Another of Mrs Pickett’s lodgers, Mr Jardine, who works at the telegraph office, said that in his opinion the Kellys would run out of cash soon. They would need a good deal to keep themselves provisioned and equipped while on the run, and must be paying out a lot of money to supporters for that. Mrs Pickett sniffed and said that she had it on good authority there were a good many such supporters in Beechworth too, for Joe Byrne was a local, and Steve Hart had been born here, and the Kellys were frequent visitors in the past. As to the money, she did not think they’d run out yet, for she’d heard that one of Ned Kelly’s sisters, Kate, had been seen in a store in Benalla not all that long ago, paying for goods out of a fat bundle of £10 notes which she kept in her blouse!
Mr Jardine laughed and said you had to hand it to the Kellys, they were brazen as you like. To which Mr Church said stiffly that it was no laughing matter, no indeed, they were deep-dyed villains at war with society and every man’s hand should be against them. Mrs Pickett agreed, but said that in her opinion the authorities were sadly unprepared for the task of capturing them. Search parties had failed. Informers and spies were no better, as some people tricked the police and just led them about by the nose, sending them off on wild-goose chases hither and thither. Others were unreliable, and still more were too frightened of the Kellys to dare say a word to the police. The hunt continued, but the authorities gave every sign of not knowing which way to proceed. On which all the lodgers could agree most easily.
Ellen and I did not contribute to the discussion. She seemed lost in thought, and as to me, I was listening with all my ears but did not care to speak in case I said the wrong thing.
August 25
Mr Turner is back. I was walking with Ellen and Lorna near the creek this afternoon when we came across him. He hailed me in a most friendly fashion and introduced himself to Ellen and asked if he could walk with us a while. While we walked, he told us of the journey he had made to Jerilderie, scene of that daring bank raid, and how he had interviewed townspeople who were there when it occurred. ‘Many of them told me that the trouble is the illustrated journals and police notices and newspaper articles do not paint a true picture of the gang, whether physically or in manner, and so people can easily be deceived.’
‘In what way are they deceived, Mr Turner?’ asked Ellen, who seemed to be taking a lively interest in the Kelly story for once.
‘Why, for instance—you remember, Jamie, that Wanted poster, the grim-faced demon shown on that—I was told by the editor of the Jerilderie Gazette, who actually saw all the outlaws, that Ned Kelly does not in any way look like it. He said that no-one, from his appearance, which is well groomed and elegant, would take him for a bushranger. If dressed in a sober suit, he would look like a gentleman! He said Kelly had the manners of a commander with his men—and they call him “the Captain” too. He can also be very civil and courteous when he chooses, though terrifying and dark-tempered with his enemies, and he spoke with all females very politely indeed. The editor said that the others were the same. None acted or looked like the pictures painted of them in the press or the police gazettes. It is foolish, in my opinion, to draw such a black portrait, for it does not prepare people for the real thing. Make no mistake, Miss Ross, I know the Kellys are dangerous criminals who must be brought to book, but to paint them as unearthly monsters is silly and will not help in catching them.’
‘I see what you mean, Mr Turner,’ said my sister. ‘What you say is most interesting. I cannot help but agree.’
Mr Turner gave her a big smile, and pushed his hat back jauntily. ‘The editor also told me Kelly was very keen to excuse himself for Stringybark Creek and the murder of those three policemen, who he says had come prepared to shoot him down like a dog without chance of trial. He appeared haunted by it, determined never to take life again if he can help it. He has written a long letter he would like to see printed. He wants the world to hear his own story, how in his opinion he and his family were unjustly treated and persecuted, his poor mother locked up for something she hadn’t done and she with a babe in arms, and he had many causes to be harsh with the world, that this all led to his taking the evil path. I do not know if it is in any way true, but by heaven I should like to have him here in front of me to tell me!’ His eyes glittered. ‘In fact, I should like nothing more than that. It would be a great scoop. It would make my name!’
Ellen said, softly, ‘But that is impossible, is it not?’
‘What is impossible, Miss Ross?’
‘Finding them. They are hunted outlaws. Nobody knows where they are, or at least those that do are keeping very quiet. There is talk of them being seen here, there, everywhere, like ghosts, shadows—flitting about, but nothing real, nothing proven.’
Mr Turner’s eyes shone. ‘Oh no. I don’t believe anything is impossible, Miss Ross. Not to a determined fellow like me. I’m not after the Kellys’ blood, just their words, after all.’
‘But you would have to persuade them of that,’ she said, dryly. ‘That is, if you could get word to them at all. And the police do not stop you.’
He shrugged and said we’ll see about that, and then he changed the subject to something else, much to my dismay. I thought he looked a bit wary, as though he was sorry that he’d let us in to his big idea. But Ellen did not seem dismayed or put out at the sudden change. She chatted away happily enough about other things. But then she has never been really interested in the Kellys, and I think her own sudden little surprising spurt of attention to the matter must be simply because she liked Mr Turner and enjoyed his lively conversation. Though to be sure, afterwards she said she thought that Mr Turner was a bit of a chancer and a loudmouth, even if he was likeable enough. But that’s Ellen. She’s cynical about people.
September 2
Ah ha! I was right about Ellen liking Mr Turner. In recent days they have spent a fair bit of time together, and she appears to have left her cynical feelings behind and to trust him now. I am afraid she is neglecting her photographic project, rather to Mrs Pickett’s disappointment. The widow does not know the cause of it yet. I am sure she would be dismayed at my sister’s free and easy manner with Mr Turner, but as to me, I like Mr Turner a good deal too and do not think he has any wicked designs on my sister. Though if I were her older brother and not her younger brother I would warn her to be careful of gossip. I cannot say anything to her of course, because I am so much younger and she would just send me packing with a flea in my ear.
But I am not at all dismayed that I am not included much in their circle, for just this afternoon when I was in Mr Ingram’s reading room, he came in and asked me if I’d like a job helping to unpack boxes of new books and periodicals! Of course I said yes. He said why not start right away, and directed me to some boxes in the stockroom which I had to open and unpack.
Amongst the new books were some copies of a thin booklet of new Kelly gang songs and ballads, printed in Tasmania. Miss Barry, who is on the staff, told me that one of them, called simply ‘The Ballad of the Kelly Gang’, was said to be written by none other than Joe Byrne, and smuggled to supporters who then arranged to have it printed in this book! She seemed very sure of this fact and I believe her, for she is Aaron Sherritt’s sweetheart and has no doubt heard much about the outlaws from him. Mr Ingram kindly allowed me to buy one of the booklets at a reduced rate and I took it home with me. Tonight after supper I read Joe Byrne’s song with its many verses over and over. It was a rollicking song and told jauntily of the raids at Euroa and Jerilderie—but not, I noticed, one word about the terrible events at Stringybark Creek. I could imagine the outlaws singing it over a camp fire somewhere in the bush, laughing at their enemies and mocking them for their futile pursuit.
Oh sure Paddy dear, and did you hear the word that’s going round?
On the head of bold Ned Kelly, they have placed five thousand pounds.
For Dan, Steve Hart and Joey Byrne a thousand each they’ll give,
But if the sum was doubled, sure the Kell
y boys would live.
And that seems to be truth indeed. For where is the Judas to be found in all of north-eastern Victoria who would wish or dare to sell them? The police can have as many spies and informers as they like, but I doubt it will serve them much.
September 3
Overheard an amusing conversation today in Ingram’s. A young policeman called Sergeant Nolan came in to pick up a book he had ordered—it is The Man in the Iron Mask, which I have read and love too. (It is by the same man who wrote The Three Musketeers, Alexandre Dumas. He is a most wonderful author. I have just started reading his The Count of Monte Cristo.) Sgt Nolan told Mr Ingram that Detective Ward, who is one of the chief Kelly hunters in the district, had received a parcel from the Kellys, including letters, caricatures of the police and a mock Wanted poster which the detective had pinned up on the police-station wall. On it the cheeky outlaws had promised an £8,000 reward for the capture and delivery of several local police, including Detective Ward!
I have seen the great detective around town a few times, including in Ingram’s. He is a smart dresser with a waxed and curled moustache, trimmed beard, small rimmed glasses and a calm manner. At first glance he does not look like the sort of man who would be effective in a manhunt, but people say he never gives up once he is on the scent. I should not like to have him after me—he has a keen and steely look in his eyes.
September 4
The Beechworth Advertiser today carried the news of Detective Ward’s parcel. They quoted some of the text of the letters he received, which were not so amusing as the poster, for they promised that the detective should ‘prepare for his latter end as he would be murdered at the first opportunity’. It is not an idle threat if you remember the events at Stringybark Creek, but Detective Ward did not seem too concerned.
September 7
Aaron Sherritt came into Ingram’s today to see Miss Barry. I overheard him speaking to her, he was full of the news too, and laughing and joking, saying that for a bushman, Joey was good with his pen. It seems he thinks Joe Byrne penned all these things. He also said that he wishes Joe had never taken up with Ned. He and Joe had been good friends, but now Joe had a price on his head and he did not know how it would all end. He sounded very bitter about Ned Kelly, saying he was a tyrant and a bully and a reckless fool and that his brother Dan was a poor thing who followed Ned like a dog, and as to Stevie Hart, he was a sneak and weak and unreliable, and only Joe was any good. Miss Barry was whispering to him trying to soothe him and to say that his future was with her now and he should forget about all of that. Mr Ingram came in then and scolded Miss Barry for chatting to Aaron Sherritt when she should be working. He has reproved her a few times over paying too much attention to her private life and not enough to her job. But I think it is mostly he does not like Aaron Sherritt.
I told Elijah Turner about this conversation, thinking it might be of use in his quest for the true story of the gang, but he just smiled and shook his head and said that he had already spoken to Aaron and his brother Jack and that he had not thought much of them.
‘Aaron burns with jealousy and spite. He hates Ned Kelly for taking away his friend. What he says is unreliable and his brother Jack is the same. They play both sides of the fence, I am certain. Aaron still frequents the Byrnes’, but I’ve heard Mrs Byrne does not trust him at all, she thinks he is a police spy. I do not think Ned in any case would trust anyone who came through Aaron or Jack. I have sent a message to Tom Lloyd, Ned’s cousin, and also to Maggie, Ned’s sister, but I have not heard from either of them so I do not know if it will bear any fruit. It is a waiting game, Jamie, and tiresome, but there ain’t much I can do about it.’
So that was that.
September 11
Today a wonderful parcel arrived from Melbourne—two boxes of very good quality dry-plate negatives! They will make Ellen’s task so much easier. Great excitement for my sister and our landlady (who advanced Ellen the money).
Oh, and a little while ago, Ellen wrote a letter to Uncle Will, telling him we had landed up in Beechworth and that she is working as a photographer and that we have found lodgings with a most respectable lady. She got a letter back today from our dear uncle, saying he and our aunt were delighted at this unexpected news, and enclosing some coins with it, so as we could get ourselves a treat, he said. I bet he never told miserly Aunt Julia about that!
September 14
Work at Ingram’s goes well. I have been given some more hours there, so for the first time I have some money in my pocket. I have bought my own copy of The Man in the Iron Mask and also a copy of Oliver Twist, which I have on approval. With Uncle Will’s money Ellen and I went for a really fine slap-up meal at the tearooms and there we saw Kate Kelly! Pretty and dark-haired and nicely dressed, she was with her good friend Emma Crawford, daughter of the very wealthy Mr Hiram Crawford who owns the coaching company here.
It was strange to see Ned Kelly’s sister sitting there as large as life, quietly buttering buns and drinking tea with all eyes on her, but she did not seem to care. At last she and Miss Crawford went out arm in arm, chatting and laughing like ordinary people, and a buzz of talk afterwards informed us that Kate was on a visit to Beechworth to see her friend, though there were some as darkly said she was here as lookout for her brother and that the banks should look to their money. Others snorted and said that Maggie, the married sister, was more likely to do that if it was to be done at all, for she is a wild and bold girl who rides astride like a man and is said to gallop for miles to the gang’s hideouts to bring them food and clothes. They say the police have stopped and questioned her a few times when she was out riding, but that she always managed to fox them and to be one jump ahead. They have never been able to track her properly and have been lured by her on wild-goose chases. One time she was stopped by the troopers and asked to unpack her bulging saddlebags, which the police thought must be full of food and drink for the outlaws, but which proved to be crammed with tablecloths!
September 22
Mr Turner has gone away again, following a lead. Reporters certainly lead busy wandering lives, ‘like real gypsies’, as Mrs Pickett says. (I don’t think she much likes journalists!) It’s funny, the way they work is rather like those police detectives. On the trail of a story like the Kellys, they have to go up and down country, following every lead, however slight. They have to interview lots of people. They have to build a picture of what happens. They have to take lots of notes. Then they have to write a report, putting everything together clearly. And then the report has to be taken to the telegraph office and wired to their offices, wherever they may be. Mr Turner’s a freelance, which means he works not just for one paper but many—whoever will take his articles—and so he has to spend a lot of shoe-leather, time, coach fares, thought and telegraph costs just to hunt his quarry down. A tiring life, but exciting! Anyway, he’s gone to Melbourne, where apparently Ned Kelly and Joe Byrne were seen not long ago—visiting a tailor and going to dances and fairs! He plans to write a humorous piece about it. I wonder if the story can be true. It seems reckless of Ned and Joe to show themselves quite so openly, but I suppose it would fit with their cheeky boldness.
Meanwhile Steve Hart and Dan Kelly were spotted in the bush near Greta, crossing a creek. I wonder when the gang will all show their hand again, and what they will do. I am sure every bank in Victoria and New South Wales is asking itself nervously the very same thing! And every citizen wondering if he will be the one to catch the next sighting. The preacher last Sunday said it was a sad thing outlaws like the Kellys had become heroes to some, and that even those who were against them could not get enough of tales of their villainy, so that everyone’s mind was full of their doings. I suppose that is true. But Mrs Pickett says tartly it is interesting that even the preacher cannot help but mention it, even if he condemns it.
September 24
Ellen has taken the first of her photographs. They are of Mrs Pickett and her house (she took those free, as promised),
and also of Mr Church, who is willing to pay for portraits to send to his family and his fiancee back in Melbourne. I helped her set up some of the shots and carried things for her and so forth. The photos have turned out very well, and Ellen is charging less than the established Beechworth photographers, so Mr Church is delighted. He says he will recommend her to other people he knows, so it is quite likely she will soon have a good deal of work. She has set up a studio in a room Mrs Pickett kindly provided for the purpose; it is beginning to look quite professional now. Mrs Pickett keeps telling me I should be proud of my sister, she has gumption and spirit. It is funny, the widow seemed so dour to me at the beginning, but now she has quite warmed towards us—she approves of my job at Ingram’s too—and I am beginning to really like her.
She has not always had an easy life. I understand from Mr Jardine, who is quite a gossip, that her late husband was a gold miner, ‘but hard as flint, not with a golden heart,’ as he put it. He struck it rich but gambled and drank most of it away, leaving Mrs Pickett with only the house and some nice furniture and a sharply diminished amount of money. ‘Which is why she takes in lodgers,’ explained Mr Jardine. It explains her thrift too, and the ever-present mutton stew.
The Hunt for Ned Kelly Page 4
