True History of the Kelly Gang Read online

  That cow has got a bald spot said the stranger.

  I knew that already said I.

  You know what will fix it?

  We been putting butter on it.

  What you need is some Ellman’s Balsam have you any Ellman’s?

  I don’t know.

  He remained in his saddle staring down at me he had blue eyes and sandy hair and a v. sunburned face he were under 28 yr. much younger than my mother. I thought he were going to criticise something else but finally he brought his horse to keep the sick cow company. Later I saw him walking towards the hut he had bowyangs tied around his bandy legs.

  I turned back to my cow when there were a mighty crash a heavy branch fell from the grey box and bounced off the roof of the hut and dropped amongst the chickens who was more or less undamaged. That grey box were often losing branches we was accustomed to it but the visitor were very loudly shocked at such a dangerous tree so close to human habitation. If this were for my benefit it were wasted there was other things to do around the place but soon he located the widow at the cowbails and gathered her children round him as if in training to be their father.

  As I come upon them I heard he were instructing them about the grey box a species of the family eucalyptus so he said it were famous for killing people with its branches. He claimed they called it widow maker in tribute to the men it struck down in their prime.

  We aint worried I said.

  The stranger glanced at me before turning back to my mother. Might I trouble you for a loan of your axe he asked.

  She don’t have no axe said I.

  He had a little broad hooked nose like a parrot he looked at me along it best as he were able.

  Ned said my mother you can bring Mr Gunn your axe. She put one hand round young Dan’s shoulder and stroked Annie’s head with her other and I could see my sister were as pleased with this candidate as she had been displeased with Harry Power. But I wouldnt permit him to be my da so I told him where he would find an axe if he cared to look himself.

  O I’ll fetch it Annie said she sauntered over to the hut everybody following and gathering to witness the astonishing sight of Alex Gunn sharpening an axe. When that show were done he split some shingles my mother watching like she never seen such a feat before.

  I left to attend the pigs though it were not my job and once I finished I seen the suitor had cut some notches up the grey box using the shingles perhaps 30 in. apart to make a series of steps up the main trunk.

  Now he were set to perform the wonder of dropping the tree but then Annie were sent out to bring him inside and by the time I had cleaned myself down at the creek I found him invited to feast on roasted kangaroo. That night he slept on the table that is very close by my mother’s bed. He was up twice in the night and each time I were there to fetch him the lantern.

  Next day Alex Gunn departed and Harry Power returned it were like an adjectival railway station he give my mother a sapphire she were very grateful at 1st but they spent a good deal of the afternoon drinking then quarrelled in the middle of the night so he went away.

  The next day I dropped 3 very big river gums without no assistance and also shot 4 cockatoos which I plucked and gutted. Annie made cockatoo pie for our supper I admit it were very tasty.

  The next time Harry come back he presented my mother with a freshly slaughtered ewe he had shot it in the head and up the backside though he did not explain how this occurred. He stayed the night and left early.

  By design or accident Alex Gunn returned almost immediately afterwards he smelled of pomade and he brung a new hemp rope he received more gratitude for that 2/– rope than Harry got for his sapphires. With the others I watched as he carried the rope up the tree I hoped he fell and broke his adjectival neck. 30 ft. or so above our chooks he secured the largest overhanging branch which he cut and lowered to the roof. My mother made such a fuss about how she admired him she had Annie cook him lamb’s fry from Harry’s ewe. When the fry were cooked it must be eaten so dark came with no more than one branch removed from the grey box.

  Gunn slept on the table each time he rose I were awake and by his side I was an adjectival terrier.

  My mother and I spent the following week sawing up the river gums I had previously felled then we done the best we could to roll and lever the bigger logs to one side. The leaves and lighter branches we pulled into piles so as to burn them once they was all dry it were a mighty endeavour but none of this made a topic of conversation within our family. All they wished to discuss was Alex Gunn.

  A week later he brung hoops and dolls also silk scarves for Mother and Annie. To me he give a Bowie knife I thanked him but didnt pay very much attention because we had a paying visitor a boozy old bullocky who were playing me at draughts. I suppose Alex Gunn must of promised to complete his tree on the morrow for I definitely heard Annie tease him saying he would end up as the man in the moon who were sent there by God as punishment for chopping wood on a Sunday.

  He said the story made no sense to him at all.

  Annie said that he need only step outside she would happily show him the man in the moon with his axe and dog and the bundle of sticks on his back.

  Crowning my draughts piece I come back dealing death to the bullocky’s pieces I didnt notice them return until I heard Alex talking to my ma.

  Mrs Kelly said he I wonder would you like a stroll as well.

  Certainly said my mother. She put down her darning and walked out into the night with Alex Gunn.

  I asked Annie What game does he think he’s up to?

  For answer I got only a strange smile while the bullocky jumped 4 of my pieces thereby winning himself a crown. Which is where the game were halted for my mother now come in through the door she were arm in arm with Alex Gunn both of them was beaming.

  Annie put down the darning. Her cheeks was pink her eyes bright as she looked at me but even when my mother made a clear announcement I were too discombobulated to take it in. It were some moments before I understood my skinny sister was to marry Alex Gunn.

  I had thought myself full growed but now I seen the truth it were a mighty shock I were trying so hard to be a man I had kept myself a child. Looking at my sister I saw how her cheeks glowed her bosoms pushed out against her blouse I blushed to think the things they would now be allowed to do together.

  PARCEL THREE

  His Life at 15 Years of Age

  59 octavo pages all of high wood-pulp content and turning brown. Folds, foxing, staining and minor tears.

  An account of a poor Irish wedding party at Emu Plains. Contains interesting details of the author’s apprenticeship to Harry Power, together with claims that this arrangement was not to his liking. A primer in the geography of North Eastern Victoria. A rare description of the outlaw Power pursuing his trade, and a full (if fanciful) explanation of the source of a successful squatter’s wealth. This document is typical of the collection in that it contains accounts of numerous fights. It concludes with the author’s first experience of a prison cell.

  ANNIE AND ALEX GUNN’S WEDDING PARTY were at the Oxley Hotel I were 14 yr. old and there was girls my age but I did not know how to dance and once I won the long jumping and the 1/4 mile gallop I were bored. Everywhere there was untended children running wild but I were waiting at the kitchen doorway with nothing to do than wonder how long it would take to get the dinner served. From this doorway I also could observe my mother in her bright red dress with bustle she were dancing with a ferret faced fellow in a checked tweed coat I refer to that ignoramus Bill Frost. My mother had just won the Ladies 1 Mile Handicap and were v. bright and happy until she spied me watching. Then she abandoned her Englishman and sought me out.

  Come said she lifting the hem of her fancy dress and drawing me out through the steamy slippery kitchen into the hotel veggie garden where my Uncle Wild Pat the Dubliner were lying blotto under the tank stand. Not a glance did my mother give Wild Pat but escorted me down between the dunny and the compost heap and there she as
ked me bluntly how I liked her dancing partner.

  I don’t mind him.

  Then it would be a favour if you quit glowering at him. You look 1/2 mad.

  I cannot help my face.

  She seemed to weigh this answer but she were a woman and I could no more imagine what she were scheming than I could conjure up the thoughts of a Chinaman.

  So what do you reckon about old Harry Power?

  O I prefer him Ma no question.

  You think he’s the better man?

  Strewth yes.

  Then you would help me with Harry?

  Yes Ma anything at all.

  Once more she became bright and happy kissing me on the forehead saying I should wait by the side of the hotel. She needed me to spend some time getting to know Harry better.

  You mean we will have a yarn?

  More in the nature of a ride.

  I had arrived at the wedding in my da’s old bluchers they was much softer now thanks to Mr Holmes’ mixture but were no lighter or quieter than before I therefore had hidden them beneath the floor of the hotel. Imagining I would be with Harry an hour or less I left them there.

  I heard Power’s heavy footsteps on the veranda before I seen him. There were a type of crooked stair from the veranda down to the track but now overgrown with wisteria vine which tripped him causing him to fall almost at my feet. As the famous bushranger rose before me I almost failed to know him he had been a prince but now all his bones was taken out. Never having seen a man brought down by love I didnt recognise the condition.

  A kingdom for my horse he cried he were v. drunk with bloodshot eyes the whites gone yellow. I led him down the rutted track to the paddock where he 1st spotted his switchtailed mare then a poor piebald pony laden down with packs and saddlebags. He took the mare or more truly threw himself upon her mercy.

  Indicating a 3rd horse what they call a WALER he told me it were his and I should mount. It were a lively animal 2 yr. old I didnt mind this order in the least.

  Bill Frost were meanwhile on the back veranda dancing with my mother it were his great specialty. He bent her to him springy as a sapling she were whippy and dangerous but Bill Frost had patent leather dancing shoes he were most excited by his prospects.

  Power turned his head away from this torment we passed at an amble staring earnestly out towards the west.

  The boy imagined the famous bushranger knew where he were going but when the pair had rode an hour or so beyond Moyhu the man reined in his horse to ask where they was. The boy were come beyond the limits of his world and said so plainly.

  Said the boy Perhaps we should be getting home now.

  The man cursed him for a fool then turned cantering into deeper wilder country the boy didnt know what to do but follow.

  Let me give you a very rough idea of the territory it is not an easy bit of land to learn so 1st I will give you a simple picture you must imagine a great wedge of pie with a high ridge around its outer crust they call that ridge the Great Dividing Range.

  At the apex of the wedge is the river town of Wangaratta and you might imagine the Ovens River running along the eastern side of the wedge. It would be simplest to say the Broken River makes the western side of the wedge thats a lie but never mind. The King River is more obliging cutting right down the centre of the wedge to join the Ovens River exactly at Wangaratta. Next you must imagine the pie slopes up from Wangaratta where the land is very flat. It were near here in Oxley that Annie were married but the boy and the grisly man spent the afternoon travelling to higher elevations along the centre of the wedge. By late afternoon having left the limits of selection they poked up a long winding ridge and by early evening they was definitely entering big country. At last they picked a path down a densely wooded gully to a mountain stream.

  What river do you think this is asked the man his voice still slurred his eyes was red and baleful. When the boy said he didnt know where he were the man again cursed him for a fool soon they both were dismounted the pair of them quarrelling the man’s voice a low and dirty grumble the boy’s squeaking like a broken organ pipe. Then the man were drawing in the gloomy dirt with his broken fingernail saying north were that direction the boy said it were another he were very keen and earnest and no matter what cruel things had happened to him he were still so young and trusting and did not understand he were an apprentice sitting an examination he would be well advised to fail.

  Then we won’t be home tonight?

  Home my arse.

  That question answered the man revealed he brung but 3 bottles of rum and nothing to eat save a bag of weevily flour so when the moon rose the boy went off alone and shot a possum thus proving his usefulness a 2nd time. Back in camp he found only darkness the bushranger were lying on his back and snoring. The boy shook him but did not succeed in waking him until the fire were lit and the food cooked.

  That night the boy were very cold indeed he kept the fire burning while the man snored and farted in the dirt like a kangaroo dog he had an oilskin coat the boy had none his feet was cold and already swollen from 1/2 a day of riding with no boots. The boy missed the comfort of his brothers and sisters he would of give anything to be back up in his crib breathing that warm familiar fug.

  The dew began falling not long after midnight the boy couldnt sleep and long before the calls of the whip birds finally echoed round the damp and misty dawn he resolved to flee home that very day he bore no malice to the man. Rising he found the flour and picked out many weevils then he made johnnycakes with strong black tea and as he done this particularly well it were as bad a mistake as shooting possum for thus he sealed his fate.

  The boy and man was breaking their fast sitting side by side on a log when between mouthfuls the boy announced he could find his own way back to Eleven Mile Creek. There was no reason to imagine the man would stop him and indeed he done nothing more than quiz him about the tracks and ridges. The boy were clearly correct for the man topped up his pannikin with tea and give him an extra spoon of sugar.

  Just the same said the man Eleven Mile Creek aint your concern no more. In other words he were telling the boy he could not go home.

  The boy did not appreciate this were more than an opinion he earnestly explained he were sorely needed at home that Jem werent yet strong enough and it were himself alone who felled the trees. He told the man that Bill Frost were very determined and bound to move in under the mother’s blanket and he reckoned that would be very bad for both the travellers.

  The mention of Bill Frost made the man very thoughtful he blew into his tea and warmed his whiskers in the steam. It aint Bill Frost’s adjectival farm he said.

  No road the boy agreed.

  It aint his adjectival farm no more than mine.

  The man looked around that gloomy little clearing in the wattles it were all the home he had. The boy thought it very sad that the man could grow so old and still have no place on earth to call his own. He said he hated Bill Frost and would do all he could to keep him from his mother’s blanket.

  I aint no farmer young’un I’m an adjectival bushranger.

  It aint so hard to learn to farm.

  The man’s painful bloodshot eyes stared out beneath the shadow of his hat then suddenly he grinned and give the boy’s knee a mighty horse bite it hurt a great deal but were kindly intended.

  Let me give you some advice Ned. Never had he used the boy’s name before. Do you know who were the previous incumbent on your selection?

  His name were Mr Peasey he defaulted.

  No he effing hung hisself from that old grey box he jumped off the adjectival roof and they didnt find him till the crows ate his adjectival eyes and 1/2 his adjectival brain. Forget your mamma said he. There aint no happiness for neither of us at Eleven Mile Creek.

  The man threw the remains of his tea into the fire and began to set his kit together rolling the rum bottles up inside his oilskin coat.

  The boy asked But still you’ll take me home?

  My hand and word
to you said he but he did not commit as regards when the promise might be paid.

  The boy walked down the horses to remove their hobbles then saddle them and even as the 2 riders and their packhorse finally set off south he imagined they would soon cut down a spur to the west but the country got higher and craggier and the boy seen the man were in no hurry to honour his pledge.

  When stopping by a creek to boil the billy the boy showed how his feet were swollen and declared he couldnt continue he must turn back.

  Don’t worry I’ll buy you boots.

  I don’t need new boots I got bluchers back down home.

  Eff the effing bluchers I’ll buy you adjectival effing elastic sided boots.

  And so the boy were persuaded to follow the great melancholic rump of the man’s mare all the way to Toombulup where naturally there were nowhere to buy boots only a broken down shanty the boy were permitted to sleep on its back veranda except he couldnt as the mosquitoes was bad all night long the drinkers roared and boozed and 2 men fought each other on account of a dog being called a runt. When cold dawn arrived at last the boy quietly saddled up the Waler and were about to mount when he received a mighty thump in the middle of his back it sent him falling to a heap upon the rutted track. He turned to discover the source of this malice were the man.

  I give you my hand and word said he I’ll get your effing boots now get back inside before I knock the effing bark off you.

  He grasped the boy’s arm escorting him back onto the veranda where he roughly bound his swollen feet in a freshly torn curtain. After each had drunk a cup of sour milk they set off down into the wild bush called the Wombat Ranges. The boy never knew he were being taught the path of his life.

  2 days later they was on the plains below with the boy having his 1st view of Myrrhee Station. As they cantered the quails rose out of the grass there was black falcons tiny ground larks the wheeling pink galahs turning silver grey against the morning sky. The winter rains had not yet come and the grass were still as pale as straw but the boy marvelled at the wealth and power of all those endless acres owned by just one man.