He had been returning over-land from Sydney, and was leisurely approaching the settlements of the Hunter, when he was espied by the convicts. Great was their joy at this moment; though they knew, that even now that he was within their reach, they would experience great difficulty in securing him; more especially, as they were convinced he would be armed, while they were not. However, they determined to risk their lives in the attempt, for his death to them was sweeter than the preservation of their own lives.
They secreted themselves, one on either side of the road along which he had to go; and, at the moment when he was just about passing them, they simultaneously rushed from their ambush; and, before he was hardly aware of their presence, they had seized him by the arms, dragged him from his horse, and deprived him of the fire-arms he had had no time to use. They then bound him, and led him away into the bush, leaving his horse to find its way home at pleasure.
The captors, after pinioning the arms of their victim, took him through the country, over ranges and across gullies, into the recesses of the bush, where they had taken up their abode; not deigning to enter into any conversation with him by the way. He, however, treated his captivity lightly, imagining that they were merely removing him from the road, to give themselves a surer opportunity of escape when they released him. He had no doubt but that their object was simply to rob him; and, by withdrawing him from the chance of assistance, they were only securing their retreat, in the event of his returning to arrest them after regaining his liberty. He was therefore consoling himself that he had very little on him to lose; and would experience very little difficulty in finding his way to the settlement. Very different ideas traversed the brains of his captors; though they preserved a uniform taciturnity to his jocular sallies; and, except that they well guarded against the possibility of his escape, they took not the slightest notice of him, and treated him with the most marked contempt.
After walking thus for about two hours, they came to a deep gully, through which rippled a small limpid creek; on the sides of which, and extending up the faces of the gorge, were masses of rock piled in endless confusion. Here they halted, and having secured their prisoner to a tree, while one lit a fire, the other disappeared among the rocks, and returned with some edibles, scanty in quantity, and mean in quality. Having with these appeased their hunger, and quenched their thirst at the stream; they sat down by the fire, and conversed together in a low tone; protracting their conclave until darkness enclosed the scene.
The fears of the wretched victim were at length aroused by these mysterious proceedings. A horrible sensation crept over his mind; he felt no doubt that the convicts were holding a consultation as to how they would dispose of him; and he entertained a secret suspicion, that their object was not plunder, but murder. He still, however, argued with himself, that they could have no object in taking his life, by which they would gain nothing; whereas they might enrich themselves by robbing or ransoming him. He therefore attempted a parley to induce terms.
"I say, young fellows," he shouted, "how long are you going to keep me here? you may as well take what I have got and let me go; or if you demand a ransom, let me know the amount, and provide me with pen and ink, and I will give you a cheque on the bank in Sydney."
"Silence, wretched man!" replied one of the convicts, advancing to him and presenting one of his own pistols at his head, "or I'll blow out your brains; we scorn to appropriate an article belonging to you. Even these instruments of death shall be left with you when we leave you; we do not desire booty. Your time has come, when you are called upon to atone to man for your many iniquities: and to-morrow you will have to account to your God."
"What! you surely do not mean to kill me?" screamed the terrified captive, in a voice that echoed in a thousand keys through the cavernous glen: "what have I done to deserve death from you? I have never wronged you to my knowledge; if I have, I will make all the reparation in my power; but spare my life, and I will give you whatever you demand."
"'Tis useless, you dog," replied his inquisitors. "If we desired plunder, we know you too well to believe in promises, extracted from you under such circumstances as these; and we are also aware of the impossibility of our procuring the ransom you may offer, or, even if we got it, of enjoying it."
"No, by heaven!" exclaimed the frantic wretch, "I swear to you on my soul, spare me my life, and I will give you whatever you ask, one hundred, five hundred, or a thousand pounds."