The Hunt for Ned Kelly

by Sophie Masson

  ‘He’s nothing but a bandit!’ someone else yells. ‘The sooner he’s down, the better! Then we can all rest easy in our beds!’

  A shouting match starts. I leave them to it. I’m already late for the next run as it is. But I’m exhilarated. I’ve filed my first report, direct to the readers! And now I’m desperate to find out what’s happening next.

  Later

  Oh my God. Oh my God. I can hardly believe it. Ned Kelly’s been captured! At dawn he came out of the bush, gun blazing. At first the police fell back, for in the dim light he did not seem quite human, but more like a ghost or a monster. They couldn’t see his head, for he wore an iron helmet with only a slit for eyes; and they couldn’t see his body, for he wore a steel breastplate of armour and over that a long white coat. They tried to shoot at him, but the bullets just pinged off, it seemed like he was bulletproof. He fought valiantly for half an hour.

  I was cornered again in the street, this time by some wild-eyed urchins who yelled at me to say what happened, they can’t afford to buy the paper. They’d heard Ned Kelly was dead and they couldn’t believe it, and so I told them. ‘No, no, he’s not dead, but he’s very badly hurt, they think he might die.’

  One of the urchins gives a loud wail and another shakes his fist and yells, ‘How’d they get him? How?’

  ‘Well, once the police realised he didn’t have any armour on his legs, they fired there and they brought him crashing down. You see, he’d been wounded at the start, in the arm, it must have hurt him like crazy and he could have run away and hidden, the police had no idea where he was.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t run,’ said the screamer. ‘He’d never run from his mates.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ I said, and there’s a lump in my throat. My stomach churns. I can see it as clearly as though I were there, Ned striding out to meet his fate, clad in armour like a long-ago warrior—

  Or like—or like the outlaw Doones, riding down the mountain, with iron plates on breast and head … Suddenly I remember his voice reciting those words, and my heart thuds like crazy and the blood runs cold in me for I think—I think—could it be—could it be those words we spoke together, those lines he remembered—could they have given him the idea for the armour, and fatally brought him to this at last, thinking he was protected? Alas, the iron plates did not save the Doones from their fates—and they have not saved Ned Kelly either.

  All around us people are taking in the news of Ned’s capture. There’s cheering and tears and shouts, a deafening noise such as I have never before imagined. I leave the urchins and vault up the steps to get back to the latest.

  Later still

  Joe Byrne is dead. He was shot hours ago by a stray police bullet, but this is only known now because some of the hostages escaped and told their story. Apparently he’d taken off his armour and was standing at the bar toasting the gang with whisky. He’d just raised the glass when bang! He was gone. Poor Mr Cook. But then maybe not. He was gone fast. Quick. One minute in life, the next—gone. But Steve Hart and Dan Kelly are still holding out bravely, hours and hours after first being surrounded. Only two men left, and so many police. How can it last so long? A boy and an old man in the hotel have been shot and killed in the crossfire and others may be wounded. Most were carried out, except for the old man.

  Evening

  Sam and I are reading the last edition. It is all over. The rest of the Kelly gang has just met with a horrible end. This is what happened: the police, wanting to end the siege, decided to smoke Dan and Steve out. So under cover of fire one of them snuck up and set fire to the hotel! Being made of wood, the hotel quickly caught alight. The fire started roaring—Maggie and Kate arrived, screaming and crying and shouting—Maggie tried to get into the hotel but was pushed back by the fierce flames. But a very brave Catholic priest called Father Gibney managed to run in. There he saw the burned bodies of Steve Hart and Dan Kelly lying dead, their armour neatly piled to one side. He said he did not think they’d been killed by the fire, but had shot themselves. Joe’s body was there too, and the wounded old man, Mr Sherry. Mr Sherry was carried out (sadly he died soon after), and so was the body of Joe Byrne, but the flames were burning too fiercely to bring out the bodies of Dan and Steve.

  ‘Look at this,’ Sam says, pointing at a paragraph. ‘They say Maggie said she was glad they had burned in the hotel and not been shot by the police.’ He shivers. ‘My God. I do not know how one could be glad of such a thing, for either way they are dead, and most horribly.’

  ‘She is a Kelly,’ I say, sadly, ‘and the world looks different to them, which is perhaps the pity of it all.’

  Sam looks at me sharply. I think he’s about to ask me a question about how I know that, but then the last wire comes through and he forgets about it. Ned Kelly’s not dead, but still very much alive. He’s very weak, suffering from shock and exhaustion as well as several wounds, but the doctors seem to think he’ll recover. They say he is clear-headed and answers questions lucidly, without hesitation or fear. His sisters were allowed to talk to him. He is to be taken to Benalla tonight.

  It is late now, very late, and I am truly exhausted and can hardly propel my hand across the paper anymore. This is a historic day, probably the most extraordinary I will ever know in my whole life. But I am not filled with triumph or excitement or horror or sadness. I just feel empty, hollow, drained of all feeling and almost of all thought.

  June 29

  More reports today. Rain’s fallen at Glenrowan, putting out the last of the smouldering fire in the hotel and presenting a desolate sight. The horribly charred bodies of Dan and Steve were taken out of the hotel. There is a description of the terrible sight, and the sad scenes as poor Kate and Maggie fell on their knees beside the dreadful relics and wept bitterly, Kate crying, ‘My poor, poor brother.’ The bodies have been taken away now, but poor Joe’s body has been subject to further indignity as it is propped up and photographed and gawked at by ghoulish people. It is disgusting.

  Ellen’s eyes are full of tears. Like me she remembers Mr Cook, of course. She says fiercely that such people should not only be ashamed of themselves but should be charged with being grave-robbers and worse. Sam says indignantly that the fact these men were outlaws does not give ghouls the right to gloat over their sad remains. Uncle Will too says it is most unchristian and even Aunt Julia says it is revolting. And she has always said the Kellys are no more than wild beasts, so that is quite something for her to say.

  I say nothing, but I think of Joe Byrne, Mr Cook as we knew him, so cheerful and lively—long ago, it seems!—when he and Ned Kelly helped us out of the ditch, and then talking to him in the graveyard at Beechworth. I remember reading his song and then reading about him killing Aaron … He was a man of parts, and full of dark and bright, like Ned—and now life has fled and the poor helpless puppet of his body is strung up for strangers to gawk at. It is a piteous end.

  Sam tells me that apparently Ned Kelly had nineteen separate bullet and slug holes in him! His face and body were also covered with bruises from where bullets had thudded against his armour. On him were three revolvers and a silver watch and some ammunition and a threepenny bit. He wore a padded skull-cap to protect his head from the heavy helmet and under the armour he was well dressed. Around his waist he was wearing a green silk sash with a heavy gold fringe.

  I get that lump in my throat again as I remember reading how Ned had got the green silk sash as a reward for saving that little boy from drowning, when he was just a child himself. He must have kept it all those years and worn it proudly on that fateful day to remind him of other times—of the bright side of his character—to give him courage. I feel infinitely sorry for him in that moment and I try hard to blink back tears.

  Sam sees my expression. He says gently, ‘What’s up, Jamie? Won’t you tell me?’

  But I can’t. Not yet.

  June 30

  We are still selling lots of papers, as are all Melbourne’s newspapers, as more news rolls in
down the wires. It’s not only Melbourne that is agog, but all the country. Newspapers all over Australia are full of it.

  The whole of the north is in uproar. There are reports of armed men hanging around, talk of riots and even rebellion. Tom Lloyd swore a solemn oath over the body of Dan Kelly that he won’t leave his cousin’s death unavenged. Then he went on his horse to Benalla to beg that Joe’s body be released, but this was refused. Joe was later buried privately by the police in Benalla cemetery.

  Tom Lloyd changed tack then and begged the police not to be hard on the rest of the family. The report said he wept and said, ‘Be satisfied with the work you have already done and leave us and the poor girls in peace, our load is hard to bear.’ It’s hard to imagine that tough young cove crying, but then it is truly a heavy load for them all.

  A crowd of more than a hundred people attended the funerals for Dan Kelly and Steve Hart at Greta. Tom Lloyd acted as the undertaker. After the graves were filled, friends of the family ploughed over the area so as to hide its location from ghouls and souvenir-hunters. There were no police present.

  More fears of rebellion. Sam says that a keg of powder and some fuses and extra firearms were found last night at Glenrowan. Fifty armed men have gathered at the Kelly homestead. Steve’s brother Dick Hart is supposed to have said he will shortly lead another gang of bushrangers. Feelings are running very high and there are still large numbers of police there. Some people say there will be a mass uprising in the north-east.

  July 3

  It must all have been just wild talk. There has been no uprising, no rioting and no new gang formed. Plenty of police, though, still. And Ned Kelly is now in Melbourne Gaol, in the hospital wing. He’s in a locked, guarded ward. Apparently there were not as many bullets in him as was first claimed. The most severe wound he has is in his right arm. He is still weak, but in his right mind. It is said he is quiet and regretful. A priest has come to visit him and afterwards he told Ned’s mother, who is in the same gaol, of the terrible fate of her sons, with Dan dead and Ned taken prisoner. It was the first she knew of it. Poor woman! She is soon to be allowed to visit Ned. Imagine how dreadful and painful it will be for them to reunite under such circumstances.

  Otherwise Ned Kelly is being kept in isolation, away from his family, despite their requests to see him. Once he is fully recovered, his trial is to start. The authorities are at pains to say that it will be a fair trial and that he is like any other prisoner under the full protection of the law, and not subject to summary execution as some bloodthirsty people think he should be. The police are gathering witnesses from all corners, including those who saw the raids on Euroa and Jerilderie. But the principal witness against Ned is to be Constable Thomas McIntyre, the sole survivor of Stringybark Creek.

  July 10

  Today Sam came to our house for dinner. It was at Uncle Will’s suggestion, he has heard so much about the young reporter from me, he said, that he wanted to meet him and see what sort of fellow his nephew was aspiring to be! He made a good impression on both Uncle Will and Aunt Julia, but I think he would much rather have made a good impression on Ellen, with whom he is much taken. He has talked a good deal about her today. Usually I love chatting with him, but listening to him singing my sister’s praises was a bit boring. His blue eyes sparkling, he eagerly asked me if she had ‘an admirer’. He was very pleased to hear that there is no-one on the scene at present, that Hugh fellow whom she saw for a while having taken himself off elsewhere.

  My poor sister does not have much luck with men. It has made her suspicious of our sex and she has said she never wants to marry. And I’m sure she doesn’t trust journalists one bit! I told Sam so, but he did not seem put off. Faint heart never won fair lady, he said brightly. I never think of Ellen like that—I mean like a fair lady, she is too prickly and fiery for that—but then she is my sister after all. To a young man her own age it would look different. Oh, and she’s advancing well in her work at the studio, her employer says she is a treasure and would not do without her now.

  We have not talked about the photograph Elijah Turner took from her. It is as though she’s wilfully forgotten it. I can’t though. I’m still wondering where he went and why on earth he’s not sold the photo despite the present intense interest in the Kelly gang and its bloody and dramatic end. I’ve looked and looked in the shops, but there’s nothing like it on any postcard. It’s disappeared into thin air. But he could certainly make money from it now. People will buy anything. They flock to buy souvenirs supposedly taken from the siege at Glenrowan. The other day I read a funny piece which listed the number of fakes floating around which gullible people are buying. I will write some of it here as it is one of the few funny things to come out of this whole sad affair.

  • The actual threepenny bit taken from Ned Kelly—14,805

  • Ned Kelly’s spurs (very rare)—170

  • Ned Kelly’s revolver—7,212

  • Ned Kelly’s complete armour, whole suit—18

  • Bullets picked up in the ruins of the inn—78,000,000,000!

  July 15

  The Australasian Sketcher this month published a fine drawing of Ned Kelly. Sam says he’s heard from someone who works there that several people wrote to the editor to say they recognised him as someone they saw at various times in the last couple of years without knowing who it was! One woman said she had seen him in Melbourne. Another person said they’d seen him in a hotel in Beechworth, another at the races in Oxley. Sam says they’re probably all imagining it, everyone now has Kelly fever and is eager to claim some connection, no matter how slim. ‘Any paper will print that stuff now,’ he said. ‘Why even you, Jamie, could make up some story about meeting Ned Kelly and they’d swallow it hook, line and sinker!’ It was a struggle to keep a straight face, but I did.

  I told Ellen about it and she said on no account—no account—was I to say anything to Sam. Not unless she agreed. It is getting tiring, holding in our secret. But I know why she feels as she does. She trusted Elijah, and he betrayed us. She is being very careful with Sam.

  He has been to visit at our house more than once in the last few days. I think Ellen is definitely softening towards him, for she has agreed to go to the tearooms with him—with Aunt Julia as chaperone—next week.

  Not a lot of news on the Kelly front. His trial for murder, in the City Police Court, is due to begin soon. It is reported in our newspaper that his family is still refused permission to see him—the excuse being given that they may pass him some poison or some such thing with which he could cheat the law—and that some effort has also been made by the authorities to prevent them from raising enough money for Ned’s defence, which is not fair at all.

  August 1

  Reports today that the first part of Ned Kelly’s trial, the committal hearing, is not to take place in Melbourne! He has been taken by special train to Beechworth instead. His trial will begin at the end of this week. Great excitement and anxiety in the town at the prospect. Sam’s excited too, because he has been told he can go with one of the senior reporters to Beechworth to cover the case. He asks me if I am jealous that he will clap eyes on the most famous villain in the world. I say I am not and he says I am taking it well! If he only knew.

  August 6

  Intense excitement in the office again as news comes hot off the wire about the Kelly committal hearing. I run to and fro with the copy, reading Sam’s words as I go. I know they’re Sam’s words, I know his style. I can just see him in the Beechworth courthouse, madly scribbling his impressions, his sharp mind absorbing everything, then running to the telegraph office to get it all tapped down to us. You can feel his excitement!

  The courthouse is immensely crowded. The upstairs gallery of the court, reserved for women, is completely full and the body of the court is so packed with spectators that every available standing space was soon taken. Kelly’s family is there, his friends and supporters, as well as all sorts of locals, for and against him. There is also a large number o
f police. The prosecutor, called Smyth, and defence lawyer, called Gaunson, take their seats, and the magistrate. Then Ned Kelly comes in, escorted by several policemen. He is not in handcuffs or restrained, but appears weak and limps a little, but is otherwise in good spirits.

  Later

  Ned’s been charged with two murders—of Constables Scanlon and Lonigan (it is thought one of the other gang members shot Sergeant Kennedy). Sam sent through his report:

  Constable McIntyre, the main witness, takes the stand. He gives a long description of events at Stringybark Creek. He says the gang had bailed him up first while he was alone in the policemen’s camp in the bush, making damper. He had thrown down his weapons and then Lonigan came back from hunting. Ned Kelly told him to bail up, but Lonigan tried to run and Ned shot him. Then for hours McIntyre sat and talked with the gang till Kennedy and Scanlon arrived. They were told to bail up, but didn’t and were shot, while McIntyre himself took Kennedy’s horse and galloped away. Fearing he was being followed by the gang, he then left the horse and hid in a wombat hole all night. In the morning he went to Mansfield to report what he had seen.

  It’s a version of events that looks bad for Kelly. But then the defence lawyer cross-questions the policeman and forces him to admit that he and his colleagues had brought an unusually large number of firearms with them, which could back up Ned’s belief they had come to kill, not capture him. He also makes McIntyre admit that he could not swear that it was Ned who shot at Scanlon, and implies it was not he who shot at Lonigan either, but other members of the gang. McIntyre also lets slip that Dan Kelly spoke of Lonigan drawing his gun. The lawyer presses hard, trying to throw doubt on McIntyre’s version of events, to claim that there was a gunfight between the outlaws and the policemen and that at the end of it three of the police lay dead, shot by who knows who in the confusion.