“O, by the powers! he’s one o’ the red boys afther all,” exclaimed the Corporal: “give us your fist.—God! you’re very cowld: will you take a—” here O’Callaghan whispered something to the stranger, and then went to a recess in the guard-room, where there was a bottle—in short, nothing that could be done by the guard to show their respect for the old soldier, was neglected: the consequence was, that he became very communicative, and related not only the history of the mutiny of the Nore, but gave them a description of his own adventures subsequent to that affair. There is no use in making a secret of the matter—a bottle of potyeen whisky was dispatched, and the party enjoyed themselves by the fire in listening to the veteran’s stories with the greatest attention for a couple of hours: during which time the rain pattered, and the wind blew, unheeded by the group. He told them he had enlisted when a boy, and had served as a marine in several engagements. He was entrapped into the mutiny of the Nore; but the only part which he took in the proceedings, was writing out in a fair hand several papers for the mutineers—and this he declared he did for no other purpose than to indulge his own vanity, in displaying his fine writing, upon which he had highly valued himself. He was tried after the surrender of the mutineers, and transported for life to Van Diemen’s Land. Amongst the stories with which he amused the guard, the most interesting was the following, in which he himself was a principal actor.
THE BUSH-RANGERS.
“I had not been more than two or three weeks in Hobart Town, when I was assigned as a crown servant to a worthy gentleman—Mr. Allen—with whom I lived, until it pleased God to call him away from this life: I served him faithfully, and he treated me more like a relation than a slave. He failed in business as a merchant a year before his death, and I believe it preyed upon his mind. He left scarcely any property behind him, but what there was, he willed to me:—seventeen pounds was all that remained after the whole of his things were sold by auction, and his funeral expenses paid. This sum fell to me. I was very happy while Mr. Allen lived; but after that, I began to think of obtaining my liberty, in order to return home to this country, for there was nobody I cared about in the colony. I was applied to by a Mr. M’Carthy, to undertake the overseeing of his land; and I accepted the offer. I had my choice of places; for old Jack Worral—that’s my name—was well respected by every free settler in the country. Shortly after my going to Mr. M’Carthy’s, the Bush-rangers became very troublesome: there was a gang of them—about seven-and-twenty—out in the woods and wild country; and they used to come down of a night and plunder the settlers of everything—neither cattle nor corn, nor house, was secure from their depredations. Mr. M’Carthy had a fine schooner lying in the Derwent, loaded with goods; he feared that the Bush-rangers would plunder her; for his neighbour, a Mr. Carlisle, had been recently robbed by them, and he, himself, had seen some of them shooting kangaroos on the banks of the river. He therefore mentioned to me, that he would like to form a party to go in pursuit of them. I volunteered to be one; for although then near sixty years of age, I could manage the best of them. Several of the neighbours instantly joined:—there were Mr. Triffit, and Murphy, and Jemmot, and Brown, and Carlisle, and Tooms, and Hacking, and O’Berne, the master of our schooner, the Geordy, and three or four sailors. Every man had a fowling-piece or a musket—some had also pistols, and swords, and bayonets. We started on the track of the Bush-rangers, just an hour before sunrise, of a beautiful twilight-night, in the latter end of spring: our direction was towards the centre of a space, between two high hills, which was about three miles away, and where there was an open valley on the banks of a small river: we used to call it the fairy’s valley, on account of the little patches of green pasturage which every where appeared through the thick and matted brushwood?]—for you know it is said, that these are the spots where the good people[18] dance of a moonlight night.
“We travelled on after our guide, who was a native that lived in the service of Mr. Carlisle, and who had been ill-treated by the Bush-rangers but a few days before, when they were plundering his master’s house: there was no road or path, as you might see in other countries—our way was over hills, and over craggs, and through jungles of brushwood, so that we were an hour and a half before we got into the opening of the valley. The sun was up and mists disappearing; the place as silent as the grave—nothing to be heard but whatever noise ourselves made. Mr. M’Carthy now proposed that we should lie down, under cover of an overhanging rock, in a sort of green cave, thatched, as it were, with briers, bushes, and flowers, of every description: he said we had better halt and send out one or two as scouts: this we did; and the guide, with Mr. Murphy himself, after having taken a little refreshment by way of breakfast, climbed up the side of a steep hill, through the bushes, in order to get a complete view of all round from the top. While they were away we examined all our arms, and took our breakfast of cold meat and a small allowance of grog, dealt out by Mr. M’Carthy—for he kept charge of the spirits himself, lest any one should take too much. In about a quarter of an hour after Mr. Murphy and the guide went out, we heard a shot which rattled and echoed three or four times across the valley: this, as we afterwards learned, was fired by one of the Bush-rangers at a bird, and in the sight of the guide, who now came creeping down the hill with Mr. Murphy, making signs for silence. Our scouts informed us that the Bush-rangers were within shot, roasting mutton under a hill; but that to come upon them without being observed, it would require us to return and advance by an opening on the other side of them—a rising ground that was clear under-foot, but covered with immense trees. We immediately proceeded one by one to the rear, and in about ten minutes were in view of the smoke from the Bush-rangers’ fires; and by stooping so as to screen ourselves from the possible view of the robbers, we were enabled to get within about a hundred yards of them. Mr. M’Carthy ordered us to lie down, which we did. We could hear the fellows through the bushes, cursing, swearing, and laughing; some were cooking pieces of mutton, others lolling on the grass, smoking and drinking: and a pretty, interesting-looking native girl, sat playing with the long and bushy black ringlets of a stout and wicked-looking man seated by her: he had pistols in his belt—wore a fustian jacket, a kangaroo-skin cap and waistcoat, with leather gaiters, and dirty velveteen breeches. I saw him as plainly as I see any one here; and what do you think? the fellow had two watches in his fob! This turned out, as I learned afterwards, to be Michael Howe, the second in command of the robbers: at that time Whitehead was the leader—a tall, ill-looking villain as ever you saw: he was also there, asleep on the grass.
“We were now directed by Mr. M’Carthy to cock our pieces, and on a wave of his hand to rise and show ourselves, but not to fire until the word was given; and also, that if the Bush-rangers attempted to fire, to drop down so as to avoid the shot, and, if not possible to advance at once upon them, we were each to take a position behind a tree, and from thence fire upon the robbers: this was the plan of attack. Mr. M’Carthy now rose up, and with his piece at the ‘ready,’ cried out to Whitehead to surrender: the Bushmen were up in a moment, and behind a tremendous trunk of a hollow tree, through a hole in which we could see them. Whitehead replied to the summons very coolly; ‘I tell you what, M’Carthy,’ said he, ‘you will never be easy until I settle you: I spared your life last Thursday night; and if you want not to lose it, go home about your business.’
“Mr. M’Carthy now waved his hand, when we all stood up, and came to the present. Whitehead got behind the tree.
“‘Put down your guns,’ said he, ‘and I’ll speak to you.’
“Mr. M’Carthy ordered us to comply; we took them from our shoulders, but still held them with our fingers on the triggers.
“‘Now,’ said Whitehead, ‘let me advise you to leave us alone; we are well armed, and can beat you; but we don’t want blood: let us alone, I say, and go back to your homes. A man of us will not be taken alive.’
“‘If you surrender quietly, Whitehead,’ replied Mr. M’Carthy, ‘I can assure you pardon from the Government: you see my party is strong, so don’t force me to fire.’