PARCEL THREE

His Life at 15 Years of Age

59 octavo pages all of high wood-pulp content and turning brown. Folds, foxing, staining and minor tears.

An account of a poor Irish wedding party at Emu Plains. Contains interesting details of the author’s apprenticeship to Harry Power, together with claims that this arrangement was not to his liking. A primer in the geography of North Eastern Victoria. A rare description of the outlaw Powerpursuing his trade, and a full (if fanciful) explanation of the source of a successful squatter’s wealth. This document is typical of the collection in that it contains accounts of numerous fights. It concludes with the author’s first experience of a prison cell.

ANNIE AND ALEX GUNN’S WEDDING PARTY were at the Oxley Hotel I were 14 yr. old and there was girls my age but I did not know how to dance and once I won the long jumping and the 1/4 mile gallop I were bored. Everywhere there was untended children running wild but I were waiting at the kitchen doorway with nothing to do than wonder how long it would take to get the dinner served. From this doorway I also could observe my mother in her bright red dress with bustle she were dancing with a ferret faced fellow in a checked tweed coat I refer to that ignoramus Bill Frost. My mother had just won the Ladies 1 Mile Handicap and were v. bright and happy until she spied me watching. Then she abandoned her Englishman and sought me out.

Come said she lifting the hem of her fancy dress and drawing me out through the steamy slippery kitchen into the hotel veggie garden where my Uncle Wild Pat the Dubliner were lying blotto under the tank stand. Not a glance did my mother give Wild Pat but escorted me down between the dunny and the compost heap and there she asked me bluntly how I liked her dancing partner.

I don’t mind him.

Then it would be a favour if you quit glowering at him. You look 1/2 mad.

I cannot help my face.

She seemed to weigh this answer but she were a woman and I could no more imagine what she were scheming than I could conjure up the thoughts of a Chinaman.

So what do you reckon about old Harry Power?

O I prefer him Ma no question.

You think he’s the better man?

Strewth yes.

Then you would help me with Harry?

Yes Ma anything at all.

Once more she became bright and happy kissing me on the forehead saying I should wait by the side of the hotel. She needed me to spend some time getting to know Harry better.

You mean we will have a yarn?

More in the nature of a ride.

I had arrived at the wedding in my da’s old bluchers they was much softer now thanks to Mr Holmes’ mixture but were no lighter or quieter than before I therefore had hidden them beneath the floor of the hotel. Imagining I would be with Harry an hour or less I left them there.

I heard Power’s heavy footsteps on the veranda before I seen him. There were a type of crooked stair from the veranda down to the track but now overgrown with wisteria vine which tripped him causing him to fall almost at my feet. As the famous bushranger rose before me I almost failed to know him he had been a prince but now all his bones was taken out. Never having seen a man brought down by love I didnt recognise the condition.

A kingdom for my horse he cried he were v. drunk with bloodshot eyes the whites gone yellow. I led him down the rutted track to the paddock where he 1st spotted his switchtailed mare then a poor piebald pony laden down with packs and saddlebags. He took the mare or more truly threw himself upon her mercy.

Indicating a 3rd horse what they call a WALER he told me it were his and I should mount. It were a lively animal 2 yr. old I didnt mind this order in the least.

Bill Frost were meanwhile on the back veranda dancing with my mother it were his great specialty. He bent her to him springy as a sapling she were whippy and dangerous but Bill Frost had patent leather dancing shoes he were most excited by his prospects.

Power turned his head away from this torment we passed at an amble staring earnestly out towards the west.

The boy imagined the famous bushranger knew where he were going but when the pair had rode an hour or so beyond Moyhu the man reined in his horse to ask where they was. The boy were come beyond the limits of his world and said so plainly.

Said the boy Perhaps we should be getting home now.

The man cursed him for a fool then turned cantering into deeper wilder country the boy didnt know what to do but follow.

Let me give you a very rough idea of the territory it is not an easy bit of land to learn so 1st I will give you a simple picture you must imagine a great wedge of pie with a high ridge around its outer crust they call that ridge the Great Dividing Range.

At the apex of the wedge is the river town of Wangaratta and you might imagine the Ovens River running along the eastern side of the wedge. It would be simplest to say the Broken River makes the western side of the wedge thats a lie but never mind. The King River is more obliging cutting right down the centre of the wedge to join the Ovens River exactly at Wangaratta. Next you must imagine the pie slopes up from Wangaratta where the land is very flat. It were near here in Oxley that Annie were married but the boy and the grisly man spent the afternoon travelling to higher elevations along the centre of the wedge. By late afternoon having left the limits of selection they poked up a long winding ridge and by early evening they was definitely entering big country. At last they picked a path down a densely wooded gully to a mountain stream.

What river do you think this is asked the man his voice still slurred his eyes was red and baleful. When the boy said he didnt know where he were the man again cursed him for a fool soon they both were dismounted the pair of them quarrelling the man’s voice a low and dirty grumble the boy’s squeaking like a broken organ pipe. Then the man were drawing in the gloomy dirt with his broken fingernail saying north were that direction the boy said it were another he were very keen and earnest and no matter what cruel things had happened to him he were still so young and trusting and did not understand he were an apprentice sitting an examination he would be well advised to fail.

Then we won’t be home tonight?

Home my arse.

That question answered the man revealed he brung but 3 bottles of rum and nothing to eat save a bag of weevily flour so when the moon rose the boy went off alone and shot a possum thus proving his usefulness a 2nd time. Back in camp he found only darkness the bushranger were lying on his back and snoring. The boy shook him but did not succeed in waking him until the fire were lit and the food cooked.

That night the boy were very cold indeed he kept the fire burning while the man snored and farted in the dirt like a kangaroo dog he had an oilskin coat the boy had none his feet was cold and already swollen from 1/2 a day of riding with no boots. The boy missed the comfort of his brothers and sisters he would of give anything to be back up in his crib breathing that warm familiar fug.

The dew began falling not long after midnight the boy couldnt sleep and long before the calls of the whip birds finally echoed round the damp and misty dawn he resolved to flee home that very day he bore no malice to the man. Rising he found the flour and picked out many weevils then he made johnnycakes with strong black tea and as he done this particularly well it were as bad a mistake as shooting possum for thus he sealed his fate.

The boy and man was breaking their fast sitting side by side on a log when between mouthfuls the boy announced he could find his own way back to Eleven Mile Creek. There was no reason to imagine the man would stop him and indeed he done nothing more than quiz him about the tracks and ridges. The boy were clearly correct for the man topped up his pannikin with tea and give him an extra spoon of sugar.

Just the same said the man Eleven Mile Creek aint your concern no more. In other words he were telling the boy he could not go home.

The boy did not appreciate this were more than an opinion he earnestly explained he were sorely needed at home that Jem werent yet strong enough and it were himself alone who felled the trees. He told the man that Bill Frost were very determined and bound to move in under the mother’s blanket and he reckoned that would be very bad for both the travellers.

The mention of Bill Frost made the man very thoughtful he blew into his tea and warmed his whiskers in the steam. It aint Bill Frost’s adjectival farm he said.

No road the boy agreed.

It aint his adjectival farm no more than mine.

The man looked around that gloomy little clearing in the wattles it were all the home he had. The boy thought it very sad that the man could grow so old and still have no place on earth to call his own. He said he hated Bill Frost and would do all he could to keep him from his mother’s blanket.

I aint no farmer young’un I’m an adjectival bushranger.

It aint so hard to learn to farm.

The man’s painful bloodshot eyes stared out beneath the shadow of his hat then suddenly he grinned and give the boy’s knee a mighty horse bite it hurt a great deal but were kindly intended.

Let me give you some advice Ned. Never had he used the boy’s name before. Do you know who were the previous incumbent on your selection?

His name were Mr Peasey he defaulted.

No he effing hung hisself from that old grey box he jumped off the adjectival roof and they didnt find him till the crows ate his adjectival eyes and 1/2 his adjectival brain. Forget your mamma said he. There aint no happiness for neither of us at Eleven Mile Creek.

The man threw the remains of his tea into the fire and began to set his kit together rolling the rum bottles up inside his oilskin coat.

The boy asked But still you’ll take me home?

My hand and word to you said he but he did not commit as regards when the promise might be paid.

The boy walked down the horses to remove their hobbles then saddle them and even as the 2 riders and their packhorse finally set off south he imagined they would soon cut down a spur to the west but the country got higher and craggier and the boy seen the man were in no hurry to honour his pledge.

When stopping by a creek to boil the billy the boy showed how his feet were swollen and declared he couldnt continue he must turn back.

Don’t worry I’ll buy you boots.

I don’t need new boots I got bluchers back down home.

Eff the effing bluchers I’ll buy you adjectival effing elastic sided boots.

And so the boy were persuaded to follow the great melancholic rump of the man’s mare all the way to Toombulup where naturally there were nowhere to buy boots only a broken down shanty the boy were permitted to sleep on its back veranda except he couldnt as the mosquitoes was bad all night long the drinkers roared and boozed and 2 men fought each other on account of a dog being called a runt. When cold dawn arrived at last the boy quietly saddled up the Waler and were about to mount when he received a mighty thump in the middle of his back it sent him falling to a heap upon the rutted track. He turned to discover the source of this malice were the man.

I give you my hand and word said he I’ll get your effing boots now get back inside before I knock the effing bark off you.

He grasped the boy’s arm escorting him back onto the veranda where he roughly bound his swollen feet in a freshly torn curtain. After each had drunk a cup of sour milk they set off down into the wild bush called the Wombat Ranges. The boy never knew he were being taught the path of his life.

2 days later they was on the plains below with the boy having his 1st view of Myrrhee Station. As they cantered the quails rose out of the grass there was black falcons tiny ground larks the wheeling pink galahs turning silver grey against the morning sky. The winter rains had not yet come and the grass were still as pale as straw but the boy marvelled at the wealth and power of all those endless acres owned by just one man.

Finally the pair come to Wangaratta if the boy had known his horse were listed as stolen in THE POLICE GAZETTE he might of felt different but he were very excited to come to so big a town they stabled their horses at Lardner’s Countryman’s Hotel it were like a wedding cake 2 storeys high with grand wrought iron along a high veranda. The boy said he were sure they would not permit an Irish boy to enter also his bandaged feet was filthy but the man clapped a hand around his shoulder and marched him up to a fancy desk and there ordered a room for both.

Yes Sir Mr Power says the fellow. The fugitive from Pentridge Gaol were not at all upset to be known by name the opposite. The fellow behind the desk give him a big key with a number on it but the man were in no hurry to use it he 1st took the boy out to the street to remove his bandages and wash his feet with water from the horse trough.

Now said he I promised you some proper boots.

The boy could think of no finer thing but knowing how much boots cost he said he’d rather spend the money on a present for his mother and for this received a powerful clip across the back of the head and then were hauled by the ear across the road to what they call a GENERAL STORE.

Soon the boy were sitting in a purple velvet chair with a cove in a suit and fancy collar attending him yes Sir no Sir Mr Power Sir.

This lad will be wanting a pair of elastic sided boots with Cuban heels.

Very good says the cove taking one of the boy’s dirty aching feet to measure very careful with a tape.

Soon he come back with a brown cardboard box marked ARTHUR QUILLER & SON and when the lid were lifted the boy did not dare believe what he saw nestled in the bed of pure white tissue. The cove placed the box on the floor then went away and while the boy were still wondering what he was meant to do the cove returned with a pair of woollen items.

My darling girl your father never knew what he were looking at for he never wore socks in all his life. He sometimes put grass inside his bluchers it had served him well till now. The cove showed him how to arrange the sock correctly and it were a wonder of a thing just to see it turn the corner at the heel. You must not laugh at him for being so simple.

When the cove offered the elastic sided boots the boy pulled them on his feet still painful but them boots was soft and supple as a lady’s glove. Lord knows what expression he showed but both the bushranger and shopkeeper was grinning at him and the boy begun to laugh out loud.

And there is your father standing 2 in. taller than he had ever been he were particularly happy.

That night Harry sprung for a mighty feed in the dining room at Lardner’s Countryman’s Hotel you never saw the likes. There were a crystal cruet and lumps of sugar in a silver dish the twist in Harry’s bowels was v. bad but I were hungry so he watched me eat roast beef and Yorkshire pudding then pancakes which the waiter set afifre before my eyes. I don’t know what it cost but there were no extra tariff for a bath it were superior even to the Sheltons’ tub in Avenel for you only had to turn a spigot and steaming water poured forth without relent. I soaked until my skin were wrinkly as a prune.

I was woken in the middle of the night Harry were crashing around drunk and when he fell onto his bed I did not mind the snoring. It were my final night as his apprentice tomorrow I would be home again telling my family everything I seen. In the dark I checked beneath the bed to feel the boots and in the morning I wore them very proudly to a breakfast of porridge and kedgeree a bottle of black sauce on every table.

Our horses was fed and watered by a fellow called an OSTLER and when I come out to find the dear old Waler all I had to do were put my new boot into the stirrup it was a crisp clear morning not yet 8 o’clock we rode together out of Wangaratta at the end of habitation there were a sign pointing home to Greta.

Here I bade Harry farewell I were the oldest boy there was work to do at home I told him the Land Act was a b––––r of a thing they would take our land away if we did not comply.

Well I’m a b– – – – r too said Harry Power and you must comply with me.

But you give your hand and word that I could go home.

Very well then give me back them boots.

Very well I pulled the boots off and hurled them on the track then I turned the Waler’s head for home but Harry were very fast for his weight he was suddenly upon the ground holding my horse by the bridle I didnt care just dug my heels into the Waler’s flank but the Waler wouldnt budge he knew who were the master in every way.

This is my horse said Harry Power.

I swung down off the saddle saying I did not need his adjectival horse I would walk home in my socks and if he wished the socks then I’d go barefoot he could not prevent me.

He said he would not advise me to return home as my mother would be angry.

I laughed out loud I said he were a liar but was unsettled to notice something akin to sympathy were showing in his yellow eyes. You come with me he said its what your mater wants and all you got to do is hold the horses.

What you’re saying don’t make sense said I. My ma can’t run that selection by herself the government will take our land off her.

Well your ma has other sources of support it seems.

How do you mean?

He shrugged unhappily and seeing his sadness I knew he meant Bill Frost the boundary rider and then I believed him. I were poleaxed. My father were lost just 2 yr. before and I didnt deserve to lose a mother too not even if I had offended her she should not cast me out.

Harry were holding out the boots to me and in the end what was I to do?

Soon I were following the bushranger down south once more following the King River towards the higher country. There was a crisp refreshing breeze and the sky was pure and blue but I were now a boy without a home my mood lower than the water in the King and all the land around me seemed set to share my feelings. Where forest had been cleared the grass were eaten to the roots the soil beneath a dry grey sand and every time I seen a cockatoo fence or a ringbarked tree or any signs of a selector’s labour then I felt a great grief rise up my windpipe.

We rode all day late that afternoon Harry chose a camping place just off the track it were nothing but a dusty little knoll with scant feed for the horses. He began to make himself a mia mia such as the blackfellows build from saplings and fallen bark but soon lost patience with it kicking it apart so it were left to me to go deep in the bush to peel a great green sheet of stringybark. So were a shelter properly constructed. Next I shot a kangaroo then butchered it and took the ramrod from his carbine threading on the meat fat lean fat lean fat just as my da had taught me. I were very low.

Harry praised the mia mia he said the roasted meat were delicious but in the night he found his bowel were v. badly twisted he went out into the bush I heard him cry every foul word you could imagine thus must the outcast cry in Hell.

There were sheet lightning but no thunder I slept very badly thinking how Bill Frost stole my land. Picaninny dawn were dry and dewless I woke to such a pain of homesickness that I cooked Harry johnnycakes and brung him his billy tea before giving him any particular attention. He had his 3 pistols and carbine laid out on the horse blanket and were measuring gunpowder from a patent flask.

Now look here young Kelly.

As he rammed home the ball and wadding I observed his general shine his beard were washed his eyes were peeled and lively. Now see here we’ll get you a nice gift to take home to your mamma.

I thought he were referring to the remaining kangaroo meat.

Let Bill Frost shoot her an adjectival kangaroo.

Harry lay down his pistol he stood and tied a red handkerchief round his thick neck he said we was about to do something Bill Frost could never do. Jesus boy he said thrusting his pistol in his belt I’ll send you home an effing hero.

You said she don’t want me home no more.

No I never said that.

Not liking to have my feelings played with I asked what my mother really said he pushed me away I shoved him in the chest and faster than the human eye he snatched his hobble belt out from his pants and brought it cracking down around my naked arm.

You want a lashing lad said he begob don’t you never do that again.

I wouldnt let him see how much it hurt.

Now said he you go take off the hobbles and saddle up the horses then you’ll get them packs onto the pony.

The pain was bad it were a considerable effort not to cry I said I would not be his slave but it were a weak rebellion and he knew it. He threaded his belt back into his pants then took a steel comb from his pocket and begun to preen himself. And you’ll effing do it tomorrow said he and the day after that and you’ll be effing proud to do it too you aint some barefoot Irish mutt no more you’re Harry Power’s offsider.

You said she didnt want me home no more.

By the 5 crosses I’ll whip you till you can’t sit down now listen when I talk to you you’ll break up that mia mia and pack the camp then you’ll keep them horses all quiet and steady and watch the show.

I don’t know what show you mean.

Harry didnt reply but I were soon aware of the thundering of hooves from the direction of Whitfield he urgently buckled up his coat thrusting 3 pistols in its belt.

The show is called Dick Turpin said he then strolled down to the track his hair was oiled his grey beard combed and he stood astride the centre of the roadway with his sawn off carbine in his hand he were the very picture of a bushranger.

I listened to a coach labouring up the last of the hill the driver shouting the whip cracking. Just hold them horses Ned cried Harry. A moment later a bright red coach come round the bend my heart were pounding in my chest all my anger suddenly abandoned. Bail up cried the famous Harry Power taking a pistol from his belt and firing it into the air then our packhorse reared and lurched dragging me 1/2 across the clearing towards the road and while I struggled I heard the coach brakes bite in a great screaming noise of steel on wood and my Waler reared and whinnied.

The air was filled with dust and panic. Throw down your gold I’m Harry Power.

I calmed the packhorse and the Waler but my own blood were stirred something awful. Throw down the effing gold cried Harry and I knew we would be rich and were v. happy.

There aint no adjectival gold said a dirt dry voice I peered out through the wattle fronds and seen Hiram Crawford’s gleaming Yankee Coach still rocking on its queasy springs a tall thin stick of colonial driver were staring down through the settling dust.

Harry pointed his one inch muzzleloader directly at the driver’s shirt. I will blow your effing innards out.

But the driver were a Beechworth man named Coady he were one of them fools so frequent in the bush he’d rather die than be impressed by anyone he spat a wad of baccy juice down on the dust. There still won’t be any adjectival gold said he hello mate watch out this fellow thinks he’s Harry Power.

This 2nd remark were addressed to a lone rider who come ambling around the corner from the other direction.

Who might you be demanded Harry of the newcomer.

I’m Woodside from Happy Valley.

Well Squatter Woodside you is being bailed up you will take the bag of gold from this driver here and throw it at my feet.

I told him said the driver there aint no adjectival gold.

I’m Harry Power cried Harry and I say there is.

I don’t care if you’re the Duke of Gloucester said the driver there aint no gold mate and no amount of hollering is going to change that.

Eff you roared Harry firing the muzzleloader by design or accident decapitating a crow which had been innocently loitering by the road. The explosion alarmed my nervous packhorse so severely that it now went plunging out onto the open road with me clinging to the reins scratching my face in the wattle all I could think was I was now marked as a robber a woman inside the coach were staring directly at me.

I persuaded the horse back behind the screen of wattles then cleaned the mess of bloody bird off my new boots and by the time there were an opportunity to assess the progress of the holdup the mailbags was all lying on the road their sides slit open Harry kneeled beside them enquiring of their contents.

You might be better off to try the parcels suggested Mr Woodside his helpful attitude perhaps produced by the fear that his horse might be taken from him. It were a very spirited and well bred beast.

There is only 2 parcels said Coady but thats registered mail in the blue bag I must say the last cove to stick me up was well satisfied with what he found in there.

Give me the parcels.

But they was a disappointment the 1st containing lace and the 2nd an English clock the discovery of which produced a bout of threats and curses against that country and what Harry would do to the English when he had a moment free he must of scared the panties off the passengers for now they begun shouting there was a Chinaman amongst their number this celestial gentleman were pushed out onto the road he stood before Harry Power clasping a carpetbag.

You a miner?

The Chinaman were certainly a miner his physique very close to Power that is v. broad with sturdy legs.

No miner I givee money 10 shillings he dug into a purse and removed some coins he held them up to Harry.

Gold demanded Harry he thrust his empty carbine in his belt then drew a Bowie knife which he opened with his teeth he advanced on the Chinaman with the pistol in his left hand the knife in the right.

The Chinaman were very brave a credit to his race. 10 shillings you take.

Blast your yellow heart cried Harry lunging out with his dagger.

The Chinaman danced deftly away as Harry sliced the carpetbag and lo it were as if it were a bag of wheat or seedpod a great harvest of glass marbles poured forth onto the road there was agates & cat’s eyes & bloodreels & twisters & lemon swirls & tombowlers & glass eyes spilling out and rolling still amongst the dust beneath the horses’ hooves. Of gold no trace.

Bad bad howled the Chinaman I kill you b–––––d but Harry kicked him in the shins and drove him back inside the coach at gunpoint.

There Harry somehow lost his spirit for he never even got the other passengers and once the coach and the squatter was sent on their different ways Harry called me out onto the road to show me all the marbles spread across the hard dry earth.

There you are lad help yourself.

These will make me a hero?

Harry’s hand went to his belt but of course it supported his pistols and he could not easily withdraw it as before.

Just pick up the adjectival marbles he said wearily I did so and that was the moment by the law I made myself a bushranger as well.

I were but 14 1/2 yr. old no razor had yet touched my upper lip but as I cantered after Harry Power my pockets crammed with marbles I were already travelling full tilt towards the man I would become. Harry rode in the old style leaning so far backwards at the jumps that he must of born the mark of the crupper on his spine. For my part I rode with short stirrups standing at a gallop leaning forward when jumping the fallen timber. We was Past & Future we was Innocence & Age riding very hard till Whitfield where we relieved a poor selector of a bucket of oats. All through the middle of the day we pushed the horses up the track to Toombulup we never saw a soul not even at the shanty where Harry had tore the curtains. Here we cut down through the bush into the Wombat Ranges and slowed our pace considerably as the horses was tired and the bush v. dense there was more and more wild ravines the mighty white gums they was saplings when Jesus were a boy. Not until almost dusk did we amble into a shallow valley with a little creek but 18 in. wide and on its banks amongst a field of bracken stood a drear and eyeless hut constructed from thick logs. The crows were cawing and in that mournful light it give me a bad feeling straight away.

Home said Harry.

The hut were as hard and dark as a govt. lockup with its lack of windows it looked very weak and as easily preyed upon as a blind worm. Hobbling his horse Power set the poor beast to grazing in the bracken then asked what did I think of the place.

I told him his horse would be useless if he didnt provide it better feed. There were no warning of his response a blinding whack across the head.

You will learn said he staring at me with his red and yellow eyes you will learn to leave your awful ignorance behind then you will see I know more about feeding horses than if you survive to be 100 which I doubt you will. This little hut is a thing of beauty do you see that yet?

I do I do.

You are a liar you don’t yet know what it can do for you but you will wash your mouth with soap and water and say to me Harry you let me off that day when I were ranting like a mongrel about things I knew nothing of.

Yet for all the pain he caused his tone of voice were becoming almost kindly although arriving at the door he did pronounce one more lecture.

Let me tell you Your Ignorance said he I have been hunted by every trap from Wangaratta to Benalla and Beechworth besides and none of them can find their way around the Wombat Ranges.

Then he struck his lucifer upon his shoe and the dreadful looking hole were thus illuminated it were airless with the sour evidence of mice who have found food and blankets and think themselves in a position to begin a family.

Harry set about making his camp in what I would soon know were characteristic fashion kicking aside old grog bottles shaking a dead baby bush rat from inside a folded blanket then he reached up into the dark space between the walls and ceiling beams to find some candles.

This here is Bullock Creek my friend and I will tell you now it won’t never betray you. I know all your mates are fine fellows but there aint one that cannot be purchased by the police when the price is right and women will grow weary of you farting in their beds and dogs make good company but then they die. This old hut said he has timber 2 ft. thick do you know what that means?

It is slow to rot?

Harry then drew his pistol from his belt I were expecting him to show me where to hang or hide it but instead he fired there were a bright flash a deafening roar and with my ears still ringing he held the candle and showed where the lead was swallowed.

Its bulletproof said he now is that not an effing wonder to your eyes? We might be Ali Baba do you know the tale? Briefly Ali Baba had a cave and had to put up with the inconveniences. It is very hard to find a dry cave where you can also light a fire and the chimney draws decently in all weathers but this hut is a fortress you can hold off an army if they ever find you.

There is people who will say Harry were a mighty bushman and some like my mother would say he werent a bushman’s bootlace and it is true he could not feed himself or even clean his teeth but he had more boltholes than a family of foxes he had secret caves and mia mias and hollow trees throughout the North East of the colony of Victoria and I were destined to sleep in all too many of them.

And here you grasp a new aspect to his character for there were a squalor of debris yes but only at the surface and in the dark corners of Bullock Creek you’d find tallow candles & canned sardines & flour & gunpowder all neatly packed. Above Reedy Creek he had a crib cunningly wrought from green saplings and tin and burlap.

Some of these boltholes was newly established but there were no other that he trusted so absolutely as this evil place on Bullock Creek where he showed me his secret weapon 2 cwt. of oats in 2 steel drums.

Here Your Ignorance said he you may feed the horses. So I fitted them with their nosebags and they was very happy then I cooked the old b– – – – r a sweet mottled johnnycake which he praised. He called me a good boy and I were pleased to see this gentler character and I were also happy and for a while forgot Bill Frost had thrown me off my own land.

When the dishes was washed I asked him would he tell me the story of Ali Baba.

I’ll do better said Harry you sit over there where the wall slopes in a little and I will tell you the story of how James Whitty got his acres. I done what he directed while he stuffed his pipe full with smelly tobacco and then he lit and tamped it with his hard black thumb.

This all happened he said on account of a bag of marbles like the ones you gained today.

At this mention I let out a sudden bitter laugh.

Harry paused for a moment I thought he would beat me but he did no more than wag his pipe.

You listen young’un said he and we’ll see who is laughing at the end. When Mr James Whitty arrived in Beveridge he were as poor as your da and ma he had not a pot to piss in but one dark rainy night the Devil appeared as he were riding home along the adjectival Melbourne road.

Is this a true story?

Shut your hole and listen if you doubt the Devil then you’ve no more nous than James Whitty neither did he credit it at 1st. Did I say it were raining?

You did.

Rain and wind and he were probably 1/2 shicker as well he had been drinking at Danny Morgan’s Hotel so when he hears the Devil talking he thinks its Eddie Wilson or Lurch O’Hanlon or one of them but he couldnt hear no horses so he rides up the hill listening to the Devil who I suppose were flying through the air beside old Whitty’s ear.

Did he have an Irish voice?

What do you mean?

When the Devil spoke were he Irish?

Jesus boy just listen to the tale for soon the Devil appears before him so Whitty asks what does he want and the Devil says why nothing not a thing. Thats good says Whitty because I want nothing from you no road and puts his spur into the horse’s flank meaning to ride on but a horse has not the power to pass the Devil she will not budge. You are wrong says the Devil when you say you want nothing off me because there is something you want off me awful bad and with this he produces a leather purse and offers it to Whitty.

It were marbles?

Don’t interrupt said he Whitty don’t cast the purse away from him even though it were the Devil done the offering. Whats in here then he asks the Devil.

Its marbles says the Devil.

Says Whitty what would I want with a bag of adjectival marbles?

The Devil tells him he has only to throw one of them marbles through a certain window and he will be granted any wish he cares to make.

Being a farmer Whitty’s a hard one with a bargain so his 1st question is about the cost.

Well says the Devil it is by way of being free. For as long as you live I collect naught. The price will be payable only upon death which will be of no concern for you. Fair enough says old Whitty that sounds very nice but what if you can’t give what I wish? Then there is no charge says the Devil but there were never a wish I could not grant. Here take this purse and if ever you want something you can throw one of the marbles through the window of St. Mary’s Church in Beveridge.

I know that church Harry I been there.

Hadnt Whitty’s own children been baptised there? Said Whitty to the Devil them are stained glass windows in that church one for every station of the cross. Yes said the Devil thats the church I mean and so they shook hands.

What were the Devil’s hands like?

Cold and slimy but thats not the point at all for pretty soon old Whitty found himself coveting a choice bit of river frontage though with no hope of getting it on account of the villainy of the squatters and their stooges. So one dark night he rides into Beveridge and throws his marble through the 1st window he takes the nose off Jesus Christ Himself and the broken glass hardly hits the floor inside before the Devil come out from one of them miserable pine trees the priests all like to plant about their churches. The Devil couldnt be happier he asks old Whitty what it is he wants and Whitty says he wants a particular grant of land telling the Devil the parish and the lot number which the Devil writes down in a blue lined exercise book. Very well says the Devil go to the Post Office next Thursday afternoon.

5 days later Whitty goes to the Beveridge P.O. and theres the title to the land he wanted all right and proper in a brown govt. envelope O.H.M.S. so all is hunky dory as far as Whitty is concerned and for him there is no looking back. For 11 yr. he gets whatever land he wishes until he has 10,000 acres and 3 famous Angus bulls. For all this he has broken the window of Simon the Cyrenian and the one of Veronica wiping Jesus’ face and the stripping of His clothes and the nailing of the Saviour on the cross.

But finally he is struck down by pleurisy and he gets in a terrible panic and confesses all to the wife and weeping and hollering he is going to Hell and nothing can be done. Lucky it is for him but his wife is a Tipperary woman and therefore very capable. Stop snivelling says she and tell me have you got any marbles remaining. Just the one says he I could not bear to damage the body in the tomb. Very well says she getting him out of his bed and into the dray and off they go to Beveridge him coughing and shaking with his rattle. They come down that hill so fast you would think the horse a runaway but no. At the church there is some doubt as to whether the dying man has the strength to break the Ascension but he makes a good shot in spite of everything and takes the Lord out through his Sacred Heart. Soon as this is done the Devil appears as pleased as punch for he has been hearing this rattle these last 4 hours. So says he I see you are ready to come to me. Not so adjectival fast says old Whitty you owe me one more wish you b– – – – r. Suit yourself says the Devil but to judge from that cough you’ll be mine before the day is out. We’ll see about that says Whitty if you can’t grant my wish why then I’m bound for Heaven. If I can’t grant your wish says the Devil you’re a man more clever than I know you to be.

Well said Harry the Devil were correct enough but didnt reckon with Whitty’s wife who were hiding behind a nearby hydrangea bush and when Whitty makes his last request of the Devil its to ask for what the wife figured out. Did I say she were from Tipperary?

You did.

She were from Tipperary as clever as a fox she told her husband what to say.

Said Whitty to the Devil I want you to make honest men of lawyers.

Now as you know the Devil is a coal black thing and he does not have skin but scales so when he hears what Whitty asks those scales turn pale the colour of this ash here. I can’t do that says the Devil. O you must says Whitty. I can’t says the Devil if I did that I would be idle from one week’s end to the next and never a coal to warm myself.

That is the story Harry told me in the bolthole in the Wombat Ranges. At the time I assumed Mr Whitty must of passed into the next world but I were mistaken as before too many years were passed I had the pleasure of meeting him at the Moyhu Races but that as they say is another story.

Annie’s wedding were in April and now we was near the end of May so the rains had come and the injured country were turning green. As we travelled place to place about our business I seen docks and dandelions emerging in much of the newly cleared land. Had I been in my rightful place I would of recruited Jem and Maggie and even Dan to work with hoe and hand until the pest were defeated for a dairy farm cannot afford the flavour of the dandelion. Many a wet autumn night I fretted Bill Frost had neglected this particular work and I lay in a mia mia or hut or cave swearing that night were my last with Harry but in the chilly morning found myself once more collecting blackberry roots and boiling them to make the infusion for his bowels. Once more I would scour the battered frying pan with river sand once more endure those whispering lies the deceitful mouth glistening with breakfast juices offering promises of gold what spoils I would take home when the time were come.

So I were still Harry’s offsider when he robbed the Buckland Coach on the 22nd of May and I were that nameless person reported as Power’s Mate who dropped the tree across the road I held the horses so Harry could go about his trade.

Bail up he cried that day. Bail up you effing b–––––d.

As chance would have it the coachman had heard this speech before you may recall his name were Coady a lanky fellow as dry and sarcastic as they come.

Well look who’s here said he dropping the reins into his lap and reaching straight away for his tobacco pouch.

Harry were standing on a cutting some 6 ft. above the road.

You mongrel he cried and slid down the cutting on his backside waving his pistols in the air. At the sight of this charging dervish Coady quickly changed his tune and by the time Harry were beside the coach Coady’s baccy pouch had been replaced by his purse which he held out ready to deliver. Harry didnt count the contents only threw it on the ground to collect later.

Get down cried he get down. You too he told the passenger beside Coady this were a stocky butcher his striped apron still visible beneath his oilskin coat.

All I’ve got is 10/6 said the butcher holding out the coins in his square white hands I changed my last quid to buy the coachfare.

Harry took the money anyway. All out he cried you is being stuck up.

The coach door slowly opened and out come 2 females and a young boy. The older of the females were a plump matron of some 30 yr. she unclasped her purse to produce a 10/– note and 3 florins.

Thank you Ma’am says Harry dropping the money into his pocket I’ll take that pretty necklace too.

The woman had been previously excited about the prospect of being bailed up but when she seen she were to lose her jewellery her face fell she bowed her head so the boy could unhook her necklace. I were wondering she said as she watched her treasure disappear into Harry’s pocket I were wondering could I have a shilling back I’ll need to send a telegram.

He must of give her more than a shilling for her face brightened considerably and she made a little bow.

This emboldened the 2nd female who said she had no money at all though she would gladly give it all if she did.

The boy then stepped forward and gave threepence.

I were watching this scene in some despair for I could see little good would follow from this robbery but as Harry give back the boy his threepence I witnessed a rider trotting up the road. She were a very well dressed young woman riding sidesaddle on a chestnut mare 16 hands a white blaze on its forehead 20 guineas would not buy you such a creature. Harry had promised me a new animal for the Waler were gone lame.

Bail up I am Harry Power.

O Mr Power said the owner of the horse I am sorry to disappoint you but I have come out without a farthing on me.

In this you will say she were behaving no different than the other women except her voice were different her accent were all Englishified in other words she took a certain tone.

Dismount roared Harry.

Would you assist me please says she.

Assist your adjectival self says he.

She did so rather smartly and in a moment were standing beside her splendid horse her face v. red with embarrassment.

Now aint it wondrous strange said Harry addressing all the gathered passengers aint it very queer to see a filly like this in the company of an empty purse. I do believe that is the queerest combination since the Queen of England took an adjectival German to her bed.

With respect said the butcher.

Shut your gob butcher.

But the butcher were a plucky chap and he jutted his chin at Harry and continued.

With respect this is Miss Boyd she’s a poor schoolteacher she aint got 2 bob to rub together.

Jesus butcher you think I am a fool?

I heard you never robbed the poor.

Poor! Look at her adjectival saddle man a saddle like that is worth 14 quid. Since when does poor women have 14 quid saddles?

Not unless.

Unless what? You should be very careful butcher talking back to Harry Power is a dangerous occupation.

I aint talking back said he but his colour were rising and he planted himself opposite the bushranger with his legs astride I’m just pointing out that saddles like this is often won in raffles but perhaps having been elsewhere you were not aware.

Elsewhere?

I read you was away.

You mean PUT AWAY you mongrel.

No offence but I heard you was in prison I know that aint your fault but they are raffling saddles only recent like.

Even from my distance I seen Harry were uncertain he couldnt tell were he being gammoned or no.

Well said he what about the horse did she win her in a raffle too?

At this crucial moment come a loud cooee from up the road there then appeared one more punter a tall red headed Irishman with no other wealth apparent but a walking stick cut from ironbark root. Harry had him turn his pockets out but they was empty too and the traveller were then sent to stand with the other prisoners gathered around Miss Boyd and that horse I was now imagining my own. I were expecting Harry to effect this transaction when a Chinaman arrived also on foot followed shortly behind by a dairyman from Whorouly who were riding a poor & broken nag of no use to anyone. Harry robbed them both apologising as he done so with his little speech about how he were forced to crime I will not trouble you with it here.

By the time the celestial handed over his money Harry had taken a grand sum of £3 while Coady had lit a little fire beside the track and there were now a total of 9 prisoners huddled around the flames all waiting to see how they would be disposed of.

Now said Harry to Mrs Boyd will you swear on the Bible that you is the teacher?

She eagerly performed this perjury as were later reported in THE ENSIGN for she were Miss Phoebe Martin Boyd the niece of a wealthy squatter a valued customer of Allan Joyce the butcher.

I swear on the Bible of King James.

Very well said Harry it aint my business to rob a poor teacher I’ll take the lead horse off the coach.

It were one of those days where nothing will go right. The lead horse were not prepared to be his servant so Harry chose the brown sniphorse that is the offside wheeler from the coach. It were a serviceable enough animal but broken in its spirit.

And it were the selection of the sniphorse which resulted in my being seen by Dr J.P. Rowe the squatter from Mount Battery Station.

May 23rd fell cold and dark there were no moon. I stood on the front veranda of a shanty in the Oxley shire but it gave no protection from the bitter wind the heavy rain were in my face and splashing off the muddy floor. I did severely miss the sweet dry fug of my home but I were still Power’s unpaid dogsbody ordered to keep the watch for policemen although God only knows how the traps could of reached us in this torrent the King River Bridge were 2 ft. under and groaning in the current. I were v. tired and fed up with my life.

The poor sniphorse off the Buckland Coach were sheltering with me under the veranda she had been fired on by the squatter Dr Rowe and were now wounded. It were Harry’s fault there were no reason to take her from that dull and honest coachhorse life her great heart pounding on the daily climb up the mountains the drear cycle of ceaseless labour must seem sweet enough to her now. She had taken the bullet high in her shoulder and when she cooled would certainly be lame for good. Thence only death a sledgehammer between her blindfolded eyes such is life.

Inside the shanty were much laughing and singing the shadows flitting across the curtains. Harry Power were dancing I heard not a word about the bunions he otherwise were whingeing about night and day. I never knew a man to make such a fuss about his feet. Feet & bowels never ceasing bowels & feet. My 1st job each soggy morning were to find them blackberry roots for his bowels thank Jesus he ministered to his smelly bunions by himself. He had a red string with 7 knots he must wind in a particular way around his inflamed joint then recite the following:

Bone to bone blood to blood

And every sinew in its proper place

The sniphorse pissed forlornly on the muddy floor I could smell bacon frying inside the shanty but none had been sent out to me. I were working myself into a temper on this point when the door swung open it were Harry Power holding a red hot coal in a pair of blacksmith’s tongs. Beside him come the landlord’s big chested wife she had narrow hips like a boy and very pretty hands in which she carried a sugar bowl. She were tipsy laughing pretending to fall against the famous bushranger.

Hold the horse Ned Kelly said he I did not thank him that he used my name in front of witnesses. Only 2 days previous he had caused Dr Rowe of Mount Battery Station to clearly see my face. We was lying on the rock above his paddock looking for a more spirited replacement for the sniphorse. Rowe were a cunning old fox he crept up beside us and let off a shot which kicked up the dust in front of my nose. I would of surrendered there and then but were more afraid of Harry than of the squatter thus we made this mad rush riding 2 days into the face of the storm arriving on this veranda drenched to the bone I were whipped and cut across the face by myall scrub my lip consequently swollen as if I had been thrashed.

Now the landlord’s wife give Harry Power the sugar he sprinkled it onto the red hot coal.

Hold the effing horse he says to me.

I took the bridle while Harry encouraged the smoking coal to pass over the horse’s wound I had seen this remedy practised by the Quinns and Lloyds but Harry were drunk so he placed the coal too near the skin I could smell the burning hair. The 1st time she were burnt the horse kicked but the 2nd time she reared and I couldnt hold her she broke through the bark roof of the veranda. Of this damage to the shanty Harry seemed oblivious. There he said that’ll fix you girl. That were a lie because the ball were buried too deep it had gone to a place no smoke could reach.

To me he said he would soon send out some tucker.

I’ll come inside said I.

O you will will you?

There aint no point in watching here I said unless the traps is coming in an adjectival ship.

For answer I got a mighty clout across the head I took a swing back at him. This he would not brook he grabbed me by the bawbles.

You want to fight me boy?

No Harry.

While the landlady watched he squeezed my bawbles till I could not help but cry out with pain and having wrung that humiliation from me he turned his back and took his girlfriend back inside. I calmed down the frightened horse swearing this would be my last adventure with the famous Harry Power.

By and by the door opened it werent Harry the stranger were more like a farmer with his powerful sloping shoulders and heavy arms but he bore no greater burden than a glass of liquor which he offered though I never liked the smell.

Too strong for you boy? He were a so called HANDSOME MAN a neat beard framing his naked face. You want some lemonade in it?

He were watching me very close a smile playing round his lips so I sipped to show I could of drunk it if I wished.

Your ma is very partial to that drink I’m sure you know it.

I might.

Very partial said he.

All my childhood there were always some man thought he could tell stories about my mother he rested his back against the veranda post and grinned. You know Bill Frost?

I admitted the connection.

Thats a chap who is awful partial to his rum and cloves. He made it sound so dirty I were embarrassed laying my face against the mare’s cold wet neck and stroking her but still the man would not cease.

You been absent from home a little while I hear.

It were not his nosey business where I been I did not say nothing. Perhaps you aint heard your mother’s news.

I werent going to be drawn by his familiarity.

Your ma has been busy baking said he.

Thats good.

Good for Bill Frost he said for he’s the chap what put the bun inside her oven.

My fist went up into his gut before I knew what I were doing I felt his very entrails part to accommodate my hand and smelled the air push out him it were sour as week old pollard mash he were a big fellow 12 or 13 stone but he staggered back with his mouth open like a Murray cod. I hated him I spat in his face pushing him out in the rain he stumbled and I rode him like a pig down into the mud and out into the woodpile as he wailed and hollered out for help I cried I would kill him if he ever said her name again.

From the corner of my eye I seen the door open and Harry come across the veranda his great bull neck thrust forward he were keen to damage me. The sniphorse recognised her torturer and let out a high whinny pulling violently against her reins which I had tied to the veranda post. Harry Power stooped for a stick of firewood I saw it in his hand I did not care.

The post give way at the floor as the horse backed out into the rain pulling the pivoting pole along while Harry Power begun to whale into me with the firewood belabouring me about the kidneys I did not feel a thing instead I got the Handsome Man’s arm behind his back his face down in the mud.

The horse could not escape but were bucking and kicking in a frightful manner her hooves was death her eye panicked white no one dare go near. It were her made me release the gossip not a bit of Harry. They both watched as I spoke to the poor trembling creature she permitted me to untangle her and then lead her down into the yard.

The downpour meanwhile increased it were very loud but could not prevent me hearing Harry Power apologising. Enough light spilled from the shanty for me to see the Handsome Man were seated bow-legged heavy with mud as if he had fouled himself. When I come back from the yard he retreated he would never speak so casually of my mother again. When I turned to Harry his thumbs was in his belt beside his guns.

Come here said he.

He’s going to shoot me I thought but followed. One minute I were a warrior the next stumbling down into the rainy dark like a poor scouring beast on its way to slaughter explain that if you will. I come down the side of a steep gully beyond even the pale yellow illumination from the shanty here Harry put his hand upon my shoulder and I stopped. I could feel the water flowing around my ankles it might as well been around my heart.

Give me the boots.

I obeyed and felt the gluey wet clay puddle at my feet at length understanding that he had gone away. I were dismissed.

My mother were sitting up in the hut at Eleven Mile Creek she had already covered the fire with ash to keep its life for the morning but now something kept her from her bed and she remained seated on a low 3 legged stool her legs out straight her large hands resting on her pinny.

Mother were still a handsome woman her hair as glossy as a crow’s feathers the light of the hearth dancing in the sheen. She could of gone to sleep but instead she were brushing her hair again and when 200 strokes were done she started braiding and when the braid was woven she pulled it into a bun and now her head felt tight as a drum and she could not go to bed. She remained before the ash banked fire and her children filled the hut with their cold breath the mice rustling in the wall behind the pasted layers of THE BENALLA ENSIGN.

When the rain relented it were very quiet nothing louder than the tatt tatt of the leaking roof above the table but my mother’s handsome head tilted listening to something else. She says it were worry about the level of the creek that finally drew her outside not nothing superstitious. She knocked the pegs out of the door then picked up the lantern and in her long nightdress walked through the dead ringbarked gums they was ghosts of trees their sappy trunks now dry as bones. The kangaroo dogs was silent but circling on their chains.

As my mother held up the lantern I were many miles away limping along the road in stolen boots I could see no more road than a smudge of charcoal in the blackness.

My mother picked up her hems coming down to inspect the flood her bluchers leaden with mud and manure but all that were soon washed clean off them for the creek had risen rapidly insinuating itself across the track to claim the oats.

It must of been after midnight when I left the road now travelling through grasslands my hands ahead of me no idea where on earth I stood. My mother returned to the hut but still did not take her bed. When she imagined hearing Mr Pawson’s goat bleating she once again knocked the pegs from the door and went outside with the lantern. There was no goats to be heard or seen.

She were about to go back inside when she seen a shadow at 1st she thought it a savage but looking hard she made out an old white woman wearing a red dress.

Are you lost dearie my mother called but the woman paid her little mind she were no taller than the pigpen which is to say less than 3 ft. in height.

Who do you want called my mother all the skin on her body raised in bumps her braided hair straining against the fright of her scalp.

No answer.

Who are you? But she knew already it were the Banshee she retreated to her door so her children would be safe behind her.

Who do you want?

The Banshee made no answer my mother had been told from her youngest years that you must not interfere with the Death Messenger and she knew of the man whose hand were burnt and the one held against the wall of his cottage all night long and she knew an hour’s luck never shone on anyone who molested a Banshee but she were in another country far from where the Banshee should of been so when she held up her lantern then the Banshee turned away and give a kind of shiver as you see in them with bad tempered natures. She were an ugly old crone but now she revealed her long and golden hair which she set about combing as if to soothe herself. My mother knew all the stories of the comb she knew the bone comb & steel comb & comb of gold & now she witnessed the dread implement move through the hair and knew the thing to do were get into bed and shut her eyes but my mother were a Quinn and this were not her character.

You tell me who you want my mother shouted.

I were far away walking across the grassy flats knowing nothing of what was transpiring but I can locate the time exactly as you will soon see.

Said my ma Its Ned aint it? Its my little Neddy that you want.

The Banshee didnt answer so my mother took up the splitting axe Jem had left laying against the door and she swung it in both hands like a Scotsman then sent it whooshing through the dark towards her.

At this very moment I were north of Crooked Crossing as it were called. I heard the Banshee cry. It were not what they say it were not like a vixen fox but a dreadful shriek that would turn a strong man’s bowels to water it filled the whole vault of the heavens. I lay down on the dark earth with my hands across my ears feeling the clay quiver beneath me and even when the noise were gone I didnt move but lay on the cold ground as it sucked the warmth out of my blood. I did not move until the dawn when I stood up I were stiff and grey as if I myself was turned to clay. I went to the end of the gully where Tom Buckley lived he had built a pitch roof over the hollow stump of a giant gum and thereby constructed a very pretty house. I opened the door it were very dark a miner’s cottage with many shelves and everything in its proper place all except the owner who I immediately saw lying in the middle of the ffloor one leg folded underneath. He were dressed in the uniform of some foreign king I don’t know why. The uniform were very old and Tom Buckley dead an old bachelor and no wife or child to mourn him. Not knowing what to do I borrowed his horse and set off for home as fast as I could go.

When our brave parents was ripped from Ireland like teeth from the mouth of their own history and every dear familiar thing had been abandoned on the docks of Cork or Galway or Dublin then the Banshee come on board the cursed convict ships the ROLLA and the TELICHERRY and the RODNEY and the PHOEBE DUNBAR and there were not an English eye could see her no more than an English eye can picture the fire that will descend upon that race in time to come. The Banshee sat herself at the bow and combed her hair all the way from Cork to Botany Bay she took passage amongst our parents beneath that foreign flag 3 crosses nailed one atop the other.

In the colony of Victoria my parents witnessed the slow wasting of St. Brigit though my mother made the straw crosses for the lambing and followed all Grandma Quinn’s instructions it were clear St. Brigit had lost her power to bring the milk down from the cows’ horn. The beloved saint withered in Victoria she could no longer help the calving and thus slowly passed from our reckoning.

But the Banshee were thriving like blackberry in the new climate she were with us when ice were on the puddles and when all the plains from Benalla to Wangaratta was baked hard as Hell. Even when the bush quivered in a eucalyptus haze the angry flies droning without relent the Banshee would not go home and her combs was at different times reported in Avenel and Benalla and Euroa and beneath the new bridges on the Melbourne road.

When I heard the Banshee wail I never doubted what it were and once on Tom Buckley’s pony I galloped home all the time praying no one in my family had been took. I tore a switch from an Ovens wattle and drove the gelding brutally the golden blossom broke and lay like salt across his bleeding flanks.

It were a shock to finally see the home I had dreamed of so many lonely nights for now it appeared v. small its bark roof swaybacked all around it broken grey tree trunks some standing others fallen. It were a wet winter morning the creek raging there were low grey cloud and a threatening cold wind off the mountains. I witnessed a great kind of desolation such as I had not remembered there were not a crow or magpie not a butcher bird sitting on a fence. In the silence I were certain the Banshee had been about her deadly business and I pushed the horse along the flooded track fearing for Mother’s life.

The creek were too high for the pony so I removed the boots and walked across the fallen log it were still our only bridge.

The dogs begun to bark then I saw our Gracie she were 4 yr. old and running screaming from behind the pig house it were a moment before I realised she were larking. Then come our broad strong Maggie calling Gracie Gracie I’m going to tan your hide.

And then Jem come up from behind the peppercorn he had grew 2 in. since I seen him last he were broad and strapping his feet were bare and muddy his dark eyes gleaming to see me home again and I knew no one were dead.

My mother followed walking with her left hand rested against her stomach the way a woman does when another heart is beating in her womb. This were Bill Frost’s improvement nothing else. No bridge no more land cleared and the pastures filled with docks and dandelions it broke my heart to see them yellow flowers.

My mother said Where’s Harry?

All around our feet was abandoned logs the mother and son once cut together with the crosscut saw.

And how is Harry said she is he well? She did not demonstrate none of her feelings towards me. In truth she had been more forthcoming with the Banshee.

Old Tom Buckley’s dead he’s lying in the middle of his hut.

She crossed herself then put her hands on both of my shoulders feeling that all my bones was solid and correct. She smiled at me. You’ve got strong aint ye?

You’ll see.

What will you do Son?

I come home to work around the property.

My ma began to silently shift the metal pins around her hair.

I won’t argue with Bill Frost I said if thats what you’re worried about I won’t glower at him or nothing.

Gracie wrapped her arms round my legs and were picking at my bowyangs.

I’ll be his right hand man I said all I want is to work about our property.

But my mother now were looking away to the smudgy grey horizon it were obvious she saw nothing useful there.

Well what about the old Harry?

I don’t think thats no concern of yours said I.

Is Harry nabbed is that it?

No he aint nabbed I come back home I should of thought that would make you happy.

Is there a warrant out for you as well?

I come back home I said the adjectival pasture is filled with dandelions and docks no one cleared nothing while I were gone.

My mother sighed and shook her head Dear God Jesus save me.

I said I aint in trouble.

Jesus you don’t know nothing about my problems Son.

Well anyone can see you aint done nothing to meet the requirements of the Act.

My mother looked around her property you could not deny it were a sad and ruined sight no new fencing not a single acre claimed.

They’ll take away your lease said I.

At this my mother suddenly turned upon me slapping me fiercely about my ears.

Where’s my money she cried where is my adjectival money?

Gracie let go my leg I felt her melt away.

I came home to help.

I know you b––––rs stuck up the Buckland Coach. You stuck up Reed Murphy’s Station too your sister read me all the papers.

The bushranging aint as profitable as you’d expect.

You aint got nothing for me?

Nothing.

Then what am I to do my mother cried.

I come home to help.

You can’t come home I paid the b– – – – r 15 quid to take you on. You are his apprentice now.

The mother and the son stood separate in the middle of the home paddock the chooks all droopy and muddy the pigs with their ribcages showing through their suits the waters of the Eleven Mile already receding leaving the spent and withered oats lying in the yellow mud. The son felt himself a mighty fool he’d been bought and sold like carrion.

At breakfast next morning my mother continued to speak despairingly she were exhausted with her life she said and seeing I had brung home no money she did not know what she would do.

Bill Frost now were occupying not only my mother’s bed but also my father’s chair he were so smug his ruddy face shaved smooth and glistening with salve I asked what he could think to help our property.

Give it back to the blacks he said then burst out snickering no no the blacks don’t want it give it to the Irish just joking Ned thats a very good question and it just happens I have the answer here. He pulled a crushed envelope from his back pocket I thought he were about to produce the latest cattle prices but the envelope contained a piece of brown and yellow cloth. Said he This is your mother’s salvation Ned it is what I promised her when I asked her for her hand.

Hand? I never heard no mention of this before I looked to my mother but she had set the baby on the ground all her attention taken by the scrap of cloth.

What is it Bill she asked.

This item is worth 4 times as much in New South Wales as it is here in Victoria. Frost looked around the table as if he were a magician we should all admire.

Do not tease me Bill.

He released the cloth into my mother’s hands. All I have to do is row this across the Murray River and its worth 4 times what I paid for it. Now don’t that beat churning butter Mrs Kelly?

My mother caught my eye a sharp triumphant look. It must of been the smuggling she were always attracted by courage and now wrongly imagined she had found her equal in that quality.

As for me I did not glower or nothing but when I saw my mother give Bill Frost the butter money I suggested to young Jem he come outside. As we left the front veranda I picked up 2 axes and once behind the cowbails advised my brother that we must do the labour which the boundary rider had no taste for. It were this or we would surely lose our land.

Jem were only 9 yr. old but he listened to me v. serious his brow furrowed his dark eyes never left my face and when he understood my strategy he said he were damned if he planned to go back slaving for our aunts then he cut his hand upon his axe and I done the same. We mixed our blood together and proclaimed an oath he said I do swear to be true to my captain or corrovat until death.

It were a Sunday and Bill Frost were not required at his employment but soon he left the property.

Might as well begin said I.

We made our oath beneath a mighty ironbark it were 8 ft. across as old as history its bark so black and rough it were like the armour of a foreign king.

Might as well said Jem then spat upon his hands and laid his axe into the brutal bark the flesh were sour and red we removed it in great glimmering slabs Jem’s axe were 5 lb. I rested often so as not to shame him.

I could of dropped 2 normal trees before dinner but this one were a grandfather we both worked throughout the day the flies was in our open mouths our hands black and sappy we ate no tea neither but continued on until the light were sucked from the sky it were then I heard a creaking sound.

If you have felled a tree you know that sound it is the hinge of life before the door is slammed.

A tree falls slow and fast on the one hand it takes forever and on the other it is swift as a guillotine. I called to Jem to flee he stopped to look back and still I can see his handsome dark eyes his puzzled brow. Then there come a very small tearing noise like a single sheet of paper being ripped apart and I reached and pulled Jem’s head close to my breast. The ironbark went. It fell like a whole empire collapsing its crown crushing into the adjacent grey box I heard the sound of a thousand bones breaking all at once. The trunk bounced into the air and shot back on itself passing us with all the weight of God himself He travelled like a cannon an inch beside my ear.

Our mother had noticed the ringing axes all through the day but until my shout she imagined it were our neighbour Bricky Williamson. Now she felt the earth shake she come running through the dusk and Maggie & Dan & Gracie strung out behind her they was the flesh of her flesh in order of their birth. They was shouting and fighting through the fallen canopy my mother tore her way between the branches she almost stood on top of us. She never wept but now lay down upon the darkening earth shaking us with her sobs her fat salt tears upon our dirty faces. Feeling the child in her belly I pulled away to help her to her feet.

My mother blew her nose. We was brave boys v. good she said she would henceforth assist us in our labours.

I were the man now so I told her we all knew she were with child I said we would look after her and make her farm successful she could depend on us.

I had not known I would say this nor had my brothers and sisters but when they heard my speech they come to my side vowing also to look after their mother. Dan were 7 yr. old he couldnt lift an axe without making a danger to himself but he made his vow all solemn and my mother thanked him. No one said nothing about Bill Frost or Mother’s hand.

At night the man himself returned to find me sitting in da’s chair he didnt say nothing but hurried to my mother in the skillion.

My mother said O let him be. After that it were all whispers but when Bill Frost brung his plate to sit amongst us he wore a smirk upon his ruddy face. So said he spooning gravy and potato into his mouth You boys is going to clear 10 acres is that so?

My colonial oath Jem said.

Well thats a great shame said Frost.

Now hush Bill my mother said they been good boys they is a great help to me.

Bill Frost had a most superior attitude a way of tilting his head up while turning down the corners of his mouth. Now he give his look to Jem saying I thought you’d rather be living in a big house in Melbourne and attending the Melbourne Cup.

You aint doing that said Jem.

O aint I just?

And what will happen to us asked Maggie who were playing with a doll made from a thigh bone wrapped up in a bit of gingham cloth. Would you go away and leave the rest of us?

No my mother said we aint leaving no one.

But said Bill I thought they had a plan to continue as selectors at Eleven Mile Creek I must of misunderstood.

You understood as good as gold said Jem.

So then your future is pretty much written and you will do a little cattle duffing like your uncles and you will be put in gaol and that will be the end of you except when the wind blows from the south you might stand near the window of your prison cell and hear the sound of the racetrack down at Flemington.

Jem said nothing but his head were bowed and I knew he were trying not to cry so I asked Bill Frost politely not to frighten him.

Said he Jem knows me he knows I’m joking.

I looked at Jem his eyes was pooled but he shook his head not wanting a fight he feared I would be sent away.

In any case said Bill Frost its my home and I’ll talk to youse kids any way I want.

It aint your home said I.

Now hush said my mother.

Frost turned on me saying it certainly aint your adjectival home and you can get out before I throw you out.

At this I placed my hands on the table and looked him hard in his weak little eyes. So you’ll throw me out Bill I asked putting down my spoon and making as if to rise.

He did not say nothing but I swear he understood my character for the 1st time. O Christ said he can’t a man eat his adjectival tea.

Nothing were ever said to note this moment as remarkable but never were there any doubt about what transpired between us.

Hard days followed the butter money were all taken and not a skerrick of income generated by the alleged 60 bolts of cloth. By September the milk had gone up into the cows’ horns which meant bread and water for our breakfast. There was many disturbances at this time not all of them related to Bill Frost or where he sat at table.

Annie’s husband Alex Gunn were charged with stealing sheep I now understood that Alex were as kindhearted and steady as a furrow horse where women and children was concerned. He were known to nurse a sick babe or ride through a rainstorm to fetch medicine galloping 2 hr. to Benalla and 2 hr. back arriving with hail damage down his arms his broad back bruised blue to yellow like a lady’s dress. In Benalla Court I swore on the Bible he bought these sheep from me but my words made no difference and they gaoled him just the same.

Jimmy Quinn were arrested for stealing from a Chinaman and also went to gaol then Sergeant Whelan rode out to tell my mother there was witnesses who’d swear she sold illegal liquor and if she didnt quit that business he would lay a charge and finally old man Quinn died.

I come out one morning to find a long lantern jawed boy sitting on the woodpile sharpening his axe so I asked what the Hell he wanted he said his name were Billy Gray and my mother had hired him to help me grub the stumps. By this I learned my mother knew no profit would come of them bolts of cloth. I told Billy Gray he were not needed and he went away.

Bill Frost were now absent more frequently and my mother oftentimes too tired to work as hard as previous but we laboured into the spring with axe & mattock & horse & fire and my mother even borrowed a pair of bullock from old Jack Dyer so me and she could spend a morning grubbing stumps with their reluctant assistance. Bill Skilling then arrived he were a miner from Gaffney’s Creek 29 yr. old and very strong indeed. My mother employed him then I dismissed him although unlike Billy Gray he would not leave.

The mudeyes in the creek the emperor gum moths round the lamp at night and every other breathing thing told us it were time to be sowing seed so every day we rose earlier and went to bed later I were dreaming of trees and stumps without end. I were determined that we would have a farm but I saw it as only a madman does it were a phantasy so green it were never possible in such geography a grand homestead a creek flowing all through the drought and not a single smouldering windrow no dead and ringbarked trees. So often were I labouring in the bush that only by a roll of dice were I present when the Chinaman Ah Fook come wandering down the track.

My sister Annie Gunn were back living with us while Alex did his 3 mo. she were pretty much unhappy all the while but that day she brung us picnic dinner and so we had gathered by the creek at the place where the track passes our selection.

My mother sat amongst the riverside grasses on an upturned bucket her belly big and heavy her eyes sunken with a weight of doubts and she squinted back into the hard light at the smoky paddocks which no bolt of cloth would ever save her from. It were October which is when the big rains should come but already she could feel the summer smell the puddles drying and see the ground baking hard around the tree stumps.

It were she who 1st saw the Chinaman coming through the glare predicting what he wanted while he were still 50 yd. away. In court Ah Fook claimed he were a poultry hawker but there is no such thing as a hawker of one thing as they are jacks of all trades from corsets and opium to lead pencils for the littlies. He also said he had asked for water and that were his 1st perjury because he begged a dram of whisky and my mother would not supply it.

You give me.

No I don’t do that no more.

Ah Fook made the grunt the Chinaman will make it is a kind of hum in their throats. He looked us all up and down but when his eyes lit on me he took a step forward and held out his hand and my hair stood on end to see what was in his paw a 1/2 dozen marbles they was agates & cat’s eyes & bloodreels & twisters & lemon swirls & tombowlers & glass eyes. Were this the Chink we robbed before I did not know.

We got no time for games said I.

Boy got plenty time he said then pushed the marbles at me so I knocked his hand away and the marbles spilled onto the ground like quondong seeds.

Pickee up said he.

You going to be ordered by a Chinaman Annie asked me.

I aint said I and sat back down to take the plate of boiled eggs as Annie passed them.

The celestial were meanwhile looking down at his marbles then up at me and across to my mother. He very bad son said he.

Arrah nonsense my mother said he is an adjectival good son.

He very bad son the Chinaman said then took me by the ear hoping to make me pick up them marbles.

I now believe he intended no more than to give a gift but it were a grave misjudgment on his part trying to force a Kelly so I knocked him in the gullet. Continual fighting were the way of the world in them days just watch the birds in the gum blossoms it is still the same. Dan kicked the Chinaman’s leg while Jem picked up the fellow’s own bamboo and struck him severely on and about the head. When the poor b– – – – r rose I kicked again then the marbles burst from his person as from a broken pod.

Regaining his feet he were surrounded by Kellys and he dare not move.

Barley called my mother all right quit it come and give him back his toys.

But we would not go barley and it were Mother who picked up all the marbles and give them to their owner.

But now Ah Fook folded his arms across his chest. I report you b– – – – rs said he I report to police you adjectival devils.

Now now my mother said fair is fair my Ned meant no offence.

You crazy Irish devils you try to kill me.

No no says our ma they’re just boys.

But Ah Fook suddenly wrested the bamboo pole from Jem’s grasp leaping backwards with the pole raised like a sword.

Now you hang on a mo said my mother you just wait right here.

Calmly turning her back on the bristling fellow she walked back to the hut. The Chinaman stayed with his pole held high as if about to smite us but we was not scared. I had an axe Jem a mattock and when we picked up these implements and made a circle round him he must of thought his end were come.

Soon our ma came back from the hut holding in her hand a generous jar of grog. This will be after improving you.

The Chinaman sniffed at the grog. He put down axe said he then I drinkee.

I laughed then put my axe down as the Chinaman took the jar. When it was empty my mother gave him a 10/— note.

You would consider that fair but when this were all transacted the perfidious celestial walked into Benalla swearing to the coppers I had robbed him of £1. Sgt Whelan came out with 2 troopers the following day when he dismounted I imagined he were just checking for stolen brands as was the custom.

Are you Ned Kelly?

Yes I am.

Then I am arresting you for Highway Robbery.

At Benalla Barracks Sgt Whelan dismissed the Constables and escorted me through a dark narrow passage containing 3 black doors their surfaces studded with black bolts the last of these swung noiselessly and my fate announced itself in a sad and manly perfume of musk and piss and unwashed skin. Stepping inside I discovered an uneven floor of worried earth also a single window v. small and deep high up in the wall.

This is your new selection said Sgt Whelan and I knew I were finally in that place ordained from the moment of my birth my eyes were adjusting to the light I were studying that iron cot beneath the window thinking it not as bad as I had feared.

Hold up your hands lad. His tone were fairly friendly.

I turned to him so he could fiddle at my handcuffs with a bunch of keys.

You know what you is charged with sonny? The chosen key didnt seem to fit. You heard the charge clear enough?

I did.

All his attention were on my handcuffs. Ah theres the little blighter said he as the manacles come off. Did I know he asked me what were the penalty if I were convicted.

No.

It is death by hanging you little eff.

Many more times would death be pronounced over me but on this 1st occasion I were least prepared I could hear some boys playing cricket in the yard across the road also the regular chink chink chink of a nearby blacksmith at his forge. My legs must of give way beneath me but I didnt realise I were sitting down till I felt the crib’s cold hard cleats behind my knees.

Then I heard the mongrel laugh I couldnt see him properly no more than the white of his teeth the reflection in his big bug eyes but as he laughed I knew him weak and thus were comforted.

I know you is Harry Power’s offsider said he and if you help us nab him then we’ll let you go before tonight.

I made no comment.

Stand up!

I obeyed and received a sudden blow in my stomach which winded me but in the pain and airlessness I seen the truth and hope. He wouldnt of hit me if he were going to hang me.

Stand up he cried again. Now what do you answer me?

You never asked me nothing.

He hit me once again but I could endure much worse than this without succumbing for I were raised on stories of Irishmen being tortured and would not go home a traitor.

Said he I’m going to call for an interpreter for the Chinaman. You could be here for a month or 2 while we find someone suitable.

I thought you was hanging me.

And so of course he hit me again giving a comfort he did not intend for with every blow I were reminded that I would not die.

When he finally locked the door on me I were very hurt but still able to climb up on the crib and here there were sufficient light to see the yellow bruises surface slowly on my sallow Irish skin. I watched them like clouds changing in the spring sky thinking of my father and what horrors he endured in silence.

Yet the greatest torture in that cell were not the walloping not the threats of hanging it were the vision of my family working without my assistance I knew myself better off than them for I had fresh yeast bread and jam there were barley and mutton soup for dinner and delicious stews for tea each one better than the day before.

Finally on the 11th morning a strange pale fellow in a high winged collar come into my cell he were tall and stooped and his voice were high.

Edward Kelly he asked peering into the gloom. For Jesus Christ’s sake how old are you?

I am 15.

Well I am Zinke said he giving me his hand which were very limp and damp. I am 28 yr. old and I have been retained as your solicitor.

I told him there were no money I could not afford to pay him.

Well I would be very worried if you could.

My mother’s got no money neither.

I am instructed said he that if you are not released by teatime I am to pull a rabbit out of Whelan’s arse and make him eat it raw.

Harry’s paying?

Shush boy I never consort with escapees do you understand?

Yes Sir.

And nor do you.

No Sir.

So speak quickly young fellow for we have just 1/2 an hour until we face the bench.