A Cold Wind Down the Grey

by Wendy M Wilson

  He arrived in Hokitika to discover Mr. Justice Gresson seated at the bench, ready to start the trial of James Wilson. Justice Gresson was wearing his black robes, with white bands at his throat, and a short wig, looking as if he had been magically transported to Hokitika from the Old Bailey. The courtroom was packed and quiet, most of them intimidated by the illustrious presence before them. Wilson sat in the prisoner’s box, his curly hair combed flat, wearing a nondescript brown suit. He had shrunk since his incarceration, and looked less dangerous than he had on the night he’d come to James’ house on Arney Street – in fact, scarcely dangerous at all.

  The Crown first called Mr. Anderson, who affirmed he had seen Dobson at his store in Maori Gully on the 27th of May, and walked up the track with him and Mr. Fox to Arnold Township the following day, the 28th of May. He’d last seen George Dobson heading down the track towards Greymouth.

  Edward Burton Fox then gave evidence. The reporters in court leaned forward and took notice, partly because this was the first time he’d spoken in court, but also because of the difficulty they had in understanding his thick Scots accent. Mr. Fox told the court he had been with Dobson on that last day, and described the clothes he was wearing and the compass strapped around his body. The last time he had seen him, he said, at about eleven o’clock, Dobson was going down the track towards the Grey. He continued with his own movements:

  “I went from the Arnold Township to Greymouth in a boat, and reached the latter place at about a quarter to three. If Dobson had walked at his ordinary pace, he ought to have reached the Grey at about half past five in the evening… I never saw Dobson alive after leaving him at the Arnold.”

  Mr. Button stood up and coughed quietly into his hand. “Was it a dry day, Mr. Fox?” he asked. “How fast would Mr. Dobson have been walking?”

  “I am not certain whether the weather was wet or dry on the 28th May,” said Fox. “Dobson was a very good walker, and was considered a first-class bushman. I think he should have walked from the Arnold to the spot where the body was found in about two hours. He could have walked from the spot to Greymouth in about two hours and a half. It is nearly six miles from Greymouth to where the body was found.”

  His lack of memory about the weather was worrying. After eight months, many of the details might have faded, not only from Mr. Fox’s mind, but also from the minds of other witnesses. James was also annoyed that neither men had been given a chance to bring George Dobson to life for the jury. Sympathy for the victim often played a part in a conviction.

  Mr. Fox stepped down from the witness box. Sullivan was escorted to the box, accompanied by a loud murmur and some hissing from the room. Sullivan greeted the hissing with a smirk, straightening his necktie. Mr. Justice Gresson banged on the desk with his gavel. “I’ll ask you to be quiet please, so the court can hear what the witness has to say.”

  Sullivan wore a dark suit with a velvet waistcoat, a sky-blue necktie at his throat, his large face surrounded by newly trimmed whiskers, and looked as if he were about to partake in a stroll along Bond Street. He’d been the centerpiece of several trials, and clearly enjoyed being the focus of everyone’s attention, even when that attention was mostly negative.

  The prosecutor began by asking him how he had met the prisoner.

  “I first became acquainted with the prisoner on Friday, 11th May, at the Arahura, about six miles from Hokitika,” said Sullivan, looking towards Wilson with a smile; Wilson glowered back at him and raised his hand towards his neck, to indicate throat-slashing, but thought better of it and let his had drop. “I was in company with a man named Kelly. I returned to Hokitika leaving the prisoner with Kelly. I had a conversation with the prisoner-that day. The prisoner said he was going to the Grey with newspapers, and would accompany Kelly and help to carry the swag.”

  “And later you went to Greymouth?” asked the prosecutor. “All of you?”

  “Yes. Well, the three of us. The prisoner came the next day.”

  “And when would that have been, when the prisoner arrived?”

  “I was at Greymouth on the 26th of May. Kelly and Burgess were with me. The prisoner arrived at Greymouth the next day, Sunday.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  Sullivan nodded. “I had a conversation with him. I asked him why he did not start from Hokitika with us, and he said because he had to get some money.”

  “And once in Greymouth you had a plan to go out onto the track and accost…”

  Button sprang to his feet. “Objection.”

  “You later met out on the track” said the prosecutor.

  “Yes,” said Sullivan. “It was arranged that Burgess, Kelly, Wilson and myself were to go out on the road. We were all four to meet at the iron hut on the Arnold track early on the following day, Monday. Kelly and I went out on the Sunday night, and slept at the iron hut. I met the prisoner about half-past ten on the following morning, about a mile on the Greymouth side of the iron hut. We remained at the hut about half-an-hour.”

  James listened carefully. Sullivan was much clearer about the days than he had been earlier. Now his testimony fit the evidence given by others very neatly, placing the murderers in the vicinity of the murder on the correct date – May 28th.

  “I went with Kelly and the prisoner, and we went in the direction of the Arnold,” Sullivan continued. “We proceeded about four miles. There is a bridge over a ravine, where Kelly stopped; it was an open part of the river. We reached there about one o’clock, and I remained there about half an hour, and then left Kelly and the prisoner, and proceeded myself in the direction of the coal-pits.”

  “The others remained there at that spot?” asked the prosecutor.

  “Yes, they did,” said Sullivan. “Kelly remained there because he had a cut on his face, and Mr. Fox would know him. I went along the road to watch for Mr. Fox, who was supposed to be coming from the Arnold. I might have gone on a distance of three-quarters of a mile towards the Arnold after I left the prisoner and Kelly.”

  “And what were you to do when you saw Mr. Fox coming,” said the prosecutor, careful not to put the suggestion into Sullivan’s head that they were waiting to rob and kill Mr. Fox.

  “I was to alert them,” said Sullivan. “But Mr. Fox did not come.”

  James felt his fists clenching. Here it was. The moment of the killing.

  “I met a young man on the road; he was dressed in dark clothes and was carrying a greatcoat something like the one now produced. He also wore a strap, similar to the one in Court, He had leather outside his trousers but I cannot say whether they were leggings or boots. I spoke to him in an ordinary way, and he proceeded down the road, and went on. It was about half a mile from where I left Kelly and the prisoner that I met the young man.”

  A sigh ran through the court. They all knew what was coming next. Here was George Dobson, walking along the track, encountering Sullivan, on his way to his own doom.

  “I went on about a quarter of a mile towards the Arnold, where I stayed about ten minutes, and then returned to the spot where I had left them. Kelly and the prisoner were putting up a tent when I left them, and it was up when I returned. The door of the tent was closed. I saw Kelly as I approached speaking to someone, and when I got to the tent he was standing with his hands behind him…I asked Kelly where the prisoner was, and he said in the tent.”

  “I heard some voices, and just afterwards saw a man and woman coming up the track. I went, by request, and had a conversation with them, to delay them. They stopped about three minutes, and then walked on, and I returned to the tent. The man Martin Mullins is the man I met with the woman. When I got back to the tent I saw the prisoner and Kelly. The prisoner was on his knees, gathering up some papers. They had made a fire about four yards from the tent. The prisoner had a large new pocket book in his hand, and Kelly threw the papers into the fire. I caught one of them up, and saw that it was an order to pay £45; The names of Revell and Dobson were on it. I threw it in the fire, and it was co
nsumed.”

  “Did you say anything to Kelly or the prisoner?” asked the prosecutor.

  “Kelly asked me if I had met anyone,” said Sullivan. “I said, yes, that I had met a young fellow —neither a man nor a boy…I asked why they put him up, and they said because they thought he had something.”

  “Did you ask either of them where the young man was?” asked the prosecutor.

  “I asked whether he was tied up,” said Sullivan. And the prisoner said, ‘Oh yes, he’s right enough.’ I was invited by Kelly to go into the bush and see him, and the three of us then went into the bush. We had some difficulty in finding the man. I heard the prisoner say, ‘here he is,’ and I went forward and saw the young man whom I had seen on the track about an hour and three-quarters before.”

  “He was merely tied up?” asked the prosecutor. “Or was he…”

  “I thought he was dead,” said Sullivan. “And said so to the prisoner and Kelly. He was sitting in a crouching position. His head was lying over his right shoulder, and his face was turned upwards and discoloured. Kelly said he died from fright, and the prisoner confirmed the statement, saying that they were going to tie him up when he dropped down dead.”

  “Did you ask them what they intended to do?”

  “I asked what they were going to do with the deceased, and Kelly replied, ‘leave him there.’ He said Dick and he, alluding to Burgess, did a man like that once before; that they would roll him up in blankets, and if ever he was found it would be thought that he died from exhaustion.”

  “But he was buried when he was discovered by Inspector James,” noted the prosecutor. “Did you assist the other two in the burial?”

  “Kelly asked me to keep the road while they dug a hole to bury the deceased,” said Sullivan. “I took a double-barrelled gun and went along the track about a hundred yards towards Greymouth…I heard some voices coming from the direction of Greymouth, and made a noise to attract the notice, or what is called, ‘give them the office,’ to warn Kelly and the prisoner to stop what they were doing.”

  “What did you do when you perceived the coast was clear?” asked the prosecutor.

  “We proceeded into Greymouth, having planted our swag on the road. We had some disagreement about dividing the things and money taken from Dobson. The prisoner wanted to take a gold watch and Kelly objected and I agreed with him.”

  “Did you tell anyone what you had done, once you reached Greymouth?” asked the prosecutor.

  “I advised them not to tell Burgess of what they had done that day, but to keep it a secret amongst the three of us,” said Sullivan. “But Kelly said there were no secrets amongst mates, especially between him and Burgess. The prisoner said Burgess was a very nice little chap, but that Levy was a hound.”

  “When did you part from the pair…Kelly and Wilson” asked the prosecutor.

  “On the quay,” said Sullivan. “I then proceeded to the Provincial Hotel, where I saw Burgess playing at cards with a female named Rosa. Kelly and Wilson arrived, and Burgess gave the prisoner three £1 notes and a half-sovereign, and gave me a £l note and ten shillings in silver. I did not see Burgess give Kelly anything.”

  Dobson’s money had helped them in their escape to Nelson on the Wallaby, as James had thought.

  “And did you leave them at the hotel…the Provincial Hotel, was it?” asked the prosecutor.

  “It was arranged that the prisoner should fetch the fire-arms that we had ‘planted’ into town, and he said he would leave them with George Colburn, a restaurant keeper in Greymouth, and an old mate of his at Nelson. I offered to accompany the prisoner to fetch the firearms into town.”

  “That same day?”

  Sullivan shook his head. “No, on the following day. It was arranged that we should all sleep at different hotels that night. On the following morning, I started at about half past five, and went to the iron hut. I saw the prisoner that morning about a quarter of a mile on the Arnold side of the iron hut. This was about eight o’clock. Kelly was with me.”

  “Did the prisoner say anything to you that morning, as you fetched the guns?”

  “He told me that the ‘bloke,’ meaning the deceased young man, was a surveyor. I asked him how he knew it, and he said by reading his papers.”

  He had learned that from James, of course, and not on the day after the murder. And the papers had mistakenly given the date as May 29th. Sullivan was squeezing facts to fit with the narrative, but not enough to influence the jury.

  “Do you have anything else important to tell us about what you saw that day?” asked the prosecutor.

  “I saw some pieces of old cloth brought to the iron hut by the prisoner for masks,” said Sullivan. “But Kelly introduced a better idea - that of using pocket handkerchiefs.”

  “And these are the pieces of cloth?” The prosecutor pointed towards the evidence table.

  “Something like those I refer to, but I cannot identify them,” said Sullivan He sounded almost apologetic. “We planted the pieces of cloth near the iron hut.”

  “Thank you,” said the magistrate. “Now, one more thing…”

  Sullivan pulled out his watch.

  “It’s one o’clock,” he said, a hint of complaint in his voice. “Time for lunch.”

  The magistrate frowned. “No, Mr. Sullivan, it is not yet time for…”

  “It is by my watch.” Sullivan waved his watch in the direction of the magistrate, and looked around the court, seeking agreement. “I won’t give any further testimony until I have my lunch.”

  The magistrate’s lips tightened to a thin line. “As it happens we are done with you,” he said. He picked up his gavel and whacked it on the desk, as if Sullivan’s head was on the receiving end. “We’ll adjourn for lunch.”

  James went down Revell Street looking for a cup of tea and a sandwich. He returned afterwards to find Brohan standing outside the courthouse having a pipe.

  “Going well so far, James,” he said. “We should be able to convict on the strength of that testimony. Very solid, I thought.”

  “It seems very solid,” said James. “But the people of this town despise Sullivan. Not just here, but in Greymouth and everywhere else. He must be the most hated man on the coast.”

  “That’s true,” said Broham. “Do you know, he actually demanded English porter with his lunch. The local porter wasn’t good enough for him apparently. If the locals found out…but the jury will ignore those sentiments. They’ll know better than to let emotions influence them. And Mr. Justice Gresson will direct them to ignore such feelings.”

  “I hope so,” said James. His experiences in Timaru did not give him the greatest confidence in Justice Gresson, however.

  “Shearman thinks we did well,” said Broham after a pause. He had a self-satisfied look on his face. “Sent me a letter the other day, congratulating me on finding the body, and conducting the investigation.” He must have seen the consternation on James face, and added, “You were very helpful of course. Couldn’t have done it without you.” He knocked the pipe out on the heel of his boot. “I suppose we’d better return to court.”

  The next man up was Mr. Bain’s articled pupil, George Randall Sayle, one of George Dobson’s mates who had been present when the body was exhumed. He’d been with James and Bain when they went up to Stillwater to look for the cloth masks Wilson had mentioned, and was determined to present the map he had given to James. He’d done so at the pretrial, but had not aroused enough interest in it to present it again. He gave his brief evidence and stepped down.

  George Windhover, the next witness, who had passed the tent on May 28th, claimed to have seen two men there; one fair and the other dark.

  “Is the man on the dock, the prisoner, the man you saw that day?” asked the prosecutor.

  “The prisoner is something like the fair man I saw at the tent,” said Windhover, staring at Wilson. “But I cannot swear to him.”

  Mr. Button rose to his feet. “Mr. Windhover, did you not say yo
u should know the prisoner? That you had seen him before?”

  “I don’t recollect that,” said Windhover, avoiding looking at the defender.

  James winced. A stronger statement would have been helpful.

  “And the dark man, could you say definitely that he was not the dark man you saw at the tent?” asked Button.

  Windover was more positive of this answer. “No, he was not.”

  The prosecutor stood up again and asked, “Did you speak with the men?”

  “I remarked that it was a queer time to put a tent up,” said Windhover. The dark-complexioned man spoke to me.”

  “And after you left the tent, did you see anyone else?”

  “I met a young man…he wasn’t wearing a watch.”

  William Gilby, a miner from Maori Gully was then sworn in. He too had seen the tent on the 28th of May on his way from Greymouth to the Arnold. He’d seen two men, one erecting the tent, the other filling a billy with water. One was fair, the other dark, and both were little men.

  “Is the prisoner the fair man you saw?” asked the prosecutor.

  “I can’t say,” said Gilby. “Something similar. He—the fair man—asked me if it was going to rain, and I said I doubted it. He asked me if I would pitch a tent, and I said I wouldn’t.”

  Mr. Button rose again. “Is the man Sullivan, now in court, either of the men you saw that day?”

  “I can’t be certain, but I don’t think he was.”