True History of the Kelly Gang (25 page)

Sir says she what brings you here of a cold morning?

I set her down she were lithe & slender moving from one foot to the other in a kind of jig. So this is love I thought.

I brought a wee present.

You did did you said she smiling all the time.

I did.

You want to give it to me?

I aint wrapped it yet.

O why go to all that trouble when you only take the paper off?

Inside the house it were dark and cosy as a swallow’s nest I were prepared to kiss her again but she were v. busy flitting here to there attending to her tasks. Having swept out the firebox of the stove and laid the kindling she now put the match to it.

I asked where were the babe.

O he’s a fierce little sleeper don’t you worry. She ran a spoon across the top of the milk skin you didnt need to be a dairy farmer to see it were v. good milk there is no equal to the river flats at Benalla. Here she says taste the cream.

She put the spoon in my mouth then she stole the creamy milk back from me.

Whats this said she?

She had felt the gift bump against her so I said she might as well unwrap as crush it. Her lips were full & wide & very nicely shaped I never saw the like of her before she were so wonderfully familiar.

The kitchen were very dim and the kindling native pine so it were catching in the firebox with many small explosions. Mary took the gift from inside my shirt brushing it against her cheek the way I seen my mother touch a red rose to her face.

Silk she exclaimed then let the dress drop against her it were my flag I couldnt think a single thought nor see anything other than herself and I picked her up to hold her close against me. She were a gazelle although I never saw a gazelle she were a foal I carried her around the kitchen 1/2 drunk in happiness she had that dear Irish smell of homemade soap & ashes in her hair I loved her so I told her.

The kindling were all blazing she laughed happily but had yet to load the firebox and place the milk upon the stove. Lifting her even higher I kissed her throat and she moaned and I lifted her higher still I put my lips against her bodice.

Parting with reluctance we set the split wood in the box then she poured milk into a copper pan her hands was trembling. I stood behind her my arms around her waist waiting for the milk to simmer she swayed and hummed a little song about a girl who dreamt of great white horses.

I told her I had never imagined marrying anyone but now I could imagine what a peaceful life a man might have she turned towards me and I saw her eyes gone dark and serious. She put her finger against my lips.

Don’t never talk like that you must not.

I begged her pardon she put her arms around my neck and kissed me further not only lips and eyes but also beard and moustache I were pleased I had washed my hair and beard in Ryan’s Creek.

Soon as the milk come to the boil she poured it into a bowl setting a muslin cloth across the top then she checked the firebox and reduced the draft. I asked her would she like to try her dress and escorted her along the wide dark corridor towards her room. Her baby were asleep in the middle of the bed a fine fair haired boy with red pouting lips and chubby legs and she lifted him ever so gently placing him in an open drawer then drawing a blanket over him.

Her yellow dress were now dark & wet with mother’s milk and what I wanted I wanted right or wrong I do not know if it were a sin or not a sin but we was both v. happy and lay in bed that morning long.

When the Clerk of Court opened up across the road my calm and tender Mary lay warm against my chest I were listening to Mr Grieves the bootmaker next door and I heard each tack he hammered then presently her babe awoke and I watched her feed him from them breasts which was all the more miraculous for their tidy size. The sucking baby lay his hand upon her chest he should have a father to look after him and it were then I got it into my head that I would make application for that post.

Soon as we heard the household stirring Mary said she must set to her chores Mrs Robinson were her employer after all.

I asked your mother when next I could see her. She said I would have to wait until Friday week this were almost 10 days in the future I rode back to Bullock Creek not knowing how to pass the days.

The 1st warning were not the gunshots but a tradesman’s cart abandoned one wheel sunk into a wombat hole the name O’Reilly painted on the sides. This violence had struck not long before and although the horses was gone the dung were still fresh though no longer warm to touch. Some large and heavy object had been dragged from the cart cutting a great yellow gouge through the sedge & bracken to a stand of wattles at which point it become a juggernaut crashing through the barrier and breaking saplings 1/2 way along their length.

I were riding towards the injured wattles when I heard a carbine bark and next come the snap of a pistol so I slipped off and crawled through the sedge the air were ripe with the fruity odour of BLACK SMOKE or OYOUKNOW call it what you will. At the edge of cleared land I witnessed our camp in huge upheaval my Arab having leapt the fence were heading back across the creek I never seen him again my thoroughbred mares was all in a state of great excitement whinnying and racing round the yard.

Steve Hart had my Colt .31 he were blazing away bang bang bang firing murderously at the hut.

I had no idea who he were intent on harming I ran towards him but once I was in his range he shouted and the door to the hut swung open and out strolled Dan & Joe Byrne & Aaron Sherritt they might have been walking out of church so indolent and pacific did they seem. Joe bestowed on me a queerly sweet and happy smile but his interest were in the door which had taken all the fire now he kneeled before picking dreamily at the splinters with his knife. I were very confused and angry most particularly at Steve Hart who I had ordered to depart some time previous.

Then a strange voice says Would you happen to be the Ned that I am waiting for?

I beheld a big fat old Irishman he were seated on a log behind me. Though I never seen his lardy face before it were clear from the particular muscles of his forearm he were a blacksmith. This log he now straddled had been surrounded not 2 days before by bracken which were now all trampled flat. Between the log and creek was a set of bellows and the scattered remains of a forge. All this I noted in a moment also that there were a 2nd log that must of been used as his anvil for it were very burnt. Lastly a great rusty ballast tank with 1/2 its side cut out.

I asked who the hell he were.

He said he were John O’Reilly and he could see I were not happy. He also were unhappy and would remain so until he were paid the transport of the ballast tank plus the steel in the said tank also the cost of his labour for cutting the iron plate to fit the inside of the cabin door. He said he never did nothing on the cross before but THE LITTLE CROPPY BOY had bailed him up at the village of Tatong tempting him with a good plump poddy calf he promised to butcher for him. He were a widower said he and his 7 offspring was staying at present with his sister in Winton all of them was hungry otherwise he would never of give up this ballast tank so cheap. In any case he had seen no cattle since Ryan’s Creek outside Tatong merely a great number of fancy horses in this very camp he noted them most particular.

I told him our stock was legally obtained and he would be paid as promised.

When I started for Steve Hart he anticipated me coming out to meet me offering back my Colt .31.

Now don’t say nothing yet said he.

Holstering the pistol in my belt I told him he had disobeyed my direct order.

No I went a day along the track.

Then?

Then a great opportunity presented itself.

Yes said I the opportunity to betray our camp to this adjectival blacksmith.

Betray you he cried his eyes suddenly brim full. Why I’d rather burn in adjectival Hell than betray you and at this he threw his hat upon the ground. O Jesus you don’t remember who I am.

No I don’t.

When you 1st set eyes on me I were 8 yr. old.

You’re mistaken.

No I aint you was the runner for Harry Power and you brung my da sufficient cash to make the rent o yes you did Ned Kelly then you done it twice more each time when the government was about to seize our land.

I had no memory of this at all.

Near Wangaratta said he then provided a list of all the places he had spied me in the intervening years the race courses the ploughing contests he seen me whip Wild Wright and lately he heard I were stealing horses from under Whitty’s nose.

I come to join your gang. There aint much of me he said but what there is is very good.

I couldnt help but allow myself to admire his pluck.

I’ll help you anyway you wish said he.

There aint no gang son.

You are the Captain you give an order they obey.

Everyone but you it seems.

I would never of come back except I saw a way to assist you and your door is armour plated as a consequence.

But look at that old blacksmith Steven Hart look at his lardy old face and his droopy adjectival eyes then tell me you don’t reckon he won’t be happy to provide my whereabouts to Whitty.

I thought of that so I bound pennies across his eyes. I warrant the old b––––r don’t know where he is.

And his payment?

It is a poddy calf thats all and how I make the payment is my concern not yours.

You ever duff a poddy calf before?

He hesitated.

Killed a beast?

I give him my hand and word said Hart.

I told him he were relieved of this obligation. Joe and me will manage the poddy calf said I and we will butcher and salt it down if that is what your man desires. Then when all is done you fix them pennies on his eyes and see him and his meat home to Winton. Then you can piss off to your beloved da in Wangaratta and the pair of you sing your rebel songs and tell each other stories about Meagher and O’Connell but don’t come back here Steve. There aint no gang.

I would help any way you wish.

I’m obliged.

I could write a coffin letter to Mr Whitty I can make them very edifying.

No.

You think I am a sissy but thats something I can explain.

No you can’t and you must excuse me for I have business to attend to.

Whatever you wish to call it black smoke or yen pok or oyouknow the substance were a tonic for Joe’s character. Grog made him fierce & angry but the smoke turned all his movements as slow and gentle as butter melting in the sun. While he bled the bull calf I went to find a rope to raise it on a gallows for the butchering but when I come back the dead beast were already on its back with a small hole cut into its brisket. Joe winked and fitted a sharpened stick into the hole and lo the creature were neatly propped up leaning a fraction to the side.

No need for rope old man.

In a single long and lazy movement he had the skin off one side then he turned the carcass and propped it on the other to complete the exercise. Then with an axe he sundered the middle of the brisket from whence the tail were slit by a knife. There were never any sign of rush or urgency but within 20 minutes the carcass were cut into 4 pieces and Joe were wandering off to see Aaron about a little bit of THING or so he named it.

I called the younger lads to help deliver the bounty onto the blacksmith’s cart but the old Irishman then announced he never travelled in the dusk for fear of bushrangers. He could not be persuaded out of our camp until morning when Steve & Dan & me must tote tongs & hammers & bellows out along the valley to his abandoned cart we then must line its floor with green leafy gum branches and lay the clean meat on top and cover it with wet bags then we must harness his horses and bind the pennies to his eyes. Even then we was a long way from being quit of him.

I put Steve Hart behind the reins this time I would personally escort the boy away.

Say goodbye I told my brother Dan for you won’t be seeing Mr Hart no more.

It were v. difficult country for a wagon we had a long day getting as far as Tatong. When we begun following the rutted track beside Kilfeera it were only our 2nd morning and already the meat were on the nose. At Hansen’s selection we purchased salt to preserve it as best we could.

At midday we caught sight of a solitary mounted policeman and I immediately commanded the blacksmith to remove his blindfold which he done with great eagerness tho when he seen the copper cantering towards us he tried to tie the pennies on again crying out he would be arrested he had done no wrong. I advised him shut his gob but he were in a panic even as he obeyed.

Steve Hart remained round shouldered and very still on the bench seat I give him my Colt .31 telling him to shoot the blacksmith if he did not behave.

Cons Fitzpatrick approached and begun to circle round my sweaty mare. Whats all this then Kelly?

Sir cried the blacksmith let me answer.

I seen he were waddling urgently back along the track towards us his blindfold pulled back up over his left eye while his right hand clutched the britches he had previously unbuttoned for his comfort.

Fitzpatrick had his back turned to this vision splendid but I seen Steve Hart aim the Colt and heard the hammer strike the nipple thank Jesus I give the boy an empty gun.

He’s shooting me cried the blacksmith.

Shutup said Fitzpatrick turning to ride past Steve Hart who had already slid the useless weapon in his pants. It were the flies that attracted the policeman’s interest they was gathering above the stolen meat as thick as priests at a wedding feast. When Fitzpatrick circled twice around the cart he leaned down to inspect the bumpy hessian bags the flies rose in a cloud to meet him.

At ease said he.

Steve Hart had already done time in prison he put his feet obediently astride his arms behind his back.

Not you cried Fitzpatrick I’m addressing the adjectival flies then he burst out into a great gale of laughter. The blacksmith saw the situation was more complicated than he had imagined he smiled at me uncertainly.