I confess that my first impulse was to stick spurs into the horse’s flanks, and show the bushranger the colour of my nag’s tail. A second, and more courageous thought, however, prevailed. I used, in those days, when carrying Government money, to have a couple of Colt’s revolvers in my belt. I drew them out and covered my friend with both barrels, when to my great astonishment he threw up both his hands above his head, crying—
“For God’s sake don’t fire!”
Keeping him under cover, I made him come down the hill with his hands still up in the air. Poor fellow! he was the most harmless of all teamsters. His dray was on the top of the range, and he was watching his half-starved cattle browsing on the other side of the ravine. The interjection, which I had attributed to myself, was a “friendly hint” to a brindle steer, which he told me had some rather roving propensities, if not closely looked after.
We adjourned to the dray, and over a pannican of hot tea—with rum in lieu of cream—had a good, hearty laugh over our mutual fright, in which I think that the honours were equally divided.
Having, as I said before, come often in contact with some of the most noted bushrangers, who, in the “fifties,” made a raid over the goldfields of Victoria, I am quite prepared to say that with one or two exceptions, they were highway robbers in every sense of the word, but very, very few of them ever stained their hands in blood. The very few exceptions on record, even, were caused by a spirit of revenge or reprisal, or in self-defence when driven to bay by the police.
In one instance I happened to fall in with Black Douglas and two of his mates half-way between the “Bush Inn” and Kyneton. I knew the man, and he also knew who I was, having often seen me at the saw-pits, where these men were, in very many instances, “planted” by their old convict friends whom we employed as splitters and sawyers. The moment I recognised the dreaded bushranger, I made up my mind for a raid on my belongings. Fortunately, I had very little about me on that occasion, having already paid most of the wages. So, putting on a bold front, I rode up to Douglas, calling him by name—
“Well, Douglas, how goes it, old man? How is business?”
He took a long, hard look at me and replied—
“Hallo Frenchy! is that you? Got any Treasury yellow boys in that 'ere valise of yourn?”