Soon after the death of Philip, Major Chisholm and his family left Nyalong, and I was appointed Clerk to the Justices at Colac. I sat under them for twelve years, and during that time I wrote a great quantity of criminal literature. When a convict of good conduct in Pentridge was entitled to a ticket-of-leave, he usually chose the Western district as the scene of his future labours, so that the country was peopled with old Jack Bartons and young ones. Some of the young ones had been Philip's scholars--viz., the Boyles and the Blakes. They were friends of the Bartons, and Old John, the ex-flogger, trained them in the art of cattle-lifting. His teaching was far more successful than that of Philip's, and when in course of time Hugh Boyle appeared in the dock on a charge of horse-stealing, I was pained but not surprised. Barton, to whose farm the stolen horse had been brought by Hugh, was summoned as witness for the Crown, but he organised the evidence for the defence so well that the prisoner was discharged.
On the next occasion both Hugh and his brother James were charged with stealing a team of bullocks, but this time the assistance of Barton was not available. The evidence against the young men was overwhelming, and we committed them for trial. I could not help pitying them for having gone astray so early in life. They were both tall and strong, intelligent and alert, good stockmen, and quite able to earn an honest living in the bush. They had been taught their duty well by Philip, but bad example and bad company out of school had led them astray. The owner of the bullocks, an honest young boor named Cowderoy, was sworn and gave his evidence clearly. Hugh and James knew him well. They had no lawyer to defend them, and when the Crown Prosecutor sat down, there seemed no loophole left for the escape of the accused, and I mentally sentenced them to seven years on the roads, the invariable penalty for their offence.
But now the advantages of a good moral education were brilliantly exemplified.
"Have you any questions to put to this witness?" asked the Judge of the prisoners.
"Yes, your Honour," said Hugh. Then turning to Cowderoy, he said: "Do you know the nature of an oath?"
The witness looked helplessly at Hugh, then at the Judge and Crown Prosecutor; stood first on one leg, then on the other; leaned down with his elbows on the edge of the witness-box apparently staggering under the weight of his own ignorance.
"Why don't you answer the question?" asked the Judge sharply. "Do you know the nature of an oath?"
Silence.
Mr. Armstrong saw his case was in danger of collapse, so he said: "I beg to submit, your Honour, that this question comes too late and should have been put to the witness before he was sworn. He has already taken the oath and given his evidence."
"The question is a perfectly fair one, Mr. Armstrong," said the Judge: and turning to the witness he repeated: "Do you know the nature of an oath?"