# Banking Under Difficulties/Chapter 16

CHAPTER XVI.
June, 1863.—One afternoon a few minutes before three, our usual closing hour, two men, well-mounted, rode up to the bank, hung up their horses outside, and both came into the office. Inside the front door was a green baize swing door, which was always closed; one of them walked up to the counter, the other remaining just inside the inner door. My assistant (Mr. Deacon) asked the man at the counter what he could do for him. He seemed confused, fumbled about in his pocket, and at last said, “I want a draft on Forbes for £4,’ at the same time producing four one-pound notes. I remarked to Deacon, when I saw the men coming up to the bank, that I thought they were up to no good. I stationed myself behind the gold-scales, which were in a large glass case. This had been placed over them to prevent John Chinaman from manipulating and blowing into them. Revolver in hand, I kept my eyes on the man at the door, and watched him the whole time. The draft written out and signed, away they went. When they had gone we compared notes, and were both satisfied that they were bushrangers. Next day, about the same time, the two men came in again. The same scene was enacted, and what do you think they wanted? They had changed their minds, were not going to Forbes, and wanted the money back for the draft.' This was given to them, they took their departure, and we never saw or heard of them again.
29th June.—Sticking up in all directions; no less than four storekeepers bailed up in one day, viz., Messrs. Howard, Murphy, Tom Copeland, and Emanuel. Monday, in Burrangong, was the great collecting day with the storekeepers, who used to visit the neighbouring diggings, and collect amounts due to them by the small storekeepers, publicans, &c. One day about this date four or five of them went together. Johnnie Murphy was one of the number, and Emanuel’s representative (a young man named Cohen) another. The last named was the only one of the party who was armed, and was continually telling his companions what he would do if they met the bushrangers. They had visited the Ten Mile and other places, and were returning home by the main road, when suddenly, at the top of a slight rise, there appeared ​four or five horsemen. “The bushrangers!” they exclaimed simultaneously. However, on getting nearer to them, Cohen, in great glee, said, “It’s the police.” As they drew near them they saw the police uniform, heard swords clinking, &c., and were just about speaking to them when the foremost of the supposed policemen drew a revolver, and ordered the party to “Bail up.” Mr. Cohen now had an opportunity to distinguish himself, but his courage, like Bob Acres, had “oozed away.” The bushrangers—for such they were, some of Gardiner’s crew, John O’Meally and others—ordered the party to dismount, and relieved them of all the cash they had in their possession, took away Cohen’s revolver, and not satisfied with that, his poncho and breast-pin. He begged them to return both these articles. The first, he said, had cost him 30s., and the last had been given to him by his grandmother. They would not listen to him; his tears and entreaties were unavailing. From Murphy they took a watch—a family relic, one that had been in the family for years. This he tried to get back; but no, not a thing would they return. Meantime the saddles and bridles had been taken off the horses, and the beasts let loose. Having possessed themselves of all they possibly could, they remounted their horses, wished their victims “Good-day,” and away they went. To account for their appearing in police uniform, the police camp at ——— had been stuck up a few days previously, at a time when the police were looking after the bushrangers. On the return of the storekeepers to town, information was given to the police, who did not succeed in capturing the robbers. Poor Cohen got chaffed unmercifully, so much so that for some days he showed out as little as possible.
31st August.—Mr. Barnes, storekeeper at Murramburrah, shot dead by O’Meally, the bushranger. It seems O’Meally had been pretty hotly pursued by the police, who had got possession of his horse and saddle. He soon got another horse, but was at a loss for a saddle. Barnes happened to ride by, and he went after him. Barnes put spurs to his horse, O’Meally followed, firing four shots at him, some of which took effect. The poor old man fell a corpse within a short distance of his own house.
The following are extracts from the papers of the day:—
“BUSHRANGING IN NEW SOUTH WALES.
“Gardiner, the leader of the band, is a native of the Lachlan district, New South Wales. After serving some years in Cockatoo Island for cattle stealing, he received his ‘ticket,’ and established himself as a butcher on Lambing Flat; there he was arrested again for cattle stealing, got two parties to bail him out, and leaving them to settle with the authorities, took to the highway. He is a man of dauntless courage, has numerous cuts and scars ​received in divers encounters, and is very clever in the art of disguising his personal appearance. His clever capture by Detective McGlone (from Victoria), in Queensland, will be remembered by all. He was sentenced to thirty-two years’ imprisonment in the beginning of July 1864. In passing sentence upon him, who, after the jury had delivered their verdict, handed in a letter imploring the mercy of the court, the Chief Justice said:—‘You have been the acknowledged captain of a band of robbers, carrying terror and rapine through every part of the colony. If you are now repentant I am infinitely glad you are so; but I cannot see how society can be benefited by that. You have by your lawless outrage brought the community to the last stage of degradation; the idea of New South Wales, entertained in England, in the other colonies, and elsewhere is, that it is nothing but a den of thieves. Surely you must know that you will have to undergo the punishment due to your crimes. Suppose you were allowed to go, perhaps you are rich; if not, what a lesson should your past career teach you? If you were liberated or dealt lightly with, what encouragement would this not give to those who are now emulating your example? What an outrage it would be on society? I am told that you have in your robberies abstained from excesses in regard to women. Is this an excuse of bushranging? But you not only rob the rich but plunder the poor also, I know many rich men, but I know not one that has not become so by the sweat of his brow in honest industry. It is hard for these men to have their long, hard earnings taken suddenly from them by a band of robbers, over whom you have been the captain, the leader, the head and front. Many young men owe their present misfortunes to you. That young man Peisley owes his death on the gallows to you; and another who was launched suddenly into eternity, not far from this very spot, owes his untimely end to you, and I fear others will follow. If justice was to be hoodwinked by professions there would be no security to property. It would be a reflection on the administration of justice to allow you to go. Look not on the robberies you have committed, but on the two constables Middleton and Hosie. What harm had they done you? You have seen them alive this day, but it is by God’s providence rather than your will that they did not die.’”
His Honour having read the statement prepared by himself, setting forth certain facts in the criminal career of the prisoner, concluded by sentencing him to various periods of imprisonment, the aggregate of which amounted to thirty-two years. Gardiner has since been liberated by the New South Wales Government, and is now, I believe, keeping an hotel in some part of America,
“Gardiner had been guilty of six mail and highway robberies under arms, of six robberies and outrages under arms; in all twelve offences.
​“The gang consisted of Vane, Bow, Fordyce, Peisley, Manns, Lowrie, Burke, Dunn, O’Meally, Ben Hall, and Gilbert.
“Vane, who surrendered through the instrumentality of Father M‘Carthy, was sentenced to fifteen years; he had been guilty of three mail robberies and three other robberies under arms.
“Bow and Fordyce were sentenced to death, which was afterwards commuted to fifteen years’ penal servitude; they had each been guilty of one mail robbery.
“Peisley, who had been guilty of one murder, three mail robberies, and five robberies under arms, altogether nine, was convicted and executed.
“Manns was guilty of one mail robbery, convicted, and executed.
“Lowrie, of one mail robbery and two robberies under arms, was shot dead at Goulburn by Senior-sergeant Stephenson.
“Burke, of two mail robberies and three under arms, was shot dead by Mr. Keightley, gold commissioner, whose house, near Rockley, Gilbert and gang were attacking. Mr. Keightley surrendered, and Vane, one of the bushrangers, was about to deliberately shoot him to avenge the death of Burke, when Mrs. Keightley and a woman servant rushed in between them. After much petitioning on the part of the women the gang agreed to spare Mr. Keightley on condition of the payment of a ransom of £500. This was paid, and he was released.
“O’Meally, one murder, nine highway robberies, and seventeen other robberies under arms, was shot by Mr. Campbell while attacking his house at Goimbla, in company with Gilbert and Hall.
“Ben Hall was accessory to two murders, and he also committed sixty-four robberies under arms, was shot by Sub-inspector Davidson on a plain near the Billabong, about twelve miles from Forbes. On Friday morning, the 5th of May, Sub-inspector Davidson and a party of police surprised him in the act of catching his horse, about twelve miles from Forbes. On seeing the police he ran away; Davidson followed up closely, and when within range fired, and shot him. As he still ran forward, Sergeant Condell and a black tracker fired, both shots, it is believed, taking effect. Hall still continued to run in the direction of the scrub, but on reaching it was confronted by four or five troopers posted there, who fired simultaneously, almost every shot hitting him. Hall, unable to proceed any further, laid hold of a sapling to support himself, but speedily loosened his hold, and fell to the ground, exclaiming—‘I’m wounded—shoot me dead!’ He died a few seconds afterwards. Thus died Ben Hall, who, with his associates, Gilbert and Dunn, committed among them six murders, and no end of robberies, with or without violence. He was born at Breeza, Liverpool Plains, in February 1837.
​“Gilbert, during a career of over three years, perpetrated one murder, was accessory to another, and he also committed sixty-eight robberies (gazetted) under arms, the most notorious of which were the sticking-up and plunder of the gold escort near Eugowra, in June 1862; and that of the Araluen escort on the 13th March, 1865. In the first affair gold and notes were taken by the robbers to the amount of £13,000, and only £4000 of it was ever recovered by the authorities. Where the remaining £9000 went to is a mystery. For this Manns, the least guilty, was hanged, or rather slowly strangled, and Bow and Fordyce, through the unsupported and uncorroborated evidence of an accomplice (Charter), got fifteen years each. Gilbert was shot dead by a party of police in the bush near Binelong, about fifteen miles from Yass. He was a Canadian by birth, and was for many years a stock-keeper at or near Marengo, among the inhabitants of which he was a general favourite, because of his good temper and inoffensive habits. He quitted stock-riding and the Marengo district in the year 1861, and was lost sight of for two or three months, and then reappeared with John O’Meally, flashly dressed and flush of money, turning off with a jest or laugh all questions thereon. It was during the above-mentioned two or three months that he fell into the society of, and was seduced by Gardiner, the founder of modern bushranging.
“Dunn, who was guilty of two murders, twelve mail robberies, and fourteen robberies under arms, was convicted and executed.
“The Weddin Mountain district was considered as the headquarters and stronghold of Gardiner and the other scoundrels who carried on their nefarious calling, and for years rendered travelling in the bush so dangerous as to seriously retard the progress of the colony. All this is changed now. The lawless vagabonds that haunted the recesses of these mountains have all been shot, hanged, or banished, and in place of diggers armed to the teeth, or the timid travellers that once passed in fear and trembling through these evil-reputed solitudes, we see the plodding ploughman, the gentle shepherd, or the brisk commercial traveller, with his natty buggy and smart turn-out, passing on his peaceful mission unconscious of peril, and untroubled by thoughts of evil-doers. Pence and plenty now reign where once all was terror and turmoil.”
Owing to the prevalence of bushranging, hardly anyone in those days carried any money with him. This habit once placed me in an awkward predicament.
In November of this year (1863), I took a trip to Melbourne, via Sydney, in the ss. Madras. When I went on board I had only ten shillings in my possession, which I thought would be sufficient for me until I landed in Melbourne. The day after we sailed a subscription was made by the captain (Pascoe) for some widows’ and orphans’ fund. I was asked to subscribe, and not ​wishing to acknowledge my poverty, gave the only coin I had, viz., half-sovereign, which left me without a penny—a nice fix to be in—not even sufficient to pay my boat fare from the ship to the wharf on reaching Melbourne. I explained the position of affairs to one of the passengers, a perfect stranger to me, who kindly lent me a pound, which I returned to him through the post later in the day.
Returning to Burrangong in the early part of January 1864, I went from Melbourne to Sydney per Wonga Wonga. I was introduced to the captain by the agent of the steamer. In course of conversation Captain Trouton said he knew a Dr. Preshaw at Campbell’s Creek years ago when digging there, and asked if I was any relation; I told him I was a son. We then had a good crack about olden times. He told me on one occasion the doctor had invited him over to spend the evening. He wishing to make a good appearance to meet the doctor’s two daughters, whom he had heard of but never seen, hunted up a white shirt. This had only been rough dried; he was at his wits’ end to know how to iron the front of it. At last a thought struck him. In a teapot he put some hot ashes, and with this he ironed the front of his shirt, which, when done, was worse than before—he had forgotten to wipe the bottom of the teapot.
I had only been a few days at Burrangong when I received instructions to close the agency at the end of March, which having done I went to Sydney, and received marching orders to Nelson, New Zealand, for which place I sailed on the 25th May.