The great gold robbery having been accomplished, the actors in which were for a time uncaptured and unpunished, other enterprises of the same nature disturbed the land.
More than one gang had apparently been formed, whose doings were heard of, sometimes in one direction, sometimes in another.
Well armed and admirably mounted, they were not easily overtaken or overpowered by the police force of the day, then recently organised on the centralising system, which has since proved so efficacious. Before the advent of Captain Mayne, Captain M'Lerie, and Inspector-General Fosbery, the police in New South Wales were under the control of the magistrates of the district, much as obtained formerly in the rural parts of England. The system did not work well: one police magistrate might be alert and courageous, likely to keep his men in good order; another might be easy-going, slack of discipline—mentally even in near resemblance to Justice Shallow. It was evident that there would be little esprit de corps, each division working for its own hand.
But when the new régime came into force all was changed. The force became at once semi-military in discipline, in prestige, in general organisation. The officers, each in graduated rank, responsible for a district, maintained a high standard of efficiency, while the inspector-general at headquarters enjoyed much the same power and rank as the military commandant of a colony. From that time forth the bush outlaws were more easily traced, more often captured, and more invariably punished than had been the case in former years.
Still, the circumstances of the country were so much in favour of this particular class of offender, that from time to time society waxed impatient at the protracted immunity of known criminals fresh from the scene of notorious outrage. Outlying stations were attacked, and more than one household had reason to rejoice at their narrow escape from capture and ill-treatment. Perhaps one of the most daring outrages of Hall and Gilbert's gang was the attack on the house of Mr. David Campbell, of Goimbla. The story of the siege and of his memorable defence I had from his own lips in the summer of 1869. He was then living at Cunningham Plains, where I visited him en route from Narandera to Goulburn.
Mr. Campbell was Scottish by descent, though born in India. A keen sportsman, a high-couraged, chivalrous gentleman, he was justly indignant that he should be menaced by the lawless men who were then terrorising the country. In expectation of an attack, he made more than usual provision in the way of arms; a double supply of which were at hand in places of concealment.
Thus his story ran:—
It was the time of the evening meal. Mrs. Campbell was a refined, delicately-nurtured woman, but none the less fearless in time of trial, as the event proved. Hearing a noise, Mr. Campbell went out into a passage, at the end of which he saw an armed man, who at once fired at him. He returned fire without effect, retiring upon his base of operations. A volley from the front of the house crashed through the windows. The siege had begun.