True History of the Kelly Gang

by Peter Carey

  Finally our mares in foal strayed onto the common land so the mongrel Whitty impounded them. Now Tom and me had fed them horses at great expense paid for the stallion and otherwise invested considerable funds. When Whitty locked them in the pound I decided to show him he did not own this earth. I didnt burn his oats or nothing all I done were break the lock at the Oxley Pound and take back what I legally owned this did not seem a crime to me not then or now.

  The very next day my brother Dan were ambling peacefully through Oxley township he were dragged from his horse by Cons Flood then frog-marched into the laundry of the Police Camp where the cowardly Flood threatened to plunge his face into the boiling sheets. The same Cons Flood that seduced our sister Annie now tortured my young brother until he pleaded for his life he scalded his arm he thrust his govt. revolver against Dan’s empty belly saying he would arrest him for stealing horses from the pound.

  Dan pleaded he were innocent.

  Said Flood I will see those mares back in the pound by tomorrow morning or there will be an adjectival war with you the 1st to fall. Then he set Dan loose.

  I did not know it yet but this were to be my last day of paid labour it were noon which is dinner time at the sawmill so I were sitting with my mug of tea while the cook laid out the tucker table that is a sheet of canvas spread upon the ground. I saw a mighty cloud of dust and at its lead were my young brother he come galloping right into the yard scattering bark and dirt across the fresh baked yeast bread there are few greater offences in the bush.

  I rose to greet him steering him and his mount away from the meal but even before he spoke I could see his injury not only on the arm which were already red and blistered but also the eyes. All the bluster had been leached away it were a dreadful thing to see.

  He explained his injury also reported Flood’s threat and I wondered who could be so stupid to think they could hurt my family without no fear of justice. Dan were my little brother flesh & blood I sat him on a log to dress his burn with butter then fetched a slice of yeast bread spreading it thick with golden syrup and finally I give him a good feed of lamb stew.

  At 5 o’clock I handed in my notice at the sawmill then we set out to the one place on earth we could rely on. Heading south we rode straight past my mother’s selection all them dead and ringbarked trees was the grave of honest hope. That night we slept rough by the Four Mile Creek that is deep in the folds of Mr McBean’s Kilfeera Station where our horses still found grass no matter there were a drought in all the world outside. The next day we moved invisibly across the squatter’s rolling land he couldnt see me he didnt know I were a serpent inside his arteries a plague rat in his bowels.

  By noon we cut the Magistrate’s last barbed wire fence then we come into unselected land the smell of the explosive eucalyptus growing stronger and stronger. We climbed all afternoon through giant dry forests of mountain ash but it were not till night that we finally heard the water running through the damp grass of Bullock Creek. In the moonlight I could see a silver field of bracken on its edge were Harry Power’s old bolthole there were now a fallen limb across its roof. The bark were severely injured but the old burlap cribs was strong enough to take my brother’s sleeping body. All night my mind turned the lathe I would not leave Dan until I had him fit but when that day come I would teach his torturers they could not steal our stock and threaten our families without suffering the consequences.

  The Wombat Ranges is a rough steel wedge driven into the soft rich lands of Whitty and McBean & having entered through the Magistrate’s property now 2 wk. later I departed alone through Whitty’s Myrrhee Station. The drought were hard on this country but the squatter did not have to punish it the way a small selector did so all his acres was a contrast to my mother’s where the grass were eaten to the roots. By Fifteen Mile Creek I come upon a pair of very well fed shire horses glistening in the moonlight also any number of healthy thoroughbreds some of them mares with foal nothing could be more different from the state of the stock when I arrived back home the following day the dairy cows’ ribs was showing I counted 5 dead sheep their eyes picked out by the crows.

  I give my 1st cooee from behind the cowbail a 2nd when I come in view of the hut.

  After a few minutes my mother stepped out of the shade of the veranda raising her arm across her eyes.

  What do you want she asked for I had not been to visit since the celebration of her wedding that were more than 2 yr. previous.

  I want to see himself.

  He’s in Benalla at the Doctor’s.

  I jerked my head towards the sorrel mare which were standing very foul tempered in the paddock. Whats his horse doing here then?

  The sorrel can’t be rid she’s got the splent.

  I dismounted stepping up onto the veranda as my brother in law Bill Skilling appeared at the doorway. Now now Ned says he but when his eyes shifted in alarm I turned to catch my mother rushing at me with a piece of 4 × 2 which I swiftly encouraged her to drop. She begun clutching me with her bandaged hand I have seen likenesses of mothers plump and soft their skin glowing with the luxuries of cream and roast beef but my mother’s hands was large and dried like roots dug from the hard plains of Greta.

  Don’t hurt him cried she I could not bear another loss.

  It is Whitty that will have the loss said I and told her how they tortured Dan and stole my horses. It is time they felt a little pain themselves.

  Don’t do nothing she said you go back to work.

  I’ve given up my job Ma I have come to steal them horses like you wanted.

  My mother give a queer little howl and then she were in my arms completely I felt her poor hard body wracked by sobs.

  I never meant to put you in harm’s way I don’t want you stealing nothing.

  Shush shush said I it were only as I held her that I knew how deep I loved her we was grown together like 2 branches of an old wisteria.

  What can I do for you Ned?

  George King stood at the corner of the hut with his carbine at the hip his finger on the trigger but from that position he could not hit a wombat’s arse and I could of knocked him down at least I thought so.

  Young Dan’s been blowing you can make a mob of horses follow you he says you learned it from the savages in Arizona.

  George showed me his big white teeth. You reckon that is blowing do you Ned?

  It is a knowledge I have need of George.

  My mother said they had some spare money she would rather give it to me than be the cause of me being lagged once more.

  I told her money were not my concern I meant to impound the squatter’s best fed horses.

  I aint got no time for this malarkey said George King what is it you want?

  Mr Whitty’s got a big mob out the back of Myrrhee they look like they been eating pretty well.

  George smiled again but it were nothing soft or friendly. Ellen said he go put the kettle on.

  I noticed how my mother obediently did the Yankee’s bidding and this sickened me but it were not my business so him and me walked over to the horse paddock where we leaned against the rails staring at his lame horse a while.

  When I come here Ned I were prepared to be your mate I would not marry your ma until you was out of prison. You could of been my partner then but you as good as told me to shove it up my blot.

  True enough.

  If you want to pinch a few of Whitty’s ponies you don’t need my permission.

  I want to take a whole adjectival mob of them.

  Ask Dan and Jem to help you. Or Tom Lloyd.

  I don’t want no one getting scalded for what I do I want you to teach me what you learned from them savages.

  He didnt say nothing so we stayed at the rails looking at his mare trying to chew the bandage off her leg. After a while my mother called from the hut door that the tea were made.

  Very well said George at last we’ll do this one job together we’ll borrow 50 horses from Mr Whitty in a night.

  We can take them int
o the Wombat.

  No we’ll run them up across the Murray into New South Wales we’ll cut the proceeds 1/2 and 1/2 now go on I can see your girlfriend has got your tea for you.

  He climbed into the paddock I gone back in the hut to sit at the old table with my mother.

  You won’t be at war with George no more she said her fingernails all broken her knuckles swollen from her labours.

  I held her hand against my cheek.

  He’s a good man George said she.

  I could not say he werent.

  I knew horses all my life but it took a Yank to show me what a contrary bugger the horse can be if you go towards it then it runs off if you turn your back it cannot keep from following. George King needed no mare or stallion or oats or whip or halter to start them horses walking he needed nothing but himself and he drew them away from the plains of Myrrhee and Kilfeera using nothing more than their own curiosity. I never seen such a picture as this previously there was 50 thoroughbreds swinging along in that easy canter their heads down all in single file trailing George King’s Arab up into the ranges.

  Never having been a thief before I were surprised to discover what a mighty pleasure stealing from the rich could be. When it come the squatters’ turn to suffer they could not bear their punishment they was immediately screaming like stuck pigs calling public meetings about the outrage while all the time I lived on their back door more than once sitting on my horse to watch McBean eat tea & when his dogs was going wild he could do no more than stare out into the wild colonial dark. He did not own that country he never could.

  Soon others was drawn into the ranges to be with us at Bullock Creek they come not to avoid honest graft the opposite when you stayed with me and Dan you would leave your grog behind and work beside us from dawn to dusk thus in the middle of that wilderness we cleared the flats and planted crops. We was building a world where we would be left alone.

  Joe Byrne is now reported to be a Depraved Criminal well the 1st thing he done at Bullock Creek were construct a sluice for gold in other words he begun one of them Secondary Industries the government is so keen about. O he were flash his mood cd. swing back and forth like the tail of a cranky horse but you could say the same thing of the sainted Mr Whitty. Joe brought along Aaron Sherritt they was mates since birth at night they slept beside the fire curled up like cattle dogs upon the earth also they had a queer and private way of conversing they said THAT PLACE & THAT COVE & THAT THING and only they knew what it meant. They sat by the fire smoking their BLACK SMOKE they gone as mellow as 2 old Chinamen and very even in their temperaments.

  I were most surprised one morning to see Steve Hart had found his way to us he were the horrid thing who had previously worn a dress and now I found him sitting on his horse surveying our achievements in the wilderness.

  Nice horses.

  I threw a stone & hit his gelding on the rump it reared and started.

  Well eff you he cried I have ridden 2 adjectival days to be here Dan’s my mate you well recall.

  Well now you can ride 2 adjectival days back and if I get any visits from the traps I’ll know where they got the information & I’ll come find you wherever you are hiding then I’ll break your skinny little neck.

  You think I’m a sissy but I aint.

  I don’t think nothing about you.

  Well I’m Steve Hart he said my horse is effed and I aint eaten in a day.

  With that the bandy little thing dismounted it were disturbing to see his confidence out of proportion to his weight and age.

  I aint a sissy he repeated.

  I had a fascination about him I suppose and when he announced he would put his horse in my paddock I did not prevent him. It were a fine bay mare long necked fully 16 1/2 hands & v. strong I couldnt see how a boy that age would get the money for an animal like that. The saddle were an old fashioned Hungarian it were very worn and cracked I kept my hands in the pockets as he lay it across the fence.

  I’m a Lady Clare Boy he said.

  I pushed my hands deeper in the pockets.

  Wisely he come no closer I’ll tell you what I am said he.

  That were a door I did not wish to open I told him we would have a cup of tea and then he could depart.

  Why I tolerated them secretive and fervent eyes staring out at me through the smoke I cannot think it is a wonder I did not evict Steve Hart that day or the next for he quickly revealed himself a pesky talker full of assumptions about horses and history and every subject from the defeat of O’Brien to the correct way to plait a greenhide whip.

  Joe Byrne were the scholar amongst us many is the poem he wrote the song he sang but Joe were inclined to be quiet in his opinions unless riled. By contrast you would think Steve Hart were a Professor to hear him on the state of Ireland blah blah blah rattling off the names of his heroes Robert Emmett & Thomas Meagher & Smith O’Brien he never seen them men but he were like a girl living in Romances and Histories always thinking of a braver better time.

  Joe and me occupied the waking world we knew our hard circumstances was made by Whitty and McBean who picked the eyes out of the country with the connivance of the politicians and police. Against their force all this queer boy’s daydreaming were no defence at all his Irish martyrs couldnt get us decent land not even remove our cows from Oxley Pound. The following morning I told him he had better leave.

  He aint a bad little fellow said Joe Byrne.

  He talks too adjectival much.

  Theres some of it is educational.

  He don’t vex you?

  He aint doing no damage said Joe besides he’s company for Dan.

  So I give Dan and Steve 5/– packing them off to Benalla for oatmeal and potatoes thank God to have a little peace.

  3 days later I were butchering a kangaroo beside the creek stripping back the fur to reveal the shiny tight blue belly when I heard the crack of a breaking stick. Living in that valley were like inhabiting the insides of a banjo that noise were like a gunshot and I immediately detected 2 riders threading their way through the stripy shadow of the mountain ash. At 1st I thought it were Kate and Maggie then the front woman passed into the full sunshine and it were Dan he had been absent only 3 days and now he were wearing a bright blue dress his face blacked from ear to ear. Behind him come the smudge lipped culprit Steven Hart.

  My brother and the strange boy rode directly up to me their horses stood less than one yd. away I tore out the kangaroo guts and threw them down into the dust I commanded Steve Hart to climb down from his horse.

  Dan obeyed on Steve’s behalf and he had a stupid grin about his coal black phiz as he smoothed down the rumpled dress it were bright new satin the label still hanging from its breast. When Dan held out his hand to me a single drop of blood formed in his palm like a saint in a Holy Picture then Steve Hart reached out his paw and I could see they had both sworn some oath together. Steve Hart’s eyes was bright and secret I dragged him off his horse and threw him down. He scrambled to his feet.

  You aint got no reason to hit me.

  I roared at Dan to get the dress off.

  Steve Hart ordered Dan to disobey he told me he could make an explanation but I said to shut his gob then turned on Dan to demand where they got the dresses and how much they paid. He answered they come from Mrs Goodman’s in Winton he confessed they had stole them and for that mighty stupidity I kicked him up the quoit.

  Hart sprung at me though I caught his wrist with one hand and slapped him down very hard with the other when he rose his fuzzy lip were bleeding his eyes was filled with tears. I told him I were leaving the camp and expected him to be gone when I returned.

  I left the 1/2 butchered kangaroo for whatever man or beast could use it then I collected the dresses immediately setting off for Winton I were hoping to arrive before charges was pressed against my brother. After hard riding and a bad night’s rest I come into the township and made my enquires and were directed to a broken backed cottage on the high ground above the Seven Mile Creek this
were the residence of Davis Goodman hawker it were built in the middle of a wagon graveyard with spare wheels rusted springs and bits of timber over which was scattered the droppings of ducks it were a most distinctive odour. I untied the bundle and carried it up to the house.

  My Cuban heels was hardly on the veranda before the door creaked open and a big bosomed woman with a lot of red hair and creamy white skin asked me what I wanted. I told Mrs Goodman I were returning her husband’s merchandise but as she were inspecting the contents of the bundle a policeman appeared suddenly at the door.

  This is him she cried arrest him Fitzy.

  I told the Constable I had not stolen nothing.

  You’re all adjectival Kellys cried the woman whats the adjectival difference it all goes in the one pot.

  And which adjectival Kelly is this asks the trap kind of humorous.

  I am Ned Kelly.

  Whereupon much to Mrs Goodman’s consternation and my own considerable surprise the policeman seized me warmly by the hand. My brother has give me written orders to take you dancing.

  Jesus Fitzy cried Mrs Goodman wait a mo.

  The Constable ignored her. I am Alex Fitzpatrick he said and you are the cove what knocked the bark off my brother John at the Police Commissioner’s in Melbourne. You ate roast beef through the night in Richmond Barracks.

  Roast lamb.

  Thats right and you will have a jar with me this very adjectival night. Fitzy this b– – – – r is a thief.

  Shutup Amelia said Fitzpatrick lets look at them dresses.

  With that we entered Mrs Goodman’s front parlour where a great deal of liquor and a 1/2 eaten leg of boiled mutton were in evidence and Cons Fitzpatrick opened my bundle to poke around with his whip lifting one dress then the other I thought him very like his brother he had the Devil in him.

  Now heres a nice one Amelia.

  Thats worth 2 adjectival pounds.

  Heres another.

  Thats 3 guineas.

  O the Constable winked at me now Mrs Goodman has moved onto GUINEAS.

  I said I only come to return the dresses I had no money for further purchase but Fitzpatrick handed them to Mrs Goodman saying she should put them on to show us how they looked again I were surprised to see her retire meekly behind a screen & Fitzpatrick poured me a sherry I would rather have had the mutton as I had not eaten for the best part of 2 days. He said his brother often spoke of me.