This web-page, "John 'Happy Jack' Gilbert, aims to delve into the life and times of this infamous outlaw. Drawing from historical records, personal accounts, and extensive research, we will explore Gilbert's journey from a young immigrant boy to one of the most feared outlaws in Australian history.
Born in Canada and arriving in Australia at the tender age of ten, Gilbert was swept up in the gold rush fever that gripped the nation. His early life in Australia was marked by parental disobedience and recklessness, but it was also during this time that he developed his skills as a horseman and his knack for survival. These skills would later serve him well in his life of crime.
As we delve into Gilbert's life, we will explore his first forays as a youth into crime the allure of the NSW goldfields, and the circumstances that led him to choose a life of crime. We will also examine his relationships, his exploits, and the impact of his actions on Australian society and history.
"John Gilbert: Happy Jack" is more than just a biography. It is a journey into a tumultuous period in Australian history, seen through the eyes of one of its most notorious characters. It is a tale of adventure, crime, and ultimately, tragedy. So, join us as we journey into the life and times of John Gilbert, the bushranger who lived fast, died young.
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| "Happy Jack" Coloured by me. |
The goldfields were a grand theatre of humanity—Englishmen, Irishmen, Americans, Germans, and Chinese, all driven by the same feverish desire. For many, it was not merely about gold, but freedom, and the chance to remake themselves in a world unshackled from the rigid class hierarchies of the old world.
Among the multitudes who crossed the seas to Victoria was a family from Canada—the Gilberts. They came seeking prosperity and a new life amidst the tumult of the diggings. Yet within their household was a boy who would find his destiny not in the pan or the pick, but in the saddle, with a revolver at his side and the law at his back.
His name was John Gilbert, and he would grow to become one of the most feared and celebrated bushrangers in the annals of Australian history—a reckless spirit whose daring exploits would eclipse even those of his contemporaries, and whose legend would burn brightly long after his death.
THE FAR SIDE OF THE WORLD
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| New York Herald. 25th June 1852. Courtesy Library of Congress. |
Whispers of incredible wealth circulated throughout the world drove this fever, spreading like an uncontrollable pandemic, infecting the hearts and minds of all who heard them. The mere mention of kicking the ground in search of gold carried with it the promise of Eureka-like glory. It was amidst this backdrop that William Gilbert, a man enticed by the challenge and allure, set his sights on Australian shores.
Motivated by the enticing whispers of newfound wealth, William became swept up in the fervour surrounding Australia's golden opportunities. After twenty-two years in Canada, he found himself embarking on a momentous journey for the second time. A journey spanning fifteen thousand miles across two vast oceans. It was a courageous endeavour to seek a better life for his family in the distant and unfamiliar land of Australia, a new world full of hope and possibility beckoned.
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Church of England Marriages
and Banns for
William John Gilbert.
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During the 1830s, the City of London experienced a marked decline in the prominence of its once-thriving livery companies and public houses. This downturn stemmed largely from new distilling and licensing laws enacted by the British Parliament, which imposed onerous restrictions on innkeepers and distillers. These regulations, intended to curb excessive production and consumption, instead brought hardship to many small proprietors. Businesses that had long prospered under traditional trade freedoms now faced dwindling profits and eventual closure.
Among those affected was William Gilbert, whose livelihood as an innkeeper-distiller came under increasing strain. Recognising the shifting tides and the fading prosperity of his profession, he resolved to seek new opportunities beyond England’s shores. Like many tradesmen of his era, Gilbert was drawn to the promise of the colonies, and Canada, in particular, offered the prospect of stability, land, and renewal.
Thus, the decision was made: the Gilbert family would leave behind the crowded streets of London for the vast and untamed lands of North America.
But before their departure, tragedy struck. The Cholera Pandemic that ravaged London between 1827 and 1830 left an indelible mark upon the Gilbert household. It is believed that two of William and Eleanor’s young daughters, Ann and Ellen, fell victim to the disease — a scourge that claimed some 6,000 lives across the city. Their loss, set against the wider misery of the epidemic, must have been devastating, and it no doubt strengthened William’s resolve to begin anew in a land far from the sorrow and sickness that had engulfed London.
By 1830, the Gilberts had gathered what possessions they could and joined the tide of emigrants seeking a better future across the Atlantic — their course set for Canada, and the hope of rebuilding their fortunes in a new world.
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| Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, c. 1859. Drawn by C. S. Rice. |
After settling in Hamilton, a flourishing township on the shores of Lake Ontario, William Gilbert embarked upon a new chapter in life. Industrious and determined, he secured employment as a building contractor, contributing to various public works projects, while also establishing a small but successful business manufacturing building materials. Through diligence and enterprise, William achieved a comfortable prosperity for his growing family.
During these years, the Gilberts welcomed the arrival of four more children — Francis (born 1836), James (1838), Charles (1840), and John William, born in November 1842. With improving fortune, the family moved into a two-storey timber-framed home, handsomely panelled and furnished, a symbol of the stability and respectability William had earned through honest labour.
To assist with domestic affairs, the Gilberts employed a young Irish servant, Mary Cassin, aged fifteen. Her presence eased the daily burdens of the household, allowing William and his family to focus upon their growing enterprises and community life.
Yet amid prosperity, sorrow again visited the family. Around 1845, Eleanor Gilbert, John’s mother, succumbed to illness, leaving her husband and children bereft. The blow was compounded five years later when William Jr., the eldest son, died in 1850. These losses left deep scars upon the family’s memory.
In time, however, William found companionship once more. On 28 December 1846, he married Eliza Cord, an Englishwoman who had migrated to Canada with her parents in childhood. At the time of their union, William was forty-four, and Eliza twenty-five. Their marriage produced two sons, Thomas and Nicholas, both born in Canada. In the years to come, their household would expand even further upon their emigration to Australia, with seven more children born in the new land — Frederick, Mary, Jane, Louisa, Mary-Anne, Christopher, and Dagmar.
The late 1830s in Canada were years of turmoil. When native-born Canadians sought to cast off British authority, the land was shaken by rebellion. William Gilbert, loyal to the Crown, volunteered his service in defence of British rule during the Rebellions of Lower (Quebec) and Upper (Ontario) Canada (1837–1838). The uprisings marked a turning point in the country’s political life and tested the loyalties of many settlers.
A decade later, unrest again swept through the provinces. In 1849, rioters protesting the government’s amnesty bill set fire to the Parliament Buildings in Montreal, reducing them to ashes. The act of arson shocked the colonies and underscored the continuing instability of the age.
Despite these upheavals, William remained deeply engaged in civic life. He served as an Alderman of the City of Hamilton, taking pride in shaping the young municipality’s future. Reflecting later upon those troubled years, William Gilbert would speak with a mixture of loyalty and disillusion — a man who had seen both the promise and peril of colonial life:
"I allude to the military character with which you are pleased to invest me. I should feel extremely proud could I lay claim to such a distinction; but I think I owe it to the good nature of my friends in recognition of the part I acted at the outbreak of the rebellion in Canada, in 1837-38. At that time, I was engaged as a contractor on the public works of the Upper Province, and though at considerable loss to myself, I entered as a volunteer in support of law, order, and British supremacy, and induced almost every man in my employment, as well as many others, to follow my example."¹
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| New York Herald. 2nd July 1852. Courtesy Library of Congress. |
With William Gilbert’s eyes fixed upon the far side of the world, the Gilbert family bid farewell to Canada and all they had built upon its rugged soil. Once again, they placed their hopes in the promise of a new beginning. Eliza Gilbert, expectant with another child, joined her husband and children in the long journey southward to New York City, some four hundred miles distant.
There, amid the clamour and commerce of the New York Harbour, where the great sailing ships of the age lay anchored in serried ranks, the Gilberts prepared to leave the known world behind. The wharves teemed with emigrants — farmers, craftsmen, and fortune-seekers from across the Americas and Europe — all drawn by the same golden promise of opportunity.
After days of preparation, the family secured passage aboard the ship Revenue, one of the sturdy vessels operated by the Pioneer Line, well regarded for its regular crossings to the Australian colonies. On board with them were some one hundred and sixty passengers, many of them fellow Canadians, each harbouring their own dreams of wealth and renewal in the distant southern hemisphere.
As the Revenue raised her anchor and turned her prow toward the Atlantic, the Gilberts watched the skyline of New York recede into the mist — their past slipping into memory, their future uncertain but filled with promise. The voyage ahead would carry them more than fifteen thousand miles across two oceans, to a land where the air shimmered with talk of gold, and where fate awaited young John Gilbert, soon to become one of the most notorious figures of the Australian bush.
During the long, weary months at sea, the passengers endured the usual hardships of cramped quarters, erratic weather, and the monotonous roll of the ocean. Among them was a traveller who later recalled his fellow voyagers and, of the ten-year-old John Gilbert, remarked simply:
“I noticed nothing very particular in the lad during the voyage.”
It was an observation as unremarkable as it was ironic. For this quiet, seemingly ordinary child — unnoticed amid the creak of timbers and the crash of waves — would, within two decades, capture the imagination of a continent and carve his name into legend.
After braving the perilous waters of the South Atlantic and Pacific, the Revenue finally entered Port Phillip Bay, slipping through the treacherous Rip where many a vessel had met its end. On October 15th, 1852, she found safe harbour in Hobson’s Bay, Melbourne, her passengers at last setting eyes upon the distant continent that had so long filled their dreams.
The Gilbert family, along with their fellow emigrants, had endured a voyage of hardship and uncertainty. Now, as the ship glided toward the bustling docks, a panorama of vigorous new life unfolded before them. Melbourne, in the throes of the gold rush, was transforming from a provincial outpost into a city of feverish ambition. Ships of every rig and flag crowded the wharves, their decks piled high with crates and casks; sailors shouted orders, cranes groaned under the weight of cargo, and drays rattled across the cobbles in a din of energy and expectation.
There was little ceremony in their arrival—no port authority to greet them, no customs inspection to delay them. The colony’s population was swelling by the day, and the stream of newcomers poured freely into the streets, swallowed by the chaos of a city bursting at its seams.
For the Gilberts, stepping onto the timber planks of Hobson’s Bay Pier was a moment heavy with emotion—relief at the voyage’s end, awe at the sight of this raw and booming settlement, and anticipation for the life awaiting them. They had left behind the settled rhythms of Canada for a land where fortune was rumoured to lie in every riverbed and gully.
The harbour buzzed with a babel of voices—English, Irish, German, American, and Chinese—each carrying its own hopes of gold and renewal. Amid the crush of trunks and wagons, the Gilbert family took their first steps upon Australian soil, joining the tide of humanity drawn southward by the promise of wealth.
For them, this was more than the end of a voyage; it was the beginning of an uncharted chapter. The shores of Melbourne promised hardship and opportunity in equal measure.
As one newspaper recorded of that day:
“The Revenue, from New York, has had a good run from that port. She brings a large number of apparently very respectable people, attracted hither by the fame of our Gold Fields.”
EARLY LIFE IN MELBOURNE
In 1852, Melbourne’s Hobson’s Bay was a heaving gateway to ambition, the air thick with dust, sea salt, and dreams of gold. When the Revenue cast anchor and the Gilbert family disembarked, they stepped into a city caught between chaos and opportunity. The harbour was alive with shouts and motion—the docks crowded with ships unloading their human cargo, the streets swollen with nearly ninety thousand hopefuls bound for the glittering fields of Ballarat and Bendigo.
For young John Gilbert, then not yet ten years old, this frenetic scene marked the beginning of an extraordinary journey. The babel of languages, the restless energy of fortune-seekers, and the raw vitality of a city built overnight left an indelible impression on him. Among the clamour and colour of the port, something was kindled in the boy—a spark of curiosity, daring, and independence that would, in time, steer him far from the path his father intended. Few could have foreseen that this wide-eyed child would one day carve his name into Australian folklore as one of the colony’s most notorious bushrangers.
The Gilberts settled in Collingwood, a rough-edged working-class suburb on Melbourne’s fringe. The area, alive with both opportunity and vice, was a crossroads for drifters, diggers, and rogues heading to and from the goldfields. Amid the taverns, sly-grog shops, and gambling dens, young John absorbed lessons that no classroom could teach. He watched, listened, and learned—his quick wit and natural charm earning him favours from men of dubious repute who recognised in him a kindred spirit.
John soon developed a reputation for resourcefulness and cunning. Observing the steady tide of gold seekers passing through Collingwood, he devised small hustles and schemes to profit from their ambitions. Whether striking sharp bargains, running errands, or wagering boldly in billiard halls, he displayed an instinctive grasp of risk and reward. In a world where luck could change in a heartbeat, he was already learning how to read faces, weigh chances, and talk his way out of trouble.
A family acquaintance later recalled:
“Even as a boy, Gilbert seemed to be living fast. He was betting notes on every stroke at the billiard table, and he always seemed to have money to spare.”
These early years in Melbourne shaped the boy who would one day ride with the most feared men in New South Wales.
John Gilbert's initial ventures in Collingwood were small-scale, but they set the foundation for a life of crime that would propel him into infamy. His ability to charm and outwit others soon led him to more dangerous pursuits. Drawn into the company of independent men, Gilbert’s early hustles eventually evolved into a full-blown career as a bushranger and eventually outlaw becoming one of the most prolific lawbreakers in Australian colonial history.
Despite future crimes, Gilbert's demeanor earned him a unique reputation. Known among his peers while employed in NSW as a stockman he earned the nick name of "Happy Jack," garnered by his quick wit and light-hearted humour which stood in stark contrast to the brutal reputation of his highwaymen mates. This duality made him an enigmatic figure, both feared and oddly admired in the lore of Australian bushranging.
From his humble beginnings in Collingwood to his rise as one of Australia's most notorious bushrangers, John Gilbert’s story became a defining chapter of colonial history. While his later actions inspired fear and infamy, the man known as "Happy Jack" remains a complex figure—an outlaw whose legacy is interwoven with Australia’s rich and turbulent past.
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London, England, Freedom of the City Admission Papers, for William Gilbert, Innkeeper 1681-1925.
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| Gilbert family 'Revenue.' |
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| The Argus newspaper report of the arrival of the "Revenue" 1852. |
Melbourne in 1852 was awash with fortune hunters, its streets a chaotic tapestry of ambition and desperation. Hobson’s Bay’s piers groaned under the constant weight of arriving ships, disembarking crowds of migrants and mountains of cargo. Lodging houses and hotels overflowed, forcing newcomers to seek refuge in makeshift shelters hastily erected along the city’s fringes. The once-quiet colonial outpost had transformed into a frenetic hive of opportunity—where prosperity and peril walked hand in hand.
Among the tide of arrivals, William Gilbert and his family settled on George Street, Collingwood, determined to build a new life in this energetic yet unforgiving city. William sought steady employment and stability for his growing family, but Melbourne’s glittering promise was shadowed by its burgeoning criminal underworld.
For the youngest Gilbert, ten-year-old John, the harshness of colonial life revealed itself within days of their arrival. The family’s newly acquired horse—a vital asset and symbol of hope—was brazenly stolen. When John witnessed the theft, his indignation overcame any fear. The boy stormed toward the culprits, fearlessly remonstrating with them in a scene that startled onlookers. His fiery protest, though futile, revealed a spark of defiance that would one day blaze into legend.
The incident was duly recorded in the Geelong Advertiser and Intelligencer on Thursday, 21 October 1852:
“John Jones, James Seymour, and William Thomas were arraigned for stealing a horse, the property of William Gilbert, and pleaded not guilty. A horse, the property of a Mr. Gilbert, who resides at Collingwood, was grazing (hobbled) in a vacant space before Mr. Gilbert’s house. The three prisoners were observed, at ten o’clock in the morning, by Mr. Gilbert’s son, to go up to the horse, and in spite of his remonstrances, the prisoner Seymour got on the horse and rode off. Sentence—six years’ hard labour on the roads of the colony.”
The episode left a lasting mark on young John. It was his first true lesson in the realities of colonial life—where survival depended not only on strength but also on cunning. In confronting the thieves, he tasted both the injustice and adrenaline of defiance. The fire that flared within him that day would never fully dim.
In retrospect, it was a fitting prelude to the life that awaited him: one shaped by courage, rebellion, and an unyielding resistance to authority.
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| Frederick Gilbert's death. The Argus, 14th May 1853. |
In 1853, he made the decision to apply for the position of Pound Keeper at Deep Creek, known as 'Bulla Bulla,' situated approximately 28 kilometers north of the Melbourne Town Hall. Recognising the stability and security that came with such a position, William saw it as an opportunity to provide for his family in a more reliable manner.
However, the process of securing the position was not without its challenges. As is often the case with bureaucratic procedures, William encountered minor hiccups and delays along the way. His initial application faced postponement, a not uncommon occurrence in the administrative realm. It required patience, perseverance, and the ability to navigate the intricacies of the system.
For the Gilbert family, this setback meant a period of uncertainty as they awaited the final decision on William's appointment. They grappled with the prospect of a continued search for stability and financial security. However, they remained resilient, drawing upon their resilience and the strength they had developed throughout their journey.
Eventually, William's application proved successful after overcoming minor obstacles and demonstrating his suitability for the position. He was granted the role of Pound Keeper at Deep Creek, bringing a sense of relief and a newfound sense of stability to the Gilbert family. They could now rest assured that their future was secured, at least for the time being. 'The Argus' Saturday 8th August 1853:
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| Argus, 1853. |
William Gilbert's tenure as the Deep Creek Pound Keeper proved to be both lucrative and pivotal for his family. The position provided a substantial income, averaging approximately £515 annually—a considerable sum for the era. Supported by his three eldest sons, William Francis, James, and Charles, the Gilbert family efficiently managed the pound's operations, creating a stable foundation for their livelihood.
Despite the financial stability the role offered, the Gilbert's restless ambition eventually led them to relinquish control of the pound in 1857. The allure of new opportunities and the spirit of adventure drew them away from the steady income of pound-keeping toward the dynamic and unpredictable world once more of gold mining.
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| Victorian Gold License |
This transition from a secure position to the volatile realm of mining underscored the Gilbert's’ entrepreneurial spirit and determination. Their journey reflected a bold resolve to seize opportunities, no matter how uncertain, demonstrating their resilience and adaptability in the face of changing fortunes.
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| Victorian Gazette table of Pound keeper returns July 1851-November 1854. |
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| Gilbert's sister Eleanor's Wedding notice 1854. |
However, in the significant year 1854, the infamous miner rebellion known as the 'Eureka Stockade' erupted in Ballarat. During this time, twelve-year-old Johnny Gilbert, who had developed a reputation for being unruly and somewhat rebellious, decided to break free from his father's care and guidance whereby he embarked on a journey that led him to the town of Kilmore.
It was Kilmore where Johnny sought refuge with his married sister, Eleanor, and her husband, John Stafford. Eleanor and John Stafford had established their home in Kilmore.
Upon absconding, his father commented that Gilbert was not without parental affection; "was not destitute of affection." Whether his sister attempted to send young Gilbert home to Bulla is unknown. Kilmore was 25 miles north of Bulla. Eleanor and John had met on the ship 'Revenue' during its passage from New York to Australia, and they married on 23rd February 1854:
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| The Argus, 26th October 1854. |
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| Frank Gardiner as Francis Clarke. Early release from Cockatoo Island December 1859. |
Whether his audacious venture into gold mining yielded success or failure remains shrouded in uncertainty. What is certain is that Gilbert's path led him to the Ovens River goldfield, a once-thriving site that had begun to wane by the year 1858. Unfazed by the dwindling prospects, he pressed on, crossing the border into the untamed expanse of New South Wales.
Emerging from the depths of his journey, a hundred miles east of Beechworth, Gilbert found himself (rumoured) to have surfaced in Kiandra, nestled on the banks of the formidable Snowy River. This approximate timeline places his arrival around the years 1858 or 1859
In the pursuit of valuable insights, the businessman engaged in thoughtful conversations with a group of Americans hailing from Victoria. These seasoned individuals, well-versed in the ways of mining, shared their experiences and wisdom, offering a glimpse into the world of gold-seeking ventures. Their perspectives undoubtedly assisted the businessman's decision-making process as he meticulously assessed the feasibility of his proposed enterprise.
With aspirations of tapping into the thriving community of Kiandra, this enterprising individual sought to fulfill the needs and desires of the intrepid diggers who had ventured to this remote location in search of fortune. Through his interactions with the knowledgeable Americans, he aimed to glean invaluable knowledge that would shape the success and sustainability of his prospective store:
The remote nature of Kiandra, nestled amidst untamed wilderness, presented numerous challenges and hardships. The demanding physical exertion required for mining, combined with the unforgiving conditions, would have surely tested Gilbert's resilience and determination. It is conceivable that he, like many others, found the arduous realities of life on the diggings to be overwhelming.
Although the specific details of Gilbert's time in Kiandra remain elusive, it is reasonable to assume that the formidable combination of the remote landscape, harsh working conditions, and backbreaking labour led to his eventual departure from the area. The pursuit of gold in such an untamed frontier demanded unwavering dedication, and it is likely that Gilbert's, at 16, presence there was but a fleeting chapter in his adventurous life.
Speculation surrounding Gilbert and Gardiner's connection at Kiandra must be dismissed. The geographical separation between Cockatoo Island and Kiandra, combined with Gardiner's imprisonment during those years, makes it highly improbable for them to have had any prior knowledge of one another. The circumstances simply did not align for their paths to intersect before Lambing Flat, a location notorious for its gold rush activity.
While the romantic allure of linking these two figures in history may captivate the imagination, it is crucial to base our understanding on the available facts. The realities of time, distance, and Gardiner's incarceration undermine the plausibility of their acquaintance prior to Lambing Flat, thereby dispelling the notion propagated by some writers.
After bidding farewell to the untamed wilderness of the Snowy River region, Gilbert's presence was soon noted in Bathurst, located approximately 200 miles north. It was here that he found employment, albeit briefly, as a groom and reputed part-time jockey for the esteemed publican, Alderman John De Clouet, who presided over the Sportsman's Arms Hotel on Piper Street. De Clouet, affectionately known as 'Dublin Jack' in 1860, had garnered a well-deserved reputation as a highly successful racehorse trainer, with an impressive record of numerous victories to his name.
Gilbert a few years after ceasing his employment would cross paths once again with 'Dublin Jack'. However, this reunion would be of a rather contentious nature. In 1863, the audacious bushranger attempted to abscond with De Clouet's prized racehorse, Pacha. Dublin Jack, the resilient and resourceful trainer, found himself in a renewed acquaintance with Gilbert as he fiercely defended his beloved steed from the clutches of the brazen outlaw. At that time Mrs De Clouet offered to return the bible that Gilbert left behind given by his sister. Gilbert commented,
Embracing a different kind of adventure, Gilbert immersed himself in the challenging and demanding world of horsemanship. With his skilled hands and fearless spirit, he took on the task of taming wild horses and engaging in the vital work of tending to livestock on the various cattle stations dotting the area. Gilbert's knack for understanding these magnificent animals and his willingness to tackle the rugged tasks of stock work earned him a reputation as a capable and reliable hand.
As the region prepared to unveil its hidden gold treasures, Gilbert found himself engaged in the toil and rewards of stock work. Little did he know that the winds of change were soon to sweep through Murringo, ushering in a new era of gold mining that would undoubtedly shape his destiny once again.
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| Benjamin Morgan (b. 1849 - d. 1933) Private Source. |
Morgan's recollections shed light on Gilbert's prowess as a horseman, emphasising his ability to handle and ride horses with great skill and finesse. It is evident that Gilbert's reputation in the region extended beyond his mere presence as a stockman, as he left a lasting impression on young Benjamin Morgan, who remembered him fondly.
In the annals of history, John Gilbert would become a figure intertwined with tales of adventure and outlawry, but in Morgan's recollections, we catch a glimpse of the man behind the legend. Through Morgan's words, we come to know Gilbert as a slender figure, distinguished by his exceptional horsemanship and the nickname 'Happy Jack'. These insights offer a humanising touch to the enigmatic persona of John Gilbert, the stockman who would later carve his name into the annals of Australian folklore:
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| Lambing Flat. c. 1860's. |
The reverberations of the gold rush would disrupt the tranquillity of the pastoral landscape, forever altering the course of history. The alluring gleam of gold sparked a frenzied influx of prospectors, transforming the once-peaceful countryside into a bustling hub of activity. The subsequent gold rush at 'Burrangong Station' unleashed a whirlwind of change, attracting eager fortune seekers from near and far.
For stockmen like Gilbert, the newfound prosperity brought by gold mining would reshape their lives and the environment they had grown accustomed to. The tranquil existence on the cattle station would soon be overshadowed by the clamour and chaos of the gold rush. The lure of potential riches enticed men to abandon their previous occupations in search of the golden dream, leaving behind a transformed landscape in their wake.
The discovery of gold at 'Burrangong Station' marked a turning point, disrupting the serene routine of the stockmen and heralding an era of rapid transformation and uncertainty. The tranquil days of tending to cattle and the rhythms of the land would be forever altered as the glittering promise of gold held the region firmly in its grip.
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| The report of Gold at Burrangong. |
As they traversed the land, the observant American remarked upon the striking similarity between Lambing Flat and the goldfields he had previously worked in America. Intrigued by the prospect, he decided to conduct a small experiment. Gathering a handful of dirt using a spade and depositing it into a trusty Billy can, commonly employed for boiling water, he added water and carefully swirled the contents. To their astonishment, the water revealed a dazzling display of gleaming gold.
This serendipitous discovery unleashed an unparalleled frenzy that swept through the region, forever altering the fate of John Gilbert. The allure of gold and the ensuing excitement that gripped Lambing Flat became another step in the downfall of Gilbert. Drawn by the promise of untold riches, individuals from near and far descended upon the area, each vying to stake their claim and seize their share of the newfound wealth.
The gold rush that ensued at Lambing Flat would shape the course of Gilbert's life, entwining him with the chaos, lawlessness, and temptation that often accompanied such frenzies. The tantalising allure of gold would ultimately contribute to Gilbert's descent into infamy, leading him down a treacherous path that would forever cement his name in the annals of Australian history.
The discovery of gold at Lambing Flat swiftly drew a diverse multitude of individuals, spanning all social strata, to the burgeoning diggings. However, as gold fever gripped the masses, it also brought to the forefront a darker aspect of the times—the scourge of bushrangers. These opportunistic outlaws seized the chance to exploit the chaos, as the frenzy of gold-seeking and intoxicated miners flaunted their newfound wealth, providing ripe targets for their illicit activities.
Sheedy's remarkable find at Lambing Flat garnered significant attention, prompting an article in the local newspaper that outlined the astonishing reward bestowed upon him. The magnitude of this discovery surpassed even the renowned 1851 goldfield at Ophir, New South Wales, where Edward Hargraves had first sparked the Australian gold rush. The scale and richness of the Lambing Flat deposit stood as a testament to the immense wealth that lay hidden beneath the land.
As news of Sheedy's find spread, it fuelled the fires of ambition and desire within the hearts of countless individuals who flocked to Lambing Flat in search of their own fortunes. However, the allure of gold also served as a magnet for bushrangers, who preyed upon the vulnerability of the intoxicated miners, flaunting their riches and carelessly discussing their windfalls. These lawless bandits saw an opportunity for easy plunder, further adding to the sense of lawlessness and danger that permeated the goldfields.
The unfolding events at Lambing Flat demonstrated the transformative power of gold, both in terms of its capacity to enrich individuals and attract hordes of fortune seekers, as well as its unintended consequence of inciting criminal activity. The vast wealth unearthed in this new goldfield elevated the region's significance, overshadowing even the renowned Ophir goldfield, while simultaneously casting a shadow of lawlessness that would impact the lives of all those involved, including John Gilbert himself:
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| Committal of Michael Sheedy, 1851. |
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| William Fogg & Mary Fogg. Penzig |
The news of Michael Sheedy's extraordinary gold finds at Lambing Flat spread like wildfire, attracting a multitude of merchants and tradespeople to the burgeoning goldfield. Many embarked on arduous journeys, trekking on foot from Victoria or braving the rugged paths across the Blue Mountains from Sydney. The demand for seats on coaches skyrocketed, as eager individuals sought to reach Lambing Flat and stake their claim in the golden bonanza.
The rapid influx of people created a vibrant and bustling scene at Lambing Flat virtually overnight. General stores, hotels, and makeshift shanties sprang up, transforming the landscape into a thriving hub of commerce. These establishments, catering to the needs of the burgeoning population, became lucrative enterprises akin to gold mines in their own right. Bullock drays, in great numbers, transported vital supplies and necessities for the gold-seeking populace.
Amidst the flurry of businesses, one establishment stood out in particular—a butcher shop operated by a dubious character named William Fogg. However, Fogg's notoriety paled in comparison to his partner, a charismatic and infamous career criminal who went by the name Frank Gardiner released from Cockatoo Island Prison Sydney in December 1859. Unbeknownst to many, Gardiner was actually Francis Christie, an escaped prisoner from Victoria's Pentridge Prison. His 'Ticket of Leave' status was rescinded as an absentee from Carcoar added to his aura of mystery and danger.
Gardiner, with his persuasive charisma and criminal background, played a pivotal role in transforming John Gilbert from a spirited troublemaker into a hardened bushranger and cold-blooded killer. It was under Gardiner's influence and guidance that Gilbert would embark on a treacherous path of lawlessness, forever altering the course of his life.
The convergence of these individuals—Sheedy's gold finds, the rise of Lambing Flat as a bustling center of commerce, and the shadowy partnership between Fogg and Gardiner—created a volatile mix that would propel Gilbert into the realms of bushranging, where violence and infamy awaited him.
Frank Gardiner surfaced at Spring Creek Lambing Flat as the rush gathered pace. Gardiner and Fogg had been long-time acquaintances from the Fish River/Wheeo area when Gardiner appeared on the scene in 1851 following his escape from Victoria. Both men were close to another notorious bushranger John Peisley with whom Gardiner was connected with in Highway Robbery:
Gardiner, formerly the companion of the bushranger Peisley, was still at large, robbing right and left, and the terror of the road.
With the influx of thousands of eager fortune seekers descending upon Lambing Flat, the butcher shop operated by the unscrupulous duo of William Fogg and Frank Gardiner quickly transformed into a veritable gold mine. However, the riches they reaped were not from the precious metal but rather from the ravenous appetites of the miners. The demand for beef was insatiable, presenting a lucrative opportunity for Fogg and Gardiner.
To capitalise on this profitable market, the pair devised a scheme. Fogg would take charge of running the butcher business, ensuring a steady supply of meat for the hungry miners. Meanwhile, Gardiner undertook the task of procuring the necessary cattle. However, the origin of these cattle was often shrouded in questionable circumstances. It was widely rumoured that Gardiner acquired the livestock through dubious means or other illicit activities.
The butcher shop became a thriving enterprise, feeding the voracious appetites of the gold-seeking populace. While the miners pursued their dreams of wealth, Fogg and Gardiner capitalised on their hunger, amassing a different kind of fortune through their beef sales. Yet, the shadow of their questionable practices loomed over their success, tainting the legitimacy of their enterprise.
The partnership between Fogg and Gardiner, built on deceit and opportunism, epitomised the lawlessness and moral ambiguity that characterised the era. As they profited from the miners' hunger, their ill-gotten gains added another layer to their reputation as cunning and unscrupulous individuals. Little did they know that their alliance would extend beyond the realm of the butcher shop, ultimately entwining them in a web of criminality that would have far-reaching consequences.
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| James Chisholm (1806 - 1888) Courtesy NSW Parliament. |
As droves of men and families flocked to the burgeoning tent city from every direction, driven by the hope of striking it rich, eighteen-year-old John Gilbert found himself caught up in the fervour of the gold rush. The electrifying news of the precious metal discovery Gilbert embarked on his own quest for fortune. Determined to seize the opportunity presented by the gold rush, Gilbert made the decision to abandon his current employment with the influential Chisholm family.
The Chisholm family, known for their influence and standing in the community. However, the allure of the goldfields proved too irresistible for the young Gilbert to ignore. Fuelled by the prospect of a fresh start, he resolved to part ways with the Chisholm's and join the swelling ranks of gold seekers who converged upon the tent city.
Gilbert bid farewell to his occupation, ready to embrace the opportunities that awaited him on the goldfields. Little did he realise that this decision would set him on a tumultuous path, one that would shape his destiny in ways he could scarcely imagine.
A fellow roustabout and horse-breaker at the time Mr Robert 'Chipp' Thompson wrote that Gilbert was a crack buck jump rider who met resistance from the Chisholm's while attempting to quit.
"I used to do a good deal of horse-breaking with Gilbert, I had finished up breaking horses, and Gilbert left me."
With men fleeing for gold, reliable labour was a vexing problem for the large station owners who resisted to letting their hired hands quit. Gilbert remarked to Thompson that he would take any measures to gain his discharge:
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| James Chisholm Stations. The Squatters Act. |
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| John Chisholm. (1819-1899) |
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| Frederick Chisholm 1831- 1892. |
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| A typical Goldfield butcher's shop. c. 1862. |
Once more, Benjamin Morgan afterwards wrote regarding Gilbert's employment by Gardiner:
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| Mrs Betsy Toms. c. 1920. Courtesy NLA. |
They were Ben Hall and John Maguire, who also drew cattle from the adjacent Wheogo Station of their wives' stepmother. They herded cattle to the lucrative Burrangong field. With beef in high demand, the two cattlemen were also striking it rich as the demand from the many butcher shops increased. However, through this association with Hall and Maguire, Gardiner would commence a torrid love affair with the wife of the two men's brother-in-law, John Brown and their respective wives' sister. She was Catherine 'Kitty' Brown. A vivacious blonde beauty.
Furthermore, Ben Hall's closest friend, Daniel Charters, also came into contact with Frank Gardiner, John Gilbert and John O'Meally. Charters' older sister Margaret Feehiley operated the vast Pinnacle cattle station upon which she had the license for a public house. The Pinnacle cattle station was adjacent to Hall's Sandy Creek. The Feehiley hotel was a well-known watering hole of Gardiner, Hall and Maguire. Two local Lambing Flat identities had stopped over at Feehiley's for a drink and came face to face with Frank Gardiner:
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| Lambing Flat. c. 1862. Courtesy Young Historical Society. |
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| Captain Battye. c. 1870's. Courtesy NLA. |
DEAR SIR,— You will oblige me by causing the enclosed advertisement that I have had inserted in the Lambing Flat papers, to be made known throughout the Western Districts. For during the short time I have been in this quarter, circumstances have come to my knowledge, that convince me that mobs of cattle are slaughtered on this goldfield, chiefly brought from the Macquarie, Bogan and Lachlan. I am determined to do my best to check it if I cannot effectually stop it, and I only ask this trifling assistance from the proprietors of stock stations, who think it is worth their while to curb this growing evil.
Yours
E. M. Battye, Captain
Assistant- Superintendent of Police.
Police Camp, Young.
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| Map showing O'Meally's Shanty, the haunt of Gilbert. Courtesy Des Sheil. |
Released as Fogg went bondsman and put up £400, Gardiner fled back to Fogg's on the Fish River. However, after shifting his swag with a tip off, John Gilbert shot through, taking refuge in the centre of criminal activity in the Lachlan district. The Weddin Mountains.
Gilbert new mate, John O'Meally's family, kept a hotel of notorious reputation in the Weddin Mountains. The pair stood bar at the O'Meally tavern situated on Emu Creek. The Inn was beautifully positioned, for the passing road was the main thoroughfare between Lambing Flat and another newly discovered gold field at Forbes. It was said of the Weddin Mountains at that time it was infested with thieves:
The Weddin Mountains were then the head-quarters of the most villainous gang of horse and cattle duffers in the country.
The relationship between John O'Meally and John Gilbert was marked by a fiery dynamic, characterised by frequent disputes and clashes. Their interactions often escalated into squabbles where each would accuse the other of lacking gameness, or bravery in facing challenges.
The spirited nature of their relationship was a testament to the strong personalities and competitive spirits of both O'Meally and Gilbert. Their fiery exchanges and disagreements were fuelled by their individual desires to prove their mettle, establish dominance, and assert their courage in the face of adversity.
These disputes likely arose from the intense and perilous circumstances they found themselves in as they delved deeper into a life of bushranging. The dangers and risks they encountered would undoubtedly test their resolve and bravery, leading to moments of conflict and tension between them.
The accusations of lacking gameness (Courage) served as a reflection of the high stakes and the need to prove oneself in the dangerous world of bushranging. In a life fraught with peril and constant scrutiny, the willingness to face challenges head-on and display fearlessness held significant importance for bushrangers like O'Meally and Gilbert.
Their fiery relationship and disputes highlighted the complex dynamics and individual personalities that shaped their experiences as bushrangers. These clashes, while indicative of the challenges they faced, also underscored the unwavering determination and fierce spirit that propelled them through their notorious careers. John O'Meally was described in 'The Biography of a Reliable Old Native', by John Maguire, 1907:
O'Meally was born and reared there, and I have known him since he was a baby. He was tall, smart, and a splendid horseman.
John O'Meally stood between at 6ft, with reddish-brown hair or Auburn colour, and as in the style of Gilbert, O'Meally wore his hair long. He had grey eyes and a look of a constant scowl. Another commented on O'Meally that he was;
What in the vernacular of the bush is known as 'flash', there were six sons and three daughters. The sons were all 'six-footers' and as straight as pine saplings.
O'Meally had earlier been accused of rape with his cousin Patrick Daley and another cousin Edward Fox with whom several crimes were committed. However the rape allegation was a case of mistaken identity as two others were charged and found guilty of the offence.
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| Extracts from the Burrangong Courier of Davis' encounter with police and MaGuinness' shooting. |
By all accounts, John Gilbert was described as a remarkably handsome young man, bordering on possessing feminine features. His physical appearance at 5ft 10in slim and agile with a shock of blonde hair, light grey laughing eyes, round nostrils, thick lips garnered attention, and he took great care in maintaining a stylish and well-groomed image. Known for his fashionable attire and meticulous attention to detail, Gilbert had a penchant for adorning himself with various trinkets and accessories.
Beyond his striking looks, Gilbert possessed a keen intellect and a quick, humorous wit. His ability to charm and entertain others with his carefree attitude and lighthearted nature earned him a considerable amount of popularity, particularly among the local ladies. Many women were captivated by his charm and found themselves enamoured with him, leading to romantic relationships and a legion of admirers.
When Gilbert took breaks from his bushranging exploits, it was widely observed that he enjoyed indulging in the company of these adoring women. The allure of his charismatic personality and dashing appearance made him an object of fascination and desire.
Gilbert's charisma, sense of style, and amorous escapades added an intriguing layer to his persona. These qualities, combined with his audacious bushranging activities, further solidified his status as a legendary figure of the Australian Bushranger;
Perhaps was doing the Lothario business amongst the "pretty horse-breakers" of the Bland and Weddin.
The police, in advertisements, offered a reward of £500, stating that he presented in the style of a fast young squatter or stockman and was particularly flashy in his address and appearance.
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| NSW Police Description. |
His ability to convincingly pass as a woman in disguise speaks not only to his physical attractiveness but also to his resourcefulness and adaptability. The disguise allowed Gilbert to exploit societal expectations and biases, using them to his advantage as he outwitted those who sought to apprehend him.
In describing Gilbert's allure, John Maguire, a contemporary figure of the time, drew comparisons between Gilbert and John O'Meally. Both men possessed a magnetic appeal, captivating others with their charm and captivating personas. Gilbert's attractiveness and charismatic presence, combined with his audacious escapades as a bushranger, cemented his status as a figure of legend and intrigue.
According to Haddon's recollections, Gilbert's mastery of disguise allowed him to immerse himself in the vibrant atmosphere of the racecourse, evading detection and scrutiny. Gilbert's uncanny ability to adopt a feminine guise enabled him to navigate the crowds undetected, enjoying the exhilaration of the racing events while remaining hidden in plain sight.
Haddon's fond memories painted a picture of Gilbert as an enigmatic figure, effortlessly slipping into different roles and personas to outwit authorities and blend in with the local community. This facet of Gilbert's character showcased his resourcefulness, adaptability, and audacity in defying conventional expectations.
While the details of these encounters may have faded with time, Haddon's recollections painted a vivid picture of Gilbert's skill in using disguise to his advantage, further cementing his reputation as a cunning and elusive bushranger.:
Witnesses, such as John Maguire, discovered firsthand the lightning-fast speed and dexterity that Gilbert possessed when engaged in a bare-knuckle fight. Gilbert's lightning-quick strikes and nimble footwork proved to be a formidable combination, leaving his opponents, in this case Maguire stunned and often overpowered. He possessed a raw strength and a determination that made him a force to be reckoned with in physical altercations.
Gilbert could use his fists well, as I knew to my sorrow, for we had had a big encounter over at the Flat, and I got the worst of it.
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| Police Gazette, July 1862. |
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| Frank Gardiner 1874. |
Meanwhile, as Gilbert lay low, the police were ferreting Gardiner out. Having been set free by Battye, Gardiner disappeared, resurfacing at Fogg's farm, Fish River, 100 miles away in June 1861.
A warrant for his arrest as a 'Ticket-of-Leave' absconder from Carcoar was issued, two mounted troopers were dispatched by the presiding magistrate Beardman to apprehend Gardiner.
Constable Hosie and Middleton discovered their man, and after a brief fight, where both officers were wounded after cornered Gardiner opened fire. Gardiner rushed the wounded Middleton but was overpowered and severely beaten with the officer's silver headed riding whip. Handcuffed and guarded by Hosie who had been shot in the head. Middleton rode off for assistance. Consequently Gardiner, through a bribe given by Fogg to Hosie, shot through. However, Gilbert was reputed to have helped in Gardiner's freedom. It was later disproved. Peisley was also named but it was also disproved.
However, it should be noted that Catherine 'Kitty' Brown was a married woman, and her connection to Gardiner added a layer of complexity to their relationship. She was not only married but also the sister to the wives of two local squatters, Ben Hall and John Maguire, who were acquainted with Gardiner. This familial connection further intertwined their lives and contributed to the unique dynamics at play.
Despite Kitty's marital status, she captivated Gardiner with her beauty and became a significant presence in his life. Their bond, forged amidst the rugged backdrop of the Australian frontier, represented a complex entanglement of emotions and loyalties.
The story of Frank Gardiner and Catherine 'Kitty' Brown serves as a reminder of the intricate relationships that unfolded in the midst of the bushranging era. Their connection, despite the challenges and complications it posed, added a touch of romance and human emotion to the narrative of bushrangers' lives, highlighting the multifaceted nature of the individuals who inhabited this notorious chapter of Australian history. Kitty would follow Gardiner to the ends of the earth.
Following Frank Gardiner's narrow escape from the police, he quickly resumed his activities as the notorious "King of the Highwaymen," accompanied by his trusted associates John Gilbert and John O'Meally. Together, they embarked on a series of bushranging operations across the Bland, Lachlan, and surrounding districts, asserting their dominance over the Queens Roads.
While Gardiner recuperated, John Gilbert took on an active role, roaming extensively and seizing opportunities for hold-ups wherever they presented themselves. He maintained a connection with the O'Meally shanty at Arramagong, often coming and going alongside his fellow roughneck, John O'Meally. Gilbert and O'Meally collaborated on various robberies, with their first victim being a local employee of Mr. Curren who was bailed up near the O'Meally shanty.
During this encounter, O'Meally, known for his rough demeanor, subjected the individual to physical aggression as a means to expedite the surrender of both his own and Mr. Curren's money. O'Meally also took the opportunity to appropriate the victim's boots for himself.
These early acts of robbery and aggression demonstrate the ruthless nature of the bushranging activities carried out by Gilbert and O'Meally under the guidance and leadership of Frank Gardiner. Their exploits would continue to unfold, leaving a trail of notoriety and fear in their wake as they operated outside the boundaries of the law, challenging authority and preying upon unsuspecting victims.
The collaboration between Gilbert, O'Meally, and Gardiner formed a formidable alliance that posed a significant threat to the peace and security of the regions they targeted.; 'The Maitland Mercury and Hunter River General Advertiser' Saturday 22nd February 1862:Retreating to O'Meally's bar served as a means to potentially deflect suspicion and provide an alibi if authorities were to investigate their involvement in the criminal activities. By mingling with other patrons and engaging in typical bar activities, Gilbert and O'Meally could create an impression that they were simply ordinary individuals socializing and enjoying themselves, rather than being involved in illicit pursuits.
Such practices were not uncommon among bushrangers during that time, as they sought to navigate the fine line between criminal activities and maintaining an appearance of normalcy. Establishing an alibi was crucial for their evasion of the law and ensuring their continued freedom to carry out further robberies and acts of bushranging.
The choice to retreat to O'Meally's bar demonstrates the calculated nature of Gilbert and O'Meally's actions, highlighting their awareness of the need to protect themselves from suspicion and potential law enforcement scrutiny. This practice allowed them to maintain an air of innocence while continuing their illicit activities as bushrangers. There presence appears from reports to be well known to the police but for reasons unknown were never acted on regardless of the strong information nor the descriptions given by victims. John Maguire writes:
Taking advantage of the gold rush frenzy and the influx of fortune-seekers, Gilbert, O'Meally, and Gardiner targeted unsuspecting travellers on these crucial routes. Armed with their guns and a reputation for daring, they struck fear into the hearts of those unfortunate enough to cross their path. Their robberies were characterised by swift and calculated actions, often leaving their victims stunned and helpless.
The brazen nature of their operations challenged the authorities and instilled a sense of unease and insecurity among the gold fields. The notoriety of Gilbert, O'Meally, and Gardiner grew as their robberies escalated in frequency and scale, solidifying their positions as some of the most infamous bushrangers of the time:
Amidst the revelry, the victims would ultimately be stripped of their possessions. The seemingly jovial atmosphere masked the underlying threat and coercion exerted by the bushrangers. This distinctive approach to their crimes further added to the notoriety and audacity of Gardiner's gang, leaving an indelible impression on those unfortunate enough to experience their exploits firsthand.
The combination of terror and unexpected celebration during these encounters exemplifies the complex nature of bushranging during that era. It showcased the cunning tactics employed by Gardiner and his gang, as they manipulated the psychological state of their captives while ruthlessly seizing their belongings at the end of a revolver:
Their acquaintance can be traced back as early as 1860 when Gilbert arrived at Murringo and began breaking horses. It was during this time that he became well acquainted with Ben Hall. In the company of Hall, Gilbert took part in expeditions across the Lachlan Plains in search of unbranded cattle, commonly referred to as Duffers.
The partnership between John Gilbert and Ben Hall would go on to leave an indelible mark on the history of Australian bushranging. Their collaboration in numerous criminal endeavors, including the infamous Eugowra Gold Robbery, showcased the combined skills, audacity, and camaraderie that defined their infamous careers as bushrangers:
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| NSW Police Gazette April 1862. |
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Great Eastern Hotel, Forbes.
Hangout of John Gilbert, Hall, Gardiner & Co. c. 1862.
N.L.A |
In early 1862, former publican of the Great Eastern Hotel, Forbes and reputed Gardiner confidant, Mr Charles MacAlister, later penned in his memoirs, "Old Pioneering Days in the Sunny South," of Gilbert's shenanigans in Forbes circa 1862:
The great Sir F. Pottinger (then head of the police) was riding by at the time with one of his troopers, and he and his subordinate rushed into the bar, leaving their horses tethered to a tree near by. While the police were inside quelling the row, someone made off with their horses, and we doubt if they were ever recovered. Johnny Gilbert, it was said, had a hand in the business; but whoever took them reduced the awful Pottinger to the level of an old vituperative fish-fag and he threatened several bystanders with summary punishment if the "prads" were not returned.
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| R.B. Mitchell letter condemning Hall's acquittal. |
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| John Davis |
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| NSW Police Gazette May 1862. |
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| NSW Police Gazette June 1862. |
However, the modest proceeds from the robberies weren't sufficient for Gardiner to abandon his life as a bushranger. His ambition was to abscond from NSW with his lover, Mrs. Brown. Consequently, he needed funds, and he turned his gaze towards the often unsecured and regularly scheduled gold escorts.
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| Frank Gardiner & John Gilbert. c. 1861/2. |
It was with Gardiner that the idea of taking the escort originated and took a fortnight to prepare for the attack. For some months before Gilbert and O'Meally were Gardiner's constant companions, and they had been talking about it together. They were getting full of the petty bailing-up business, and wanted to make a grand haul and then quit the country.
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| "..make way for the Royal Mail." |
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| Escort Coach. The photograph was taken in 1917 by W H Burgess JP. (See Authors Note.) |
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| Wheogo Hill, view looking South-East towards Grenfell with Weddin Mountains in the distance right. Sanderson approached the hill from Ben Hall's home to the extreme left and out of sight. Courtesy Peter C Smith's, Tracking Down the Bushrangers'. |
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| Escort Rock. View towards the coach's approach. Authors Photo. |
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| Hanbury Clements c. 1881. Private Source. |
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| Charles Sanderson. c. 1896. |
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| Daniel Charters c. 1862. |
For the first time in his lawless career, Gardiner panicked after making a catastrophic mistake. Fearing the imminent arrival of the police and hindered by the pack-horse slowing their escape, Gardiner released the reins and galloped away, leaving his own, Charters', and Fordyce's share of gold and cash on its back. He called out,
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| Charles D'Arcy Gilbert, with daughter. c. 1870s Never before published. Private Source. |
Following the discovery of the hideout at Wheogo Hill and Gilbert's decision to leave Gardiner to fend for himself, it was revealed that Gilbert's actions had caused a strain and hostility between the two bushrangers. As a result, it's believed that they parted ways and never interacted again, as referenced in an article from a Queensland paper in 1864:
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| NSW Police Gazette, 18th June 1862. |
The press clambered for news of the sensational events over the report of the gold recovery. Every journal jockeyed for the most spectacular information or eyewitness accounts of the police's efforts pursuing the bandit's. News the entire populace hungered for. One headline ran, THE LATE ESCORT ROBBERY. THE ROBBERY OF THE ESCORT. — RECOVERY OF 1500 OUNCES OF THE GOLD:Newspapers continued sourcing the best accounts in an effort to out do each other in printing every morsel of information from any source over the now infamous Lachlan Gold robbery. Another newspaper ran the below story. Late Escort Robbery:
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| Sir Frederick Pottinger. c. 1863. |
However, the much-anticipated success of the NSW police had the population of Forbes turn out in force lining the streets to greet the triumphant return of the hard-pressed and weary troopers. Laden with the spoils of their dogged pursuit, which included the unbridled joy of the black-tracker Hastings. Some papers refer to the tracker Charlie later found dead after Ben Hall was shot to pieces. However Hasting is widely believed to be the escort tracker.
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| John Gilbert. |
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| John Gilbert by Patrick William Marony 1858-1939. NLA. |
Unfortunately, some portions of Charles's letter to the Kyneton Guardian's editor are vague and misleading possibly in fear of self incrimination. Notwithstanding, Charles was fully aware of John Gilbert's participation at Eugowra and their accompanying mystery rider. Charles Gilbert elusively states in this extract from the 'Newcastle Chronicle and Hunter River District News' 25th November 1863:
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| R.B. Mitchell. c. 1882. |
The outcome was reported in the 'Sydney Morning Herald' on 16th July 1862. This true account speaks for itself. John Gilbert first identified himself as Charles Turner:
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| Gilbert's Ride |
Upon reaching the Weddin Mountains, Gilbert wasted no time and quickly assembled a rescue party to aid his brother Charles and Henry Manns, who were being held as prisoners by the police. Aware of the limitations of the police's mobility and their lack of preparedness for an attack, Gilbert devised a plan to intercept the troopers along the anticipated route of their travel.
The rescue party, likely consisting of individuals such as O'Meally, Ben Hall, and potentially Patrick O'Meally and other associates connected to the gold heist, mounted fresh horses and retraced Gilbert's earlier route. Riding through the night in anticipation of freeing Charles Gilbert and Henry Manns, the gang eventually arrived at Sproules Timoola Station. There, they held the household captive and readied themselves with their weapons for the impending encounter with the troopers.
This daring rescue operation exemplified the resourcefulness, strategic thinking, and audacity of John Gilbert and his associates. Their ability to cover long distances swiftly, plan effectively, and execute intricate maneuvers illustrated the prowess of the bushranging gang as they defied authority and sought to liberate their comrades from custody:
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| Temora (Timoola) Station Homestead. |
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| Mr Aymer's, Quandary Station c. 1890. |
The party remained at Timoola until the return of Lyons from Quandary, whose safe arrival was a source of intense delight to them, and proceeded thence under the guidance of Mr Sprowle, who escorted them across the bush to Narraburra, Mr Beckham's station, where they arrived about half-past two in the afternoon, and were hospitably received. From this point Sir Frederick Pottinger at once forwarded a dispatch to Captain Battye, at Burrangong, on Thursday, informing him of their position and requesting a reinforcement, and with a very creditable degree of promptitude the Captain, with a body of ten troopers, arrived on Friday evening, by a cross-country route of fifty miles. On the following morning, the party thus reinforced, took their departure for Forbes, and, as it is hardly necessary to state, were uninterrupted in their course thither by bandits or bushrangers.²¹
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| Marker commemorating the Gunfight opposite Mrs Sproules Station. My Photo, 12/3/20. |
Authors Note: To visit the approximate area of the gunfight at Sproules Timoola Station, take the Goldfields Hwy from Temora for 9.6 km's turn right at the Flying Spitfires Temora sign. Travel roughly 2.5 km's on Treagers Lane (un-signposted). The road is very rough but with care can be taken by car. The Commemorative Marker is on the right of the track, fenced off alongside a creek, and easy to spot. (Sproules Lagoon) Sproule's old station (Sprowle's) homestead was opposite the Marker. Congratulations to those in Temora who erected the Marker and their help in directing me there.
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| Det Lyons in later life. Penzig. |
The horse made for the bush, whither Lyons followed it, minus his revolver, and being fired at by the bushrangers. Simultaneously with the attack upon Lyons, four ruffians wheeled out of their ambuscade with military precision, in front of Sir Frederick Pottinger and Mr Mitchell, and, with a similar exclamation, blazed away at them. One of them, apparently the leader of the gang, addressed himself principally to Sir Frederick Pottinger, saying, "I know you, you bl---y ba---rd, Pottinger: " I'll put a pill through you, you ba---rd," &c. Sir Frederick fired at this fellow three times, Mr Mitchell, at his side, being also fully occupied with their assailants, and discharging shot for shot. The odds against them were fearful, for besides their superior number, the bushrangers were provided with a large store of fire-arms, and no sooner discharged the contents of one piece than they threw it down and took up another. Sir Frederick and Mitchell, immediately after each discharge of their revolvers, galloped a little distance off, receiving the fire of their enemies as they retreated. The whole of the affray lasted about five or six minutes. Sir Frederick and Mitchell found their ammunition all but expended, Sir Frederick having but two charges left, and Mitchell only one. There was now a lull in the firing, and Mitchell, believing the assailants had also exhausted their ammunition, proposed to charge them. Sir Frederick, however, with praiseworthy discretion, having the gold upon his horse, advised a retreat. Accordingly, they turned their horse’s heads, and galloped away as hard as they could, to the station they had left in the morning, known as Little George's, some twelve or thirteen miles distant, and which they reached in from thirty to forty minutes. Here they remained, till evening, recruiting, and devising plans for a future procedure. They expected to find Lyons seriously wounded, if not dead; but had the satisfaction of learning that he, like themselves, having miraculously escaped unhurt, had called there, and was gone out with Mr Sprowle in search of them.
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| Sir Frederick Pottinger. |
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| Captain Battye. c. 1880's. |
By the 14th July 1862, Sir Frederick Pottinger returned to Forbes with the gold recovered from Manns totalling 213oz. Unfortunately, the cash of £135, which Detective Lyons carried, was lost to the bushrangers. However, within days of the affair, detective Lyons dispatched his account of the battle to police headquarters in Sydney addressed to Inspector Harrison regarding their actions in response to the attack is as follows;
Forbes, Lachlan Diggings,
P. LYONS, 'Detective, 1st Class.
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| NSW Police Gazette, 1862. |
Only seventeen days had passed since the infamous bushranger, Gilbert, had managed to free his brother and their companion Manns. A daring escapade that had turned the trio into an object of fascination and dread in equal measures.
This scenario had subsequently inspired an unnamed correspondent, commonly referred to as the 'Wag', for his sarcastic wit, to pen a rather thought-provoking piece in 'The Empire' newspaper. His biting sarcasm and incisive commentary, turned his attention to the alleged gun battle that had transpired between the bushrangers and the police.
His perspective on the incident was one of scepticism, subtly hinting at a narrative far removed from the official reports. With reports of bullets flying haphazardly, the Wag found it suspicious that the only casualty from the entire ordeal was Lyon's horse. The absence of any other injuries or damage was a curious anomaly that did not escape his keen eye.
In his article, the Wag applied his signature style, lacing his words with a heavy dose of sarcasm that teetered on the edge of mockery. He expertly drew attention to the disparity between the reports of the gun battle and the actual results, adding a layer of humour to the strange situation.
Yet, the Wag's jests had a deeper purpose, serving as a subtle yet potent criticism of the newly established police system. It had been a mere four months since the police system's inception, and already it was riddled with stories of inefficiency and incompetence, as highlighted by the curious case of the gun battle.
The Wag's portrayal of the incident, while amusing to many, underscored the deeper issues plaguing the nascent police system. The lack of substantial results from such a reportedly fierce gun battle suggested a lack of competence within the ranks, an issue that the Wag pointedly brought attention to.
This incident and the Wag's commentary on it, served as an early indicator of the shortcomings of the new police system. It added to the growing voices of discontent and raised questions about the efficacy of the newly implemented police force. Little did the Wag know, his satirical take on the incident would set the tone for a broader conversation about law enforcement reform in the days to come. 'The Golden Age' Thursday 31st July 1862:
Another very remarkable feature in these extraordinary encounters is the unlimited quantity of firearms possessed by "the enemy." We are told that on the occasion of the rescue of the "smart young men with boots and spurs, close-fitting breeches, and turn-down collars", "the enemy wheeled out of their ambuscade, with military precision," "each armed with a double-barrelled gun and a brace of revolvers;" and that "the odds against the police were fearful, for, besides being superior in numbers, the bushrangers were provided with a large store of firearms, and no sooner discharged the contents of one piece than they threw it down and took up another!" Also, that "the band had, in addition to the guns and revolvers with which they commenced the attack, a large bag full of loaded guns!". These are stated to have been charged with slugs, consisting of ounce bullets cut into four parts; and yet at the conclusion of the fight- volley after volley having been fired from them by men "taking deliberate aim"-nobody is hurt! In all seriousness, the state of the southwestern interior is a disgrace to Australian civilisation. The notorious fact that thousands of people, otherwise well-disposed, look on the police with dislike, and treat them with contempt, is sufficient to show that there is something radically wrong in the whole system. The people have no other feeling than abhorrence for the desperadoes who are setting the laws at defiance. Still, nevertheless, they will neither succour nor assist arrogant, overbearing, self-sufficient officials, decked out in semi-military costume, many of whom figured in the famous retreat from Burrangong, (Chinese riots of 1860) and who, whenever occasion has arisen, have failed to display that contempt of danger which is calculated to merit the respect of the rough and ready miners and others of which the digging population is mainly composed.
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| Johnny 'Happy Jack' Gilbert |
Adding an element of victory to their escape, the men managed to acquire new horses during the skirmish, compensating for the loss of their original mounts. However, the gold that Sir Frederick Pottinger had held onto eluded them despite their threats. After their daring venture, the men dispersed, each to his own course.
John Gilbert and his brother Charles continued bravely on their intended journey to Victoria. They found their way to 'Coliban', a goldfield situated on the fringes of Bendigo, lying along the historic Coliban River. Notably, this area was the former childhood home of the infamous Frank Gardiner. Here, they were reunited with their elder brother, James Gilbert. Meanwhile, Henry Manns made his way back to his old stomping grounds near Borrowra, NSW. However, his freedom was short-lived; by December 1862, he was apprehended at Murrumburrah and executed in March 1863.
Laying low for several weeks, the Gilbert brothers made contact with their family members in the Taradale district, located some 25 miles from Bendigo. They then set sail from Port Phillip Bay, heading to the South Island of New Zealand and aiming for the Otago district of the Dunstan Goldfield, located approximately 135 miles west of Dunedin.
This relocation was driven by a concerted effort by John's family, who wished to convince him to renounce his bushranging lifestyle. They hoped that this new chapter on the Otago Goldfields would represent a fresh start for all of them.
The story of their escape from Sir Frederick Pottinger, their homecoming in Victoria, and their subsequent move to New Zealand's South Island was vividly detailed by Charles. His account offers a fascinating insight into their adventures and the motivations that spurred their decision to abandon their homeland for a new beginning.
After five to six weeks in the Bendigo area, where no doubt, John saw his father, sister and extended family, who all resided within a day or two's ride from the Coliban, a reunion which would see John Gilbert admonished by his father who resided at Taradale. A letter was written by his father regarding his son's wayward path:
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| Steamship, City Of Hobart. c. 1862 |
Departing their father's home and all preparations completed, the brothers arrived in Melbourne at the end of August 1862, booking passage for the 9 to 10-day voyage to Dunedin's Port Chalmers. As Gilbert prepared to sail for New Zealand, the Escort Robbery in NSW was still major news, and rumours of the culprits' whereabouts were still rife in the daily newspapers.
Moreover, articles on Gardiner referenced his presence in South Australia, masquerading as a minister of cloth. Next, at one of his sister's residences in Portland, Victoria or even that, he fled the country to California. Speculation on John Gilbert's whereabouts persisted. Reported in the Victorian Police Gazette in October 1862, stated:
He is reported as having gone through Meroo Creek towards Victoria, and to be about Kilmore where he has been before.
Just where were they?
The reward for Gilbert of £500 was still a fortune in 1862, and the brothers would have had to take great caution in their movements. However, John Gilbert's journey to New Zealand was recalled in 1916 with an exciting twist. Mrs Sarah Musgrave lived at Burrangong Station, Lambing Flat, in the 1860s. A time when Burrangong Station was a favourite retreat of the bushrangers. Mrs Musgrave reminisced of her time there and her encounters with Gilbert and O'Meally. As such Mrs Musgrave provided a fascinating account of John Gilbert's trip to New Zealand, claiming in the following conversation with Gilbert recounting his move to New Zealand. The twist was that John Gilbert made the crossing disguised as a woman.
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| Sarah Musgrave c. 1920's. Courtesy Junee Historical Society. |
Gilbert's use of a woman's disguise was also highlighted by John Maguire. Maguire state:
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| S.S. Gothenburg c. 1862 |
When Gilbert shot through, ships sailing to New Zealand became more frequent as the reports of gold littered the Australian newspapers. The news instigated another mass exodus of men from the Victorian and New South Wales diggings. The Gilbert's soon joined the men awaiting passage, using Melbourne's crowds for anonymity. Fortunately for John, his daring deeds in New South Wales were not as well known in Victoria.
John Gilbert flushed with cash from the proceeds of the Escort robbery. Which amounted to £435 ($32,ooo) and the proceeds from the gold that had no doubt been fenced off. Enabled John Gilbert and his two brothers to travel comfortably to New Zealand, possibly under their mother's maiden name, Wilson. In late August 1862, Dunedin's shipping traffic was brisk, with several ships ferrying the three Gilbert brothers. They included The Aldinga, The City of Hobart, The Gothenburg, and The Ringdove. All possible berths for Gilbert's travel and all ships sailed from Melbourne in the final week of August 1862, with full complements of passengers.
Note: A search of the ship passenger lists unfortunately only cover 1st class cabins, and an examination of passengers travelling as two men and a woman of the same surname is noted, but too numerous to decipher, as well as with so many arrivals identification documents not required.
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| Shipping Advertisement 1862. |
A good many parties came up from Port Chalmers in boats, in some cases stepping directly onboard one of the steamers for Waikouaiti, all of which were we believe well loaded. Of course, wet weather could never deter your true steady-going miner, much less a hot enthusiast who starts eagerly, if not happily, because he is ignorant of the privations he will have at present to undergo while tramping up the country; but certainly the bright, brisk, invigorating weather we enjoyed yesterday seemed to add wonderfully to the spirits of those who plodded in strings, swag-laden, out of the city.
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| Dunedin Harbour 1862. |
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| 'Dunstan Goldfield' 1862. Unidentified Artist. |
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| Top, Dunstan Hotel, Clyde c. 1862. Hotel 2017. My Photo. |
However, how successful the brothers were in finding gold is unknown, but many fellow diggers had plenty of good luck. From all accounts, John Gilbert maintained his disguise. He continued in the appearance of a female, at least in public. Nevertheless, how long this facade was acted out appeared to be only for a short period. Unsurprisingly, women were a scarce commodity in most gold-diggings. Those women who were present and unattached, were often tarnished with the unsavoury title of 'loose'. This branding was commented on in a letter from Mr James Fisher defending their honour:
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| James Redmond Gilbert. c. 1870's |
Consequently, John Gilbert departed New Zealand. Returning to Dunedin's port in his brother Charles's. Here the pair parted company. The New Zealand diggings and her ports continued to be inundated with steamers and windjammers, filled with more miners ready to strike it rich on the Otago Goldfields. Therefore, many ships were returning to Victoria and other Australian ports with few passengers. Accordingly, John Gilbert took a return passage to Australia in early January 1863. However, his brother Charles indicated that John's departure was under the auspices of John Gilbert's poor health and not his attractive disguise:
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| Dunstan on the Clyde River c. 1862. Courtesy CHS |
As John Gilbert returned to familiar surroundings, Sydney newspapers canvassed the 'Special Commission Trials' starting in February 1863 on bushranging. The commission included the trail of those involved in the now-infamous escort robbery at Eugowra of June 1862. When the trials began with the whole of the colony including John Gilbert closely followed the proceedings that included the evidence of informers Daniel Charters and Tom Richards. Charters succumbing to the pleas of his family went turncoat for the pardon on offer and Richards for the large reward.
Consequently, the evidence implicated John Gilbert as one of the main instigators of the robbery, but Gilbert may have been somewhat amused at Charters' evidence, when he deliberately avoided implicating Ben Hall and John O'Meally. With Gardiner gone Gilbert assumed a quasi leadership of the Weddin Mountains mob and dived straight back to where he left off leading robberies around the Lambing Flat, Bland, Marengo and Burrowa area.
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| NSW Police Gazette March 1863. |
On the 19th of February, the government gazetted the reward for Gilbert and again described his appearance in the newspapers;
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| John Gilbert c. 1862 |
For Gilbert the age-old system of communication prevailed. Colloquially known 'Bush Telegraphs'. These old-style runners or messengers and town informants were in a position to have their fingers on the pulse of police activities and were able to pass the word swiftly for a reward. Gilbert himself had filled this role earlier for those such a Gardiner. These messages conveyed police movements, persons travelling with large sums of cash, mail coaches with valuables on board, and a myriad of other pertinent intelligence, including those assisting the police. Information paramount in the prosecution of the robbery of the lonely traveller:
Back riding the range and tracks of the Weddin and Pinnacle Mountains. Gilbert saddled up once more with O'Meally, Ben Hall and newcomer O'Meally's first cousin Patsy Daley. In February they struck again at Wombat close to Lambing Flat, sticking up the general-store of Mr Meyers Solomon. 'The Sydney Morning Herald' Saturday 28th February 1863 reported:
The second assailant was described as short 5ft 7in stout build, and roughly twenty six-thirty years old, around 13 stone. This did not fit the known attributes of John Gilbert. Gilbert was described as 5ft 8/10 in height, slim around 10 stone (63Kg) light brown straight hair, worn long in native fashion, beardless and whiskerless. Two other possibilities for O'Meally's accomplice were a rogue named John Clarke or Ben Hall. Both were known to be riding with O'Meally at the time. An inquest was conducted and the medical examiner outlaid his findings; Henry Wilkinson deposed:
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| NSW Police Gazette March 1863. |
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| Percy Scarr. c. 1905. Private Source. |
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| NSW Police Gazette April 1863. |
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| Nye, Darlinghurst Gaol April 1863. |
On Tuesday, 21 April 1863, a party of well-mounted bushrangers descended upon the small settlement of Cootamundra, then little more than a cluster of buildings beside Muttama Creek on the road from Burrangong to Wagga Wagga. Their object was the general store conducted by the Barnes family, one of the few establishments in the district carrying the clothing, provisions and equipment required by station hands, carriers and travellers.
The reports of the robbery are confused over the composition of the party. Gilbert, John O’Meally and Fred Lowry were named, while another man was repeatedly called Frank Gardiner. That identification cannot be accepted. Gardiner had already withdrawn to Queensland and was not operating around Cootamundra in April 1863. The fourth man was almost certainly Ben Hall, whose presence with Gilbert and O’Meally in the district was established by other reports and by the gang’s subsequent return to the same store.
The error was understandable. Gardiner’s name had become a convenient label for almost any organised band of western bushrangers. Hall was still emerging from beneath his former leader’s reputation, and witnesses frequently identified unfamiliar riders by association rather than personal knowledge. Bushrangers also exploited that confusion, sometimes invoking Gardiner’s name to frighten victims or claiming that “the Darkie” was waiting nearby.
The Cootamundra raid was conducted openly. The men entered the settlement well armed and riding good horses, with packhorses brought expressly to carry away the proceeds. This was not an opportunistic search for a few pounds from the till. The presence of the pack animals demonstrates that they intended to strip the store of portable stock.
Once inside, the bushrangers took control of the premises and began selecting goods. Clothing, hats, bolts of printed material and other merchandise were removed from the shelves and counters. The stolen property was initially valued at approximately £100, although later summaries varied considerably in their estimates.
The operation proceeded without an effective challenge. The bushrangers had revolvers and other firearms prominently displayed, while their horses remained close at hand. The settlement possessed no police force capable of intervening immediately, and any attempt at resistance would have exposed the occupants and neighbouring residents to gunfire.
Gilbert was recognised by at least one local woman. During the robbery, she asked him for one of two pieces of printed fabric among the stolen goods. Gilbert handed it to her, apparently treating the distribution of Barnes’s property as a gesture of generosity. The woman, perhaps reconsidering the danger or impropriety of accepting stolen merchandise, returned the cloth to the storekeeper.
The incident illustrates a familiar feature of Gilbert’s behaviour. He could be conversational and outwardly generous while standing amid property taken under threat of violence. Such gestures later contributed to the romantic image of the bushranger sharing his plunder, but the goods were not his to give and the storekeeper had no power to prevent their removal.
When the selection was complete, the merchandise was packed upon the led horses. The men then mounted and departed without molestation, taking the greater part of their booty with them.
The loading had evidently been hurried or careless. Several hats belonging to Barnes were later found scattered along the road taken by the gang. They were believed to have fallen or been thrown from the packhorses and were eventually returned to the store. Other items may likewise have been lost, but the bushrangers escaped with most of what they had taken.
No police reached Cootamundra in time to challenge them. A later correspondent bitterly suggested that the same four men remained on the road between Wallendbeen and Cootamundra, almost inviting pursuit, while the police habitually appeared only after the offenders had left the district.
The contemporary account insisted that Gardiner had been among the robbers and claimed that more than one person recognised him. That certainty was misplaced.
By April 1863 Frank Gardiner was no longer operating in the southern districts. Following the Eugowra escort robbery, he had escaped north with Catherine Brown and established himself in Queensland. He could not credibly have been the splendidly mounted man seen at Cootamundra.
The rider was almost certainly Ben Hall. Hall was then active with Gilbert and O’Meally, knew the country around the Levels and Murrumburrah, and was repeatedly identified with the same men during their subsequent operations. The confusion shows how slowly reliable information travelled. Gardiner remained the most notorious name in the colony, and newspapers continued placing him at robberies long after he had disappeared from New South Wales.
Lowry’s reported presence is less secure. Some versions named Gilbert, O’Meally and Lowry; others described three men supposed to be Gardiner, Gilbert and O’Meally; still others implied a party of four. The safest conclusion is that Gilbert and O’Meally were central to the raid, Hall was the man incorrectly reported as Gardiner, and Lowry may also have accompanied them. The surviving reports do not permit every rider’s identity to be established with equal confidence.
The April robbery was not the end of the Barnes family’s troubles. The gang returned on the evening of 15 May, the store was again attacked by three armed men, then reported as Gilbert, O’Meally and Ben Hall. On that occasion the loss was placed much higher—approximately £200—and official police communications named Hall rather than Gardiner.
The later report helps correct the first identification. It described the premises as having recently been robbed by the same party, thereby connecting Hall with the earlier raid. It also shows that the bushrangers regarded Barnes’s isolated store as a dependable source of clothing, supplies and packable goods.
These repeated attacks made the Barnes family determined to resist.
The April raid therefore marked the beginning of a grim connection between the Barnes family and the western bushrangers. What began as the systematic plundering of an isolated country store culminated four months later in the killing of the family patriarch.
By May 1863, John Gilbert had returned to the Weddin Mountains and Burrangong country and resumed the life that would make his name notorious. This as the moment when Gilbert became Ben Hall’s “right-hand man,” though the two were not always together. In the newspapers of the period, Gilbert often appears not as a mere follower, but as one of the active organisers of the robberies — bold, talkative, well mounted, and quick to use violence when resisted.
STICKING UP AT LITTLE WOMBAT. --- We are informed upon good authority, that three ruffians, one of whom is supposed to be Johnny Gilbert, stuck-up and robbed about fifty Chinamen and some Europeans, yesterday morning, between eight and nine o'clock. Information having been sent to the police at Murrumburrah, one of the force stationed there immediately started for the camp here, and gave information to the police authorities, when a number of the mounted troopers were at once despatched with the black tracker in pursuit of the desperadoes. For the ends of justice, we hope they will be apprehended without delay.By the winter of 1863 Johnny Gilbert was no longer merely a young associate of Gardiner’s circle. The newspaper reports from Burrowa, Marengo, and Young show him moving into a more independent and conspicuous role: mounted on stolen bloodstock, acting with precise intelligence, leading armed men, and carrying out robberies with a confidence that suggested both experience and protection.
The first scene was Burrowa. At about seven o’clock one morning, Harry Wilson, jockey and trainer for Allen Hancock, was exercising Hancock’s racehorse Jacky Morgan near the Burrowa Police Barracks. The horse was no ordinary mount. He was a local racing favourite, known in the betting circle and due to run that very day. Gilbert rode up wearing a poncho. Wilson recognised him at once, having known him for years. Gilbert demanded the horse. When Wilson refused, Gilbert drew a revolver, placed it close to the jockey’s head, and gave him the choice: dismount or take the consequences.
Wilson pleaded with him, saying, “For God’s sake, Johnny, don’t ruin a poor fellow.” The appeal failed. Gilbert took Jacky Morgan, along with Wilson’s new jockey saddle and bridle, private property only purchased the day before. Then he cantered away, leaving the jockey to carry the news to Hancock.
The outrage was remarkable not only because of the value of the horse, but because of where it occurred. Gilbert had taken a prized racer almost within sight of the police barracks. A messenger rode hard into town, his horse panting, and delivered the alarm at the police station. The order was immediately given for boot and saddle. Men were armed, horses equipped, and the police rode out toward Burrowa. Yet the damage had already been done. Gilbert had chosen his moment, struck cleanly, and vanished.
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| Allen Hancock |
The correspondent drew the obvious conclusion: Gilbert could not have acted without information. Someone must have known when Jacky Morgan would be exercised, where Wilson would ride him, and how little protection he would have despite the proximity of the police barracks. The “bush telegraph” was therefore already working for Gilbert. His boldness rested not only upon horsemanship and revolvers, but upon eyes and ears in the district.
That same morning, about two hours after taking Jacky Morgan, Gilbert appeared again near Marengo. He rode up to two drays near the Calabash turn-off and ordered a carrier to lower a case of gin and hand over several bottles. When the carrier hesitated, Gilbert threw open his poncho, exposing a belt bristling with revolvers. He then gestured toward the bush, implying that he had armed companions nearby. Whether they were actually there or not, the threat worked. Gilbert understood the power of suggestion. A single man, properly armed and properly feared, could multiply himself in the imagination of his victim.
The Marengo correspondent believed Gilbert was now at the head of the Weddin and Abercrombie band, while Gardiner led another detachment elsewhere. However, Frank Gardiner had long departed the Lachlan for Queensland with Kitty Brown in 1862 weeks after the Eugowra Gold zrobbery.
The speculation captures how Gilbert was being read by contemporaries. He was no longer being described merely as one of Gardiner’s boys. He was appearing as a leader in his own right — the man who seized racehorses, commanded carriers, and moved with a private intelligence network around him.
The first clear burst of activity came around the Young and Marengo district in early June. A report from the Marengo correspondent, dated 4 June 1863, described two stores being “gutted” on the day of the Young races: Mr Chard’s store at Spring Creek and Mr Herbert’s Red Shirt Store. The timing was shrewd. Most of the police were attending the races, leaving the stores exposed. The robbers were described as four well-mounted and armed men, each leading a packhorse, and “Lieutenant Gilbert in person” was said to be at their head, mounted on the stolen Burrowa racehorse Jacky Morgan. At Chard’s, resistance was offered, and Gilbert reportedly fired point blank, one ball passing close to the man’s skull before another shot was fired. The raiders then packed selected goods and rode away.
These early June robberies already show the pattern that would define Gilbert’s year. He was not merely taking cash. He was helping strip country stores of the practical materials needed by mounted bushrangers: clothing, supplies, weapons, ammunition, and packable goods. Newspapers also increasingly personified the group around him, using phrases such as “Gilbert’s gang” or “Lieutenant Gilbert,” suggesting that his notoriety was rising independently of Hall’s.
The violence soon escalated. Later compiled newspaper chronologies record that on 21 June Gilbert and Lowry shot and killed the miner John McBride at Duffer Gully, near Burrangong.
Now Johnny Gilbert’s bushranging had moved beyond the theft of horses and the plundering of stores. The violence that always lay beneath his audacity now came into the open where the miner John McBride was shot during an encounter with Gilbert and Lowry, though the inquest evidence itself described them by appearance rather than by name.
On the Sunday morning, about eight o’clock, two mounted men rode to the place of Margaret Sinnet, a widow living at Duffer Gully. They asked for spirits, then for tea. She gave them each a mug, and during the exchange began to suspect who they were. When she asked whether they had come from Lambing Flat, they replied that they would “take care” not to let anyone in there — a remark that made her look more closely. One of the men opened his coat, and she saw that his belt was lined with revolvers. Both men had holsters on their saddles. They were not disguised, and Sinnet believed she would know them again.
After leaving her place, the two men rode toward Lambing Flat. Sinnet watched them until they reached a hut occupied by Mrs Beck. There she saw smoke and heard gunfire. More than five shots were fired. The men rode about, crossed the road more than once, and then dismounted. Shortly afterwards, Sinnet saw men carrying another man into Mrs Beck’s hut. When she went over about half an hour later, she found John McBride lying on a bed, groaning and badly wounded.
The fullest account of the confrontation came from Alfred Lablonde, a miner from the Twelve Mile Rush. He had been coming home from the Flat between half-past nine and ten o’clock when he encountered two armed horsemen about two hundred yards from where McBride lay. They stopped him and other diggers, warning them that if they had money they had better hand it over, or they might be served as they had served a “bravado” whom they had just shot in the leg and left lying by a tree. One of the men was dark, with whiskers and moustache, riding a tall chestnut horse. The other was fair, without hair on his face, wearing a cabbage-tree hat and carrying a large single-barrelled pistol.
When Lablonde reached McBride, he found him lying near a tree, close to the hut. McBride was pale, exhausted, and bleeding heavily. His pockets had been turned inside out. He said the men had robbed him of five or six shillings, all the money he had with him. He also said that, had there not been two of them, they would not have taken his pistol. They had come upon him from both sides, leaving him no chance. He had fired five shots at them before he was hit.
Other men told Lablonde that they too had been stuck up by the horsemen. McBride, seeing what was happening, had left the road and gone into the bush, firing at the robbers. They returned fire, and a short fight followed. McBride was struck in the thigh. His boot was full of blood, and blood was on the ground around the tree where he had fallen. He complained of cold in his feet and asked for the wounded leg to be bathed constantly with warm water.
Dr Henry Wilkinson, a medical practitioner at Young, was called to Duffer Gully about noon. He found that the ball had passed through McBride’s right thigh, entering on the outer side several inches above the knee and coming out lower on the inner side. The shot had narrowly missed the femoral artery and nerve, passing only about a quarter of an inch behind them. At first Wilkinson did not regard the wound as immediately fatal. He checked the bleeding with a compress and silk handkerchief, gave brandy and water, and left instructions for further care.
During the night McBride became delirious. The following day his mates asked whether he could be removed to the hospital. Wilkinson did not approve of the move, believing him better where he was, but the men said there was little accommodation and that they could not continue attending him there. Wilkinson reluctantly consented. McBride was placed in a spring cart, but he died on the road before reaching safety.
The post-mortem showed that the wound, though not directly severing the great vessels, had been sufficient to cause death when combined with shock to the nervous system. The inquest jury returned a verdict that McBride had died from the effects of a gunshot wound inflicted by one of two armed men by whom he had been attacked and robbed.
The jury added a sharp rider. In their opinion, the Executive Government deserved severe censure for failing to devise effective and stringent measures to suppress bushranging, which they described as rampant in the district. That rider is as important as the verdict itself. McBride’s death was not treated merely as an isolated killing. It was evidence of a wider collapse of security around the goldfields: armed men riding openly, robbing travellers, firing on those who resisted, and vanishing before the law could reach them.
For Gilbert’s biography, the Duffer Gully affair marks a darkening of the record. In May he had stolen Jacky Morgan with theatrical boldness near the Burrowa police barracks. In early June he had led the plundering of stores near Young, mounted on that same stolen racer. But at Duffer Gully the performance turned lethal. McBride resisted, fired back, and was shot down. Whether Gilbert fired the fatal shot or rode beside the man who did, the affair placed him within a killing that changed the tone of his 1863 campaign. The bold young horse-thief and store-robber was now associated with bloodshed.
The same chronologies place Gilbert and O’Meally in a run of late-June and early-July robberies: the Forbes and Young coach near Bogolong, Coupland and Howard at Main Creek, Mr Emanuel near Young, the Sydney mail near Goulburn, and stores and public-houses at Junee. These lists are retrospective rather than immediate reportage, but they fit the broader contemporary picture of Gilbert and O’Meally operating as a fast-moving pair before the larger Hall combination fully formed.By late July, Gilbert and O’Meally had carried their audacity into Carcoar. The attack on the Commercial Bank at Carcoar was one of the earliest daylight attempts on a bank in the colony.
On Thursday, 30 July, the two bushrangers rode towards Carcoar. Somewhere between Blayney and the town, they encountered a solitary traveller. They stopped and searched him, taking his watch and approximately £3. According to Vane’s later recollection, they then led the man from the road and tied him to a tree. They assured him that they had business to transact in Carcoar and would release him when they returned.
John Gilbert and John O’Meally did not gallop into town with revolvers raised or masks drawn across their faces. They rode directly to the Commercial Bank, dismounted in the street and fastened their horses outside. Then they walked into the bank as ordinary customers.
Carcoar was not an isolated roadside settlement. It was an established township with police close at hand and people moving through its central streets. To attempt a bank robbery there in the middle of the day required either extraordinary confidence or extraordinary recklessness. Gilbert and O’Meally possessed both.
They had already announced their presence on the road. Before reaching Carcoar, the pair stopped a traveller somewhere between Blayney and the town and relieved him of three pounds and his watch. Yet there was nothing hurried in their approach to the bank. According to the first detailed account, published by the Bathurst Times and reprinted in Sydney’s Empire, the men tied their horses and entered with the composure of men conducting legitimate business.
Inside stood the teller, Mr Parker.
One of the strangers produced a cheque and placed it before him. It was heavily blotted and suspicious in appearance. Whether it had been deliberately made difficult to read or merely served as a prop, it achieved its purpose: Parker bent his attention to the paper and began examining it closely.
The deception ended at once.
While Parker scrutinised the cheque, one of the men drew a revolver and levelled it at his head. He was ordered to remain still and silent or have his brains blown out. The transition was startling—from a routine banking transaction to an armed seizure within the space of a breath. Parker was trapped behind the counter, apparently at the mercy of the two men before him.
But the bushrangers had already attracted attention.
Mr MacDonald, the bank manager, had been standing farther along the street speaking with Mr Harrison, a shoemaker. He had seen the two strangers arrive and disliked their appearance. Once they entered the bank, his suspicion sharpened. MacDonald broke away from his conversation and walked back towards the building to investigate.
He reached the doorway at precisely the critical moment.
From the threshold, MacDonald heard the threat directed at Parker. He stopped rather than enter. One of the bushrangers saw him hesitate and, with remarkable calmness, invited him to “step inside.”
MacDonald declined.
He turned and ran into the street to raise the police.
That movement broke the bushrangers’ control of the room. With their attention divided between MacDonald’s flight and the teller behind the counter, Parker acted. He suddenly dropped out of sight beneath the counter, where the bank kept a loaded revolver.
Two shots rang out.
Parker was not attempting to shoot the robbers. The contemporary report described the shots as an alarm—a violent signal to the town that something was wrong inside the bank. Their effect was immediate. Whatever Gilbert and O’Meally had intended to do next—secure the staff, reach the bank’s money or hold the building against interference—was now impossible. MacDonald was running for the police, pistol shots had sounded in the main street, and every moment increased the likelihood that armed men would close around them.
The robbery collapsed before the robbers had taken anything.
Gilbert and O’Meally abandoned the enterprise, rushed from the bank and made for their tethered horses. They mounted and fled through Carcoar before the alarm could become an effective pursuit. Police followed shortly afterwards, but the bushrangers had gained enough distance to escape.
The town was left, as the newspaper reported, “all in commotion.” The attempt had lasted only minutes. Its startling character lay partly in its violence, but even more in its setting: two notorious bushrangers had entered a functioning bank at noon, presented a fraudulent cheque and attempted to convert an ordinary transaction into an armed robbery before the eyes of the town.
Their failure was not the result of a large police guard or a planned defence. It turned upon three quick decisions. MacDonald trusted his suspicion and returned to the bank. He refused the bushrangers’ invitation to enter and instead ran for help. Parker, once the robbers’ attention shifted, dropped below the counter and fired the alarm shots. Together, those actions destroyed the few moments of surprise upon which the entire enterprise depended.
Contemporary reports were initially cautious about the identities of the two men. The Bathurst Times account stated that, from the descriptions supplied, they were believed to be Gilbert and O’Meally and were thought responsible for both the bank attempt and another robbery committed later that day. Subsequent chronologies likewise attributed the Carcoar affair to them.
Their flight from Carcoar did not end the day’s violence.
The contrast between the two targets was considerable. At Carcoar, the bank stood within reach of the police and its employees had raised the alarm almost immediately. Stanley Hosie’s store at Caloola was isolated, without comparable protection, and served the miners, carriers and travellers moving through the district. It offered the bushrangers money, clothing, provisions and horses, with much less danger of immediate interference.
The pair approached the store leisurely during the afternoon. Hosie was standing behind the counter, and another four or five people were inside. The bushrangers entered without haste, each reportedly carrying four revolvers. Their display of weapons made resistance extremely dangerous, but their manner was described as “free and easy.” Rather than immediately silence everyone, they talked openly with Hosie and those gathered in the store.
Among the customers was Harry Stephens, whose presence prompted one of the most ominous conversations of the robbery. Stephens had previously been the victim of a violent attack at Caloola. In late 1862, armed robbers had raided the premises and shot him. Two of the offenders, Charles Ross and Alexander Ross, were subsequently convicted of the attempted murder and executed in March 1863.
Gilbert and O’Meally evidently knew Stephens and understood the part his evidence had played in bringing the two men to the gallows. Addressing him directly, they said:
“We know you; there were two men hanged through you, but we don’t intend to shoot anybody unless there is any resistance.”
The remark combined reassurance with an unmistakable warning. They claimed that no one would be harmed, but only upon the condition that everyone submitted. The reference to the executed men demonstrated that they knew Stephens’s history and implied that resistance might bring another shooting.
With those present under control, the bushrangers emptied the till. The earliest detailed account, published by the Empire from the Bathurst Times, placed the amount taken at approximately £36. Some later retellings give £25, but £36 is the figure contained in the contemporary report published immediately after the robbery.
They then began selecting goods from Hosie’s stock. Silk dresses were packed with boots, shoes and assorted merchandise. When questioned, the robbers said that they wanted the articles for “their people.” The expression probably referred to relatives, companions or members of the wider network that sheltered and supplied them, although the newspaper offered no further explanation. It nevertheless indicates that the raid was intended to provide more than personal clothing for the two men.
Hosie watched the dismantling of his stock with growing indignation. Although confronted by two men carrying as many as eight revolvers between them, he challenged either robber to put down his weapons and decide possession of the goods in a fair fight.
The proposal amused them. Both men smiled, and one replied:
“No, mate, we don’t do business in that way.”
It was a revealing exchange. Hosie attempted to reduce the encounter to a contest between individual men; Gilbert and O’Meally had no intention of surrendering the advantage provided by their firearms. Their answer stripped away any pretence that the robbery was governed by notions of fair play.
After choosing what they wanted, the bushrangers went to Hosie’s stable and took two horses. The stolen merchandise was packed upon the animals, turning them into led packhorses. Gilbert and O’Meally then mounted their own horses and prepared to depart.
Before leaving, one of them directed a final remark at Hosie:
“Ah, if you had as much money as is offered for me, you’d be well in.”
The speaker was referring to the reward offered for his capture. The newspaper did not identify which man made the remark, and it would be unsafe to assign it specifically to either Gilbert or O’Meally. Like the refusal of Hosie’s challenge, however, it reflected the pair’s confidence in their growing notoriety.
Once they had gone, Hosie did not remain passive. He rode with all possible speed to Bathurst, where he reached the police by approximately ten o’clock that evening and reported the robbery. A detachment was sent towards Caloola, but the delay between the raid, Hosie’s journey and the arrival of the police gave the offenders a substantial advantage. The newspaper correspondent considered it unlikely that the pursuing troopers would overtake them.
At the time, the identification was not presented as absolute fact. The Bathurst Times stated that, from the descriptions supplied, the two robbers were believed to be Gilbert and O’Meally and were also believed responsible for the attempted bank robbery at Carcoar earlier that day. Their identities subsequently became accepted in accounts of both offences.
The July robbery should not be confused with the gang’s second and considerably more destructive attack upon Hosie’s store on 23 September 1863. On that later occasion, Gilbert and O’Meally returned with Ben Hall, John Vane and Mick Burke, handcuffed Hosie and several tradesmen, and claimed that they were punishing him for informing the police about this first robbery.
The coach carried three prisoners—Thomas Morris, Charles Green and James Burke—who were suspected of assisting bushrangers or acting as bush telegraphs. Burke was a cousin of Vane’s associate Mickey Burke. Contemporary observers consequently interpreted the attack as an attempt to rescue the prisoners. That remains possible, but it was never conclusively established. Vane later maintained that the gang intended to rob the coach and was surprised to find it so heavily guarded.
The presence of a dray near the Five-mile Waterholes narrowed the road and provided a convenient place to stop the coach. Whether the bushrangers deliberately arranged this obstruction or merely took advantage of it is uncertain.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6EFe-XOs94
The link above shows where O'Meally, Gilbert and Vane attacked the Police as described above, filmed and narrated by Craig Bratby. (See Source page for Craig's book on the life of John Vane.)
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| Superintendent Edric Morrisset |
The coach was protected by Superintendent Edric Morrisset and three constables. Senior Sergeant Grainger and Constable Merrin were inside with the prisoners. Morrisset sat upon the box beside the driver, with a female passenger, Miss Flanagan, between them. Mounted Constable Frederick Sutton followed behind on Morrisset’s horse.
When the coach came into view, Gilbert galloped towards it and ordered the driver to stop. Two other armed riders emerged from the bush. Only then did the attackers appreciate the strength of the escort. One exclaimed:
“There is a bloody lot of traps!”
The remark suggests that the presence of four policemen had not been expected. Nevertheless, the three men opened fire.
Morrisset ordered the coach to halt and called upon the police to dismount. As he jumped from the box, the man believed to be O’Meally fired at him with a revolver. Grainger and Merrin scrambled out of the coach and returned fire while the prisoners remained under guard.
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Constable Frederick Sutton Never published before Private Source |
As Sutton began to gain ground, O’Meally rode across his line of pursuit. Sutton was preparing to fire again when O’Meally shot first. The ball struck Sutton in the breast and travelled through the upper part of his body into his right arm, emerging near the elbow. Some early reports reversed its course, saying that it entered through the arm and came out near the chest or collarbone, but all agreed that the wound was severe.
O’Meally fired again as Sutton attempted to escape. The second bullet passed so close that it cut the cord securing the constable’s hat. The bushrangers pursued Sutton for another two hundred yards, firing as he struggled back towards the protection of the coach.
Sutton then saw a third rider approaching on a grey horse. He later identified this man as John Vane and recalled him calling:
“Now, you bastard, I have got you.”
Sutton answered that Vane would first have to catch him and continued towards the coach. From the hill the bushrangers shouted that, had they possessed more ammunition, they would have followed the police “to hell.”
John M‘George watched much of the affair from beside his team. He testified that Gilbert had ordered him to remain until the coach arrived and that two other men then emerged from concealment. After the firing began, two riders moved away while Sutton pursued the third. Gilbert later circled back, encountered the returning constable and joined in driving him towards the coach.
After the police resumed their journey, the bushrangers returned to M‘George. One dismounted and recovered a revolver dropped during the engagement, remarking:
“This is a pretty thing to ride forty miles for.”
They asked M‘George how many police had been aboard. When told there were four, they admitted that they had not expected any constables and had believed that the coach could be stopped easily.
One of the men pulled a bullet from his trousers and displayed it to M‘George, describing his escape as:
“A nigh go.”
This was almost certainly connected with O’Meally’s remarkable escape during the gunfight. According to Vane’s later account, a police bullet struck O’Meally in the chest but was stopped by the pocket watch he carried. The impact shattered most of the watch and temporarily knocked the wind from him, but saved him from a potentially fatal wound. O’Meally supposedly retained the surviving piece as a charm against police bullets.
M‘George also testified that one of the bushrangers asked whether the mounted constable had been hit. When told that Sutton had been shot, the man replied that he knew it.
M‘George was positive about Vane’s identity. He had known him for six or seven years and said that Vane rode a grey horse, carried a double-barrelled gun and admitted firing twice. Sutton also identified him and recognised his mount as Sub-Inspector Davidson’s horse, recently stolen from Coombing Park.
Vane was nevertheless acquitted when tried for participating in the attack. He later claimed that he had not been present and that the third rider was an unnamed local man. The evidence consequently remains divided: Gilbert and O’Meally’s participation is certain, while Vane was strongly identified by two witnesses but acquitted and always denied the charge.
Sutton reached the coach weak from loss of blood. He was carried to Blayney, where Dr Rowland and Dr Machattie attended him. Although the bullet had passed dangerously through his breast and arm, it had missed the vital organs and major vessels that would have made the wound immediately fatal.
The constable survived but was incapacitated for approximately four months. When he appeared at Vane’s trial in January 1864, he said that he still occasionally suffered from the injury.
Morrisset and the remaining police continued to Bathurst with their prisoners. The bushrangers had failed to stop the coach, release its occupants or obtain any worthwhile plunder. Their principal trophy was the revolver recovered from the road.
The encounter revealed both their daring and their lack of preparation. They had selected useful ground and waited for the coach, but apparently possessed poor intelligence concerning its escort. Once confronted by four armed police, the proposed robbery or rescue became a confused mounted gunfight. Gilbert and O’Meally fought aggressively and displayed considerable horsemanship, but their enterprise came close to causing a policeman’s death and nearly ended O’Meally’s own life.
Their next target was not a bank or gold escort, but the commercial traffic moving between Lambing Flat and the satellite rushes. Monday was traditionally an account-collecting day. Storekeepers rode out from Burrangong to visit smaller traders, publicans and miners at the surrounding diggings, collecting debts accumulated during the previous week. Such men might return carrying notes, gold or cheques and were therefore attractive targets.
On the morning of Monday, 24 August, Hall’s gang occupied the road leading towards the Ten and Twelve Mile Rushes. The place selected was about a mile and a half from the Ten Mile, near Duffer Gully and close to the junction with the Tipperary Gully road. It was grimly familiar ground. Only two months earlier the miner John McBride had been shot there by Johnny Gilbert and Fred Lowry.
Information apparently reached the gang that four Burrangong storekeepers were expected along the road: Thomas Watson, John Murphy, Thomas Coupland and Benjamin Emanuel. Later accounts attribute this warning to a bush telegraph, but the earliest newspaper report does not identify an informer or state positively how the bushrangers learned of the journey. Nor does it establish that the men were known to be carrying gold. They were travelling towards the diggings to collect accounts, making the expectation of money reasonable, but the robbery appears to have occurred before those collections had been completed.
Before the storekeepers appeared, the gang began securing the ground. Nine miners travelling nearby were detained on the hill towards the Tipperary Gully road. One bushranger remained with them while the others prepared to intercept the expected party. The miners were not robbed. Their detention was tactical: they could neither warn approaching travellers nor carry information to the police.
Between ten and eleven o’clock, Watson, Murphy, Coupland and Emanuel came along the road. A warning shot was reportedly fired and the storekeepers were ordered to stop and dismount. With five armed men controlling the road and another group already held upon the hill, resistance offered little prospect of success.
The bushrangers took possession of the four horses and began searching their captives. Gilbert is credited in later reconstructions with directing the search, but the contemporary account does not assign each action to an individual member of the gang. What it does record is the extraordinary thoroughness of the examination. The storekeepers were compelled to remove their coats, waistcoats and boots so that money could not remain concealed in clothing, footwear or lining.
Murphy suffered the heaviest personal loss. The bushrangers took his valuable gold watch and chain, articles whose value went beyond their immediate resale price. A watch and chain were conspicuous marks of respectability and commercial success, and the gang regularly wore or distributed such trophies.
Emanuel surrendered a £1 note.
Watson proved more fortunate. The bushrangers discovered a cheque for £200 and ten shillings in silver upon him, but returned both. The cheque was readily traceable and difficult for wanted men to negotiate. Their refusal of the silver is less easily explained, although the gang sometimes rejected small coin when it added weight without materially improving their position.
Coupland escaped with £5 by quietly slipping the note down one leg of his trousers before the search reached it. The deception succeeded, despite the order requiring him to remove much of his clothing.
The bushrangers found no gold and far less ready money than they had evidently expected. The richest prize was therefore not cash but horseflesh. All four storekeepers were deprived of their horses, saddles and bridles.
Watson did not surrender his mount quietly. His resistance or argument angered the gang, and one of the bushrangers threatened to knock his brains out, accusing him of being “too cheeky.” The threat appears to have been intended to force compliance rather than announce an immediate intention to kill him, but in a district where McBride had recently been shot, it could not have been dismissed as empty language.
The gang’s knowledge of its victims was again demonstrated when one of the men examined Coupland’s saddle and remarked:
“This is the saddle you had when you were stuck up down the creek.”
The comment showed either personal recognition or intelligence gathered through the gang’s local connections. Coupland was not merely an unknown traveller encountered by chance. At least one of the robbers knew of his earlier experience and remembered the equipment he had been carrying.
While the storekeepers were being stripped and searched, the nine miners remained under guard on the nearby hill. The bushrangers did not take their money or possessions. Instead, according to the Burrangong Star, they invited the miners to join the gang, promising to supply them with horses, firearms and ammunition.
The offer may have been partly bravado—a public demonstration that the gang could recruit openly within reach of the diggings—but it also reflected a practical need. Bushranging depended upon young riders, local knowledge and men willing to act as scouts, horse thieves and messengers.
The miners rejected the invitation indignantly. Having refused, they were released without further molestation. Their detention had served its purpose: while held under armed guard, they had been unable to warn the storekeepers or interfere with the robbery.
Once the bushrangers had departed with the horses and saddlery, Watson acted quickly. He encountered another traveller, obtained the loan of a horse and rode to the Ten Mile Rush, where he informed the local police. Those officers then proceeded towards Young and reported the robbery to the authorities at the main police camp.
Watson returned to Burrangong on horseback. Murphy, Coupland and Emanuel, now deprived of their mounts, made their way back aboard one of the coaches.
The immediate pursuit produced no arrests. A report circulating afterwards suggested that Watson’s horse had been seen in White’s paddock and might therefore be recovered. Police activity in the district intensified, and later reports stated that officers recovered several horses taken by the gang, although the surviving accounts do not clearly identify which of the four storekeepers’ animals were among them.
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| Sir Frederick Pottinger |
Among the animals Pottinger recognised horses recently stolen from the district, including one belonging to Mr Roberts of Currawang and the racehorse Comus, taken from Thomas Icely. Saddles belonging to Roberts and other victims were also found upon them. The place was evidently being used as one of the gang’s temporary camps or remounting stations.
As Pottinger’s party approached, the bushrangers saw the police and hurried towards a second group of horses already standing saddled and bridled. They mounted the fresh animals and galloped away, abandoning five tired or surplus horses at the camp.
Pottinger and his troopers opened fire and pursued them for approximately eight miles. Several shots were exchanged or fired after the fugitives, but none of the gang was brought down. Riding fresher and faster horses, Hall and his companions steadily increased their advantage and eventually disappeared into the surrounding country.
Although the pursuit failed to secure a prisoner, it deprived the gang of five horses and recovered part of the property recently stolen from Roberts, Icely and others. It also exposed the method upon which the bushrangers’ mobility depended: fresh horses were concealed at selected camps, allowing them to abandon exhausted mounts and outrun police patrols whose animals had already travelled many miles.
Pottinger had tracked the gang to its refuge and driven it from the ground, but once again superior horseflesh decided the contest. The bushrangers escaped without their pursuers coming close enough to force a decisive engagement.
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| Mr Hammond |
At about two or three o’clock, while the household was at dinner, the three men dismounted at the door. A servant girl was the first person to encounter them. They asked her for the station “superintendent,” but scarcely waited for an answer before pushing past her and entering the dining room.
Inside were Mr Hammond, his brother, Mr Gwynne, Mrs Hammond and the children. The bushrangers introduced themselves by covering the company with their revolvers. Gilbert was readily recognised; contemporary reports also identified John Vane. The third man was confidently—but incorrectly—reported as Frank Gardiner, who was then living in Queensland. Later tradition substituted Ben Hall, and the wider movements of the gang make Hall’s presence possible, but the contemporary identification of the third rider was never satisfactorily resolved.
Gilbert remained in the dining room as spokesman and guard while his two companions searched the remainder of the house. He leaned casually against the sideboard and conversed with the family as they sat under the authority of his revolver. His manner was easy and outwardly courteous, but the purpose of the visit soon emerged.
The gang wanted the person who had raised the alarm after Gilbert and O’Meally’s earlier robbery of Harris’s public house and Williams’s store at Junee. They knew that the warning had originated at Hammond’s station and had read the newspaper accounts describing the rapid journey to Wagga Wagga.
Gilbert asked which member of the household had carried the information. The family denied that the man was present. According to later Hammond family tradition, the messenger had been young Albert Hammond. Albert supposedly ruffled his hair and turned up his collar to alter his appearance, while his father claimed that the young man had gone to Mimosa station on business.
Whether the disguise genuinely deceived Gilbert is doubtful. Later family recollection had the bushranger reveal before leaving that he had recognised Albert all along.
Gilbert explained that the gang had established its own scale of punishment for informers. A first offence would bring fifty lashes with a stockwhip; a second, one hundred lashes; and a third, death. The men claimed to have brought a whip specifically to administer the first punishment. Their complaint was that the Hammonds had suffered no injury during the earlier robbery and had therefore shown “ingratitude” by warning the police.
The horse used for the alarm interested them almost as much as its rider. Newspaper reports had claimed that the animal carried its rider the twenty-four miles from Junee to Wagga in approximately an hour. Gilbert said that the gang had read the report and was “pleased with it.” Such a horse was precisely what bushrangers required: fast enough to carry intelligence to the police, and therefore fast enough to carry a wanted man away from them.
While Gilbert kept the family occupied, his companions searched the bedrooms and other parts of the homestead. They collected several changes of clothing, a watch, jewellery and all the gunpowder they could find. They discovered no substantial amount of cash.
One later Hammond account states that Albert crossed the room and tested a muzzle-loading firearm with its ramrod to determine whether it was charged. The bushranger guarding the family seized it and demanded:
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Albert reportedly attempted to laugh off the danger:
“I thought I might have been able to hold you people up.”
The servant girl’s position gave her a particularly close view of the bushrangers. She received them at the door, heard them ask for the superintendent and saw them enter without permission. The servants also witnessed the striking contrast between the gang’s threatening arrival and its concern with personal appearance.
A report published shortly afterwards in the Goulburn Herald related that, while one bushranger guarded the Hammond family, the other two searched the house and changed into clothing belonging to Mr Hammond. They then washed themselves, oiled their hair and returned to the dining room in their newly acquired clothes. Once suitably groomed, they relieved the first man so that he could wash and change as well.
Only after all three had attended to their appearance did they sit down to dinner.
The newspaper treated this mockingly as evidence of bushranger “etiquette”: the men apparently considered it improper to join the ladies at the table until they had washed, dressed and arranged their hair. Beneath the humour lay the reality that Hammond’s clothes, water, hair oil, dining room and food had all been appropriated at gunpoint.
Later Hammond family tradition states that a maid offered the men a meal, which they accepted, while the family was ordered to remain seated in the adjoining room. This agrees broadly with the contemporary report that the bushrangers ate at the house, although the immediate accounts suggest that dinner was already on the table when they arrived. No surviving report names the servant or preserves a formal deposition from her.
The women of the household evidently observed that Gilbert was well dressed, carefully groomed and capable of conversing pleasantly while holding a family prisoner. Such observations contributed to the contemporary image of Gilbert as the “flash” member of the gang—vain about his clothing and appearance, sociable with women and fond of performing the gentleman even while committing robbery.
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| Mrs Hammond |
After searching the house, two of the bushrangers went into the paddock to bring up the station horses. Gilbert remained near the homestead, asked for a recent newspaper and continued talking about the gang’s exploits.
He denied a report that Superintendent Morrisset had wounded one of the gang’s horses during the attempted attack on the prisoner coach near Carcoar. He also joked that Mr Roberts of Currawang was “a first-rate old fellow” because he supplied horses to both the police and the bushrangers—a reference to the gang’s recent theft of animals selected for police service.
The bushrangers said the police had lately captured five of their best horses and that they required replacements. They identified the celebrated Wagga messenger’s mount among Hammond’s stock. Before choosing another horse, they trialled it in the paddock, matching it against one of their own animals “just to try its foot.”
According to the later family story, Gilbert—or the man remembered as Hall—then quietly told Albert that his concealment had not succeeded:
“Young fellow, you thought I did not know you were the one who told the police.”
He allegedly added that Albert was fortunate O’Meally had not accompanied them, because O’Meally would have “shot you down like a dog.” Again, this belongs to the later Hammond tradition and cannot be confirmed from the 1863 accounts.
The gang finally departed with two Hammond horses, including the animal used to carry the earlier warning. They told the family that their existing mounts were adequate for travelling through the night.
From Hammond’s they rode back towards the Old Junee settlement. Williams’s store was stripped of money, clothing and merchandise, with Williams reportedly deprived even of the coat he was wearing. Harris’s public house was similarly plundered, and one of Harris’s best horses was taken. The accumulated goods were loaded onto packhorses before the party left the district.
As soon as the bushrangers departed Wyoming, another rider galloped for Wagga. At about four o’clock he crossed the bridge and raced towards the police quarters, his horse marked by hard spurring. This second warning came too late to secure an immediate pursuit: most of the Wagga police were then searching the Galore scrub. Sergeant Carroll could only telegraph Lambing Flat and Gundagai.
The Hammond raid thus combined threat, vanity and calculation. The gang entered during dinner, searched the bedrooms, changed into their victim’s clothes, washed and oiled their hair, ate at the family table and then tested the station’s horses before departing. To the servants and Hammond family, their superficial politeness did not conceal the essential reality: the household had been invaded, its members held at gunpoint and one of its young men threatened with flogging or death for having summoned the law.
Source caution: The immediate 1863 accounts identify Gilbert and Vane but mistakenly name Gardiner as the third man.
A customer named Maher entered while the robbery was proceeding. He was immediately seized at the shop entrance and marched into the room with Webb and his wife. Jamieson searched the prisoners, taking a gold chain from Webb, three shillings and sixpence from Mrs Webb, and several shillings from Maher. The servant was not searched.
The bushrangers then turned their attention to clothing. The man Webb believed to be O’Meally tried on boots, while Hall asked where the best Crimean shirts were kept. Webb was briefly brought from the room and made to show him. Hall selected approximately two dozen shirts before Webb was returned to Jamieson’s custody.
Webb asked the young sentry whether the man in the shop was Johnny Gilbert. Jamieson refused to answer directly, telling him not to concern himself with identities. He did, however, express disappointment that none of the store’s customers had arrived carrying a substantial sum:
“I wish someone would come into the store with a hundred notes in his pocket.”
The search became extraordinarily thorough. The bushrangers examined the underside and legs of the dining table, lifted its covering and inspected the vases on the mantelpiece. They squeezed a pair of fencing gloves and asked whether they might be stuffed with banknotes. Photographs were handled and examined, cupboards opened and boxes emptied.
Upstairs, five trunks were searched article by article. Clothing and personal effects were scattered across the rooms, leaving the house in what Webb described as “awful confusion.” In the store the men selected coats, trousers, waistcoats, shirts, silk handkerchiefs, hats, boots, jewellery and riding equipment. They also took firearms, cash and gold chains.
Webb valued the complete loss at approximately £270. When the selection was complete, the prisoners were marched upstairs. Hall ordered them to remain there for ten minutes, warning Webb that if he heard any alarm he would return and “settle” with him. He added that the gang would not itself be leaving for another ten minutes—an attempt to discourage Webb from judging their precise moment of departure.
Webb waited only about two minutes. Hearing the voice of Dr Linter in the shop below, he came downstairs and explained what had happened. Linter had just passed the bushrangers walking beside their horses in the direction of his residence.
Webb ran to the public house across the road, where he found two policemen in the parlour. Neither was carrying his revolver. They returned to their quarters for weapons, while Webb crossed the township raising the alarm at Hancock’s store and informing Mr Black and the police sergeant.
One policeman subsequently appeared outside Webb’s premises and discharged his revolver, apparently as an alarm rather than at any visible target. By then the bushrangers had departed. They had occupied the store for more than half an hour and left at approximately a quarter-past seven.
No effective pursuit was mounted that night. The following morning townspeople followed the readily visible tracks. Near the route taken by the gang they recovered recovered two black waistcoats; farther on they found a double-barrelled gun. The tracks led from a place beside a fence where the horses had been fed corn and bran, passed near the church and eventually divided, indicating that the riders had separated into two parties.
Webb was scathing about the police response. He alleged that two constables were drunk in one public house, that the inspector was at another hotel near the lock-up and that the senior sergeant was elsewhere in town. In his view, the police had no effective arrangement for assembling in an emergency or protecting the township.
Inspector John Black later disputed portions of this accusation. He reported that Webb reached his quarters at the Commercial Hotel at 7.20 p.m. and told him that the store had been robbed by “Gilbert, O’Meally, and two others.” Black armed himself and attempted to muster the scattered police. Burrowa possessed no proper barracks, and the men were quartered in different places.
Black conceded that Constables Swan and Thomas Foley, who had arrived from Marengo on escort duty, were drunk and unfit for service. Foley claimed that he had nevertheless run after mounted men and fired five shots. Black also reported that the senior sergeant could not initially be found and was later discovered to have been intoxicated at Webb’s store. Proceedings were subsequently taken against the policemen whose condition had rendered them unfit for duty. The controversy reached Parliament as an example of the difficulty of maintaining an effective rural police service.
The Burrowa robbery was significant for Gilbert because it displayed precisely the kind of organised store raid in which he specialised. The shop was occupied for more than half an hour; captives and newcomers were controlled by an armed sentry; every possible hiding place was searched; and large quantities of useful clothing, footwear, weapons and jewellery were packed for removal. Even with police scattered throughout the township, the gang entered openly, conducted its business almost at leisure and departed before an effective pursuit could be assembled.
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| John Vane c. 1900 |
The Burrangong Star, reporting five days after the robbery, confidently identified Hall, Gilbert and O’Meally but described the other two men as unknown. It added that four members of the party could probably be identified. Later evidence and John Vane’s memoirs establish the five as Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally, Vane and Burke. The episode was subsequently included in the official police chronology of Hall and Gilbert’s offences as the robbery of four storekeepers on the Hurricane Gully Road.
The Duffer Gully encounter was modest in cash value. The gang failed to obtain the gold or substantial collections it had presumably expected. Murphy lost his watch and chain, Emanuel lost £1, while Watson’s £200 cheque and silver were returned and Coupland saved his £5 by concealment.
Its importance lay elsewhere. Hall’s newly enlarged gang had demonstrated that it could occupy a public road close to the Burrangong diggings, divide its members between guarding prisoners and searching selected victims, and withdraw with four fresh horses before the police could respond. The detention of the miners also revealed a more organised method than a spontaneous roadside robbery. The gang controlled witnesses, isolated its principal targets and converted the stolen horses into the means of its continued escape.
For Vane and Burke, it was one of their first recorded operations as members of Hall’s company. For Gilbert and O’Meally, it showed how completely their local knowledge and network of informants could turn an ordinary business journey into an arranged interception. For the four storekeepers, the outcome was humiliating but fortunate: stripped, searched and threatened, they nevertheless returned alive from ground already associated with murder.
On Tuesday, 22 September, one of these “bush telegraphs” reported that three mounted policemen were travelling towards Carcoar by way of Mount Macquarie. The patrol consisted of Sergeant Turnbull and Constables Evenden and Cromie, whose surname was sometimes rendered Crombie or Cromey in later accounts. They had been sent into the district specifically to search for bushrangers.
The precise membership of the gang that pursued them is uncertain. The earliest newspaper reports named Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally, Vane and Burke. John Vane’s later account, however, described only Gilbert, O’Meally, Burke and himself, placing Hall elsewhere. It is therefore safest to describe the attackers as Gilbert’s or Hall’s gang without insisting that Hall personally took part.
The troopers had ridden from Long Swamp and were approaching Carcoar when they stopped at the farm of George Marsh, approximately eight miles from the town. Their horses were tied near the house while the men obtained refreshments from the Marsh household.
Marsh told the police that he had seen a saddled and bridled horse wandering in the vicinity. He believed that it might have escaped from bushrangers concealed nearby. One constable accompanied Marsh to recover the animal, leaving Sergeant Turnbull and the remaining trooper at the house.
The supposed stray horse drew the first two men away from their companions. Whether it had been deliberately placed as a lure cannot be established, but the gang was already following the police tracks and knew where they had stopped. Marsh and the constable were surprised, disarmed and secured to a tree with the police handcuffs.
About half an hour later, the two policemen remaining at the house heard shots. They went towards the sound, but only one carried his carbine. Before they had travelled far, two mounted bushrangers appeared and ordered them to stand.
The armed constable considered firing, but the bushrangers warned that if he raised his weapon his “bloody brains” would be blown out. They added that Marsh and the first constable, already prisoners farther along the track, would also be shot. With his companion inadequately armed and the lives of the captives apparently at risk, the policeman surrendered his carbine and revolver.
The other members of the gang then emerged. The three troopers and Marsh were brought together and secured. One version says they were tied to a fence; another that at least one was handcuffed to a tree. These details are not necessarily contradictory, as the prisoners were held for several hours and may have been moved after the entire patrol had been captured.
The encounter then descended into calculated humiliation. The bushrangers took the troopers’ carbines, revolvers, ammunition pouches, handcuffs and other accoutrements. They appropriated the police horses, together with their saddles and bridles. Some reports said they stripped the uniform jackets from the constables, put them on and paraded before their prisoners in derision. The jackets were eventually returned, but the weapons, handcuffs, horses and riding equipment were retained.
Having deprived the troopers of every practical means of pursuit, the gang entered the Marsh house and obtained something to eat. For the Marsh family, this transformed an ordinary meal into an armed occupation. The surviving reports do not describe physical mistreatment of Mrs Marsh or other members of the household, but the family remained in a house controlled by heavily armed men while three disarmed policemen were held outside.
During the occupation the bushrangers spoke boastfully of the police. They reportedly declared that they wanted to meet Superintendent John McLerie and his men, strip them of their uniforms and leave them handcuffed to trees throughout the night. The threat reveals the purpose behind the performance. The gang was not merely acquiring horses and firearms; it was publicly reversing the relationship between outlaw and constable.
After approximately two hours, the prisoners were released. Sergeant Turnbull and his companions were allowed to proceed towards Carcoar on foot. At about eight o’clock that evening the three men entered the town without horses, firearms or ammunition. One correspondent described them as distinctly “chapfallen.”
Public ridicule followed almost immediately. A Carcoar report sarcastically alleged that the troopers had said they had joined the police without expecting to be required to pursue bushrangers, only to find that the bushrangers had pursued them. That remark should not automatically be accepted as the constables’ literal statement: it appeared in a hostile newspaper account written to mock their defeat.
The incident later became evidence against John Vane. Following his surrender, Edward George Marsh’s deposition was produced during Vane’s examination. Marsh stated that the bushrangers had taken the whole of the policemen’s arms and that he had known Vane from boyhood, leaving him in no doubt about Vane’s identity. The Sydney Morning Herald’s report of Vane’s further examination provides valuable legal corroboration for his presence.
The humiliation of Turnbull, Evenden and Cromie led to immediate official scrutiny. When news reached Sydney, the Government demanded an explanation. The policemen answered that they had been separated while attempting to recover a horse and had been attacked in succession. By the time the last two were challenged, one companion and Marsh were already prisoners, the patrol was divided, and only one of the two men carried a long arm.
Sergeant Trumble, and two troopers came into town last evening (Tuesday), about eight o'clock, without arms, ammunition, and chapfallen, and stated that when they joined the police they never expected to be called upon to pursue bushrangers but unfortunately the bushrangers pursued them the whole of Tuesday afternoon, and about five o'clock, bailed them up at Marsh's, about eight miles from Carcoar, and took their carbines, revolvers, pouch box, handcuffs, and sent them about their business. The troopers say it was Ben Hall, O'Mealy, Gilbert, Vane, and Burke and that when they get caught they will be enabled to swear to them, as they had a good view of them. The loss to the country since Saturday cannot be less than £70, and all for arms alone; there wero four breech-loading carbines, and four revolvers, and all the holsters, straps, breast plates, and other lumber that make up the total of a trooper's accoutrements.- Freemans Journal 23rd Sept
Contemporary newspapers freely accused the troopers of cowardice, neglect and dereliction of duty. Some argued that experienced mounted police should never have separated, left weapons at the house or allowed an uncertain report about a stray horse to draw them into the bush.
However, no reliable contemporary record showing that Turnbull, Evenden and Cromie were formally prosecuted or convicted of “dereliction of duty.” The surviving reports establish that the Government required an explanation and that their conduct was subjected to departmental punsihment and public criticism.
Their tactical mistakes were nevertheless serious. They had stopped without securing the approaches, separated their small patrol and failed to carry all their weapons when investigating suspicious gunfire. Yet the newspapers’ ridicule obscured the predicament they eventually faced: two men confronted by several bushrangers, one poorly armed, while a constable and a civilian were already held as hostages and threatened with death.
The capture at Mount Macquarie was one of the gang’s most damaging victories over the colonial police. No officer was killed and no member of the Marsh family, of which Mrs Marsh was pregnate, was injured, but three mounted constables had been reduced to prisoners, their equipment carried away and their uniforms turned into objects of mockery. For Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally, Vane and Burke, it was a triumph of intelligence, surprise and intimidation. For the police, it was a public humiliation whose consequences followed them into Carcoar—and followed the gang to Caloola the next day.
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| Stanley Hosie |
The mistake was understandable. The previous day, Hall’s gang had surprised three troopers near Mount Macquarie, disarmed them and taken their horses, firearms, handcuffs and parts of their equipment. The bushrangers now approached Caloola displaying the material symbols of the authority pursuing them.
Hosie soon recognised John O’Meally among the riders. O’Meally and Johnny Gilbert had robbed his store less than two months earlier, following their unsuccessful attempt upon the Commercial Bank at Carcoar. He then recognised Micky Burke, whom he knew personally. The supposed police patrol was therefore revealed as the complete five-man gang: Ben Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally, John Vane and Burke.
Early newspaper reports named only four men, omitting Hall, but Hosie’s sworn evidence was explicit that five bushrangers were present. His account also distinguished their positions and actions with unusual clarity.
Realising the danger, Hosie seized the double-barrelled gun he kept in the parlour. The doors of the premises were open, and the man he believed to be Ben Hall advanced into the store. Hosie pushed the parlour door towards him, causing Hall to retreat rather than walk directly into the muzzle of the gun.
Outside, Vane and Burke remained mounted. Both levelled their firearms through the opening or window, covering Hosie and preventing him from concentrating solely upon Hall. Their position was essential to the attack. While the other men sought entry, Vane and Burke held Hosie under fire and blocked any attempt to escape through the front of the premises.
O’Meally then ran around the building to the open back door. He rushed into the parlour with a revolver presented and ordered Hosie to surrender.
Hosie looked at the armed men surrounding the building and acknowledged the hopelessness of his position:
As there were five of them, he would surrender.
He handed the double-barrelled gun to O’Meally. Hall later took possession of it as part of the gang’s plunder.
The bushrangers marched Hosie into the store and secured him with the police handcuffs taken the preceding day. The irony was deliberate and unmistakable: equipment intended to restrain the bushrangers was now being used by them to imprison one of the district’s informants.
The gang did not confine itself to Hosie. Some members crossed to the nearby premises and brought in the village blacksmith and his employee, together with the shoemaker and his man. The four were handcuffed in pairs and detained inside the store with Hosie.
This was more than a search for additional victims. The blacksmith and shoemaker were the men most likely to intervene, carry a warning or provide a horse to someone attempting to reach the police. By collecting and securing them, the gang temporarily took control of the small settlement.
The bushrangers then tied their horses to the post outside. They removed the bits from the animals’ mouths and fed them freely with corn taken from Hosie’s stock. Their conduct showed that they expected to remain for some time. They were not conducting a hurried raid but methodically occupying the premises.
With Hosie and the tradesmen secured, the gang began ransacking the store. Goods were pulled down from the shelves while the bushrangers selected whatever suited them.
Gilbert and O’Meally entered the parlour separately, each searching for money. They opened Hosie’s cashbox but found only about fifteen shillings.
O’Meally then searched Hosie personally. He found a half-sovereign and took it, but returned the silver remaining in Hosie’s pockets. Gilbert subsequently searched him again and showed less restraint: he took the silver O’Meally had left behind.
The sequence is significant because it rests upon Hosie’s sworn evidence rather than an anonymous newspaper reconstruction. It also reveals that the two men did not necessarily observe the same informal rules. O’Meally rejected the smaller coin; Gilbert returned and collected it.
Other members entered the bedroom. They opened the drawers and took brooches and other trinkets belonging to Mrs Hosie. Silk pocket handkerchiefs were removed, together with pillowcases that could be used as bags for sugar.
The gang obtained six three-bushel bags from an outbuilding. They filled them with provisions, clothing and other merchandise selected from Hosie’s stock, tying the mouths securely when the packing was complete.
John Vane played a direct and identifiable part in preparing the gang’s transport. Hosie testified that Vane went out and caught his roan horse. He fitted the animal with Hosie’s saddle and bridle.
A second horse was caught and equipped with a saddle belonging to the blacksmith. The gang had also brought a led horse with them. Two loaded bags were slung across each of the three animals, one on either side, distributing the stolen goods among the improvised packhorses.
The blacksmith was separately robbed of approximately £1, a saddle and bridle, a ham and some bacon. The total value of the property taken from Hosie was later placed at about £300, although his deposition did not give a complete monetary valuation.
Throughout the robbery, the gang made clear that Hosie had not been selected merely because his store contained useful property. Gilbert and O’Meally had robbed him in July. Hosie had then ridden to Bathurst and informed the police.
The second raid was announced as punishment for that decision.
Before leaving, Gilbert warned Hosie not to seek the police. He told him that the gang would watch the premises during the night and that Hosie would be shot if he attempted to carry information to the authorities. The bushrangers said expressly that they had returned because he had reported their previous visit.
One contemporary account rendered the threat still more directly: if Hosie “breathed a word” about the latest robbery, they would return and blow out his brains.
This transformed the raid from ordinary plunder into an act of coercion against the district’s system of police intelligence. The gang was warning not only Hosie but every storekeeper, station hand and settler who might consider reporting its movements. Property could be replaced; cooperation with the police might bring the bushrangers back to the informant’s door.
The early press reports add a destructive episode not mentioned in Hosie’s later deposition. After packing the goods, the bushrangers reportedly entered an adjoining paddock belonging to Mr Larnach and attempted to catch additional horses.
They secured two animals—one belonging to Hosie and the other to Larnach—but were unable to catch the remainder. According to the newspaper reports, the gang deliberately shot the horses it could not take.
The Yass Courier similarly reported that the bushrangers selected the best horses available, made them carry the stolen property and shot the remainder. Because this detail does not appear in Hosie’s sworn evidence, it should be attributed to the contemporary press rather than treated as something he personally confirmed in court.
The same distinction applies to the claim that the gang destroyed the goods it could not carry. The first reports said they packed whatever property could be removed and destroyed the remainder. Hosie’s deposition described goods being pulled down and selected but did not expressly testify to wholesale destruction.
Once the three packhorses had been loaded, the bushrangers removed the handcuffs from Hosie and the other captives. They then rode away with the six bags, Hosie’s gun, the horses, saddlery, money, provisions and Mrs Hosie’s jewellery.
The removal of the handcuffs was practical rather than merciful. The gang had only recently captured them from the police and intended to retain them for further use.
Contemporary reports stated that the bushrangers then went to a public house a short distance from the store. There they drank and remained until approximately ten o’clock that night. Their willingness to carouse nearby, after openly threatening Hosie, demonstrated how secure they felt. The warning that they would watch him was credible because they had not immediately left the district.
Reports reaching Bathurst the following evening claimed that the five men were camped within fifteen miles of the town.
The sworn testimony establishes that Vane and Burke were not merely riders accompanying the more established bushrangers:
Both remained mounted outside during Hosie’s initial resistance and covered him with their firearms.Burke was recognised personally by Hosie, removing much of the uncertainty surrounding his participation.Vane caught Hosie’s roan horse, saddled and bridled it, and helped prepare the transport upon which the stolen goods were carried.Their presence allowed Hall, Gilbert and O’Meally to enter, search and pack the premises while the approaches remained guarded.
The raid was later included among the armed robberies for which Vane was prosecuted. Hosie identified him positively before the Bathurst Police Court, giving the prosecution direct evidence of his active participation.
Burke never faced trial for the offence. A month later he was mortally wounded during the attack upon Henry Keightley’s house at Dunn’s Plains and took his own life rather than be captured.
The second attack upon Hosie’s store displayed the gang at the height of its temporary power. The five men arrived disguised by captured police equipment, surrounded an armed storekeeper, neutralised the village tradesmen and used stolen handcuffs to secure their prisoners. They fed their horses, searched the store methodically, prepared six bags of plunder and obtained the animals required to carry it away.
Most importantly, they explained why they had returned. Hosie’s offence was not resistance during the July robbery but his subsequent decision to inform the police. The destruction, threats and deliberate occupation of the surrounding settlement were intended to enforce silence.
It was therefore both robbery and retaliation—a public demonstration of what the gang believed should happen to anyone who assisted the authorities.
Shortly before the raid on Rothery’s Cliefden station, the full five-man gang—Johnny Gilbert, Ben Hall, John O’Meally, John Vane and Michael “Micky” Burke—appeared at Grubbenbong, the property of magistrate John Loudon, approximately fourteen miles from Carcoar.
Cliefden station c., 1900.
Courtesy NLA.
Contemporary reports place the attack at about eleven o’clock on Friday night, 25 September, although later court evidence gave the date as the evening of the 26th. The sequence of events strongly indicates that Grubbenbong was attacked first, followed by Cliefden and Canowindra on Saturday.
The gang had received information that police were staying at Loudon’s residence. Their initial purpose was therefore not merely robbery: they hoped to surprise and capture the troopers.
“The police are here”
The bushrangers approached the house and knocked at the door. When Mrs Loudon asked who was outside, they answered:
“Police.”
Loudon, suspicious of the unexpected arrival, asked how many men were present. The reply was five. He then demanded the name of their commanding officer.
Mr John Loudon
c. 1863.
Penzig
“Inspector Saunderson,” one of them answered.
Whether they meant Sergeant Sanderson or deliberately chose a plausible police name is uncertain. Loudon remained unconvinced and refused to admit them.
The answer from outside was immediate:
“If you don’t open the door, we will fire.”
When the occupants still refused, one of the bushrangers discharged a firearm into the house. Six slugs tore through the outer door, crossed the adjoining space and penetrated another door leading towards the bedroom or passage. The shot could easily have killed anyone standing in its path.
With the door damaged, the gang forced its way inside.
The men found no police at Grubbenbong. Those present included John Loudon and two visitors, Messrs Kirkpatrick and David Wilson. Loudon and his companions were bailed up and secured with handcuffs taken only a few days earlier from the three policemen captured at George Marsh’s farm near Mount Macquarie.
Mrs Loudon and her niece were ordered into another room. Unlike the abbreviated telegram, which reported that “all the inmates” were handcuffed, the fuller accounts indicate that it was the adult men who were placed in irons while the women were confined separately.
Burke and another gang member had been seen outside with firearms when the occupants emerged. Burke was subsequently placed in charge of the handcuffed prisoners while his companions searched the residence.
The gang went through the rooms, opened desks and examined the household’s possessions. Their principal inquiry concerned the supposed policemen.
Where were the troopers? How many had been there? Where had they gone?
Finding that their intelligence was either mistaken or out of date, the bushrangers turned their attention to money, weapons and portable valuables. Wilson later testified that a purse containing approximately twenty shillings in silver disappeared from a desk.
Having searched the house, the gang demanded supper. Mrs Loudon arranged for ham and eggs to be cooked and apologised for being unable to offer them anything better. The apology, made after armed men had fired six slugs through her door, illustrates the strained conventions of hospitality that continued even during a violent hold-up.
The bushrangers reportedly “did ample justice” to the meal and called for wine to accompany it. Four sat down to supper while Gilbert remained near the door, watching the prisoners and the approaches to the house.
Throughout the meal, Loudon, Kirkpatrick and Wilson remained handcuffed on the verandah. They could hear the gang eating and conversing inside but were afforded no opportunity to resist or escape.
Vane was later specifically identified as one of the men at Grubbenbong. Court testimony stated that he played the household piano during the occupation. The episode therefore formed part of the remarkable succession of musical interludes that accompanied the gang’s raids: a piano was played at Grubbenbong, again at Rothery’s Cliefden station the following day, and later during the dancing at Robinson’s hotel in Canowindra.
After supper the men began smoking. Gilbert reportedly suggested that they should go outside because the smoke might annoy the ladies. The gesture was outwardly considerate, but it came from one of the men who had helped force entry by gunfire and imprison the household.
The gang remained at Grubbenbong for approximately three hours. Before leaving at about two o’clock in the morning, most of the men returned jewellery and personal trinkets they had taken during the search.
The contemporary correspondent made the pointed observation that all except Vane returned such articles. Wilson’s missing purse may have been among the property retained, although the evidence does not establish conclusively which man took it.
Their partial restitution was characteristic of the gang’s calculated behaviour during this period. Money, firearms, horses and useful supplies were legitimate booty in their eyes, while jewellery carrying sentimental associations might be returned. Such gestures later contributed to their reputation for chivalry, but they followed a forced entry in which the household had been fired upon and its men kept in handcuffs.
Before departing, the bushrangers delivered a message intended for the authorities. They declared that if additional troopers were sent from Bathurst, the gang would capture them, handcuff them and march them into Carcoar.
The threat referred directly to their recent humiliation of the three mounted constables at Marsh’s farm. By carrying the captured police handcuffs and using them upon Loudon and his visitors, the gang transformed police equipment into a symbol of its apparent dominance.
Their presence at Grubbenbong also demonstrated the effectiveness of their intelligence network. They had been told that troopers were staying at Loudon’s, and although the information proved false, they acted upon it rapidly and in full strength. The raid was partly a search operation, partly a robbery and partly a warning to a magistrate associated with the colonial authorities.
Leaving Grubbenbong in the early morning, the five men continued towards Limestone Creek. At approximately eleven o’clock on Saturday they entered Rothery’s Cliefden station, handcuffed their host, ate his dinner, drank champagne and played the pianoforte. From there they rode to Canowindra, disarmed Constable Sykes, robbed Pierce’s and Hilliar’s stores and held their celebrated dance at Robinson’s hotel.
The Grubbenbong attack was therefore the beginning of an extraordinary twenty-four-hour movement through the district. Within that short period the gang invaded three separate establishments, used captured police handcuffs, searched for troopers, selected fresh horses, robbed two stores and occupied a township—all while moving openly along roads already watched by the authorities.
Late on Saturday morning, 26 September, the gang reached William Rothery’s Cliefden station on Limestone Creek. The household was bailed up, and the bushrangers helped themselves to dinner, champagne and brandy.
Hall and Gilbert rode into the paddock and drove the station horses into the yard. Three suitable animals were selected, together with saddles and bridles. Far from concealing their intentions, the gang reportedly told Rothery that it was proceeding to Canowindra.
On Saturday morning, 26 September 1863, the full five-man gang—Johnny Gilbert, Ben Hall, John O’Meally, John Vane and Michael “Micky” Burke—arrived at Rothery’s Cliefden station on Limestone Creek, south-west of Carcoar.
Mr. William Montague Rothery
It was approximately eleven o’clock, and Rothery was preparing to sit down to dinner when the five armed riders took possession of the homestead. Rothery and the other occupants were bailed up, and at least one account states that Rothery was placed in handcuffs. The bushrangers then appropriated the meal, calling for champagne and brandy to accompany it.
Their behaviour was confident rather than hurried. They remained at Cliefden for about three hours, treating the station as a temporary headquarters. Burke was left to guard the prisoners while Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally and Vane went into the paddock to inspect the horses. Hall and Gilbert reportedly helped run the animals into the yard, after which the gang tried several mounts and selected three of the best. They also obtained one or two saddles and the necessary bridles.
While standing guard, Burke displayed a revolver and a breech-loading rifle taken from the three policemen whom the gang had surprised and disarmed at George Marsh’s farm near Mount Macquarie four days earlier. He boasted that he had taken them from one of the “bloody traps.”
The gang made little attempt to conceal its intentions. Before leaving, the men told Rothery that they were going to Canowindra and then intended visiting Bangaroo, where they hoped to find Thomas Rothery Icely. They accused Icely of being too “officious” in assisting the authorities and said they intended to “serve him out.” Icely escaped the threatened encounter by reaching Coombing Park without meeting them.
Some shortened newspaper reports state that the men also played Rothery’s pianoforte. The fuller account from the Bathurst Times correspondent does not describe musical entertainment at Cliefden; it places the principal piano playing and dancing later that night at Robinson’s public house in Canowindra. It is therefore possible that music occurred at both establishments, but the festivities securely documented in detail belong to Robinson’s.
At about two o’clock the gang left Cliefden, mounted on its selected horses and openly following the road towards Canowindra. Carriers and other travellers encountered them along the way. Although the gang’s destination became known, no police party reached Canowindra in time to prevent what followed.
The five bushrangers entered Canowindra at approximately six o’clock that evening. Their first concern was the township’s only resident policeman, Constable Sykes. He was immediately disarmed, detained and taken to Robinson’s public house, removing the only organised resistance available within the settlement.
O’Meally and Burke remained at the hotel guarding Sykes and the other occupants. Hall, Gilbert and Vane then embarked upon what one correspondent called a “foraging expedition” through the township.
The stores robbed were not Robinson’s, as some abbreviated reports later suggested, but those belonging to Messrs Pierce and Hilliar. Hall, Gilbert and Vane entered the premises, bailed up those present and searched for money and useful goods. They obtained approximately £3 in cash and men’s clothing valued at about £30.
During the robberies the bushrangers talked freely about their previous encounters, recounting their exploits “with enthusiasm.” This was partly boasting, but it also served to reinforce their control. Everyone present knew that these were the men who had recently disarmed police at Mount Macquarie and had ridden through the district virtually unopposed.
Having supplied themselves with clothing, the three returned to Robinson’s, where the whole gang reassembled. They also visited Daley’s public house, but the newspaper observed that nothing there occurred “worthy of notice.” Robinson’s became the centre of the night’s activities.
William Robinson and his wife were away in Bathurst. The hotel had been left in the charge of Robinson’s sister and two young women identified as the Misses Flanagan.
The women found themselves responsible for serving five heavily armed bushrangers, an imprisoned policeman and a growing number of townspeople. The gang ordered tea, which was prepared and served. After the meal, Gilbert noticed the pianoforte and, according to the contemporary report, “very politely requested” one of the young women to play him a tune.
The request was outwardly courteous, but it was made by an armed outlaw occupying the house. Refusal could hardly have been considered entirely safe or voluntary.
Music began, and before long someone proposed a dance. More of Canowindra’s inhabitants were brought into the hotel. Some may have willingly joined once the gathering was underway, but the essential fact remained that the township had been taken over, its constable disarmed and its people assembled under the authority of revolvers.
Nevertheless, the initial fear appears to have softened into a genuine, if extraordinary, conviviality. The dancing continued throughout the night. Later reports described it as one of the “jolliest affairs” ever held in the small township. In his account recorded many years afterwards, Vane remembered:
“We made a night of it at the hotel, keeping the dance going in lively measure the whole night through.”
The gang participated freely. Gilbert, characteristically animated and sociable, appears to have encouraged the music. Vane was himself capable of playing the piano and may also have taken a turn at the instrument, although the contemporary Canowindra report specifically credits Gilbert with requesting the first tune rather than identifying every later player.
Hall presided over the gathering as the gang’s acknowledged leader. O’Meally, more volatile and threatening in reputation, remained part of the armed presence controlling the hotel. Burke drank heavily as the night progressed. Food and liquor were supplied, conversation flowed, and the gang continued telling stories about its adventures.
The bushrangers reportedly paid for everything consumed during the festivities. The principal exception was a valuable horse, which they appropriated because, as the newspaper put it with irony, “the service required” it. Their payment for refreshments helped establish the later legend of the Canowindra affair as a generous celebration, but it did not alter the coercive circumstances under which it occurred.
By daylight the dance was still continuing. The night’s drinking had affected Burke more severely than his companions. When the gang prepared to leave at about eight o’clock on Sunday morning, he was described as “quite overpowered” and had to be roused with some force before he could obey the order to march.
The phrase suggests that Burke was either deeply intoxicated or asleep from exhaustion and drink. His companions were unwilling to wait. With police somewhere in the district, the gang’s survival depended upon remaining together and moving promptly.
Before finally leaving the vicinity, O’Meally reportedly visited relatives living three or four miles from Canowindra. The newspaper, with evident disapproval, stated that he was “most cordially received” by these relations—another indication of the local personal networks upon which bushrangers sometimes relied.
After leaving the hotel, Hall, Vane and Burke rode towards Bangaroo in search of additional horses. They apparently failed to find the animals they wanted and returned towards Canowindra.
Gilbert then informed them that troopers had reached the opposite side of the Belubula River. Heavy rain had placed the river in flood, preventing the police from crossing immediately. The swollen river gave the gang the time it needed to escape.
Four of the bushrangers successfully crossed the dangerous stream and established a temporary camp on high ground overlooking the township. Burke remained behind, either because of his condition or because the flood made an immediate crossing too hazardous. He followed when the water subsided sufficiently the next morning. Reunited, the gang withdrew into rough country where mounted police would have difficulty following.
Information that Rothery’s station had been robbed and that the gang was heading for Canowindra reached the police at Number One Swamp at about five o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Superintendent Morrisset dispatched five troopers with instructions to proceed to Canowindra by way of Cliefden.
Instead of riding directly to the threatened township, the party went first to Carcoar and did not leave there until approximately nine o’clock. Although Canowindra was about thirty-two miles away, the troopers did not arrive until eleven o’clock on Sunday morning—around three hours after the gang had departed.
The delay caused intense criticism. Another warning had reached Cowra around midnight, but the two troopers stationed there reportedly declined to ride out, arguing that “two were of no use” against five bushrangers.
Consequently, Gilbert, Hall, O’Meally, Vane and Burke had been able to dine at Rothery’s, inspect and take horses, rob two Canowindra stores, disarm the town’s policeman and dance through the night before leaving almost at their leisure.
The episode was the first of the gang’s celebrated Canowindra occupations. It should not be confused with their return in October, when they detained approximately forty people and controlled the township for three days. The September visit lasted one night, but it established the pattern: armed domination disguised beneath music, food, drink and carefully performed good humour.
Continued of John Gilbert Part 2.
The Legend of Ben Hall movie is a pure film gem, much like being there in 1860's, the countryside so gorgous it appears "photoshopped" and its crazy how the actors without sugar coating anything could make the purely criminal characters so....lovable. Amazing movie which many will miss, poor things.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful web site and so much research and detail about Ben Hall and his accomplices Johnny 'Happy Jack' Gilbert, John O'Meally etc. Ditto Harold Missamore (above) comments. I borrowed the DVD from my local library on the recommendation of Johnny Gilbert's ggg niece. Proud to have Johnny Gilbert in our family tree. A loveable rogue who went wayward.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much. Still a lot to do. Have his niece contact me if you wish.
Deletewhy would you be 'proud'.. He shot and killed a police trooper. That's nothing to be proud of.
DeleteIve been fascinated by Ben Hall and his exploits since the BBC series many years ago, and collected a few books about him on a visit to Australia seven years ago. Just recently watched the Legend of Ben Hall movie mentioned above and was struck by how close the actors chosen resembled the Ben Hall and his accomplices, and how close the story seemed to be to the actual truth. Great site, thankyou, Tony Matthews (no relation!)
ReplyDeleteCongratulations on your awesome website. Constable John Bright of the NSW Mounted Police 1864-1866 Carcoar was my 3x great grandfather and I do believed he is the police officer who shot and killed John Gilbert.
ReplyDeleteThank you, still have far to go. However, my research continues and I will arrive at your esteemed relatives great contribution to ending Gilbert's career and almost John Dunn. Mark Matthews.
DeleteMegan, thankyou for the information of your 3x great grandfather Constable Bright who shot and killed Johnny 'Happy Jack' Gilbert. I will pass it on to his 3x ggg niece.
DeleteSue, my husband was a former NSW Police Officer for 30 years. Maybe my choice of word 'proud' offends but how many family genealogists find convicts, law breakers in their family history?
Keep searching Mark!