True History of the Kelly Gang

by Peter Carey

  He sighed and said he were a fool that his wife just lost a boy 11 mo. old little Thomas now she had the grief of losing a husband as well. He told me about his little Tommy how he were a fine strong boy they never thought to lose him he had the grandest smile. He were continually breaking off his narrative for he seemed to be suffering very much and who could bear to look upon him so? Not wanting him to linger alone in such agony I quietly reloaded my gun.

  He wished to talk about his little boy again weeping frankly at how he missed him every minute of every day.

  I then said soon he would be with him.

  Sgt Kennedy looked up at me sharply. You have shed blood enough said he.

  I fired and he died instantly without a groan.

  On this day of horror when the shadows of the wattle was gluey with men’s blood I could not imagine what wonder might still lie before me. We lads come down across German’s Creek into Bullock Creek driving the police horses before us we now had 4 rifles & 4 Webleys and Joe rode with the Spencer slung across his back. As for me my skin were sour with death.

  A friend arrived I will not say his name but thank God he didnt come a day early or else he would of been branded a member of the so called KELLY GANG. He and I had wanted no more than land a hearth to sit by in the night but he seen us in possession of the police horses and knew that dream were gone to smash.

  The rain begun sprinkling on the dry earth I wished it could wash away my sin but it come on the cold breath of the Southern Ocean there were no forgiveness there. I told my friend I hoped he would get some good grass from this rain he gave me a folded wad of banknotes having sold his stallion for me I asked would he take the money to Mary Hearn.

  Harry Power led me to that hut when I were no older than Steve or Dan. This here is Bullock Creek said he it won’t never betray you. But it were a dead blind place I knew that at 15 yr. of age it were like a beaten dog cowering in the shadow of the hills. All night I had bad dreams very confused I saw Kennedy raising his hand to surrender and me shooting him again & again. In the grey dawn I ordered the boys to set fire to the hateful hut I were glad they never asked me why for I never could have said. As the rain grew heavy we dragged logs and sticks in through the open door there were flour and cans of sardines we kicked them to one side what was we thinking? There was nails & horseshoes but it seems we didnt need their burden. The sky were still dark when we brung the burning torch inside our haven the armoured door swung open useless to protect us. Steve Hart began to sing some mournful song in the old language I told him to be quiet we would write our own damned history from here on.

  It were not until the hut were burning that Dan revealed he had a bullet wound from Cons Scanlon he said it werent so bad a scratch but I seen how he held his reins in his left hand and by the time we crossed Kilfeera Station he were hunched over and his teeth was chattering. We imagined the armies of vengeful traps already on our heels not knowing Cons McIntyre had come unhorsed and were hiding in a wombat hole. Grim daylight of the 2nd day showed the smoke rising from my sister’s hut but I would not place her at risk for Harbouring so we skirted farther east-wards all this time Dan looking very bad.

  The rain begun in earnest it come down like leaden buckets broke in 1/2 and the clay soil so dry & eager its thirst were slaked easily as a kitten. The runoff were soon a yellow sheet the bark & sticks made dams then broke apart and sailed down into the gullies. The mild level country creeks was now dragging fistfuls from their own banks and as we pushed our mob of horses over the Oxley flats the world were walled & ripped apart by water.

  We was making our way towards the mighty Murray River thence the colony of New South Wales not fleeing but retreating. Before we could ford the Murray we had to cross the Ovens River before that we must ride 30 mi. through countless streams swamps and bogs arriving at the Ovens on the 3rd day around 2 o’clock in the morning. We could hear the roar of the river rocks and logs bumping the pylons in the dark though the bridge itself appeared unflooded.

  Dan were looking very ill indeed so I ordered Joe Byrne to knock up the landlord from Moon’s Pioneer Hotel and get some brandy he must pay the full tariff I said we was not thieves. Joe let out a very bitter laugh striding towards the dark hotel angrily slapping his whip against his sturdy thigh.

  After the grog arrived Dan drank and vomited then we pushed on across the bridge but the flood had claimed the road on the other side so we was forced upstream until Taylor’s Gap when we finally drove the 4 police horses & the 2 packhorses into the flood.

  The current here were v. swift with Dan not steady in his saddle I therefore mounted behind him as we swum across together he were still the little nipper cursing me so violently he made me laugh. It were here my copy of LORNA DOONE were ruined also Sgt Kennedy’s message to his wife for when I dried the paper afterwards nothing were writ on it no more.

  Coming back downstream into the dismal rainsodden hamlet of Everton we knocked up an old man in a nightgown Coulson were his name. I counted out the full price for what we took telling him my name so he could tell Ned Kelly were no thief.

  Up in the high ranges west of Beechworth we finally rode into the scrub on the hill above Aaron Sherritt’s selection. We fired off 8 shots and sure enough Joe’s childhood friend trotted up the hill on a bay mare he walked around us silent examining the police stock I could see his troubled eyes study their brands they was clearly marked VR.

  I asked had he heard any news about us but as usual he looked 1st to Joe.

  Whats the story cobber?

  Joe shook his head I could see Aaron were most offended by his silence yet wouldnt turn to me for information.

  Whats the story Dan? The boy were all waxy skinned and hunched over in his saddle he couldnt answer neither. Then Joe offered up the Spencer repeater from its holster but Aaron could see VR stamped on its stock he would not touch it.

  At last he looked my way saying I might follow him if I liked.

  We soon was riding single file along the path the hill were becoming v. steep he took us round the shoulder of Native Dog Peak. Here we finally come to a clear piece of ground where horses was lately kept you could see the worn earth the clear scars on the trees where they had been eating bark. Joe wd. attend to the hobbling he said.

  Aaron escorted me and my brother down the hill along a kind of footpath high above the precipice Dan were leaning on me heavily but soon the way were too narrow for the pair of us.

  I’ll carry you.

  I can effing walk. He teetered but I got my arm under him with the rock to the left of us & thin air on the right he were yelping like a puppy before we come around a corner and to my great relief we found a cave.

  I propped him up against the wall. I said You’ll be all right Dan.

  What you going to do?

  Aaron straight away begun to light a fire.

  No said Dan the traps will see the smoke.

  But in all this rain the smoke were no danger so once the fire were well established I passed Dan the whisky bottle. Eff that said he and pushed it away his eyes was on the branding iron Aaron had lain upon the coals.

  I squatted in front of him.

  Do I have to?

  You’re a Kelly I said.

  I wish I werent.

  After we waited Joe came in to announce the horses was hobbled. Steve Hart sat with his arms round his knees staring into the fire I wonder if he wished he were not a Hart that his daddy hadnt filled his head with all them rebel stories.

  Reckon we’re ready said Aaron removing the hot iron it were a little straight line brand commonly used to change a C into an E. I helped Dan take off his shirt the wound on his right shoulder were raw and red the pus was pooling in its center. Aaron asked were he ready but Dan drew away.

  Then Aaron gone into the back of the cave to fetch the yen pipe he sometimes shared with Joe.

  I don’t want that Chinky ess it makes me puke.

  Suit yourself said Aaron setting aside the pipe to pick up the
glowing brand once more.

  I want my brother to do it.

  Suit yourself.

  When Aaron give me the iron Dan turned to face me holding out his right hand and I took it like I were walking him across the creek to school.

  Ready?

  Eff it he said and I lay it exactly on the wound. The smallest sound came from his lips his eyes rolled back in his head. The poor little b––––r smelled like a sausage in the pan.

  There were a great commotion in the night I heard the girlish voice 1st it were damned insistent but I couldnt make out who she were nagging. It were raining hard outside I could see her agitated shadow in the weather back and forth like a fruit bat lost in the storm.

  You are a blessed tragedy she said as far as I could judge she were no more than 12 yr. old. You was always a larrikin said she well I can’t complain I knew that of you but this time you have turned yourself into as great a tragedy as ever walked. And I always thought your mother hard on you.

  My mother is an adjectival cow said Joe Byrne suddenly very loud.

  Don’t she cried I aint going in there.

  Come on my sweet.

  It smells awful something’s dead. Don’t pull at me Joe I aint a heifer.

  But for all her protests she did what were requested they passed along the wall behind my head her wet skirt brushing my face.

  No road Joe I won’t.

  Its a blanket he said firmly its clean enough.

  They was quiet a moment then he struck a lucifer and the light of a small spirit lamp illuminated the far end of the cave.

  I wanted to get home to you Bessie. It just werent so easy as it sounds the traps was hunting us like dogs.

  I kept my eyes closed but did not need to look to know that this were Bessie Sherritt i.e. Aaron’s sister.

  Joe it werent you they was hunting.

  You don’t know adjectival nothing Bessie said he and I smelled the sweet odour of opium he must of got from Aaron.

  Joe that aint correct it were Ned Kelly shot Fitzpatrick. Tell me if I lie.

  Well he sighed its too late now any road.

  Isn’t it true but my own da’s a policeman?

  That were in Ireland long ago.

  Its still the English language he read me out the warrant it says DAN KELLY AND NED KELLY it says OTHER MEN UNKNOWN. No one is calling for Joe Byrne they would name you if they wanted. You don’t have to run nowhere you can just tell the truth.

  Them b––––rs will know me soon enough.

  They’ll know Ned Kelly she said desperately its him who done the murder. Its him and Dan they listed in the GAZETTE.

  Sssh said Joe.

  No I will not ssh said she. Wake up wake up you shan’t be hanged. Aaron won’t allow it he can protect you in this thing.

  He must of done something for she gave a sharp little cry of pain and then Joe snuffed out the lamp. You tell him not to effing meddle this aint for him.

  In the dawn Bessie Sherritt were gone and Joe were as calm & neat & rested as if nothing had occurred. It were him who made the tea who buttered a bandage for Dan’s shoulder who assisted Steve and me to carry our provisions back to the horses. I saw the girl Bessie standing at the edge of the clearing she didnt own no coat so her dark hair were soaked her dress all sodden on her skinny little shoulders she were staring passionately at Joe.

  Friend of yours I asked.

  Joe shook his head. Come to America with me old man.

  She’s your donah don’t deny it.

  No she aint.

  You didnt shoot no one Joe I’ll write a note and swear it.

  You can swear any adjectival thing you like it won’t make no difference. He yanked the girth and waited for the horse to let out its breath before tightening it another notch. You can write until the effing cows come home but we killed 3 coppers and they won’t be happy till they pay us back. Come to America with me.

  I looked at the girl standing shivering her arms crossed in front of her little bosom. She’s your donah Joe.

  I’d rather kiss the effing Banshee.

  Looking at the object of his derision I seen a poor girl shivering in the rain but Joe’s pale eyes was seeing a darker dream than mine.

  If I stay here don’t you see I’m dead?

  I don’t know if it were fear or opium but something had turned his sunburnt face as hard and slippery as a china bowl. It were not my place to argue with him over a woman but I were a man with 4 sisters & a mother & as we left I rode right by poor Bessie I give her a friendly nod. In response her eyes drew back into her head and her lips pursed and a mighty wad of spit come at me.

  It were a very small deposit on the capital that would soon be offered to the Mansfield Murderer.

  To escape the police there were no choice but to ford the Murray River into New South Wales although the word river gives a poor picture of the sight that met our eyes in the district of Barnawartha. The Murray is a maze of swamps and billabongs but in flood you cannot know what can be crossed till you try & try we did for 3 weary days attempting one place then the next driving the police horses up into swamps and lagoons until the water grew too swift and deep.

  God did not see us the waters would not open and no matter how hard we pushed the Murray would not part nor the rain relent. Every time we returned to the banks the brown tide had risen higher than before marooning unmilked cows on islands their udders swollen their painful bellows echoing across the dull insistent waters.

  Finally we come to a miserable bit of drowned land mostly wattles & reeds all inundated and beyond this some big old red gums and here the current become so treacherous you could see it from the way the fallen trees raced down the river their crowns rolling over and over lifting water like a paddle wheel.

  Dan sat with his hand on his wounded shoulder watching thoughtfully. Steve Hart were close beside him hunched over on his horse with the brim of his hat low on his eyes.

  Very well said I then we will head back to Aaron’s. I looked to Joe but he held out his hand as if to say goodbye.

  It can’t be crossed Joe.

  He looked out across the dreary tumbling waters. I should of pissed off long ago said he without another word he spurred his horse out into the reeds the water were high on the horse’s belly it floundered and then rose then plunged down once more.

  Catch me he cried his voice were far away but when the horse rose a 2nd time it were clear he had located a spine of submerged land which he now were following like a miner does a vein of gold. Suddenly the river were very shallow only to the fetlocks of his mare. This was sufficient for Dan he gathered in his mare getting ready for the plunge.

  Look hissed Steve suddenly.

  I seen a large milled log sweep in front of the rider he were on the edge of a deep & dangerous channel.

  Not that. Look behind.

  I turned to see a dreadful apparition a large bunch of mounted men emerging from the bush they was perhaps 1/2 a mile to the south. The details was blurred by rain but it were clear they was the police an adjectival army of them come to avenge their dead.

  Joe had not seen them yet he’d spurred his mare into the channel she were swimming bravely on. The police trotted out across the grassy plain that separated the bush from the flood. As Joe rose from the torrent to join a stranded heifer on a muddy island he were about 100 yd. out in the stream thus easily within range of a Martini Henry.

  Steve were leading Dan and their mounts deeper into the flooded wattle scrub behind a bit of hillock from where he hissed at me.

  I could not drag myself away from Joe he were in mortal danger but now witnessing his undertakers approach he brought his horse up on its hind legs so it pranced. He walked it backwards that were normal in a circus but very unusual in the middle of the Murray River.

  Come on Ned.

  I were beholding an act of courage it made the flesh stand on my arms. A hateful roar went up from the police I heard the drum of hooves it were like the Picnic Cup. A rifl
e shot whistled overhead I hurried down into the flooded wattles where the 2 boys was already bickering.

  Get your adjectival head down said Steve.

  I don’t want to get my powder wet.

  Don’t worry about the effing powder.

  O yes I see you’re keeping your gun dry.

  Look look you silly b––––r Steve cried plunging his pistol under the muddy water. Does that satisfy you now?

  We was interrupted by a blast from out on the river it were the prancing horseman firing his Spencer at the sodden sky.

  Halt the traps shouted you’re under arrest.

  Shoot the b–––––d called another.

  The murderers was almost next to us the air above our heads were rent with explosions we ducked then felt the water push its icy fingers up our ears. When I surfaced Joe were off again he were swimming to America his horse in the middle of the flood with a great stretch of brown water ahead and no island in sight.

  Of course not one of them traps had the courage of a so called HARDENED CRIMINAL they poked around the bush a little but never so much as got their boots wet. They left us by 3 o’clock that afternoon we was dripping wet and certain our mate must be washed upon a bank the mud running from his nose like some drowned calf. Dan’s lips was blue I changed his dressing then we all dried our firearms in melancholy silence.

  We sat on our horses watching the flood slowly rise until it were dark even afterwards we continued our watch although Steve were sure Joe must be drowned and Dan would guarantee he got away. We remained without a fire to warm us and not until almost the next day was we rewarded by a murmuring above the suck and wash of flood it were a prayer a litany this human voice talking in the night. They would leave their adjectival mate it said they would ride away and leave a fellow. Well eff them for a mob of effing this and effing that.

  We found a single rider poking his way very slowly through the dark eff this and eff that it were belligerent Joe Byrne. To a man we was most pleased to have him back which don’t mean we didnt barrack him a little asking him how were America and was the girls as pretty as we heard.