ascertain the extent of disaster, but most to see the fun only, had all of them their officiousness or curiosity satisfied by being locked up themselves, as fast as they arrived. A local magistrate, well known for bustle and parade of activity, was amongst the number thus treated. Rushing with all the speed he could get up, to the gaol gate, he demanded authoritatively to know “what the deuce-and-all was the matter?” The sentry at the gate made no reply, but jerking his fowling-piece out of his hand, smashed it before his face, and then catching him by the nape of the neck, sent him spinning into the gaol-yard, with such a thrust, that he seemed to fly rather than run into it, coming down heavily after a furious scamper to save himself of a dozen or fifteen yards. The gaol was never so full before, for about half the people of the place were now in it.

The outlaws, satisfied with the mischief they had done, began to think about retiring; so locking every door, they quitted Sorell long before day-break, quietly and quite unobserved, which they had no difficulty in doing; for after a dozen or two of the most curious of the villagers were locked up, for prying into matters that Brady thought they had nothing to do with, the rest were too wise or else too frightened to come near the place, and got home as fast as they could, justly regarding Brady’s cage, as the fox did the den of the sick lion, as a place none too safe to approach.

But to keep up the belief that they still held possession of the prison, the brigands, when they relieved the watch at the gate, and just before their departure, replaced him with the effigy of a sentinel, which proved on after examination to be only a bundle of sticks and straw, moulded into the figure of a man, which they dressed like one of themselves, with a stick over his shoulder for a gun. (See Martin’s Colonial Magazine.) “On the bushrangers departing,” says the Colonial Times newspaper of the 2nd December, “they put up a stick, with a great coat and hat upon it, to imitate a sentinel at the gaol door, in order to gain as much time as possible.”

The deceit was successful, and no one came near the menacing bundle of sticks and old clothes that guarded the fallen chivalry of Sorell; and the bushrangers were many a mile off on their route for Spring Bay before the trick was found out, and several hours passed before the prisoners were relieved, who had passed a horrible night, huddled together in cells where there was neither fresh air, light, nor room for half their number.

The demeanour of the prisoners was generally quite the reverse of what one would have hoped for from companions in misfortune, for, instead of mitigating each other’s discomforts, they increased them. They were all so much in one another’s way that of good humour there could be none; and in the multitudinous discussions that ensued about the misfortunes of that eventful night, each man very naturally thought that everyone was in fault but himself, and, as they all said so, there was no end of noise and furious disputation about it. They quarrelled and screamed all night like cats on a house top, either in pairs or parties, or all together, the civilians blaming and abusing the military for want of discipline and vigilance, and the military damning the civilians all round for want of pluck, and then all joined voices in a general chorus of oaths at their fellow-sufferers collectively, but at no one in particular.

But relief came at last, through an active inquisitive fellow named Culliford, who was up betimes in the morning, peeping every now and then round the corner at the gaol, and above all at the fierce but rather funny looking sentinel on duty at the gate, who seemed, at first sight as watchful as Cerberus himself. After peeping at him and drawing back about fifty times, he began to think it a little curious that the man kept so long in one posture. The cunning fellow watched and watched, but still could detect no movement, and at last came to the conclusion that the man had gone to sleep on his post standing. A bright thought then came into his head that with caution and a little management he might be secured. Some other determined fellows now joined him, and after a good deal of deliberation about the best method of belling the cat, they advanced in a body to the attack. Creeping on him quietly and inch by inch, so as not to waken him, they made a simultaneous dash at him, knocked him over and carried the gaol.

After the accomplishment of this dashing coup de main, the imposture was discovered, which of course made it clear that there was not a bushranger within miles of Sorell, whereon the doors were unlocked, and the captive host within liberated, who, says an informant, streamed out of the gate for several minutes, most of them bolting off home as fast as they decently could, amidst the jeers and laughter of the more fortunate portion of the population, who had been lucky enough to keep out of Brady’s way.

Lieutenant Gunn received the usual pension of an officer of his rank, for the loss of his arm, which was shattered to pieces by twelve balls – probably buck-shot – he also received a civil appointment, besides a money present from the colonists of about £300.

I have heard much said, and read a good deal in extenuation of the defeat of the military and police on this occasion; and the newspapers of the time try hard to gloss it over; but this much is certain, that there could have been no surprise had a proper watch been kept at the gaol.

Such readers as may have no opportunity of consulting the colonial newspapers of 1825, will find an account of this tragi-comic adventure, in M. Martin’s Colonial Magazine for 1840, vol. 2, page 419, and in several other works in which Tasmanian brigandage is touched on.

After leaving Sorell, the fugitives marched as quickly as they could move on Spring Bay, taking great precautions to prevent their route being known. Spring Bay is much about fifty-two miles from Hobart Town.

Despairing of securing Brady by open pursuit, as his resources and means of escape seemed inexhaustible, the Government now took such steps to entrap him, as nothing but the impossibility of getting him by other means can palliate. “Permission” says West in his History of Tasmania, vol. 2, page 205, “being given for prisoners to unite with the bushrangers to betray them; men in irons left town secretly, joined the gang, and gave intelligence to the police.” Several of the worst characters were chosen for this odious office, for which they were well qualified by their peculiar talents, excessive depravity, and bad practices. Pre-eminent amongst these men, was one named Cowen, who escaped by Governmental connivance from a punishment gang. Flying as if for his life from a pretended pursuit to the house of a smith, known to be in league with the bushrangers, his irons were struck off, and on saying that he wished to join Brady, he was furnished with a note to him. But the movements of the bushrangers were now so rapid and uncertain, that many weeks passed before he could unite with them. Two other men named Coil and Callaghan were also set free for the same purpose; and some of Brady’s agents were also tampered with by the police, to give information of his movements. His speedy downfall was therefore certain; for though he might again have burst though a circle of fire, there was no escape from the machinations of treachery. However the fates were not yet propitious, and he had still some months to run before the play was over.

[To be continued].

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TASMANIAN HISTORY – A SKETCH OF OLD TIMES; EMBODYING THE BUSH CAREER OF MATTHEW BRADY by J. E. Calder (Pt. 3)

Mercury (Hobart, Tas. : 1860 – 1954), Tuesday 19 August 1873, page 3

TASMANIAN HISTORY.

THE FIRST TROUBLES OF GOVERNOR ARTHUR

A SKETCH OF OLD TIMES; EMBODYING THE BUSH CAREER OF MATTHEW BRADY.

Written by J. E. CALDER.

[Continued.]

Amongst the properties lying at the head of Great Swanport are the estates of the Meredith family, of many thousands of acres. Mr. George Meredith, the founder of this well-known Tasmanian family, was one of the first settlers who sailed for this colony after the death of Michael Howe, which closed the first epoch of brigandage in Tasmania. Mr. Meredith emigrated in 1821.

In early life, this gentleman had held a commission in the Royal Marines, and had seen plenty of hot service at the close of the last century and the beginning of the present one, and served in Egypt when that province was wrested from the French. Acting ashore, it was he who fixed the Union Jack on Pompoy’s Pillar, displacing and making prize of the symbol of conquest which Napoleon had caused to be planted on this historic monument, (See Martin’s Colonial Magazine.) After securing this trophy, the Cap of Liberty, he removed it to England, and presented it to the Birmingham Museum, where it still is, or should be, that is to say, rusting in some cellar-like lumber-room of that building!

Brady and his followers reached Swanport early in October, 1825. Mr. Meredith did not then reside at the present head establishment of the family, namely, Cambria, but had another property united Redbanks. Possessed as this gentleman was of ample means, and a well stocked house, Brady marked it for plunder so soon as the coast was clear, and circumstances favourable for free-booting operations, which they were very far from being when he set up his camp amongst the neighbouring hills. To have attacked it just then, would have been to have given up his party to the destroyer; for the proprietor – himself no mere carpet Knight – was at home at the time, and the Chief of Police having got some inkling of Brady’s movements, had stationed a party of twelve soldiers there in charge of the intrepid Gunn, to remain till the outlaws were heard of, therefore no attempt could be made on Redbanks until the garrison was withdrawn.

The bushrangers kept in close concealment until this removal took place, which they knew would be soon if they kept quiet, and moved not from their camp; and as their presence near Swanport was only known to one accomplice, they remained in security, till the suspicions of the authorities subsided; and the services of the soldiers, which in these bushranging times were always in request, were wanted elsewhere.

By some unaccountible neglect, no intimation was given to Mr. Meredith, that he was in danger of an attack, nor did he suspect one; and even the soldiers themselves, had no exact knowledge of the cause of their temporary location at Redbanks. But here they remained several days, constantly on the alert, but no one knowing the cause of alarm, as the visit of Brady to so sparsely inhabited a place as Swanport was expected by none but the police.

But no enemy appearing in this district for a week after the arrival of the soldiers, they then received their marching orders and left. Brady, who had been anxiously awaiting this event, saw them get underarms, and depart for Hobart Town at eight o’clock of the morning after getting the route. Just at the same time, he saw the unfortunate and unsuspecting proprietor, mount his horse, and ride off with some of his sons to a distant part of the run, whilst the farm servants dispersed themselves hither and thither about their usual occupations. The robbers made no movement for three hours after the soldiers had commenced their march, that they might be well out of reach before they made their attack on Redbanks.

At one hour before noon, they came down from the hills, and finding no one at Meredith’s except his wife and daughters, their entry was quite unopposed. Brady having first assured the ladies that they need fear no affront, the work of pillage commenced. They made prize of a large quantity of plate, provisions and spirits of all kinds, and a larger selection of choice wines than I care to enumerate.

There were two excellent whaleboats in Meredith’s boat-shed; and Brady wishing to give his land pursuers the slip, thought the present a capital opportunity of throwing them off the scent, by sailing for the Derwent, more than a hundred miles off. One of the boats was therefore put into the water, loaded with the plunder of the place. Meantime the servants a-field got, tidings of what was going on, and though some of them behaved badly enough, others acted in better part. One of the latter secreting himself, watched for an opportunity, and as the robbers went to and from the house, waded out to the boat, and scuttled her with his falling axe; another servant reached her in the same manner, recovered some of the plate, and both escaped. On discovering this, Brady transhipped his plunder to the undamaged boat, and all of them jumping in, they sailed off but before proceeding to sea, they completely unfitted the other one for pursuit by chopping her nearly in two.

The bushrangers were all landsmen; and though one or two could pull a little, they understood nothing about the management of a boat, so they pressed one of Meredith’s men, a professional boatman named Henry Hunt, into their service to steer her.

Once embarked, they stood to the south to round Cape Pillar, and enter the Derwent, there to recommence work, where they were not expected. But Brady was always unfortunate at sea, and his present adventure ended in failure. Their boat had been so long ashore that she leaked frightfully, and all their efforts to keep her dry were unavailing. But the wind being fair, she made tolerable way. But it was soon seen that she was not to be trusted, and Hunt refused to face the stormy seas off Cape Pillar, especially with landsmen only in her, who could be of no use if she got into difficulties.

He therefore persuaded them to run for Grindstone Bay, where they landed on a sand beach, in front of land now known as Castle’s grant; a place that I shall have to mention again in the course of this narrative as a favourite retreat of Brady’s. It is indeed even now one of the most secluded of settlements but at the times I am writing of, the appearance of a soldier or constable there would have been quite as novel a sight as a horse in the streets of Venice.

The morning’s plunder was so ample that they resolved on a few days rest here. The determination was an unfortunate one; for though quite assured against external danger, strife soon arose amongst themselves, which Brady was powerless to repress. The abundance of wines and spirits they had with them soon set them quarrelling, the disturbance which followed being begun and kept up by his old but turbulent companion McCabe, whom had always much difficulty to keep in order, for he was at best a bad fellow, and a cruel one also, and whenever unnecessary mischief was committed, it was always begun by this fellow.

Brady, like Howe, was from necessity a sober man; but not so his old bush comrade McCabe, to whom the abstinence his chief insisted on was intolerable; and he now indemnified himself for past restraint, by excessive indulgence, and a desperate brawl was the result of this debauch, which some of the others joined in as well as McCabe. While it was at its height the boatman Hunt was shot dead, and his body buried in the sand. Heated with wine and rioting, most of them were soon too drunk to continue further disturbance. Then it was that Brady and another man named McKenny, seeing the evil that must come of this state of things, determined that it should go no farther; and before their companions recovered consciousness, they demolished every bottle that remained; a procedure that was ultimately approved by all the others, except the ungovernable McCabe, who was absolutely furious when he awoke, and discovered what had been done. Though not a very robust man, he was one of those sinewy, wiry fellows, who it is not a safe thing to encounter in fight, more especially as he possessed wonderful activity and endurance. He immediately assaulted McKenny, but finding that all his mates sided with his opponent, and that he had no sympathisers he separated himself from them, to meet them no more. Brady, and the rest tried hard to persuade him to do nothing to break up their party, but the hot-headed man was inexorable, so shouldering his gun he left the camp, to commence the dangerous and mad career of robber life by himself.

McCabe and Brady were the last of the fourteen who left Macquarie Harbour together sixteen months before, eleven having died already, and one other escaping by a timely surrender; thus twelve of the original number were disposed of and the remaining sands of McCabe’s own lifeglass were so nearly run out, that they might be told without counting them; for in less than a fortnight after breaking with Brady, he was safe in gaol, to await the certain and terrible punishment of a life of guilt. It is as well to follow him to his unhappy end.

From the outlaws’ camp at Grindstone Bay, he passed across the wild and rugged East Coast tiers into the settlement beyond, never stopping, except at night, till he was once more in the pastoral district of Bothwell, where he arrived thoroughly prostrated with his long and rapid walk. The field of operations was a badly chosen one, as it happened at the moment to be well guarded both by military and police.

He was first seen by a traveller while he was sleeping under the shade of some trees. This man, suspecting that he was a bushranger, hastened off to a military post and reported him to the guard, a part of which marched at once on the refuge of the weary fugitive. As the soldiers approached him it was observed that he was still asleep; but being by habit an easily alarmed man, he woke up before they were within shot of him, and he started from the ground, and flying with the speed of a professional runner, all trace of him was quickly lost; and all that his pursuers secured were his gun, blanket, and some of his clothes.

McCabe had been here before, and knew the ground well. He had also an accomplice here, and made for his house at once. This was the person whom I have spoken of before, as a stock owner of rank, and the unsuspected confrere of Brady’s people. Whatever could have induced such a man to cultivate an intimacy with robbers it is impossible to say, it is enough to state that such was the case, and that he had been in the habit of furnishing them with supplies, and intelligence also of all police movements relating to themselves which from his knowledge of the different members of the magistracy, he had abundant means of acquiring, no one suspecting for whose use he sought it.

After a four-mile run McCabe reached the house of this friend of the brigands, but not in the mood of mind in which they had heretofore met. His recent mishap with his companions; his fatigue and exhaustion, the unlooked for surprise of the morning, the loss of the little he had, and, above all, his ungovernable nature, all tended to distract him, and he entered the house of the settler not as a confidant, but as enemy. He was admitted, as usual, but the unmasterable passions of this degraded man, prostrating his feeble reasoning powers, he seemed for the moment reckless of, and indifferent to, everything, even the traditional honour that is said to exist between thieves. Seizing on a loaded fowling-piece that stood against the wall of the room, he cocked and presented it at the head of the astonished flock-master, and using such imprecations as I do not care to write down, demanded an immediate supply of everything he wanted. At the same time – so it is reported – he took a blazing brand from the hearth to apply to the roof of the dwelling, and was only restrained from burning it to the ground by the passionate entreaties of the wife of the unfortunate settler, addressed to the demoniacal brigand. Her exhortations so far appeased him that he desisted from his savage purpose; and on receiving her assurance that his wants should be supplied, he seemed to calm down a little, and shortly afterwards left the premises, once more an armed man, to follow and finish his perilous courses.

Such is the narrative of the particulars of this visit, as they are given in the newspapers of the time; but of which some parts doubtlessly received a good deal of false colouring, to remove suspicion from the guilty settler, on whose report they were published.

Armed and in the woods once more he travelled back to the main road, and somewhere between the Cross Marsh and the Lovely Banks, he met a youthful traveller named Mortimer, who he attacked directly; and as the reasoning faculties of the man, such as they were, were still dormant, he fired at him, but the shot took effect only on the horse he rode, but not very injuriously. He now forced young Mortimer to dismount and surrender both his purse and horse also; and next vaulting into the saddle the madman galloped off to the field of certain danger, and possible ruin, namely, to Bothwell, where his own late appearance had put all on the qui vive to take or destroy him.

We now arrive at the closing scene of McCabe’s bush career, which terminated on the 25th October, 1825.

Mortimer’s horse was a good one, and the brigand was soon in Bothwell again. Riding through the woods, he fell in with a shepherd named Bayliss on the morning of the fatal 25th. Having seized and bound this man, he drove him before him as guide, to the farm-house of a once well known colonist, Dr. Scott, which was in the charge of his brother. When they came within view of the dwelling, McCabe dismounted and tied Bayliss to a tree, and then fastening his horse to a branch, he proceeded on foot to pillage it, which he speedily and successfully accomplished.

During McCabe’s absence, Bayliss got away, and taking the horse, galloped off to the guard-house for assistance to capture the bushranger. The men got under arms and started after him with Bayliss for their guide, at such a rapid pace, that they reached the place where they expected McCabe, four miles off, in about fifty minutes.

As soon as the fugitive left Scott’s, he returned for his horse and his prisoner Bayliss, but finding both gone, his disappointment made him absolutely frantic, as his means of escaping with his plunder, which was large, were quite frustrated. But for a moment, and only for a moment, fortune seemed auspicious. A shepherd, also named Scott, happening to pass just then with his flock was made prisoner by him, and loaded with part of his booty, in this manner McCabe proceeded, for some yet undiscovered retreat, but just at this moment the soldiers, followed by some civilians, hove in sight. More confused than ever, a suspicion crossed his mind that Scott was in the plot to take him, and he levelled his piece to destroy his supposed betrayer. But the shepherd was a most resolute fellow and though only a slight as well as a lame man, and no match for McCabe, he pinned him by the throat before he could pull the trigger, and perhaps as much to his own astonishment as his adversary’s, he threw the stronger man on his back after a most determined struggle for mastery. But the robber’s resources were not quite exhausted yet, and, drawing forth a long knife, he tried to stab Scott; but he prevented it, and eventually wrested it from him. By this time the soldiers and others came up, and a private of the 40th. Regiment, named Maroney, was the first to throw himself on the brigand, and, assisted by a Mr. Russel, they put an end to the conflict, and to the bush career of McCabe. The rest of the party arriving in a minute or two, the bushranger was secured, and marched to the guard-house, from whence he was removed to Hobart Town under a military escort, to disturb the peace of the colonists no more.

“At ten o’clock of Thursday morning (27th October), says the Gazette, “the news reached Hobart Town of his apprehension, and that he might soon be expected. The sensation of satisfaction that instantly burst forth throughout the town was inconceivable, in which all ranks, high and low, free and bond, equally participated. Though the morning was wet, and the roads very muddy, the way towards New Town was crowded with people impatient to see personally the appearance of a man whose crimes wore too gross to proceed from a being in the human shape. Till about half-past 2 o’clock, when he entered the town, the rising ground opposite Captain Ker’s house was crowded with spectators. * * * The whole of Elizabeth-street up to Government House was one continued crowd; and when the party reached Wellington Bridge, it was so dense, as scarcely to find room to pass. He walked along in company with a soldier to whom he was manacled, and attempted several times to address individuals he had known at some former period. * * * He is a tall athletic man, strongly marked with smallpox, and bears the effects of a shot in his face,” &c.

On the 2nd November, he was tried for robbing young Mortimer, and for other capital delinquencies, and was found guilty; but it was not till the 20th December that he was brought up for sentence, before a Judge who had probably passed more death sentences than any other colonial Judge living. He was usually rather ill-tempered when on the Bench, and was sometimes unnecessarily harsh, and never ever merciful to the unfortunate creatures whom he tried who were hanged, literally by dozens. Indeed the scaffold seldom sufficed for the many executions that followed a sitting of the Supreme Court, and it usually took two or three mornings to hang all the men sentenced to die during a session, who were disposed of in instalments of six or eight at a time; for when once sentenced in those days a man stood almost as little chance of a reprieve, as the dead have of returning to life.

Before this Judge, McCabe now stood with twenty-seven others to hear his doom. He of course expected, no mercy, nor did he desire it; for though only twenty-four years of age, he was wearied of existence. Being asked by the clerk of the Court, if he had anything to say that sentence of death should not pass on him, he replied, says the Gazette, “with an air of indifference, ‘oh, nothing.'” The Judge then spoke severely of his attack on the stripling Mortimer, who it was said he deliberately fired at, and expressed regret that he had not killed him. But at this stage of his address, he was abruptly interrupted by the bushranger saying, “I made use of no such words to him; but I wish mercy from no man; I said I was very glad it happened on the horse and not on himself – that is what I said, Sir,” He was then sentenced, along with seventeen others to die, and died accordingly on the 9th January, 1826.

[To be continued.]

Posted on by AJFPhelan56 1

TASMANIAN HISTORY – A SKETCH OF OLD TIMES; EMBODYING THE BUSH CAREER OF MATTHEW BRADY by J. E. Calder (Pt. 1)

Mercury (Hobart, Tas. : 1860 – 1954), Saturday 16 August 1873, page 3

TASMANIAN HISTORY.

THE FIRST TROUBLES OF GOVERNOR ARTHUR

A SKETCH OF OLD TIMES; EMBODYING THE BUSH CAREER OF MATTHEW BRADY.

Written by J. E. Calder.

To the reader of Tasmanian history, the most remarkable passages, after those relating to the capture and extinction of the Native tribes, are those that embody the details of the careers of the most remarkable of the bushrangers, who have at different times held the country, so to speak, in their hands. They stand before us it is true, without any of the artificial adornments with which writers customarily invest the robber heroes of Europe, and with a far less romantic and euphonious designation, than the brigands or banditti of the historical lands I speak of, and with plain vernacular names, that it may be grate too harshly on the ear of the sentimental reader of English narratives. The acts of the bushrangers of the remote and unclassical land of Tasmania, may be hardly readable, when achieved by men bearing such vulgar plebeian names as Michael Howe or Matthew Brady, even though the details of their marauding lives, are a hundred times less revolting than those of the ferocious bands who still infest many of the European states. With rare exceptions they shed no man’s blood, and the two men above named, never in wantonness; and though both of them destroyed life, it was when writhing under strong and not unnatural excitement, created more by the treachery of the victims themselves, than by their own malevolence. That there were amongst the fugitives of Tasmania, men as infamous as the brutal brigands of Europe, is true; such for example as Pearce, Jeffreys and Wheelan; but the majority of them were neither cruel nor very ferocious, nor quite devoid of the better feelings of our nature, of which they often gave proof in practising forbearance, even under circumstances when forbearance could hardly be expected of them, and where persons under less temptation have not always proved too forgiving. The remission of vengeance is always a pleasing act; but in the brigand, who stands himself beyond the line that mercy never crosses, forbearance, such as Brady more than once evinced, must be accounted to be a redeeming quality, particularly in his case, who lived in times when clemency was never shown to men of his kind. Of the disposition of the strangely compounded man there is a clever sketch in Montgomery Martin’s Colonial Magazine for 1840 (a London publication), written by a writer long resident in Tasmania. He thus speaks of Brady at page 412 :- “If he did much injury, he also evinced much forbearance. He never wantonly sacrificed human life, and on no occasion was female delicacy outraged or insulted. This was much from a proscribed outlaw, the possessor of unlimited temporary power, who well knew that no aggravation of crime would enhance his amount of punishment, whenever he fell into the hands of justice,” &c.

Bushranging in Tasmania extended over two protracted periods. The first one began soon after the establishment of the colony in 1804, and only ended with the death of Michael Howe on the 21st October, 1818, when there intervened a period of repose of rather more than five and a half years, during which it was that the occupation of the lands of the country commenced in earnest; for it was not until Howe’s gang was thoroughly rooted out and himself destroyed, that this took place, except in a very limited degree. The plague broke out again in June of 1824, when Matthew Brady and thirteen others escaped from Macquarie Harbour; and this second period never quite died out until the cessation of transportation in 1853, which put a complete end to it; Brady’s bush career lasted not quite two years.

Matthew Brady, but whose proper name was Bready, (so at least he is styled in both Gaol and Ship records), was born at Manchester, just about the close of last century. His occupation in England was that of a gentleman’s servant, probably a groom, as he was an excellent and even a graceful rider, and perfect in his horsemanship.

For some delinquency, he was tried at Lancaster, on the 17th of April, of 1820, and received a seven-year sentence of transportation, and arrived here in the convict ship Juliana, on the 29th of the following December.

As a young man his habits appear to have been more scampish than profligate, and the Reports of his conduct, whether in gaol or on board ship, enumerate a long list of offences committed after his conviction, and conclude with the general statement of his conduct, as bad in one instance, and very bad in the other. But his transgressions do not seem to have been grave ones, mere infractions of discipline in most cases, to which through life he was notoriously inattentive. In Tasmania, his worst misdeeds before taking the bush, were that he twice attempted to escape from the colony as a stowaway on board ship, for one of which it was, that he was sent to the penal settlement of Macquarie Harbour for the unexpired portion of his sentence, about five years, a doom from which, considering the severities customarily practised at those dreadful places of torment, it is not to be wondered at, that he determined to escape, should chance ever offer the means of getting away.

It will be known to most of your readers, that Macquarie Harbour is an extensive inlet of the bleak West coast of Tasmania, the climate of which part of the colony is at least twice as humid as that of the eastern hemisphere of the island. The prevailing winds are from North West round to South West, and after traversing the breadths of the vast Pacific, are mostly so loaded with vapour,that the rainfall all along the western shore-line is very much heavier than elsewhere. This is attributable to the peculiar configuration of the country, which is occupied by very elevated land through nearly all its central length, on either side of which the climates, in so far as moisture is concerned, are very different. This elevated region naturally acts as a screen to the districts of the east, intercepting, and thus warding off, most of the vast volume of vapour that rolls in from the west or stormy quarter. A chilly and humid atmosphere, and the general repulsive aspect of the place, have long conferred on Macquarie Harbour the character of being the most dreary spot within the four shores of Tasmania.

The area of this so-called harbour is about a hundred square miles. It abounds with mud-flats, having deep water passages between them. The outlet of the harbour, called formerly “the Gates,” is so narrow, that the place is not discernible from the sea, or hardly so; and Lieutenant Flinders, when surveying the coast of the island, passed on without discovering that there was any break in the coast line here, which was first ascertained by the late Captain James Kelly, on the 28th December, 1815. It is a bar-mouthed inlet, and the rush of water through the entrance, at every turn of tide, is very great. It is indeed so narrow, that, as I have stood here, I have thought that in my youthful cricketing days I could have thrown the ball across it. The depth on the bar does not exceed eight or ten feet; and to increase the difficulties of entrance, a low rock or two stand nearly within it. It is the estuary of two fine rivers called the King and Gordon, each of which drains a large extent of mountainous and marshy country.

Forests that are intricate beyond conception, and absolutely impervious to unpractised bush travellers, grow round most parts of it, and extend inland for many miles; thus cutting off all hope of successful escape from it in a landward direction; while the chances of getting away by sea (at least to the prisoners who were kept here) were nearly as hopeless, for the gates were not only guarded by military and police, but the pilot, Lucas (a man more dreaded by the convicts than any other) was also stationed as nearly as could be, at this point.

There are two small islands within this harbour, about eighteen miles from the gates, that were used for settlement purposes. The chief establishment was on one called Sarah Island, said to cover about twenty-five acres ; and the lesser one, named Grummet Island, was the receptacle of all the worst characters of the place, that is to say of such as Governmental severity had demoralised and brutified beyond hope of regeneration.

The excessive difficulties of escaping into the distant settled districts from hence, recommended it to our third Governor, Colonel Sorell, as a place of banishment ; and determined him at the close of 1821, to establish one here, and it was, formed accordingly.

Sorell was only the ruler of a dependent province; and his orders for the Government of the place were received from a higher quarter, and he was forced to adopt the disciplinary usages of the parent colony, as New South Wales was then called, and Macquarie Harbour, like Norfolk Island, soon became a place of unmitigated and unbearable torment, and not one of reform.

Reformation by the means in force here fifty years ago, whose tendency was only to deprave, was never affected by them, or very seldom indeed. The late Mr. Lempriere, who for several years filled the post of Chief Commissary at Macquarie Harbour, informs us in his history of this old settlement, that in all his experiences he knew of but one example of it, which may be read of in the second volume of the Tasmanian Journal of Natural Science, &c., at pages 207-8.

To escape from those abodes of misery and despair, was always the predominating idea in the minds of these sufferers: and to compass this the rashest enterprises were often undertaken; and it is recorded in one of the Parliamentary Blue Books of 1838 that of one hundred and sixteen men who absconded from this place in something less than four and a half years from the time of its first establishment, no less than one hundred and one of them came to untimely ends, either by ordinary executions, shooting down by the military and police, drowning, or perishing miserably in the woods. Of this last named class there were seventy-five instances. Of the small remainder nothing is known. They probably died by the spears of the natives.

To this place Matthew Brady was sent, as related above, in 1821. Here as elsewhere he was ever in some scrape or other, and for upwards of two years endured all that was miserable in a convict’s life at Macquarie Harbour.

As the settlement was always badly provisioned it was determined to establish what was called a farm on the mainland opposite to Sarah Island, that vegetables at least might be had, which were much wanted to counteract the evils of constant salt meat diet ; and Brady was one of the farm employés at the time of his escape, which event is thus described by the historian of the settlement, D. A. C. G. Lempriere, who resided there for several years :-

“From this spot, in June, 1824, a party of convicts, which afterwards formed one of the most formidable bands of bushrangers that ever infested Tasmania, made their escape. These men had planned to run away with one of the barges, when the commandant, accompanied by the surgeon, visited the place where they were working.

“It was soon perceived there was something wrong amongst the prisoners ; and the commandant succeeded in reaching the boat, and in pushing off, just before the fellows ran to seize her. The poor doctor was not so fortunate, he was taken prisoner by the gang, who after a kind of council of war, determined to give the doctor, in his own person, an example of the scenes he had so often witnessed-the application of the cat-o’-ninetails. The instrument of torture was in a few minutes prepared, and ready for action. It was in vain, the intended victim attempted to expostulate-it was in vain, that argument in arrest of judgment flowed from his trembling lips ; he was ordered to strip. There appeared no remedy, and he slowly managed to get off his coat, when a deliverer appeared in the shape of Brady, who had been a patient in the hospital, and kindly treated by the doctor , he would not allow him to be touched.

“The men made good their escape in the open boat, though closely pursued by the pilot, Mr. Lucas, a most active and determined man, who during the time he was stationed at Macquarie Harbour, became the terror of the runaways ; for they scarcely ever entertained hopes of escape, when they knew he was pursuing them.”

The runaways, fourteen in number, cleared the heads of Macquarie Harbour on the 9th of June, (two days after the attack on the commandant), and immediately bore away for the shores of the Derwent, under every inch of canvas that their boat could live under. The wind was at W.S.W. at the time, and the sail was close-hauled ; and though the sea ran very high, they dare not relieve her ; for with the fiery and resolute Lucas in sight, and only a few miles astern of them, their capture was certain, had they shortened sail in the least. Both were crack sea boats, and of that class called whaleboats, rigged mostly with a lug sail, and which though dangerous in a high degree under bad management, will live almost anywhere and in any weather if well handled. The runaways were unarmed, and therefore no match for Lucas if he came up with them, for he had soldiers with him, and as his own well-trained crew were also armed, they were forced to run for it at all hazards, or be taken.

Their course was southerly inclining a little to the east until they rounded the South West Cape, which is about a hundred and ten miles from the Gates of Macquarie Harbour, and then easterly and north-easterly for ninety or a hundred more, before they could reach Storm Bay, where they landed after a ten days’ voyage, somewhere on the east coast of that magnificent estuary of the Derwent river.

It is surmised that they escaped from Lucas by landing at night in some one of the nooks of the coast, and that he thus passed them by, still believing that they were ahead of him, and thus he lost their track. Baffled in this manner this excellent servant of the public, who was never known to evade his duty in any manner, and who in long after years sacrificed his life to it, never landed anywhere except at night, until he reached Hobart Town, and apprised the Government of the escape of these desperate fellows. His boat voyage, which began on the same day that the pirates passed through the Gates, 9th of June, terminated on the 18th. The bushrangers were not far behind him, for they entered the Derwent and landed the next day.

Amongst the fourteen runaways was a Scotchman named James Crawford, who it is said formerly held a commission as lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and he commanded the boat expedition, and he is also said to have directed the first shore movements of the party, but from the conduct of Brady at the outrage at the doctor, which he repressed in spite of the others, it is pretty clear that ashore he was one of the leading spirits of the party from the first, for which his daring character, disregard of self in all times of danger, circumspection in attack and retreat, and undoubted natural talents, fitted him.

In Tasmania, Brady’s name is not always mentioned reproachfully. There are many still living who remember his visits to their parents’ homesteads, and their reports of his bearing (leaving his robber practices out of the question), are not very unfavourable, and though it was his constant custom to bind all the inmates of the places he plundered, females and children excepted, he never permitted any more serious outrage to be inflicted on their persons, and it is reported that he had frequent bitter misunderstandings with his men on the subject, who were often inclined to be disorderly, and who he more than once forced to restore such of their plunder as their victims particularly desired to retain, such, for example, as family papers or souvenirs, that had a value in the estimation of their rightful owners, beyond their mere intrinsic worth, and though these forced restitutions gave rise to many quarrels, he was always inexorable. His deportment to females is always named to his credit, and his uniform respectful demeanour in their presence was so well known, that his appearance at any homestead was much less feared by the women than the men. The latter, especially the men servants, never escaped the indignity of being tied up in couples like hounds. If there were no military or police in the neighbourhood of any house that he took possession of, he often held it for a whole day or more, but strove to make his visit as little disagreeable as possible, in the presence of his grim freebooters, and being a man of good address, he seldom failed of partially allaying the fears of the occupants. It is, however, complained of him that he was too fond of fun and practical jesting to have been quite agreeable, and that he too often made all the menials of the household helplessly drunk when he left, which looked like carrying frolic too far. But this conduct, which was mistaken for mischievous fun, was in reality a piece of policy only; for he well knew that it was from the convict class of servants, and hardly any others, that treachery was to be feared, and that they were the men and not their masters, who were in league with the police, and by leaving them hopelessly drunk, he had nothing to fear from them till he was far enough away.

Many of the old bushrangers had the same bad opinion of those men ; and I think it was Dunne, a most notorious bush robber, who, as he was being led captive to Hobart Town, chanced to be marched through a chain-gang working on the roads, who he, in a seemingly subdued state of mind, asked his conductors to permit him to address; and they, thinking he meant only to give them a little seasonable admonition, allowed him to do so; whereupon he commenced his exhortation by charging such of them as had any thought of taking the bush “to shoot every _____ assigned servant where-ever they met them,” as they were the men, he said, who were the real betrayers of all “honest fellows,” meaning thereby persons of his own class.

One or two instances only are cited when Brady’s people were absolutely mischievous; but those were the acts of the most riotous of his followers, Bird, Murphy, and McCabe, whom he sometimes found it impossible to restrain. But acts like theirs were quite at variance with the usual tenor of his bush career. It is indeed said that Colonel Arthur was himself not insensible of this man’s merits, and that he would have saved him when taken at last in compliance with the general wish of the colonists, only that the blood of one man was on his hands. Of this, however, I have no proof, and relate it on hearsay only, hardly, indeed, believing it, as that Governor was not overflowing with clemency to men of Brady’s class, and not very likely to be merciful to any of his people, by one of whom he was once within an ace of being shot himself, as I shall presently relate.

On what point of the shores of the Derwent it was that the bushrangers landed after their voyage from Macquarie Harbour, I have no precise information; but believe it was at Clarence Plains. They were hardly ashore before they began operations on the highway. The first traveller whom they met was a Mr. Patrick Brodie, who they stopped and robbed of what he had about him, Almost directly afterwards, they possessed themselves of firearms and ammunition, which they took from a man in the service of Lieutenant Gunn, who from that moment became one of the most zealous and determined of the pursuers of this party. He chanced to be in Hobart Town at the moment; but directly he heard of this robbery, he started after them with a party, and very soon came on them; and attacking them on the instant, captured five of the four-teen in less than five minutes. This occurred on the 25th of June, or less than a week after their landing. This bad beginning was made still worse,by the voluntary surrender of a sixth. For the above named robberies, and one or two others, the men taken by Gunn, were tried almost directly, were sentenced to die, and died accordingly on the 22nd of July.

Very few acts of bushranging had been committed in the colony since the fall of Michael Howe, nearly six years before this time. The sudden appearance, therefore, of so numerous a horde of freebooters as were now in the field, created great excitement everywhere. But in the midst of all this ferment, the Governor preserved, or pretended to observe, an attitude of perfect tranquility, which the colonists regarded as most unseasonable. The inhabitants of Hobart Town, almost to a man, offered him their services, to be used in any way he might direct in the suppression of these men. But Colonel Arthur, with the characteristic disdain of civilians, too usual with soldiers, politely rejected the offer. He himself was satisfied with stationing a few detachments of military at those points of the interior which these during rovers were the most likely to visit, and to offer a small reward, £10, for the capture of any member of the band.

The spirit of the military in the colony, seems to have been more torpid at this period, than it was in Howe’s time, when nearly everything that was done to crush bushranging was achieved by them. But they now received more than one defeat from Brady; and what was done at this time, in repressing this and other gangs, was more generally the work of the police and civilians, than of the soldiers. Even Lieutenant Gunn, who took the first of them, and who continued the pursuit of them till they disabled him, was not now in the service, having quitted it some years before ; and though he retained his military designation, being on half-pay, he was at present a farmer of the Tea Tree Brush. This gentleman, of whom I shall have more to say presently, was formerly in the Bourbon Regiment, which he joined sometime about the close of the career of Napoleon I., and was placed on the half-pay list shortly after the end of the war, and so remained unattached till his death in 1868. He was a man of gigantic stature, being, he once told me, six feet seven inches high. He was cool and daring in a high degree, and was never known to fail in anything that he undertook, except the destruction of Brady’s band, which about seventeen months afterwards (under very extraordinary circumstances), took his party instead. But this resolute man never gave in himself, till nearly shot to pieces. This was the most dramatic incident of Brady’s career ; and tragical as it was, in so far as Gunn’s fate was concerned, was so full of comic adventure, that it, is strange it has never formed the subject of stage representation, as Howe’s exploits have.

It would unnecessarily extend this paper to relate all the lesser adventures of these depredators. I shall therefore pass over, either with slight notice or none at all, those that are of little interest, or of, which the particulars are imperfect. Brady’s career of outrage, which lasted scarcely two years, comprised, of house and highway robberies, something like three hundred instances, that would require a volume to describe, the most of which are not worth noticing. Of this latter class were several in which his party were engaged, between the dates of their repulsion by Gunn and their attack on the residence of Mr. Robert Taylor, of Valleyfield, where they were also defeated.

This gentleman’s farm house stood on gently rising ground near to the Macquarie River, formerly called the Relief, which is one of the many affluents of the South Esk. The country hereabouts is either open or is lightly-wooded grass land, and the districts that surround it may be be fairly ranked amongst the elite of Tasmanian pastures.

Mr. Taylor was a very elderly person, having passed through more than the allotted years of human life, being seventy-four years old at the time he was called on to resist the onslaught of seven armed bushrangers (to which the party was now reduced), headed by Crawford, who led the attack. There were in the house at the moment, Taylor and his aged wife, two sons, and two daughters, besides several free domestics whom Mr. Taylor had brought from Scotland when he left home.

In the fore part of the day of this assault, 15th July, the bushrangers had robbed the residence of a lady, who is spoken of in the annals of the time as the widow Smith, from which they had removed considerable booty, making prisoners of several of her servants, who they loaded like pack-horses with their plunder, and who they also took along with them to direct their march on Valleyfield, which they meant to assail that night. With this view they pushed forward as rapidly as their heavily laden prisoners could travel, and came in view of Taylor’s cottage just about dusk. In their way thither they fell in with one of Taylor’s sons, a mere youth, who, like one of Jacob’s children, was tending his father’s flock in the wilderness. It was now midwinter, and this young man was heavily clothed against the cutting gales, which are felt chillily enough at this season, particularly in the open country, and to this circumstance it was that he owed his life, from the misdirected fire of a friend, who, in the heat and excitement of the fight, and the duskiness of the long twilight of a Tasmanian evening, mistook him for one of the assailing host. Seeing the advantage of having one of Taylor’s family with them, he was seized and placed in front, with the view of distracting the fire of the garrison, in case the two parties came to blows. Crawford loaded him like the rest; and on his being asked if he thought his father would fight, replied that he was quite sure he would. “Oh, then,” said Crawford, “we will give you the post of honour, so go to the front and let him shoot you first,” and he was forced to march in the van.

Taylor’s family were quietly seated within for the night, all except the young shepherd, who they were, however, expecting home every moment. But the dogs, of which there are always several about a bush homestead, especially in troublous times, were very uneasy, and, though nothing could be seen, it was evident that there was something astir more than usual. Their restlessness excited old Taylor’s suspicions that all was not right, and he went round the premises, but could hear or see nothing. Still the dogs would not lie down, but continued watchful and unquiet, which convinced their master that it was unsafe to disregard the warning of those vigilant sentinels. I have said before that the country hereabouts is open, and Taylor or some one of his household, going out again to see if he could discover the cause of their disturbance, now saw the advancing party approaching, in number about a dozen ; and as several of them carried arms, there remained no doubt of their being on an evil errand. Old Taylor, who, notwithstanding his age, retained much of the energy and fire of youth, now marshalled his sons and servants, and told them that the bushrangers were coming down on Valleyfield, and that he meant to resist them, and asked which of them would stand by him. They all volunteered excepting one man who demurred, saying they would all be killed, and that he would not fight, and then went to the rear of the premises, and oddly enough was the only one who was killed in the fray that followed. Taylor then armed his friends, and put himself at their head to repel the advancing party, if it proved a hostile one, of which he was speedily made sensible by his shepherd son, who called out to him that the place was in danger, and not to fire on him. The father recognised the voice, and guessing that he was a prisoner, forbade his people to fire until they could distinguish friend from foe. A sharp sighted servant led off by letting fly at the bushrangers; on which young Taylor, who had all the pluck and spirit of his aged father, threw off his load, and rushed over to his friends, who received him with a joyous shout of welcome, and the firing became general. The bushrangers were as determined to carry Valleyfield, as the others were to prevent it, and plenty of shots were exchanged between the two parties; but as usual in such cases, when daylight is failing, many were ineffectual. Old Taylor was ably seconded by his people, and owed his own life to the gallantry of the youth, who had just before escaped from the bushrangers, who, seeing one of them levelling his piece at his father threw himself on him, and he succumbed to the stripling, who though no match for him, brought him to the ground by the suddenness of the assault, and the energetic exertion of whatever strength he possessed. This man who he had under him was Crawford. A servant instantly shot the fallen brigand, but not fatally, and his followers rushed to his assistance, but were unable to beat back their adversaries, or even to reach their leader. In the melée, a shot from one of the defenders hit the youth, who was struggling with Crawford. The official account that I am writing from says :- “A servant came to the aid of his young master, and in attempting to shoot his opponent, by some intervention of lamentable fate, he missed his aim, and mortally pierced the beloved object of his zeal.” But in the times I am writing of, newspaper correspondents were not always reliable; and there is one if not two misstatements in this short quotation. The shot, though a dangerous one, was not mortal, and he recovered from it, to die by the hands of a more merciless foe than the bushrangers, namely, the natives, who speared him to death in November of 1826. I believe there is also another grave mistake in this report, but which I am not quite able to correct.

The fight was now going against the attacking force; but notwithstanding this, one or two of them, amongst whom was the sanguinary McCabe, got to the back of the premises, where he found the unfortunate non-combatant John Lowe. Irritated at the desperate resistance that his party had met with, he sent his bayonet through his heart, and the thrust proved instantly mortal.

Crawford and another man named James Bains were made prisoners by the Taylor party, and another bushranger was badly shot, but escaped capture. Brady, who now took the command, drew off the rest of his people, now reduced to five, including the wounded man, who had lost an eye in the fight, but was carried off by the others.

Of Taylor’s party, none were killed but Lowe, and none hurt except the youth who was accidentally shot.

A writer in M. Martin’s Magazine, speaking of this skirmish, says that the ladies in the house “were not idle spectators of the scene in which their father, brothers, and friends were so hotly engaged,” but, like the heroines of Saragosa, “charged the supernumerary firearms of the father and brothers, and evinced the most praiseworthy fortitude.”

As soon as this act of resistance was publicly known, the whole colony rang with the praise of the heroic family who had taught the outlaws such a lesson, and the inhabitants presented the family with a piece of plate in acknowledgment and admiration of their spirited conduct.

The prisoners, Crawford and Bains, were tried at Launceston, and died some time in September following ; but owing to the loose state of the newspaper reports of the time, I cannot say when exactly. The notice, such as it is, of their trial and death will be found in the Gazette of the 24th September, 1824.

The five robbers who escaped now turned to the South, and travelled thitherward quite unobserved, and even passed through Hobart Town itself unnoticed, the head-quarters of the Government, where Colonel Arthur had his official residence. In less than six weeks after the attack on Valleyfield, Brady was plundering the settlers of the valley of Brown’s River, about ten miles south of Hobart Town. He even extended his visit a dozen miles further down, namely, to Oyster Cove, the future and last residence of the captive natives, where he robbed the establishment of Mr. David Wedge. He then returned to Hobart Town, which he actually entered a second time on the night of the 23rd of August, and slept there with all his people under the very noses of the military and police. Whatever the authorities could have been thinking about to suffer such a gang to pass between their legs twice in less than ten days unperceived, and even unsuspected, is unaccountable. Nor were these the only times that Brady and his riotous followers slept in Hobart Town, in contempt of the Government. The police report, published in the Gazette, of 27th August, 1824, speaking of their present movements says :- “The banditti were on a hill within three minutes’ walk of the police office at eight o’clock in the evening.” With singular audacity they entered and slept in the hut of a Government overseer named Chandler, not nearly a mile from the police station, and only quitted town next morning ; and having seized two men from the street to act as guides, they pushed on for the settlement called the Black Snake, about ten miles north-westerly of Hobart Town. Here they dismissed their guides, and went to their usual work directly, attacking the farm houses, and plundering their owners all round of their cash, ammunition, and provisions ; while the Hobart Town police were all astir to take them alive or dead, as they returned from Brown’s River, where it was thought they were still concealed.

Before the many robberies which they had committed amongst the terror-struck farmers of the Black Snake were known to the Government, the light-footed marauders were off again, and were next heard of in the neighbourhood of the river called the Plenty – a well known affluent of the Derwent, which, as we all know, has in recent years obtained attention as the scene of an experiment for the propagation of the English salmon. This stream is about thirty miles from Hobart Town; and here Brady and his wearied followers established themselves on the last day of August.

[To be continued].

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