‘Well it is rather too late for me to speak now. I thought of speaking this morning but I thought afterwards that I had better not … there is little use blaming anyone now … nobody knows about my case except myself … It is not that I fear death; I fear it as little as to drink a cup of tea.’
There was more, about how he could have examined witnesses and there would have been a different outcome maybe, but he did not blame his lawyers or anyone else. His voice was quiet and a little sad, and when he finished there was silence.
Then a black square of cloth was placed on the judge’s head and he turned to face Ned Kelly. And then a strange thing happened.
Later (after dinner)
Normally, so Sam tells me, in any other murder case, the judge would just have pronounced the sentence of death straight away after that sinister cloth was put on his head. But this was no ordinary murder case, Uncle Will says. This was the trial of the century. And Sir Redmond Barry was determined to show the world that he had the measure of the man before him. So instead of saying the dreaded words straight away, he began to talk to the prisoner. I will try to write down as much of it as I can remember.
The judge began by saying, ‘Edward Kelly, the verdict pronounced by the jury is one you must have fully expected.’
And then began the most amazing duel of words, as Uncle Will called it. Leaning on the rails of the dock, Ned looked straight at the judge and said that yes, under the circumstances he did expect it. The judge said testily he couldn’t think what circumstances would have changed things, but Ned said if he’d been able to examine witnesses, then the judge might have understood. Sir Redmond replied that he supposed it was possible Ned had such skills, but he doubted it. Ned retorted that he wasn’t being flash, he didn’t think he was a great man or anything, but that he might well have cleared himself of the charge if he’d wanted to, no matter what anyone said. Sir Redmond Barry got annoyed at that and went on about how there were so many facts arrayed against Ned, that the verdict of the jury was the right verdict, there was no doubt of that, but that his duty was a painful one and he didn’t want to make the suffering Ned must be feeling worse. Ned stood straight at that and said sharply that he declared before the judge and God and man that his mind was as easy and clear as it could possibly be. The crowd gasped and the judge frowned and said harshly that Ned appeared to revel in having put men to death.
Ned said quietly that he hated murder more than anything, that before this thing had happened two years ago, he had believed he’d rather die than take a life. He had shot only because he was forced to.
The judge snapped that Ned’s statements were making out that witnesses were lying and Ned said that the day would come when everyone would have to go to a higher court and then we would see who was right and who was wrong. He talked again about how he could have changed the course of the trial if he’d been able to examine the witnesses.
The judge drew himself up and said that Ned’s crime was worse than most, for he and his men took up arms against society and its protectors. Ned replied that it looked that way, but it wasn’t so. He would have said more, but the judge, maybe sensing things were slipping away from him, broke in and went on about how it was terrible that too many misguided people saw outlaws and felons like Ned as heroes. Then for some reason he began talking about Ned stealing horses and they argued about that.
The judge made a speech about how all bushrangers met with miserable deaths, and how Ned’s own associates had met with miserable deaths. Ned’s eyes flashed at that and he snapped that there was no proof they did die such a death. The judge hurriedly rode over his words—even from where I sat I could see beads of sweat on his forehead—and went on with his speech about the ill-effects of such an example as Ned and how dismaying it was that despite the large reward no-one had turned him in. Then his tone changed and he said he would now pronounce the sentence.
The court was utterly quiet now, you could have heard a pin drop as Sir Redmond Barry said the terrible words about Ned being taken to a place of execution and hung from the neck till he was dead. ‘May the Lord have mercy on your soul,’ he finished.
But Ned was not finished. He fixed the judge with a look and said calmly and quietly, in words I remember exactly, for they sent such a powerful chill through me: ‘I will go a little further than that and say I will see you there, where I go.’
The judge looked shocked, but then called for the prisoner to be removed. Ned was taken away, as calm as ever. Uncle Will and Sam and I sat there like stuffed dummies for a while as the court was cleared.
But as we walked home, the other two could not stop talking about it. Uncle Will said he had never heard anything like it and Sam said that there never would be anything like it in all of history, and that day would see many people swing over to Ned’s side. But Uncle Will said sadly it would not be enough to save him. The full majesty of the law had decided Edward Kelly must die as an example to all lawbreakers, and that was an end to it.
When we got home they talked about it all over again with Ellen and Aunt Julia. But I went straight to my room to write down my account before it had begun to fade from my mind. I knew I must write it all down, even if it half-killed me, for one day I will show it to my children or Ellen’s children and they will know what it was really like.
Ellen just put her head around the door to say Aunt Julia says I must blow out my candle and go to sleep now, I am looking tired and peaky and will come down with a fever if I keep overstraining myself. I asked Ellen what she felt this day and she paused and said she was glad she had not been in court. She said she preferred to remember Mr Thompson who had helped us on the road and not the doomed outlaw Ned Kelly. I know what she means but cannot really share her opinion. Mr Thompson was the bright and the doomed outlaw the dark, but they were one and the same and that is what I must hold to and never ever forget.
November 3
It annoys me to report it, but Aunt Julia was right. I came down with a heavy cold the day after the trial, and have spent much of the last few days in bed, feeling too miserable and headachey even to pick up my pen or read a book. But today I am feeling much better.
Sam came in with the papers. He is full of the news that a petition asking the governor for mercy for Ned is being circulated and has already secured thousands of signatures. He was right about people being swung over to Ned’s side. I wonder if it will do any good though.
I had a dream about Ned last night. It was not a sinister one like last time, but ordinary, in a way. He was sitting at a table in the house at Eleven Mile Creek. He looked much younger than I’d seen him. He was talking, but I could not see who to—it wasn’t me, I was in the dream but not, if you know what I mean. I could not make out what he was saying, but he was smiling. When I awoke I found I had tears on my cheeks, which was strange because I did not think the dream had been sad or dramatic or anything like that.
November 5
Sam popped in to say he’s just been to a huge public meeting for Ned. It was held in the Hippodrome, and there were thousands of people packed inside as well as thousands more who couldn’t fit in milling outside in the street. Sam said in his estimation there were at least 7,000 or 8,000 people there, and the police out in force, too. Ned’s first lawyer, Mr Gaunson, addressed the crowd. So did anti-hanging campaigners who are against the death penalty generally. It was announced that the next day a deputation would be sent to the governor to beg him to consider mercy for Ned Kelly.
Sam also says that the petition is gathering many more thousands of signatures and that members of Ned’s family and friends have been attending signing sessions, drawing huge crowds. Sam thinks that the governor might possibly be swayed by the huge outpouring of sympathy for the condemned man. But Uncle Will is despondent about his chances. He thinks it is cruel in a way, that if Ned knows of it, he might be given false hope, for he is sure that there can be no escape.
November 6
Sam finally got a letter from th
at postcard company in Sydney! He brought it round this evening so Ellen and I could read it straight away. This is what it said.
Dear Sir;
Please excuse the delay of our reply, but we have been attempting to gather all the information you requested in your letter.
The original photograph to which you refer was left with us some months ago by a red-haired man with an American accent, who gave his name as Mr Henry Johnson. There was some discussion as to whether our company wanted the photograph, because we were afraid it might be a forgery, as no-one else had ever managed to capture a true image of the Kelly gang while on the run. But Mr Johnson was told that we would examine it and he was asked to return the next day. When he did not, the photograph was put to one side and, I am sorry to say, forgotten, till a few weeks later it was unearthed and it was decided to use it.
Attempts were made to contact Mr Johnson, which failed, but then information reached the company that the said Mr Johnson had perished in a street accident some weeks ago, in fact probably the very afternoon after he had brought the photograph to us.
Regal obtained the picture in good faith; we are however willing to pay compensation for it to Mr Johnson’s family, in return for information on the circumstances in which the photo was taken.
We remain, yours truly,
S.P. Hunter
(For Regal Postcards, Sydney.)
Ellen refused the deal point-blank. She said she would rather forget all about it. The thing was ill-fated, she said, it seemed to trail death with it and she wanted nothing more to do with it. Let them keep it, she didn’t care.
Sam asked me what I thought. I said I agreed with her. It would feel like blood money now—not only that of ‘the Kelly boys’, but Elijah’s, too. Poor, lost, desperate Elijah, he had not profited by his betrayal. Yet it wasn’t villains to whom he owed money who’d killed him, but a simple accident. An act of fate. How strange life was.
No. It was better to leave it. Better no-one should know, ever.
I’ve put the postcard I got from that shop in this diary. I’m looking at it now. I wonder if Ned Kelly could see it, what would he say? What would he feel? Regret, I suppose, and a wish to wind back the clock—or to stay frozen in that moment, with the breeze blowing in the trees, and the smell of the bush, and his good horse under him.
November 8
I am back at work now. A feverish atmosphere. Our paper’s taking the line that the petitioners are misguided and that Ned Kelly must hang. But some of the people working here—at least lowly people like me and Sam, and others—feel differently. There are arguments.
The petition continues to gather signatures—60,000 at last count, according to Sam. But the governor has so far not granted the pleas for mercy. The date of execution has been set. It is to be November 11. Ned’s family are everywhere in Melbourne, attending meetings and receiving expressions of support, no doubt hoping against hope things will change.
November 10
Another huge public meeting held yesterday. Crowds, headed by Mr Gaunson, marched by torchlight to see the premier, Mr Graham Berry, to present him with the petition and fresh evidence from Patrick Quinn, an uncle or cousin of Ned’s, I’m not sure which. He has made a sworn statement that he heard a policeman called Strahan swear before Stringybark Creek that Ned was to be killed, not captured. Mr Quinn begged the premier for a Royal Commission into Ned’s case. But the premier dismissed the petition, saying the same people had signed several times, and rejected Quinn’s evidence, saying it should have been presented at the trial and there was no hope for change now.
And so, barring a miracle, this is the last day of Ned Kelly’s life. What passes through a man’s mind in his last hours? I shudder to think of it.
On the street today I heard a sad song:
Ring a ling high, ring a ling low,
sing of pain and sorrow.
Ring a ling high. Ring a ling low,
Ned Kelly dies in the morning.
I can’t get that tune out of my mind. I don’t think I shall sleep much tonight.
November 11
It is done. Ned is dead.
They say he died bravely. A huge crowd gathered outside the prison, many crying. I wasn’t there. Nor was Uncle Will, or Sam. We couldn’t bear to be there. We waited at home instead. But Sam went and fetched every paper that could be got after, and we read of Ned’s last moments.
Reports say that, the night before, Ned said goodbye to his mother, who told him, ‘Mind you die like a Kelly, Ned.’ He spent the night in reflection, prayer, and a little sleep, and when he awoke he sang a few songs—not hymns, but light, popular songs. Maybe even, I thought, the merry song Joe had written for them, ‘The Ballad of the Kelly Gang’.
He did not struggle or weep or lament as he was led to the hangman, but just said quietly, ‘Ah well, I suppose it has come to this,’ and allowed the hood to be put over his head and the noose adjusted around his neck. Some reports say he also said, ‘Such is life.’ At ten o’clock precisely, the hangman pulled the lever, the trapdoor under Ned’s feet crashed open, the noose tightened around his neck as his body swung free and—it was the end. He died quickly.
There are reports the other convicts inside the gaol gave a great howl as it happened and that the crowd outside, silent as ten o’clock sounded, burst into wild noise. It was over. All over. The most famous outlaw of our time is dead, gone to that court higher than any mortal judge’s, no matter how red his robes or big his wig. It is over—but I do not think that anyone alive in our time will ever forget Ned Kelly, no matter who might wish us to do so. I know I never shall. Was he a hero? Was he a villain? I cannot say, even now. Perhaps he was neither. But he will live in my memory forever, the dark and the bright, together.
Historical note
A hundred and thirty years after his death at the age of twenty-five, Ned Kelly’s story still haunts the imagination of Australians. In his short life he had already become a legend, and that legend is still powerful today. In his own time he divided opinion. Today, people still argue about him. As Jamie asks himself, was Ned Kelly a hero or a villain? Was he a boy who had a hard time and grew into a man hard done by, sent mad, as Ned himself said, by bad treatment? Or was he a born troublemaker and law-breaker who chose to take the wrong path? Whatever side people come down on—and many, maybe most, people can’t make up their mind but, like Jamie, think that he was made up of both ‘dark and bright’—everyone agrees that he was no common criminal, but an extraordinary and complex figure.
Born in December 1854 in Beveridge, Victoria, Edward (or Ned as everyone called him) was the eldest son of Irish-born John ‘Red’ Kelly and Ellen Quinn. ‘Red’ Kelly (so called because of the colour of his hair) had originally come to Australia as a convict. In 1865, when he was not quite eleven, Ned saved a younger boy, Richard Shelton, from drowning. As a reward for his bravery, Ned was given a beautiful green silk sash with gold fringes by the little boy’s grateful parents. It was a gift he was immensely proud of, kept all his life, and was wearing when he was shot down at Glenrowan.
In December 1866, ‘Red’ Kelly died and the family was left fatherless. It was a hard blow for the family. Thanks to a school inspector’s report, it’s known Ned did well in reading and writing, and not too badly in arithmetic, but failed grammar and geography! But now he had to leave school and start to earn money. Kids in those days had to start work very young if there wasn’t much money around. Only twelve, Ned worked hard on the family farm and also got work as a land-clearer and wood-splitter. But he was also influenced by his mother’s brothers and brothers-in-law, the wild Quinns and Lloyds, who were involved in some very dodgy things, such as horse- and cattle-stealing.
When Ned was fourteen, he was befriended by the bushranger Harry Power, who had escaped from prison. Maybe Ned was tired of the hard work he was doing; maybe he wanted excitement and quick money. Whatever the reason, the following year he took part in a ‘stick-up’ with Harry Power. Ned was caug
ht and tried, but acquitted. Harry Power was captured and sent to prison, while Ned got involved in a brawl and was gaoled for three months. When he got out he went back to his bad old ways, encouraged by his rascally new stepfather, George King, and got involved in horse-stealing. Caught, he was sentenced to three years in gaol.
It is during this time that he may have first read the book that is believed to have been his favourite: the exciting adventure story Lorna Doone, by RD Blackmore, published in 1869. It’s told in the voice of young boy called John Ridd whose father is killed by wicked outlaws called the Doones and who for a time works for a ‘good’ highwayman called Tom Faggus. Perhaps Ned loved the book because he identified with its hero, as a fatherless boy who worked with a highway robber! And historians have suggested it’s possible he may have got the idea for the armour he and his friends wore at Glenrowan from the description of the outlaw Doones coming down the mountain with ‘iron plates on breast and head’.
Ned was released from prison six months early for good behaviour. He went back home and for quite a while tried to go straight. He got a job in a sawmill and later worked as a mason. People who employed him said he was a good worker. But he soon got into bad company again and began to work in a big horse-stealing ring that included Joe Byrne, which is probably when they met. Ned’s younger brother Dan also became involved, as did Aaron Sherritt, Joe’s childhood friend, and several others. It was at this time that Ned and Joe used the aliases of ‘Thompson’ and ‘Cook’ which I have used in this book.
The Hunt for Ned Kelly Page 12
