This website is designed, researched and written by Mark Matthews. It may alter with updated information and research as it comes to hand. This section is a work in progress...
"Ben Hall! Stockman, Squatter, Bushranger, from these personas, his character has remained an enigma. From a man held in high regard by all who knew him to a man through his own actions became one of the most hunted in colonial history, and who would ultimately die a violent and bloody death at the hands of his pursuers."- Mark Matthews.
This website aims to provide a comprehensive, chronological account of Australian bushranger Ben Hall's calamitous life. Gathered through the accounts of eyewitnesses, former gang members, government documents, as well as the reproduction of historical newspaper and N.S.W. Police Gazette records of Ben Hall and his associates' bushranging activities. (All related articles incorporated into the narrative are coloured and transcribed as originally published.)
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| "Hall is the only one of the three who cultivates any moustache or whiskers, and he is getting fat." |
The Sydney Morning Herald of the 1st January 1864 looked anxiously to the year ahead, warning that the political difficulties and financial contusions of the past twelve months had been compounded by the unchecked depredations of the bushrangers. It observed with alarm that the colony had grown dangerously accustomed to violence, as if pillage and bloodshed were the natural accompaniments of settlement. Unless firmly checked, it cautioned, the marauders would turn an exceptional outrage into the accepted condition of colonial life.
Those words proved prescient. For even as 1864 dawned, Ben Hall—already notorious across the disturbed districts—was about to rebuild his power. With a new swath of unsavoury characters gathering around him, Hall prepared to renew the campaign of terror that had filled the colony with dismay.
We enter 1864 burdened by the political difficulties and financial contusions of the past year, and face the utter uncertainty of legislation yet to come. More pressing still, however, is the violence and spoliation of those men whose careers have filled the colony with dismay. Several have already gone to their account, leaving behind them only the miserable record of wasted lives and the prodigal squandering of their opportunities.
We have grown so familiar with their crimes that we are almost tempted to treat them as the ordinary and inevitable accompaniments of colonisation. Yet the contrast between our own colony and our neighbours is humiliating. The grand cause of these continued disorders lies in the timid or corrupt connivance of too large a section of the people. Crime has not been treated as a curse in itself; violent marauders are not considered detestable. Murder and pillage are excused as the rough excesses of “fine, manly fellows,” generous in their way, who spend recklessly what they have obtained with audacity.
This is the great rock ahead. No country can hope to be secure while men travel with dread in their hearts—fear for those they leave behind, and fear of insult and pillage along the road. If the bushrangers hold sway for another year, the mischief will deepen; what is now an exception will harden into a permanent condition.
It may not be amiss to remember that 1863 closed under the shadow of political, financial, and social confusion, each element strengthening and inflaming the other.
And so, as 1863 faded and Christmas approached, Ben Hall’s young son Henry, then five years old, was sent to William Hall’s hut at the Pinnacle Range. Despite the continuing animosity between William, his wife Anne, and Henry’s mother Bridget, the boy remained there during the holiday season. Whether by demand or mutual agreement, the arrangement allowed Ben Hall to retreat from the bushranging field and spend rare, untroubled time with his son. (Henry’s own recollections of his father were never recorded.)
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| Earn presented to Mrs Campbell for Bravery. |
Following the testimony to their bravery, public admiration for the Campbells did not rest with words alone. In recognition of Mrs. Campbell’s steadfast courage—standing shoulder to shoulder with her husband against the bushrangers’ onslaught—a local jeweller crafted a fine coffee urn, presented as a mark of respect. It was more than a household ornament; it stood as a symbol of the colony’s gratitude, and of the belief that ordinary settlers, when resolute, could confront and overcome the menace of outlawry.
Yet such honours did little to dispel the deeper anxiety of the time. For every tale of resistance and triumph, there remained the uneasy truth that men like Ben Hall were still abroad, gathering strength for fresh depredations. (See right.)
Despite his reputation for cruelty and vindictiveness, it was generally acknowledged that Morgan did not mistreat women. The report of his involvement in the attack on a lady, therefore, was met with scepticism. Many suspected exaggeration, or that the true assailant remained undisclosed—perhaps to shield the woman’s honour. Still, Morgan’s notorious career left little room for doubt in the public mind. On January 10th, 1864, the New South Wales Government placed a reward of £500 upon his capture, underscoring the growing urgency to rid the colony of so violent a scourge.
Amid this rising anxiety, speculation flourished in the country press of a potential alliance between Morgan and the bushrangers of the Lachlan—Hall and Gilbert. Such rumours proved baseless; no evidence ever suggested that the Riverina outlaw crossed paths with Hall’s circle. Yet the very notion of such a union—two fronts of terror combined—was enough to chill the public imagination.
Gilbert himself, more literate than many of his companions, kept well-informed of these rumours. He followed the newspaper columns eagerly, reading not only of his own exploits but also of the wider fraternity of crime across the colonies. In this way, the bushrangers themselves became both subjects and consumers of the news cycle that sustained their infamy.
During this interlude, Ben Hall took refuge at his brother’s place, while John Gilbert slipped from view. The pair parted ways, their partnership briefly dissolved. Following the earlier confrontation at Coffey’s at Burrowra, Gilbert vanished from the public eye altogether, and rumour placed him back in Victoria spending Christmas with his family. Whatever the truth of those whispers, Gilbert would not re-emerge until the opening months of 1864.
At the same time, the lingering shadow of the great Eugowra robbery of 1862 was brought again before the public. On January 9th, 1864, a memorandum from the Inspector General of Police exposed in clear terms the extent of the bushrangers’ gain. For the first time, monetary details were officially set forth, laying bare the magnitude of the haul that had emboldened Hall and his confederates and left so deep a wound on colonial confidence.
In the final reckoning, Gardiner, Fordyce, and Charters were cheated of their reward, their shares seized by Sanderson; Manns, too, was deprived, his portion recovered by the relentless pursuit of Sir Frederick Pottinger. Thus, of the original conspirators, only Bow, Gilbert, O’Meally, and Ben Hall managed to retain their part of the spoils. For all Frank Gardiner’s planning and audacity, he was left empty-handed—a bitter irony for the man hailed as the architect of the scheme.
As for Gilbert, his whereabouts during the opening weeks of 1864 remained a matter of speculation. Had he journeyed south to Victoria? Had a quarrel divided him from Hall? The truth was uncertain. What was plain was that the two were not seen together for some time. Gilbert’s lone figure was reportedly glimpsed in February at Burrowa, entering a local store to procure supplies. It was a fleeting sighting, but enough to remind the colony that one of the most dangerous outlaws was still abroad, biding his time until the bushranging scourge flared once more.
From all accounts, Gilbert lingered for a time at his former stockman’s home, Marengo, where he was held in good regard by the district’s folk—none more so than the young women, among whom he was a favoured figure.
Upon his separation from Ben Hall, conjecture ran rife. One tale, often repeated in the colony, claimed that the two bushrangers had quarrelled over a lady’s favour, the dispute ending in the grievous rumour that Hall himself had fired a fatal shot at Gilbert. Another version, equally popular in the telling, held that Gilbert’s own revolver had gone off by accident while he was indulging in a flourish of reckless display before his female admirers. Such stories, embroidered with every retelling, captivated the public imagination.
The truth, however—as so often in bushranging affairs—was more complex and far less sensational than rumour allowed. Gilbert had not rejoined Hall; his absence was genuine. Meanwhile, Hall pressed on alone, committing a string of daring robberies that left no doubt as to his continued audacity. The separation only deepened the colony’s intrigue, for every solitary act of Hall’s served to sharpen speculation as to when—and under what circumstances—his dangerous confederate might return.
Yet all these rumours bore the stamp of a canard, a convenient ruse no doubt encouraged by Gilbert’s local friends to turn police attention aside. Such tales of fatal quarrels and accidental shootings were more useful than true, distracting the authorities while Gilbert quietly kept to ground.
Meanwhile, Hall’s own movements betrayed the reality: he was acting alone. A series of bold robberies attributed solely to his hand confirmed that the two bushrangers had not yet reunited. In this way, the legend of their supposed estrangement continued to grow, while in truth it served as little more than a smokescreen for the outlaws’ designs.
Despite the absence of “Happy Jack,” a most curious tale surfaced half a century later, in 1913, drawn from the recollections of a venerable local of the Lachlan district. According to this account, Gilbert had neither perished nor quarrelled fatally with Hall, but rather succumbed to grievous illness. Far from travelling to Victoria, as rumour held, Gilbert was said to have sought refuge in one of the gang’s favoured haunts—the wild, desolate country about Bogan Gate, northwest of Forbes.
This lonely region, defined by vast reaches of bush and the rugged spines of Monumea Gap, the Nelungaloo Range, and the Jemalong or Garland Range, offered perfect concealment. Caverns and ridges abounded, while the mountainous spine stretched from the present Carawandool State Forest northward to Bogan Gate. Here the outlaws could vanish from pursuit, shielded by the very bones of the land.
The district also offered strategic advantage. Nearby stations—Bundaburrah, Billabong, and Carrawobbity—lay within reach, while Forbes itself and the notorious Dog and Duck Hotel were but a short ride away. The Dog and Duck, kept by Tom Higgins, a close confidant of Hall and the very man who had once tended his boyhood leg injury, became a crucial supply point. Higgins provided provisions and, more importantly, intelligence on the movements of the police. Thus the bushrangers, when pressed, could refresh their stores and, as whispers told, even lend their hand to local graziers in the herding of cattle, blending their outlawry with the rhythms of station life.
Yet, according to the old-timer’s reminiscence, the tale took a different turn. While Hall passed Christmas quietly at the Pinnacle with his young son, Gilbert rode north, some forty miles distant. There, stricken with typhoid fever, he was nursed back to health by a kindly drover named Botfield. In this telling, Gilbert’s disappearance from the record was no matter of quarrel or death, but of illness endured in the hidden corners of the bush—an episode that only deepened the aura of mystery which for so long clung to his name.
'The Forbes Advocate' Friday 28th February 1913:A BOTFIELD EPISODE. There is a little siding out on the Parkes to Bogan Gate railway line called Botfield, and when I was out that way a couple of weeks ago I little dreamt that the peaceful little railway siding was once the spot on which a great act of "man's humanity to man" was enacted. A drover named Botfield was taking a mob of sheep across that part of the country and coming to a creek that contained good water, he decided to camp to rest his mob. He camped on there for such a long time that people began to speak of it as Botfield's Creek. One day Gilbert, one of Ben Hall's gang, rode up to the camp, suffering from typhoid fever, and Mr and Mrs Botfield made a bunk under their wagon and nursed him right through his illness. The police often rode up making inquiries about the bushrangers and even went so far as to look under the wagon round which the tarpaulin was hung, but Botfield put them off by telling them that it was only a sick drover under there.
Yet Gilbert’s whereabouts in those weeks remained the subject of endless conjecture. While one venerable Lachlan source decades later insisted he had lingered about Bogan Gate, another trail of inquiry pointed northward. A correspondent, canvassing local testimony, was given to understand that Gilbert had indeed travelled further afield—into Queensland itself.
Such speculation was never confirmed. No firm evidence placed him there, but the very suggestion that he had crossed the colonial border only added to the mystery. Was it a deliberate attempt to throw off pursuit, a brief exile until the heat subsided, or merely another tale woven from rumour? Whatever the truth, Gilbert’s absence from Hall’s side in early 1864 fed the press with speculation and left the public imagination restless.
At length, the mystery surrounding Gilbert’s absence was dispelled by the outlaw himself. Late in 1864, Gilbert openly admitted that he had indeed gone north into Queensland. His own words silenced months of conjecture and rumour, confirming what correspondents and settlers had long suspected but could never prove. For a time, then, Gilbert had withdrawn from the Lachlan, leaving Hall to carry the burden of notoriety alone.
Empire 20th December 1864:
Gilbert has not the fresh, clear expression of countenance he used to have. His features are now much embrowned by the sun, and the skin in many places is peeling off. He, in the course of conversation, admitted that he had not long returned from Queensland, and that when there he was three times chased by the police; and furthermore, that on one of these three occasions, upon his horse knocking up, he jumped off and challenged his two pursuers to come on, whereupon they halted and jawed a bit, and then turned tail.
Sydney Mail 15 September 1937: A Centenarian Looks Back.
"I got through to Queensland. In
Queensland I came across a farmer living alone and he gave me a job
as a ploughman, and I thought I was all right.
"One
day we were in the field and a man came along and talked to my
master. The stranger looked at me and turned away as if he hadn't
seen me. Then the master said to me: 'We're going up to the house to
have a cup of tea. Coming along, Johnny?' I said: 'No, thanks. I'll
stop and look after the horses.'
I had my own opinions
about the man, so I waited till they got inside the hut and cut for
my life. I was nine days without food, and when I got to Pring's
station (twenty miles from Burrangong) I was in rags and my boots
just hanging to my feet; but I met my pal there and he soon supplied
me with clothes, horse, and food."
Hall’s brief reunion with his son ended abruptly on January 22nd, 1864. Bridget Hall, determined to reclaim young Henry, sought the intervention of the Forbes Court. In company with Jim Taylor, she issued a summons against William Hall for the unlawful detention of the boy. Yet the case never came before a magistrate. The quarrel was resolved outside the courtroom, and Henry was restored to his mother and Taylor.
For Ben Hall, the episode marked a bitter close to a rare interlude of domestic peace. His attempt to spend the holiday season in quiet company with his child collapsed under the weight of old enmities and strained relations. With his son taken from him once more, Hall was left adrift—his ties to family life slipping further beyond his reach, while the road back to outlawry opened wide before him.
By mid-January 1864, reports began to surface of Hall being sighted once more at Burrowa, one of his familiar haunts. He was said to be suffering from a fever, which accords with accounts that he had recently endured the lingering effects of a centipede bite.
Yet the Burrowa sighting may have owed more to personal than medical reasons. It was here, at Tangamaroo, that Susan Prior resided. In 1864, Susan was again with child—a son later named Alfred—raising strong likelihood that Hall was the father, as his daughter Mary was scarcely a year old at the time. Thus, Hall’s presence in the district may well have been bound up with domestic ties rather than bushranging pursuits.
The reports of his indisposition only deepened the fog of rumour. At a time when Gilbert’s absence was fuelling tales of illness and retreat, it was in fact Hall himself who was unwell. In this way, the confusion of early 1864 blurred the lines between truth and conjecture, leaving the public uncertain as to which of the outlaws was stricken, and to what extent.
'The Sydney Morning Herald' Friday 5th February 1864:Before January 26th became officially recognised as Australia Day—marking the arrival of the First Fleet in 1788—it was known as Anniversary Day. It served as a commemoration of the colony’s foundation, a day to reflect on beginnings shaped by convicts, among them men and women like my own ancestors who arrived in 1822. Though they earned their freedom, they were forbidden ever to return to the “Old Dart.” Severed from their homeland, they built new lives in a harsh country and in so doing laid down the rough-hewn foundations of the nation to come.
Anniversary Day in 1864 was no exception to this spirit. Across the colonies towns staged celebrations in honour of perseverance and progress. Horse racing, that favoured sport of colonial festivity, drew large and spirited crowds, and Burrowa was alive with excitement. Lavish preparations were made, and townsfolk appeared in their finery to mark the occasion.
Yet not all eyes were fixed upon the races.
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| NSW Police Gazette Feb 1864. |
Ben Hall, calculating as ever, saw opportunity in the day’s gaiety. Knowing the roads would be crowded with revellers, he and an unidentified accomplice took up position along the approach to Burrowa. Their first encounter was with a party of young women in a buggy, dressed in Anniversary finery and accompanied by men on foot. A little further on they intercepted a traveller, one Mr. Dwyer, bound for the racecourse.
What had begun as a proud display of colonial achievement was thus shadowed by outlawry. In the Australian bush, even on a day of celebration, danger could ride close at hand—an unsettling reminder that progress and peril often moved together.
Still nursing the pain of his centipede bite and limping from discomfort, Ben Hall returned on February 13th, 1864, to a place once familiar and dear—his former station at Sandy Creek. Once the scene of domestic hopes, the property had long since passed from his hands, sold with John Maguire to John Wilson in September 1862 (see Ben Hall, Part I).
Hall rode into the homestead in search of Wilson. Their meeting was cordial enough. Hungry and in need of new horseshoes, Hall made his requests with an ease born of confidence. For several days he lingered about the property, making himself at home once more. On the last morning, as he sat down to breakfast, the quiet was suddenly broken by the frantic barking of dogs.
Moments later, Inspector Shadforth and a party of police descended on the station. With a composure bordering on the surreal, Hall rose from the table, stepped to the doorway, and, seeing his pursuers, calmly walked to his horse. He mounted within yards of the police, who opened fire. Hall returned their shots as he spurred through the rail gates o the cleared hill nearby watching the floundering troopers whose bravado soon evaporated. Shadforth, humiliated at the escape, turned his frustration upon John Wilson, charging him with harbouring.
Wilson was hauled first to Bogolong, then to Forbes, but the charge was ultimately dismissed. The law could prove nothing.
The most remarkable detail came only after the dust had settled. Station hand William Roebuck later recalled that, once the police had withdrawn with Wilson in tow, Hall returned as if nothing had occurred, sat himself once more at the table, and without fear stated, "they have taken my cook," and prepared a hearty breakfast. It was a display of cool audacity that would only add to the outlaw’s legend.
For Sub-Inspector Frederick Shadforth, the affair had serious consequences. By allowing Ben Hall to slip so brazenly through his fingers, he drew the ire of his superiors. The Government, unwilling to overlook so public a humiliation, acted swiftly. On the order of Colonial Secretary William Forster, Shadforth was suspended from duty pending a formal inquiry into his conduct.
The incident not only tarnished Shadforth’s reputation but also underscored the growing frustration of the authorities. Each escape by Hall seemed to mock the constabulary, feeding the impression that the bushrangers held the advantage in daring, mobility, and popular sympathy.
The inquiry into Shadforth’s conduct was set to be held at Forbes under the direction of Sir Frederick Pottinger. Yet, among those who observed the proceedings, there was a strong sense that the scrutiny reached far beyond the narrow matter of Ben Hall’s escape. As one contemporary commentator noted, the examination of Shadforth’s actions appeared less concerned with the practical business of pursuing bushrangers than with exposing the wider failings and factional disputes within the police force itself.
In this view, Shadforth’s lapse served as a convenient pretext—a symbol of inefficiency upon which the Government could fasten blame—while deeper questions of discipline, competence, and leadership in the constabulary went unaddressed. For Hall, it was another indirect triumph: the failure to capture him not only preserved his freedom, but sowed fresh discord among those sworn to bring him down.
We have seen, only the other day, Sir F. Pottinger holding an inquiry on Inspector Shadforth, for doing everything but trying to catch Hall; and they have been all alike in their results equally unsatisfactory. In none of them have the public ever known the truth. Every opportunity has been afforded for the suppression of disagreeable facts, for the hushing up of acknowledged delinquencies, for the crushing of the subordinate scapegoat, and, the escape of the powerful culprit.- Empire 4th April 1864.Now under suspension, and against the counsel of his fellow officers, Sub-Inspector Frederick Shadforth submitted his resignation. The Government, unwilling to prolong the embarrassment, accepted it at once. Thus ended his service in the colonial police, not through misadventure in the field, but under the shadow of censure.
The public reception was mixed. In some quarters, particularly among the settlers who had long despaired of police effectiveness, Shadforth’s removal was hailed as overdue proof that the Government would no longer tolerate incompetence. In others, sympathy was expressed for a man who, many believed, had been made a scapegoat for failures far greater than his own.
The colonial press reflected this division. Certain newspapers seized upon the case to criticise the constabulary as riddled with poor discipline and divided loyalties; others insisted that no force could hope to succeed while bushrangers enjoyed covert support from sections of the population. In either case, the lesson was clear: every escape by Hall and his ilk was not only a blow to law and order in the bush, but a wound to the very reputation of colonial authority.
By 1865, Shadforth had already fallen foul of the law himself, serving a month in prison at Gundagai for obtaining money under false pretences. The stain of that conviction followed him, and his fortunes continued to ebb. In 1873, his decline reached its nadir when he was sentenced to three years at Beechworth Gaol in Victoria for forgery.
Thus, the man who once rode at the head of a police party in pursuit of Ben Hall became undone not by bushrangers’ bullets, but by his own misjudgment.
Shadforth’s decline never truly reversed. After his release from Beechworth Gaol, he drifted once more through a succession of posts and petty employments, unable to regain the respectability he had lost. Eventually, he settled in Queensland, where his fortunes ebbed into obscurity.
In 1891, his troubled life met a sorrowful end. Alone and despondent, Shadforth cut his wrists and bled to death. For a man who had once worn the uniform of the New South Wales constabulary, his fall from grace was complete—a tragic footnote in the larger story of the bushranging wars, where not only outlaws but also their pursuers could be destroyed by the relentless pressures of the age.
The once-prosperous squatter, Ben Hall, now wandered through the familiar landscapes of his earlier life, though under far different circumstances. No longer a grazier but a carrier of fear, he was often seen alone, separated from Gilbert, and compelled to recruit fresh companions from among local sympathisers. Who these men were—beyond the presence of newcomer John Mount—remains uncertain, the secrecy of the bush world guarding their names from record.
The pressure from law enforcement was mounting. Patrols were more frequent, rewards more widely posted, and settlers more wary of harbouring the notorious fugitive. To sustain himself, Hall was forced to widen his net. By the end of March 1864 he had ventured south of Cootamundra, moving into the Berthong district, where the traffic of wealthy officials and gold buyers promised rich returns as they recovered debt and gold from the adjacent goldfields of Young and attended local country horse races.
But word of Hall’s presence travelled swiftly. Almost as soon as he appeared, reports reached the authorities, who lost no time in organising a pursuit. Yet, as so often before, Hall’s intimate knowledge of the scrub, his horsemanship, and the tacit support of scattered sympathisers allowed him to vanish before the net could be drawn tight. The chase ended in failure, leaving police frustrated and the bushranger’s reputation for elusiveness burnished yet again.
Sydney Mail, April 2nd 1864:Ben Hall again,— The Wagga Wagga Express of 26th March, says information was received in town on Sunday evening, that the mail had been stuck up between Bathungra and Cootamundry the previous night, it was believed by Ben Hall (although at Cootamundry itself the supposition is otherwise). From what we hear he (being alone and armed with a rifle and two revolvers stuck-up the mailman and detained him for some short time, and subsequently Mr. Hurley, of Cootamundry; but taking nothing from either of them, and letting them soon depart unmolested.
He stated in the course of conversation with them, that he intended to stop Messrs. Clarke Gold Commissioner), Macarthur, and Copeland, of Lambing Flat (who were here at the races) and take their horses. lt may be remembered that Mr. Clarke's horse, Foxhunter, was once before in the possession of the bushrangers for some time, being recovered by the police. He also spoke of his engagement with sub-inspector Shadforth, and said the latter was not at all to blame, for he had behaved well, and did his best to take him.
Two police parties in disguise were patrolling the roads at this time, having been placed on such duty during the races. One party heard of the sticking up near Bethungra, and immediately started in pursuit, getting on the tracks of two horses by the moonlight, and following them up towards Cootamundry, losing them within about three or four miles of that place, the tracks being lost In the bush.
This party informed the Cootamundry men, who then also started in pursuit, beating round the Levels and Cummings' (Ben Hall's old country), but without avail, hearing nothing of him. The second patrolling party meeting with the first, near Bethungra, the two started again on Monday, beating all about, and making every enquiry but still unfortunately with no result, hearing nothing of him.
It is now believed that he must at once have made back to his own part of the country, learning from various sources of information of the numbers of police then patrolling the road in disguise; it having been otherwise his declared intention of sticking up everybody he came across on the road.
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| James 'The Old Man' Mount |
Gilbert’s absence remained an enigma, but Hall, now joined by James Mount, pressed on undeterred. Together they embarked upon a fresh spree of robberies, haunting the district around Bethungra, a locality already well acquainted with their depredations. From there the pair rode north once more, ranging from Marengo to Burrowa, their confidence swelling with each success. They took whatever caught their fancy—watches, horses, saddles, bridles, clothing, and, above all, money. Each theft was a reminder that the bushrangers could strike at will, mocking both property and authority.
The local “traps” remained perpetually a step behind. Though mounted parties were dispatched in haste, their quarry always slipped away. Time and again police arrived at the scene of a robbery only to find the culprits gone, leaving behind a trail of indignant victims and humiliated lawmen. With every escape, Hall and Mount’s notoriety grew, their legend strengthened by the very inability of the constabulary to lay hands upon them.
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| Frederick Chisholm |
Among the townsfolk, whispers persisted that the local traps were half-hearted in their pursuit of Hall and Mount. Some said it was indifference; others insisted it was fear—that the bushrangers’ growing reputation had struck dread even into the hearts of mounted troopers. Whether cowardice or simple incompetence, the effect was indistinguishable.
Hall and Mount, unchecked, carried on their spree. With every raid their audacity deepened. They struck where they pleased, stripped travellers of horses and valuables, and vanished again into the scrub. Each unpunished outrage chipped away at public confidence in the law, while the bushrangers themselves seemed only to grow more untouchable, feeding on both the fear and the fascination they inspired.
ROBBERY BY BEN HALL: - Intelligence is to hand that on Friday last Ben Hall went to Mr F Chisholm's station, Grogan, in the Binalong district, and finding the owner alone proceeded to tie him up. He threatened him with further punishment for riding about the country with bad characters— meaning the police. He then went outside, and securing two of the servants; took the race-horse Troubadour, two other horses, and some trifling articles, and went away.— Goulburn Herald and Chronicle.
The raid was presented in more depth from the Burrangong Times:
The Burrangong Times says: — On the evening of Friday last the celebrated Ben Hall unceremoniously introduced himself to the presence of Mr. Chisholm in that gentleman's residence, at Bland, and, after enquiring for the master of the house, was told that he was addressing him. No sooner was this said than Hall presented two revolvers at Mr. Chisholm's head, and demanded of a female who was present to bring him some coat straps. These being furnished, Hall put one of the revolvers in his belt, in which four more were fixed and with the unoccupied hand bound Mr Chisholm's hands behind his back. He then demanded the key of the store, which was complied with. From the store he filled up three-bushel bags with clothing, bridles, &c., and took from Mr Chisholm his gold watch and chain, valued at £11. Hall then addressed himself to Mr. Chisholm thus : — "Now, Sir, I want your race-horse Troubadour." Mr. Chisholm begged of him to take anything he liked, but to leave him his horse, remarking that having left him so long unmolested, he thought that he (Hall) would not have troubled him now. "Damn you," Hall replied, "you ought not to have been so flash, assisting to escort the horse Union Jack to the Wagga Wagga races. I was watching you from the ridges while I was lying in wait for Commissioner Clarke and Tom Coupland."
Troubadour was then brought from the stable, Mr Chisholm's new saddle and bridle was put on him, and the two crammed bags of plunder were strapped on. On proceeding out of the yard, Troubadour, not relishing the humiliation of being converted into a packhorse, commenced bucking, and quickly relieved himself of his freight. Other horses were then brought into requisition, which were, along with Troubadour, led away. Hall only appeared in the robbery, but, by the signals he at times gave, it was evident he was not alone, and had several accomplices at hand. Mr Chisholm rode to Young next morning and laid an information to the police, who went in search after Hall. Mr. Chisholm has had information since that Troubadour has been set adrift near M'Kay's station, at Mimagong.
The following is a somewhat more circumstantial account of the same event from the Young Daily Tribune of the 6th instant. That Journal says :— On Friday, the 1st instant, Ben Hall paid a visit to Groggan station, Bland Plains, 30 miles from Young, the property of Mr. Frederick Chisholm — a gentleman well known in this district It appears that Hall had a great longing to become possessed of 'Union Jack,' the celebrated race-horse, who ran third in the Champion Race at Wagga Wagga; but the horse being closely escorted by some troopers from Junee he was disappointed. Mr Chisholm came part of the way with the police escort, which annoyed Hall and Co. ; and, to be revenged for their not obtaining ' Union Jack,' they honoured Mr. Chisholm with their company between seven and eight o'clock on the above evening. In the house, besides Mr. C, were a man and a boy, who are in his service, a traveller stopping for the night, and Mr. Peter Woods, a neighbouring squatter, who was in bed at the time, and whom they did not molest in any way. Hall came into the house by himself, and, after bidding good evening, proceeded to tie everyone up, with their hands behind their back, civilly saying, 'he came for the race-horse Troubadour, and have him he would.' Mr. Chisholm asked, "What he wanted with the horse after having left him alone so long? Hall replied, "That he (Mr C.) was too bloody flash coming from Wagga Wagga; if lie had returned home by himself he would not have interfered with him but, if he chose to keep company with troopers, he must be taught better manners." Hall then untied and marched them all before him to the stable where the horse was, which he took out, brought back to the house, and put a bridle and saddle on. He then filled two three-bushel bags with property from. Mr. Chisholm's station store, consisting of clothing of various kinds, tobacco, saddles and bridles, and quietly asked for Mr Chisholm's gold watch and chain, which cost twenty-five guineas. These having been handed to him, he coolly pocketed, remarking that the watch looked a good one. He also took two other horses — a chestnut and a bay; and, having secured his booty safely on the horses, he kindly wished them all good evening, saving — "I dare say you are not sorry I am going." Hall did not disguise himself in any way, but appeared quite cool and jolly. Mr Chisholm did not know Hall personally ; but some of his men did, and enlightened their master as to the character of his disagreeable visitor. Mr. Chisholm estimates his loss at about £270. It is supposed that Hall's companions waited a short distance for him, and aided him to carry off the plunder; although none of them but Hall was seen. Such are the particulars, as far as we can at present learn, of the outrage, alike disgraceful to our civilisation and Government. It is reported that 'Troubadour' has been turned loose by the bushrangers ; but we doubt the truth of it. The bay draught horse which was stolen has been recovered, having been picked up on the station by a stock-keeper.
The Yass Courier Saturday 16th Apr 1864:
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| Percy Scarr |
The Goulburn Herald and Chronicle Saturday 16th April 1864: - BEN HALL IN OUR MIDST:- On Monday about one o'clock p.m., Ben Hall and another stuck up Messrs. Percy and Richard Scarr, on the Marengo road, and after making them dismount, Hall took possession of their horses, saddles and bridles. Both horses were valuable, especially one for which £50 was given lately, which is a fine, showy beast, having
formerly been a racer.
It appears Hall was on his way to Broughtonsworth for this horse, when, it is supposed, by the intervention of a bush telegraph, he had his wish gratified with less trouble. Hall commented to Mr. Scarr and swears that his new gang shall be the best mounted rangers that over "took the bush for it."
Mr. Percy Scarr's, which is a fine, showy beast, having formerly been a racer. This highway robbery took place not far from where Mr. Scarr was stuck-up before, and very near to the spot where the unfortunate mail man, Crotty, was shot dead. The Marengo police are now in pursuit.
Leaving the Scarrs fifty pounds poorer, Hall, accompanied by Gordon, rode on with the intention of recovering a horse from a neighbouring station once connected to his own. Along the way he was intercepted by a bush-telegraph, who brought news certain to stir his temper: Michael Sheedy, discoverer of the Lambing Flat goldfield, was presently at his public house at Back Creek.
Hall still smarted from his earlier encounter with Sheedy, as well as from the failed attempt to seize the prized racehorse Black Diamond. Fuelled by this resentment, he resolved to make Sheedy pay. Spurring his horse toward Back Creek, Hall arrived at the inn determined to exact retribution.
Late on the evening of the same day, the inmates of Mr Sheedy's public-house, Back Creek, were alarmed by Hall and his companion entering and bailing them up in the usual way. Hall's mate-an elderly man aged about fifty, kept them in a corner, while Hall went and searched for Sheedy, on whom he says he will have revenge, on account of having reported his having been stuck up while returning from Burrowa races. For this and to get possession of, Mr. Sheedy's race-horse, Black Diamond. Hall stated that this was the object of his visit. However, Hall ransacked the place, took possession of the bar, and became landlord pro. tem,, serving out nobblers ad libitum, and gratis. He then ordered supper, of which he and his coadjutor heartily partook. They then left, and went and stick-up another store. He is supposed to be now in the bush near Marengo. The bush telegraphs render him almost safe, among whom he distributes money most profusely. Fortunately Mr. Sheedy was from home, and Diamond removed to a distance. It is pretty well known that Hall and his accomplice rode through the township of Young at an early hour next morning. - Burrangong Times.
Leaving Sheedy’s hotel in high spirits, Hall and his accomplice scarcely considered that word of their antics had already reached the authorities. News travelled swiftly, and Sub-Inspector Singleton, apprised of the outrage, immediately set out in pursuit with a party of mounted troopers.
The chase, however, was true to form. Hall and his mate had already vanished into the scrub, their movements shielded by the ever-watchful “bush telegraphs” who relayed warnings at every turn. Singleton’s men pressed hard along the tracks leading toward Marengo, but their quarry always seemed a step ahead. By the time the police arrived at likely haunts, they found nothing but the lingering traces of fresh horse prints and the exasperated testimony of recently robbed settlers.
Immediately on the Marengo police being informed of the robbery, they started in pursuit and dispatched information to Young. Mr. sub-inspector Singleton took prompt measures to intercept the ruffians. He started a party of police and a black tracker for the "Black Ranges" and Currawang. On the at arrival at Sheedy's inn, at Back Creek, they found that Hall and his mate had been there, and give their horses a feed of oats, and left in the direction of Wombat. The police then followed on their track, but to a late hour on Wednesday evening they had not returned. It appears that Hall wanted to obtain Mr. Sheedy's well-known race horse Black Diamond, but was disappointed. The ruffian who aided Hall was a tall, elderly man, clean shaved, and dressed in breeches and boots. A second party was like wise dispatched to Wombat by sub-inspector Singleton.- SMH 18th April.By April 17th, 1864, Ben Hall had eclipsed all rivals to become the Central West’s most notorious figure. For six consecutive days, the district’s police scoured the scrub in desperate pursuit, yet every effort proved fruitless. The urgency was keenly felt: unless Hall was brought to heel, the people of the Lachlan and beyond would have to endure the grim certainty that the bushranging era was not waning but renewing itself, with Hall firmly at the helm.
It was at this juncture that a correspondent for the Yass Courier filed a vivid local report, swiftly reprinted in newspapers across the colony. The article spoke of Hall’s recent depredations and the troubling signs that he was stringing together a new band of confederates. His exploits were no longer those of a solitary rider or a fleeting partnership with James Mount, but of a leader once again weaving the threads of a gang that could rival the terror once wielded with Gilbert and O’Meally.
BUSHRANGING.- For these last six days nearly all this district's police have been scouring the bush in search of Hall; but it is unnecessary to comment upon the result. Suffice it to say that if Master Benjamin is not taken within a month, the public in general, and of this district in particular, may make up their minds to have the whole bushranging programme of these last two years re-performed under a different leader, i.e., Ben Hall captain--vice Mr. John Gilbert, retired, and Francis Gardiner, Esq., "twitched." For a gentleman from the Levels this day told me that Hall and his exploits--more particularly his apparent contempt of, and escape from, the police-are sources of almost endless conversation and ill-concealed delight to far too many of that numerous corps of youthful and agile stock riders which inhabit the extensive plains of Bland.
My respected informant also stated that he knew for a fact that Hall was rapidly re-organising another gang-some of the neophytes to which could not sufficiently screw their courage up to take an active part in his late attack on the Grogan station; so their experienced commander (making every allowance for the novelty of their position) considerately allowed them to act as scouts. It is probable, upon their next raid, that he will induce them to "cross the Rubicon." If so, the honest settlers around may anticipate, during the ensuing winter, a succession of sports more animated than agreeable.
Undoubtedly our district's and the Forbes police are to blame for this, as this "hydra-headed" state of things would never exist were not their captures so miserably few and far between that before one gang is exterminated another is ready to take its place.
Had Shadforth's party arrested Hall at Sandy Creek station (Wilson's), as they ought to have done, they would not only have had the profit of £1000, but they would also have had the honor of crushing out the fag end of Gardiner's gang. But the lame and semi-bootless robber makes a dash at the thoroughly armed police, runs the gauntlet, escapes, and so becomes the germ of another ruffian band, which, if report speaks truly, is now in the saddle, ready, if not impatient, for action. I'm informed that the plunder taken from Mr. Frederick Chisholm's by Hall, on the 1st instant, is considerably more than at first supposed. However, it may be a source of feeble gratification to that gentleman and the public to know that our gallant police still hold, with regard to Ben Hall, the same proud position that they have hold for these last two years, i.e., they are after him! There was a rumour afloat that the stolen racer, Chisholm's Troubadour, was recovered by the police: it is not true. The horse has not since been heard of. - Marengo correspondent of 'Yass Courier.
Amid the rising panic of April, the police, straining for a capture, pounced upon a man camped along the banks of the Murrumbidgee River. Convinced they had at last run down Ben Hall, they surrounded him and hauled the stranger into custody. In truth, their supposed prize was in a pitiable state—ragged, gaunt, and far removed from the figure of the notorious bushranger.
Dragged into Young and lodged in the lockup, the unfortunate fellow was soon identified not as Hall but as a man named Lame. His dilapidated appearance bore little resemblance to the outlaw they so desperately sought. The blunder only heightened public amusement and further undermined confidence in the constabulary, whose eagerness to seize any shadow of Hall seemed now to border on farce.
Wrong Apprehension. — Not Ben Hall. — With the usual acuteness which characterises the majority of the police of this colony, an elderly man, Lame, and very much dilapidated in his garments, was apprehended on the Murrumbidgee River and escorted to Young as the notorious Ben Hall. On his arrival there on Saturday he was immediately liberated, his personnel agreeing in no one particular with that of the celebrated bushranger. The old man's hair and beard were fair, while those of Hall are very dark. There appears to be something not only stupid but heartless in dragging an old man such a distance without the remotest possibility of his turning out to be the real "Simon Pure."
John Gilbert had yet to reappear at Hall’s side, his whereabouts known to none—save, perhaps, Ben Hall himself. Frank Gardiner, who once dominated the Lachlan like a spectre before vanishing into the scrub with Catherine Brown in late 1862, had at last been captured in Queensland. With Gardiner removed, it was Hall who steadily rose to fill the void, his influence among the colony’s restless youth becoming undeniable. If his capture were not soon effected, many feared, a new generation of bushrangers would rise in his wake.
Rumour kept pace with fact. Tales of Hall’s exploits—his brazen contempt for authority, his uncanny gift for eluding pursuit—spread with wildfire intensity across the districts. One gentleman from the Levels (the Bland Plains) remarked that Hall’s escapades were the constant talk of Forbes. His repeated escapes at the very moment of seeming capture were both a humiliation for the police and a source of admiration for the young stockmen who rode the Lachlan and Bland. To them, Hall was more than a thief: he was a man who embodied freedom, courage, and resistance to authority.
Thus did myth gather around the outlaw’s name. To some he was a villain; to others, a captain of bushrangers. With each passing week, his legend grew, reinforced as much by gossip and print as by pistol and raid. By late April, the newspapers acknowledged this disturbing ascendancy. As one report of April 23rd, 1864, noted:
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