by Jack Tunney
THE CHESTNUT MARE
ELEVEN MILE CREEK
EASTERN VICTORIA
4 APRIL 1871
“'Tis pleasant to rise at the break of the day
And chase the wild horse in the hills far away,
For he dances and prances and snorts in his glee
And is yarded at night by a native like me.”
Oh, Give Me a Hut (Traditional)
Autumn had come to the high country. The leaves on the eucalyptus and gum trees had turned brown and fallen, crunching underfoot as young Ned Kelly trudged his way through the bush. Despite being late morning, the fog had not lifted, and the gnarled white tree trunks looked like ghostly figures dancing back and forth.
Ned had served his time in Beechworth Gaol. His time inside had been uneventful. Maybe because his Uncle Pat was inside too, and had looked out for him. But as he walked, he couldn't help but think about the time he had spent away from his family and the injustice of it all.
But that was all behind him now. He had served his time, and from now on, he would walk the straight and narrow.
***
It was late afternoon by the time he made it back to the family selection, and the sight that greeted him was not what he expected. There appeared to be some celebration going on. He knew it wasn't on his account. There were about forty people, many of them relatives, gathered in front of the homestead. A long trestle table had been set up, topped with food and drink. As he got closer, he could hear laughter and singing, and saw his sister, Maggie, twirled around by Bill Skillion.
Amid the carnival atmosphere, nobody noticed Ned walk up. At that moment, his mother bustled out from the house, holding two bottles of whisky in her hands. Ned almost laughed. He knew his ma had distilled the whisky herself. He also knew it tasted like furniture polish and was not for the feint-hearted.
“What's going on, ma?” he asked.
“You're home!” she exclaimed with delight, crossing over and kissing him. “It's for Annie.”
On cue, his sister Annie rushed over and threw her arms around his neck.
“Neddy,” she squealed. “Welcome home.”
“What are we celebrating?” he asked.
“I'm engaged, Ned. Alex asked me to marry him.”
The news didn't surprise Ned. His sister was a beautiful woman. She had long dark hair and her eyes sparkled like jewels. She'd make a fine wife. And he had known Alex Gunn for years, and knew it had only been a matter of time before he popped the question.
“Congratulations,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
“Since you're home, you'd better have a dance with me,” she said, taking him by the hand.
Ned was tired from his journey, but couldn't refuse. He allowed her to drag him to where others were dancing a jig, arm in arm, and row in row.
***
The sun was setting and the party breaking up. As the guests began to leave, Ned realised he hadn't congratulated Alex Gunn yet. Gunn stood near the coral, talking to a tall stranger. Ned figured it was as good a time as any to pass on his wishes, and besides, it would give him a chance to look over his horses. He hadn't had an opportunity to check on them since he arrived back. He approached Gunn and the stranger.
“Congratulations, Alex,” he said, holding out his hand.
Gunn shook it. “Thanks, Ned. Here, let me introduce a friend of mine. This is Isaiah Wright from Mansfield.”
They shook hands. “Wild. My friends call me Wild,” Wright said. His voice held a hint of the old country – an Irish accent.
“Why do they call you Wild?” Ned asked.
“I break horses,” Wright explained. “And I always seem to get the wild ones.”
They all laughed.
“Speaking of horses,” Gunn said, “Wild has got himself into a spot of bother. Maybe you can help him out?”
“What's the problem?” Ned queried.
Wright didn't answer directly. “That's a fine string you've assembled lad,” he said, before licking the edge of a cigarette paper loaded with tobacco which he held in his hand. He rolled the cigarette and brought it to his lips without lighting it.
“There's some good ones there,” Ned agreed.
Wright took a position against the railing next to Ned. Without words, he offered his tobacco pouch. The young man shook his head, and turned back to his horses. Wright extracted a box of matches from a pocket, and fumbled for a match. He struck it, and finally lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply and blew out a plume of white smoke that hung in the still night air.
Wright sighed, and turned to Ned.
“Young Mr. Kelly, I'd like to come to some kind of an arrangement with you.” Wright's words were soft and well measured.
“What kind of arrangement?” Ned asked.
“Well, I find myself in a bit of a bind. I have get back to Mansfield, and my mare has strayed. I was hoping you could lend me a horse.”
“I don't loan horses. I sell them.”
“I understand. But like I said, I'd like to come to an arrangement. After I've gone, you find my mare. It won't be hard for you. You know the area. You know where she'll be.” Ned nodded. He knew the horse would be up along the creek. “My horse is a fine one. Chestnut with a white blaze. When you find her, you hang on to her. I'll be back this way in a couple of weeks and I'll collect her then, and return your horse. You're loaning me a horse, and I am loaning you a horse. You won't lose out in any way.”
“I can vouch for Wild,” Gunn interjected. “He's a straight shooter.”
Ned thought about the arrangement for a moment. It seemed like a clean cut deal.
Ned nodded. “You're a smooth talker, Mr. Wright.”
“Wild. My friends call me Wild,” the horse breaker reiterated.
“Okay, Wild, you got yourself a deal.”
They shook hands.
***
Ned watched as Isaiah Wright rode off on the black brumby he lent him. The young man had no qualms. Wright seemed like a decent chap, and his soon-to-be brother-in-law had vouched for him. As for the arrangement, Ned was not worried. Early next morning, he would ride down to the creek and retrieve the chestnut. Then he would ride her as if she was his own, until Wright returned in two weeks to claim her.
ROUND 8
PISTOL WHIPPED
GRETA TOWNSHIP
EASTERN VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA,
16 APRIL 1871
“At 16 years he was one tough guy;
The crimes he committed, oh me, oh my;
He'd steal all the horses for miles around;
Collect the rewards for them and paint the town.”
Poor Ned Kelly (Traditional)
Edward Hall had been promoted to Senior Constable. He leaned on the horse rail smoking a rolled cigarette at the front of the Greta police station. Two other troopers, Ernest Flood and Thomas Lonigan, sat inside by the fire, while Hall kept watch over the small bush township.
Not that he expected anything to happen. Not this early in the day.
He peered down the length of dusty Main Street. There were a few horses tied up in front of the hotel, and a wagon in front of the general store. Just another day in Greta.
He turned his head the other way and saw a figure on the horizon, riding toward town at a slow leisurely pace. His eyes followed the rider's progress. As the rider hit town, Hall recognised the rider as Ned Kelly.
So they let Kelly out of gaol. Hall shook his head in disgust.
Then full of suspicion, his eyes swept over the horse. The chestnut mare had a white blaze and a docked tale. It was a fine animal. Much too good for the likes of young Kelly. Then he remembered a report in the gazette stated a horse had been stolen from Maindample Park Station. That horse too was a chestnut mare with a white blaze and a docked tale.
It couldn't be a coincidence.
The Kellys were at it again. Hall walked out into the street and held up his hand.
“Here, young Kelly. Hold where you are,” he said. Kelly eased back on the
reins and came to a halt. “Where'd you get that horse?”
“I found her grazing by the creek. She belongs to...”
“I know who she belongs to. Get down from there.”
Hall reached up and grabbed Kelly by the front of his shirt and proceeded to drag him from the horse. The young man struggled. Hall pulled harder.
“Come down you thievin' cove!” he snarled.
Kelly lost his grip and fell from the horse landing hard in the dirt. The horse skittered and galloped away. Hall advanced on the fallen lad and grabbed him by the collar, and started dragging him toward the station.
“Hey,” Kelly protested, thrashing his legs. “What are you doing?”
“I am arresting you for horse stealing.”
“Horse stealing? I didn't steal no horse.”
Kelly broke free of Hall's grip and bounded to his feet. Hall tried to grab him again, but the lad balled his fist and snapped out a straight right, which connected with the big man's jaw. Hall fell back, throwing up a cloud of dust as he landed in the centre of the street.
Angered, Hall pushed himself to a seated position and drew his pistol. He'd kill the boy for that. He aimed the pistol at Kelly's head, and fired.
The hammer on the Colt pistol hit the firing pin.
Nothing happened.
Misfire. Hall roared, and drew back the hammer with his hand and took aim again. He squeezed the trigger. Again, nothing.
Hall tried for a third time. Nothing.
***
Ned couldn't believe Hall pulled the trigger. The flamin' cabbage-hearted coward!
Why? Because he was a Kelly, that's why! The corrupt copper was in bed with the squatters, and they just wanted the mare for themselves. He knew he hadn't stolen no horse. She belonged to Wild Wright.
Ned gritted his teeth and advanced on Hall, who was still on his britches in the middle of the street. Ned snatched the pistol away and threw it to one side. Then he unleashed a brutal uppercut that caught Hall on the point of the jaw. The big man's head snapped back.
“Gonna shoot me, was ya? On account of a damn horse,” Ned yelled as he paced around Hall.
He would show him.
The trooper tried to climb to his feet, but Ned kicked him to the ground again. Hall crawled to his knees, but before to could get to his feet, young Ned leaped onto his back and started riding him like a horse.
“I'll show you a stolen horse,” Ned yelled, as he drove his spurs into the back of Hall's legs. “Giddy-up, you corrupt son of a motherless…”
A crowd of onlookers had gathered around, and couldn't help but laugh at the strange sight of Hall being ridden by the young man.
As Ned drove the spurs in again, Hall cried out in pain.
“Help! Help! Get this boy off me!”
***
Constable Lonigan, seated by the fire in the station, heard Hall's cry for help. Lonigan was a stick-thin figure, with ginger hair poking out from the sides of his flat top trooper's hat. Adorning his top lip, which appeared locked in a permanent sneer, was a thick moustache.
“That's Hall,” he said turning to Constable Flood, who sat beside him.
Both men sprang to their feet and rushed outside.
Lonigan saw Hall being ridden like a horse as crowd circled around laughing. The trooper looked at the youth atop of Hall, and recognised him immediately as Ned Kelly, a known troublemaker.
Lonigan rushed to Hall's aid and pulled the boy from his back. Kelly struggled and kicked, but as Trooper Flood grabbed his other arm, they wrestled him under control.
“Settle down boy!” Lonigan yelled. “Settle down!”
***
Hall had never been so embarrassed in all his life. The crowd of onlookers were still laughing as he got to his feet. He brushed himself off and walked over to his pistol which lay on the ground. He bent, picked it up and turned back toward the station.
He saw Lonigan and Flood had the young blighter held between them. Hall approached. Anger coursed through his veins and fire flashed in his eyes.
“Hold him tight!” he said through gritted teeth.
He could see the young man struggling, but he would not get away. Not this time! He span the pistol in his hand, holding it by the barrel.
Standing before Ned, Hall grinned. “Think you're smart don't ya. I'll show you how smart you are.”
Hall roared and smashed the pistol handle down on the young man's head. Again and again. Kelly passed out after the second blow, but that did not stop Hall. Blood sprayed as the irate trooper kept bludgeoning the young man who had humiliated him so.
ROUND 7
JUSTICE BE DAMNED
BEECHWORTH COURTHOUSE
NORTH EASTERN VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA,
MAY 1871
“Farewell my home in Greta, now my sisters fare thee well.
It breaks my heart that we must part, but here I dare not dwell.
The brand of Cain is on my brow, my hands are stained with gore.
So I must roam in future years throughout the Australian shore.”
Farewell to Greta (Traditional)
Although the swelling had gone down, Ned's face was still a mess, covered in stitches and dark purple bruising. The beating he received from Senior Constable Hall would have killed lesser men. The strange part was, no charge had been laid against him for assault against Hall.
The fact it took three men to bring an unarmed fifteen-year-old boy to justice – and Kelly had been pistol-whipped after being restrained – would not reflect well on the police-force. That part of the altercation, had been conveniently swept under the rug. The only charge levelled at Ned was horse stealing. Ned knew he was innocent, but past experience taught him that counted for little.
Mr. Justice, J. E. Milton was the magistrate for the case. Milton was a John Bull character if Ned had ever seen one, round faced, ruddy cheeked and big bellied. He sat behind the bench with his arms crossed against his chest, and a pained expression on his face.
Ned was not the only one charged with the theft of the Postmaster's mare. They had brought in Wild Wright too. Ned couldn't look the horsebreaker in the eye. The blaggard should have told him the horse was stolen. Ned hoped the thief got what was coming to him.
But stranger still, they had arrested Alex Gunn. Why? What had Alex done? Ned figured, as Alex was set to marry Annie, in the eyes of the law, it made him a Kelly – guilty by association.
Judge Milton had already heard the cases against Wright and Gunn, but was yet to pronounce sentence. They were seated in a pen to one side of the room.
Ned's case was now being heard. Constable Hall was seated in the witness box. Ned knew everything that came from his mouth would be balderdash of the highest order. But as anger coursed through Ned's veins, he vowed he would not go quietly this time. He would call the blubber-bellied liar out.
Hall proceeded to testify.
“On the sixteenth of April, I saw the defendant ride into town on the horse in question. I recognised it straight away from the gazette. Naturally, I approached him and enquired about the animal and how it came to be in his possession.” Hall sounded like an uneducated man, attempting to sound educated. He continued. “He ignored my request and chose to launch into an abusive tirade...”
“That's a bare-faced lie,” Ned yelled.
“Silence, or I will have you gagged,” Milton ordered. Then turning back to Hall, “Please continue, Senior Constable.”
“As I was saying, your Honour, I was met with a stream of abuse. Over the years, in my dealings with the Kelly family, I have found them all to resent authority of any kind. Ned appeared no different. When I asked him to dismount, he refused. I had no recourse but to draw my firearm and take him into custody.”
“Tell them how you pistol-whipped me, ya great bloody coward,” Ned called.
Milton turned angrily. “This is your last warning, Mr. Kelly.”
“I will not be silenced. This ruddy great clown has had it in for me – and every
member of the Kelly family – since my uncle Pat clobbered him with a stirrup iron...”
“Mr. Kelly!” Milton yelled, banging the gavel down. “You leave me little choice.” He called to two troopers at the back of the courthouse. “The rest of this case will be heard with Mr. Kelly in absentia. Take him to the cells until I am ready to pass sentence.”
The troopers marched forward and took Ned by the arms. Ned considered fighting back, standing rigid and tense as they grabbed him. He balled his fists.
“Come on, Ned,” one of the troopers said quietly. “Fighting won't do you any good.”
Ned knew the trooper was right. He unclenched his fists.
“Okay. Okay, I'll go quietly,” he said.
He allowed the troopers to lead him from the courthouse and across the street to the police station. The lockup cell was around the back. He was escorted along the side of the brick building and shunted into a cell, but the door wasn't closed behind him. The two troopers stood guard. Ned grunted, and sat down on the hard wooden bunk. So be it. He wouldn't hear the other lies Hall said about him and the incident. But he could guess. Hall would paint himself as a hero who had saved the decent folk from the scourge of young wild Ned Kelly.
***
Forty-five minutes later, Ned was called for. The troopers escorted him back to the courthouse. As he pressed through the door he saw Wright and Gunn standing at the centre of the floor. He was ushered through the gallery to their side.
Judge Milton stared down at him, a look of disdain on his face. He had now donned a white wig. Ned knew he was about to pass sentence on all of them.
“I have heard all the evidence in this case, and will now pass sentence. Mr. Wright would you step forward.” Wright approached the bench, with head bowed. “Isaiah Wright, this court finds you guilty of horse stealing. I sentence you to eighteen months imprisonment with hard labour.”
Wright nodded, and stepped back.
Ned almost grinned. Eighteen months. Wright, the double crossing, dirty, low-down, lying mongrel deserved every day of it.
