JACK, THE BUSHRANGER.
AN AUSTRALIAN REMINISCENCE.
Reading in your Journal (writes a correspondent) an article headed, ‘A Bushranger Interviewed,’ recalls to my memory a strange incident which occurred some years ago to my own brother, when on his way from Sydney to the gold-fields, and for the accuracy of which I can vouch.
At the time of his arrival in Australia, the country was in a state of panic: a reign of terror existed, caused by the daring outrages committed on parties on the journey to and from the diggings. Robbery with violence, escorts shot down, and large consignments of gold carried off, were of daily occurrence. The bush was infested by a gang of desperate bushrangers, whose leader, under the cognomen of ‘Jack,’ seemed to bear a charmed life. For years he had evaded all the efforts made to capture him, though the military scoured the bush. No sooner was an outrage perpetrated, than all trace of the perpetrators was lost, as if the ground had swallowed them. He had a perfect knowledge of the most secret movements of the parties he attacked. He seemed ubiquitous, outrages occurring in such rapid succession and far apart. Such an air of mystery hung about him, that a superstitious feeling mingled with the moral terror he inspired. He was represented by some persons who had seen him, as a fine powerful-looking man, with nothing forbidding in his appearance.
Even the mad thirst for gold could not induce the bravest persons to undertake the journey alone. The gold-seekers travelled in large cavalcades, well armed, and determined to fight for their lives and property; one of these parties my brother joined. He was a fine handsome young fellow, all fun and love of adventure, and he soon became a general favourite. The ‘track’—for there were no roads at that time—ran for the greater distance through the bush, some parts of which were so dense as scarcely to admit daylight. Every man was well armed. My brother had brought with him a first-class revolver, purchased in London. This he kept with other valuables carefully hidden on his person, his other belongings being stowed away in one of the wagons. When they bivouacked for the night, care was taken that it should be in an open space, where a good look-out could be kept, to make sure against a sudden surprise. The wagons were placed in the middle, sentries posted, and scouts placed so that the flight of a bird or the fall of a leaf could not pass unnoticed. All were on the qui vive. For some days all went well, nothing unusual or alarming occurring. They were then well into the bush, and consequently, if possible more vigilant, believing that even a mouse could not intrude itself amongst them.
One morning it was found that, during the night, they had been, spite of all their vigilance, mysteriously and unaccountably joined by a stranger, who stood in their midst as if one of themselves. No one could imagine how or whence he came, and utter astonishment prevailed. He was a fine portly man, from thirty-five to forty years of age, with an open, prepossessing countenance and good address—one who, under other circumstances, would have been looked upon as an acquisition to the party. Not in the least taken aback or abashed by the scant welcome he received or the undisguised surprise his presence created, he came forward boldly, and told a most plausible story, to the effect that he was a stranger making his way to the gold-fields, that, notwithstanding the stories he had heard in Sydney of ‘Jack’ and his comrades, he had ventured so far alone; but as he got farther into the bush he lost heart, and determined to join the first party he met.
It looked strange that he had no luggage of any kind, not even provisions, or anything to indicate that he was bound for a long journey. He made no attempt to account for his mysterious appearance, entered into the arrangements of the cavalcade, and made himself quite at home. Every man amongst them, with the exception of my brother, believed that no one but ‘Jack’ himself could have so taken them by surprise, the general belief being, that it could only be from personal experience the terrible bushranger derived the perfect knowledge he displayed when making his raids.
The party agreed that the wisest course would be to await the progress of events, watch his every movement, and let him see that they were prepared to sell their lives dearly, if driven to do so.
The stranger seemed to have an unlimited supply of money, and to be generous about it, paying his way freely. He took at once to my brother, and the liking was mutual; in diggers’ parlance, they became mates, chummed, walked, and smoked together. My brother found him a well-informed, agreeable companion, a vast improvement on their rough associates; and he seemed thoroughly to enjoy the society of the jovial young Irish gentleman. A sincere friendship sprung up between them, notwithstanding the disparity in years.
The other members of the party became very anxious, fearing the man would take advantage of my brother’s unsuspicious, trusting nature to obtain information that would be useful to him when forming his plans for the attack which was hourly expected, in fact looked upon as imminent. Nor were their fears allayed when, after a little, he would leave the beaten track and walk into the bush, remaining away for hours, and returning at the most unexpected times and places; showing a thorough knowledge of the bush and all its intricacies and short-cuts, quite inconsistent with the story he had told on joining.
One thing struck my brother as strange, but without exciting any suspicion on his part. When walking together, he would suddenly stand, become quite excited, and say: ‘Oh, it was here such an outrage occurred.’ ‘It was on the spot on which we are standing that the escort was shot down and a large consignment of gold carried off. They did fight like demons.’ He seemed to take the greatest pleasure in giving minute details of the different outrages as they had occurred, and always spoke as if he had been an eye-witness. But so thorough was my brother’s belief in his new friend, that even this did not shake his faith.
When within a few days of the journey’s end, the stranger suddenly and quite unexpectedly declared his intention of parting company. He offered no explanation as to his reason for doing so, though all through he had seemed anxious to impress it on them that he intended to go the entire way to the diggings with them. No questions were asked.
After a general and hearty leave-taking, which, however, did not inspire much confidence, as they were still within range of a possible attack, he asked my brother to take a last walk with him, and led the way into the bush farther than he had ever brought him before, and a long distance from the beaten track. The first words the stranger said were: ‘Mate, don’t you carry a revolver?’
The answer was: ‘Yes, and a first-class one. Not such as is got out here. I brought it from home.’
‘Show it to me,’ said the stranger; ‘I love a real good weapon;’ and without the slightest hesitation, my brother handed him the revolver, which he examined carefully, and saw that the chambers were loaded. He remarked that it was the ‘prettiest weapon’ he had handled for a long time.
He walked a few steps in advance, and turning round suddenly, he presented the revolver at my brother’s head, calling out in a commanding tone, ‘Stand!’ his countenance so changed as scarcely to be recognised.
At last my brother felt that he stood face to face with the terrible bushranger, but did not lose his presence of mind.
For a moment there was a profound silence, first broken by the stranger saying: ‘Is there anything on earth to prevent my blowing out your brains with your own weapon, placed in my hands of your own free-will? The wild bush round us, I know its every twist and turn. The man is not living who could track my footsteps through its depths, where I alone am lord and master. Speak, man! What is there to prevent me?’
With a throbbing heart and a quickened pulse my brother answered: ‘Nothing but your sense of honour.’
The man’s face brightened, and his voice resumed its friendly tone, and handing back the revolver, he said; ‘We stand now on equal footing. You hold my life in your hands, as I held yours a moment ago. Yes, boy; and your own fortune too. But I trust you, as you trusted me. I would not hurt a hair of your head, and I have spared others for your sake. How, you will never know; but they owe you a deep debt of gratitude. You are a noble-hearted fellow; and through the rest of my stormy life, I will look back with pleasure on the time we have passed together. But, mate, you are the greatest fool I ever met. I brought you here to-day to give you a lesson, which I hope you will bear in mind. You are going amongst a rough, lawless crew; never, as long as you live, trust any man as you have trusted me to-day. Where you are bound for, your revolver will be your only true friend; never let it out of your own keeping, to friend or foe. You are far too trusting. There was not a man but yourself amongst those from whom I have just parted who did not believe from the moment I joined that I was Jack the bushranger. Well, mate, I am not going to tell you who or what I am, or how or why I came amongst you; but of this rest assured, that you have no truer friend. You will never know what I have done for your sake.—Now, mate, good-bye for ever. We will never meet again in this world, and it is best for you it should be so.’ Then leading him back to the track by which he could rejoin his party, he wrung my brother’s hand, turned and walked quickly into the bush, leaving no doubt upon my brother’s mind that the friend he had so loved and trusted was indeed the dreaded bushranger.
They never did meet again. My brother came home to die; and unless my memory deceives me, Jack was shot dead in a skirmish with the military.