Robbery Under Arms

R >> Rolf Boldrewood >> Robbery Under Arms

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`Some day,' Goring said, `one of those old screws will be
the death of a prisoner before he's committed for trial,
and then there'll be a row over it, I suppose.'

We hadn't a bad journey of it on the whole. The troopers were civil enough,
and gave me a glass of grog now and then when they had one themselves.
They'd done their duty in catching me, and that was all they thought about.
What came afterwards wasn't their look-out. I've no call to have any
bad feeling against the police, and I don't think most men of my sort have.
They've got their work to do, like other people, and as long as they do
what they're paid for, and don't go out of their way to harass men for spite,
we don't bear them any malice. If one's hit in fair fight
it's the fortune of war. What our side don't like is men going in
for police duty that's not in their line. That's interfering,
according to our notions, and if they fall into a trap or are met with
when they don't expect it they get it pretty hot. They've only themselves
to thank for it.

Goring, I could see by his ways, had been a swell, something like Starlight.
A good many young fellows that don't drop into fortunes
when they come out here take to the police in Australia, and very good men
they make. They like the half-soldiering kind of life, and if they stick
steady at their work, and show pluck and gumption, they mostly get promoted.
Goring was a real smart, dashing chap, a good rider for an Englishman;
that is, he could set most horses, and hold his own with us natives
anywhere but through scrub and mountain country. No man can ride there,
I don't care who he is, the same as we can, unless he's been at it
all his life. There we have the pull -- not that it is so much after all.
But give a native a good horse and thick country, and he'll lose
any man living that's tackled the work after he's grown up.

By and by we got to Nomah, a regular hot hole of a place, with a log lock-up.
I was stuck in, of course, and had leg-irons put on for fear I should get out,
as another fellow had done a few weeks back. Starlight and Warrigal
hadn't reached yet; they had farther to come. The trial couldn't come
till the Quarter Sessions. January, and February too, passed over,
and all this time I was mewed up in a bit of a place enough to stifle a man
in the burning weather we had.

I heard afterwards that they wanted to bring some of the cattle over,
so as Mr. Hood could swear to 'em being his property. But he said
he could only swear to its being his brand; that he most likely had
never set eyes on them in his life, and couldn't swear on his own knowledge
that they hadn't been sold, like lots of others, by his manager.
So this looked like a hitch, as juries won't bring a man in
guilty of cattle-stealing unless there's clear swearing
that the animals he sold were the property of the prosecutor,
and known by him to be such.

Mr. Hood had to go all the way to Adelaide himself, and they told me
we might likely have got out of it all, only for the imported bull.
When he saw him he said he could swear to him point blank, brand or no brand.
He'd no brand on him, of course, when he left England;
but Hood happened to be in Sydney when he came out, and at the station
when he came up. He was stabled for the first six months,
so he used to go and look him over every day, and tell visitors
what a pot of money he'd cost, till he knew every hair in his tail,
as the saying is. As soon as he seen him in Adelaide he said
he could swear to him as positive as he could to his favourite riding horse.
So he was brought over in a steamer from Adelaide, and then drove all the way
up to Nomah. I wished he'd broken his neck before we ever saw him.

Next thing I saw was Starlight being brought in, handcuffed,
between two troopers, and looking as if he'd ridden a long way.
He was just as easy-going and devil-may-care as ever.
He said to one of the troopers --

`Here we are at last, and I'm deuced glad of it. It's perfectly monstrous
you fellows haven't better horses. You ought to make me remount agent,
and I'd show you the sort of horses that ought to be bought
for police service. Let me have a glass of beer, that's a good fellow,
before I'm locked up. I suppose there's no tap worth speaking of inside.'

The constable laughed, and had one brought to him.

`It will be some time before you get another, captain.
Here's a long one for you; make the most of it.'

Where, in the devil's name, is that Warrigal? I thought to myself.
Has he given them the slip? He had, as it turned out.
He had slipped the handcuffs over his slight wrists and small hands,
bided his time, and then dashed into a scrub. There he was at home.
They rode and rode, but Warrigal was gone like a rock wallaby.
It was a good while before he was as near the gaol again.

All this time I'd been wondering how it was they came to drop
on our names so pat, and to find out that Jim and I had a share
in the Momberah cattle racket. All they could have known
was that we left the back of Boree at a certain day; and that was nothing,
seeing that for all they knew we might have gone away
to new country or anywhere. The more I looked at it the more I felt sure
that some one had given to the police information about us --
somebody who was in it and knew all about everything. It wasn't Starlight.
We could have depended our life on him. It might have been
one of the other chaps, but I couldn't think of any one, except Warrigal.
He would do anything in the world to spite me and Jim, I knew;
but then he couldn't hurt us without drawing the net tighter round Starlight.
Sooner than hurt a hair of his head he'd have put his hand into the fire
and kept it there. I knew that from things I'd seen him do.

Starlight and I hadn't much chance of a talk, but we managed to get news
from each other, a bit at a time; that can always be managed.
We were to be defended, and a lawyer fetched all the way from Sydney
to fight our case for us. The money was there. Father managed
the other part of it through people he had that did every kind of work
for him; so when the judge came up we should have a show for it.

The weary long summer days -- every one of them about twenty hours long --
came to an end somehow or other. It was so hot and close
and I was that miserable I had two minds to knock my brains out
and finish the whole thing. I couldn't settle to read, as I did afterwards.
I was always wishing and wondering when I'd hear some news from home,
and none ever came. Nomah was a bit of a place where hardly anybody
did anything but idle and drink, and spend money when they had it.
When they had none they went away. There wasn't even a place
to take exercise in, and the leg-irons I wore night and day
began to eat into my flesh. I wasn't used to them in those days.
I could feel them in my heart, too. Last of all I got ill,
and for a while was so weak and low they thought I was going
to get out of the trial altogether.

At last we heard that the judge and all his lot were on the road,
and would be up in a few days. We were almost as glad when the news came
as if we were sure of being let off. One day they did come,
and all the little town was turned upside down. The judge stopped
at one hotel (they told us); the lawyers at another. Then the witnesses
in ours and other cases came in from all parts, and made a great difference,
especially to the publicans. The jurors were summoned, and had to come,
unless they had a fancy for being fined. Most of this I heard
from the constables; they seemed to think it was the only thing
that made any difference in their lives. Last of all I heard
that Mr. Hood had come, and the imported bull, and some other witnesses.

There were some small cases first, and then we were brought out,
Starlight and I, and put in the dock. The court was crammed and crowded;
every soul within a hundred miles seemed to have come in;
there never were so many people in the little courthouse before.
Starlight was quietly dressed, and looked as if he was there by mistake.
Anybody would have thought so, the way he lounged and stared about,
as if he thought there was something very curious and hard to understand
about the whole thing. I was so weak and ill that I couldn't stand up,
and after a while the judge told me to sit down, and Starlight too.
Starlight made a most polite bow, and thanked his Honour, as he called him.
Then the jury were called up, and our lawyer began his work.
He stood alongside of Starlight, and whispered something to him, after which
Starlight stood up, and about every second man called out `Challenge';
then that juror had to go down. It took a good while to get our jury
all together. Our lawyer seemed very particular about the sort of jury
he was satisfied with; and when they did manage to get twelve at last
they were not the best-looking men in the court by a very long way.

The trial had to go on, and then the Crown Prosecutor made a speech,
in which he talked about the dishonesty which was creeping unchecked
over the land, and the atrocious villainy of criminals
who took a thousand head of cattle in one lot, and made out
the country was sure to go to destruction if we were not convicted.
He said that unfortunately they were not in a position
to bring many of the cattle back that had been taken to another colony;
but one remarkable animal was as good for purposes of evidence as a hundred.
Such an animal he would produce, and he would not trespass
on the patience of jurors and gentlemen in attendance any longer,
but call his first witness.

John Dawson, sworn: Was head stockman and cattle manager at Momberah;
knew the back country, and in a general way the cattle running there;
was not out much in the winter; the ground was boggy, and the cattle
were hardly ever mustered till spring; when he did go, with some
other stock-riders, he saw at once that a large number of the Momberah cattle,
branded HOD and other brands, were missing; went to Adelaide
a few months after; saw a large number of cattle of the HOD brand,
which he was told had been sold by the prisoner now before the court,
and known as Starlight, and others, to certain farmers;
he could swear that the cattle he saw bore Mr. Hood's brand;
could not swear that he recognised them as having been at Momberah
in his charge; believed so, but could not swear it; he had seen
a short-horn bull outside of the court this morning; he last saw the said bull
at the station of Messrs. Fordham Brothers, near Adelaide;
they made a communication to him concerning the bull; he would and could swear
to the identity of the animal with the Fifteenth Duke of Cambridge,
an imported short-horn bull, the property of Mr. Hood;
had seen him before that at Momberah; knew that Mr. Hood
had bought said bull in Sydney, and was at Momberah when he was sent up;
could not possibly be mistaken; when he saw the bull at Momberah,
nine months since, he had a small brand like H on the shoulder;
Mr. Hood put it on in witness's presence; it was a horse-brand,
now it resembled J-E; the brand had been `faked' or cleverly altered;
witness could see the original brand quite plain underneath;
as far as he knew Mr. Hood never sold or gave any one authority
to take the animal; he had missed him some months since,
and always believed he had strayed; knew the bull to be a valuable animal,
worth several hundred pounds.

We had one bit of luck in having to be tried in an out-of-the-way place
like Nomah. It was a regular outside bush township, and though the distance
oughtn't to have much to say to people's honesty, you'll mostly find
that these far-out back-of-beyond places have got men and women to match 'em.

Except the squatters and overseers, the other people's mostly a shady lot.
Some's run away from places that were too hot to hold 'em.
The women ain't the men's wives that they live with, but somebody else's --
who's well rid of 'em too if all was known. There's most likely
a bit of horse and cattle stealing done on the quiet,
and the publicans and storekeepers know who are their best customers,
the square people or the cross ones. It ain't so easy
to get a regular up-and-down straight-ahead jury in a place of this sort.
So Starlight and I knew that our chance was a lot better
than if we'd been tried at Bargo or Dutton Forest, or any steady-going places
of that sort.

If we'd made up our minds from the first that we were to get into it
it wouldn't have been so bad; we'd have known we had to bear it.
Now we might get out of it, and what a thing it would be to feel free again,
and walk about in the sun without any one having the right to stop you.
Almost, that is -- there were other things against us;
but there wasn't so much of a chance of their turning up.
This was the great stake. If we won we were as good as made.
I felt ready to swear I'd go home and never touch a shilling
that didn't come honest again. If we lost it seemed as if everything
was so much the worse, and blacker than it looked at first,
just for this bit of hope and comfort.

After the bull had been sworn to by Mr. Hood and another witness,
they brought up some more evidence, as they called it, about the other cattle
we had sold in Adelaide. They had fetched some of the farmers up
that had been at the sale. They swore straight enough to having bought cattle
with certain brands from Starlight. They didn't know, of course, at the time
whose they were, but they could describe the brands fast enough. There was
one fellow that couldn't read nor write, but he remembered all the brands,
about a dozen, in the pen of steers he bought, and described them one by one.
One brand, he said, was like a long-handled shovel. It turned out to be --D.*
TD -- Tom Dawson's, of Mungeree. About a hundred of his were in the mob.
They had drawn back for Mungeree, as was nearly all frontage and cold
in the winter. He was the worst witness for us of the lot, very near.
He'd noticed everything and forgot nothing.

--
* In the original text, the horizontal bar is represented by a capital "I"
rotated 90 degrees, and a bit lower than centre -- but from the description,
`--D' may be better, where the `--' represents the upright of the T in TD.
-- A. L., 1997.
--

`Do you recognise either of the prisoners in the dock?' he was asked.

`Yes; both of 'em,' says he. I wish I could have got at him.
`I see the swell chap first -- him as made out he was the owner,
and gammoned all the Adelaide gentlemen so neat. There was a half-caste chap
with him as followed him about everywhere; then there was another man
as didn't talk much, but seemed, by letting down sliprails and what not,
to be in it. I heard this Starlight, as he calls hisself now,
say to him, "You have everything ready to break camp by ten o'clock,
and I'll be there to-morrow and square up." I thought he meant
to pay their wages. I never dropped but what they was his men
-- his hired servants -- as he was going to pay off or send back.'

`Will you swear,' our lawyer says, `that the younger prisoner is the man
you saw at Adelaide with the cattle?'

`Yes; I'll swear. I looked at him pretty sharp, and nothing ain't likely
to make me forget him. He's the man, and that I'll swear to.'

`Were there not other people there with the cattle?'

`Yes; there was an oldish, very quiet, but determined-like man
-- he had a stunnin' dorg with him -- and a young man something like
this gentleman -- I mean the prisoner. I didn't see the other young man
nor the half-caste in court.'

`That's all very well,' says our lawyer, very fierce; `but will you swear,
sir, that the prisoner Marston took any charge or ownership of the cattle?'

`No, I can't,' says the chap. `I see him a drafting 'em in the morning,
and he seemed to know all the brands, and so on; but he done no more
than I've seen hired servants do over and over again.'

The other witnesses had done, when some one called out, `Herbert Falkland,'
and Mr. Falkland steps into the court. He walks in quiet and a little proud;
he couldn't help feeling it, but he didn't show it in his ways and talk,
as little as any man I ever saw.

He's asked by the Crown Prosecutor if he's seen the bull outside of the court
this day.

`Yes; he has seen him.'

`Has he ever seen him before?'

`Never, to his knowledge.'

`He doesn't, then, know the name of his former owner?'

`Has heard generally that he belonged to Mr. Hood, of Momberah;
but does not know it of his own knowledge.'

`Has he ever seen, or does he know either of the prisoners?'

`Knows the younger prisoner, who has been in the habit of working for him
in various ways.'

`When was prisoner Marston working for him last?'

`He, with his brother James, who rendered his family a service
he shall never forget, was working for him, after last shearing,
for some months.'

`Where were they working?'

`At an out-station at the back of the run.'

`When did they leave?'

`About April or May last.'

`Was it known to you in what direction they proceeded after leaving
your service?'

`I have no personal knowledge; I should think it improper to quote hearsay.'

`Had they been settled up with for their former work?'

`No, there was a balance due to them.'

`To what amount?'

`About twenty pounds each was owing.'

`Did you not think it curious that ordinary labourers should leave
so large a sum in your hands?'

`It struck me as unusual, but I did not attach much weight
to the circumstance. I thought they would come back and ask for it
before the next shearing. I am heartily sorry that they did not do so,
and regret still more deeply that two young men worthy of a better fate
should have been arraigned on such a charge.'

`One moment, Mr. Falkland,' says our counsel, as they call them,
and a first-rate counsellor ours was. If we'd been as innocent
as two schoolgirls he couldn't have done more for us.
`Did the prisoner Marston work well and conduct himself properly
while in your employ?'

`No man better,' says Mr. Falkland, looking over to me
with that pitying kind of look in his eyes as made me feel
what a fool and rogue I'd been ten times worse than anything else.
`No man better; he and his brother were in many respects, according to
my overseer's report, the most hard-working and best-conducted labourers
in the establishment.'

Chapter 18

Mr. Runnimall, the auctioneer, swore that the older prisoner
placed certain cattle in his hands, to arrive, for sale in the usual way,
stating that his name was Mr. Charles Carisforth, and that he had
several stations in other colonies. Had no reason for doubting him.
Prisoner was then very well dressed, was gentlemanly in his manners,
and came to his office with a young gentleman of property whom he knew well.
The cattle were sold in the usual way for rather high prices,
as the market was good. The proceeds in cash were paid over to the prisoner,
whom he now knew by the name of Starlight. He accounted for there being
an unusual number of brands by saying publicly at the sale
that the station had been used as a depot for other runs of his,
and the remainder lots of store cattle kept there.

He had seen a short-horn bull outside of the court this day
branded `J-E' on the shoulder. He identified him as one of the cattle
placed in his hands for sale by the prisoner Starlight.
He sold and delivered him according to instructions. He subsequently
handed over the proceeds to the said prisoner. He included the purchase money
in a cheque given for the bull and other cattle sold on that day.
He could swear positively to the bull; he was a remarkable animal.
He had not the slightest doubt as to his identity.

`Had he seen the prisoner Marston when the cattle were sold
now alleged to belong to Mr. Hood?'

`Yes; he was confident that prisoner was there with some other men
whom he (witness) did not particularly remark. He helped to draft the cattle,
and to put them in pens on the morning of the sale.'

`Was he prepared to swear that prisoner Marston was not a hired servant
of prisoner Starlight?'

`No; he could not swear. He had no way of knowing what the relations were
between the two. They were both in the robbery; he could see that.'

`How could you see that?' said our lawyer. `Have you never seen
a paid stockman do all that you saw prisoner Marston do?'

`Well, I have; but somehow I fancy this man was different.'

`We have nothing to do with your fancies, sir,' says our man, mighty hot,
as he turns upon him; `you are here to give evidence as to facts,
not as to what you fancy. Have you any other grounds
for connecting prisoner Marston with the robbery in question?'

`No, he had not.'

`You can go down, sir, and I only wish you may live to experience
some of the feelings which fill the breasts of persons
who are unjustly convicted.'

. . . . .

This about ended the trial. There was quite enough proved
for a moderate dose of transportation. A quiet, oldish-looking man got up now
and came forward to the witness-box. I didn't know who he was; but Starlight
nodded to him quite pleasant. He had a short, close-trimmed beard,
and was one of those nothing-particular-looking old chaps.
I'm blessed if I could have told what he was. He might have been a merchant,
or a squatter, or a head clerk, or a wine merchant, or a broker,
or lived in the town, or lived in the country; any of half-a-dozen trades
would suit him. The only thing that was out of the common was his eyes.
They had a sort of curious way of looking at you, as if he wondered
whether you was speaking true, and yet seein' nothing and tellin' nothing.
He regular took in Starlight (he told me afterwards) by always talking about
the China Seas; he'd been there, it seems; he'd been everywhere;
he'd last come from America; he didn't say he'd gone there
to collar a clerk that had run off with two or three thousand pounds,
and to be ready to meet him as he stepped ashore.

Anyhow he'd watched Starlight in Canterbury when he was
riding and flashing about, and had put such a lot of things together
that he took a passage in the same boat with him to Melbourne.
Why didn't he arrest him in New Zealand? Because he wasn't sure of his man.
It was from something Starlight let out on board ship. He told me
himself afterwards that he made sure of his being the man he wanted;
so he steps into the witness-box, very quiet and respectable-looking,
with his white waistcoat and silk coat -- it was hot enough to fry beefsteaks
on the roof of the courthouse that day -- and looks about him.
The Crown Prosecutor begins with him as civil as you please.

`My name is Stephen Stillbrook. I am a sergeant of detective police
in the service of the Government of New South Wales.
From information received, I proceeded to Canterbury, in New Zealand,
about the month of September last. I saw there the older prisoner,
who was living at a first-class hotel in Christchurch.
He was moving in good society, and was apparently possessed of ample means.
He frequently gave expensive entertainments, which were attended
by the leading inhabitants and high officials of the place.
I myself obtained an introduction to him, and partook of his hospitality
on several occasions. I attempted to draw him out in conversation
about New South Wales; but he was cautious, and gave me to understand
that he had been engaged in large squatting transactions in another colony.
From his general bearing and from the character of his associates,
I came to the belief that he was not the individual named in the warrant,
and determined to return to Sydney. I was informed that he had taken
his passage to Melbourne in a mail steamer. From something which
I one day heard his half-caste servant say, who, being intoxicated,
was speaking carelessly, I determined to accompany them to Melbourne.
My suspicions were confirmed on the voyage. As we went ashore
at the pier at Sandridge I accosted him. I said, "I arrest you on suspicion
of having stolen a herd of cattle, the property of Walter Hood, of Momberah."
Prisoner was very cool and polite, just as any other gentleman would be,
and asked me if I did not think I'd made a most ridiculous mistake.
The other passengers began to laugh, as if it was the best joke in the world.
Starlight never moved a muscle. I've seen a good many cool hands in my time,
but I never met any one like him. I had given notice to
one of the Melbourne police as he came aboard, and he arrested the half-caste,
known as Warrigal. I produced a warrant, the one now before the court,
which is signed by a magistrate of the territory of New South Wales.'

The witnessing part was all over. It took the best part of the day,
and there we were all the time standing up in the dock, with the court crammed
with people staring at us. I don't say that it felt as bad
as it might have done nigh home. Most of the Nomah people
looked upon fellows stealing cattle or horses, in small lots or big,
just like most people look at boys stealing fruit out of an orchard,
or as they used to talk of smugglers on the English coast,
as I've heard father tell of. Any man might take a turn
at that sort of thing, now and then, and not be such a bad chap after all.
It was the duty of the police to catch him. If they caught him,
well and good, it was so much the worse for him; if they didn't,
that was their look-out. It wasn't anybody else's business anyhow.
And a man that wasn't caught, or that got turned up at his trial,
was about as good as the general run of people; and there was no reason
for any one to look shy at him.