True History of the Kelly Gang (29 page)

When we had ate a can of sardines and was all rolled up in our coats for the night it were Joe Byrne who spoke. His voice were grey & scratchy as when he were out of oyouknow.

He said he were going to America or Africa the sooner the better the future were clear to him. You don’t mind Ned he asked.

I don’t mind.

You fellows could come too we could go across to Gippsland and get a boat from Eden. They won’t think to look for us in Gippsland they’ll be watching the crossings of the Murray River. Ned?

He won’t go said Steve.

Why won’t I?

You won’t leave Mrs Kelly he said and he were right.

In the morning Joe were feeling crook so he did not depart he stayed the next day too complaining about his legs & guts. He didnt say nothing but I knew them leather straps was in his dreams as well as mine.

3 days passed and he were still in residence when Wild Wright come cantering back down the track like bad news looking for its mother. That b–––––d Sgt Kennedy cried he.

I moved to take his horse by the bridle so as to lead him away from the others but Steve & Dan was already beside him their dread written clearly on their downy faces.

What news mate?

Wild untied his bowyangs then loosened the girth. They’ve got an adjectival Spencer boys he took off the saddle handing it to Steve.

What have they got asked Dan.

Get us a cup of water will you Dan said Wild.

For a moment I thought Wright were being considerate of Dan’s feelings but he waited for him to return before saying That b– – – – – d Kennedy has borrowed a .52 calibre Spencer repeating rifle.

Which Kennedy?

Sergeant Kennedy Dan.

Jesus.

He got a shotgun from the priest and a Spencer off the Woods Point gold escort said Wild them effing traps are intent on doing damage to you b– – – – rs.

Jesus.

Whats a Spencer asked Dan but no one answered the Spencer were a modern machine of war.

Well heres the thing said I they can’t shoot us if they can’t find us. I were trying to make a joke of it but Joe gave me a v. hard look indeed.

As Wild finally departed he made us the present of a lump of lead stolen from the roof of the new Mansfield Post Office. Steve then fetched the kettle so we could mould new balls but even so he must of known we had no chance against a Spencer.

I took young Dan for a walk down towards the creek I told him that while Joe were leaving us it were safer for him to stay by me. Harry Power and me were hid at this place many a time no one never found us.

I wouldnt adjectival leave our ma it aint just you.

I never said you would Danny.

Don’t call me adjectival Danny.

Dan.

You called me Danny in front of them its an effing baby name.

Dan then.

Thanks Neddy he grinned then tried to knock my legs out from under me he were a funny little weasel I wrestled him onto the ground like you would a kangaroo dog. As we rolled around in the dust I seen his dirty grinning phiz all my life we had been locked like this I would not let him die. Our hut were our defence but now I looked at it I recalled how 1st I knew it at 14 yr. of age when I thought it weak & blind.

No one’s going to find you here said I then I called to Joe asking would he scout with me. He hesitated but then saddled up we headed towards Toombulup which is the way the cops would bring their undertakers from Mansfield. Soon we come up on a knoll on a soak on a long ridge and in the soft sandy soil Joe saw something which made him whistle. Eff that said he it were the tracks of 4 police horses plus the packhorse which would carry our bodies back into the town.

We rode on in heavy silence another hour or so then the whistle came again.

Eff this heres more traps.

My dear daughter I will not lie to you I were very afraid when we seen that 2nd set of tracks it seemed certain our hiding place were now betrayed. This later party followed along a kangaroo pad to the old gold diggings at Stringybark Creek it were the creek next to Bullock but one.

As we turned for home I knew Joe were thinking he had been a fool he should of left us while he had the chance. He were a hard man he were known as Snake Eyes and Bullet Eyes but them that named him thus had not looked into them eyes to see a 24 yr. old staring down the barrel of his own destruction.

When dark come we easily located the police they had made their camp in the obvious clearing on Stringybark Creek at the point where the butts of 4 fallen trees met at right angles building the fire right in the niche of the X made by the trunks. Their blaze were so big they was all lit up like actors on the stage and whatever they was arguing about tomatoes or their cultivation them murderous firearms was always slung ready on their shoulders their eyes fixed forever upon the dark. I recognised Cons Strahan and Cons Flood judging them v. foolish to illuminate themselves so brightly.

It were a place of echoes every snapped twig an event so when a branch crashed down behind us 2 of the traps jumped up immediately their rifles aimed into the night. Who’s there! Stand there! etc. etc. Without knowing it Strahan had his gun pointed directly at my chest but the Sergeant with the repeating rifle never moved he laughed at the 3 Constables. What a lot of Nervous Nellies.

Strahan slowly lowered his gun so Joe & me moved back into the speargrass retreating quiet as warrigals towards Bullock Creek. I could still hear Cons Strahan on the subject of tomatoes again the Sergeant’s mocking laughter.

Soon as we rounded the spur Joe spoke urgently into my ear You see that Sergeant’s adjectival repeater mate? I smelled Joe’s smile it were a sardine can peeling open in the dark. Thats the effing Spencer he said I put my hand across his mouth telling him to shut his hole. O thats a beautiful thing that Spencer. I punched him in the chest but were very pleased to see him laughing in my face for Joe Byrne when happy were a mighty force. I told him I would buy him a damn Spencer once we was out of our dilemma.

Why buy apples when they’re growing on the effing tree?

Shutup it is 2 of us vs. 4 of them and all we have is the carbine and Harry’s old .31.

Theres 4 of us as far as I can count.

Dan’s not in this.

You aint his adjectival nurse so if you want to protect him then get the little b– – – – r a decent gun.

He’s got a gun.

Come on damn it Kelly we’ll surround the b–––––ds. If we don’t get them weapons now we deserve to die.

He were not wrong yet I couldnt bring myself to that next step in my life so we returned to Bullock Creek still undecided.

That night Joe shared the lookout standing beside me on the ridge above our camp. An hour or so after midnight the wind changed to the south it came in long hard gusts the bush hadnt got a good shaking in a while so now the deadwood were falling around us while a great bank of cloud blocked all the moon and stars.

In the chill of morning I fancied I could smell the rain and my mind went to Melbourne Gaol where the water must be thundering on the tin roof above my mother’s cell. I had failed to protect her I vowed I would do better with my brother Dan. I thought very sentimentally of him through the watch but the moment he were awake the little b––––r were a thorn in my side tugging his long sleeves over his grimy mitts and cursing me for leaving him to sleep all night. His hair were wild his face smudged with charcoal it were adjectival this and adjectival that. The lorikeets & kookaburras was fighting their foreign wars above us they couldnt wait to get stuck into it again. Steve Hart stood silently beside the armoured door he were very flash with a bright red sash his hat strap adjusted as was his custom only later did I realise he were dressed for battle.

I cuffed Dan and told him to wash his face he began to pout but when I told him to come and investigate the traps his mood immediately repaired.

Wait a mo he said just a mo.

He run to the creek when he returned his face were washed his hair combed his sleeves damp but neatly rolled. Next he set his hat and when he was satisfied with the angle he produced his precious sash from a back pocket. It took a while to tie the cummerbund to his satisfaction but finally he wrapped his poor fowling piece in a blanket and was free to trail me upon his horse.

This were the hour my mother woke to face her prison day I don’t know if she thought of me but I thought of her as her 2 sons followed the waters of Bullock Creek in the direction of the police. It were melancholy country much abused by miners we tethered the horses on the flat of Stringybark Creek coming the last 10 chains on foot we found only Cons Flood & Strahan present at the camp. Thus did the odds turn in our favour.

I sent Dan back for Joe and Steve then lay amongst the speargrass spying on Cons Flood at the fire as he dropped a handful of tea into a billy he swung it around then set it down. Strahan had just called smoko when I heard my mates sliding through the speargrass soft as brown snakes I seen Joe’s hot excited eyes then made the sign to Steve Hart to stay down.

It were now or never I crossed myself rising quick from the speargrass with my .577 Enfield in my hands. Bail up! Stick up your hands.

Cons Flood turned to face me as Joe Byrne come out of hiding. Throw up your hands he bawled he were holding a broken stick rolled in a blanket of course he had no gun.

Flood slowly put up his hands but Cons Strahan begun to run away. Joe screamed Bail up you b–––––d.

Joe had no weapon and I were covering Cons Flood so that made Cons Strahan my brother’s man but Dan could not bring himself to fire.

When Strahan dived for the cover of a fallen log Joe Byrne jerked his stick in rage shouting at my brother Shoot the b–––––d now or he’ll pink you.

Strahan popped up from behind the log his carbine raised. I squeezed the fateful trigger what choice did I have?

The air were filled with flame & powder stink Strahan fell thrashing around the grass moaning horribly. I took the .31 Colt from my sash then run to Flood but it werent Flood it were a stranger who raised his trembling hands. Don’t shoot don’t shoot don’t shoot.

I told Dan to cover the b––––r whoever he were then hurried back to Strahan the poor b–––––d were shot dead through the right eye blood washing down his livid face this were the ripe fruit of Constable Alexander Fitzpatrick.

I approached the other Constable with my gun trained upon him it were clear he anticipated his own death his eyes was bulging and though he stood his ground I seen the waxy terror in his face he were a good sized man over 6 ft. with pleasant features a square black beard. I said I were sorry to have killed Cons Strahan and tried to have him understand I wouldnt harm himself.

You’re Ned Kelly?

I am.

It isnt Strahan you killed said he its poor Tom Lonigan.

But I knew Lonigan from our fight in Benalla. That aint Lonigan said I the Constable looking at me v. baleful. It is Tom Lonigan he said and you have made his wife a widow the poor beggar has 4 children. I said I were very sorry but Dan cried out Lonigan had asked for it and were a silly b– – – – r for firing on us.

On the ridges the mountain ash gleamed like saints against the massing clouds but down here the crows & currawongs was gloomy their cries dark with murder. Ned it is the same silly b––––r who tried to pull your balls off in Benalla.

Shut your gob I told Dan but my little brother had witnessed the blood pour down the dead policeman’s cheek and settle like muck in the tangle of his beard he did not show his distress but hooted like a school-boy. I seen he had commandeered Lonigan’s Webley and were concerned he would do someone an injury I therefore ordered him & Steve Hart to collect all the police guns and empty them of shot & powder. Steve avoided my eye but he obeyed.

Dan begun to tear apart a loaf of yeast bread that had been left cooling by the fire he offered some to Joe but Bullet Eyes couldnt find the Spencer and were in a savage mood he had no friend in all the world.

Dan were wolfing down the bread laughing and talking his mouth full his trouser cuffs unrolled around his boots and dragging in the mud. My thoughts come slow and heavy.

You aint Flood I said to the Constable.

My name is McIntyre.

Well Mr adjectival McIntyre said Joe Byrne where is that effing Spencer friend?

The repeater? Scanlon has it.

Who might he be?

Him and Sgt Kennedy have gone out looking for you.

To effing shoot me don’t you mean?

No we come to apprehend you.

It were with a sort of dread I saw Joe smile he would now be my mate to death but there were something hard & cruel I never seen until this day when he brought the barrel of his brand new Webley within an inch of the policeman’s nose.

You are a liar.

McIntyre began to answer but Joe cut him off.

Shutup I want to see them undertakers I heard so much about.

I don’t know what you mean said McIntyre and I can still see the small deadly twist that answer produced in Joe’s mouth. To prevent a bad thing happening I come at Joe stretching my left arm towards the Webley and speaking his name but this were as stupid as petting a fighting dog and he pistol whipped my arm.

Eff off he snarled it were not personal. In his eye McIntyre had planned to truss his body like a dead roo then carry it blood dripping flies buzzing along the ridges down the valleys into Mansfield.

Show me them undertakers he demanded.

No I assure you.

When McIntyre stepped backwards Joe kicked McIntyre in the knee it were the exact same kick he once give to Wild Wright. McIntyre cried out stumbling as Joe pushed him at gunpoint towards the tent. There was discovered ammunition & ropes & axes laid on a groundsheet but also the 2 straps Moss Finch had worked in Mansfield they was displayed very shipshape coiled tight 2 ft. across. Joe dragged them into the clearing the stink of linseed oil rising up like funeral parlour flowers amongst the bush.

Joe picked up a small axe and McIntyre thought his end were come he stepped backwards falling into Dan.

Joe I cried.

My mate looked at me as at a stranger.