by James Fearn
He was taken by surprise, however, when one of the bandits grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him to his feet. John saw the two angry barrels trained on him and was not of a mind to disobey the bandit’s orders.
‘You!’ he barked. ‘Strip down to your underwear!’ He made a gesture towards John with his gun. John hesitated but the sight of the gun helped him overcome his embarrassment. The same order had been given to the coachman who was standing somewhat sheepishly in a similar state of undress in front of the snorting horses. With vigorous prods in the ribs the more aggressive gunman directed the two half-clad men to dress in the others’ clothing.
Within a few minutes, John found himself sitting in the coachman’s seat, the two bandits, one either side, urging him on with their weapons poking him in the back. It took little more than ten minutes of hard galloping before the coach rolled into Circular Head, and at the instructions of the older bandit, John reined in the horses, bringing the coach to a halt right outside the Bank of Australasia.
The bandit jumped to the ground and brandishing his gun ran shouting into the bank. John could hear raised voices and a gunshot but could see nothing. But he got the surprise of his life when the gunman soon emerged handcuffed to two burly police constables calling out ‘Drop your guns, and put your hands in the air!’
John breathed a sigh of relief to see these officers of the law. Now he could get on with his own business. But what about those left back in the bush? Perhaps he should drive the coach back to fetch them.
John was rudely interrupted from his altruistic thoughts by the gruff voice one of the constables. ‘You too’, he said, motioning John and the younger bandit with an upward gesture of his gun.
‘But, constable, I was one of the passengers held up in the bush. I’m not a highwayman,’ protested John.
‘Ha! This ’ere character’s got plenty o’ nerve,’ said one policeman to the other with a chuckle.
‘I’m not responsible for this hold-up I tell you,’ said John somewhat annoyed at the stupidity of the fellows.
‘We’ll see about that. For the moment, you’re under arrest on suspicion of robbery under arms,’ said the senior constable with an increasing air of finality.
The trial of the three highwaymen was given wide publicity. After all, it was not every day that the little village enjoyed such notoriety. On the day of the hearing, the little courthouse was packed to overflowing. Some observers sat on the windowsills while others strained to hear proceedings through the open door. This was the biggest thing to happen in Emu Bay for years.
The magistrate took his seat on the raised bench. ‘Silence in court!’ cried the clerk. ‘Produce the prisoners!’
A buzz of excitement went around the little courthouse as the men entered through the backdoor from the cells each handcuffed to a policeman. John was the last to enter his head bowed in embarrassment.
‘John!’
A cry of astonishment tinged with joy rang out from the back of the room. All eyes turned towards the source of the disturbance. ‘John!’ came the startled cry again.
The magistrate glared over the top of his pons nez at the intrusion and a hum of excited chatter broke out in the courthouse. That’s Anna O’Meara! How does she know this highwayman? Thought she was a nice girl.
‘Silence in court!’ demanded the clerk. John looked up in stunned amazement. There was Anna standing near the door of the courthouse with a confused look of surprise and apprehension upon her face her right arm outstretched towards him. Was he dreaming? Was he losing his grip on reality? Was this a mirage? No, it was Anna. An older woman was trying to restrain her from dashing forward to him.
‘Silence!’ repeated the clerk in a tone of annoyance and banged his staff on the floor forcefully.
John couldn’t take his eyes off Anna. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she stood there shaking with emotion.
The trial proceeded for two days as the witnesses under cross-examination gave their recollection of events. Mrs Fontleroy, the undertaker’s wife was quite emotional as she described how two rings, priceless heirlooms, had been ripped from her finger. The bank manager admitted that he had been completely taken in by the young Englishman who had allegedly aided and abetted the two masked men—a clever ploy to fraternise with one’s victims before the heist.
At the end of the first day of the trial, Anna sought permission to speak with John. The sergeant agreed, but stipulated that the meeting should take place under police supervision. Anna was ushered into an interview room where John was sitting handcuffed. John’s prison clothes were ill-fitting, and he had not shaven since the day of the hold-up. Indeed he presented a sorry picture.
‘Anna! Dear Anna!’ said John extremely embarrassed by his dishevelled appearance as she took her seat opposite him. ‘How are you? Oh, it’s good to see you,’ he blurted out with relief before she could utter a word.
‘Oh, John, I’m so happy to find you. But how did you get into this mess?’ she said, looking him up and down with concern on her face.
John proceeded to recount his intended visit to the blacksmith to purchase a ploughshare for Martha McIlroy, the hold-up, and the exchange of clothes with the coachman.
‘Can you please help me?’ he pleaded. ‘The only way is to find someone who knows me and can speak for me. Could you possibly get a word to Mrs McIlroy at Emu Bay. She’ll come and speak for me.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Anna. ‘But how did you come to Van Diemen’s Land in the first place, John?’
‘Come along now, miss. Time’s up!’ said the sergeant before John could respond.
With a final loving glance, Anna rushed out of the courthouse and home to tell her mother the news and to ask for her help to locate Mrs McIlroy. Colleen wondered if Anna was mistaken, but soon realised that her daughter was convinced she had found John.
Harry had gone to the sheep sales at Launceston and was away for several days. Recognising that prompt action was needed Colleen and Anna jumped on to their horses and galloped the twenty miles or so to Emu Bay to ask Mrs McIlroy to help save John from another conviction.
The next morning as the three prisoners were paraded, the magistrate called for any character witnesses to make their statements. For the next forty minutes, both Colleen and Martha testified on John’s behalf. Martha spoke of his integrity and diligence and of his attempt to make a success of his new life in Van Diemen’s Land. Colleen recalled John’s deep concern for the Bog Irish back in Sheffield, and how she loved him like a son.
The testimonies of the women were very powerful, and few were surprised when the magistrate pronounced John not guilty of complicity in the robbery. A cheer went up in the little courtroom. Anna rushed to the dock and threw herself into his arms overjoyed to be reunited with her soulmate. Indeed, it was the talk of the town for several days, and the Stanley Times’ editorial praised the wisdom and common sense in the verdict. Colleen’s delight at seeing Anna so happy again, however, was soon tempered with a growing apprehension at the thought of the likely consequences of John’s reappearance in her daughter’s life.
There was a great celebration that night at the farmhouse where Harry and his family lived. It had been almost eight years since their arrival in Van Diemen’s Land. For most of that time, Harry had worked as a farmhand on a fine property set on the rolling hills near Stanley.
Colleen and Anna kept the house beautifully. They had planted a garden, enormous and colourful by comparison with their little garden in Sheffield. There were sweet-smelling roses near the veranda and a large stand of pink hollyhocks near the front gate. For much of the year, they were able to cultivate vegetables and were self-sufficient in the dietary basics like potatoes, carrots, and cabbage.
The meal of roast lamb and vegetables, which Colleen and Anna had prepared, was delicious and the happy conversation around the dinner table was an indication of
their contentedness with their new life in Van Diemen’s Land. These friends from Sheffield felt that they were home again.
Anna described the horrors of travelling steerage and the long weeks of boredom, which they suffered on the voyage to Port Phillip not to mention the seasickness on the passage across Bass Strait to Circular Head. John too gave a colourful account, as only he could, of how he came to Van Diemen’s Land and of his adventures since arriving. They talked on into the night, sharing their experiences and the joys and sadness they had experienced in adapting to their new life.
John rose early next morning and after breakfast prepared by Anna bade farewell to the O’Meara’s. Anna walked with him to the stables to borrow a horse for the homeward journey.
Taking her hand in his, John kissed it gallantly. ‘I’d love to see you again, Anna,’ he said excitedly. She lowered her eyes and blushed somewhat. John sprang into the saddle and galloped away. ‘See you soon!’ he cried. Anna stood at the gate, watching him go.
Chapter 4
John had often recalled the time when he had visited the headquarters of the Van Diemen’s Land Company in London. He remembered his feelings of excitement when he heard of the company’s plans to establish Yorkshire thoroughbred stud farms around Stanley. During the ride back to Emu Bay, he resolved to raise the possibility with Martha McIlroy, a horse woman if ever there was one.
Not that John was uninterested in other forms of farming. He had, for instance, become quite proficient at sheep shearing, having taken lessons in the art from an itinerant shearer. He marvelled at the skill of such men. Doubled up over squirming sheep they wielded the wool shears with a dexterity and speed that fascinated him. But John reckoned that there must be less painful ways of making one’s fortune.
Quite frequently, in his spare time, John would ride up to Stanley to visit Anna, and they were often to be seen walking and talking together. This was one of the things that John liked about Anna. She was never at a loss to respond to his ideas and indeed injected plenty of her own into the conversations. The sharing of one’s soul in good conversation draws people together and both John and Anna had often experienced the magnetism of such occasions together.
It was on one such visit as they strolled hand in hand in the twilight that John suddenly stopped and drew Anna close to him in a warm embrace. Anna looked expectantly into his eyes, and their lips met in a sensuous lovers’ kiss. For a long time, John had dreamed of this moment. The opportunity had come and he decided to seize it.
‘Anna, my dear. Will you please . . . marry me?’ He hesitated as he spoke and his voice trembled. For a moment, she said nothing. The silence was broken by the fearsome screech of the Tasmanian Devils, small marsupials common in those parts. It was certainly an unconventional setting for a wedding proposal.
‘Yes, John . . . , I will,’ she whispered softly and pressed her lips to his once more.
John was beside himself with joy, and wanted to rush back to ask Harry’s permission there and then.
‘Let’s keep it a secret for a little while, John. I’ll have to work on Father. He’s an old-fashioned Catholic, you know. He’ll have to be handled carefully.’ John was somewhat disappointed, but recognised the wisdom in Anna’s words. They walked slowly back to the house hand in hand and were greeted at the gate by Harry and Colleen who were enjoying the warm scented evening air.
As John and Anna approached, Colleen took Harry’s arm. ‘Look, Harry! Don’t they make a lovely couple!’ It was then that Harry finally realised that this friendship, which had begun more than eight years ago in far-off England and which had survived such a harsh separation was much more than a passing infatuation. As a devout Catholic, he was troubled at the thought of marriage between Anna and John, but he decided to bide his time and wait until the subject was broached by the young people themselves.
It was a long gallop to Smithton, but Harry was determined to settle the matter once and for all. He rehearsed many times how he would broach with the local priest the subject of Anna’s possible marriage with John.
Father O’Flaherty was a short balding Irishman in his late fifties with a decided limp, which he claimed was a legacy from an injury in his youth. Local gossip, however, attributed it to a bad case of gout. Whatever the reason, there was no doubting his capacity to imbibe if the grog shop proprietor’s word was to be believed.
‘Com’ into me study, Mr O’Meara. You’ve come a long way to be sure. Would you be sharin’ a drop o’ whisky with me?’ Harry accepted the kindly offer and sank down into a sagging settee. The springs had gone, and Harry sat awkwardly with his knees tucked up under his chin. ‘Now what can oi be doin’ for y’?’ said the priest.
‘Oi’ve com t’ ask your advice, Father. It’s rather a difficult matter, Father, and oi’m not shure where t’ start.’
‘Would there be a woman involved, Mr O’Meara?’ asked the priest.
‘Well, yes, in a manner of speakin’,’ he responded.
‘Oh, begorra! What harve y’ don, Mr O’Meara?’ said O’Flaherty.
‘No, no, Father, it be nuthin’ loik that! No!’ said Harry somewhat indignantly.
‘Y’ see, I tink me darghter wants t’ marry a boy thart’s not o’ the true faith.’
Harry unburdened his troubled mind as he set out the facts as clearly as he could before the parish priest. ‘What dos the church harve t’ say on such tings?’
‘Ah, ’tis a sinful ting your darghter wants t’ do, me son. If she enters into such a foolish marriage, she’ll be darmed forever by the church. You see the Cartholic Church considers marriage t’ be a sacrament—a holy act before God. It’s not just a legal contract. It’s much more than thart. A Cartholic girl cannot marry outside the faith because the two of them would be unequally yoked.’
Harry wasn’t too sure what ‘unequal yoked’ meant, but he listened intently, nevertheless, as the priest went on to explain the mystery.
‘It would be a non-sacramental marriage, and therefore, not be varlid in God’s eyes. There would be tensions and arguments between them, especially when the children were born. It would threaten the peace and stability of their home.’
Looking straight into Harry’s eyes, the priest asked, ‘Are you tellin’ me he’s a Protestant?’
‘I believe so, Father,’ replied Harry.
There was a pause as the priest stood up with a deep frown on his face and walked to the open window. ‘Thart makes it very difficult, it dos, very difficult.’
‘Oi’ve heard thart som’ priests are lenient about these tings and will give their blessings to such marriages providin’ the non-Cartholic is agreein’ to the children bein’ barptised as Catholics,’ said Harry.
Father O’Flaherty became somewhat agitated. ‘Well, thart may be so for som’ modern young priests, but it won’t do for me. While I wear the cloth in this district, no Cartholic girl will marry a Protestant with impunity.’
Harry wondered if impunity was some kind of contagious disease when the priest was so concerned about it.
‘An’ what if she disobeys me, Father what might happen to ’er?’ said Harry becoming more and more concerned.
‘The Church would declare the marriage invalid and would consider the couple to be public sinners livin’ in a state of concubinage, and their children would be called “bastards”. Not only thart’, Father O’Flaherty went on in a tone of authority, ‘but the Cartholic spouse would be excommunicated and cut off from the communion of the Church. Thart means thart your darghter would not be allowed to take the Eucharist, and when she dies, she would not be buried in a Cartholic cemetery.’
Harry sat in stunned silence as the priest outlined the penalties, and found it hard to think of his precious daughter as the embodiment of evil that such retribution implied. But he had been powerfully conditioned by his Catholic upbringing in Ireland and could not turn his back on the Church, whic
h had nurtured him.
Thanking Father O’Flaherty for his advice, Harry left with a deeply troubled mind and a heavy heart. He liked John very much. He was a fine young man. In human terms, he would make an ideal husband for his daughter despite the age difference. But, as he tried to remind himself over and over again, there was more to Christian marriage that just the human considerations.
Harry walked with bowed head towards his horse, which was tethered to the priest’s gate. As he rode down the track towards Stanley, Harry began to think that it might be wise to talk with John before the romance developed any further. It would be most unfair to let the young couple get to the point of making a commitment to each other when marriage was quite out of the question. He decided to act that night when John was expected home for dinner with the O’Meara’s.
But there was something different about this dinner. Not in the food, but in the atmosphere. John could sense it. Harry was strangely reserved, and John realised that something was amiss. There were awkward moments of silence when no one seemed to know quite what to say to make conversation. Unknown to each other both Harry and John were struggling to find the courage to broach the subject that was on their minds—John to ask Harry for permission to marry Anna, and Harry to explain the impossibility of such an idea.
Finally, John took his courage in his hands and turned to Harry. He was normally not a reticent fellow when asking for favours, but this was no ordinary request. He took a deep breath.
‘Harry, Anna and I would like to ask your permission to marry,’ he blurted out. Harry looked startled. He had not realised that he was so far behind John and Anna in his thinking. The young couple hand in hand looked at him expectantly. Colleen smiled approvingly.
There was a pregnant silence as Harry struggled to make his response. ‘Oh, John, me boy’, he said, shaking his head from side to side. ‘I just can’t give it! I just can’t.’
Anna reacted with an uncharacteristic outburst. ‘What do you mean, Father, you can’t give it,’ she cried in anguish. ‘I love him, and I want to marry him!’