PARCEL THIRTEEN
7 pages (12‘ × 14‘ approx.) all being the reverse side of advertising fliers for a horse auction held by Geo. Fisher & Sons, Wangaratta, on 7 May 1880. Acidic paper now in very fragile condition. Entirely in lead pencil, the small hand betraying some urgency in composition, but this parcel is most remarkable for the two roughly excised pages of Henry V attached by rusty pins to pages 6 and 7.
A frank account of the murder of Aaron Sherritt and Kelly’s correct assumption that the police would respond post haste. Details concerning the occupation of Mrs Jones’ hotel at Glenrowan and the kidnapping of the schoolteacher Curnow. On page 7 the manuscript is abruptly terminated.
I DID NOT WISH AARON SHERRITT’S DEATH though he were a traitor he would of seen me hanged as soon as look at me. For Joe Byrne it were a different matter the root were deep & violent I cd. no more touch it than his beating heart.
On a winter’s night the moon were full a red haired German by the name Anton Wick come walking home a 1/2 mi. from Sherritt’s hut he were apprehended by 2 large men they was Joe Byrne & Dan Kelly their chests much increased in girth by the heavy armour hidden underneath their oilskin coats. Wick knew Joe all his life but he were of alarming size now his face were painted black he had become a machine of war. Dan Kelly put the bracelet on Wick ordering him to come knock on Sherritt’s door.
Wick warned there was police inside the hut.
We do not give an eff were the reply.
Wick stumbled along the track his hands behind his back Joe Byrne said nothing Dan knocked upon the door.
Its Wick open up.
What do you want?
I am lost. This were a weak excuse as Wick lived so close he could of seen his hut from Aaron’s roof.
You silly mongrel. Aaron Sherritt come into the night and saw the twin holes of the shotgun his oldest friend were holding in his hand.
Who else is there he called and while them brave policemen cowered beneath the bed Aaron heard the small cry issue from Joe’s lips it was very quiet an exhalation the noise a boy will make when caned upon the hand. It were almost the last thing he heard.
Moonlight shone on the centaurs Dan Kelly & Joe Byrne their iron helmets were strapped to their saddles as they galloped down the centre of the public road straight through the Beechworth Chinese Camp where Joe purchased a little of what he fancied it looked like nothing more than waxy brown plum jam.
The same cold moonlight shone in the bush behind Glenrowan where me & Steve Hart was helping each other into our ironclad suits it also shone in Marvellous Melbourne flooding through the high window of my mother’s cell.
At Domain Road the bare branches of the English trees made shadows thin as handwriting upon the Commissioner’s walls. This historic night were so bright even if Commissioner Standish had extinguished every lamp nothing could escape my intelligence he were my creature now I knew his heathen rug his billiards table I knew the smell & appearance of his friends and when the Constable come knocking on the Commissioner’s door I did not have to be there to know what the message said.
The Kellys have struck they murdered Aaron Sherritt our informer.
The Commissioner thought he were the servant of Her Majesty the Queen but he were my puppet on a string he ordered the Special Train as I desired he summoned the black trackers and called for Hare & Nicolson who thought themselves famous as the capturers of Harry Power they never imagined they would be captives in a drama devised by me.
At about the hour the police horses was brought from Richmond Depot to the railway yards me & Steve Hart was attending to our stratagem at the township of Glenrowan we was rousing the plate layers James Reardon & Dennis Sullivan from their tents beside the line.
I informed them that through abuse & tyranny the police had forfeited the right to the land also therefore the rails upon it. We escorted them along the track and through the Gap and where the rail curved we ordered them to remove 2 lengths of rail which they done with great reluctance. The rails was thrown down the steep embankment with 9 red gum sleepers still attached.
Last night I seen my dear old mother in a dream who knows how such things happen her cell were so clear I could of drawn a map there was 2 grey prison blankets folded neatly on the shelf a Bible and prayer book on a rickety white table. Mother sat waiting for me on her crib her palliasse were folded as required.
You come for me she said yes I said they are forced to give you up. I seen how she had suffered this last year her eyes had retreated her lips was eaten from within her hands so large & knotted you could see her nerves like baling twine beneath her glassy skin. I see Mr Irving finally made you the monitor she smiled. Looking down at myself I seen the ink on my hands & up my arms it were bleeding down my shirt & moleskins.
I spilled it I said tho I did not remember having done so I were surprised that I must be back at Avenel Common School. You put that sash on she said do you hear me. It were 7 ft. long & fringed with gold I had nothing to be ashamed of Mother and me walked side by side along the catwalk I looked down to the ground floor where there were much smoke and destruction many policemen was lying dead.
The front gate of Melbourne Gaol were shattered and in its opening were that ironclad Monitor its 11 in. gun pointing up the nave of the prison but the sea were lapping across my boots all Russell Street were washed away.
Beside the railway line at Glenrowan is a little pub run by Mrs Jones it is in her best room where I now sit on the eve of battle. Our ironclads is stacked against the wall 3 of them in burnished metal the 4th is Steve Hart’s painted with black & orange flowers in a pattern of his own invention. The walls are whitewashed hessian the ceiling calico the table I write on is made from cedar it wd. suit Napoleon himself.
Beyond a thin partition is my hostages most of them will be revealed tomorrow as my volunteers. There is another category of prisoner I refer to Police Constable Bracken & Stationmaster Stanistreet they have that self righteous look that is common in men like warders who will never be fined or imprisoned or dismissed from their positions in the colony. I were at the railway crossing on Saturday afternoon when a 3rd hostage come towards me. He didnt know yet he were a hostage but he were identifiable as such from a great distance with his darting eyes and his beard so soft & blonde it wd. be better on the head of a doll.
And you must be the schoolmaster said I when he drew his buggy up beside me at the railway gates.
How did you know?
O I wd. recognise you anywhere I thought you are that prim & superior fellow my mother must stand before in her threadbare dress she must beg to have me educated.
He knew me without introduction I could see he were fascinated to look so close into my eyes. He descended willingly from his sulky he were a cripple he walked with his heel high when he seen me looking at his one thick boot he held my gaze.
My name is Curnow said he his pale blue eyes was shining like a girl’s.
In his left hand he were carrying a thick book I took it from him and seen it were the plays of Shakespeare.
Do you object to a man reading he asked.
O I sometimes read a book myself said I then asked him were this one any good.
O yes he laughed as if I wd. never know what of I spoke I were an oaf in muddy boots tracking across some oriental rug. O yes it is very good I cd. of slapped him for his insolence instead I ordered Dan escort him into custody at Mrs Jones’ hotel.
Later I were back here in my quarters writing as quickly as I cd. there were a knock upon the door and lo it were the little cripple with his book I told him he might enter. His big bright eyes looked everywhere about him taking in the ironclads but it were my inkwell that he lingered on the most.
I see I interrupt you at your labours.
His face were so strange & proud his head too large upon his narrow shoulders where it wobbled side to side as though all his mighty thoughts was a weight too great to carry.
I asked which play he were reading.
It is about an English King he said but as he spoke he looked at all my papers spread across the desk and he were almost cross eyed with curiosity as if he seen a dog standing on his hind legs and talking.
Mr Kelly you give the appearance of an author.
I did not answer it werent his business.
He craned his neck towards me. Is it a history you write?
I said THE ARGUS called me a clever ignoramus I were sure a schoolteacher would hold the same opinion.
Mr Kelly said he there is a novel called LORNA DOONE I don’t suppose you know it.
The name jolted me back to the Killawarra sawmill and that gift from Joe Byrne. Shutup and listen he had said.
I told the teacher I read it twice and wd. of read it a 3rd time but my copy turned to mush when we crossed the Ovens River.
I read a lot about you Mr Kelly but I never heard you was a scholar. Let me remind you how LORNA DOONE sets out. Then the strange little cove balanced himself on his crippled crooked legs and held his book of Shakespeare across his heart and closed his eyes and from his great head he dragged out the following words of R.D. Blackmore. AND THEY WHAT LIGHT upon this book should bear in mind not only that I write to clear our parish from ill fame but also that I am nothing more than a plain unlettered man not read in foreign languages as a gentleman might be nor gifted with long words save what I have won from the Bible or master William Shakespeare whom in the face of common opinion I do value highly.
Curnow opened his eyes and smiled at me.
IN SHORT he quoted I am an ignoramus but pretty well for a yeoman.
Then speaking in a more normal voice he said Mr Kelly it is no bad thing to be an ignoramus for if Mr Blackmore is an ignoramus then you and I wd. wish to be one too. And at this the fellow folded his big white hands in front of him and shifted the weight of his head to the other side of his shoulder.
Let me read your history Mr Kelly he begged.
It is too rough.
It is history Mr Kelly it should always be a little rough that way we know it is the truth. He continued in this vein and finally I relented of a page. It were many a long year since I stood before a schoolteacher & even tho I had 3 guns stuck in my belt & had the power to take away his life it were v. queer. He read the page then lay it gently upon the table and I waited in some temper for his judgment.
It is very damned good said he.
It is rough I know.
It is most bracing & engaging given the smallest of improvements it could be made into something no Professor would ever think to criticise.
I said I knew the fault were with the parsing.
Parsing pah cried he it is a simple matter if you let me assist.
We do not have the time mate.
It would take no time Mr Kelly no time at all.
There’s 500 adjectival pages.
I could do it in a night said he if I were in my house with my books about me.
Then Joe Byrne entered & ordered the teacher to depart Joe asked what the eff I were doing talking to that fizgig for he had taken a fierce set against him from the start.
O he is for us anyway he is a cripple he can’t do us no harm.
Jesus Ned aint you the one who give his copy to that cow in Jerilderie said he & in the lantern light I seen his awful eyes.
You need another pipe old man?
No and your brother is drinking too much already he said everyone is adjectival boozing what will happen if the train comes now? Its too late I can feel something has gone wrong.
Another knock upon the door it were that schoolteacher once more he put his finger to his lip & hopped towards me.
Situation you should know Mr Kelly he whispered.
Eff off you spy said Joe thrusting his Webley in his soft white neck.
The teacher turned his velvety eyes upon me I ordered Joe withdraw his weapon then Curnow held a finger to his pretty lips. Mr Stanistreet has a gun. I fear he will use it on you.
Thus did the strange little insect prove his friendship tho Joe Byrne’s hard & suspicious cast of mind werent bending. I said eff off he said and pushed our informant out into the bar returning alone in a moment with a new pistol in his hand. So were the stationmaster’s Colt confiscated but Joe give the teacher no credit. He told me for my information that his ironclad were no good it already cut & blistered him upon the horse he were damned if he wd. fight in it for he couldnt see to shoot straight.
Then so help me God poor old Joe begun to weep he said it were wrong to murder he wd. go to Hell for certain.
Suddenly I noticed it were v. quiet out in the bar they was listening. Tapping my finger to my lip I whispered the hostages should be encouraged to perform some entertainments.
Joe blew his nose and turned away. As I walked out into the bar he were staring out the window his own face looked back at him its black eyes full of dark & fearful imaginings.
As Mr Zinke wd. say time is of the essence daughter please excuse this scrawl.
The hop legged teacher call’d I shd. let him visit his home to fetch his special shoes he cd. not dance w/out them.
I joked that I wd. never let him escape so easy.
O I do not wish to miss this night he sd. then he put down his book & come to sit beside me. He were handsome & repulsive I cd. not take my eyes off him.
He—most people think the police have it coming to them.
Me—you are a v. uncommon schoolteacher Mr Curnow.
He—O I’m sure you know my opinions are quite usual in the colony.
I let him off the dancing but once he propped his twisted self against the bar I order’d all shd. sing a song including himself.
1st Mrs Jones’ little boy sang Colleen Das Cruitha Na Mo & then Steve sang The Rising of the Moon & then the voices join’d 1 × 1 even our volunteers on the hills cd. hear them as they watch’d the shining railway line.
Next I commanded the teacher he must stand & sing a song to class. He were such a proud strange creature every eye went to him he hobbled to the centre of the room standing with his hip jutted queerly out to hold his big book steady.
He—I have no song.
The people—sing sing.
He—but here is a little something suitable for the occasion.
To my horror he ripped 2 pages from his lovely book & then declaimed from them aloud he were a little milksop but when he recited he were reveal’d to be pure currency.
Here is the very words he spoke I pin them to the page as tore directly from his book.
he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse.
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a’ tiptoe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day, and live old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say, “Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.”
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say, “These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.”
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
I do not know where that deep voice came from for the teacher’s normal manner were light as a reed bt. now he read to us his eyes afire his face that of a soldier by my side so did the priests rise up beside the common people in times of yore.
Those what listened sat on floor or table they wasnt well schooled it werent their fault but many cd. not write their names. Their clothes was worn the smell of the pigpen & the cow yd. was both present but their eyes burn’d with the necessary fire.
Constable Bracken were scowling but amongst the other faces there were astonishment for even if the meaning were not clear they cd. see a man of learning might compare us to a King & when in the middle of the poem Dan & Joe come back in from the night then all eyes went reverently to those armour’d men. Them boys was noble of true Australian coin.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon St Crispin’s day.
When he finish’d there were a moment of silence & then Mrs Jones let out a great hooray & all the men was clapping & whistling & the little cripple were alight I pick’d him up & sat him on the bar he give me the 2 pages from his book.
He—a souvenir of battle.
Me—but you will do wt. you promised?
He—regarding your history? O I couldnt do it here Mr Kelly. I wd. need to take it to my house. I wd. need my books about me.
He waits. No time
