“After you left the tent, did you see anyone else?” asked the prosecutor.
“I met a young man with a coat over his arm, and a belt over his shoulder,” said Gilby. By now, everyone present recognized the description of George Dobson, and there was a soft groan from the room. Justice Gresson rapped his gavel against the desk and the witness stepped down from the stand.
John Mullins, husband of the married couple James had sent for the day he found the body, was called to the stand. He recalled seeing two men at the accommodation house a mile and a half from the Grey, one fair and one a half-caste. Kelly was dark, but not a half-caste, so he’d probably seen someone else. He and his wife had stopped to eat dinner at Alabaster’s store near the coal pits. Then, about two miles on the Arnold side of Alabaster’s store, he had met a man coming towards the Grey. He was near the tree bearing the mark of George Dobson’s grave, not far from a bridge.
“Did you speak to this man?” asked Mr. Button.
“He said something to us,” said Mullins. “But I did not speak to him. If he said I spoke to him for three of four minutes, then he’s sworn falsely.”
“And do you see that man in court today?”
“It was Sullivan,” said Mullin, pointing in Sullivan’s direction.
“And you did not see a tent or a fire on the road that day?”
“No I did not.”
Disappointing testimony, thought James. Mullins had testified at the inquest that he’d seen two men putting up the tent. Enough to confuse the jury and throw some suspicion onto Sullivan, which the defense would want. But why would the prosecutor bring it forward? What was he thinking? Surely he did not want to prove that Sullivan was the guilty man here.
The next testimony was even more disappointing. David Duncan had left Greymouth on the morning of the 28th of May and returned the same day. He had seen Wilson, whom he knew, having shared a room at a hotel with him, coming towards Greymouth carrying a swag. He was with another man who had a cut under his eye. The man could have been Sullivan but he wasn’t sure. He remembered having told Constable McIlroy that he had seen Wilson rolling up his swag near the iron hut. That put Kelly and Wilson together, as Kelly was the man with the cut under his eye, as the final witness asserted.
Benjamin Barnard of the Provincial Hotel was the last man to the stand. At this point, apparently, the prosecutor was attempting to verify that Wilson knew the members of the gang. Kelly, Burgess, and Sullivan had been at Barnard’s hotel; he had seen them in his bar talking to Wilson on several occasions. Kelly had a black eye and a cut under his eye a day or two before the murder. He was not sure about dates, but he was certain about one thing: Burgess had been at home all day on May 28th.
The court adjourned for the day.
27
Hokitika, 1867: The Trial: Day Two
Inspector James was up early the next morning, feeling a trifle irritated. The trial had gone reasonably well so far, but the prosecutor seemed to have strayed from a strict indictment of James Wilson and was muddying the waters with testimony pointing to Sullivan and Burgess. Burgess was dead, and Sullivan had been convicted of the murder of Jamie Battle, by his own admission. He hoped the evidence of the second day, including his own, would improve matters. He ate breakfast and walked down to the spit to watch the tide coming in up the river. As he neared the wharf he could see a crowd of people yelling vociferously, some even throwing rocks as a steamer, the Atlantic by the look of it, attempted to dock. Voices were calling out to someone on the boat to come ashore, and not to be afraid.
“What’s going on?” he asked a short, thickset man who was standing at the rear of the crowd, grinning broadly.
“It’s some Celestials,” he said. “Come from Sydney to inspect the coast on behalf of a group of their countrymen. When we yelled at them they dived under the hatches, and now they won’t come out. If we encourage them come here they’ll go home and bring more.”
“Is there some problem with having Chinamen here?” asked James, puzzled. He’d respected the Chinese in Victoria, especially their willingness to carefully rework depleted diggings. A good living could be made from the tailings, and the shopkeepers in Carisbrooke had reported that Chinamen could be trusted to pay their tick. He pushed his way to the front of the rowdy group and waved them off, but they ignored him and continued yelling. The atmosphere was more like a fête than a riot; no mere police inspector was going to dissuade them from their entertainment. Eventually they would grow tired of the excitement and leave, allowing the Chinamen to find their way ashore. He gave up and returned to the courthouse, where he was the first person called to the stand.
He told the court the whole story of his involvement with Wilson, spending most of the morning telling it: the visit to his home on the night of the 30th of May when he had taken Wilson to see Mr. Warden Revell; the trip up to the Twelve Mile the following day with Mr. Fox and the undercover constables, when they had been spotted by the gang; the letter from “Incognito” asking James to meet him at the hotel in Blaketown, when Wilson had told him how the gang had returned to Greymouth after spotting his party.
“I next saw the prisoner on Friday at nine in the morning, when I finally had warrants to arrest Burgess, Kelly, and Sullivan.”
“Did you arrest Burgess, Kelly, and Sullivan?” asked the prosecutor.
“He told me they had left town,” said James. He waited for the inevitable question, asking why they had left town, but it did not come.
“What did the prisoner say to you?” asked the prosecutor.
“He asked me about the missing surveyor, and when he had last been seen last alive,” said James. “He speculated that Burgess and Sullivan had ‘put him away.’”
“This was on the day you arrested him?” asked the prosecutor. “Did he make a statement at that point?”
“Prisoner then made a long statement, that on the 28th of May, a Monday, he and Burgess left Greymouth, proceeded as far as the Arnold track, and arrived there, about nine o’clock in the morning. They met Kelly and Sullivan there, and had a drink of hot tea together. They then proceeded up the track, and selected the spot where they intended to meet Fox. After remaining an hour there, it came onto rain, in consequence of which the whole four returned to the iron hut. The prisoner and Sullivan remained there, and Burgess and Kelly proceeded into Greymouth, reaching there at 5 o’clock. The prisoner slept at the Criterion Hotel that night, and did not rise until very late on the following morning, a Tuesday. On going into the main street, he met Kelly who asked him where Dick was and gave him a swag containing firearms, which he took to George Coburn. I then arrested the prisoner on the charge of conspiring to murder Fox, and on our way to the lock-up the prisoner said I had no right to arrest him, and that nothing would induce him to divulge anything further.”
Mr. Button rose, looking disinterested, as if attending to a minor point. “He said he was up the track with Burgess, Kelly and Sullivan on the…” he consulted his notes briefly, as if he needed reminding of the date, “on May the 28th?”
James confirmed that it was, realizing that he too had muddied the waters of who was where when, and on what date. The dates may not have been important, but lack of precision could take them off the table. The jury might start to think the confusion was their own, and blank the dates from their minds.
“You searched him at the station in the presence of Sergeant Slattery?” asked the prosecutor.
“Yes. We found three pounds and some silver on him.” The exact amount Sullivan claimed Wilson had been given by Burgess. He hoped the jury had noted that point. They were looking somewhat bored, unsure of what had happened.
He was asked about the clothing used for the masks that he and Mr. Bain had found. Then, at last, he came to the point where he had found the body, and the toe of the boot that had led him there. The jury woke up and paid attention again.
“The compass, in the case produced, was also on Dobson’s body, which was in a state of decomposition. The pipe an
d other articles produced were found on the body. I had the body taken into Greymouth where it was identified, and an inquest was held, at which I was present.”
James saw the jury sink back as a man. Not enough lurid details for them. What about the skin falling off the hand, and the face that looked as if it might have been gnawed away by rats? They had read of such things in all the papers and were hoping to hear more. He then gave details of the confession Wilson had made regarding the arrangements to intercept Mr. Fox, and put the confession into evidence.
“Did you ask the prisoner about any involvement of the gang with Mr. Dobson’s murder?” asked Button.
“I asked the prisoner whether he thought Burgess, Kelly and Sullivan were involved in the murder of Mr. Dobson, and he said he did not know,” said James. “At that point, the three, along with Levy, had been arrested in Nelson for the murders on the Maungatapu Track. He asked me if he thought one of them would confess, and I told the prisoner that I thought Sullivan would very likely give information as I saved his life at Korong when he was in the hands of a party of Germans who were about to stab him, and when I interfered and he got clear, he ran off and left me in the lurch. From this I inferred that he was a coward.”
At that he was asked to stand down, and he did so, feeling as if had more to say, more that would implicate Wilson, would show him for the villain that he was. But he had to answer only the questions he was asked, to be guided by the prosecutor.
Mr. Revell, the warden of the gold fields and the Greymouth magistrate, was called, and confirmed the story of the night James had taken Wilson to the courthouse to make a statement.
“He made a statement to the effect that Burgess, Kelly, and Sullivan were going to stick-up Mr. Fox and murder him, and that he, the prisoner, was one of the gang; that he was acquainted with Burgess and Kelly in Otago, who each got three and a half years in gaol there; that when they came out of gaol they were escorted out of the province by instructions of the Commissioner of police.”
“Please continue, Mr. Revell,” said the prosecutor.
“The prisoner also said that the movements of Fox were well known to them all. That a man named Billy, Billy DeLacy, a stableman, was connected with them, and the way he managed to get information was by asking Mr. Fox what time he was going out to the Arnold, and would he take letters. He also said that Burgess and party were fully determined to carry out their purpose of robbing Mr. Fox, and if they got possession of their fire-arms they would not be taken with their lives.”
“Who did he consider was in this party of Burgess’s,” asked the prosecutor. “This gang.”
“Burgess, Kelly and Sullivan,” said Revell. “And another man named Levy…one of the men hanged in Nelson, as you may recall. He said that the party were living in town and spending money at the rate of three and four pounds per day, and that some person must be underground for it.”
“Underground?”
“Dead,” said Revell. “Dead and buried, presumably.”
“What had he to say in his own defence?” asked the prosecutor.
“He said he had never done any roguish action himself, but he had committed robberies, and had never gone so far as to take a man’s life. That was why he wanted to make a statement. He also asked me for a sum of money to enable him to leave the province, but I replied that it was not in my power.”
“Did you see the prisoner again?”
“About a week after the first interview I again saw the prisoner at my office after he was remanded for the attempted murder of Mr. Fox. At this time, George Dobson was missing. I said he’d been seen on Tuesday the 29th of May on the Arnold track, and was I afraid that he’d fallen into the hands of some of the gang. Prisoner denied all knowledge of it, and stated that he had been out on Monday, the 28th May, to the iron store, in company with Burgess, Kelly, and Sullivan, for the purpose of waylaying Fox; that it came on to rain, and that Burgess and himself proceeded to town, and left Sullivan and Kelly behind. Prisoner said he slept at the Criterion Hotel that night, and did not get up till late the next day, when he walked on to the town, and met Kelly with a swag on his back, who asked him where Dick, meaning Burgess, was.”
James resisted the impulse to stand up and say, ‘Don’t you see? Going by Mr. Revell’s account, Wilson is giving himself an alibi for the wrong day. He admits being on the track on the 28th and has covered himself for the 29th, the day he says he slept in and saw Kelly in town.’ Wilson was making that claim because the newspaper reports of Sullivan’s confession had been a day off, originally at least. Now, all that was happening was the two days were converging, confusing everyone.
Charles Todhunter should have been called next, but he was at home in Christchurch, too ill to attend. His medical practitioner was present and swore that to be the case; an earlier statement he’d made at the inquest, identifying the body, was taken into evidence. He had also made a deposition as to the interview in the cell, at which he had been present. Button requested that James be recalled.
“What did the prisoner say to you in the cell?” he asked.
James had a copy of the paper ready, and handed it to the clerk. “The prisoner told me on the 5th of June that he had seen it reported in the paper that morning that Dobson had been missing since the 29th May, and was last seen between the Arnold and Twelve Mile. I am certain the Grey River Argus was published on Tuesday, the 5th of June, and that it contained a paragraph relative to the missing George Dobson.” He emphasized the word 29th, but the prosecutor failed to notice. It was the best he could do.
The final witness for the prosecution was called. Dr. Strehz came forward to testify about the autopsy, as Dr. Foppoly had left the province. Strehz gave his opinion that George Dobson had died from strangulation. He was not asked about further injuries.
At that, the prosecution rested and the court retired for refreshments.
He returned to the court after another cup of tea and found Mrs. Fellows and John Heron talking to each other near the door. Neither had been called to stand so far.
“Are you appearing for the defense?” he asked Mrs. Fellows.
She shook her head. “Edward and Priscilla are,” she said. “I was told I wasn’t needed.”
“Blast,” said James. “I thought you would have been an excellent witness, whereas…”
“Priscilla will just help Mr. Wilson,” she said. “I know. But I was here yesterday and was sent home. I’ve told Priscilla she must tell the truth, but you know what she thinks the truth is.”
“I was supposed to appear for the Crown,” said Heron. He looked upset. “I was at the preliminary hearing in December, and I thought my evidence was important…”
Heron had testified that the gang had been at his pie shop before the murder, four men, Sullivan and Burgess who he knew, and two fair men. They’d asked to leave a swag and a shovel at his place. Later, he’d picked up the swag and found it to be “fearfully heavy.” His evidence had been useful to paint a picture of the gang, and—possibly—to put guns and a shovel in their hands, but he’d been unable to identify the two fair men. He was not therefore useful as a witness against Wilson.
“You came down from Greymouth on the off chance…?” James asked.
“I came to see justice done,” said Heron. “I heard they might try Sullivan again as well. I’d like to see him in front of a jury in this town, I very much would.”
“It’s not likely to happen,” said James, earning a glare from Heron. Stories about Sullivan’s possible retrial were running through town like a bush fire and were difficult to put out.
Mr. Rees began the case for the defence by calling James McElroy, who had been a constable at the time of the murder, and present at the discovery of the body. He testified that he’d put together the evidence for Inspector James, and that David Duncan had told him he’d seen the prisoner on Tuesday 29th of May with another man, folding up their swags at the iron shanty.
William DeLacey, the stable man who’d k
ept the gang informed of Mr. Fox’s whereabouts, shuffled to the stand in shackles. He was serving two years for his part in the conspiracy to rob Mr. Fox. The defence asked him if he knew either of the men in court.
“I know ‘im,” he said, nodding towards Sullivan. “Sullivan. I seen him a few times with the others.” He cast a look of triumph at Sullivan, who straightened his necktie and smirked in the direction of the prisoner.
“Did you remember seeing the men on May 28th?”
“I was up the track looking for some lost horses,” said DeLacey. “Mr. Anderson ‘ad lost them. I saw them—Sullivan and Kelly—in front of the iron hut rolling up their swags.”
“You are sure it was Kelly you saw?”
“He ‘ad a black eye and a scar on ‘is face,” said DeLacy. “I went away after the ‘orses, and when I came back they was still there.”
“What time was this?”
“Between one and two o’clock,” said DeLacey. “I mounted my horse, and rode down the track towards Greymouth. I met Mr. Duncan,” he pointed towards David Duncan. “He asked me to assist them in putting the cattle across the river, which I did. I then continued my journey down towards Greymouth. Before I got to the bridge, which is about one-and-a-half miles from Greymouth, I saw the prisoner and Burgess.”
“And you are certain it was them?”
“I’m certain as to the identity of the prisoner. I afterwards met them again at the accommodation house, a few hundred yards from where I previously saw them and spoke to Burgess, I met them again just as I got into town, and a third time, between six and seven o’clock in the evening, at a fruit shop in Greymouth.”
“How fast were you riding?” asked the judge. “How long would it take you to ride from the iron hut to Greymouth?”
“About three miles an hour, so an hour and a half,” said DeLacey. “Course that was riding…”
Justice Gresson held up his hand to silence DeLacey. “You can only testify to what you know,” he said sternly. “Now, you may leave the stand.”
A Cold Wind Down the Grey Page 23