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| "Young man with a pleasant disposition." |
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The Charters' former home, now Fern Hill. c. 1970'. Reputed birthplace of Henry Hall. Courtesy Carcoar Historical Society |
Carcoar also carried strong associations with Hall’s earlier life. Before his descent into bushranging, he had frequently visited the district and had been particularly close to Daniel Charters. That friendship had been irrevocably damaged following the Eugowra Escort Robbery of June 1862, when Charters turned Crown witness. During the subsequent escort trials in Sydney in February 1863, Charters gave evidence against several of his former associates. Hall, confident that the authorities could not establish a case against him, had reportedly warned him: “They have nothing on us.”
The Hall and Charters families were nevertheless connected by more than criminal association. In August 1859, Hall’s wife Bridget gave birth to their son Henry at the Carcoar home of Daniel Charters’ mother. Hall therefore had longstanding personal associations with the district quite apart from his later bushranging career. Although his friendship with Daniel Charters had fractured, other acquaintances in and around Carcoar remained potentially useful to a man seeking food, information or concealment.
By this stage Hall’s name had become one of the most recognisable in New South Wales. Newspaper reports and Police Gazette notices chronicled robberies, horse stealing and violent confrontations throughout the western districts. As had previously happened with Frank Gardiner, Hall’s notoriety also encouraged exaggeration and misidentification; crimes committed by other men were sometimes attributed to him simply because his name had become synonymous with bushranging.
The police, meanwhile, were adapting. Sir Frederick Pottinger had long advocated abandoning conspicuous police dress while operating in the bush. Mounted parties increasingly went out disguised as squatters, stockmen or ordinary bushmen, carrying provisions and camping equipment so they could remain in the field for extended periods. The change was intended partly to counter the bush telegraphs who had previously been able to identify police patrols at a glance.
The scale of the effort was described by the Marengo correspondent of the Yass Courier, whose report was reproduced in the Armidale Express and New England General Advertiser on 5 September 1863:
It is the general impression here that the bushrangers days are numbered — at least, if they are not, they ought to be, for there is now scouring the bush of this district no less than five parties of troopers, each party consisting of six or seven men, headed by an officer and accompanied by a black tracker. The officers commanding these detachments are — Messrs. M'Lerie, Pottinger, Singleton, Orridge, Roberts, and Tippon. These officers have very properly dispensed with all military trappings, arms excepted, and have adopted the costume of ordinary squatters, and their men that of rough bushmen or stock-riders; also, on a pack-horse each detachment carries a tent and provisions. Some parties of foot police are likewise performing their share of the programme, which, being of a highly strategic nature, must be kept dark for the present. Sufficient to say that we all think in fourteen or twenty days the majority of the desperadoes will be either killed, taken, or compelled to retreat to their other stronghold, viz., the Abercrombie Ranges; for I'm sure they have or will soon find the Wedden Mountains far too hot.
Police attention was also increasingly directed towards the bushrangers’ support network. Houses suspected of harbouring the gang were watched or searched, while known associates were questioned whenever opportunity arose. Such measures did not eliminate Hall’s access to assistance, but they made remaining in one locality increasingly hazardous.
Hall still possessed friends and relatives willing to assist him. His brother William lived near the Pinnacle, while longstanding acquaintances elsewhere could provide food, news or temporary shelter. Former Superintendent Charles Sanderson later recalled how deeply embedded these networks could be:
The men of the road were looked upon as heroes and were surrounded with such a crowd of sympathisers and friends, who often acted as bush telegraphs for them, that it was often impossible to keep our movements secret, to say nothing of getting trustworthy information. Needless to say, these people were well paid for their trouble and shared in an indirect way in the proceeds of robberies and sticking-up cases.
Hall’s continued ability to evade capture increasingly became a political issue. Members of Parliament repeatedly questioned how such a comparatively small number of bushrangers could defy an expensive and rapidly expanding police establishment. The cost of policing was enormous by colonial standards, and representatives from affected districts were under pressure from constituents who believed they were paying heavily for protection they were not receiving.
The issue was raised pointedly in Parliament, as reported by the Sydney Morning Herald on 1 October 1863:
How was it that the Government could not manage to capture a half-dozen bushrangers? Whether five or fifty, they ought to be able to bring them to justice, considering the great expense of the present large police establishment. It is necessary that the head of the Government would devise some plan which would lead to the speedy capture of these robbers. It was, he thought, clearly incumbent upon the members of the Government, and on those who had supported them on the police question to take this matter in hand. It was but too true that the country was now in a great state of insecurity so that something should be done at once.
Yet while Parliament debated the problem, Hall continued operating. By September he was increasingly associated with Gilbert and Michael Burke in the Carcoar, Rockley and Mount Macquarie country. Poor weather frequently hampered police movements, while the bushrangers’ access to fresh horses and local intelligence allowed them to move quickly between districts.
A contemporary report captured both the disruption caused by heavy rain and the continuing audacity of the gangs:
OUR GOLD-FIELDS.- The heavy rains that have occurred at intervals during the past month have been a great drawback to the work of the miners... The only activity that prevails is that shown by the bushrangers, Hall, Gilbert and O'Meally, and their gang. Scarcely a day passes without their making themselves heard of... It is understood that the police in large numbers are scouring the country in every direction, and yet by some means the bushrangers manage to evade them, thus proving that they must be in possession of information of every movement of their pursuers.³
Such reports must nevertheless be treated cautiously. By this time Hall’s name had become a convenient explanation for almost any unexplained robbery in the western districts. Just as Gardiner had previously been reported in places where he could not have been, Hall was increasingly blamed for offences in which he had no involvement.
This broader atmosphere of disorder extended far beyond Hall’s gang. The goldfields attracted thousands of miners, labourers, carriers, publicans and itinerant workers. Among them were men already known to the police and others who drifted into theft or highway robbery when circumstances permitted. Contemporary reports therefore contain numerous crimes whose perpetrators were never established.
One particularly grim example concerned an unidentified body discovered near Green’s station:
On Saturday last the body of a man was found in the bush, near Green's station. Not a vestige of clothing was left on it, decomposition had made considerable havoc, and no one has been able, up to the present time, to identify it. That the unfortunate man was murdered there can be no doubt, as two bullets were taken out of his body, one of them having lodged in the chest.
False reports added another layer of confusion. Sanderson later recalled cases in which servants entrusted with money invented bushranger attacks to conceal their own theft:
Bushranging often led to bogus sticking-up cases. There was nothing easier than for anyone entrusted with money or valuables to say that he had been stuck up and make away with the property himself. In two cases I was able to bowl servants out who tried this sort of thing, as I proved that the men who were supposed to have robbed them were hundreds of miles away at the time; but there were undoubtedly many cases that were never found out.
Hall, Gilbert and O’Meally were therefore only the most prominent participants in a much wider criminal environment. Numerous lesser-known men operated throughout the western and southern districts, sometimes independently and sometimes alongside more established bushrangers.
Chinese miners were particularly vulnerable. Since the violent anti-Chinese disturbances at Lambing Flat in 1861, many Chinese diggers had been pushed to the margins of the fields and into relatively isolated workings. Their separation from larger European settlements made them attractive targets for robbery. Their experiences form an important part of the broader story of violence on the goldfields, rather than merely a background to Hall’s career.
One Chinese miner who later became notorious in his own right was Sam Poo. In 1865 he turned to bushranging in the country between Mudgee and Gulgong. His career was brief but violent. During an attempt to apprehend him, Constable John Ward was fatally wounded. Poo was subsequently captured, tried for Ward’s murder and executed at Bathurst Gaol on 19 December 1865.
His execution was reported:
Chinese convict Sam Poo, who at the last assizes was convicted of the murder of constable Ward, suffered the extreme penalty of the law, within the precincts of the gaol... The rope was fixed, the bolt drawn, and Sam Poo ceased to exist.
During September 1863 the principal members of Hall’s circle did not always operate together. Hall, Gilbert and Burke moved towards the Carcoar and Mount Macquarie country, while O’Meally and John Vane remained for a time around the Weddin and Burrangong districts.
Vane later recalled:
Hall, Gilbert and Burke wanted to make back for the Bathurst district, but O’Meally and I were not agreeable, so they left us. A couple of days after this we went to a road leading from the Twelve Mile Diggings to Grenfell and took up a position commanding sight of the road for a good distance on either end. Travellers, most of whom carried a little gold or money, were numerous on those roads at that time, and we wanted to make a “haul” before leaving that part.
He also wrote:
We stayed together for several days on the Black Range, and then parted, Gilbert, Burke and Hall started for Borrowra, on the Yass side, and O'Meally and I remaining at James O'Meally's place at Black Range.
Because Vane dictated his recollections decades later and provided few precise dates, his chronology must be checked against contemporary newspapers, police reports and court records. Nevertheless, on this broad point his account fits the documentary evidence: during part of September, Hall, Gilbert and Burke were operating separately from O’Meally and Vane.
The authorities, meanwhile, continued scouring the Weddin country. The atmosphere had become so tense that even local youths could exploit police expectations. The Sydney Morning Herald reported on 3 October:
Some silly young men in the neighbourhood of the Weddin Mountains thought proper, a few days since, to ride away in a suspicious manner from a small party of police, with the view, as it would, seem, of leading the police to imagine that they were bushrangers. They led the police a dance for seven or eight miles before they were overhauled by the constables, who, not altogether seeing the fun of the thing, are stated to have administered a salutary corporal chastisement to the practical jokers.
Around 19 September, O’Meally and Vane began moving eastwards towards Carcoar in search of Hall, Gilbert and Burke. The journey required several days through broken country.
Vane remembered:
Leaving Spring Creek, we made for the mountain called Black Hill and there stayed for a day and a night, receiving shelter in the sawyer’s hut. We here made inquiries concerning Ben Hall, Gilbert and Burke, but the sawyer had not seen them, although he had heard of the Carcoar-Bathurst coach having been recently stuck-up, and a policeman’s firearms taken from him; so we concluded they had not left the district which we were entering. We, therefore, pushed on for Teasdale Park, about six miles from Number One, and reaching there after nightfall decided to make our camp at the back of a cultivation paddock.
The reference to the recently robbed Carcoar-Bathurst coach is significant because it helps establish the chronology. Vane and O’Meally learned of the robbery while still searching for Hall’s party. They therefore could not have participated in it.
Vane continued:
But two days having passed without our hearing anything, we sent a messenger to Teasdale to make a few inquiries, not only about the police but about Ben Hall, Gilbert and Burke who we felt sure were somewhere in that locality.
The messenger eventually brought news of their companions. In a characteristic episode of mistaken identity, the two groups initially mistook one another for police. This confusion was understandable; police were by then deliberately dressing like ordinary bushmen.
Once the mistake was realised, the five men reunited. Vane recalled:
We were not long in coming together, and full explanations followed as soon as we met, each laughing at the other, but O’Meally and I claimed the best of it.
The chronology is particularly important when considering the mail-coach robbery near Blayney on 19 September 1863. Older accounts have sometimes placed O’Meally or Vane among the offenders. The sequence described by Vane strongly suggests otherwise.
At the time of the robbery, O’Meally and Vane were still travelling from the Weddin district towards Carcoar. Vane explicitly recalled hearing about the coach robbery while searching for Hall, Gilbert and Burke. That places the offence before their reunion.
The most probable participants were therefore Ben Hall, John Gilbert and Michael Burke.
This interpretation also accords with contemporary descriptions of the offenders and with Vane’s account of the weapons taken during the robbery. Among the passengers was a police trooper, whose firearm was seized, and former magistrate Mr Beardmore. Beardmore was a particularly notable victim because he had earlier been involved in proceedings against Frank Gardiner.
One detail traditionally attributed to O’Meally also requires correction. During the robbery, a police carbine was deliberately damaged. Vane’s account indicates that John Gilbert, not O’Meally, was responsible.
The distinction matters. It illustrates one of the central difficulties in reconstructing Hall’s career: contemporary newspapers often guessed at identities, later histories repeated those guesses, and memoirs written decades afterwards introduced their own chronological problems. Only by comparing the sources against one another can the movements of individual gang members be reconstructed with reasonable confidence.
By the latter part of September 1863, however, the uncertainty disappeared on one important point. Hall, Gilbert, Burke, O’Meally and Vane were together again. The five-man gang that would dominate the next phase of the bushranging outbreak had now been formed.
In the same newspaper, link above, the Beardmore reference and incident validates Ben Hall's presence. Where he reputedly talked Beardmore out of his notions of a duel with Gilbert by expressing::
“That if he wanted a shooting match, he should have brought his own gun.”
The encounter with Mr Garland was equally revealing. Garland proved a particularly reluctant victim, prompting Gilbert to threaten to “blow the gentleman’s brains out” unless he surrendered his money. Hall reportedly intervened, calming Gilbert and preventing the confrontation from escalating further.
Later that evening, at Flood’s Mount, the three bushrangers were seen rounding up horses. When challenged as to who they were and by what authority they were taking the animals, they claimed to be policemen operating under emergency orders. One even gave the name “Sanderson”, almost certainly invoking Inspector Charles Sanderson of the Forbes police:
Stuck up three young men on Flood's Mount, later in the evening, and at sundown, they were observed “rounding up” some horses, who objected to their taking them; they said they were policemen, and that they had orders to take, on an emergency, the first horses they could lay their hands on. The one “who acted as spokesman, when asked his name, replied “Sanderson.” They were last seen passing Cheshire's public-house.
Cheshire was related to John Vane.
Inspector Charles Sanderson had been prominent in the pursuit of the western bushrangers and was well known to Hall through the aftermath of the Eugowra Escort Robbery. His name therefore carried sufficient authority to make the impersonation plausible.
John Vane appears to have had no involvement in these particular incidents. In Charles White’s posthumously published John Vane: Bushranger—based upon Vane’s recollections and issued in 1906—there is no reference to the Cowra Mail robbery. Instead, Vane describes later episodes, including Marsh’s Farm and the Stanley Hosie robbery at Caloola. His absence from the narrative, taken together with the chronology of his movements, supports the conclusion that the Cowra Mail affair occurred while he and O’Meally were still separated from Hall, Gilbert and Burke.
The episode also illustrates the bushrangers’ deliberate use of deception. They sometimes passed themselves off as policemen, adopted the names of officers, concealed their identities, or invoked the supposedly nearby presence of Frank Gardiner. Such tactics compounded the already considerable difficulty witnesses faced in identifying individual bushrangers.
One feature, however, repeatedly distinguished Ben Hall. Contemporary descriptions place him at approximately five feet six or seven inches, powerfully built and considerably stouter than most of his companions. Police notices put his weight at around 190 pounds, or roughly thirteen and a half stone. Gilbert, O’Meally, Burke and Vane were generally taller and leaner, making Hall physically conspicuous among the gang.
“Never expected to be called upon to pursue bushrangers”
After a brief respite, the reunited gang of Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally, Vane and Burke resumed operations around Mount Macquarie. On 22 September 1863, three mounted troopers—Turnbull, Evenden and Cromie—were patrolling the country around Number One, Caloola and Trunkey before returning towards Carcoar.
On the journey they stopped at the farm of George and Eleanor Marsh, about eight miles from Carcoar. Mrs Marsh, then pregnant with their sixth child, was at the homestead with the family. While the troopers rested, Marsh mentioned that he had seen a saddled horse nearby which he believed might belong to Micky Burke. Cromie accompanied him to investigate.
They had been gone for about half an hour when the other troopers heard two shots.
The Golden Age later reported:
On Tuesday afternoon three troopers left the Long Swamp on route for Carcoar, and called at George Marsh's farm, distant about 8 miles, where they had some refreshment, and were informed by Mr Marsh that he had seen a horse, with saddle and bridle on, and he believed that it had got away from the bushrangers who were in the neighbourhood, and he offered to go with one of them to get the horse. After being out about half an hour, the two troopers at the house heard two shots fired a short distance from the place, and went in the direction of the reports when they met two mounted men who ordered them to stand.
Only one trooper had taken his rifle. He was warned that if he attempted to use it his “brains” would be blown out and that Marsh and the other trooper, already prisoners, would be shot. The police surrendered their weapons.
The other three gang members then appeared. Marsh and the captured trooper were released, and the entire party returned to the farmhouse. There the bushrangers ate, searched the policemen and appropriated their equipment.
The report explicitly identified the five men as O’Meally, Gilbert, Burke, Vane and Hall.
Most strikingly, the troopers themselves initially mistook the gang for fellow police:
When the troopers first saw them they thought they were some of the Carcoar police, having carbines at their side, with buckets to hold the muzzles in.
This was no accident. By this stage Hall’s gang had accumulated enough police weaponry, belts, holsters and accoutrements to resemble mounted troopers at a distance.
The loss was substantial. Contemporary accounts described the captured equipment as:
Four breech-loading carbines, and four revolvers, and all the holsters, straps, breastplates, and other lumber that make up the total of a trooper's accoutrements.
The encounter became particularly embarrassing for the police when Sergeant Turnbull and his companions returned to Carcoar disarmed. The Bathurst Times reported on 23 September:
Sergeant Turnbull 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 phrase “never expected to be called upon to pursue bushrangers” was irresistible to critics of the force. Whether it accurately reflected the troopers’ own words or was sharpened by a hostile correspondent, it became emblematic of the public perception that the police were being outmanoeuvred and humiliated by Hall’s gang.
A Carcoar correspondent responded with biting sarcasm:
The police magistrate took the depositions of the three men in his office this day, and there were a lot of specials sworn in, as they will be very useful to go into the bush to protect the troopers and prevent the bushrangers from taking the firearms from them. Would it not be better to furnish the police with some make-believe firearms?
The correspondent estimated that the weapons and equipment lost in only a few days were worth approximately £70 and added that some townspeople were describing the police as “a lot of muffs and cowards.”
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A contemporary view of the capture of the troopers by Ben Hall. Courtesy NLA. |
Later testimony provided an especially revealing description of the gang’s appearance:
He had known Gilbert before he took to the bush. When I first saw the men, I thought they were policemen. This was due to their equipment. They wore belts like the troopers' belts. They also had pouches and handcuffs on their belts. Their carbines or rifles were slung in buckets. They had holsters for their revolvers on their saddles. Their whole appearance was similar to that of troopers.
This impersonation had an important tactical consequence. Police increasingly dressed as stockmen and bushmen to disguise themselves from the bush telegraph, while the bushrangers increasingly acquired police equipment and could themselves be mistaken for troopers. To an isolated settler or traveller, the distinction between pursuer and pursued was becoming dangerously blurred.
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NSW Police Gazette for Daley and Jameison sentences. |
Their convictions removed two men who had previously operated alongside Hall and O’Meally. More importantly, they demonstrated the severity of the punishment awaiting those who were captured alive. For the bushrangers still at large, the alternatives were narrowing: imprisonment for years in irons, the gallows in the event of murder convictions, or death in an armed confrontation.
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Stanley Hosie. c. 1872. Kindly provided by Brenda Simmons. |
On 23 September 1863, the gang returned.
This time there were five.
Hosie was sitting in his parlour writing when the bushrangers approached. Their appearance initially deceived him. Like the troopers at Marsh’s farm, he believed they were police because of their equipment.
His later sworn evidence is particularly valuable:
I am a storekeeper and reside at Caloola; I know the prisoner before the court; on the 23rd September last, he and four other bushrangers came to my store; I was sitting in the parlor writing; when I first saw them I thought they were police by their equipment.
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NSW Police Gazette September 1863. |
Hosie yielded:
O'Meally called on me to surrender, and I said that as there were five of them I would do so; I then gave up my gun to him; after that they took me into the stores and handcuffed me.
The handcuffs themselves were almost certainly among those recently captured from the police.
The gang then widened the raid. They seized George Garrett, the local blacksmith, and his employee. The shoemaker George Lanarch and his assistant were also brought to Hosie’s store and restrained. With the men secured, the bushrangers methodically plundered the premises.
Hosie continued:
The bushrangers then fastened their horses to the post in front of the store, and fed them with corn from my stock; they then ransacked the place, pulling the store goods down and selecting what they thought proper.
Gilbert and O’Meally searched the parlour for money. They took cash from Hosie, along with goods, clothing, firearms, and jewellery belonging to his wife. They filled six bushel bags with merchandise and loaded them onto three horses.
The Courier later described the destruction:
Mr Hosie's goods were thrown from the shelves, the whole store ransacked, and everything turned upside down—the bushrangers appropriating and putting on one side every article they took a fancy to, or which was of any value, and wilfully destroying what was of no use to them—by this means completely gutting the store, and consummating the ruin of their hapless victim.
The motive was not purely financial. The gang explicitly told Hosie that he was being punished for informing the police after the earlier robbery:
They said they did this because he had dared to give information to the police when he was formerly robbed, and they threatened if he breathed a word about the present transaction, to blow out his brains the next time they visited him.
After loading their stolen goods, the bushrangers entered an adjoining paddock and attempted to secure fresh horses. Two were captured. Others that could not be caught were reportedly shot.
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Mr Larnach c. 1860. Private Source. Never before published. |
The sequence from Marsh’s farm to Caloola demonstrated how rapidly Hall’s gang could convert one successful encounter into another. Weapons and handcuffs taken from police one day could be used to intimidate and restrain civilians the next. Their resemblance to mounted troopers let them approach victims without immediate suspicion, while their superior horses let them disengage quickly if threatened.
By late September 1863, Hall’s gang had become more than a collection of highway robbers. They were now a highly mobile, heavily armed group capable of misleading police, impersonating authority, punishing informants and overwhelming isolated settlements. The humiliation at Marsh’s farm and the destruction of Hosie’s store at Caloola were successive demonstrations of just how far the balance had temporarily shifted in their favour.
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| Hosie's store Hill End. Hosie standing middle. c. 1872. Courtesy NLA. |
Grubbenbong Station
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Emily Hosie c. 1862. Kindly provided by Brenda Simmons |
The best horses that could be found at the place they took possession of, making them carry a part of the swag; the rest they shot. Leaving the store, the bushrangers adjourned to an inn close by, and there caroused until a late hour.
The destruction of property, the theft of horses and the apparent willingness to wound or kill valuable animals added further to the anger already building throughout the Carcoar district. To many settlers, the gang seemed able to take whatever they wished and then disappear before the police could respond.
Note: Emily Hosie was the daughter of Mr Larnach. The child in the photograph with Emily is their son, William Henry, born in 1862.
Only a short time later, the gang moved on to one of the most memorable episodes of their 1863 campaign: the raid on Grubbenbong Station, the property of Mr John Loudon, a recently appointed magistrate of the colony.
By this stage, Ben Hall, John Gilbert, John O’Meally, John Vane and Micky Burke were operating as a formidable five-man gang. Their recent successes against the police had provided them not only with weapons, but also with police accoutrements, handcuffs and other equipment. This made deception easier. A mounted party carrying carbines in police-style buckets could, at first glance, be mistaken for troopers.
The gang approached Grubbenbong late at night on 25 September 1863. Their apparent objective was not merely robbery. They had received information that police were at the station and intended, if possible, to capture them.
Before approaching the homestead, the bushrangers secured several station hands and confined them. They then moved towards the house.
Ben Hall took the lead.
When Mrs Loudon heard a knock at the back door and asked who was there, the reply came:
“Police.”
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Mr John Loudon c. 1863. Penzig |
The deception failed.
Mrs Loudon suspected immediately that the men outside were not police. Mr Loudon refused to admit them and retreated towards the bedroom, where he normally kept a double-barrelled gun. Unfortunately for the household, the weapon had already been used earlier that day by Mr Wilson to shoot a native cat and had been left unloaded elsewhere.Outside, the gang became impatient.
“Open the door or we will shoot,” they warned.
Threats were also made to burn the house.
When the occupants still refused to surrender, the bushrangers forced the issue. A firearm was discharged through the door, sending several projectiles into the passage and bedroom area. Hall, Gilbert and Vane forced their way through one part of the house, while O’Meally and Burke appeared at the front.
The Sydney Morning Herald reported on 28 September 1863:
News has just reached here that Gilbert, O'Meally, Ben Hall, Burke, and Vane have stuck up Mr John Loudon's house at Grubbenbong, near Carcoar. Grubbengbong, fourteen miles from here, had been stuck up about eleven o'clock on the night previous (25th Sept), by Ben Hall, O'Meally, Gilbert, Vane, and Burke, who made up to the house and knocked at the door. Upon Mrs Loudon inquiring who was there, they answered "Police." Mr Loudon then inquired who was their officer—when they answered "Sanderson." Mr Loudon told them that he would not admit them, and the words were no sooner spoken when a piece was fired, sending six slugs through the door into the passage.
The gang quickly gained control of the house. Loudon, Kirkpatrick, Wilson and other men were handcuffed. Mrs Loudon and the women were moved to another part of the house, while drawers, boxes and rooms were searched.
Yet the character of the episode changed once resistance ended.
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Mrs Helen Loudon c. 1863. Penzig |
The same newspaper account continued:
After supper, they had a smoke, Gilbert proposing to go outside as the smoke might be annoying to the ladies.
The bizarre evening then took on an almost social character. The women were encouraged to play music, and the bushrangers remained until approximately two o’clock in the morning.
The contradiction is important. These were the same men who had just fired into an occupied house, threatened to burn it and handcuffed the male occupants. Their later politeness did not erase the coercion under which the evening proceeded.
The most reliable account of the attack came from John Loudon himself when he gave evidence at John Vane’s trial in December 1863.
Loudon confirmed that he had known Vane from childhood. He recalled that when the gang arrived, one of the servants called out that police were at the back door. Loudon asked who was in charge and was told “Saunders.”
He then described the escalation:
"I then went to the front door and when I opened it I saw O'Meally and Burke standing one on each side of the doorway, with their firearms presented at the door; I at once shut the door, when they shouted that unless I surrendered they would fire or burn the house down; the other three men, Gilbert, Vane, and Hall, forced their way through the passage to the parlour, and a shot was fired by one of them through the bedroom door: there were six balls came through, and there were six holes in the door."
Loudon and his wife were in the bedroom when the shot was fired.
Once the gang had entered, Loudon was seized and handcuffed. At one point, when he objected to being pushed about, O’Meally placed a revolver against his cheek and warned:
“I will put this through you if you resist.”
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Thomas Kirkpatrick brother of Helen Loudon. 1810 - 1895. Kindly provided by Val Kinghorne. |
Loudon remembered that the gang ultimately carried away only a small quantity of property, including shirt studs, several nuggets of gold and a bridle.
His evidence also gives a striking indication of how heavily armed the gang had become:
"The men were all well armed; O'Meally had six revolvers, and the others had four each, besides their carbines."
This arsenal reflected how successful the gang had recently been in stripping police of their weapons and equipment.
After the initial violence, the raid became curiously theatrical.
The handcuffs were eventually removed. Supper was served. Conversation followed. Mrs Loudon reportedly spoke at length with Gilbert about his conduct and urged him to abandon bushranging.
Vane attempted to provide entertainment on the piano.
Loudon later recalled:
"Vane amused all present by playing on the piano, but there was not much done while they were there, except that Mrs Loudon talked to Gilbert about his evil conduct, and advised him to give it up."
The gang remained for about four hours before departing.
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Melbourne Punch, 22nd October 1863. A depiction of Ben Hall & Co.'s evening at Loudon's. Note the papers use of satire with the artist name. Courtesy NLA. |
That outcome was fortunate, particularly considering the gunfire used to gain entry. Had police actually been present, as the gang expected, the encounter may have been very different.
Loudon’s overseer, Charles Young, had arrived from Scotland in 1860 with his wife Elizabeth aboard the Telegraph. In later life he recalled his own attempt to escape the station and summon assistance.
While Mrs Young prepared supper for the gang, Charles attempted to obtain a horse and ride for the police. Burke intercepted him and returned him to the house at revolver point:
During the time Mr Young lived at 'Grubbenbong' the place was stuck up one night by the Ben Hall gang. While Mrs Young was preparing supper for the bushrangers, Mr Young endeavoured to get his horse to go for the police, but he was captured and brought back, Mick Burke holding a revolver to his head while the others had a high old time at the house.
As the decades passed, the Grubbenbong episode became one of the most frequently retold incidents associated with Hall’s gang. These later reminiscences are valuable, but they must be treated cautiously where they conflict with contemporary evidence.
Former stockman Mr Bates, who said he had been about fifteen years old at the time, recalled the event in 1924. His version portrayed the evening almost as a convivial social gathering, with singing, drinking and banter.
He claimed that Loudon fired two or three shots at the bushrangers before they entered the house.
That detail is difficult to reconcile with Loudon’s sworn evidence from December 1863, in which he stated that his gun had already been discharged and left elsewhere. On that point, the contemporary testimony deserves greater weight.
Bates nevertheless preserved some memorable details. He recalled Gilbert reproving Burke for smoking in front of the women:
"Not in the presence of ladies, Mick."
When Mrs Loudon refused Gilbert’s offer of a chair, he supposedly replied:
"Well, it is your own chair, madam."
Whether exact or embellished by memory, the exchange captures the peculiar mixture of menace and manners that became associated with the gang.
An account published in the Sydney Sportsman in 1908, apparently from one of the women present that night, provides a rare description of the gang as individuals.
The writer remembered them as young men who were never far from their weapons:
"The whole five of them seem mere youths, in their ways, especially. They are always armed though, and ever ready to place their hands upon their revolver stocks."
Gilbert was described as handsome, cheerful and talkative. O’Meally was remembered much less favourably:
"O'Meally I don't like a little bit. He looks a spiteful fellow, with hard eyes that flash all about, and take in everything, but never rest in one place for any length of time."
Vane was remembered as large, Burke as small and comparatively quiet.
Most significant, however, was the description of Ben Hall:
"Ben Hall is a big, young man. He seemed very serious and was always going to the door and keeping watch. The others always went and consulted him about anything they intended doing, and he decided whether it would or would not be done."
If accurately remembered, this provides compelling evidence that by September 1863 Hall had become the recognised leader of the five-man gang. Gilbert may have been the more flamboyant personality, but Hall appears to have exercised the final authority.
In old age, John Vane recounted the night to Charles White.
His recollection of Helen Loudon was especially vivid.
According to Vane, after the gang fired through the door, Loudon agreed to admit them if no more shots were fired. Mrs Loudon then unleashed her anger upon Burke, who had laughed at her:
"Stop yer grinnin'; yer like a laughin' jackass; yer jest like a little black Chinaman; yer no like a white man, yer nasty little thing. If I had one of the pistols yer have hung to yer nasty black body I would stop yer flashness—yer little black dog!"
Vane remembered being highly entertained by her fury.
He also recalled that Mrs Loudon declared that if she had been responsible for preparing the meal, she would have allowed the bushrangers to starve.
His version of the piano episode is considerably less elegant than that suggested by some newspapers:
"I went into one of the other rooms where there was a piano, which I opened and made some sort of a noise (I couldn't play for sour apples)."
When Mrs Loudon ordered him to stop, Vane deliberately continued.
"So I banged away louder than ever till I was tired."
The anecdote reinforces the impression that, once the initial confrontation had ended, the gang treated the situation almost as entertainment. For the Loudon household, however, the laughter occurred under the shadow of loaded revolvers.
Helen Loudon herself later gave one of the most remarkable recollections of the episode.
Journalist J. Ward Harrison stated that he heard her story at Grubbenbong around 1878. It was later published in the Sydney Morning Herald in 1923 as part of his series on pioneering women.
Loudon reportedly showed him the bullet holes still visible in the house.
"That," she said, "was Gilbert's work. I mind it as though it were but yesterday."
Her recollection began with Hall at the door:
Ben Hall said, "Goodnight, Mrs Loudon, we're the police." "No," said I, "I dinna think ye're the police, ye're the bushrangers," wi' that he laughed. "Bail up, then," said he.
She immediately called to her husband:
"Loudon, Loudon, the bushrangers are here, get your gun, man, get your gun."
The gun, however, had already been used by Wilson to shoot a native cat.
Mrs Loudon then remembered Gilbert firing into the house:
"One bullet smashed my mirror, and another splintered a drawer. Wicked destruction, I called it."
Her recollection of the hours that followed became more personal. The gang ate heavily. Burke lay on her sofa with his boots up. Gilbert spoke with her at length.
She claimed Gilbert confided that he was weary of bushranging and would leave the country if he could safely do so:
"There’s not one of my mates who would stick at putting a bullet in me if he heard me say what I am telling you."
Whether this conversation was remembered precisely decades later cannot be established, but it is consistent with the tension and instability that increasingly characterised the gang.
The most controversial part of Mrs Loudon’s recollection concerns Micky Burke.
She remembered telling Hall that Burke would eventually betray him. According to her account, Hall replied that if he ever suspected Burke:
"He would shoot him like a dog."
She then added:
"And sure enough, he did, about three weeks after. Don't tell me Keightley shot him. Hall did it himself, I'm sure."
This is a remarkable assertion.
The accepted account of the later confrontation at Henry Keightley’s property at Dunn’s Plains holds that Burke was mortally wounded by Keightley during the gunfight. Mrs Loudon, however, believed that Hall delivered the fatal shot.
Her recollection alone cannot overturn the contemporary evidence surrounding Burke’s death, particularly as it was recorded many years after the event. Yet neither should it simply be dismissed. Loudon had personally encountered Burke, Hall and the other members of the gang, and she claimed to remember Hall making a specific threat against Burke only weeks before his death.
More importantly, other evidence exists which appears to lend some support to the possibility that Burke’s final moments were more complicated than the conventional version suggests.
That evidence will become important when the narrative reaches the fatal encounter at Dunn’s Plains.
Grubbenbong therefore stands as one of the most revealing episodes in the history of Ben Hall’s gang. Within a single night, the five men displayed deception, violence, intimidation, restraint, humour and curious flashes of social etiquette. They fired into an occupied house and threatened to burn it, yet later returned jewellery, ate supper with their captives, worried about smoking in front of women and experimented with the piano.
Such contradictions should not be mistaken for benevolence. The evening remained an armed captivity from beginning to end.
But those contradictions are precisely what make Grubbenbong so important. They reveal the gang not as the one-dimensional figures of later legend, but as volatile young men operating within a strange world where violence, bravado, familiarity and bush manners could exist side by side.
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| Cliefden c., 1900. Courtesy NLA. |
From Caloola, the five bushrangers moved on to Cliefden, the property of William Montague Rothery, near Limestone Creek, north of Woodstock. The substantial estate was known for its horses, making it an obvious attraction to men whose survival depended upon remaining better mounted than the police pursuing them.
On Saturday, 26 September 1863, Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally, Vane and Burke approached the homestead at about eleven o’clock in the morning. Rothery and his two sons saw them coming and initially prepared to resist. They armed themselves with fowling pieces and revolvers, while the cook and ostler joined the improvised defence with rather less formidable weapons—a carving knife and toasting fork for one, and a stable fork and sickle for the other.
As the gang reached the house, however, Rothery reconsidered. A firefight against five heavily armed bushrangers risked turning a robbery into a killing. He ordered the weapons concealed and the door opened.
The Empire, reporting the incident on 6 October, described what followed with characteristic humour:
On Saturday, (26th Sept) at half-past three o'clock, p. m., Mr Rothery, Junior, rode into town, stating that about two hours previously, Gilbert and four other bushrangers had taken their quiet departure from Cliefden about 15 miles from Carcoar. He stated, that at eleven o'clock that morning, he saw Gilbert, Ben Hall, O'Meally, Vane, and Burke, riding up to the house, when he gave the alarm to his father, who ordered the door to be closed and fastened. This done, Mr Rothery and his two sons armed themselves with fowling pieces and revolvers—the cook and ostler being shortly afterwards admitted by the window. The cook was armed with a carving knife and toasting fork, and the ostler with a stable fork and a sickle. By the time these arrangements were completed, the bushrangers came up to the front of the house, when the young men wanted to fire, but their father ordered them not, directing them to plant the firearms and open the door. The bushrangers accordingly entered and took immediate possession of the premises, so that the pluck of these three gentlemen exploded instead of their powder.
Once inside, the gang behaved less like fugitives under relentless pursuit than men entirely confident of their control of the situation. The ostler was ordered to tend their horses and the cook to prepare dinner. The bushrangers then sat down to eat.
Brandy and champagne were produced, and Gilbert turned the occasion into a parody of a formal luncheon by proposing a toast to Rothery and his sons. Rothery apparently responded in kind:
The ostler and cook were dispatched to their several departments—the one to feed the bushrangers' horses, and the other to cook dinner for them; of which, when ready, they partook with excellent appetites. They ordered a bottle of brandy and champagne, which was brought them without delay, when Gilbert, filling glasses round, proposed the health of Mr Rothery, J P., and his sons, the latter of whom, he said, he hoped shortly to see gazetted as sub-inspectors; believing, as he did, that they possessed as much pluck as most of them. Mr Rothery, J.P., in a neat speech, returned thanks for himself and sons, and assured them that he felt deeply the compliment they had paid him and was not able to express all be felt, but would represent to the Government the flattering opinion they held of his own and his sons' pluck, as no doubt they would be considered better authorities on such matters than Captain McLerie.
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William Rothery Courtesy NLA |
After dinner, the bushrangers inspected Rothery’s horses. They tried several before selecting three, together with two new saddles and bridles. At about two o’clock they departed, announcing that they were heading towards Canowindra.
Another account added that Burke displayed one of the firearms captured from the police at Marsh’s farm and boasted that he had taken it from one of the “traps”:
Yesterday intelligence was brought into town that, on Saturday 26 September, the five bushrangers Ben Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally, Vane and Burke stuck up Mr Rothery's house at Limestone Creek, just as that gentleman was about to sit down to dinner. It is said they handcuffed Mr Rothery and enjoyed the dinner themselves, washing it down with some champagne which they called for. After dinner, they played the piano and otherwise amused themselves. As they wanted a horse, they took some pains in selecting one—going into a paddock and making a trial of two or three before they found an animal to suit them. During the inspection of the horses, Burke showed a revolver and a breech-loading rifle, which he "took from one of the bl——dy traps at George Marsh's."
The gang also spoke openly of their intended movements. They claimed they were going towards Canowindra and Bungaroo and hoped to encounter T. R. Icely, whose activities against them had earned their resentment. They even invited Rothery to summon the police, boasting that they would wait for the troopers and return them to Carcoar in handcuffs.
Such bravado was becoming characteristic of the five-man gang. Their robberies were no longer simply hurried seizures of money, horses and provisions. When circumstances allowed, they remained for hours, ate their victims’ food, drank their liquor, read their newspapers and discussed the police pursuing them. The leisurely behaviour was itself a demonstration of confidence: they believed their horses, knowledge of the country and network of information would give them sufficient warning to escape.
Nearly sixty years later, John Stinson, who had been a thirteen-year-old farmhand at Cliefden in 1863, recalled the incident. His account broadly supported the contemporary report that Rothery had initially contemplated resistance before deciding against it:
The gang rode into Carcoar on the following Saturday afternoon and called at the home of Mr Rothery, where the men, forewarned, were armed with rifles, the cook with a carving knife, and the groom with a long stable fork. Mr Rothery changed his proposed tactics when the outlaws knocked at the door and hid the arms. The bushrangers ordered the groom to look after their horses and the cook to prepare a meal, which they attacked with full appetites. Glasses went round, and Hall proposed the health of Mr Rothery, J.P. After an exchange of compliments, the gang made off with three of the house's horses.
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John Stinson 1850-1921. Private Source. Never before published. |
(John Vane's version of these events can be read on the Source Page in John Vane, Bushranger, from page 135. His account of the first Canowindra raid begins around page 137.)
Leaving Cliefden with three fresh horses, the gang turned towards Canowindra. Travellers encountered along the way remained vulnerable. A report of 29 September tersely summarised the situation:
The bushrangers Gilbert, O'Meally, Hall, and others continue to rob passengers on the Western Road and to elude the police.
Their next destination would produce one of the most celebrated episodes of Hall's career.
While Hall and his companions were moving through the Carcoar district, one of his former associates was facing a different contest with the authorities.
Henry Gibson, also known as Henry Parker, had long been associated with Hall and the Wheogo circle. He had lived at Sandy Creek and had been repeatedly suspected by police of assisting Hall, Gilbert, O'Meally and other bushrangers. In September 1863 he appeared before the court charged with shooting at Constable James Townly during an encounter at Brewer River on 17 April.
The prosecution's difficulty was proving that Gibson himself had fired the shot. Police had pursued a group they believed to be bushrangers and had called upon Gibson to stop. When he failed to do so, they fired upon him. Gibson was eventually captured carrying a loaded revolver, while one of his companions fired at the police and escaped.
The Sydney Mail reported the case on 19 September:
Henry Gibson alias Henry Parker was charged with shooting at a constable named James Townly, at Brewer River on the 17th of April. This was a case in which the prisoner was proved to be one of the party whom a body of police had chased, under the supposition that they were bushrangers. The prisoner had been called to stand (but not in the Queen's name) and, not complying with the order, had been fired at two or three times and eventually captured. Immediately afterwards a shot was fired by one of the prisoner's companions, the whole of whom escaped. On the prisoner, a loaded revolver was found.
Witnesses were also called to establish Gibson's associations:
Some witnesses were examined to prove they had seen him frequently in company with Gardiner, Lowry, Gilbert, O'Meally, and Ben Hall, in the Wheogo district.
Without counsel, Gibson conducted his own defence. He argued that his association with these men did not establish his participation in their later crimes. He had worked for Hall, he said, when Hall was still regarded as a respectable grazier, and some of the men with whom he had associated had not yet become bushrangers.
It was a simple but effective argument:
The prisoner, who had no legal advisor, spoke in his own defence, and in such a way as to create a great impression in his favour. He said that at the time the witnesses proved having seen him in company with two bushrangers they had not "turned out in the bush," and that he had been managing overseer to Ben Hall when the latter was an honest man and said if they ware criminals surely he was not to be held equally guilty.
The judge summed up favourably and the jury returned a verdict of not guilty, prompting applause from spectators in the courtroom.
For Gibson, however, the victory was short-lived.
His Honor ordered these manifestations to be checked, and then spoke as follows:-"It will no doubt be a gratification to you, gentlemen of the jury, as well, no doubt, to everyone else, to learn that the prisoner will not escape. Since the jury retired, it had been ascertained beyond all doubt that the prisoner is an escaped convict from Melbourne.
Gibson was therefore returned to custody despite his acquittal on the shooting charge and was subsequently sent back to Victoria to answer for his earlier status as an escaped prisoner.
His case illustrates one of the persistent difficulties confronting police during Hall's rise. Association, suspicion and reputation were considerably easier to establish than participation in a particular offence. The network surrounding Hall undoubtedly assisted his survival, but proving in court that an individual harbourer or acquaintance had committed a specific crime was another matter entirely.
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After Gibson's May 1863 release, Sir Frederick Pottinger re-arrested Gibson, and he was held over until the Victorian Police bona fides could be ascertained. |
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Gibson Acquitted, NSW Police Gazette, September 1863. |
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| Gibson held for transfer to Melbourne Victoria September 1863. |
While Gibson was being returned to custody, Hall remained free. With Gilbert, O'Meally, Vane and Burke beside him, he was now riding towards Canowindra.
Canowindra
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Canowindra from Blue Jacket Lookout, 2016. My photograph. |
The settlement was small, but strategically placed on the routes linking Carcoar, Cowra and the western districts. A later description in the Evening News captured its modest scale:
Canowindra is a small town on the Lachlan, and might at this period have been not inaptly designated “a one-horse place,” containing as it did one store, one inn, one lockup, one constable, one J.P., one pound, and one everything else. The seal of oneness seemed set on all, and it only required the population to be represented by one man to crown the strange effect.
The New South Wales Gazetteer of 1866 gave a more formal description, recording a population of about 120 and noting two hotels, pastoral and agricultural activity, and the town’s position on the northern bank of the Belubula River.
For Hall and his companions, Canowindra offered something more important than size: opportunity. Their informants had apparently advised them that the local police were away from the township, leaving the settlement exposed.
On the evening of Sunday, 27 September 1863, the five bushrangers rode into town.
The Empire reported:
On Sunday (27th) evening, we received information that Gilbert and his four companions reached Canowindra, as promised, four hours after they left Mr Rothery's. About six o'clock they rode into town, tied up their horses, and commenced searching every house and person for cash, but obtained a very limited amount. They took from the only stores in town, Messrs. Pierce and Hilliar, about thirty pounds' worth of men's clothing, and three pounds in cash; after which they adjourned to Robinson's, junior, inviting all hands to have a ball, for which Gilbert paid—tea being first ordered.
Other accounts placed the value of the stolen property somewhat higher and listed boots, waistcoats, tobacco and cash among the goods taken.
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William Robinson & daughter Beatrice. |
The Empire continued:
After the tea-things were cleared away, Gilbert very politely asked one of the young ladies to play him a tune on the piano. Some short time after, a dance was proposed, and commenced about nine o'clock, and continued till daylight next morning (Monday). Constable Sykes being amongst the company, it was proposed by Ben Hall that he (Sykes) should act as M.C. and that Burke and O'Meally should receive any company that might arrive during the evening.
By midnight the company reportedly numbered eighteen.
Gilbert and his companions called and paid for all they drank during the night, and the night's amusement is spoken of as one of the jolliest affairs that has ever taken place in that small town—not a low or improper word being spoken by the gang.
That description should not obscure the circumstances. The gathering took place under armed occupation. The residents were dealing with five men carrying carbines and multiple revolvers who had already robbed the town and had demonstrated elsewhere that resistance could be met with gunfire. Whatever humour or conviviality developed during the evening existed within that coercive setting.
Gilbert, characteristically, used the occasion to ridicule the police:
Gilbert kept the crowd in roars of laughter, at intervals, during the night, by giving an account of the police, whom he designated as a lot of cowards and said when he left Rothery's he mentioned where he was going so that it might be intimated to the police; knowing full well that they would not reach Canowindra until they (the bushrangers) had left. He said they never came till a day or two after.
At about five o’clock the gang left the hotel and withdrew to a nearby paddock, where they slept for several hours before departing around eight.
One contemporary description of the five men is especially valuable because it records how they appeared to residents at this stage of their careers:
The whole five are sober youngsters—none of them drinks. They all have breech-loading rifles, and each has four revolvers. Gilbert is a very jolly fellow, of slight build and thin—always laughing seemed to be Hall's favorite and the happiest man in the country. O'Meally is said by everyone to be a murderous-looking scoundrel. Ben Hall is a quiet, good-looking fellow, lame, one leg having been broken; he is the eldest of the party and the leader—I fancy about 28 years of age. Vane is a big, sleepy-looking man, upwards of 12 stone. Mick Burke is small. They seem at all times to be most thoroughly self-possessed and to perfectly understand each other...
The observation that decisions were referred to Hall is consistent with other contemporary and later accounts from this period. By the spring of 1863 he appears increasingly to have acted as the organising figure within the five-man gang, although Gilbert retained considerable independence and often dominated social encounters.
Before leaving the district, O’Meally also visited relatives living several miles from the township:
Before leaving Canowindra, O'Meally visited some of his admiring relatives, about three or four miles off, and was most cordially received by them.⁶
The gang’s departure from Canowindra was complicated by heavy rain.
During the night the Belubula River had risen rapidly. Hall, Burke and Vane crossed to the southern side and rode towards Bangaroo Station, where they hoped to obtain fresh horses. Gilbert and O’Meally remained nearer Canowindra.
The expedition to Bangaroo was unsuccessful. On returning to the river, Hall, Burke and Vane discovered that the water had risen considerably and that police were reported to be nearby.
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| Thomas Icely's Bangaroo Station,raided by Hall Vane and Burke. |
John Vane later described what followed:
Hall, Burke and I rode down the river to Bangaroo Station hoping to get fresh horses; but there were no horses in the paddock, and we returned up the river again, only to find it in full flood. Shortly after we had reached the river, Gilbert rode up on the other side of the stream and said there were a lot of police higher up on the top crossing, waiting for the floodwaters to subside... so we made up our minds to swim the river without delay.
The men stripped, wrapped their firearms and ammunition inside their clothes and secured the bundles to their saddles.
Hall crossed first.
Hall was first in the water and I followed close behind; but my horse would not swim, and when he reached the strong part of the current he turned turtle and sank...
Vane was thrown into the river. He reached the bank, but his horse was swept downstream and became entangled among trees. Burke, who had not yet attempted the crossing, went to its assistance.
Vane eventually escaped unharmed, but his saddle and possessions were lost:
With the saddle, I lost my clothes and firearms and £19 in money.
A contemporary correspondent gave a similar account, though with different details regarding the amount lost:
In crossing the race at Duffy's fall, they had to swim, and in doing so Vane lost his seat and was precipitated into the water—the horse being carried down some distance, till he washed against a tree. The girths then breaking, the horse made for the bank... The saddle and swag, containing three revolvers £25 in notes, and some clothing, were lost.
The discrepancies are typical of the surviving evidence. Vane recalled £19 and two revolvers; the newspaper reported £25 and three. The essential event, however, is consistent: Vane nearly drowned and lost his saddle, clothing, money and firearms in the flooded Belubula.
Burke remained temporarily stranded on the southern bank while Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally and Vane returned towards Canowindra. Vane, wet and without proper clothing, soon required replacements.
At his later trial, storekeeper Pearce testified:
Vane made his appearance at the store the night after they had taken their departure. His clothes were wet, and he said his horse had sunk with him in attempting to cross the river. He had a revolver in his hand and said he must have some dry clothes. He then took a Crimean shirt, a pair of trousers, and a pair of boots.
The episode illustrates one of the practical realities of bushranging that is easily obscured by later legend. Horses, rivers, weather and clothing could be as important to survival as firearms. A flooded crossing could strip a bushranger of weapons, money and mobility within minutes.
The swollen river also prevented police on the opposite bank from readily approaching the gang.
According to a correspondent in the Freeman's Journal, Hall sent a local resident named Sullivan to the police with an extraordinary challenge:
They (the bushrangers) sent a message by a man named Sullivan, an old resident of Canowindra, to the police, that they were prepared to meet them and would stop there for them, so long as no more than six came. That they would fight them man to man and allow the police one extra to take the place of the first trooper that fell.
Sullivan reportedly offered to ferry the police across the flooded river, but they declined.
The account may contain the customary embellishment of colonial bushranging journalism, but it fitted the increasingly provocative behaviour of the gang during September 1863. They had already publicly mocked police at Cliefden and Canowindra and had recently stripped troopers of their weapons at Marsh’s farm.
While all this was taking place, Sub-Inspector George McPherson M’Lerie narrowly escaped drowning in the same severe conditions. Returning towards Carcoar, his horse was swept away while attempting to cross Five Mile Creek:
Mr Inspector M'Lerie had a narrow escape from drowning on Sunday night. He and his men were returning to Carcoar, and on attempting to cross the Five-mile Creek, he was swept down—his horse being turned over and over in the stream—and but for the assistance of some diggers encamped near the spot, he must have perished.⁷
The incident provides a useful counterpoint to Vane’s experience. The same weather that hindered the gang also made police pursuit extraordinarily dangerous.
With the five reunited, the gang soon resumed operations.
In what was apparently an opportunity for the younger Micky Burke to conduct a robbery alone, he stopped the Carcoar mail while Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally and Vane remained concealed nearby:
The Carcoar mail has been stuck up again. It was stopped by Burke alone, while Gilbert, O'Mally, Vane, and Hall lay concealed. The mail bags were cut open, and the money in the letters about £10 was abstracted.
Whether this was deliberately intended as a test of Burke cannot be established from the contemporary report, but it demonstrated that he was now operating as a recognised member of the gang rather than merely accompanying the older bushrangers.
By the end of September the five had robbed stores, stations, travellers and mails, humiliated mounted police, occupied private homes for hours at a time and moved across a wide area with little apparent difficulty.
The Bathurst Times captured the prevailing frustration on 30 September:
In the Bathurst district, Gilbert, O'Meally, and Company appear to be as busy as ever, helping themselves indiscriminately to whatever they choose. The police are in hot pursuit, but, so far, have not succeeded in apprehending any of the gang; and we cannot but regret to see the belief expressed that the constables are afraid of them. We certainly should be glad to see these offenders brought to justice, but the lawlessness of their pursuits keeps them so constantly on the alert, that their capture is far easier to write about than to effect.
That accusation—that the police were afraid of them—was becoming politically dangerous.
Within days, Hall and his companions would undertake an exploit even more audacious than the occupation of Canowindra, one that would carry the humiliation of the colonial police directly into the public consciousness.
At the same time, police pressure was being directed not only at the bushrangers themselves but also at the families and properties associated with them.
The O’Meally family homestead was destroyed, an action that prompted sharp criticism in Bell's Life in Sydney and Sporting Chronicle on 26 September 1863:
Within the last two years, several bad characters have been captured at O'Meally's; therefore, this burning down looks like destroying the trap that ensnared the vermin. Such Culverhouse acts will never stop bushranging; they are more likely to increase it, as in the case of Ben Hall, who was rendered the desperate outlaw he now is principally through the police burning down his once comfortable homestead, and thrusting his wife and family into the shelter-less bush...
The newspaper's argument was openly sympathetic and should not be accepted uncritically. Its description of Hall's own circumstances repeated claims that were already becoming part of the mythology surrounding his descent into bushranging. Nevertheless, the passage is important evidence of contemporary unease about police tactics.
By the spring of 1863, therefore, the struggle had expanded beyond the pursuit of a handful of armed men. It encompassed informants, harbourers, families, property, newspaper opinion and parliamentary politics. Hall's gang relied upon a network of assistance and intelligence; police responded by increasingly targeting that network.
Against this background of escalating hostility, the five bushrangers rode on from Canowindra.
Their next actions would push the confrontation with the colonial authorities still further.
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| Portrait of Joseph Harpur. Courtesy of Harpur Critical Archive. |
The assumptions contained in the earlier sympathetic accounts of Ben Hall have long since been shown to be unreliable. Indeed, the tone bears some resemblance to an earlier article published in the Yass Courier in June 1863, which likewise attempted to explain Hall’s descent into bushranging through alleged mistreatment by the authorities.
Such articles helped construct an image of Hall as a wronged settler driven into outlawry by police persecution. It was a powerful narrative, particularly as his notoriety increased, but the surviving evidence does not support it in such simple terms. Hall had voluntarily relinquished his interest in Sandy Creek in September 1862, while the house was not destroyed until 14 March 1863, when it was burned under the provisions of the Crown Lands Occupation Act 1861 after becoming associated with bushrangers and their harbourers.
Nevertheless, Hall had defenders. One of the most prominent was Joseph Jehoshaphat Harpur, a member of the New South Wales Parliament whose family connections placed him close to the Lachlan district and its inhabitants. Harpur repeatedly condemned what he regarded as heavy-handed police treatment of settlers and those suspected of assisting the bushrangers:
Mr Harpur, Mr Cummings, and Mr Dalgleish censured the police generally and especially denounced them for burning down the houses of Ben Hall and the elder O'Meally.
By the spring of 1863, however, such criticism sat uneasily beside the increasingly violent reality of Hall’s career. Settlers, storekeepers and travellers across the western districts were being robbed with remarkable frequency, while the police seemed unable to bring the principal offenders to account.
Newspaper editors became increasingly severe in their criticism. The debacle at George Marsh’s farm, where Hall’s gang had disarmed mounted troopers and carried away their weapons, became symbolic of a much wider problem. If trained policemen could themselves be bailed up, what protection could ordinary settlers expect?
The bushrangers themselves appear to have delighted in this public humiliation. Newspaper reports were read, discussed and mocked by the gang, whose recent successes had produced an extraordinary degree of confidence.
After the festivities at Canowindra, Hall and his companions moved eastward towards Bathurst, some fifty-five miles away. Despite the publicity surrounding their movements, they travelled with surprising freedom. Camps were established around Swan Ponds, near Evans Plains Creek, and farther south around Long Swamp on the road towards Trunkey. These positions gave them easy access to the surrounding roads while allowing rapid withdrawal into broken country.
The Sydney Morning Herald reported on 1 October 1863:
Good information has just been received that the bushrangers were seen camped about fifteen miles from Bathurst three hours since. These scoundrels have been within twenty-five miles of this town, committing all kinds of depredations, during the last week, and it is firmly believed that the police, from their dilatory and sluggish proceedings, are afraid of them.
The question being asked throughout the district was becoming unavoidable: where were the police?
The failure to intercept the gang after the raids on Grubbenbong, Cliefden and Canowindra attracted particularly bitter criticism. On 7 October the Sydney Morning Herald published an account alleging that a party of troopers had taken fourteen hours to travel approximately thirty-two miles to Canowindra, arriving several hours after the bushrangers had departed:
Information reached Number One Swamp of the sticking-up of Rothery's and the bushrangers going on to Canowindra, about five o'clock on Saturday evening. Mr Superintendent Morrisett immediately dispatched five troopers to Canowindra ordering them to call at Clifden on their way up. Instead of proceeding direct, they first came to Carcoar, which they did not leave till nine o'clock p.m. Previous to their departure, they, however, received information that left very little doubt as to the bushrangers being at Canowindra.
The correspondent continued:
Now, giving them seven hours to get to Canowindra—thirty-two miles—they ought to have reached there at four o'clock a.m., where they would have had a good chance of taking the bushrangers, but, from some cause they did not arrive at Canowindra till eleven o'clock—three hours after the bushrangers had left—thus taking fourteen hours to travel thirty-two miles!
The same report alleged that two troopers stationed at Cowra declined to pursue the gang because they considered themselves too few in number:
He informed them of what was going on at Canowindra and directed them to proceed there, but they refused to go, saying "two were of no use".
Such reports were devastating to police morale and public confidence. Whether every allegation was fair or not, the impression was taking hold that Hall and his companions understood the country, possessed better horses, received better intelligence and could move faster than those sent against them.
From their camps near Bathurst, the gang could watch roads, gather information from sympathisers and select their next targets. Their ability to disappear into the surrounding countryside repeatedly frustrated pursuing police parties. By the beginning of October, the confrontation between the bushrangers and the authorities had become more than a succession of isolated robberies. It was increasingly being discussed as a sustained contest for control of the western roads.
Early in October, Ben Hall and John Vane left the Long Swamp camp and moved towards the Trunkey diggings. Vane later recalled:
Leaving Long swamp early next morning, Hall and I decided to take a short run in the direction of the Trunkey Diggings, for gold had always had an attraction for us, although we didn't trouble to search for it as the diggers searched.
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Dr Richard Machattie, father of 'Dosh.' Private Source. |
The irony would not have been lost on Hall. Captain Battye had previously served at Lambing Flat and had taken an active role in suppressing bushranging and stock theft. Now his son stood unarmed before one of the very men the police had spent years pursuing.
The Empire reported the encounter on 6 October 1863:
On Thursday morning, at a place called One-Eye, near Mulgunnia, young Messrs. Machattie and Battye were stuck up by Hall and Vane. The young gentlemen were out surveying and had dismounted from their horses to roll up their cloaks when two ruffians appeared and ordered them to stand and give up what money they possessed.
The young men had little cash. Hall and Vane took twenty shillings from each, returned the odd two shillings, searched them for weapons and temporarily took Machattie’s watch. During the lengthy detention, however, the encounter developed into an extraordinary exchange of jokes and challenges.
To relieve the monotony of their forced captivity several proposals were made to the bushrangers, one consisting of an offer to run Hall two hundred yards for the ownership of the horses, and another to have a little amusement in the shape of a fight. The bushrangers laughed and said they would fetch "the toad," meaning Burke, as he and Battye would be about a match.
Hall ultimately returned Machattie’s watch and declined to take a scarf ring after learning that it was a gift from his mother. The report concluded:
The two men are described as being very muscular, and to betray no symptoms of care and anxiety. Hall was continually laughing, but Vane was sullen and morose.
Vane later remembered the encounter somewhat differently, placing the challenge to a foot race upon himself:
Evading the main road, we were quietly jogging along a gully when we met two young surveyors on their way to Bathurst—“Dosh” Machattie, son of the late Dr Machattie, and young Battye, son of the then well-known Captain Battye, of the Western police. Without much ceremony, we bailed them up, but neither of them was burdened with riches, and we didn’t get much.
He continued:
Battye wanted to run me a foot-race (he was a good sprinter), but I was “not on,” and there was some light talk about an engagement with fists; but this came to nothing.
The most important part of Vane’s recollection concerned the challenge that followed:
Before leaving, Machattie said, “Why don’t you come to Bathurst? I suppose you are not game?” Hall replied that we would show him whether we were game or not and that we would pay the big town a visit during the following week. They took this as a big joke and a piece of boasting and bluff on our part; but, as the result proved, they had put a thought in our heads which led to a determination that was fully and faithfully carried out.
Whether the exchange occurred precisely as Vane later remembered it is impossible to establish. What is clear is that Hall and Vane had been openly challenged over their willingness to enter Bathurst itself. The remark would soon acquire considerable significance.
While Hall and Vane were joking with two young surveyors in the bush, the political consequences of the bushranging crisis were becoming increasingly serious in Sydney.
Members representing western districts faced constant complaints from constituents who considered the police incapable of protecting either life or property. James Martin, one of the government’s most formidable parliamentary opponents, seized upon the issue as part of a wider attack on the Cowper administration.
The Colonial Secretary was eventually forced into an extraordinary public rebuke of the police hierarchy:
On Wednesday night the Colonial Secretary read several telegrams to and from the Inspector-General of Police. Captain M'Lerie was informed that the Government were disgusted at the behaviour of the police and that he would be expected to resign if the five bushrangers, including Gilbert, O'Meally, and Ben Hall, were not captured within a month. And further, that a new force would be inaugurated. The House expressed its gratification at this decided step on the part of the Executive.⁹
The bushrangers, however, continued their operations.
THE REIGN OF TERROR.
https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/166650667?
By the end of September, even the language used by the colonial press had begun to change. H. P. Williamson’s Lachlan Miner, writing on 30 September 1863, described the continuing contest between bushrangers and police as something approaching a war:
The aspect of the war (for we can call it nothing else) between the bushrangers and the police, is becoming every day more alarming to the peaceable inhabitants of New South Wales; and were it not for the imminent danger to which both property and life are exposed, the performances of our defenders would be truly a farce of the broadest kind.
The disastrous encounter at Marsh’s farm remained central to the criticism:
We are told by the Bathurst Times, in the most matter-of-fact manner, that when two troopers went out from Mr Marsh's, near Carcoar, after hearing two shots... only one of them had taken the precaution to have his rifle with him. The one who had his arms, as a matter of course, gave them up...
The correspondent sarcastically asked:
Why not have dummy troopers, who would benefit the country, by costing nothing for pay, and wearing out no shoe leather?
Behind the humour lay genuine anger. The western districts were experiencing robberies, shootings and armed confrontations on an almost daily basis, while the police repeatedly arrived after the offenders had disappeared.
Yet not every encounter ended in favour of the bushrangers.
Near Burrowa, Thomas Wilding of Wildash Station demonstrated that armed—or determined—resistance could produce a very different outcome.
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NSW Police Gazette 7th October 1863. |
The Queanbeyan Age and General Advertiser reported on 1 October:
Mr Thomas Wilding's residence at Gunary Creek, seven miles from Burrowa, was attempted to be stuck-up last night by two bushrangers, one of whom was shot dead, and the other severely wounded by Mr Wilding and another party who was in the house at the time.
A second version suggested that no firearm had been used:
Another correspondent states that no firearms were used by Mr Wilding, but that on the bushrangers entering the house they were attacked with cudgels; that the head of one man was thoroughly beaten in and the jaw of the other broken in three places.
The men were subsequently identified as James Murphy, known locally as “Jemmy Blackguard”, and Frederick Phillips.
For a brief moment rumour had suggested that the dead and wounded men might be Gilbert and O’Meally, producing considerable excitement in Burrowa. The Clarence and Richmond Examiner and New England Advertiser later recorded:
The townspeople, who had already heard of the affair, and the supposed capture of Gilbert and O'Meally, ran in crowds towards the lock-up to ascertain its truth and to satisfy their curiosity by feasting their eyes on the two men who had committed so many depredations but much to their astonishment, the men turned out to be James Murphy, better known as Jemmy Blackguard... the other, the survivor, calls himself Frederick Phillips, of huge size.
The coroner’s jury ultimately returned a verdict of justifiable homicide.
Phillips recovered from his injuries and was subsequently sentenced to five years’ hard labour on the roads.
The episode was important not because Murphy and Phillips were principal members of Hall’s gang—they were not—but because it demonstrated the atmosphere that had developed across the western districts. Bushranging had become so widespread that every armed stranger might be Hall, Gilbert or O’Meally, while ordinary settlers were increasingly prepared to defend themselves rather than wait for police assistance.
By October 1863, the contest had entered a new phase. The police were under unprecedented political pressure, the public was becoming increasingly willing to resist, and Hall’s gang, emboldened by months of success, was preparing to carry its defiance directly into the heart of Bathurst.
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| View of Bathurst from the bushrangers perspective on Bald Hill. (Mount Panorama) Courtesy NLA. |
By early October 1863, Ben Hall, John Gilbert, John O’Meally, John Vane and Micky Burke had reached the height of their confidence. Their recent successes at Marsh’s farm, Grubbenbong, Cliefden and Canowindra had demonstrated not only their mobility but their willingness to humiliate the police openly. Now they contemplated something more audacious still: riding directly into Bathurst.
According to John Vane’s later account, the idea had its origins in the encounter with the young surveyors Richard “Dosh” Machattie and Charles “Bertie” Battye. When the pair taunted Hall and Vane over whether they were “game” enough to enter Bathurst, the challenge was initially treated as youthful bravado. Yet when Hall and Vane rejoined their companions, the idea was raised again.
Vane remembered O’Meally enthusiastically embracing the proposal:
We’ll show the beggars whether we’re game or not! It’s a pity one of you didn’t take on the cove that talked fight; either of you could have flattened him out.
Hall dismissed the suggestion that they should have fought the young men:
Oh, that’s nonsense, we got something better to do than fight with bragging schoolboys, and neither of them was much better. But, I’ll tell you what; if you are agreeable, we will take up their challenge in earnest and go to Bathurst.
O’Meally agreed:
Well, I’m agreeable to make the next trip to Bathurst the ‘go’, and as the police are all out from the head station we could have a free run in and out, and the affair would make a big sensation; besides which we ought to make a big haul from one of the jewellers. If we go at night, the banks will be closed, or we might ‘touch’ one of them.
Whether every word of this conversation survived precisely in Vane’s memory is impossible to establish. Charles White recorded the account more than forty years later, and his chronology is not always reliable. Nevertheless, the broad sequence accords with what followed: on Saturday, 3 October 1863, all five bushrangers rode into Bathurst.
Bathurst was no ordinary target. Established in 1815 following the opening of the country west of the Blue Mountains, it had developed into the principal centre of the Western Districts.
The country had first been explored by Europeans in 1813, when Surveyor George William Evans followed the route opened by Blaxland, Lawson and Wentworth and continued beyond their turning point. Looking upon the country west of the mountains, Evans was later remembered as regarding it:
To the surveyor, it was like a glimpse of paradise after his strenuous journey over the Blue Mountains.
William Cox’s celebrated road across the mountains soon opened the interior more effectively to colonial traffic. Governor Lachlan Macquarie travelled over it in 1815 and proclaimed the new settlement of Bathurst. Cox himself subsequently received land on the Bathurst Plains, which he named Hereford.
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Father Jerome Keating, who married Ben & Bridget as well as her sisters Ellen and Catherine Walsh. c. 1870's. Courtesy E. Penzig. |
Seven years later he was returning under dramatically different circumstances.
Bathurst was now one of the principal centres of the police campaign against him. Superintendent Morrissett operated from the district, while Sir Frederick Pottinger and numerous mounted patrols moved through the surrounding country. To ride openly into the town was therefore more than another robbery. It was a calculated affront to the authorities pursuing them.
Author’s Note: Father Jerome Keating was born in Ireland and educated at Dublin University and Carlow College. He arrived in Sydney in January 1845 and served at Penrith, Bathurst, Maitland and Norfolk Island. He later emigrated to the United States and died in New York in 1885.
Vane’s recollections provide the fullest account of the gang’s preparations, although they must be read alongside the contemporary newspaper reports.
Each man had something in mind. Vane wanted to inspect the firearms at Pedrotta’s gun shop, particularly the newer revolving rifles and double-trigger revolvers. Gilbert, always interested in fine horseflesh, had his eye on the celebrated racehorse Pacha, kept at the Sportsman’s Arms by his former employer, John “Dublin Jack” DeClouet.
The gang selected their best horses and approached Bathurst by a circuitous route, avoiding the principal roads. They passed through country around Newbridge, Wimbledon and George’s Plains before reaching the vicinity of Bald Hills overlooking Bathurst. There they waited for evening.
The timing was deliberate. Saturday evening brought farmers, travellers and townspeople into Bathurst for shopping, drinking and entertainment. Five well-dressed young horsemen riding together would not necessarily attract attention.
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William Street, Bathurst. View from top of St Michael's Church looking N.E. as the Gang approached Pedrotta's shop on the right from the south c. 1880's Courtesy RAHS. |
Bathurst was badly lighted, I. N. Wark not having at that time descended upon the city with his gas. The shops were dimly lighted with oil and candles so that the time was well chosen—the residents were at tea, and the town at peace.
As darkness settled over Bathurst on 3 October, the five men entered the town.
Vane later remembered simply:
The night was bright and clear and calm.
They rode down William Street, initially in single file before drawing closer together and nudging their horses into a jog. Well dressed and well mounted, they could easily have been mistaken for young countrymen in town for a Saturday evening.
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Pedrotta's Gun shop located in William St. It was situated next to Rachel Leed's Great Western Hotel, seen here on the right. Courtesy BDHS. |
The contemporary account published in the Bathurst Chronicle described four of the gang riding to the premises while Vane apparently remained positioned nearby:
When they came into town, Vane appears to have been stationed in the right-of-way between the Church of England school and the Telegraph Office, and in the darkness, he was effectually screened from view. The others rode in a body to Mr Pedrotta's shop, where a number of firearms are displayed for sale.
Two men entered and asked specifically for revolving rifles or double-trigger revolvers. Pedrotta had none that satisfied them. They examined the ordinary revolvers, declared them unsuitable, and departed.
Vane’s later version differs in detail, placing himself inside the shop with Hall and Gilbert. This is one of several instances where the contemporary account and his later recollections do not correspond exactly. What is certain is that the gang visited Pedrotta’s looking for firearms and left without obtaining what they wanted.
Their attention then turned to McMinn’s jewellery store.
The McMinn family were sitting at tea when the bushrangers entered.
The Bathurst Chronicle reported:
They then went down to Mr M'Minn's shop, and the family being engaged at tea, walked into the room where they were sitting and presenting their revolvers, ordered all to be quiet.
The attempt immediately began to unravel. One of the women screamed at the sight of the weapons. Threats failed to silence her:
Miss M'Minn, however, at the sight of the revolvers, screamed with fright, and though they threatened to blow out her brains if she did not keep quiet, she did not heed them in her terror, but still gave expression to her fear.With the alarm spreading into William Street, the bushrangers abandoned the robbery. One attempted to open a jewellery case while retreating but found that it could only be opened from behind the counter.
Outside, the alarm was taken up by Curtis and Charles White:
The alarm was taken up outside, in the street, by Messrs. Curtis and Charles White, who called out for help, but before anything could be done the bushrangers were in their saddles and going down the street at full speed.
McMinn himself reportedly rushed to the doorway shouting:
Police! Bushrangers! Bushrangers! Police!
The cry travelled rapidly through the town.
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Howick St & William St looking southeast. St Michael's in the background. John Staines and William Matthews premises foreground. c. 1872 |
The Chronicle recorded:
At the corner of Howick-street, two of them turned sharp round, but the others appeared to be uncertain of their way and galloped on towards the police barracks, but a shot being fired into the air, by one of the first two, caused them to turn and re-join their companions.
Vane subsequently remembered the mood very differently from that of the startled townspeople:
We headed up that thoroughfare in the direction of the Bald Hill's again, quietly laughing at the scare we had created, for we could see people running in all directions towards William Street.
Then:
Cantering quietly up George street we came to its intersection with Piper Street.
The raid was not yet over.
Rather than immediately flee Bathurst, the gang turned towards the Sportsman’s Arms Hotel in Piper Street.
Their object was Pacha, a valuable racehorse belonging to John “Dublin Jack” DeClouet. Gilbert knew DeClouet personally, having previously worked for him, and the horse appears to have been part of the gang’s plan from the outset.
They approached from the rear and entered the stable yard. There they encountered the ostler, Mark, and demanded access to Pacha. He told them that DeClouet himself held the key.
O’Meally impatiently suggested:
Blow out somebodies brains; you'll soon have the keys then.
The remark captures the tension underlying what was sometimes later portrayed as a sporting adventure. Bathurst may have been a “lark” to the bushrangers, but they had entered the town heavily armed and had already threatened the McMinn women with death.
DeClouet was confronted, but the encounter took a different course. The contemporary report stated:
The bushrangers, ongoing up George-street, made for the rear of Mr De Clouet's, and entering the house, stuck up the inmates and remained there in cool conversation for fully twenty minutes. They wanted the racehorse Pacha, but at the request of De Clouet, in whose employ Gilbert had at one time been, they relinquished their design and left quietly.
It was an extraordinary conclusion to an already extraordinary incursion. Having ridden into the centre of one of the principal towns of western New South Wales, attempted to obtain firearms, tried to rob a jeweller and then gone in search of one of Bathurst’s best-known racehorses, the gang simply rode away.
Behind them, Bathurst was in uproar.
The first reports were telegraphed across the colony:
Last night, about half-past seven, Gilbert, O'Meally, Ben Hall, Burke, and Vane came into the heart of the town and attempted to stick up the shop of Mr McMinn, jeweller, in William-street.
Police mounted and pursued them, but the gang doubled back and effectively passed around their pursuers:
In a little time, a troop of police were in pursuit, but by a manoeuvre of the bushrangers, they passed them, and so were outgeneralled.
More damaging still was the report that local volunteers were willing to pursue but discovered shortages at the police barracks:
Several young men volunteered immediately to go in pursuit, but there was neither ammunition nor caps in the police barracks.
Whether every detail of the rapidly transmitted reports was correct mattered less politically than the impression they created. Five wanted bushrangers had ridden into the headquarters town of the Western District, committed an armed outrage in its principal streets, remained long enough to visit another establishment, and escaped.
The Bathurst Chronicle captured the shock of the evening:
THE shrieks of a woman in terror, a cry for "Help!" the trampling of horses, the report of a pistol, and the rapid galloping of a body of horsemen, whose figures as they shot through the darkness looked like shadows gliding down the main thoroughfares of the town, were productive of such a scene of consternation and amazement, on Saturday evening, as can never be forgotten by those who have witnessed what we have just described.
For Bathurst, the so-called “Bushranger War” had ceased to be something taking place on distant roads and isolated stations. On the evening of 3 October 1863, it had ridden directly into William Street.
By Monday, 5 October, public shock was turning into organised action. A meeting of Bathurst residents called for the enrolment of special constables and the creation of a committee to consider how the gang might be captured.
The Sydney Morning Herald reported:
A meeting was held today at which resolutions were passed to accept the services of special constables, to form a committee to deliberate in secret on the best means to be adopted to capture the bushrangers. —A telegram from Mr Cowper, authorising the Police Magistrate to take whatever steps might be suggested by the townspeople, was received with gratification.
Bathurst now began to resemble a town preparing for siege.
The gang, meanwhile, remained in the district. Reports of fresh robberies followed almost immediately. On the evening of 6 October a messenger galloped into Bathurst with news of another attack:
A horseman has just galloped into town from the Vale Creek, about a mile and a half distant, with intelligence that the bushrangers have made an attack upon Mrs Mutton's house, and had proceeded in the direction of Mr Hellman's. Five troopers jumped into their saddles, and have this moment left the barracks in pursuit of the bushrangers.—The Inspector-General of Police arrived in town this afternoon.¹⁰
The following evening brought still more alarming intelligence:
GILBERT and his gang, last night, at 9 o'clock, stuck-up Mrs Mutton's house on the Vale Road, half a mile from Bathurst.
From there the gang moved along the road, attacking Walker’s Inn, M'Diarmid’s store and Butter’s Inn. Police parties, including one headed by Inspector-General M’Lerie himself, went into the bush after them.
Again, they failed to secure the gang.
The police on hearing the news sallied forth at once, but arrived at Mrs Mutton's half an hour too late, having taken a wrong direction.
The excitement in Bathurst lasted well into the night:
There was great excitement amongst the townspeople on bearing the news, and crowds were in the streets until 3 o'clock this morning.¹¹
There were even allegations that shots fired after the police departed Bathurst were signals from sympathisers warning the bushrangers of their movements.
The government and townspeople responded by dramatically increasing the rewards. Placards soon appeared offering £500 for each of the five principal offenders:
The committee appointed to consider the best means for capturing the bushrangers have, with the sanction of the Government, issued placards, offering £2500 reward for the apprehension of the five Bushrangers—Gilbert, O'Meally, Bourke, Vane, and Ben Hall, or £500 each. Volunteers are called for, and the town has the appearance of being in a state of siege. The police have been out all day.¹²
The Bathurst raid therefore achieved precisely what O’Meally, according to Vane, had predicted.
It made “a big sensation.”
But its importance went beyond spectacle. The raid exposed the vulnerability of one of the colony’s principal inland towns, intensified criticism of the police and placed still greater pressure upon the Cowper Government. It also demonstrated the extraordinary confidence the five-man gang had acquired by October 1863.
That confidence was approaching its high-water mark.
Within weeks, however, the five-man gang that had ridden laughing through Bathurst would begin to disintegrate.
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| John Vane 1880. |
However, John Vane's later recollection supplies the gangs perpective of the nights events. With three members of the gang holding the stable yard, Ben Hall and John Gilbert entered the Sportsman’s Arms in pursuit of the prize that had helped draw them into Bathurst in the first place: the racehorse Pacha.
Inside they found the proprietor, John “Dublin Jack” DeClouet, and a lodger, John Hunter, reading newspapers in the bar-parlour. In an adjoining bedroom, DeClouet’s wife Rachel was preparing her children for bed. Outside, horse trainer William Bromley and the ostler, Mark, had already been bailed up.
Hall immediately demanded DeClouet’s money, taking a £1 note and his watch before relieving Hunter of another £2. He then entered the adjoining bedroom and demanded the hotel’s cash box.
Mrs DeClouet appears initially not to have realised who had entered her home. According to the contemporary account, she mistook Hall for a drunken customer and ordered him out. Hall quickly disabused her of the idea and began searching a chest of drawers. Rather than have him continue turning over the room, she agreed to produce the cash box herself.
The incongruity of what followed was captured by the press:
“She had a child in her arms, and unthinkingly asked the fellow to hold it while she was getting the box, but he showed her the revolvers in his hands and laughed.”
Hall took the notes from the box. When a half-sovereign rolled beneath the bed, he stooped to search for it, declaring that he “couldn't leave that behind.” Mrs DeClouet eventually recovered the coin and handed it to him.
While Hall searched the bedroom, Gilbert remained with DeClouet. Their exchange had an unusual familiarity: Gilbert had once worked for “Dublin Jack” as a jockey. Now he had returned as one of the most wanted men in the colony.
Gilbert made clear that the gang had come expressly for Pacha. He also explained why. Only days earlier, Richard “Dosh” Machattie and Charles “Bertie” Battye had taunted Hall and Vane that the bushrangers lacked the “pluck” to ride into Bathurst and take the celebrated horse. The roadside challenge had evidently remained with them.
The Newcastle Chronicle and Hunter River District News of 14 October 1863 provided a detailed account of what occurred:
About half-an-hour after, while the townspeople were gathered in knots talking excitedly of the events we have described, a rumour began to circulate that Mr De Clouet's public-house had been visited by the gang, who had robbed the inmates, and but just left. This proved to be true, for upon inquiry it was discovered that the bushrangers on passing Piper-street, in which Mr. De Clouet's house is situated, had turned off George street and made for the rear of the premises. Here they dismounted, and tearing down two rails of the fence leading into the stable yard, four of them went to the stable door, leaving one behind in charge of their horses. Just at this moment a man named William Bromley, a horse trainer, stepping in the house, crossed the yard when he was bailed up. The ostler, Mark, almost at the same time, was coming up with a lighted lantern, and he was quickly pounced upon and asked for the keys of the stable. Mark told them the keys were kept by Mr De Clouet, and, in answer to another question, told them he did not know what money there was in the house. Leaving the two prisoners to be guarded by the others, Gilbert and (it is supposed) Ben Hall went into the house and made their way into the bar-parlour, where Mr. De Clouet and a lodger, Mr. John Hunter (a compositor engaged in our own office), were seated reading the newspapers. In a bedroom leading from the parlour, Mrs De Clouet was engaged washing and putting the children to bed.
The same report continued:
Hall went up to Mr. De Clouet and demanded his money, and after receiving a £1 note, took a watch from his waistcoat pocket. Mr Hunter was then compelled to hand over what money he had (£2), and while Gilbert remained to keep them quiet, Hall passed into the bedroom and asked Mrs. De Clouet for “the cash-box;” but that good lady, thinking he was some drunken man, at once ordered him out of the house. He soon undeceived her, and as she declined to say where the cash-box was placed, he proceeded to a chest of drawers and commenced to turn over its contents.
She had a child in her arms, and unthinkingly asked the fellow to hold it while she was getting the box, but he showed her the revolvers in his hands and laughed. The box having been produced and opened, he took out what notes it contained, and in doing so dropped half-a-sovereign, which rolled under the bed. He stooped down and hunted for it, turning over the carpet, and not being able to see it said it must be found, for he “couldn't leave that behind.” Mrs. De Clouet at length picked it up and handed it to him when he returned to the parlour.
Money, however, was secondary to the object that had brought them to the Sportsman’s Arms. Gilbert again demanded the stable keys.
DeClouet pleaded with his former employee not to take Pacha, arguing that the colt was too young to withstand the hard riding demanded by the bushrangers. Gilbert remained remarkably composed. On examining the hotel till and finding only silver, he reportedly shook his head and remarked that the gang “only dealt in gold.” In an extraordinary gesture, he then produced two shillings of his own and offered them to his former employer.
The atmosphere changed when Hall returned.
He again demanded the stable keys. DeClouet maintained that the ostler possessed them; the ostler insisted that DeClouet did. From outside came a far more menacing proposal:
“Blow out somebody's brains—you'll soon have the keys then.”
Hall brought the ostler inside and threatened to shoot him unless he surrendered them. Still the man maintained that he did not have the keys. When somebody mentioned that mounted police had recently passed nearby, one of the bushrangers answered with characteristic bravado:
“Two of us are enough for four of them any day.”
The contemporary account described Gilbert’s extraordinary composure throughout the episode:
Gilbert on being left with Mr. De Clouet made himself known, he having at one time been engaged by that gentleman as a jockey, and a long conversation is described as having taken place, and Gilbert's manner is spoken of as being extraordinarily cool and self-possessed. He asked for the keys of the stable, as they had come expressly for the racehorse Pacha, and must have him, and added that they should not have come in at all had it not been that Machattie and Battye had dared them to do so, and had tauntingly told them they had not the “pluck” to come in and take Pacha.
Mr De Clouet begged him not to take the horse, as it was only a colt and would be unable to do the work they required of him. Gilbert then went to see what money there was in the till, and finding it contained nothing but silver, shook his head and said they only dealt in gold, at the same time putting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out two shillings which he told Mr De Clouet he would give him.
Despite the threats, DeClouet and his ostler held firm. After about twenty minutes, the gang abandoned its attempt to obtain the horse. The occupants were ordered to remain away from the street, and the bushrangers withdrew.
Pacha remained in his stable.
Before leaving, however, the gang left behind a message that connected the extraordinary events in Bathurst directly with their earlier encounter near Mulgunnia.
Hall and Vane had taken the horses belonging to Machattie and Battye when they bailed up the two young surveyors. The bushrangers now informed DeClouet that those horses had been brought into Bathurst and left in Mrs Mutton’s paddock on the Vale Road. More importantly, they reportedly explained why they had undertaken the raid:
It appears that they had according to a promise made to Mr Licensed Surveyor Machattie and young Battye a few days before on occasion of sticking them up in the neighbourhood of Mulgonnia, brought both the horses of the young gentlemen with them and left them in Mutton's paddock on the outskirts of the town. They left word at the Sportsman's Arms that the horses would be found there remarking at the same time, that if young Machattie had not said they were not game to come into town, they would not have paid that Saturday evening visit. The whole time they stayed at this house was about 20 minutes.
Machattie’s horse was recovered the following morning. Battye’s had disappeared from the paddock, apparently taken by somebody else.
The detail is important. The gang certainly entered Bathurst hoping to obtain firearms, jewellery, money and Pacha, but both contemporary reporting and Vane’s later recollections preserve another motive. The expedition was also an answer to the challenge thrown down by Machattie and Battye.
What had begun as roadside “chaffing” had become a very public demonstration.
Leaving DeClouet’s, the five men may have believed the most dangerous part of their excursion was behind them. Instead, as they moved through the upper end of Bathurst, they encountered mounted police searching for them in the darkness.
The contemporary account describes a moment of uncertainty. The troopers had reached the reserve at the head of George Street and halted, listening for the sound of horses in an effort to determine which direction the gang had taken. Through the gloom, they suddenly saw mounted men approaching.
The bushrangers saw them at almost the same moment.
The night was exceedingly dark, and while deliberating what course to pursue, they spied the bushrangers, through the gloom, coming towards them, having just left De Clouet's. The bushrangers, it would seem, caught sight of them at the same moment, for they turned and galloped off in another direction.
The police gave chase. One trooper, Johnson, possessed a better horse than his companions and began to draw ahead. As he closed upon the fugitives, shots were exchanged:
A hot chase ensued, when one of the troopers named Johnson, whose horse was better than the rest, got in advance, and the bushrangers seeing this turned and fired two shots at him, which he returned. Undaunted, he kept up the pursuit, but his horse foundered, and the bushrangers finally escaped.
John Vane's later recollection gives the busrangers view of the pursuit. According to Vane, the five bushrangers had become stretched out along the road, with Gilbert, O’Meally and Burke riding ahead while Hall and Vane lagged some twenty yards behind:
Congratulating ourselves that we had escaped so easily, we were talking and laughing as we rode, Hall and I being almost twenty yards behind the other three, when suddenly one of the police galloped past us and when near O’Meally, Gilbert and Burke he commenced firing. The three at once scattered but as Hall and I followed the policeman pretty close he abandoned the chase.
Vane’s recollection helps explain the confused nature of the encounter. Johnson appears to have ridden past Hall and Vane while concentrating upon the three men ahead. In doing so, he became isolated from the other troopers, with three armed bushrangers before him and Hall and Vane coming up behind.
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| John Gilbert 1862. |
As Vane and Hall were in hot pursuit of the troopers, an unexpected sight disrupted Vane's focus: a horse galloping wildly without its rider. The silhouette of the riderless beast in the pale moonlight evoked instant dread in Vane. He surmised it must belong to Gilbert, further complicating their escape.
Determined, Vane and Hall chased the panicked horse, which, fuelled by its own fear, took a daring leap across a creek. The sight was almost cinematic - the horse, against the backdrop of the night, sailing over the shimmering waters of the stream.
Emboldened and perhaps carried away by the moment's intensity, Vane decided to mirror the horse's audacious jump. Spurring his mount, he braced himself for the leap. But Vane's attempt lacked the same grace and precision as the horse. The creek seemed to stretch wider than he had anticipated, and in a heartbeat, both he and his horse faltered. Vane was unceremoniously unseated, finding himself tumbling, disoriented, with the echoes of galloping hooves filling his ears. The waters of the creek, which had looked invitingly serene moments before, now loomed as a testament to his miscalculation. Vane un-injured commented:
Hall came up just at this moment, and after assuring him that I was not injured, I began to search for my hat, striking matches for the purpose. While thus engaged we were startled at the sound of a revolver shot, and as the bullet whizzed rather close we cleared away without the hat, riding a short distance into the scrub, where we found O’Meally and Burke.
We headed up that thoroughfare in the direction of the Bald Hill’s again, quietly laughing at the scare we had created, for we could see people still running in all directions towards William Street.
With Gilbert's safety now their paramount concern, the gang did what they always did - they looked out for one of their own. Dismounting their horses, they trawled the rugged landscape, the moonlight guiding them through the shadows. Their efforts, however, proved fruitless. Re-mounting, the weight of Gilbert's absence hung heavy on their shoulders as they pressed on towards Bald Hill.
But nothing could prepare them for the scene that would greet them upon their return to camp near Evan’s Plain. To their astonishment and relief, there was Johnny Gilbert, alive and relatively unscathed. Gilbert recounted his harrowing tale as the gang embraced their seemingly lost comrade. In the heat of the chase, sensing he couldn't outpace the relentless police, he had chosen to dismount. His horse, he claimed, had faltered at the creek, echoing Vane's own experience.
You were afraid of the bullets which were flying about, and I believe you will be shot yet when running away for you have no fight in you.Tensions flared at Evan’s Plain. Johnny Gilbert, the audacious and brazen outlaw, was not one accustomed to ridicule or doubt, particularly from his own gang. Yet, the words thrown at him by O'Meally that evening, coupled with the mocking undertones, touched a raw nerve. There was an intense energy in the air as the two men faced off, their words like daggers in the cool night.
For almost ten minutes, the verbal clash echoed through the camp, with the other members of the gang watching in uneasy silence, unsure of how to mediate the growing hostility. Gilbert's pride was wounded; like a wounded animal, he retreated into a shell of resentment. His slouched and defeated posture was uncharacteristic for a man of his reputation.
Yet, it wasn't in Gilbert's nature to wallow in defeat. In a burst of indignation, he made an emotional appeal to the gang, offering to strike out on his own and inviting any of them to join him. But the gang's loyalty was complex. Despite the tensions, Hall, Burke, and Vane decided to stay put, further isolating Gilbert.
The camp, which moments ago was filled with the cacophony of disagreement, now settled into an uneasy quiet. Distancing himself from the main camp, Gilbert found solace in his solitude, a lone figure in the vast expanse of the bush.
Morning would reveal another twist to the tale. The horse that Gilbert had so hastily abandoned during the chase was discovered by the police, a silent testament to the harrowing events of the previous night. The Maitland Mercury and Hunter River General Advertiser, Thursday 8th October 1863:
A horse thoroughly knocked up, supposed to belong to the bushrangers, was brought in by the police last night. It had a saddle with a poncho on it, and a leather buckle to hold a rifle but was without a bridle.
From the intelligence gathered through their network of informers and messengers, it was clear to the gang that Bathurst had been stirred into action. The police, under pressure to capture these elusive outlaws, had mounted extensive searches, their presence growing more pronounced with each passing day. Not just the trained lawmen but even a band of enthusiastic volunteers had taken to patrolling the roads and highways, their determination fuelled by a mix of civic duty and the promise of the bounty on the bushrangers' heads.
But Ben Hall was not one to be cowed down. He thrived on the very challenge, the cat-and-mouse game with the law. It was this fearless attitude, this audacity, that set him apart. Instead of fleeing the region, he chose the Vale Road, a mere four miles from Bathurst, as his next hunting ground. This major thoroughfare, peppered with inns and stores, was ripe for the taking. And taking he did, in a series of raids executed with military precision.
For the townsfolk and the police alike, it was almost incredulous to imagine that the bushrangers were operating right under their noses while they searched the distant corners. Each successful raid was not just a treasure trove for the gang, but a slap in the face of the establishment, an establishment that seemed increasingly incapable of reigning in the renegades.
After the dramatic events in Bathurst, the gang felt the heat of increased police vigilance. However, the precision of their informants' information ensured their hideout remained untouched and unseen. It was as if the very earth opened up to hide them from their relentless pursuers.
The gang decided to break camp with the autumn evening chill setting in. With the soft orange hue of the setting sun as their backdrop, they proceeded along the Vale Road towards Caloola. Despite the potential danger that lurked in every thicket and behind every tree, there was an air of confidence about them. Each gang member knew that they had the intelligence and skill to evade capture, which filled them with a certain arrogance.
The Vale Road, stretching ahead of them, was not just a route of escape but a path lined with opportunities. On the evening of 6th October 1863, under a clear sky that held the soft glow of a waning moon, they embarked on a series of heinous crimes. From isolated storekeepers to remote hotels, no one was spared their wrath.
The robberies weren't just for personal gain; they were a necessity. The gang had to fund an extensive network of informers and protectors. These collaborators didn't come cheap, and the gang had to maintain a steady inflow of money to ensure their loyalties. Every stolen coin, every looted item was a means to an end.
However, among their many transgressions that night, one incident stood out for its sheer cruelty. After taking everything of value at one humble dwelling, they didn't hesitate to snatch away a child's piggy bank. It was a heart-wrenching moment; the act not only robbed the child of its savings but also of its innocence.
More than any other, this act painted a vivid picture of the depths to which the gang had sunk. Their actions were not just about survival or rebellion against the establishment. They were a stark reminder of the darkness that dwells within men when unchecked by the boundaries of morality and law. Link to the events attached below.
Vane's correction of this episode is essential as it challenges the previously held narratives and shows that memory and truth could become a contested terrain even within tight-knit groups like the bushrangers.
As historians and enthusiasts pick apart Vane's version of events, the question arises: how many other tales of the bushrangers' exploits are based on misremembered events or purposeful alterations? In the murky waters of history, where facts blend seamlessly with myths, Vane's account is a stark reminder that sometimes the truth may come from the most unexpected sources.
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| Publican License Henry Butler's Hen & Chickens Hotel 1860. |
It's worth noting that before setting his sights on the Hen and Chickens, Butler had managed the Carriers Arms in Bathurst for a year, from 1859 to 1860. His shift in proprietorship made for an intriguing backdrop to the gang's activities.
As dawn approached, the gang swiftly distributed their spoils among their allies and supporters. The police, in their relentless pursuit, always seemed to be a step behind, often left confounded by the gang's uncanny ability to disappear into the night. With their recent conquests behind them, the bushrangers shifted their gaze towards Caloola, ever eluding the grasp of the law. Vane narrates.
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| Inspector-General of N.S.W. Police, Captain M'Lerie, c. 1863. Penzig. |
Following the bushrangers' audacious exploits in Bathurst and the consecutive robberies that had left Vale Road reeling, a correspondent from the 'Bathurst Times' took it upon himself to journey to the crime scenes. Through detailed interviews with the victims, the correspondent was able to paint a vivid tableau of the bushrangers' activities on that fateful night: the methodical manner in which they operated, the total number of stores they targeted, and an inventory of all the stolen assets.
Intriguingly, the correspondent’s report pointed out that during the later stages of their crime spree, the bushrangers were accompanied by four additional individuals, believed to be their local informants, or "bush telegraphs" as they were colloquially known. This network of informers played a pivotal role in the gang's operations, providing timely information on police movements. Such intelligence emboldened Ben Hall and his gang, allowing them to commit their crimes with an air of invincibility.
The correspondent also meticulously described how the gang transported their stolen wares: goods were fastened securely to the front of their saddles, piled so high that they almost reached the riders' waists. Some items were even seen falling off during their hasty retreat, a sight that should have offered police a viable opportunity to chase and possibly apprehend the culprits. However, for reasons that remained shrouded in mystery, Superintendent Morrisset hesitated, letting this golden chance slip through his fingers.
In a seemingly desperate attempt to manage the situation, Captain M'Lerie from Sydney arrived at the scene. Rather than pursuing the real perpetrators, he displayed a perplexing penchant for badgering the very victims of the robberies. M'Lerie's lack of empathy and dismissive attitude towards the rural populace, which he derisively termed "that class of people," only further alienated the local community.
Meanwhile, unaware or perhaps indifferent to the criticisms they had sparked, the bushrangers revelled in their newfound loot. Setting up camp not too far from the scene of their latest exploits, they celebrated their victories undisturbed by law enforcement despite widespread reports of their whereabouts. Attached link below.
In 1912, memories of Ben Hall's audacious raid along the Vale Road still lingered in the collective psyche of New South Wales, particularly for those who had witnessed it firsthand. Among those was John Harper, an elderly resident who had once plied his trade as a butcher. Harper's recollections of that October evening in 1863 weren't mere musings of a bygone era – he had been an actual participant in the unfolding drama, albeit in a tangential role.
Superintendent Morrissett, in his pursuit of the bushrangers and perhaps out of desperation to gather intelligence, had approached Harper. Recognizing him as a local, Morrissett had implored Harper to accompany the police in their search for Ben Hall and his gang. For Harper, this wasn't merely an observation from the sidelines; he was momentarily thrust into the epicenter of one of the most talked-about events of his time.
As 1912 rolled around and Harper narrated his experiences, it served as a poignant bridge between the past and the present. For the younger generation, his account offered a tangible connection to the thrilling and tumultuous days of the bushrangers. For Harper and his contemporaries, it was a nostalgic journey back to a youth marked by danger, audacity, and the legendary exploits of Ben Hall.
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| NSW Police Gazette October 1863. |
Superintendent Morrisset, determined to track down the gang and their stolen treasures, eventually made a breakthrough. His relentless pursuit led him to Cheshire's hotel. And hidden away were the very goods that the gang had plundered.
The connection to Cheshire's hotel wasn't merely coincidental. The Cheshires, proprietors of the hotel, were related to none other than John Vane, one of the members of Hall's gang. This familial tie raised eyebrows and deepened the intrigue surrounding the gang's operations and their intricate network of informants, hideouts, and collaborators.
The recovery of the stolen goods was a small victory for the beleaguered police force, who often found themselves outwitted and outpaced by the bushrangers. For the public, it was yet another chapter in the fascinating and tumultuous saga of Ben Hall and his notorious band.
NSW Parliament. Bathurst aftermath.
Bathurst, a major settlement west of the Blue Mountains, represented the expanding frontiers of the British colonial enterprise in Australia. For an armed gang to strike at its heart, almost in a dare, was a slap in the face of the colonial establishment. More than just a criminal act, it was a political statement, underscoring the limitations of the government's reach and control.
The fallout was swift and politically charged. Mr Cowper, the Colonial Secretary, found himself in the eye of a storm. Parliamentarians, already critical of the government's inability to rein in the bushrangers, saw in the Bathurst raid an embodiment of their worst fears. The brazenness of the act brought to the fore calls once more for drastic measures, including an 'Outlaw' proclamation targeting Hall and his gang.
Yet, in the labyrinthine politics of the day, Cowper sought to deflect blame. He pointed fingers at the very citizens of Bathurst, suggesting their complicity and lack of support for the police. It was a risky gambit, seeking to turn public sentiment against the gang by implying broader societal complicity in their crimes.
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| Mr. Cowper, five-time Colonial Secretary ( 1856-1870) Photo c. 1863. |
Mr. HART (without notice) asked the Colonial Secretary-"Whether the Government was aware that on Saturday last a party of bushrangers had come into Bathurst? Whether means had been taken for the special protection of the Western District?"
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| NSW Police Gazette 21 October 1863. |
The idea of declaring the bushrangers as outlaws was not new, but it had never been seriously considered during the era of Hall's precursor, Frank Gardiner. Yet, Premier Cowper found himself on increasingly shaky ground with the public and the press clamouring for action in the aftermath of the Bathurst raid. The colonial administration's seeming impotence in the face of the bushranger menace made them vulnerable to political attacks.
Enter Mr Martin, QC, Cowper's arch-nemesis. Martin, a formidable political operator, saw once more a political opportunity to rally his forces and challenge Cowper's leadership regarding the Bathurst raid. The Colonial Secretary's controversial decision to blame the citizens of Bathurst for the raid only added fuel to Martin's fire.
Martin's motion of No Confidence was more than just a political tactic; it was a declaration of war against Cowper's administration. Such a motion could potentially topple the government, ushering in a new era of leadership with potentially drastic policy changes, including how the government would deal with the bushranger threat. Martin wanted Ben Hall brought to heel.
The political machinations in Sydney might have seemed a world away from the dusty roads and bush camps of the outlaws, but they were intrinsically linked. The challenges faced by Cowper's administration in quelling the bushranger menace had direct implications for the political survival of his government. The fight against the bushrangers was not just a battle for law and order; it was a battle for the very soul and future direction of the young colony of New South Wales. 'The Newcastle Chronicle and Hunter River District News’, Saturday 10th October 1863:
In the shifting sands of colonial politics and the backdrop of escalating bushranger activities, Premier Cowper faced an uphill battle to retain confidence. Stoked by humiliating episodes such as the Bathurst raid, and the detainment of armed troopers, the public outcry demanded a swift response. The delicate situation required both a show of strength and a bid to win back the trust of a disillusioned populace.
Thus, in a move aimed at showing decisive action, Cowper took to the widely-read 'Sydney Morning Herald' on the 8th of October. Announced a substantial new reward for the capture of Ben Hall's gang. This was not just an increase in the bounty; it was a message to the outlaws and their supporters that the government was stepping up its efforts and was willing to pay a premium for their apprehension.
The strategic calculation behind the decision was clear. By hiking up the reward, Cowper aimed to lure potential informants from within the inner circles of the bushrangers, perhaps even those who harboured and aided them. The idea was to create divisions, sow distrust, and tempt someone from the gang's periphery to rat them out.
Interestingly, the reward for Gilbert remained unchanged at £500, a holdover from his days riding alongside the notorious Frank Gardiner. This static figure for Gilbert, amidst an otherwise revamped reward system, perhaps indicated a recognition of his elevated status and the existing challenges in apprehending him.
The new reward announcement was as much a political move as it was a strategic one. Cowper aimed to portray an image of a government taking a hard line against criminality while simultaneously fending off political adversaries eager to exploit the situation. The stakes were high; the government's credibility, Cowper's political survival, and the safety of the colony's inhabitants hung in the balance. BATHURST. Wednesday, at 9 p.m.:
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| Sir James Martin (1820-1886) |
Enter James Martin. With a sharp legal mind, honed through his defence of the Eugowra robbers just months earlier, he sensed the momentum shift. His history of challenging authority figures and his familiarity with the bushranger issue placed him in a unique position to lead the charge against Cowper's faltering leadership. Martin recognised the growing unease among country members, many of whom bore the brunt of the bushrangers' reign of terror. Their cries for more effective action were getting louder, and Martin made it his mission to amplify them.
Assembling a coalition of discontent, Martin's efforts culminated in a strategic move: a call for an adjournment vote, a clear indicator of lost confidence in the Cowper leadership. The very essence of Cowper's tenure - his approach to law enforcement and the colony's financial health - was called into question. The vast expenditure, necessitated by the ongoing bushranger threat, was proving to be a fiscal albatross, and many viewed it as a drain on the state's prosperity.
Mr Piddington, a formidable political figure and a close ally of Martin, took up the mantle in parliament. His fiery orations highlighted the government's perceived failings, from the ineffectiveness of the police force to the financial ramifications of the bushranger epidemic. Piddington's impassioned plea was not just an indictment of Cowper's policies but a clarion call for change.
With the political walls closing in, Cowper found himself in an untenable position. The weight of the bushranger issue and broader concerns about the state's direction under his leadership proved insurmountable. Recognizing the inevitable, Cowper relinquished his position, marking the end of a tumultuous chapter in New South Wales' political history. The aftershocks of the bushranger saga were being felt far and wide, and the state's leadership was its latest casualty.
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| Colonial Secretary Charles Cowper. (1807-1875) |
This political stalemate presented an opportunity for Mr James Martin, a rising star and recent thorn in Cowper's side. Invited by Governor Sir John Young to step into the breach, Martin was given the task of piecing together a government from a fractured and fragmented parliament. With a keen eye for strategy, Martin assembled a minority government primarily composed of unaligned members without strong ties to the major factions of the time. This bold move signalled his intent to prioritize governance over partisanship.
On the 15th of October, 1863, with the official pomp and circumstance befitting the occasion, Martin's new ministry was sworn in. In a move that showcased his political savvy and a desire for continuity amidst change, he retained Mr Forster, Cowper's close ally, in the cabinet. This gesture was seen by many as an olive branch, an attempt to heal the wounds of past political battles and bridge divides.
With the formation of the new government, there was an immediate and pressing matter on Martin's desk: the issue of Ben Hall and his gang. Their reign of terror, audacity, and recent raids had embarrassed the previous administration significantly. Their actions were not just criminal; they symbolized the government's inability to maintain order and protect its citizens. For Martin, addressing the Ben Hall menace was more than just a matter of law enforcement; it was a test of his leadership, a chance to prove that his administration could succeed where others had failed. Ben Hall, illiterate, brought down the government.
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| Hen & Chickens Hotel Vale Road 2019. My Photo's. |
The gang's audacity went beyond their brazen robberies. They set up camp in plain sight, a stone's throw away from the territories most patrolled by law enforcement. To the chagrin of the authorities, Hall seemed to have little fear of the troopers, almost making a game out of evading them. While the police, armed with their badges and rifles, combed the bush, they seemed to be always a step behind or in the wrong place, turning their pursuits into futile exercises.
But more than their heists and escapes, the gang's flamboyant disregard for convention captured the public's imagination. They didn't just hide; they celebrated. Locals would whisper tales of the gang's merry-making. There were accounts of jubilant evenings under the stars where laughter echoed, music played, and shots were fired, not in violence but in celebration, as the bushrangers demonstrated their shooting prowess.
Ben Hall's antics were not merely about the thrill of crime; they were a performance, a theatrical defiance against the establishment. By inviting locals to join in their festivities, they were sharing their spoils and building an image of themselves as folk heroes, the Robin Hoods of New South Wales. In doing so, they blurred the lines between outlaws and legends, further deepening the government's quandary. How does one battle not just criminals but myths in the making? As reported:
While Hall was seen by many as a charismatic rogue, a Robin Hood of sorts, Morgan was a different beast altogether. His very moniker, 'Mad Dog', was an embodiment of his violent and unpredictable nature. The tales of his deeds, more horror than adventure, filled the pages of the press. Morgan's exploits were not just of theft or evasion; they were tales dripping with blood and marked by sheer brutality.
The discovery of the mutilated body of one of his try-hard's, Clarke sent a shiver through all. Could it be that Morgan had really turned on one of his own? Clarke's corpse became a testament to the depths of Morgan's depravity. While the initial findings hinted at suicide, whispers soon emerged that the wounds were indeed Morgan's handiwork. To many, the idea was not far-fetched. If Morgan could unleash such brutality on strangers, what would stop him from doing the same to an associate, especially if he deemed it necessary for his survival?
In comparison to the wild ferocity of Morgan, Ben Hall's gang seemed almost genteel. With Halls charisma and panache. Hall was fearsome but not overly brutal in the vein of Mad Dog. While Morgan emerged as the face of unbridled, psychotic violence. The citizens of New South Wales were now caught in a tale of two bushrangers: one a defiant rogue, the other a bloodthirsty villain. The frontier was no longer just wild; it was becoming terrifying.
For all its audacity and bravado, Ben Hall's gang had yet to descend into the dark abyss of distrust and mutual suspicion. The line they walked was thin but held together by shared success and an often unspoken camaraderie. Their reputation was built on their collective ability to evade capture and humiliate law enforcement, not on internal betrayal or violence against one another.
But even in the strongest of groups, tensions simmered. John Gilbert and John O'Meally were prime examples. While bound by their shared exploits, the two men often found themselves at odds. O'Meally, fiery and impulsive, frequently cast aspersions on Gilbert's courage. The accusation of "lack of pluck" was not merely an affront to Gilbert's pride but a challenge to his very place in the gang. In the bushranging world, where reputation was everything, such accusations could not be taken lightly.
Such internal tensions were a stark contrast to the public persona of the gang. They were a cohesive unit to the outside world, mocking the law and living by their wits. But within the camp, the dynamics were more complicated. Egos clashed, tempers flared, and the pressure of life on the run tested the bonds of loyalty and trust.
Yet, despite these internal squabbles, the gang was not at the point of self-destruction. They had not experienced the kind of paranoia and distrust that would lead one member to turn on another, as seen with Morgan. The unity of the gang, despite its frictions, stood in stark contrast to the mad descent of 'Mad Dog' Morgan. Where Morgan's tale was one of escalating violence and paranoia, the story of Ben Hall's gang was still one of shared rebellion against the establishment.
You were afraid of the bullets which were flying about; I believe you will be shot yet when running away for you have no fight in you.
The dynamics of the gang were a complex tapestry of loyalty, ego, and the shared experience of life on the run. While Gilbert would often retreat in sulks after his altercations with O'Meally, it wasn't long before the shared camaraderie and thrill of the next venture pulled him back into the fold. The unity of the gang, however, wasn't always secure. The occasion when Gilbert knocked Vane flat with a punch was a testament to the fragile equilibrium within their ranks. Burke's questioning of Gilbert's courage didn't help matters, adding to the internal strife. Gilbert's subsequent warning to Burke – to watch his back – was a chilling reminder of the high stakes of their life of crime and the simmering tensions just beneath the surface.
While the internal dynamics of the gang played out, the larger world of bushranging in New South Wales saw the rise of other formidable figures. 'Mad Dog' Morgan, with his erratic behaviour and brutal tactics, was spreading terror in the Wagga Wagga district. Other smaller but influential gangs, led by figures like the Seerys and the Druitts, took charge of regions like Yass and Burrowra.
Yet, despite the many threats posed by these external forces and their internal skirmishes, Ben Hall's gang thrived, thanks in large part to the complicity of many settlers. This unwavering support from the local community, a sort of 'Cone of Silence', was a shield that allowed the gang to operate with a level of audacity and impunity. These settlers, driven by either admiration, fear, or a mix of both, became the lifeline for the gang, ensuring their legend grew even as the law sought to bring them down. MONDAY, OCTOBER 12, 1863:
Canowindra return, "The bushrangers, who were beginning to be quite popular."
As the vast, rolling landscapes of New South Wales unfolded before them, Ben Hall's gang made their way towards Canowindra, a town already familiar with their antics. Whispers and murmurs trailed in their wake as news of their audacious Bathurst raid sped through every corner of the colony. It wasn't just a robbery; it was a brazen challenge to authority, a defiance that had become symbolic of the bushrangers' spirit.
While Bathurst still grappled with the aftermath of the 'Big Sensation', Canowindra was set for a return of Hall and Co. Once more, they rode towards Canowindra, their journey punctuated by occasional sightings and tales of their camaraderie, painting a picture of men who still revelled in their newfound infamy despite being on the run.
Australia, still in its infancy since its establishment in 1788, had never seen anything quite like the boldness exhibited by Hall and his gang. They were a far cry from bold Jack Donahue. Their very existence was a testament to the rugged, wild nature of the sparse bush of human habitat, where rules could be bent and boundaries tested. The Bathurst raid had already cemented their place in history, but the whispers hinted at more. A sense of anticipation hung in the air – the feeling that Ben Hall's gang was just getting started and more daring feats lay just beyond the horizon.
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| Reputed photo of Pierce's Canowindra General Store. c. 1860's |
But amidst this rustic array, one brick structure stood out prominently, its walls echoing the prosperity of its owner, Mr Collits—a name well recognised not just in Canowindra but in the broader district for his extensive land holdings and business ventures. Collits' leased the thriving business of Mr Pearce and Mr Hilliar, their general store a hub of activity and commerce.
However, for these businessmen, prosperity came at a cost. As the shadows of the notorious gang lengthened over Canowindra, Pearce, and Hilliar, weeks earlier deprived of valuable stock by the gang, many others would again find themselves ensnared in the outlaws' escapades. Little did they know that their enterprises would become recurrent targets for Hall and his men.
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| Mr James Collits, aged 74. Courtesy NLA. |
While these establishments played pivotal roles in the community, serving both locals and travellers, there were certain customs and regulations that they had to adhere to. One of the most prominent of these customs was the practice of prominently displaying the licensee's name at the hotel's front. As a result, establishments often became colloquially known by the licensee's name, leading to the 'Canowindra Hotel' often being referred to as 'Robinson's Hotel'.
But this was not just about nomenclature. For the safety and convenience of travellers, laws of the 1800s mandated that hotels, especially those in the countryside, keep a light prominently displayed during the night. This beacon would guide weary travellers, ensuring they found solace in the comforts provided by establishments like Robinson's. Situated strategically on Gaskell Street, the light from 'Robinson's Hotel' would have been a welcoming sight for many, a symbol of safety and rest in the unpredictable wilds of the Australian countryside. (There are some conflicting views on the right spot where the bushrangers held both their jubilee's.)
Their unanticipated visit, however, was not one of animosity. Hall, ever the tactician, sought to converse with Grant, likely wanting to gauge the atmosphere in the region and any potential threats. But it was more than mere pleasantries; the underlying tension in the conversation was palpable. With his questions about the police, Hall subtly, yet firmly, indicated that any act of treachery or assistance to the authorities would not bode well for Mr Grant or his estate.
Grant, with his strong allegiance to the law, would have been well aware of the bushrangers' brutal reputation. Any false move or perceived betrayal could have dire consequences. The exchange, though cordial on the surface, had layers of mistrust and veiled threats.
And then, as swiftly as they had arrived, the bushrangers mounted their steeds, leaving behind an atmosphere rife with tension. Their departure from 'The Falls' was but a precursor to the events that would soon unfold in Canowindra, and the entire region would once again be reminded of their presence and the challenge they posed to law and order.
The gang used nature's shielding to their advantage as the rain, as happened in their September raid, continued its downpour, muddying the tracks and transforming the Belubula into an impassable barrier again. Any concerns of swift police retribution from Cowra were dismissed; Mother Nature herself seemed to be conspiring to aid the outlaws. With his piercing gaze and commanding presence, Ben Hall led the way, followed closely by his comrades. They approached the heart of the town where life was just beginning to buzz, with the early risers tending to their morning chores. The clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the jingling of tack must have been like a drumbeat heralding the approach of a renowned parade. Bill Robinson's hotel, being a central hub of the town, was their initial point of focus. The sound of their arrival would've attracted curious eyes from the windows, and whispers would've begun circulating like wildfire. By their drays, the teamsters would've exchanged uncertain glances, perhaps hoping this was just a brief stopover. But the methodical manner in which the bushrangers began to secure the town suggested otherwise. Some of the townsfolk might have been wary, even frightened. Still, there would've been others, particularly the young and the adventurous, who might have watched in awe, excited by the unfolding drama and the presence of the infamous outlaws in their midst. This was a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle, a real-life tale that would be recounted for generations. Each move made by the gang, from the tethering of their horses to their interactions with the locals, was observed, analysed, and whispered about. Within minutes, the town was in the firm grip of the bushrangers, and an atmosphere of anticipation and uncertainty enveloped Canowindra. The day's events would indelibly etch this date in its history. Ben Hall then remained on guard, and despatched Gilbert and O'Meally as messengers to the two sentinels at the township approaches. By that time, it was beginning to be sufficiently light for easy movement, and the four men next went on pre-arranged sectors, galloping across paddocks and herding into the town all horses found within a mile of it. That was a precaution against news being taken to the police at Cowra, some twenty miles away. Shortly after the horses had been placed in a fenced paddock nearby, the hotel opened its doors in the normal way, but with the precaution that at each end of the verandah, leaning against a post, stood a bushranger. Another was inside the barroom. There were a number of teamsters camping in the town, and most of them called along for an early-morning drink before resuming their journey. They were commanded to remain in the town until further orders. Ben Hall then announced that no one was to leave the town without a written permit, and stated that no harm would be done to anyone unless they attempted treachery.¹⁹
The seizing of Canowindra commenced and was afterwards fondly recalled by those in attendance as a 'Robbers Jubilee'. Over the next three days, the bushrangers spoilt the citizens with plenty of eating, drinking, cigars, games, running races, and such, including a favourite shooting at targets. The rounded up and assembled townsfolk, included the lock-up keeper and lone police officer Constable Sykes, was marched into Robinson's Hotel. Ben Hall and Vane negotiated the fast-flowing Belubula River crossing to the south side of Canowindra on a shared horse as the rain fell. After fording they arrived at 'The Travellers Rest' hotel to threaten and prevent anyone from getting a message to the police in Cowra, 25 miles away. While the townsfolk enjoyed refreshments, the bushrangers themselves drank only bottled ale and port, all opened in their presence. There were all kinds of food items for guests. The whole of the affair and its three-day festivities are transcribed below; |
Empire
Tuesday 20th October 1863
CANOWINDRA HELD BY THE BUSHRANGERS FOR THREE DAYS.
Free drinks were not the only form of entertainment provided. During the morning, various people arrived in the settlement on business from outlying homesteads. Included among these was a young woman able to play the piano. She was requested, quite politely, to favour the company with dance music, and intermittent dancing helped to pass away the morning. All prisoners were next provided with a good lunch, also at the expense of the bushrangers, who were beginning to be quite popular. By afternoon all apprehension had evaporated. The citizens decided it was not every day their town was captured by outlaws, and that the occasion ought to be celebrated with due jollity. Another teamster had arrived. He had a concertina. This made a variation to the piano for dancing, so that by evening time the whole party was able to have a really fine time, the bushrangers (generally two at a time) participating and enjoying a thoroughly sociable interlude to their usually hazardous life. Altogether, this impromptu ball was such a success that it continued till dawn, as is the habit of the bush, after which the women and children were allowed to go to the bedrooms for asleep. The men had to take what slumber they could get seated round the dining-room table, head in arms. The members of the gang seemed to be impervious to any such need.²¹
On hour later, Hall ushered all the guests onto the verandah. O'Meally was still on guard there, and the bushrangers' horse’s, fine thoroughbreds, stolen from rich squatters were tethered to the posts. Hall and Gilbert gravely thanked everyone for their attendance, paid Robinson the final reckoning for the party, and galloped off. As they rode off the three young outlaws waved gaily back at the crowd on the verandah. For nearly 60 hours they had held a whole township captive-five men against 40. They had danced with pretty women, eaten good food again, sung songs and laughed with other people-a change from the grim hide-and-seek they played with the police in the ranges.²² Nevertheless, for the unfortunate constable Charles Sykes this was the second time Ben Hall had accosted him. However, to Sykes's credit, he attempted to cross the rising Belubula River to get word to Cowra. Unfortunately, due to its fast-flowing waters, he was discovered when Ben Hall got wind of his leaving, riding quickly to intercept him on the road a short distance from Sykes' home. Hall returned him at the point of a revolver, marching him back to Robinson's Hotel. Described by witness: While the morning was still reasonably young, Ben Hall strolled out of the hotel-bar, limping slightly, as usual, due to one of his legs having been broken, unhitched the reins of his horse from the hitching rail, and cantered away in the direction of the police barracks. After all, it is no use conquering a city and leaving its official defenders to wander free. Before long, he returned. Ahead of him walked the one constable of the settlement, with rifle at the shoulder and bayonet fixed. The officer, thus armed, was then ordered to march up and down in front of the hotel, as though on parade, and, having no mistaken ideas, either of valour or duty, he obeyed. After a brief while, Ben Hall strolled outside and relieved the constable of his arms, telling him to go and enjoy himself with the others.
On regaining his liberty, the peeler tried to make for Cowra; but the gentry of the road put a veto on his journey in that direction. He then headed another way and came to Toogong, where he secured the co-operation of two troopers. The army then marched to the homestead of Mr Campbell, of Goimbla, who, being a J.P., very wisely thought he was bound to join in the chase; and taking with him his brother and Mr Barnes (an agent of Cobb and Co., who was driving the coach nearer Bathurst at the time) and at a moment's notice, sounded his bugle "to horse!" That party returned next morning, and issued the usual bulletin; - Results nil. In January 1864, at Vane's bushranging trial, his presence with Ben Hall was recounted by Charles Sykes. Sykes provided an account of both of his encounters with the bushrangers. First remarking on the meeting on the 26th September 1863, and then the October visit to Canowindra, from the 'Empire', Friday, 15th January 1864: Constable Sykes, being sworn, said: I am stationed at Canowindra, I saw prisoner on the 26th September last; he was in company with Hall, Gilbert, O'Meally, and Burke; I was going down the town about half-past seven in the evening, and they all stuck me up when near Robinson's public-house; I had no arms at the time; they took, me to Robinson’s public house, and kept me a prisoner until five o'clock the next morning; they were drinking during the night; I could not get away as they watched me closely; they went backwards and forwards to the store during the night; there were between twenty and thirty people in the house; the men were all well-armed at the time; I saw; Vane again on the 15th October with the same party; I was away for a short time, and when I returned I was informed by my wife that my arms had been taken away by Hall; I had a carbine and a horse pistol-they were both taken; I then left to go to Cowra, and was stuck-up by Hall near my own house; I saw Vane at the same time at some little distance away from Hall; Hall ordered me to stand, and I was taken to the public-house; that was about eight o'clock in the morning, and I was kept a prisoner until about four o'clock; Gilbert, O’Meally, and Burke were there; there were between twenty and thirty people there; when I left Vane told me he would get me the arms back, and they were afterwards given to me; I did not see the bushrangers any more after that time. They detained the constable a close prisoner from the time of his arrest, until eight o’clock on Wednesday morning. The prisoner speaks very highly of the kindness he met with from Gilbert and does not seem to have suffered any indignity at the hands of his captors. During the time of his captivity, Gilbert showed the constable a pistol taken from the police camp; and asked whether, in the event of its being returned loaded to him, he would shoot Gilbert; to which he replied, that "he might if he got a chance." "Then," said Gilbert, "to do away, with any chance you might have, I'll fire it off for you." After discharging the pistol, he handed it to the constable, remarking that such arms were useless to them, we learn from the constable, that they rode splendid nags, though rather light in condition, and that they took the police paddock fence like a bird.³⁰ After the constable's ordeal, Sykes (Above) expressed this comment his capture and treatment by the gang, especially Gilbert.Constable Sykes also attested to Gilbert's leadership of the five bushrangers, although this assumption could be disputed as per another view below of Ben Hall's stamp of authority:Gilbert is described as possessing the most unlimited authority over the rest of the band. His every command is law, no one daring to dispute it; and at night, while one of the five keeps watch, the other four slept soundly, and with the utmost confidence and reliance upon the watchfulness and good faith of their mate on sentry. The same men, on this visit to Canowindra, gave a look in at Mr Pierce's, and took £12 in money; and about £30 worth of goods.³¹ John Gilbert's position as Frank Gardiner's former lieutenant appeared to carry some weight in the public's eyes. However, at this stage, whether Gilbert still wielded some influence with his bushranging fraternity is questionable, as Ben Hall was often reported as the leader. During the three periods of festivities at Canowindra, the residents deferred to Hall to resolve any matters. Hall's leadership is also attested to and noted as organising the bushrangers as guards at various points and gathering those about the town, and allowing passes to be issued so residents could return home for a while: Ben Hall next announced that no one was to leave the town without a written permit, and stated that no harm would be done to anyone unless they attempted treachery. Although Ben spoke in a quiet voice, there was such a stamp of authority about his presence, and such a tone of determination in his speech, that no one felt inclined to resist. Ben Hall was not only quiet of speech, but of appearance and behaviour. He wore a dark tweed suit, slouch hat, Wellington boots. There was nothing of menace, nothing of boastfulness in his manner, and had it not been for the points of two revolvers just showing below his coat, he would have passed for an ordinary, rather prosperous, squatter. His beard helped to hide his fine features, and also his youth, making him look more like 37 than his correct 27. Note: Charles Sykes would retire from the force in 1872 on a pension of £126 per year.
The bushrangers remained until evening, the town having been in their possession for three full days, three gala days, three days which established their popularity, announced to the world that they did not rob or kill as a pastime, and which served as a direct challenge to the police parties that during those three days were out searching the surrounding bush for the outlaws. It was a remarkable piece of audacity on the part of the bushrangers, whose resultant prestige was enhanced greatly by the fact that all the expenses of those three days of jollity were borne by them. It must also be mentioned that as gracious as Ben Hall and Gang appeared. However, the funds provided for the three days being covered by the men were not earned through hard toil, but from the point of a revolver on some hapless victim who on occasion was, no doubt, terrified for his life.
Furthermore, the initial newspaper reports of the gang's arrival at Canowindra indicated that Bill Robinson's publican had been absent. However, this appears to be incorrect, as once again at Vane's future court hearing. Bill Robinson gave a brief account of the situation. Robinson states that at the first raid in late September, he was absent from Canowindra. Robinson's testimony varies from the newspaper accounts of the gangs gala over the three-day hiatus. About the end of September, while I was absent from my home, my house was robbed by persons said to be bushrangers. One day, about the beginning of October, about eight o'clock in the morning, five armed men came to my house; they were Gilbert, Ben Hall, Burke, O'Meally, and Vane. Ben Hall and Gilbert came into the house, leaving the others outside, they bailed me up with the other inmates of the house. Hall searched me and found some silver in my pockets, which he returned, saying he never took silver. Gilbert asked for the keys of the cash box which he opened and took one pound from it, he returned the pound about an hour afterwards, saying if he could not get any more he would not be bothered with it. Hall was dissatisfied, and said Gilbert could not have half searched the house, he then went to the drawers, and found £2 10s' he took the notes and left the silver, the other men then came in, and other people being about the house, Gilbert treated them, after this Hall and Vane got on one horse and rode across the river to the other public-house. Gilbert, O'Meally, and Burke remained at my house. Hall and Vane did not return until one o'clock in the morning, and an hour after that they all want away. Next morning (Sunday) about six o’clock, they all returned, and told me they intended to take the town and stick-up everybody, they did so but did not take any money from those they stopped. Young Mr Robert Kirkpatrick was stopped and searched, and a revolver taken from him, they also bailed-up Messrs. Twaddell and Hibberson, and a number of bullock teams. The same day Ben Hall went up for Sykes the policeman, on the first occasion he could not find him, but brought his arms down, consisting of a pistol and a carbine, he went again some time afterwards and returned with Sykes and another man named Ferguson about 4 o'clock in the afternoon they let Messrs. Waddell and Hibberson go as the river was rising, and they were anxious to reach Bathurst. Mr Kirkpatrick went with them. O'Meally and Burke then went in the direction of Molong. O'Meally took one of my horses, the others went away in about an hour. At about 8 o'clock at night Burke and O'Meally came back again, and at 10 o'clock Gilbert, Vane, and Hall came to look for them, the night was very wet, and Hall said they could not camp out without blankets, and he had no money, he asked the strangers in the house if they had any money, and on their saying no he turned to me and said I must have done well that day, and ordered me to turn out, my pockets that he might see what I had. I did so, there being £3 in notes and £2 in silver, he took the notes and returned the silver, he went over to Mr Pierce's stores to get some blankets, they paid for everything they got at the store after the first time they robbed it. When the bushrangers left this time they did not return until after Burke was shot. I then asked them where Vane was, and they said they had left him behind, for since Burke had been shot he was no good, they had some drinks, and offered to pay, for them, but as I heard that the money was a portion of Mr Keightley's ransom money I declined to take it; they then went away, and I have not seen them since, before going away they told me not to give information to the police, as they wished to getaway. I had given information on both the previous occasions. I know John Vane as one of the men who came to my house. A Police Debacle, "With three, I shall have enough to do to protect myself should I by chance meet the bushrangers." - Superintendent William Chatfield. |
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| View of Canowindra, c. 1901. Taken from south-side looking north. In 1863 there was no bridge over the Belubula River. Hall and Vane crossed close to this point and Robinson pitched his message in a bottle across. Courtesy Canowindra Historical Society. |
Eventually, Chatfield departed for Canowindra, but he was too late for any effective action as the bushrangers once again melded into the bush. Regardless, after a fruitless search for the bushrangers in foul weather. Chatfield returned to Cowra irate. However, Chatfield again complained again to McLerie about his force's reduced size. Firing off another telegram on the 12th October 1863. Meanwhile, on the same date, Ben Hall and entourage rode into Canowindra, Telegram, Cowra, 12th October 1863;
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| Canowindra c. 1900. Note Robinson Newsagency. Courtesy NLA. |
Sir, - I wish to inform you that the bushrangers, viz. Gilbert, O'Meally, Hall, Burke and Vane, are here; they came here on Monday morning at 8 o'clock and have been on and off until one o'clock today. They stuck up the stores and public houses, and everyone that was travelling to and from the Lachlan yesterday, and detained them all day - would not let anyone go for fear of giving information. Constable Sykes could not get across the river to go to Cowra; he then started to go to Eugowra, but they met him somewhere on the road and turned him back; they would not leave sight of him all day yesterday, and took all his firearms and handcuffs but gave them back to him last night, saying they would give him or anyone else fifty lashes if they left the town. They detained Waddell, Hibberson and Kirkpatrick, but did not search the former; John O'Meally searched Kirkpatrick and took a revolver from him. I have not time to give you any more information as the mail is starting; the bushrangers are only now gone, so I could not write while they were here.
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| Artist contemporary impression of Sir Frederick Pottinger with silver-tipped riding-whip. Courtesy NLA. |
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| Charles Lydiard c. 1860's |
Charles Lydiard arrived in the Victorian colony in 1850, serving in the public service in various capacities from 1851 to 1860. However, Lydiard's credentials and contacts in Victoria enabled him to rapidly rise to an Assistant Gold Commissioner at the Mount Alexander gold diggings on a salary of £250 per yr. Then he enlisted into the Victorian police force.
Lydiard also commanded the Victorian Native Police Force of twelve highly skilled and disciplined Aboriginals and commanded various Victorian gold escorts. Including the first escort from Ballarat to Geelong. However, Lydiard's quick rise to prominence may well result from nepotism. (reportedly rife throughout the colonies) A family connection to the highly placed cousin Evelyn Sturt of the Victorian police. Sturt was Superintendent of the Victorian police force. Lydiard was also the cousin of Australian explorer Charles Sturt. Superintendent Charles Lydiard transferred to the NSW Police and was seconded from Maitland. At Bathurst, he was directed to hunt independently with his select party of police. Lydiard's handpicked police departed Newcastle on the 13th October 1863:
Lydiard took to the field, as Sir Frederick Pottinger received Robinson's message in a bottle, gathered his troops, and departed Cowra. A departure that had the newspapers speculating, even ridiculing, the polices' movements. Observing that a force from Bathurst was en route with orders not to return without Ben Hall:
The five surviving their brush with the flooded Belubula River rode northward towards Murga. The town of Murga is situated on the fringe of the Nangar State Forest. The settlement lies on the road from Forbes to Orange. The same highway where 16 months previously Hall, Gilbert and O'Meally had robbed the Eugowra Gold Escort in-company with Frank Gardiner. The bushrangers pushed on from Canowindra, forming a camp near the town. However, law-abiding citizens kept the NSW troopers appraised of the gang's whereabouts; unfortunately, this critical intelligence appeared to produce no urgency except to have the police traversing from one reported sighting to another but not near the described or marked camps. Was it the cold, salty taste of fear that held the troopers back?
The searching troopers at times were overloaded with bushranger sightings and information, often becoming wholly bewildered. The deluge of local reports also contributed to frustration and nervousness, whereby troopers often resorted to drinking hard spirits whilst either on duty or camped—no doubt for the Dutch courage required to confront the five desperadoes who had murdered in their repertoire. The frequent use of booze gave rise to five mounted troopers, led by a senior constable Wright to be outed for drinking on the job. Complaints from citizens reached Sir Frederick Pottinger, who was furious over their lack of discipline and did not hesitate in dragging offenders in front of a magistrate charged with Neglect of Duty;
The case was brought by Sir Frederick Pottinger against five men of the police force, for neglect of duty, by being drunk and unfit for duty and that at a time when their energies were most required to track and apprehend the band of bushrangers that have lately been keeping this portion of the Western and South-western districts in a state of lawlessness and fear hitherto without precedent in the history of the colony. Senior Constable Wright, constable Mannix, constable Simpson, constable Hamilton and constable Cox were charged by Sir F. Pottinger with misconduct and neglect of duty They pleaded not guilty, and were defended by Mr James, solicitor, from Forbes.³³
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| Thomas Grant appointment, May 1863. |
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| Trooper's dismissal. NSW Police Gazette 16th December 1863. |
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| Looking toward the hill that overlooks Grant's 'The Falls', where Hall camped with the Belubula treelined in the foreground. |
On my arrival, here I found a party of six men whom Sir Frederick Pottinger has sent to cooperate with me. The senior constable (Wright) has gone to Mr Grant's: I have not yet seen him, but one of the men tells me that the whole five bushrangers were seen the day before yesterday at Hartigan’s, some miles up the Belubula. I have also heard that they have a camping place opposite Mr Grant's on the Canowindra side of the creek, on a rising ground, whence they can see everything that goes on. I purpose going there this evening with the fresh party nowhere.
The Bald Hill just mentioned is a remarkable place from whence the bushrangers had a view of the Eugowra Road, the crossing-place at King's, on the Nyrang Creek and the whole surrounding neighbourhood. From this hill they can escape in any direction through the bush; but, should they again make it their rendezvous, which as I am keeping its discovery dark, is probable, I think it improbable that they could altogether escape were two police parties working together, and ascending the hill from different directions. I do not think any of the gang have gone from this part of the country unless there be truth in the report that they were seen at Hartigan’s. If so, they are returning to No.1 Swamp, through King's Plains.
I believe I told you in my note from Goimbla that I had engaged a black tracker "Albert." He was in the police at Forbes, some time ago., Without him, I could have done nothing, the whole country being intersected by hills and gullies, and being a perfect terra incognita to me and my party, I have gone over a great deal of it; much more might be searched with advantage, should the gang be in the neighbourhood.
I beg to call your attention to the perfect uselessness of sending parties of police out after bushrangers, such as are now at large, without trackers; by chance, they might meet the offenders, but they would never trace or find them.
I trust you will excuse this note; I have no other paper. I have been up nearly all night, and am wet through. I have one request to make, before I conclude, which is to be rendered perfectly independent of Sir Frederick Pottinger. I have only three men of my own.
I consider I ought to have five. Sir Frederick has lent me one; he has also sent a party to co-operate, but he writes to me as if to a subordinate under him. As a senior officer working out of my own district, this is not pleasant; at the same time, I will not allow any such feelings to interfere with the public service. This request I make contingent on my being continued here, for, unless I hear farther from you and I learn that the gang have left this district, I intend returning to the Flat by the end of next week.
For a more comprehensive account of the mass of correspondence between M'Lerie and Chatfield over the Ben Hall debacle, see pages 2 and 3 in the link below;
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| Near Murga, with Nangar Range in view. The camping area of Ben Hall, October 1863. |
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| David Henry Campbell, 1829-1885. Private Source never before published. |
Furthermore, the presence of Hall's suspected bush telegraph, who had been openly observing the encounter and conversation, was also reported to Campbell, who unfortunately ignored the information. However, Campbell's presence would do little to deter the bushrangers next actions. Furthermore, Campbell's presence may well have been the catalyst for a future encounter with Hall, Gilbert and O'Meally, which turned deadly for one. As reported:
Later the same day as Campbell rode on, Ben Hall's old pal Gallen reported the pursuers' passing. The bushrangers with the latest intelligence descended on the town of Murga:
In 1920, an eyewitness to the gang's visit to Murga, Mr Edmund Rymer, then 15 yrs old, recounted the day's activities. 'Forbes Advocate':
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| A dry Nyrang Ck, summer 2016, with Nangar Range in background. |
Vane describes the raid on Murga:
The police party was no doubt led by Inspector Chatfield. Furthermore, friction soon raised its head in the gang, and a petty squabble erupted between Vane and Gilbert over some victuals that saw the two come to fisticuffs:
Spurious maybe? However, if any may have been a victim, exactly which Grant is unknown or if it ever happened? Burning down someone's home would not be seen lightly. At this juncture, the gang still had many harbourers where if the gang started this type of attack, their welcome would undoubtedly wane rapidly. Furthermore, the Grant family had been highly respected, and long-time residents of the Canowindra district having been settled there for well over thirty years holding extensive property throughout the fertile reaches of the Belubula River. At the Canowindra raid, three of Grant's brothers owned three properties on the town's outskirts. George D Grant held the 'Grove', John Grant' Belubula' and Thomas Grant' The Falls'.
Moreover, it is difficult to ascertain to which home was believed burnt down. As before the arrival of Ben Hall at Canowindra on the 12th of October 1863, it had been reported that 'The Boys' had paid a brief visit to the property of Thomas Grant's 'The Falls,' where it was said that "they committed no mischief there," and after a short conversation departed. (see above) However, the incident regarding the destruction of one of the brothers' homes may well be only Chinese Whispers, not based on any solid evidence!
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| Model 1855 .56 calibre Colt Revolving Rifle. |
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| Lawson's 'Errowanbang Station' homestead. Original home with some minor upgrades. Courtesy Edward Higginbotham, 2010. |
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| View of Lawson's 'Errowanbang Station' across Flyers Creek. Courtesy Edward Higginbotham, 2010. |
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| Melbourne Punch, 22nd October 1863. |
The gang arrived at Dunns Plains am Friday 23rd October and took up an advantage point 300 yards east from the house amongst a copse of trees and granite rocks on a small hill overlooking their quarry's residence. (See maps below.) Taking up positions, the men observed that a police party was camped in a paddock adjacent to Keightley's house headed by Inspector Davidson. During the whole day and into Friday night, the bushrangers paid attention to the occupants' comings and goings. Including sighting Keightley conversing with Davidson whom Keightley had invited to lodge at the house, but Davidson declined to remain encamped with his men:
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| William Crisp Pechey. |
Aware that the gang were in the vicinity, a plan of defence had been prepared. The bushrangers dismounted near the rear stables opening fire on the two men who made for their defence position as the bushrangers scattered around the homestead. Consequently, the two men under fire would show stubborn resistance secreting themselves into the house then onto the roof as the gang peppered the dwelling and back door with shot after shot which luckily did not course injury. As the gunfight erupted, it was reported that Mrs Keightley's four-year-old step-sister Lily had been left outside and wandered about with bullets flying in the twilight hour. However, she was miraculously unharmed. (Lily Rotton was Elizabeth Clive Rotton, born in 1859 to Henry Rotton and Mary Ann Ford's second wife. Caroline's mother, Lorn, passed away in 1843. ) Unknown to the gang as they peppered the house with shots, Mrs Keightley's four-month-old baby Henry b. June 1863 was inside under the housekeeper, Mrs Baldock's protection. (There was a daughter Caroline who passed away in 1863; however, her 1863 date is unknown. She was born in 1862.) In the melee, Micheal Burke, aged 19, would be mortally wounded and, in fear of his capture, placed a revolver to his head and pulled the trigger not once but twice. The young bushranger lay dying for some time before life departed.
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| H.M. Keightley. ©Penzig. |
Henry had been born at Corfu, Greece, in 1830, where his father had been Governor of several Greek islands controlled by Britain following Napoleon's defeat. Henry's father had also fought at the Battle of Waterloo in the Fourteenth Regiment as a Major and was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. Unfortunately, as the third son, Henry was required to make his way in the world wherein adulthood due to the constraints of Primogeniture's law that upon his father's death, Henry was compelled to immigrate to NSW in 1853, the same year as his father's death.
Keightley was employed by two brothers named Tindal, who held extensive property on the Clarence River in far northern NSW. During his time, Keightley was involved in a variety of work. Work that incorporated an expedition to dispose of aboriginals who had been stealing cattle from his employer’s;
However, Keightley's striking frame and consciousness of his attractiveness to women soon suffered a flirtatious setback whilst at the Clarence River. When his desire for a female cook may have got the better of him. In turn, the female made known her disinterest in the tall man, made apparent through her reaction and rejection towards Keightley following an argument of a fiery nature.
When Keightley's arrived in NSW 1853, Brittan found itself caught up in the Crimean War against Russia through its alliance with France, the Ottoman Empire and Sardinia. The war was principally fought over protecting the Christian minorities in the Holy Land, controlled by the Ottoman Empire's Islamic Sultan, Omar Pasha. Although the war also had a broader objective. Denying Russia any new territory, the war even posed a Russian threat to NSW, creating Fort Denison's construction in Sydney Harbour. The conflict itself was noted for its sheer butchery and where the 'Victoria Cross' Medal for bravery was born. The Medal was cast out of the cannons' steel from the war by the order of Queen Victoria. And where Florence Nightingale brought a revolution to medical care for the wounded. However, as with many British subjects in NSW, Keightley at the time of the war's outbreak had expressed a desire to enlist, but those who knew him took it as a half-hearted proposal:
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| The layout of events at Dunns Plains 23rd, 24th, 25th October 1863. |
(From the Bathurst Times of Wednesday.)
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| The Back Door peppered with the bullet holes fired by the gang. Can Be viewed at the Bathurst Historical Museum. My photo. |
The plan pursued by the bushrangers was to keep undercover as much as possible, Burke from time to time creeping up at the side of the house, and suddenly swinging his arm around, managed in that way to fire at the gentlemen as they stood in the doorway. Vane is mentioned as coming out in full view, and deliberately taking aim. Unwilling to risk a shot at him, Mr Keightley waited for the next approach of Burke, who came up shortly afterwards in the way described, and incautiously exposing his body, he was instantly shot in the abdomen, whereupon he was seen to reel like a drunken man and stagger to the side of the house. Leaning with one hand against the wall, he cried out, “ I’m done for, but I’ll not be taken alive;” and then with the other hand he pulled out a revolver, and placing it to his head, endeavoured to blow out his brains. The first shot appears to have merely grazed the skin on his forehead, but the next blew away a portion of his skull. He then fell to the ground. The bushrangers, seeing what had happened, still continued to conceal themselves, while they kept up a constant fire upon the house. Dr Pechey at this juncture, made a rush across the yard towards a kitchen, in the endeavour to obtain possession of a gun placed there, belonging to the servant, William Baldock, whom we have mentioned as having been dispatched to Rockley. He was, however, encountered by Vane, who, presenting a revolver, ordered him back, at the same time firing at him. The doctor accordingly retraced his steps. The two gentlemen unable, by reason of the tactics pursued, to get a shot at their assailants, now resolved to effect a change in their position, and with this object in view, they walked out of the door, and, by means of a ladder, deliberately mounted to a loft above the house, being exposed the whole time to an incessant fire; but although the bullets passed around them in a shower-some cutting through Mr. Keightley’s beard and hat-miraculous to say, they reached their destination unhurt. The bushrangers still kept undercover, and fired about twenty shots at the loft, when Gilbert called out to them to come down, and Ben Hall said if they did not they would burn the house. Mr. Keightley, fearing that they would carry their threat into execution, and perhaps murder his wife and child, who were below, determined to give himself up and accordingly called out his intention to surrender.
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| Saturday evening, 24th October 1863, Ben Hall lays siege to H.M. Keightley's home. |
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| Mrs's Keightley and Baldock pleading for Henry Keightley's life. Painting by Patrick William Marony 1858-1839. Courtesy NLA. |
Dr Pechey then examined Burke and discovered a large wound in the abdomen, through which his entrails, in a frightfully torn and lacerated condition, were protruding. He was still breathing, although unconscious, and the doctor said he could do very little for him without his instruments. He asked, if one of them would go into Rockley, and fetch what he required, but they said it would be of no use, and that it would be better to shoot him at once and so end his misery. The doctor thought something ought to be done, and at length prevailed upon them to let him go and obtain such things as he wanted, having first pledged his honour that he would not raise an alarm. Before he returned the man was dead. We have said O’Meally was absent, and Mrs Keightley, fearing lest he might not agree to accept the ransom, prevailed upon one of the party to fetch him. When he came, he at first refused to listen to the proposal, and declared his intention to revenge the death of his companion; but he was, however, eventually pacified by the others. They then went into the house, and remained there for a considerable time, awaiting Dr Pechey‘s return, and drank some spirits and wine, Mrs Keightley having first tasted it, in order to assure them the liquor was not drugged Some conversation passed, in which the bushrangers said that the reason Burke was so daring, arose from the fact that they had just previously been twitting him with the want of courage, and seemingly he was determined to convince them to the contrary. In answer to a question from Mrs Keightley, as to what could induce them to pursue the course they did, when, by the many robberies they commuted, they must possess considerable wealth, Gilbert replied – that, with all their depredations, they had not so much as would keep them a week.
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Following the night flight to Bathurst, Dr Pechey alone pays the ransom to the gang on Sunday morning, 25th October 1863. The exact place may have been any one of the small hills close to the homestead. Dunns Plains elevation above sea level is 850 m.
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Mr Keightley speaks most favourably of the manner in which he was treated during his captivity, and it seems he had a long conversation in the night with one or two of them, in which he was told that the gang would never have come into Bathurst, or visited him, had it not been for the taunts received from two individuals who ought to have known better than to spur them to the enterprise. They denied ever having threatened to use any violence towards him, but being told that he (Keightley) was a splendid shot, and would riddle them through, as he was in the habit of practising at a target, they imagined he must be possessed of first-class weapons, and the desire to possess these, as well as to test his courage, had induced them to make the attack they had. Personally, they did not know him. Once in the night, the galloping of horses was heard, and as for some time the bushrangers had taken it in turns to rest – two sleeping while the others watched – Gilbert, who was standing sentry over the prisoner, went up to the sleepers, and touched them gently with his foot, calling them quietly by name. They jumped up without noise and held their weapons in readiness, but as the sound drew nearer, it was discovered to emanate from a passing mob of bush horses.
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| Henry & Caroline Keightley. c. 1885. Courtesy NLA. |
In the years following the battle of Dunns Plains, the hellish events have been analysed on and off. The harrowing experiences of Dr Pechey and the Keightley's are riddled with multiple and conflicting accounts regarding what transpired during the first initial engagement in the dying light of Saturday evening, 24th October 1863 and the subsequent detainment of Henry Keightley for ransom. In Keightley evidence at Vane's later trial, he said under oath describing his initial observation of the bushrangers, Empire 4th December 1863:
On the evening of Saturday, the 24th October, between the hours of six and seven, he was standing in the yard of his house at Dunn's Plains, when he saw five horsemen coming over a hill at a walking pace, towards the house. The moment he saw them he called out to Dr Pechey to come and look at them. He thought they were a party of police who had camped in the paddock the night previously, headed by Mr Davidson.
They passed the gate, which is the only entrance into witness's place, and as they still came on at a walk, he was still under the impression they were police. But he told Dr Pechey who was standing by his side (if they should prove to be bushrangers), to make a rush for the campkeeper's room and prepare some firearms placed there. It was in consequence of this that he afterwards retreated to the roof, being under the impression that Dr Pechey had assured the weapons, which, however, as subsequently transpired, he had been unable to do. The party came up slowly until within thirty yards when they simultaneously jumped off their horses and then lept over the fence.
He ran by the back door into the house furthest from where he stood. As they jumped off, they cried out "stand," but he did not heed them. In his bedroom, he picked up a revolver. As he was entering the house, two or three shots were fired. From the glance he caught of them, he thought they were a parcel of lads, so young was their appearance.
William Pechey provided his account under oath and the wound inflicted upon Burke:
Towards evening, Mr Keightley, who was in the yard, called him out, and he then saw five men who rode up to the house. When they approached, they called to witness and his companion to stand. They ran back, witness endeavouring to reach the servants' room, where there were some firearms, but he was confronted by one of the bushrangers, and he then retreated towards the house and took his position near Mr Keightley. While doing so he heard the report of firearms all round. Shortly after, they made for the roof, when the bushrangers commenced to fire on them again, and a bullet passed through Mr Keightley's hat. The hat (produced) was the one worn by Mr Keightley.
The men were then screening themselves behind posts and other things. They shouted out to witness and Mr Keightley to surrender, which they consented to do, and came down. They did so, and the bushrangers finding by that time that their mate was wounded, rushed up to them, and Vane knocked witness down with his hand, in which he held a revolver; producing the cut of which the scar now remained on his temple.
He asked them to let him attend to the wounded man, telling them he was a doctor. Upon going up to Burke he found a large wound in his abdomen, from which his bowels were protruding about two feet.
In 1911 an account of the battle was published, titled 'The Lone Hand' by Mr George Quickie. In it, the son of Henry Keightley, Leo Keightley, recounts the details of the passing night. Whereby shining a light on his father's night of infamy at the hands of the gang. The bulk of 'The Lone Hand' is a solid historical account and relates how the gang passed the night away. Including the intense desire of both Vane and O'Meally to seek retribution for the death of Micky Burke. Hall's command over the gang is also evident. The events surrounding Mrs Keightley departure at midnight, cradling the couple's baby son, and her 4 yr old half-sister Elizabeth and Dr Peachy are recounted as well as her arrival at her father's home 'Blackdown' outside Bathurst.
The 'The Lone Hand' is linked below and exposes that contrary to the belief that the gang's inner relationships were harmonious, Leo Keightley reveals through his father's account that a fracture was evident. Where Hall, Gilbert and then O'Meally long time mates afterwards left Vane in the cold and became in fear of his life. As such shortly after, he left the gang:
Followed by the death of Burke at Mr Keightley's; Vane, being tired of a bushranger's life, and afraid of his associates, next gave himself up to the authorities.
The truest account of the siege at Dunns Plains.
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| Burke lays dead. Highlighted from the painting by Patrick William Marony 1858-1939. Courtesy NLA. |
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| Sgt Michael Hanley Penzig |
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| Keightley Testimonial. S.M.H. 2nd November 1863. |
With the reward paid and testimonials gathering pace, doubt continued to appear in the NSW press regarding whether or not Keightley indeed fired the fatal shot. The Clarence and Richmond Examiner and New England Advertiser, 8th December 1863, noted the subject raised at Vane's court appearance following his surrender to Father McCarthy in November 1863:
However, one person overlooked in the events' rush to heroism was Mrs Isabella Baldock, the housekeeper whose husband was also an employee of Keightley's. Earlier that day, Mrs Baldock's husband had been dispatched to Rockley with mail and carried one of Keightley's pistols for self-protection. In her later testimony, Mrs Baldock held firm that Hall admitted to her of having fired the shot that dropped Burke, saying:
At the time the conversation turned to the still alive Burke. Here Pechey expressed a desire to help save the boy, although he had assessed it was hopeless, as did Ben Hall, who expressed as Peachy prepared to depart Dunn's Plains a desire to shoot Burke and put an end his misery:
The above extracts from the letter sent to the press by Isabella Baldock's husband concluded with this addendum:
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| Caroline Keightley. c. 1865. |
The former trooper reiterated the long-held version of Hall's confession and sorrow said:
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| The back of the homestead at Dunns Plains as it was in 1863 when occupied by the Keightley's. Henry Keightley was perched on the roof between the two buildings while returning the bushrangers' fire. Note the backdoor extreme right and rear garden gate. Burke hid near chimney in foreground left. Courtesy Des Shiel. |
Caroline Keightley went on to become a public favourite as the heroine of Dunns Plains. However, the initial £500 laid out by Henry Rotton MLA appears to have not been reimbursed by the Government nor Keightley. Long after the events, Mr R. J. Rotton, brother of Caroline, stated that only Keightley was given the reward money:
As the dust settled on the events, the talk in the colony continued a closer examination. Questions regarding the shooting and defence of Dunns Plains constantly appeared. In reviewing the circumstances, the first crack in the Keightley version of events was the weapon he admitted to firing, a double-barrel shotgun and stated that it was only loaded in one barrel. Primed with snipe (birdshot.) Snipe is the smallest lead pellet used out of all the shotgun ammunition types of the period. Was snipe capable of disembowelling Burke to the extent evidenced by Dr Pechey? Even at close range, reputedly less than ten yards?
Accordingly, at the inquest into Burke's death, the physician, Dr Rowland, reported that he removed nine Leaden Slugs (Buckshot) from Burke, indicating that at ten feet, a rough estimate of the distance from Keightley at the door to Burke. Remembering that Keightley stood 6ft 3in and Burke 5ft 6in, snipe would not cause the massive gut-tearing injury inflicted on Burke. But lead slugs would rip him apart. Therefore, when considering Burke's clothes' and their thickness, where the bushrangers were known to wear two or three thick Crimean shirts also two pairs of trousers while living rough against the cold nights. (See the illustration of the shot effect below.)
During the detainment of Keightley, the gang remained at the property till the early hours. As the evening wore on and their nerves frayed, the sound of horses galloping brought the men to their feet, guns drawn covering Keightley. Hall exclaimed, "By God, we are betrayed", leveling his revolver at Keightley's head. Fortunately for Keightley, the alarm was only his horses galloping around the home paddock. Commenting so, Keightley placated Hall and the bushrangers stating that they were his animals, which diffused the tension. On initial detainment Keightley says before his wife and Pechey left they suppered and afterwards, Vane and O'Meally ransacked the house taking various items:
Before doing so, however, they had supper, and Vane with O'Meally (to the best of witness's belief) went into his bedroom and took some clothes, rings, his arms, and a few other things which he had since missed.
The bushrangers returned to their places and continued to wait out the night dozing. As day dawned and for safety, the bushrangers shifted their position a short distance from the house at the request of Mr Keightley, as noted in the 'Lone Hand', to a spot known as the Black Stump. With daylight tingeing the sky in the early hours, the doctor arrived at the Black Stump location with the ransom:
Witness was then taken upon a hill about half a mile distant, where, upon his parole, that he would not attempt to escape, little restraint was imposed upon him till the morning, when the ransom was paid and he was released.
Notwithstanding, there is contradictory evidence about the gang's specific place, one named the Black Stump and the other location named Dog Rocks. It may be that the Black Stump and Dog Rocks are virtually next to each other or one upon the other or the same place as noted:
At about daybreak the bushrangers, having arranged for the disposal of Burke's body, went off with Keightley to the Black Stump at the Dog Rocks; arise that gave a long view of the Bathurst Road.
However, many small hills surround the property that fit the description (I was there in 2019) of the places named the Black Stump or Dog Rocks. However, over time, their significance and importance as local landmarks have been lost. Much of what has been recorded as to the bushrangers' actual location at daybreak while holding Keightley and awaiting Dr Pechey's return is pure conjecture. Therefore, it would be prudent for the gang under the circumstances to remain close to the home, within a few hundred yards at most, as Dr Peachy had limited knowledge of the local landscape. Consequently, the payment most probably occurred near the homestead. It must be noted as well that upon the gang's arrival they told Keightley that;
The day before the occurrence took place which we have just described, Sub-inspector Davidson with some troopers were encamped near Mr. Keightley's house, and the bushrangers told Mr. Keightley that they had been watching them through the night, and mentioned several little incidents that had transpired, in proof of their assertion. Mr. Davidson, it appears, declined to accept the accommodation proffered by Mr. Keightley, preferring to sleep out with his men, and Mr. Keightley was told of what happened during it visit he had paid the party, and also that they (the bushrangers) had been watching both him and the neighbourhood the whole day through.
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Dr Pechey said; "I went to look at Burke's body, and saw that the bowels were protruding from the abdomen; I also saw blood coming from his mouth and nostrils; there was a wound in the head, and one of the bushrangers said Burke had shot his brains out. The shot must have been fired close - I should think within a yard or so..." This type of stomach wound is consistent with a discharge of Leadshot/Buckshot, not Birdshot, remembering that Keightley stated he fired around the door frame. At 6' 3in and Burke 5' 6in, Keightley, blindly, would have fired towards the head, not abdomen of Burke. Dr Rowland also stated that he removed nine lead balls from Burke. Therefore, it is most probable that Hall, at near the same height as Burke, most probably startled, shot the young man accidentally being within a yard of the young man at that time of night. The damage would have been enough to blow out Burke's intestines at one yard and stove his shirt into the wound. |
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| Rough height difference between Keightley and Burke. |
In his narration to Charles White, Vane, to add more confusion, expressed that Gilbert was the guilty party. As throughout his conversation with White, Vane never places Ben Hall in a bad light; therefore, Hall's possible complicity in shooting Vane's mate is passed over. As a result, Gilbert was often Vane's focus for a backhander. Accordingly, from the evidence, there appeared to be much animosity between Gilbert and Burke and Vane as Vane had had a stand-up fistfight earlier with Gilbert. Although championing himself as the victor over Gilbert, however, Gilbert could handle himself against all comers. No doubt Gilbert may have had in truth the better of Vane, leaving him with severe bruising and black eyes. Nevertheless, Vane contends that Gilbert was the perpetrator of Burke's death as before their arrival, some chaff passed between Burke and Gilbert:
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| Ransom Notes |
The close examination swirling around the Keightley's brought one of the few statements from Dr Pechey, but only in defence of his cousin Caroline. She had been accused of varnishing her efforts following the surrender of her husband and Pechey. He also confirms Mrs Baldock's intercedence after Vane dropped him with a pistol blow:
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| Rolf Bolderwood. The pseudonym of Thomas Alexander Browne. c. 1891. |
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| Mural at Binalong depicting a new reward of £4000 for the remaining four. 2018. My Photo. |
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| 'Empire' 27th October 1863. |
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| The reward for the remaining four. Courtesy NLA. |
Tindal Diary Entries; 1853, July 29. — Baitman has arrived, leaving Keightley to follow by next vessel. 1853, August 11. — Blacks have been spearing our cattle here, and I only returned last night from the pursuit. We surprised two camps with the remains of beef in each. It was Keightley's first service; we were camped out eight nights. He is a lively, amusing fellow. I prefer him to Baitman, but they’re both too old. (C. G. Tindal, from Ramornie). 1853, October 20 (from Fred Tindal, at Koreelah). — 'The unexpected arrival here of K. and B. prevented my finishing my letter. They created an immense commotion here, the former especially, bullying the shearers in English, Scotch, and Irish by turns, till he was voted fit to travel anywhere. 1854, January 3. — Private races have come off at Eatonsville (Mylne's), opposite Ramornie, at which Keightley was the principal winner. The new chums certainly make the place (Ramornie) very noisy and gay, but I don't think they work very hard. Keightley's room is hung with a profusion of his father's watercolour sketches and knick-knacks of great variety. 1854, January 31. — Baitman and Keightley are now called Jack and Jill. I don't think Charles gets much work out of either of them. Jill (Keightley) is more particularly celebrated for buying and selling horses, mixing punch and telling facetious stories. Jack (Baitman) is fond of a comfortable armchair. (F. C. Tindal). 1854, March 7. — Keightley, who is the more prominent of the two, is very clever and entertaining, what is termed 'good company,’ yet he is not a favourite altogether. He shows too much fondness for making money by games and sharp bets, etc., which is not pleasant, even to lookers-on. I dare say he will make a good enough settler whenever he has work of his own to attend to. Baitman, alias Jack, is devoted to the armchair. 1854, May 28. — Keightley has just started for Ipswich races. Both K. and B. are too old to do any good for themselves or to be of much service, but K. is the better of the two. 1854, September 8. — In my last, I told you both Keightley and Baitman left us. The former has a small Government appointment, the latter intends sailing for England immediately. 1854, September 24. — Keightley is a clerk in Sydney. 1854, December 8. — Keightley is here low on leave of absence from his Rifle Corps duties. He is still connected with the Emigration Office in some way. 1854, December 10. — Writing in a noisy, room, Keightley and Charlie Porter detailing adventures. Keightley says he is on sick leave, but I have an idea he has been in some scrape in Sydney. Ramornie same date. — Keightley, who is here on a visit with C. E. Porter, has just returned from fishing. They frequently bring in from six to 14 dozen perch and fresh-water herrings. Keightley gives out that he is to be married in six weeks, but he is so given to joking that we do not know if this is so or not. He is in the Emigration Office, also a com. in the Rifles. All are employed writing letters, Keightley upon one to a Miss Palmer at Sydney, to whom he tries to persuade us he is engaged.
Henry McCrummin Keightley passed away on the Saturday 8th January 1887; DEATH OF MR. KEIGHTLEY.- "The death is announced, at Sale, on Saturday last; of Mr. H. M. Keightley, for the past four years stipendiary magistrate at Albury. For some time past, the deceased gentleman had been a sufferer from Bright's disease, and it was during a tour to the Gippsland Lakes, undertaken for the benefit of his failing health, that the symptoms as summed a fatal character. On Thursday Mr. Keightley was obliged to take to his bed; on Saturday his illness had assumed such a character that Mrs. Keightley was hastily summoned by wire, and on the same night the end came. Mrs. Keightley, accompanied by one of her four sons; arrived in Sale on Monday, on which date the funeral took place privately, in the local cemetery." Upon the Commissioners death and his long service in public office, the government allocated £1000 to Mrs Keightley in the recognition of his services. On June 22nd 1855 sadly Charles' brother Frederick Tindal drowned while fording the Clarence River at Smith's Falls.
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| Reward notes and their numbers paid by Dr Pechey to Ben Hall. |
However, contrary to the coachman's view, the separation was no doubt O'Meally departing with Vane, Hall and Gilbert heading to their planned rendezvous. Here Vane would take his leave from the gang, telling O'Meally he wished to see his father. O'Meally offered no objection saying they would wait at the appointed rendezvous site. Vane stated:
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| Donald Cheshire's Return of Prisoners Tried at Different Courts 1864. |
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| Donald Cheshire and the shopping list for the gang & receipts in his possession when arrested. Photo of Cheshire c. 1890's. Penzig © |
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| Vane to be kept separate from Cheshire. New South Wales, Australia, Sheriff's Papers, 1829-1879. |
For John Vane, it was the end of the road. The feelings between Vane and the other three had become unsettled since Burke's death as he struggled with losing his close mate. There was talk of a dispute between Vane and the others over the £500 paid for Burkes death and in the dividing up of the money Burke's share was set aside for his family, but Vane was excluded. On one report stated:
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| Vane & Cheshire separated at Darlinghurst Gaol. As well as Frank Gardiner.
New South Wales, Australia,
Sheriff's Papers, 1829-1879. |
Meanwhile on 28th October as Hall retreated into the wilds of Eugowra another bushranger was commencing his run. He was Fred Ward who, in due course, would become known as Captain Thunderbolt. Ward, originally from Windsor, made the New England region of NSW his district from Tamworth to Murrurundi. One of Ward's first forays was noted in The Sydney Morning Herald' Monday 2nd November 1863. The small entry also remembers Hall's link to Murrurundi:
However, the gangs' success in September against the three troopers at Marsh's Farm. Saw the communique's on the matter between Superintendent Morrisset and the government made public. These telegrams were released to the press on the 7th November 1863 to appease the continued public's dissatisfaction with their police force's prowess. These police questions centered around effort and needed answers for their unpardonable actions! (The to and fro may be viewed through the attached link. The telegrams note the firepower at that time, which had fallen into the hands of the gang.)
While the police dealt with their rough conditions, Ben Hall still had many settlers prepared to offer aid and comfort throughout the district. Such as Agnes Newell (sister of Dan Charters) of nearby Bandon, who had a hotel from which Hall and Co could take some R&R as well as Tom Higgins at 'The Dog and Duck' hotel near Forbes. (Higgins mended Hall's broken leg when a youth.) This support for Hall in defiance of the local police's efforts was highlighted when a correspondent attempted to fall in with the three bushrangers by throwing cash around the Eugowra/Forbes districts' shanty's in an attempt to be 'Bailed-Up' by the boys. Although he was unsuccessful, his article exposes the depth of local knowledge of the inhabitants regarding Hall, Gilbert and O'Meally's movements and protection:
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| Vane Retires. Courtesy NLA. |
The attached link is a map that covers the area during John Vane's membership in the gang. It was meticulously constructed by Craig Bratby, author of John Vane; Bushranger. Vane was an active member from August 1863 to November 1863.
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| Publican Licences 1853-1899. |
Superintendent Chatfield departed Robinson's, heading in Cargo's direction, also known as Davy's Plains Run. Cargo was principally a farming community with sporadic gold mining, situated 20 miles from Orange, and the locals were known to be sympathetic to Hall.
However, as luck would have it, after leaving the town, the police came across the three bushrangers in the company of another person whom the lawmen thought was part of the troupe. On sighting, the troopers put the spurs to their horses. Hall seeing the troopers galloping towards him took to flight. In the panic, the stranger's horse also bolted, giving an impression of partnership. However, instead of fleeing, the rider attempted to pull up his panicked horse as Hall and Co. melded into the bush. As the police pounced upon the man, the bushrangers halted a short distance off and observed the scene.
Consequently, in the chase, the unknown rider became a live target. To save himself, he called out, "For God's sake, don't shoot me," throwing up his hands. The troopers adrenaline-charged descended ferociously upon the rider and, without hesitation, fired away as they galloped towards him. In a rush to clobber the unknown, the accompanying black tracker Albert soon identified the man as Henry Hurkett, a local.
Henry Hurkett was a farmer and assisted at the families 'Miners Arms' hotel/shanty at Cargo. For the remote settlers, it was a period when every shilling counted to every inhabitant. As such, many publicans and prominent settlers often turned a blind eye to the needs of the bushrangers. Consequently, those beneficiaries of remuneration for a warm bed and hot meal and information regarding police movements enjoyed the notoriety of the bushrangers friendship. The few shillings went a long way! Hurkett may well have been one who, on that basis, was undoubtedly friendly with the three rogues.
Furthermore, Hurkett was well known about the Canowindra district with a reputedly sound reputation amongst the populace. However, that reputation may well have been more nudge-nudge-wink-wink. He was also well known to the police and brushed with the ruthless Sir Frederick Pottinger earlier. However, for Hurkett, his presence in-company with Hall, he passed off, after almost dying, as not fraternisation but a hold-up and said the bushrangers had stuck him up and taken £2 12s 6d from him.
Not satisfied, the police pumped up, maintained their suspicions clapping Hurkett in handcuffs. As Hurkett was suffering ill-treatment in the barrage, the three bushrangers casually retreated up a hill on foot, leading their horses, occasionally turning to watch the proceedings. For details, see the link below;
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| NSW Police Gazette 9th May 1866. |
There were three brothers Hurkett they were Henry, Charles and Thomas. All three would spend considerable time in various NSW Gaol's for various offences, predominately cattle stealing.
Note: In 1869 Henry would be sought by police over cattle stealing crimes and bolt to Hay NSW under an assumed name of James Wood. NSW Police Gazette, 1869, page 143. In 1871 Hurkett would be convicted and sent to Berrima gaol for two years hard labour. However, he was paroled in November 1872.
However, while Henry Hurkett was fumbling around handcuffed. Subsequently, after covering some forty miles with night falling, the police rode towards Mr Icely's 'Bangaroo Station' to stop for the night. Consequently, when passing a nearby settler's hut, they were seen by a small mixed-race child, who alerted the occupants in the cabin of their approach. The child calls out, "there's some men coming."
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| Icely's Bangaroo Station. Bailliere's New South Wales Gazetteer and Road Guide 1866. |
Chatfield became the fall guy for the NSW government regarding the Canowindra siege. Causing embarrassment over failing to capture the bushrangers. Chatfield's inability to act as the bushrangers returned to the district and continued to rob unabated culminated in the Superintendent's dismissal from his position in February 1864. In his defence, Superintendent Chatfields communicated his efforts to the Inspector-General of police and the hardships hunting Ben Hall:
Ben Hall, Gilbert and O'Meally escaping from their close shave camped close to Toogong. Toogong had two hotels, the 'Toogong' and 'Travellers Rest', a Post office and was inhabited by farmworkers. The town's population in 1863-20. One of those locals was Ellen Chandler, a passenger on the coach where Cst Havilland had died following the Eugowra Gold Robbery in June 1862 and with blood-covered hands, Ellen helped prop the dead constable up in his seat. It was reported that while camped, Hall and Gilbert had a falling out whereby it was said the two almost came to pistol shots:
However, the exact cause of the scuffle is unknown. As the bushrangers rested and the angst between Hall and Gilbert settled. A local wrote that the police were often more dastardly than bushrangers when seeking information and repeatedly harassed even children when parents were absent. 'Goulburn Herald' Wednesday 18th November 1863:
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| David Henry Campbell. (1829-1885) Private Source. |
When Ben Hall seized the town of Canowindra in early October 1863, news reached David Campbell whereby the squatter organised a party of neighbours to take the field in search of Ben Hall:
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| Campbell's marriage. 19th Feb 1856. |
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| Amelia Campbell 1835-1870. Private Source. Never before published. |
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| Contemporary illustration of Hall approaching Goimbla. Courtesy NLA. |
However, in not wanting to let stand the threat of David Campbell's desire to finish them off. Ben Hall, Gilbert and O'Meally approached Goimbla Station in the early evening of Thursday 19th November 1863, arriving from Murga along Mandagery (Eugowra) Creek. The trio, unobserved, made their way up to the homestead.
Goimbla was a 12,800-acre property rated to hold 640 head of cattle with one of the district's finest homes. The house walls were pisé (rammed earth) with a shingle roof, long verandah, and a garden enclosed by a picket fence. The property included a yard with a water-well, 3-stall stable with a loft. Fowl and pig houses. Men's huts and every requisite for a first-class head-station. Woolshed 50 x 15 with drafting yards and pens attached. Two cultivation paddocks of 8 and 5 acres as well as a grass paddock of 150 acres. Stock and milking yards, eight sheep station huts, with large yards. All overshadowed by a large mountain.
David Campbell relaxed after the evening meal as his wife and their maid Miss Mary Taylor settled their three children down for the night. Thomas b.1857, David b.1860 and two-year-old Percy b.1861. Also present was David's brother William Campbell who retired to his bedroom.
David Campbell sat in the lounge room, enjoying the quiet. The only sounds filtering in the house were the children fusing and boisterous as they prepared for bed. A silence descended in the home. The night sounds of the bush insects were all that flowed through the house. As the old grandfather clock chimed a bell marking 8.45 pm, Campbell suddenly became alerted as a noise of unfamiliarity caught his ear. Footsteps on the verandah. Earlier, fearing some reprisal from Ben Hall, which had been passed on to him. Campbell had prepared and placed against the fireplace two double-barrelled shotguns ready loaded and other arms at various places in the house.
Arising, Campbell picked up one of the shotguns moving to the passage near the backdoor, whereby at the end, he saw a man standing there who immediately fired twice, one round entering the wall on the right of where Campbell stood the other, the left. Campbell instantly returned fire from his gun but was ineffective. Simultaneously, the stranger retreated as a volley of shots crashed into the house front shattering some windows and embedding into the front door frame.
Campbell knew his moment had come.
After leaving the horses hobbled some distance from the homestead, Ben Hall with his two companions made his way through an oat field to a picket fence beside one of the outbuildings listening for life inside the home. Then, all quiet, Ben Hall brazenly walked to the back of the house, shotgun in hand, the same gun that had earlier by his hand mortally wounded Micky Burke, entered via an open backdoor into the rear passage. An occupant with a weapon in hand suddenly appeared, and Hall fired. The other person fired as well, the shots missing. Hall retreated to the back of the house as Gilbert and O'Meally discharged their revolvers into the home's front. As Hall stood on the back verandah, another man emerged on the porch from the back door. Ben Hall fired again, having reloaded hitting the man in the chest who staggered and collapsed. Unknowing if the man was dead or alive, Hall quickly retreated to the front yard re-joining Gilbert and O'Meally.
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| Goimbla Homestead. c. 1930. |
Sitting in his bedroom, William Campbell was startled by the sound of gunfire echoing through the house, ending the quiet solitude of the evening. Subsequently, he rushed from his bedroom and headed for the dining room, then well-lit by a strong kerosene lamp when at that moment, gunshots smashed through the front windows. Fearing the worst "Bushrangers", William made for the back porch where on exiting and near his bedroom window noticed a man standing in the shadow who raised his weapon and fired two shots hitting William in his chest, four wounds in all. Darkness enveloped William as he stumbled from the impact and collapsed beside the rear steps. Coming too moments later, William crawled bloodied out through the back gate. Fortunately, the slugs had not penetrated too deep. Nevertheless, he lay bleeding in a field of oats behind the house at the gate for some time.
Amelia Campbell was in the act of putting her three children to bed with help from her maid Mary Taylor when suddenly the terrifying sound of gunfire erupted. Amelia told Mary to watch the children making her way to the dining room to join her husband and defend their home. The couple joined after David had fired at the intruder and together moved to a bedroom at the end of the passage adjacent to the children's rooms, then altered to various positions to confuse their enemies' fire.
Amelia made for the dining room without a word spoken, passing the front windows already shattered when more gunfire erupted, whereby some fragments of wood from the bullets slightly grazed her as she retrieved a powder flask and bullets. On returning to her husband's side, shots rang out again, peppering the walls. Once again, by her husband's side, she commenced reloading the discharged shotgun.
O'Meally and Gilbert crouched by the front fence saw shadows passing the windows fired, not knowing whether they reflected male or female. Mary Taylor secured the children, and the cook hid himself under a table in the kitchen. Campbell would later praise Mary's calmness. Mary Taylor was a native-born Australian from Tumut. Campbell, in complementary terms, said how cheerful and composed Mary was and whereby at half-past nine, thirty minutes into the battle, Mary brought a tray— with the glasses of refreshment—as usual to the Campbell's. Campbell later mused that he couldn't help laughing as the situation was so severe that their lives hung in the balance.
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| Amelia Campbell 1835-1870. |
Hall, Gilbert and O'Meally in failing to dislodge their quarry by the barrage of shots. Hall called out, "If you don't immediately surrender, we will burn your place down." The demand was met with Campbell's response calling back, "Come on-I'm ready for you." Hall then replied, "Oh, is that it!"
As the bushrangers waited, Amelia had unknowingly left the house, covering a distance of some 150 yds to recruit the farmhands holed up in their quarters for support. Arriving, Amelia could not convince the men to support her husband. Distressed, she commenced making her way back to the house when suddenly flames from the adjoining barn and stable licked the night sky. Amelia's presence in the yard had brought her under the aim of Gilbert's gun, who later commented:
He could have shot Mrs Campbell if he had wanted to, as he was planted in a bush close by which she passed on her way to the gardener's hut.
Mary Taylor, without fear, went to assist David Campbell in Amelia's absence.
In her rush back to the house, Amelia, without realising two of the gang Hall and O'Meally had made their way to the barn and stables, stacked with fresh-cut hay and many bales of wool, the bushrangers set fire to the buildings. As the fire took hold, Amelia had returned to the house. Seeing the flames, she clutched her throat in fear and, with the assistance of the maid, again ventured out as the fires took hold to clear the ground about the house strewn with harvested hay and a dray loaded standing between the burning stable and the rear of the house. If caught on fire, it would catch on to the back verandah and the house, ensuring their current position would become untenable.
Together, Amelia and Mary courageously covered the dray with hay by a tarp, saving the house from destruction. Amelia later commented:
I was in such deadly fear of its catching at this point that I rushed out and succeeded in getting the road cleared with the assistance of the maid.
The fire's intensity turned night into day, where the roof of the fired buildings collapsed sparks like fireflies bellowing into the night sky.
As the fire raged in the stables, Campbell's favourite horse Highflyer became trapped and engulfed in flames. The fire's heat increased, whereby the terrified animal raced and to and fro, desperately seeking a way of escape. The family heard its kicks for freedom and the animal's heart-rending cries inside the house as Campbell ground his teeth in despair. Helpless, Campbell shouted to the bushrangers to let it go, but they ignored him instead of calling out taunts and jeers as the fire took hold. Finally, Campbell again called for mercy, yelling, "I will have one of you for poor Highflyer," then, suddenly, the horse's terrified whinnying died out as it was roasted in flames. Soon after, all went quiet for some thirty minutes.
The flames roaring Hall, Gilbert and O'Meally placed themselves behind the paling fence at the front of the house some 40 yds distant. The bushrangers' position was behind thick pine stakes, pointed and driven into the ground affording good cover. The house saved from incineration Mary Taylor returned to the children who hid under their beds. The eldest Thomas comforted the youngest Percy as random gunfire reverberated through the house, hitting various walls, doors, picture frames, and the children's bedroom wall as stray bullets hit just above the boy's beds. Campbell, all the time undaunted, returned fire with fire. Time marched on, with Hall occasionally calling for Campbell to give up. Campbell did not reply.
William Campbell recovering his senses and seeing the flames engulfing the outbuildings decided to head to Eugowra and assistance, staggered off. William, at 2 am, arrived delirious at Hanbury Clements Station, Eugowra, with gunshots in his chest and covered with blood. Mr Clements, in the dim light of the lamp, extracted the bullets, later producing a leaded slug which had been removed from William Campbell's chest during a testimonial gathering for the Campbell's. Clements sent a runner into Eugowra to alert the police.
The flames from the barn burned brightly, enabling Campbell to have a good view of the surroundings. In the lull, Campbell and Amelia placed themselves between two parallel walls, which formed a passage between the house and the kitchen. Watching for movement, Amelia pointed out one of the bushrangers heads with a cabbage-tree hat occasionally pop up, peering over the fence, looking at the burning buildings. Alerted, Campbell shifted for a better look at the corner of the house. Which fortunately was cast into shadow by the burning buildings at the opposite end. Kneeling Campbell brought his gun to his shoulder aimed deliberately at a spot level with the throat as the man once more rose from behind the fence. Campbell fired. The crack of the gun boomed in the night air.
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| The Death of John O'Meally. By Patrick William Marony 1858-1939 |
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| Mural at Binalong. Hall & Gilbert kneeling over a dead O'Meally. 2018. |
Hall and Gilbert dragged O'Meally a few yards into the adjacent oat field and near a tree stripped off O'Meally's jewellery which would later be returned to O'Meally's sister Ellen 'Kate' O'Meally (1845-1908). The two then approached the worker's hut, cursing and swearing profusely, stating that they would have their revenge. Their angry voices carrying on the night where Mary Taylor heard one of them, Gilbert said he regretted not shooting the woman. However, Hall turned to him, telling him to "hold his tongue and mind what he was about." Then, returning to O'Meally's lifeless body for one last look, the pair made back to their horse's and departed Goimbla.
The sound of the grandfather clock clunked loudly as every second ticked along. The bush sounds once more drifted on the night air, joined by the faint crackling of the outbuildings as they collapsed, sending more embers into the dark sky and the charred bloated remains of 'Highflyer', swollen to nearly double its natural size, lay inside the crumbling enclosure. Listening intently, David Campbell cautiously emerged from his home alert for any sudden occurrence, approached the spot where he believed his shot had taken effect. Reaching the scene at the paling fence Campbell was surprised to find a carbine and cabbage-tree hat but nobody, thinking that the gunshot may have wounded the bushranger. The hour had passed eleven-thirty in the evening, and the two hour battle for life and limb had ended. Unsure, he returned to the house to await daybreak.
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| Amelia Campbell. |
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| NSW Police Gazette 2nd December 1863. |
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| Plaque Forbes Cemetery. |
In the heat of a November day, the bloodied body whose decay had set in from the heat and O'Meally's inquest completed. The fast-turning putrid body was thrown unceremoniously in a hole near Mandagery Creek (Eugowra) coffinless. However, O'Meally's body would be exhumed by the family after an application to the court and consequently placed reputedly in an unmarked grave at Forbes close to or alongside John "Warrigal" Walsh and where later Ben Hall would be laid:
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| Henry Knight. NSW Police Gazette 4th November 1863. |
The death of O'Meally rekindled the memory of John 'Warrigal' Walsh and the cruelty of Pottinger, who held the lad of 16 in custody and the confines of the Forbes lock-up brought about his death. 'The Argus' 12 December 1863:
The crowd dispersed, O'Meally was exhumed from the banks of Mandagery (Eugowra) Creek by his father and brother Patrick for reburial at Forbes. At Goimbla, Mr Campbell, the settlers hero, received the government's warm good wishes for the actions in disposing of one of the men who had held the state to ransom for three years. The reward for O'Meally was £1,000. After identification, David Campbell received the reward and a letter of appreciation from the Colonial Secretary:
When the gawkers were gone a final word on the Battle of Goimbla noted Davidson's apprehension:
Having loitered near Goimbla following their mate's death, the two bushrangers were next heard of on Saturday 21st November 1863, two days after the Goimbla disaster crossing the Lachlan River at the Kirkpatrick and Twaddell's toll bridge half a mile from Forbes. The toll keeper brought the two men to a halt demanding the required payment. The two attempted not to draw attention to themselves, paid the amount due, and proceeded to Forbes. Within minutes a party of police rode up to the bridge identifying themselves as troopers from Goimbla. The police inquired if he knew the two men who passed moments earlier as they believed them to be Hall and Gilbert, whom they were pursuing but had been unable to overtake. 'Empire' 1st December 1863, Lachlan correspondent Bathurst Times:
The police had lost the scent. Meanwhile, Hall and Gilbert cautiously sought refuge at Forbes and soon relayed the death of O'Meally to their touts and harbourers; 'The Sydney Morning Herald' Tuesday 1st December 1863:
While in Forbes, Ben Hall visited the editor of the 'Miner' Mr H.P. Williamson arriving at three in the morning on 23rd November 1863 for an interview. The contents of which have not been revealed. For Hall to visit Mr Williamson demonstrates a friendship of some type possibly due to Williamson's position as Secretary of the Forbes Racing Club; 'Sydney Mail' 24th November 1863. FORBES. Monday, 4 p.m.
However, Hall and Gilbert's shock at the loss of O'Meally left Forbes and retired to the familiar grounds of their old haunt, the Burrowa district. They as well sought out the O'Meally's, presenting their dead comrade's jewellery to O'Meally's sister, Ellen, aged 17. Ellen herself was a feisty young lass who in late 1862 led the NSW police a merry chase, over hill and dale, riding like the wind dressed as a boy resembling her brothers. To confound the police Ellen and her friend Elizabeth Mayhew was also similarly attired. On reaching home, the two girls changed into their dresses, as the fooled police led by trooper Clark became the butt of many a joke. So great was their humiliation of the law that a song appeared in the girl's honour called 'THE MAIDS OF MARENGO'.
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| Birth of Ambrose Stonham, 1867. Son of Alfred and Mahalah Stonham. |
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| Mahalah Stonham. Penzig. |
Arriving in the confines of Burrowa, Hall and Gilbert returned to the road and the rich pickings of the tracks within the gold district. 'The Burrangong Star' ran this headline that Hall and Gilbert were in their old quarters again highlighting the pairs resurgence in the district:
On the outskirts of Burrowa, the Coffey family operated a blacksmith shop and general store, complete with an attached school, situated along the road near a creek sharing their name. Coffey had emigrated to New South Wales from Ireland aboard the Pearl in 1841 as a free single man and skilled blacksmith. In 1842, he married Honora Ryan, a fellow Irish immigrant, and the couple went on to have ten children. The store quickly gained a reputation among law enforcement as a haven for rogues and vagabonds, particularly those linked to bushrangers Ben Hall and Gilbert. The Coffeys were also known for their role in converting stolen cheques into cash for the bushrangers, making their establishment a reliable safe harbor for criminal activity.
In the waning days of November 1863, Hall and Gilbert were allegedly involved in a series of robberies, including the supposed robbery of the Coffey family themselves at their home. However, this so-called robbery was later revealed to be part of the Coffeys' broader schemes, often intertwined with the bushrangers’ exploits.
At the same time, another notorious band of criminals was terrorizing the region, operating between Binalong, Bowning, and Burrowa. This group, described as long-time scoundrels, carried out a spree of robberies during the final months of 1863. One member of the gang was even reported to have donned a police tunic during their crimes. Two of these men, George Lynham and Michael Corcoran, were known associates of Hall and Gilbert, and they often worked with their accomplice, Michael Seary. The trio had gained notoriety during Hall and Gilbert’s earlier activities in the Carcoar-Bathurst region.
On November 12, 1863, Lynham, Corcoran, and Seary staged a daring robbery at Dalton, forcing their way into the home of William Townsend, William Brown, and John Wheatley, and making off with £80. Corcoran, a man of 5 feet 9 inches with fair hair and a light complexion, bore a resemblance to Gilbert. As the Yass Courier reported, their crimes highlighted the sprawling network of bushranger activity that extended beyond the infamous Hall and Gilbert, painting a vivid picture of the lawlessness gripping the region.
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| Coffey was arrested with some Keightley ransom money paid by Hall for lodgings. |
Newspaper correspondents were soon made aware of Hall and Gilbert’s activities in the Burrowa district, reporting on the plight of the Coffeys, who claimed to have been robbed at gunpoint by the notorious bushrangers. However, the widely publicized robbery turned out to be a poorly executed ruse by the shady Coffeys, aimed at disguising the fact that Hall and Gilbert had been guests in their home. In exchange for a night's shelter and the use of their facilities, the bushrangers had repaid the Coffeys with cash, part of the ransom taken during the October 1863 raid on the Keightley property.
The so-called robbery attributed to Hall and Gilbert was, in reality, a scheme orchestrated by the Coffeys to recover £35—the cost of a spring cart they had recently purchased from a hawker named Mr. Aaron Steenbohm, using money from the Keightley ransom. The Coffeys devised a plan to have Hall and Gilbert "rob" Steenbohm, who had arrived at their home on November 27, 1863. By doing so, the Coffeys could reclaim the funds paid for the cart, while creating a convenient narrative to distance themselves from the ransom money. For the Coffeys, it was a win-win scenario. For Steenbohm, however, it was an irreparable loss.
The Coffeys' close relationship with the bushrangers became evident through later testimony, particularly from Mrs. Steenbohm, who recalled an incident highlighting the dynamic between the outlaws. She recounted Ben Hall sternly reprimanding Gilbert for inadvertently revealing details of the scheme, a moment that underscored the tangled web of deception and loyalty in the bushrangers’ circle.
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| Honora (Nora) Coffey. NSW Police Gazette December 1863. |
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| NSW Police Gazette 12th Dec 1863. |
Furthermore, rumours indicated that Hall and Gilbert, while canvassing Burrowa, had got wind of the possibility that the recent compensation to be paid by the government to the Chinese miners routed at Lambing Flat after the 1861 riots said to be about £4,000 was to pass through Burrowa en-route to the Flat:
The whole of the affair at Coffey's hinged on the recovery of the five-pound notes from Keightley's ransom, whereas happened with Donald Cheshire, the Coffey's faced possible incarceration. Soon after, the facade of the robbery Hall and Gilbert to protect one of the few who would give them safe harbour denied ever being present when the Steenbohm's were robbed. The headline read GILBERT AND HIS MATE.- The Bathurst Times says:
Hall and Gilbert remained in the confines of the district surrounding Binalong, Bowning, Burrowa. Spending possibly some nights with Susan Prior. On the 21st November, Hall was seen camped at The Marengo Gap;
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| NSW Police Gazette. 16th December 1863. |
Newspapers were inundated with new outrages against those travelling the roads. A few days after the Coffey occurrence on Saturday, December 5th, Hall and Gilbert held up the Binalong to Yass mail five miles from Burrowa on the Binalong road. Ben Hall and Gilbert walked out of the scrub adjacent to the road and waited patiently for the approaching coach. A passenger Mr Handley who had just completed an engagement with Mr Scott, of Burrowa, as a miller, and was proceeding to Sydney, observed the pair as "being exceedingly clean and well dressed."
As the coach approached, they waved the driver down and ordered him to pull up, Gilbert presenting a revolver at the time, with Hall mounted resting a double-barrelled gun across his knee. Gilbert, who appeared throughout the robbery, to have acted with some authority over his companion. Ordered the Whip to a spot 300 yds off the road where four other persons were sitting on the ground. Three mailbags were thrown out. Hall took one, and Gilbert searched the other two. Ripping open the bags, they examined each letter's contents, taking what notes and cheques were found. One of the letters contained a cheque where Gilbert asked Handley if he could cash it for him:
On coming to one that contained a cheque for £37, asked Handley if he could give them change for it. On being told that he could not, Gilbert said he supposed they would have to go into Yass and cash them themselves.
Hall appeared rather disgusted at the useless bounty which would be difficult to cash.
As such, Ben Hall contemplated destroying the mail. Mr Handley interjected, requesting him not to do so, as it would be useless destruction of property Gilbert joined in, placating Hall. Hall threw the cheques down with the remark, "If I thought it would do the bastards an injury, I would burn the lot." One of the other four captives asked if he might go now, and Gilbert said, "Yes, you may all go except the mailman" The four men left. Handley remained to continue in the coach with the mail. At one stage, as the letters were opened, Hall came across a piece of wedding cake. Hall looked at it very wistfully and was half inclined to eat it but at last threw it down, "No, damn it; it may be a trap." Gilbert also found a letter in a black-bordered envelope this he put carefully on one side, without touching it, expressing his intention always to pay due respect to death.
During the activities, Mr Handley asked Gilbert about a stolen watch, asking Gilbert if he remembered taking a gold watch from Murphy some time previously. He answered that he did. Mr Handley then said, "Are you aware that the watch belonged to Mrs Scott, of Burrowa, and that Murphy was only fetching it out to her from the Flat." Gilbert replied that he was not aware that if he had known it to be hers, he would not have taken it. He also said that if Mr Handley were so inclined, he would give it to him to return to Mrs Scott. Handley expressed his will to do so, and Gilbert took it off a gold chain, adorned with four or five others worn around his neck, handing it to Handley. Subsequently, the watch was given to the mailman by Handley. Arriving at Binalong, the mailman handed the watch over to the police.
The two bushrangers laughed and chatted while they were opening the letters. Gilbert remarked that it would give the newspapers something to talk about again and show them that he and his mate were still game enough to stick up the mails whenever they wanted money. Searching the newspapers, Gilbert read one that contained the latest account of John Vane giving himself up—giving their opinion of the cowardice of their former companion in terms that were by no means complimentary. Handley commented to Gilbert that he could inform him further of Vanes situation, stating:
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| NSW Police Gazette December 16th, 1863. |
A sad epitaph from the Binalong mail robbery was a letter of particular significance brought to the newspapers attention regarding a young hardworking wood splitter, employed on the 20,000 acres Calabash Station, who in the finest traditions of taking care of his invalided mother 200 miles away in Sydney. Falling victim to the callous work of the two bushrangers. From the S.M.H 18th December 1863, ran a heading A HARD CASE:
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| Mr John J Garry Mylora Station, Binalong. c. 1900. Never before published. |
In the wake of the Binalong hold-up. 'The Yass Courier' commented on the personal appearance of the two bushrangers prompting this observation and the audacity of their actions:
Following the Handley incident of the 5th December, a few days later on the 8th, the coach from Forbes via Young to Yass was trundling along when Hall and Gilbert again emerged from the scrub at twilight held it up as the mail cart came into view. A woman was riding along with the mailcart on horseback called on to stand. However, showing as much courage as Mrs Campbell at Goimbla, the unknown lady set her horses head and galloped off whereby Gilbert with a chuckle called "Oh, let her go." Yass Courier Saturday 12th December 1863, led with this story STICKING UP OF THE FORBES MAIL YASS. Thursday, 11.30. A.M:
They kept the mailman for about an hour and a half in custody. He represents them to be exceedingly gentlemanly-looking men, well dressed; they had plenty of gold chains ornamenting their persons, and, to use his own words, Gilbert's neck-tie was tied with as much neatness as that of any swell. Amongst the articles taken from the mail bags was a gold brooch containing a photograph likeness. Several letters were torn up; but strange to say that one, not registered which contained £5 was left untouched by the bushrangers. The mailman states, that while they were searching the bags, Hall told Gilbert that he had got £7 in cash, a gold watch, two rings, and a locket. Gilbert said he had either £26 or £27. One of the rings was subsequently returned to the mailman. They then rode away.
The current activities of Hall and Gilbert drew this summary in the 'Sydney Mail' 12th December 1863, noting that if the police did not step up to the task, then no doubt private citizens such as Campbell and Keightley would continue to benefit in the large rewards:
There can be no doubt that families such as the Kelly's and Coffey's and many others in the area of Burrowa, Binalong and Bowning were providing shelter for the two bushrangers. Another person and long-time close friend of Ben Hall, Elen Maguire Hall's former sister in law, lived within the district and would be arrested soon for receiving a stolen watch from the Binalong mail robbery of the 9th December. There can be no doubt that Elen was harbouring Ben Hall and knew Susan Prior intimately.
Hall and Gilbert were believed connected to the robbery of one Henry Morgan proprietor of the 'Burrangong Star' and his wife travelling to Burrowa along the Bowning-Binalong road on the 16th December 1863. Morgan was a shrewd newspaperman. Having been held up reputedly by the two infamous bushrangers Hall and Gilbert in company with two other lowlifes George Lynham and Michael Corcoran. However, all was not as it seemed, whereby the whole Morgan affair appeared exaggerated or a case of mistaken identity over the perpetrators. The confrontation ran as front-page headlines in Morgan's Lambing Flat paper. What follows are circumstances of robberies and persons identified as Ben Hall but are, in fact, completely without foundation.
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| NSW Police Gazette 18th November 1863. |
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| John Southgate. NSW Police Gazette, January 1864. |
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| NSW Police Gazette, 23rd December 1863. Neither Hall nor Gilbert. |
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| NSW Police Gazette 1864. |
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