This web-page, "John 'Happy Jack' Gilbert, aims to delve into the life and times of this infamous outlaw. Drawing from historical records, personal accounts, and extensive research, we will explore Gilbert's journey from a young immigrant boy to one of the most feared outlaws in Australian history.
Born in Canada and arriving in Australia at the tender age of ten, Gilbert was swept up in the gold rush fever that gripped the nation. His early life in Australia was marked by parental disobedience and recklessness, but it was also during this time that he developed his skills as a horseman and his knack for survival. These skills would later serve him well in his life of crime.
As we delve into Gilbert's life, we will explore his first forays as a youth into crime the allure of the NSW goldfields, and the circumstances that led him to choose a life of crime. We will also examine his relationships, his exploits, and the impact of his actions on Australian society and history.
"John Gilbert: Happy Jack" is more than just a biography. It is a journey into a tumultuous period in Australian history, seen through the eyes of one of its most notorious characters. It is a tale of adventure, crime, and ultimately, tragedy. So, join us as we journey into the life and times of John Gilbert, the bushranger who lived fast, died young.
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| "Happy Jack" Coloured by me. |
The goldfields were a grand theatre of humanity—Englishmen, Irishmen, Americans, Germans, and Chinese, all driven by the same feverish desire. For many, it was not merely about gold, but freedom, and the chance to remake themselves in a world unshackled from the rigid class hierarchies of the old world.
Among the multitudes who crossed the seas to Victoria was a family from Canada—the Gilberts. They came seeking prosperity and a new life amidst the tumult of the diggings. Yet within their household was a boy who would find his destiny not in the pan or the pick, but in the saddle, with a revolver at his side and the law at his back.
His name was John Gilbert, and he would grow to become one of the most feared and celebrated bushrangers in the annals of Australian history—a reckless spirit whose daring exploits would eclipse even those of his contemporaries, and whose legend would burn brightly long after his death.
THE FAR SIDE OF THE WORLD
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| New York Herald. 25th June 1852. Courtesy Library of Congress. |
Whispers of incredible wealth circulated throughout the world drove this fever, spreading like an uncontrollable pandemic, infecting the hearts and minds of all who heard them. The mere mention of kicking the ground in search of gold carried with it the promise of Eureka-like glory. It was amidst this backdrop that William Gilbert, a man enticed by the challenge and allure, set his sights on Australian shores.
Motivated by the enticing whispers of newfound wealth, William became swept up in the fervour surrounding Australia's golden opportunities. After twenty-two years in Canada, he found himself embarking on a momentous journey for the second time. A journey spanning fifteen thousand miles across two vast oceans. It was a courageous endeavour to seek a better life for his family in the distant and unfamiliar land of Australia, a new world full of hope and possibility beckoned.
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Church of England Marriages
and Banns for
William John Gilbert.
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During the 1830s, the City of London experienced a marked decline in the prominence of its once-thriving livery companies and public houses. This downturn stemmed largely from new distilling and licensing laws enacted by the British Parliament, which imposed onerous restrictions on innkeepers and distillers. These regulations, intended to curb excessive production and consumption, instead brought hardship to many small proprietors. Businesses that had long prospered under traditional trade freedoms now faced dwindling profits and eventual closure.
Among those affected was William Gilbert, whose livelihood as an innkeeper-distiller came under increasing strain. Recognising the shifting tides and the fading prosperity of his profession, he resolved to seek new opportunities beyond England’s shores. Like many tradesmen of his era, Gilbert was drawn to the promise of the colonies, and Canada, in particular, offered the prospect of stability, land, and renewal.
Thus, the decision was made: the Gilbert family would leave behind the crowded streets of London for the vast and untamed lands of North America.
But before their departure, tragedy struck. The Cholera Pandemic that ravaged London between 1827 and 1830 left an indelible mark upon the Gilbert household. It is believed that two of William and Eleanor’s young daughters, Ann and Ellen, fell victim to the disease — a scourge that claimed some 6,000 lives across the city. Their loss, set against the wider misery of the epidemic, must have been devastating, and it no doubt strengthened William’s resolve to begin anew in a land far from the sorrow and sickness that had engulfed London.
By 1830, the Gilberts had gathered what possessions they could and joined the tide of emigrants seeking a better future across the Atlantic — their course set for Canada, and the hope of rebuilding their fortunes in a new world.
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| Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, c. 1859. Drawn by C. S. Rice. |
After settling in Hamilton, a flourishing township on the shores of Lake Ontario, William Gilbert embarked upon a new chapter in life. Industrious and determined, he secured employment as a building contractor, contributing to various public works projects, while also establishing a small but successful business manufacturing building materials. Through diligence and enterprise, William achieved a comfortable prosperity for his growing family.
During these years, the Gilberts welcomed the arrival of four more children — Francis (born 1836), James (1838), Charles (1840), and John William, born in November 1842. With improving fortune, the family moved into a two-storey timber-framed home, handsomely panelled and furnished, a symbol of the stability and respectability William had earned through honest labour.
To assist with domestic affairs, the Gilberts employed a young Irish servant, Mary Cassin, aged fifteen. Her presence eased the daily burdens of the household, allowing William and his family to focus upon their growing enterprises and community life.
Yet amid prosperity, sorrow again visited the family. Around 1845, Eleanor Gilbert, John’s mother, succumbed to illness, leaving her husband and children bereft. The blow was compounded five years later when William Jr., the eldest son, died in 1850. These losses left deep scars upon the family’s memory.
In time, however, William found companionship once more. On 28 December 1846, he married Eliza Cord, an Englishwoman who had migrated to Canada with her parents in childhood. At the time of their union, William was forty-four, and Eliza twenty-five. Their marriage produced two sons, Thomas and Nicholas, both born in Canada. In the years to come, their household would expand even further upon their emigration to Australia, with seven more children born in the new land — Frederick, Mary, Jane, Louisa, Mary-Anne, Christopher, and Dagmar.
The late 1830s in Canada were years of turmoil. When native-born Canadians sought to cast off British authority, the land was shaken by rebellion. William Gilbert, loyal to the Crown, volunteered his service in defence of British rule during the Rebellions of Lower (Quebec) and Upper (Ontario) Canada (1837–1838). The uprisings marked a turning point in the country’s political life and tested the loyalties of many settlers.
A decade later, unrest again swept through the provinces. In 1849, rioters protesting the government’s amnesty bill set fire to the Parliament Buildings in Montreal, reducing them to ashes. The act of arson shocked the colonies and underscored the continuing instability of the age.
Despite these upheavals, William remained deeply engaged in civic life. He served as an Alderman of the City of Hamilton, taking pride in shaping the young municipality’s future. Reflecting later upon those troubled years, William Gilbert would speak with a mixture of loyalty and disillusion — a man who had seen both the promise and peril of colonial life:
"I allude to the military character with which you are pleased to invest me. I should feel extremely proud could I lay claim to such a distinction; but I think I owe it to the good nature of my friends in recognition of the part I acted at the outbreak of the rebellion in Canada, in 1837-38. At that time, I was engaged as a contractor on the public works of the Upper Province, and though at considerable loss to myself, I entered as a volunteer in support of law, order, and British supremacy, and induced almost every man in my employment, as well as many others, to follow my example."¹
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| New York Herald. 2nd July 1852. Courtesy Library of Congress. |
With William Gilbert’s eyes fixed upon the far side of the world, the Gilbert family bid farewell to Canada and all they had built upon its rugged soil. Once again, they placed their hopes in the promise of a new beginning. Eliza Gilbert, expectant with another child, joined her husband and children in the long journey southward to New York City, some four hundred miles distant.
There, amid the clamour and commerce of the New York Harbour, where the great sailing ships of the age lay anchored in serried ranks, the Gilberts prepared to leave the known world behind. The wharves teemed with emigrants — farmers, craftsmen, and fortune-seekers from across the Americas and Europe — all drawn by the same golden promise of opportunity.
After days of preparation, the family secured passage aboard the ship Revenue, one of the sturdy vessels operated by the Pioneer Line, well regarded for its regular crossings to the Australian colonies. On board with them were some one hundred and sixty passengers, many of them fellow Canadians, each harbouring their own dreams of wealth and renewal in the distant southern hemisphere.
As the Revenue raised her anchor and turned her prow toward the Atlantic, the Gilberts watched the skyline of New York recede into the mist — their past slipping into memory, their future uncertain but filled with promise. The voyage ahead would carry them more than fifteen thousand miles across two oceans, to a land where the air shimmered with talk of gold, and where fate awaited young John Gilbert, soon to become one of the most notorious figures of the Australian bush.
During the long, weary months at sea, the passengers endured the usual hardships of cramped quarters, erratic weather, and the monotonous roll of the ocean. Among them was a traveller who later recalled his fellow voyagers and, of the ten-year-old John Gilbert, remarked simply:
“I noticed nothing very particular in the lad during the voyage.”
It was an observation as unremarkable as it was ironic. For this quiet, seemingly ordinary child — unnoticed amid the creak of timbers and the crash of waves — would, within two decades, capture the imagination of a continent and carve his name into legend.
After braving the perilous waters of the South Atlantic and Pacific, the Revenue finally entered Port Phillip Bay, slipping through the treacherous Rip where many a vessel had met its end. On October 15th, 1852, she found safe harbour in Hobson’s Bay, Melbourne, her passengers at last setting eyes upon the distant continent that had so long filled their dreams.
The Gilbert family, along with their fellow emigrants, had endured a voyage of hardship and uncertainty. Now, as the ship glided toward the bustling docks, a panorama of vigorous new life unfolded before them. Melbourne, in the throes of the gold rush, was transforming from a provincial outpost into a city of feverish ambition. Ships of every rig and flag crowded the wharves, their decks piled high with crates and casks; sailors shouted orders, cranes groaned under the weight of cargo, and drays rattled across the cobbles in a din of energy and expectation.
There was little ceremony in their arrival—no port authority to greet them, no customs inspection to delay them. The colony’s population was swelling by the day, and the stream of newcomers poured freely into the streets, swallowed by the chaos of a city bursting at its seams.
For the Gilberts, stepping onto the timber planks of Hobson’s Bay Pier was a moment heavy with emotion—relief at the voyage’s end, awe at the sight of this raw and booming settlement, and anticipation for the life awaiting them. They had left behind the settled rhythms of Canada for a land where fortune was rumoured to lie in every riverbed and gully.
The harbour buzzed with a babel of voices—English, Irish, German, American, and Chinese—each carrying its own hopes of gold and renewal. Amid the crush of trunks and wagons, the Gilbert family took their first steps upon Australian soil, joining the tide of humanity drawn southward by the promise of wealth.
For them, this was more than the end of a voyage; it was the beginning of an uncharted chapter. The shores of Melbourne promised hardship and opportunity in equal measure.
As one newspaper recorded of that day:
“The Revenue, from New York, has had a good run from that port. She brings a large number of apparently very respectable people, attracted hither by the fame of our Gold Fields.”
EARLY LIFE IN MELBOURNE
In 1852, Melbourne’s Hobson’s Bay was a heaving gateway to ambition, the air thick with dust, sea salt, and dreams of gold. When the Revenue cast anchor and the Gilbert family disembarked, they stepped into a city caught between chaos and opportunity. The harbour was alive with shouts and motion—the docks crowded with ships unloading their human cargo, the streets swollen with nearly ninety thousand hopefuls bound for the glittering fields of Ballarat and Bendigo.
For young John Gilbert, then not yet ten years old, this frenetic scene marked the beginning of an extraordinary journey. The babel of languages, the restless energy of fortune-seekers, and the raw vitality of a city built overnight left an indelible impression on him. Among the clamour and colour of the port, something was kindled in the boy—a spark of curiosity, daring, and independence that would, in time, steer him far from the path his father intended. Few could have foreseen that this wide-eyed child would one day carve his name into Australian folklore as one of the colony’s most notorious bushrangers.
The Gilberts settled in Collingwood, a rough-edged working-class suburb on Melbourne’s fringe. The area, alive with both opportunity and vice, was a crossroads for drifters, diggers, and rogues heading to and from the goldfields. Amid the taverns, sly-grog shops, and gambling dens, young John absorbed lessons that no classroom could teach. He watched, listened, and learned—his quick wit and natural charm earning him favours from men of dubious repute who recognised in him a kindred spirit.
John soon developed a reputation for resourcefulness and cunning. Observing the steady tide of gold seekers passing through Collingwood, he devised small hustles and schemes to profit from their ambitions. Whether striking sharp bargains, running errands, or wagering boldly in billiard halls, he displayed an instinctive grasp of risk and reward. In a world where luck could change in a heartbeat, he was already learning how to read faces, weigh chances, and talk his way out of trouble.
A family acquaintance later recalled:
“Even as a boy, Gilbert seemed to be living fast. He was betting notes on every stroke at the billiard table, and he always seemed to have money to spare.”
These early years in Melbourne shaped the boy who would one day ride with the most feared men in New South Wales.
John Gilbert's initial ventures in Collingwood were small-scale, but they set the foundation for a life of crime that would propel him into infamy. His ability to charm and outwit others soon led him to more dangerous pursuits. Drawn into the company of independent men, Gilbert’s early hustles eventually evolved into a full-blown career as a bushranger and eventually outlaw becoming one of the most prolific lawbreakers in Australian colonial history.
Despite future crimes, Gilbert's demeanor earned him a unique reputation. Known among his peers while employed in NSW as a stockman he earned the nick name of "Happy Jack," garnered by his quick wit and light-hearted humour which stood in stark contrast to the brutal reputation of his highwaymen mates. This duality made him an enigmatic figure, both feared and oddly admired in the lore of Australian bushranging.
From his humble beginnings in Collingwood to his rise as one of Australia's most notorious bushrangers, John Gilbert’s story became a defining chapter of colonial history. While his later actions inspired fear and infamy, the man known as "Happy Jack" remains a complex figure—an outlaw whose legacy is interwoven with Australia’s rich and turbulent past.
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London, England, Freedom of the City Admission Papers, for William Gilbert, Innkeeper 1681-1925.
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| Gilbert family 'Revenue.' |
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| The Argus newspaper report of the arrival of the "Revenue" 1852. |
Melbourne in 1852 was awash with fortune hunters, its streets a chaotic tapestry of ambition and desperation. Hobson’s Bay’s piers groaned under the constant weight of arriving ships, disembarking crowds of migrants and mountains of cargo. Lodging houses and hotels overflowed, forcing newcomers to seek refuge in makeshift shelters hastily erected along the city’s fringes. The once-quiet colonial outpost had transformed into a frenetic hive of opportunity—where prosperity and peril walked hand in hand.
Among the tide of arrivals, William Gilbert and his family settled on George Street, Collingwood, determined to build a new life in this energetic yet unforgiving city. William sought steady employment and stability for his growing family, but Melbourne’s glittering promise was shadowed by its burgeoning criminal underworld.
For the youngest Gilbert, ten-year-old John, the harshness of colonial life revealed itself within days of their arrival. The family’s newly acquired horse—a vital asset and symbol of hope—was brazenly stolen. When John witnessed the theft, his indignation overcame any fear. The boy stormed toward the culprits, fearlessly remonstrating with them in a scene that startled onlookers. His fiery protest, though futile, revealed a spark of defiance that would one day blaze into legend.
The incident was duly recorded in the Geelong Advertiser and Intelligencer on Thursday, 21 October 1852:
“John Jones, James Seymour, and William Thomas were arraigned for stealing a horse, the property of William Gilbert, and pleaded not guilty. A horse, the property of a Mr. Gilbert, who resides at Collingwood, was grazing (hobbled) in a vacant space before Mr. Gilbert’s house. The three prisoners were observed, at ten o’clock in the morning, by Mr. Gilbert’s son, to go up to the horse, and in spite of his remonstrances, the prisoner Seymour got on the horse and rode off. Sentence—six years’ hard labour on the roads of the colony.”
The episode left a lasting mark on young John. It was his first true lesson in the realities of colonial life—where survival depended not only on strength but also on cunning. In confronting the thieves, he tasted both the injustice and adrenaline of defiance. The fire that flared within him that day would never fully dim.
In retrospect, it was a fitting prelude to the life that awaited him: one shaped by courage, rebellion, and an unyielding resistance to authority.
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| Frederick Gilbert's death. The Argus, 14th May 1853. |
In 1853, he made the decision to apply for the position of Pound Keeper at Deep Creek, known as 'Bulla Bulla,' situated approximately 28 kilometers north of the Melbourne Town Hall. Recognising the stability and security that came with such a position, William saw it as an opportunity to provide for his family in a more reliable manner.
However, the process of securing the position was not without its challenges. As is often the case with bureaucratic procedures, William encountered minor hiccups and delays along the way. His initial application faced postponement, a not uncommon occurrence in the administrative realm. It required patience, perseverance, and the ability to navigate the intricacies of the system.
For the Gilbert family, this setback meant a period of uncertainty as they awaited the final decision on William's appointment. They grappled with the prospect of a continued search for stability and financial security. However, they remained resilient, drawing upon their resilience and the strength they had developed throughout their journey.
Eventually, William's application proved successful after overcoming minor obstacles and demonstrating his suitability for the position. He was granted the role of Pound Keeper at Deep Creek, bringing a sense of relief and a newfound sense of stability to the Gilbert family. They could now rest assured that their future was secured, at least for the time being. 'The Argus' Saturday 8th August 1853:
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| Argus, 1853. |
William Gilbert's tenure as the Deep Creek Pound Keeper proved to be both lucrative and pivotal for his family. The position provided a substantial income, averaging approximately £515 annually—a considerable sum for the era. Supported by his three eldest sons, William Francis, James, and Charles, the Gilbert family efficiently managed the pound's operations, creating a stable foundation for their livelihood.
Despite the financial stability the role offered, the Gilbert's restless ambition eventually led them to relinquish control of the pound in 1857. The allure of new opportunities and the spirit of adventure drew them away from the steady income of pound-keeping toward the dynamic and unpredictable world once more of gold mining.
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| Victorian Gold License |
This transition from a secure position to the volatile realm of mining underscored the Gilbert's’ entrepreneurial spirit and determination. Their journey reflected a bold resolve to seize opportunities, no matter how uncertain, demonstrating their resilience and adaptability in the face of changing fortunes.
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| Victorian Gazette table of Pound keeper returns July 1851-November 1854. |
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| Gilbert's sister Eleanor's Wedding notice 1854. |
However, in the significant year 1854, the infamous miner rebellion known as the 'Eureka Stockade' erupted in Ballarat. During this time, twelve-year-old Johnny Gilbert, who had developed a reputation for being unruly and somewhat rebellious, decided to break free from his father's care and guidance whereby he embarked on a journey that led him to the town of Kilmore.
It was Kilmore where Johnny sought refuge with his married sister, Eleanor, and her husband, John Stafford. Eleanor and John Stafford had established their home in Kilmore.
Upon absconding, his father commented that Gilbert was not without parental affection; "was not destitute of affection." Whether his sister attempted to send young Gilbert home to Bulla is unknown. Kilmore was 25 miles north of Bulla. Eleanor and John had met on the ship 'Revenue' during its passage from New York to Australia, and they married on 23rd February 1854:
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| The Argus, 26th October 1854. |
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| Frank Gardiner as Francis Clarke. Early release from Cockatoo Island December 1859. |
Whether his audacious venture into gold mining yielded success or failure remains shrouded in uncertainty. What is certain is that Gilbert's path led him to the Ovens River goldfield, a once-thriving site that had begun to wane by the year 1858. Unfazed by the dwindling prospects, he pressed on, crossing the border into the untamed expanse of New South Wales.
Emerging from the depths of his journey, a hundred miles east of Beechworth, Gilbert found himself (rumoured) to have surfaced in Kiandra, nestled on the banks of the formidable Snowy River. This approximate timeline places his arrival around the years 1858 or 1859
In the pursuit of valuable insights, the businessman engaged in thoughtful conversations with a group of Americans hailing from Victoria. These seasoned individuals, well-versed in the ways of mining, shared their experiences and wisdom, offering a glimpse into the world of gold-seeking ventures. Their perspectives undoubtedly assisted the businessman's decision-making process as he meticulously assessed the feasibility of his proposed enterprise.
With aspirations of tapping into the thriving community of Kiandra, this enterprising individual sought to fulfill the needs and desires of the intrepid diggers who had ventured to this remote location in search of fortune. Through his interactions with the knowledgeable Americans, he aimed to glean invaluable knowledge that would shape the success and sustainability of his prospective store:
The remote nature of Kiandra, nestled amidst untamed wilderness, presented numerous challenges and hardships. The demanding physical exertion required for mining, combined with the unforgiving conditions, would have surely tested Gilbert's resilience and determination. It is conceivable that he, like many others, found the arduous realities of life on the diggings to be overwhelming.
Although the specific details of Gilbert's time in Kiandra remain elusive, it is reasonable to assume that the formidable combination of the remote landscape, harsh working conditions, and backbreaking labour led to his eventual departure from the area. The pursuit of gold in such an untamed frontier demanded unwavering dedication, and it is likely that Gilbert's, at 16, presence there was but a fleeting chapter in his adventurous life.
Speculation surrounding Gilbert and Gardiner's connection at Kiandra must be dismissed. The geographical separation between Cockatoo Island and Kiandra, combined with Gardiner's imprisonment during those years, makes it highly improbable for them to have had any prior knowledge of one another. The circumstances simply did not align for their paths to intersect before Lambing Flat, a location notorious for its gold rush activity.
While the romantic allure of linking these two figures in history may captivate the imagination, it is crucial to base our understanding on the available facts. The realities of time, distance, and Gardiner's incarceration undermine the plausibility of their acquaintance prior to Lambing Flat, thereby dispelling the notion propagated by some writers.
After bidding farewell to the untamed wilderness of the Snowy River region, Gilbert's presence was soon noted in Bathurst, located approximately 200 miles north. It was here that he found employment, albeit briefly, as a groom and reputed part-time jockey for the esteemed publican, Alderman John De Clouet, who presided over the Sportsman's Arms Hotel on Piper Street. De Clouet, affectionately known as 'Dublin Jack' in 1860, had garnered a well-deserved reputation as a highly successful racehorse trainer, with an impressive record of numerous victories to his name.
Gilbert a few years after ceasing his employment would cross paths once again with 'Dublin Jack'. However, this reunion would be of a rather contentious nature. In 1863, the audacious bushranger attempted to abscond with De Clouet's prized racehorse, Pacha. Dublin Jack, the resilient and resourceful trainer, found himself in a renewed acquaintance with Gilbert as he fiercely defended his beloved steed from the clutches of the brazen outlaw. At that time Mrs De Clouet offered to return the bible that Gilbert left behind given by his sister. Gilbert commented, "That is no good to me now, you had better keep it."
Embracing a different kind of adventure, Gilbert immersed himself in the challenging and demanding world of horsemanship. With his skilled hands and fearless spirit, he took on the task of taming wild horses and engaging in the vital work of tending to livestock on the various cattle stations dotting the area. Gilbert's knack for understanding these magnificent animals and his willingness to tackle the rugged tasks of stock work earned him a reputation as a capable and reliable hand.
As the region prepared to unveil its hidden gold treasures, Gilbert found himself engaged in the toil and rewards of stock work. Little did he know that the winds of change were soon to sweep through Murringo, ushering in a new era of gold mining that would undoubtedly shape his destiny once again.
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| Benjamin Morgan (b. 1849 - d. 1933) Private Source. |
Morgan's recollections shed light on Gilbert's prowess as a horseman, emphasising his ability to handle and ride horses with great skill and finesse. It is evident that Gilbert's reputation in the region extended beyond his mere presence as a stockman, as he left a lasting impression on young Benjamin Morgan, who remembered him fondly.
In the annals of history, John Gilbert would become a figure intertwined with tales of adventure and outlawry, but in Morgan's recollections, we catch a glimpse of the man behind the legend. Through Morgan's words, we come to know Gilbert as a slender figure, distinguished by his exceptional horsemanship and the nickname 'Happy Jack'. These insights offer a humanising touch to the enigmatic persona of John Gilbert, the stockman who would later carve his name into the annals of Australian folklore:
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| Lambing Flat. c. 1860's. |
The reverberations of the gold rush would disrupt the tranquillity of the pastoral landscape, forever altering the course of history. The alluring gleam of gold sparked a frenzied influx of prospectors, transforming the once-peaceful countryside into a bustling hub of activity. The subsequent gold rush at 'Burrangong Station' unleashed a whirlwind of change, attracting eager fortune seekers from near and far.
For stockmen like Gilbert, the newfound prosperity brought by gold mining would reshape their lives and the environment they had grown accustomed to. The tranquil existence on the cattle station would soon be overshadowed by the clamour and chaos of the gold rush. The lure of potential riches enticed men to abandon their previous occupations in search of the golden dream, leaving behind a transformed landscape in their wake.
The discovery of gold at 'Burrangong Station' marked a turning point, disrupting the serene routine of the stockmen and heralding an era of rapid transformation and uncertainty. The tranquil days of tending to cattle and the rhythms of the land would be forever altered as the glittering promise of gold held the region firmly in its grip.
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| The report of Gold at Burrangong. |
As they traversed the land, the observant American remarked upon the striking similarity between Lambing Flat and the goldfields he had previously worked in America. Intrigued by the prospect, he decided to conduct a small experiment. Gathering a handful of dirt using a spade and depositing it into a trusty Billy can, commonly employed for boiling water, he added water and carefully swirled the contents. To their astonishment, the water revealed a dazzling display of gleaming gold.
This serendipitous discovery unleashed an unparalleled frenzy that swept through the region, forever altering the fate of John Gilbert. The allure of gold and the ensuing excitement that gripped Lambing Flat became another step in the downfall of Gilbert. Drawn by the promise of untold riches, individuals from near and far descended upon the area, each vying to stake their claim and seize their share of the newfound wealth.
The gold rush that ensued at Lambing Flat would shape the course of Gilbert's life, entwining him with the chaos, lawlessness, and temptation that often accompanied such frenzies. The tantalising allure of gold would ultimately contribute to Gilbert's descent into infamy, leading him down a treacherous path that would forever cement his name in the annals of Australian history.
The discovery of gold at Lambing Flat swiftly drew a diverse multitude of individuals, spanning all social strata, to the burgeoning diggings. However, as gold fever gripped the masses, it also brought to the forefront a darker aspect of the times—the scourge of bushrangers. These opportunistic outlaws seized the chance to exploit the chaos, as the frenzy of gold-seeking and intoxicated miners flaunted their newfound wealth, providing ripe targets for their illicit activities.
Sheedy's remarkable find at Lambing Flat garnered significant attention, prompting an article in the local newspaper that outlined the astonishing reward bestowed upon him. The magnitude of this discovery surpassed even the renowned 1851 goldfield at Ophir, New South Wales, where Edward Hargraves had first sparked the Australian gold rush. The scale and richness of the Lambing Flat deposit stood as a testament to the immense wealth that lay hidden beneath the land.
As news of Sheedy's find spread, it fuelled the fires of ambition and desire within the hearts of countless individuals who flocked to Lambing Flat in search of their own fortunes. However, the allure of gold also served as a magnet for bushrangers, who preyed upon the vulnerability of the intoxicated miners, flaunting their riches and carelessly discussing their windfalls. These lawless bandits saw an opportunity for easy plunder, further adding to the sense of lawlessness and danger that permeated the goldfields.
The unfolding events at Lambing Flat demonstrated the transformative power of gold, both in terms of its capacity to enrich individuals and attract hordes of fortune seekers, as well as its unintended consequence of inciting criminal activity. The vast wealth unearthed in this new goldfield elevated the region's significance, overshadowing even the renowned Ophir goldfield, while simultaneously casting a shadow of lawlessness that would impact the lives of all those involved, including John Gilbert himself:
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| Committal of Michael Sheedy, 1851. |
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| William Fogg & Mary Fogg. Penzig |
The news of Michael Sheedy's extraordinary gold finds at Lambing Flat spread like wildfire, attracting a multitude of merchants and tradespeople to the burgeoning goldfield. Many embarked on arduous journeys, trekking on foot from Victoria or braving the rugged paths across the Blue Mountains from Sydney. The demand for seats on coaches skyrocketed, as eager individuals sought to reach Lambing Flat and stake their claim in the golden bonanza.
The rapid influx of people created a vibrant and bustling scene at Lambing Flat virtually overnight. General stores, hotels, and makeshift shanties sprang up, transforming the landscape into a thriving hub of commerce. These establishments, catering to the needs of the burgeoning population, became lucrative enterprises akin to gold mines in their own right. Bullock drays, in great numbers, transported vital supplies and necessities for the gold-seeking populace.
Amidst the flurry of businesses, one establishment stood out in particular—a butcher shop operated by a dubious character named William Fogg. However, Fogg's notoriety paled in comparison to his partner, a charismatic and infamous career criminal who went by the name Frank Gardiner released from Cockatoo Island Prison Sydney in December 1859. Unbeknownst to many, Gardiner was actually Francis Christie, an escaped prisoner from Victoria's Pentridge Prison. His 'Ticket of Leave' status was rescinded as an absentee from Carcoar added to his aura of mystery and danger.
Gardiner, with his persuasive charisma and criminal background, played a pivotal role in transforming John Gilbert from a spirited troublemaker into a hardened bushranger and cold-blooded killer. It was under Gardiner's influence and guidance that Gilbert would embark on a treacherous path of lawlessness, forever altering the course of his life.
The convergence of these individuals—Sheedy's gold finds, the rise of Lambing Flat as a bustling center of commerce, and the shadowy partnership between Fogg and Gardiner—created a volatile mix that would propel Gilbert into the realms of bushranging, where violence and infamy awaited him.
Frank Gardiner surfaced at Spring Creek Lambing Flat as the rush gathered pace. Gardiner and Fogg had been long-time acquaintances from the Fish River/Wheeo area when Gardiner appeared on the scene in 1851 following his escape from Victoria. Both men were close to another notorious bushranger John Peisley with whom Gardiner was connected with in Highway Robbery:
Gardiner, formerly the companion of the bushranger Peisley, was still at large, robbing right and left, and the terror of the road.
With the influx of thousands of eager fortune seekers descending upon Lambing Flat, the butcher shop operated by the unscrupulous duo of William Fogg and Frank Gardiner quickly transformed into a veritable gold mine. However, the riches they reaped were not from the precious metal but rather from the ravenous appetites of the miners. The demand for beef was insatiable, presenting a lucrative opportunity for Fogg and Gardiner.
To capitalise on this profitable market, the pair devised a scheme. Fogg would take charge of running the butcher business, ensuring a steady supply of meat for the hungry miners. Meanwhile, Gardiner undertook the task of procuring the necessary cattle. However, the origin of these cattle was often shrouded in questionable circumstances. It was widely rumoured that Gardiner acquired the livestock through dubious means or other illicit activities.
The butcher shop became a thriving enterprise, feeding the voracious appetites of the gold-seeking populace. While the miners pursued their dreams of wealth, Fogg and Gardiner capitalised on their hunger, amassing a different kind of fortune through their beef sales. Yet, the shadow of their questionable practices loomed over their success, tainting the legitimacy of their enterprise.
The partnership between Fogg and Gardiner, built on deceit and opportunism, epitomised the lawlessness and moral ambiguity that characterised the era. As they profited from the miners' hunger, their ill-gotten gains added another layer to their reputation as cunning and unscrupulous individuals. Little did they know that their alliance would extend beyond the realm of the butcher shop, ultimately entwining them in a web of criminality that would have far-reaching consequences.
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| James Chisholm (1806 - 1888) Courtesy NSW Parliament. |
As droves of men and families flocked to the burgeoning tent city from every direction, driven by the hope of striking it rich, eighteen-year-old John Gilbert found himself caught up in the fervour of the gold rush. The electrifying news of the precious metal discovery Gilbert embarked on his own quest for fortune. Determined to seize the opportunity presented by the gold rush, Gilbert made the decision to abandon his current employment with the influential Chisholm family.
The Chisholm family, known for their influence and standing in the community. However, the allure of the goldfields proved too irresistible for the young Gilbert to ignore. Fuelled by the prospect of a fresh start, he resolved to part ways with the Chisholm's and join the swelling ranks of gold seekers who converged upon the tent city.
Gilbert bid farewell to his occupation, ready to embrace the opportunities that awaited him on the goldfields. Little did he realise that this decision would set him on a tumultuous path, one that would shape his destiny in ways he could scarcely imagine.
A fellow roustabout and horse-breaker at the time Mr Robert 'Chipp' Thompson wrote that Gilbert was a crack buck jump rider who met resistance from the Chisholm's while attempting to quit.
"I used to do a good deal of horse-breaking with Gilbert, I had finished up breaking horses, and Gilbert left me."
With men fleeing for gold, reliable labour was a vexing problem for the large station owners who resisted to letting their hired hands quit. Gilbert remarked to Thompson that he would take any measures to gain his discharge:
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| James Chisholm Stations. The Squatters Act. |
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| John Chisholm. (1819-1899) |
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| Frederick Chisholm 1831- 1892. |
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| A typical Goldfield butcher's shop. c. 1862. |
Once more, Benjamin Morgan afterwards wrote regarding Gilbert's employment by Gardiner:
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| Mrs Betsy Toms. c. 1920. Courtesy NLA. |
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| Lambing Flat. c. 1862. Courtesy Young Historical Society. |
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| Captain Battye. c. 1870's. Courtesy NLA. |
DEAR SIR,— You will oblige me by causing the enclosed advertisement that I have had inserted in the Lambing Flat papers, to be made known throughout the Western Districts. For during the short time I have been in this quarter, circumstances have come to my knowledge, that convince me that mobs of cattle are slaughtered on this goldfield, chiefly brought from the Macquarie, Bogan and Lachlan. I am determined to do my best to check it if I cannot effectually stop it, and I only ask this trifling assistance from the proprietors of stock stations, who think it is worth their while to curb this growing evil.
Yours
E. M. Battye, Captain
Assistant- Superintendent of Police.
Police Camp, Young.
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| Map showing O'Meally's Shanty, the haunt of Gilbert. Courtesy Des Sheil. |
Released as Fogg went bondsman and put up £400, Gardiner fled back to Fogg's on the Fish River. However, after shifting his swag with a tip off, John Gilbert shot through, taking refuge in the centre of criminal activity in the Lachlan district. The Weddin Mountains.
Gilbert new mate, John O'Meally's family, kept a hotel of notorious reputation in the Weddin Mountains. The pair stood bar at the O'Meally tavern situated on Emu Creek. The Inn was beautifully positioned, for the passing road was the main thoroughfare between Lambing Flat and another newly discovered gold field at Forbes. It was said of the Weddin Mountains at that time it was infested with thieves:
The Weddin Mountains were then the head-quarters of the most villainous gang of horse and cattle duffers in the country.
The relationship between John O'Meally and John Gilbert was marked by a fiery dynamic, characterised by frequent disputes and clashes. Their interactions often escalated into squabbles where each would accuse the other of lacking gameness, or bravery in facing challenges.
The spirited nature of their relationship was a testament to the strong personalities and competitive spirits of both O'Meally and Gilbert. Their fiery exchanges and disagreements were fuelled by their individual desires to prove their mettle, establish dominance, and assert their courage in the face of adversity.
These disputes likely arose from the intense and perilous circumstances they found themselves in as they delved deeper into a life of bushranging. The dangers and risks they encountered would undoubtedly test their resolve and bravery, leading to moments of conflict and tension between them.
The accusations of lacking gameness (Courage) served as a reflection of the high stakes and the need to prove oneself in the dangerous world of bushranging. In a life fraught with peril and constant scrutiny, the willingness to face challenges head-on and display fearlessness held significant importance for bushrangers like O'Meally and Gilbert.
Their fiery relationship and disputes highlighted the complex dynamics and individual personalities that shaped their experiences as bushrangers. These clashes, while indicative of the challenges they faced, also underscored the unwavering determination and fierce spirit that propelled them through their notorious careers. John O'Meally was described in 'The Biography of a Reliable Old Native', by John Maguire, 1907:
O'Meally was born and reared there, and I have known him since he was a baby. He was tall, smart, and a splendid horseman.
John O'Meally stood between 5ft 10in and 6ft, with reddish-brown hair or Auburn colour, and as in the style of Gilbert, O'Meally wore his hair long. He had grey eyes and a look of a constant scowl. Another commented on O'Meally that he was;
What in the vernacular of the bush is known as 'flash', there were six sons and three daughters. The sons were all 'six-footers' and as straight as pine saplings.
O'Meally had earlier been accused of rape with his cousin Patrick Daley and another cousin Edward Fox with whom several crimes were committed. However the rape allegation was a case of mistaken identity as two others were charged and found guilty of the offence.
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| Extracts from the Burrangong Courier of Davis' encounter with police and MaGuinness' shooting. |
By all accounts, John Gilbert was described as a remarkably handsome young man, bordering on possessing feminine features. His physical appearance at 5ft 10in slim and agile with a shock of blonde hair, light grey laughing eyes, round nostrils, thick lips garnered attention, and he took great care in maintaining a stylish and well-groomed image. Known for his fashionable attire and meticulous attention to detail, Gilbert had a penchant for adorning himself with various trinkets and accessories.
Beyond his striking looks, Gilbert possessed a keen intellect and a quick, humorous wit. His ability to charm and entertain others with his carefree attitude and lighthearted nature earned him a considerable amount of popularity, particularly among the local ladies. Many women were captivated by his charm and found themselves enamoured with him, leading to romantic relationships and a legion of admirers.
When Gilbert took breaks from his bushranging exploits, it was widely observed that he enjoyed indulging in the company of these adoring women. The allure of his charismatic personality and dashing appearance made him an object of fascination and desire.
Gilbert's charisma, sense of style, and amorous escapades added an intriguing layer to his persona. These qualities, combined with his audacious bushranging activities, further solidified his status as a legendary figure of the Australian Bushranger;
Perhaps was doing the Lothario business amongst the "pretty horse-breakers" of the Bland and Weddin.
The police, in advertisements, offered a reward of £500, stating that he presented in the style of a fast young squatter or stockman and was particularly flashy in his address and appearance.
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| NSW Police Description. |
His ability to convincingly pass as a woman in disguise speaks not only to his physical attractiveness but also to his resourcefulness and adaptability. The disguise allowed Gilbert to exploit societal expectations and biases, using them to his advantage as he outwitted those who sought to apprehend him.
In describing Gilbert's allure, John Maguire, a contemporary figure of the time, drew comparisons between Gilbert and John O'Meally. Both men possessed a magnetic appeal, captivating others with their charm and captivating personas. Gilbert's attractiveness and charismatic presence, combined with his audacious escapades as a bushranger, cemented his status as a figure of legend and intrigue.
According to Haddon's recollections, Gilbert's mastery of disguise allowed him to immerse himself in the vibrant atmosphere of the racecourse, evading detection and scrutiny. Gilbert's uncanny ability to adopt a feminine guise enabled him to navigate the crowds undetected, enjoying the exhilaration of the racing events while remaining hidden in plain sight.
Haddon's fond memories painted a picture of Gilbert as an enigmatic figure, effortlessly slipping into different roles and personas to outwit authorities and blend in with the local community. This facet of Gilbert's character showcased his resourcefulness, adaptability, and audacity in defying conventional expectations.
While the details of these encounters may have faded with time, Haddon's recollections painted a vivid picture of Gilbert's skill in using disguise to his advantage, further cementing his reputation as a cunning and elusive bushranger.:
Witnesses, such as John Maguire, discovered firsthand the lightning-fast speed and dexterity that Gilbert possessed when engaged in a bare-knuckle fight. Gilbert's lightning-quick strikes and nimble footwork proved to be a formidable combination, leaving his opponents, in this case Maguire stunned and often overpowered. He possessed a raw strength and a determination that made him a force to be reckoned with in physical altercations.
Gilbert could use his fists well, as I knew to my sorrow, for we had had a big encounter over at the Flat, and I got the worst of it.
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| Police Gazette, July 1862. |
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| Frank Gardiner 1874. |
Meanwhile, as Gilbert lay low, the police were ferreting Gardiner out. Having been set free by Battye, Gardiner disappeared, resurfacing at Fogg's farm, Fish River, 100 miles away in June 1861.
A warrant for his arrest as a 'Ticket-of-Leave' absconder from Carcoar was issued, two mounted troopers were dispatched by the presiding magistrate Beardman to apprehend Gardiner.
Constable Hosie and Middleton discovered their man, and after a brief fight, where both officers were wounded after cornered Gardiner opened fire. Gardiner rushed the wounded Middleton but was overpowered and severely beaten with the officer's silver headed riding whip. Handcuffed and guarded by Hosie who had been shot in the head. Middleton rode off for assistance. Consequently Gardiner, through a bribe given by Fogg to Hosie, shot through. However, Gilbert was reputed to have helped in Gardiner's freedom. It was later disproved. Peisley was also named but it was also disproved.
However, it should be noted that Catherine 'Kitty' Brown was a married woman, and her connection to Gardiner added a layer of complexity to their relationship. She was not only married but also the sister to the wives of two local squatters, Ben Hall and John Maguire, who were acquainted with Gardiner. This familial connection further intertwined their lives and contributed to the unique dynamics at play.
Despite Kitty's marital status, she captivated Gardiner with her beauty and became a significant presence in his life. Their bond, forged amidst the rugged backdrop of the Australian frontier, represented a complex entanglement of emotions and loyalties.
The story of Frank Gardiner and Catherine 'Kitty' Brown serves as a reminder of the intricate relationships that unfolded in the midst of the bushranging era. Their connection, despite the challenges and complications it posed, added a touch of romance and human emotion to the narrative of bushrangers' lives, highlighting the multifaceted nature of the individuals who inhabited this notorious chapter of Australian history. Kitty would follow Gardiner to the ends of the earth.
Following Frank Gardiner's narrow escape from the police, he quickly resumed his activities as the notorious "King of the Highwaymen," accompanied by his trusted associates John Gilbert and John O'Meally. Together, they embarked on a series of bushranging operations across the Bland, Lachlan, and surrounding districts, asserting their dominance over the Queens Roads.
While Gardiner recuperated, John Gilbert took on an active role, roaming extensively and seizing opportunities for hold-ups wherever they presented themselves. He maintained a connection with the O'Meally shanty at Arramagong, often coming and going alongside his fellow roughneck, John O'Meally. Gilbert and O'Meally collaborated on various robberies, with their first victim being a local employee of Mr. Curren who was bailed up near the O'Meally shanty.
During this encounter, O'Meally, known for his rough demeanor, subjected the individual to physical aggression as a means to expedite the surrender of both his own and Mr. Curren's money. O'Meally also took the opportunity to appropriate the victim's boots for himself.
These early acts of robbery and aggression demonstrate the ruthless nature of the bushranging activities carried out by Gilbert and O'Meally under the guidance and leadership of Frank Gardiner. Their exploits would continue to unfold, leaving a trail of notoriety and fear in their wake as they operated outside the boundaries of the law, challenging authority and preying upon unsuspecting victims.
The collaboration between Gilbert, O'Meally, and Gardiner formed a formidable alliance that posed a significant threat to the peace and security of the regions they targeted.; 'The Maitland Mercury and Hunter River General Advertiser' Saturday 22nd February 1862:Retreating to O'Meally's bar served as a means to potentially deflect suspicion and provide an alibi if authorities were to investigate their involvement in the criminal activities. By mingling with other patrons and engaging in typical bar activities, Gilbert and O'Meally could create an impression that they were simply ordinary individuals socializing and enjoying themselves, rather than being involved in illicit pursuits.
Such practices were not uncommon among bushrangers during that time, as they sought to navigate the fine line between criminal activities and maintaining an appearance of normalcy. Establishing an alibi was crucial for their evasion of the law and ensuring their continued freedom to carry out further robberies and acts of bushranging.
The choice to retreat to O'Meally's bar demonstrates the calculated nature of Gilbert and O'Meally's actions, highlighting their awareness of the need to protect themselves from suspicion and potential law enforcement scrutiny. This practice allowed them to maintain an air of innocence while continuing their illicit activities as bushrangers. There presence appears from reports to be well known to the police but for reasons unknown were never acted on regardless of the strong information nor the descriptions given by victims. John Maguire writes:
Taking advantage of the gold rush frenzy and the influx of fortune-seekers, Gilbert, O'Meally, and Gardiner targeted unsuspecting travellers on these crucial routes. Armed with their guns and a reputation for daring, they struck fear into the hearts of those unfortunate enough to cross their path. Their robberies were characterised by swift and calculated actions, often leaving their victims stunned and helpless.
The brazen nature of their operations challenged the authorities and instilled a sense of unease and insecurity among the gold fields. The notoriety of Gilbert, O'Meally, and Gardiner grew as their robberies escalated in frequency and scale, solidifying their positions as some of the most infamous bushrangers of the time:
Amidst the revelry, the victims would ultimately be stripped of their possessions. The seemingly jovial atmosphere masked the underlying threat and coercion exerted by the bushrangers. This distinctive approach to their crimes further added to the notoriety and audacity of Gardiner's gang, leaving an indelible impression on those unfortunate enough to experience their exploits firsthand.
The combination of terror and unexpected celebration during these encounters exemplifies the complex nature of bushranging during that era. It showcased the cunning tactics employed by Gardiner and his gang, as they manipulated the psychological state of their captives while ruthlessly seizing their belongings at the end of a revolver:
Their acquaintance can be traced back as early as 1860 when Gilbert arrived at Murringo and began breaking horses. It was during this time that he became well acquainted with Ben Hall. In the company of Hall, Gilbert took part in expeditions across the Lachlan Plains in search of unbranded cattle, commonly referred to as Duffers.
The partnership between John Gilbert and Ben Hall would go on to leave an indelible mark on the history of Australian bushranging. Their collaboration in numerous criminal endeavors, including the infamous Eugowra Gold Robbery, showcased the combined skills, audacity, and camaraderie that defined their infamous careers as bushrangers:
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| NSW Police Gazette April 1862. |
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Great Eastern Hotel, Forbes.
Hangout of John Gilbert, Hall, Gardiner & Co. c. 1862.
N.L.A |
In early 1862, former publican of the Great Eastern Hotel, Forbes and reputed Gardiner confidant, Mr Charles MacAlister, later penned in his memoirs, "Old Pioneering Days in the Sunny South," of Gilbert's shenanigans in Forbes circa 1862:
The great Sir F. Pottinger (then head of the police) was riding by at the time with one of his troopers, and he and his subordinate rushed into the bar, leaving their horses tethered to a tree near by. While the police were inside quelling the row, someone made off with their horses, and we doubt if they were ever recovered. Johnny Gilbert, it was said, had a hand in the business; but whoever took them reduced the awful Pottinger to the level of an old vituperative fish-fag and he threatened several bystanders with summary punishment if the "prads" were not returned.
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| R.B. Mitchell letter condemning Hall's acquittal. |
Gilbert was in due course referred to as Gardiner's Lieutenant following the capture of Gardiner's good mate and current Lieutenant, John Davis at Brewers Shanty, Little Wombat by Police officers Lyons, Kennedy and Sanderson. The encounter and gunfight saw Davis severely wounded, shot four times, but miraculously survived the gunshots. Davis was then tried and sentenced to death. Luckily for Davis, his sentence was commuted to life. However, with Davis captured. Gardiner's bushranging continued. The Golden Age 4th June 1862:
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| NSW Police Gazette May 1862. |
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| NSW Police Gazette June 1862. |
However, the modest proceeds from the robberies weren't sufficient for Gardiner to abandon his life as a bushranger. His ambition was to abscond from NSW with his lover, Mrs. Brown. Consequently, he needed funds, and he turned his gaze towards the often unsecured and regularly scheduled gold escorts.
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| Frank Gardiner & John Gilbert. c. 1862. |
It was with Gardiner that the idea of taking the escort originated and took a fortnight to prepare for the attack. For some months before Gilbert and O'Meally were Gardiner's constant companions, and they had been talking about it together. They were getting full of the petty bailing-up business, and wanted to make a grand haul and then quit the country.
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| "..make way for the Royal Mail." |
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| Escort Coach. The photograph was taken in 1917 by W H Burgess JP. (See Authors Note.) |
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| Wheogo Hill, view looking South-East towards Grenfell with Weddin Mountains in the distance right. Sanderson approached the hill from Ben Hall's home to the extreme left and out of sight. Courtesy Peter C Smith's, Tracking Down the Bushrangers'. |
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| Escort Rock. View towards the coach's approach. Authors Photo. |
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| Hanbury Clements c. 1881. Private Source. |
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| Charles Sanderson. c. 1896. |
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| Daniel Charters c. 1862. Coloured by me. |
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| Charles D'Arcy Gilbert, with daughter. c. 1870s Never before published. Private Source. |
Following the discovery of the hideout at Wheogo Hill and Gilbert's decision to leave Gardiner to fend for himself, it was revealed that Gilbert's actions had caused a strain and hostility between the two bushrangers. As a result, it's believed that they parted ways and never interacted again, as referenced in an article from a Queensland paper in 1864:
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| NSW Police Gazette, 18th June 1862. |
The press clambered for news of the sensational events over the report of the gold recovery. Every journal jockeyed for the most spectacular information or eyewitness accounts of the police's efforts pursuing the bandit's. News the entire populace hungered for. One headline ran, THE LATE ESCORT ROBBERY. THE ROBBERY OF THE ESCORT. — RECOVERY OF 1500 OUNCES OF THE GOLD:Newspapers continued sourcing the best accounts in an effort to out do each other in printing every morsel of information from any source over the now infamous Lachlan Gold robbery. Another newspaper ran the below story. Late Escort Robbery:
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| Sir Frederick Pottinger. c. 1863. |
However, the much-anticipated success of the NSW police had the population of Forbes turn out in force lining the streets to greet the triumphant return of the hard-pressed and weary troopers. Laden with the spoils of their dogged pursuit, which included the unbridled joy of the black-tracker Hastings. Some papers refer to the tracker Charlie later found dead after Ben Hall was shot to pieces. However Hasting is widely believed to be the escort tracker.
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| John Gilbert. |
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| John Gilbert by Patrick William Marony 1858-1939. NLA. |
John Gilbert's brother Charles later wrote in a letter published in November 1863. An account of the journey, including the fateful events when the three men came into contact with the returning Sir Frederick Pottinger's party.
Unfortunately, some portions of Charles's letter to the Kyneton Guardian's editor are vague and misleading possibly in fear of self incrimination. Notwithstanding, Charles was fully aware of John Gilbert's participation at Eugowra and their accompanying mystery rider. Charles Gilbert elusively states in this extract from the 'Newcastle Chronicle and Hunter River District News' 25th November 1863:
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| R.B. Mitchell. c. 1882. |
The outcome was reported in the 'Sydney Morning Herald' on 16th July 1862. This true account speaks for itself. John Gilbert first identified himself as Charles Turner:
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| Gilbert's Ride |
Upon reaching the Weddin Mountains, Gilbert wasted no time and quickly assembled a rescue party to aid his brother Charles and Henry Manns, who were being held as prisoners by the police. Aware of the limitations of the police's mobility and their lack of preparedness for an attack, Gilbert devised a plan to intercept the troopers along the anticipated route of their travel.
The rescue party, likely consisting of individuals such as O'Meally, Ben Hall, and potentially Patrick O'Meally and other associates connected to the gold heist, mounted fresh horses and retraced Gilbert's earlier route. Riding through the night in anticipation of freeing Charles Gilbert and Henry Manns, the gang eventually arrived at Sproules Timoola Station. There, they held the household captive and readied themselves with their weapons for the impending encounter with the troopers.
This daring rescue operation exemplified the resourcefulness, strategic thinking, and audacity of John Gilbert and his associates. Their ability to cover long distances swiftly, plan effectively, and execute intricate maneuvers illustrated the prowess of the bushranging gang as they defied authority and sought to liberate their comrades from custody:
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| Temora (Timoola) Station Homestead. |
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| Mr Aymer's, Quandary Station c. 1890. |
The party remained at Timoola until the return of Lyons from Quandary, whose safe arrival was a source of intense delight to them, and proceeded thence under the guidance of Mr Sprowle, who escorted them across the bush to Narraburra, Mr Beckham's station, where they arrived about half-past two in the afternoon, and were hospitably received. From this point Sir Frederick Pottinger at once forwarded a dispatch to Captain Battye, at Burrangong, on Thursday, informing him of their position and requesting a reinforcement, and with a very creditable degree of promptitude the Captain, with a body of ten troopers, arrived on Friday evening, by a cross-country route of fifty miles. On the following morning, the party thus reinforced, took their departure for Forbes, and, as it is hardly necessary to state, were uninterrupted in their course thither by bandits or bushrangers.²¹
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| Marker commemorating the Gunfight opposite Mrs Sproules Station. My Photo, 12/3/20. |
Authors Note: To visit the approximate area of the gunfight at Sproules Timoola Station, take the Goldfields Hwy from Temora for 9.6 km's turn right at the Flying Spitfires Temora sign. Travel roughly 2.5 km's on Treagers Lane (un-signposted). The road is very rough but with care can be taken by car. The Commemorative Marker is on the right of the track, fenced off alongside a creek, and easy to spot. (Sproules Lagoon) Sproule's old station (Sprowle's) homestead was opposite the Marker. Congratulations to those in Temora who erected the Marker and their help in directing me there.
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| Det Lyons in later life. Penzig. |
The horse made for the bush, whither Lyons followed it, minus his revolver, and being fired at by the bushrangers. Simultaneously with the attack upon Lyons, four ruffians wheeled out of their ambuscade with military precision, in front of Sir Frederick Pottinger and Mr Mitchell, and, with a similar exclamation, blazed away at them. One of them, apparently the leader of the gang, addressed himself principally to Sir Frederick Pottinger, saying, "I know you, you bl---y ba---rd, Pottinger: " I'll put a pill through you, you ba---rd," &c. Sir Frederick fired at this fellow three times, Mr Mitchell, at his side, being also fully occupied with their assailants, and discharging shot for shot. The odds against them were fearful, for besides their superior number, the bushrangers were provided with a large store of fire-arms, and no sooner discharged the contents of one piece than they threw it down and took up another. Sir Frederick and Mitchell, immediately after each discharge of their revolvers, galloped a little distance off, receiving the fire of their enemies as they retreated. The whole of the affray lasted about five or six minutes. Sir Frederick and Mitchell found their ammunition all but expended, Sir Frederick having but two charges left, and Mitchell only one. There was now a lull in the firing, and Mitchell, believing the assailants had also exhausted their ammunition, proposed to charge them. Sir Frederick, however, with praiseworthy discretion, having the gold upon his horse, advised a retreat. Accordingly, they turned their horse’s heads, and galloped away as hard as they could, to the station they had left in the morning, known as Little George's, some twelve or thirteen miles distant, and which they reached in from thirty to forty minutes. Here they remained, till evening, recruiting, and devising plans for a future procedure. They expected to find Lyons seriously wounded, if not dead; but had the satisfaction of learning that he, like themselves, having miraculously escaped unhurt, had called there, and was gone out with Mr Sprowle in search of them.
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| Sir Frederick Pottinger. |
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| Captain Battye. c. 1880's. |
By the 14th July 1862, Sir Frederick Pottinger returned to Forbes with the gold recovered from Manns totalling 213oz. Unfortunately, the cash of £135, which Detective Lyons carried, was lost to the bushrangers. However, within days of the affair, detective Lyons dispatched his account of the battle to police headquarters in Sydney addressed to Inspector Harrison regarding their actions in response to the attack is as follows;
Forbes, Lachlan Diggings,
P. LYONS, 'Detective, 1st Class.
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| NSW Police Gazette, 1862. |
Only seventeen days had passed since the infamous bushranger, Gilbert, had managed to free his brother and their companion Manns. A daring escapade that had turned the trio into an object of fascination and dread in equal measures.
This scenario had subsequently inspired an unnamed correspondent, commonly referred to as the 'Wag', for his sarcastic wit, to pen a rather thought-provoking piece in 'The Empire' newspaper. His biting sarcasm and incisive commentary, turned his attention to the alleged gun battle that had transpired between the bushrangers and the police.
His perspective on the incident was one of scepticism, subtly hinting at a narrative far removed from the official reports. With reports of bullets flying haphazardly, the Wag found it suspicious that the only casualty from the entire ordeal was Lyon's horse. The absence of any other injuries or damage was a curious anomaly that did not escape his keen eye.
In his article, the Wag applied his signature style, lacing his words with a heavy dose of sarcasm that teetered on the edge of mockery. He expertly drew attention to the disparity between the reports of the gun battle and the actual results, adding a layer of humour to the strange situation.
Yet, the Wag's jests had a deeper purpose, serving as a subtle yet potent criticism of the newly established police system. It had been a mere four months since the police system's inception, and already it was riddled with stories of inefficiency and incompetence, as highlighted by the curious case of the gun battle.
The Wag's portrayal of the incident, while amusing to many, underscored the deeper issues plaguing the nascent police system. The lack of substantial results from such a reportedly fierce gun battle suggested a lack of competence within the ranks, an issue that the Wag pointedly brought attention to.
This incident and the Wag's commentary on it, served as an early indicator of the shortcomings of the new police system. It added to the growing voices of discontent and raised questions about the efficacy of the newly implemented police force. Little did the Wag know, his satirical take on the incident would set the tone for a broader conversation about law enforcement reform in the days to come. 'The Golden Age' Thursday 31st July 1862:
Another very remarkable feature in these extraordinary encounters is the unlimited quantity of firearms possessed by "the enemy." We are told that on the occasion of the rescue of the "smart young men with boots and spurs, close-fitting breeches, and turn-down collars", "the enemy wheeled out of their ambuscade, with military precision," "each armed with a double-barrelled gun and a brace of revolvers;" and that "the odds against the police were fearful, for, besides being superior in numbers, the bushrangers were provided with a large store of firearms, and no sooner discharged the contents of one piece than they threw it down and took up another!" Also, that "the band had, in addition to the guns and revolvers with which they commenced the attack, a large bag full of loaded guns!". These are stated to have been charged with slugs, consisting of ounce bullets cut into four parts; and yet at the conclusion of the fight- volley after volley having been fired from them by men "taking deliberate aim"-nobody is hurt! In all seriousness, the state of the southwestern interior is a disgrace to Australian civilisation. The notorious fact that thousands of people, otherwise well-disposed, look on the police with dislike, and treat them with contempt, is sufficient to show that there is something radically wrong in the whole system. The people have no other feeling than abhorrence for the desperadoes who are setting the laws at defiance. Still, nevertheless, they will neither succour nor assist arrogant, overbearing, self-sufficient officials, decked out in semi-military costume, many of whom figured in the famous retreat from Burrangong, (Chinese riots of 1860) and who, whenever occasion has arisen, have failed to display that contempt of danger which is calculated to merit the respect of the rough and ready miners and others of which the digging population is mainly composed.
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| Johnny 'Happy Jack' Gilbert |
Adding an element of victory to their escape, the men managed to acquire new horses during the skirmish, compensating for the loss of their original mounts. However, the gold that Sir Frederick Pottinger had held onto eluded them despite their threats. After their daring venture, the men dispersed, each to his own course.
John Gilbert and his brother Charles continued bravely on their intended journey to Victoria. They found their way to 'Coliban', a goldfield situated on the fringes of Bendigo, lying along the historic Coliban River. Notably, this area was the former childhood home of the infamous Frank Gardiner. Here, they were reunited with their elder brother, James Gilbert. Meanwhile, Henry Manns made his way back to his old stomping grounds near Borrowra, NSW. However, his freedom was short-lived; by December 1862, he was apprehended at Murrumburrah and executed in March 1863.
Laying low for several weeks, the Gilbert brothers made contact with their family members in the Taradale district, located some 25 miles from Bendigo. They then set sail from Port Phillip Bay, heading to the South Island of New Zealand and aiming for the Otago district of the Dunstan Goldfield, located approximately 135 miles west of Dunedin.
This relocation was driven by a concerted effort by John's family, who wished to convince him to renounce his bushranging lifestyle. They hoped that this new chapter on the Otago Goldfields would represent a fresh start for all of them.
The story of their escape from Sir Frederick Pottinger, their homecoming in Victoria, and their subsequent move to New Zealand's South Island was vividly detailed by Charles. His account offers a fascinating insight into their adventures and the motivations that spurred their decision to abandon their homeland for a new beginning.
After five to six weeks in the Bendigo area, where no doubt, John saw his father, sister and extended family, who all resided within a day or two's ride from the Coliban, a reunion which would see John Gilbert admonished by his father who resided at Taradale. A letter was written by his father regarding his son's wayward path:
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| Steamship, City Of Hobart. c. 1862 |
Departing their father's home and all preparations completed, the brothers arrived in Melbourne at the end of August 1862, booking passage for the 9 to 10-day voyage to Dunedin's Port Chalmers. As Gilbert prepared to sail for New Zealand, the Escort Robbery in NSW was still major news, and rumours of the culprits' whereabouts were still rife in the daily newspapers.
Moreover, articles on Gardiner referenced his presence in South Australia, masquerading as a minister of cloth. Next, at one of his sister's residences in Portland, Victoria or even that, he fled the country to California. Speculation on John Gilbert's whereabouts persisted. Reported in the Victorian Police Gazette in October 1862, stated:
He is reported as having gone through Meroo Creek towards Victoria, and to be about Kilmore where he has been before.
Just where were they?
The reward for Gilbert of £500 was still a fortune in 1862, and the brothers would have had to take great caution in their movements. However, John Gilbert's journey to New Zealand was recalled in 1916 with an exciting twist. Mrs Sarah Musgrave lived at Burrangong Station, Lambing Flat, in the 1860s. A time when Burrangong Station was a favourite retreat of the bushrangers. Mrs Musgrave reminisced of her time there and her encounters with Gilbert and O'Meally. As such Mrs Musgrave provided a fascinating account of John Gilbert's trip to New Zealand, claiming in the following conversation with Gilbert recounting his move to New Zealand. The twist was that John Gilbert made the crossing disguised as a woman.
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| Sarah Musgrave c. 1920's. Courtesy Junee Historical Society. |
Gilbert's use of a woman's disguise was also highlighted by John Maguire. Maguire state:
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| S.S. Gothenburg c. 1862 |
When Gilbert shot through, ships sailing to New Zealand became more frequent as the reports of gold littered the Australian newspapers. The news instigated another mass exodus of men from the Victorian and New South Wales diggings. The Gilbert's soon joined the men awaiting passage, using Melbourne's crowds for anonymity. Fortunately for John, his daring deeds in New South Wales were not as well known in Victoria.
John Gilbert flushed with cash from the proceeds of the Escort robbery. Which amounted to £435 ($32,ooo) and the proceeds from the gold that had no doubt been fenced off. Enabled John Gilbert and his two brothers to travel comfortably to New Zealand, possibly under their mother's maiden name, Wilson. In late August 1862, Dunedin's shipping traffic was brisk, with several ships ferrying the three Gilbert brothers. They included The Aldinga, The City of Hobart, The Gothenburg, and The Ringdove. All possible berths for Gilbert's travel and all ships sailed from Melbourne in the final week of August 1862, with full complements of passengers.
Note: A search of the ship passenger lists unfortunately only cover 1st class cabins, and an examination of passengers travelling as two men and a woman of the same surname is noted, but too numerous to decipher, as well as with so many arrivals identification documents not required.
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| Shipping Advertisement 1862. |
A good many parties came up from Port Chalmers in boats, in some cases stepping directly onboard one of the steamers for Waikouaiti, all of which were we believe well loaded. Of course, wet weather could never deter your true steady-going miner, much less a hot enthusiast who starts eagerly, if not happily, because he is ignorant of the privations he will have at present to undergo while tramping up the country; but certainly the bright, brisk, invigorating weather we enjoyed yesterday seemed to add wonderfully to the spirits of those who plodded in strings, swag-laden, out of the city.
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| Dunedin Harbour 1862. |
The Gilbert brothers required mining supplies, even though Charles had previously worked on the Dunstan goldfield. Therefore, it would not have been unusual to have a lodged claim ready to return to and then have purchased the proper supplies needed to commence the well-worn track to the Dunstan field. How much equipment the brothers brought with them has yet to be discovered.
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| 'Dunstan Goldfield' 1862. Unidentified Artist. |
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| Top, Dunstan Hotel, Clyde c. 1862. Hotel 2017. My Photo. |
However, how successful the brothers were in finding gold is unknown, but many fellow diggers had plenty of good luck. From all accounts, John Gilbert maintained his disguise. He continued in the appearance of a female, at least in public. Nevertheless, how long this facade was acted out appeared to be only for a short period. Unsurprisingly, women were a scarce commodity in most gold-diggings. Those women who were present and unattached, were often tarnished with the unsavoury title of 'loose'. This branding was commented on in a letter from Mr James Fisher defending their honour:
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| James Redmond Gilbert. c. 1870's |
Consequently, John Gilbert departed New Zealand. Returning to Dunedin's port in his brother Charles's. Here the pair parted company. The New Zealand diggings and her ports continued to be inundated with steamers and windjammers, filled with more miners ready to strike it rich on the Otago Goldfields. Therefore, many ships were returning to Victoria and other Australian ports with few passengers. Accordingly, John Gilbert took a return passage to Australia in early January 1863. However, his brother Charles indicated that John's departure was under the auspices of John Gilbert's poor health and not his attractive disguise:
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| Dunstan on the Clyde River c. 1862. Courtesy CHS |
As John Gilbert returned to familiar surroundings, Sydney newspapers canvassed the 'Special Commission Trials' starting in February 1863 on bushranging. The commission included the trail of those involved in the now-infamous escort robbery at Eugowra of June 1862. When the trials began with the whole of the colony including John Gilbert closely followed the proceedings that included the evidence of informers Daniel Charters and Tom Richards. Charters succumbing to the pleas of his family went turncoat for the pardon on offer and Richards for the large reward.
Consequently, the evidence implicated John Gilbert as one of the main instigators of the robbery, but Gilbert may have been somewhat amused at Charters' evidence, when he deliberately avoided implicating Ben Hall and John O'Meally. With Gardiner gone Gilbert assumed a quasi leadership of the Weddin Mountains mob and dived straight back to where he left off leading robberies around the Lambing Flat, Bland, Marengo and Burrowa area.
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| NSW Police Gazette March 1863. |
On the 19th of February, the government gazetted the reward for Gilbert and again described his appearance in the newspapers;
For Gilbert the age-old system of communication prevailed. Colloquially known 'Bush Telegraphs'. These old-style runners or messengers and town informants were in a position to have their fingers on the pulse of police activities and were able to pass the word swiftly for a reward. Gilbert himself had filled this role earlier for those such a Gardiner. These messages conveyed police movements, persons travelling with large sums of cash, mail coaches with valuables on board, and a myriad of other pertinent intelligence, including those assisting the police. Information paramount in the prosecution of the robbery of the lonely traveller:
Back riding the range and tracks of the Weddin and Pinnacle Mountains. Gilbert saddled up once more with O'Meally, Ben Hall and newcomer O'Meally's first cousin Patsy Daley. In February they struck again at Wombat close to Lambing Flat, sticking up the general-store of Mr Meyers Solomon. 'The Sydney Morning Herald' Saturday 28th February 1863 reported:
However, before the pillaging of Meyers Solomon. John O'Meally was involved in the shooting death of a German hotelier Adolph Cirkel at the Stoney Creek diggings. O'Meally, in company with another long believed to be John Gilbert, attempted to rob the Miners Rest Hotel, whereby in the process, Mr Cirkel walked in, surprising the two assailants. A struggle ensured between Cirkel and O'Meally for the revolver. As O'Meally arm-wrestled Cirkel, his accomplice called out, "Shoot the bastard." Instantly O'Meally pulled the trigger, Cirkel dropped dead.
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| NSW Police Gazette March 1863. |
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| Percy Scarr. c. 1905. Private Source. |
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| NSW Police Gazette April 1863. |
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| Nye, Darlinghurst Gaol April 1863. |
By May 1863, John Gilbert had returned to the Weddin Mountains and Burrangong country and resumed the life that would make his name notorious. This as the moment when Gilbert became Ben Hall’s “right-hand man,” though the two were not always together. In the newspapers of the period, Gilbert often appears not as a mere follower, but as one of the active organisers of the robberies — bold, talkative, well mounted, and quick to use violence when resisted.
STICKING UP AT LITTLE WOMBAT. --- We are informed upon good authority, that three ruffians, one of whom is supposed to be Johnny Gilbert, stuck-up and robbed about fifty Chinamen and some Europeans, yesterday morning, between eight and nine o'clock. Information having been sent to the police at Murrumburrah, one of the force stationed there immediately started for the camp here, and gave information to the police authorities, when a number of the mounted troopers were at once despatched with the black tracker in pursuit of the desperadoes. For the ends of justice, we hope they will be apprehended without delay.
By the winter of 1863 Johnny Gilbert was no longer merely a young associate of Gardiner’s circle. The newspaper reports from Burrowa, Marengo, and Young show him moving into a more independent and conspicuous role: mounted on stolen bloodstock, acting with precise intelligence, leading armed men, and carrying out robberies with a confidence that suggested both experience and protection.
The first scene was Burrowa. At about seven o’clock one morning, Harry Wilson, jockey and trainer for Allen Hancock, was exercising Hancock’s racehorse Jacky Morgan near the Burrowa Police Barracks. The horse was no ordinary mount. He was a local racing favourite, known in the betting circle and due to run that very day. Gilbert rode up wearing a poncho. Wilson recognised him at once, having known him for years. Gilbert demanded the horse. When Wilson refused, Gilbert drew a revolver, placed it close to the jockey’s head, and gave him the choice: dismount or take the consequences.
Wilson pleaded with him, saying, “For God’s sake, Johnny, don’t ruin a poor fellow.” The appeal failed. Gilbert took Jacky Morgan, along with Wilson’s new jockey saddle and bridle, private property only purchased the day before. Then he cantered away, leaving the jockey to carry the news to Hancock.
The outrage was remarkable not only because of the value of the horse, but because of where it occurred. Gilbert had taken a prized racer almost within sight of the police barracks. A messenger rode hard into town, his horse panting, and delivered the alarm at the police station. The order was immediately given for boot and saddle. Men were armed, horses equipped, and the police rode out toward Burrowa. Yet the damage had already been done. Gilbert had chosen his moment, struck cleanly, and vanished.
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| Allen Hancock |
The correspondent drew the obvious conclusion: Gilbert could not have acted without information. Someone must have known when Jacky Morgan would be exercised, where Wilson would ride him, and how little protection he would have despite the proximity of the police barracks. The “bush telegraph” was therefore already working for Gilbert. His boldness rested not only upon horsemanship and revolvers, but upon eyes and ears in the district.
That same morning, about two hours after taking Jacky Morgan, Gilbert appeared again near Marengo. He rode up to two drays near the Calabash turn-off and ordered a carrier to lower a case of gin and hand over several bottles. When the carrier hesitated, Gilbert threw open his poncho, exposing a belt bristling with revolvers. He then gestured toward the bush, implying that he had armed companions nearby. Whether they were actually there or not, the threat worked. Gilbert understood the power of suggestion. A single man, properly armed and properly feared, could multiply himself in the imagination of his victim.
The Marengo correspondent believed Gilbert was now at the head of the Weddin and Abercrombie band, while Gardiner led another detachment elsewhere. However, Frank Gardiner had long departed the Lachlan for Queensland with Kitty Brown in 1862 weeks after the Eugowra Gold zrobbery.
The speculation captures how Gilbert was being read by contemporaries. He was no longer being described merely as one of Gardiner’s boys. He was appearing as a leader in his own right — the man who seized racehorses, commanded carriers, and moved with a private intelligence network around him.
Furthermore, in May 1863, newspapers reported that Charley Gilbert had been arrested in New Zealand, at Otago, on a warrant and brought back before the court, where he was remanded to Sydney. The notice stated that he had been identified as one of Gardiner’s accomplices in the Sydney escort robbery and described him as brother to the notorious John Gilbert, for whose apprehension a reward of £500 was still offered.
The public scene of Charles’s return was itself revealing. The report described him as a tall, powerful, determined-looking man, who looked around the court with marked unconcern, apparently flattered by the crowd’s desire to see one of the alleged escort robbers. That detail gives the episode a theatrical quality. The colony had turned Eugowra into a spectacle, and Charles Gilbert, whether guilty, innocent, or something between, was made to stand in public as one of its living relics.For Johnny Gilbert, Charles's arrest was more than a family embarrassment. It showed that the Eugowra robbery had not ended when the gold was divided or when some of the gang escaped. Its consequences pursued brothers, associates, receivers, and suspected accessories across colonial borders. New South Wales police could not catch Johnny, but they could reach into Otago for Charles. The same family name now appeared in two parallel stories: Johnny riding under arms in New South Wales, and Charles being carried back from New Zealand to answer suspicion over the great escort robbery.
The timing sharpened the contrast. In May and June 1863, Johnny Gilbert was stealing racehorses around Burrowa, robbing stores near Young, and beginning to emerge as a leader in his own right. At the same time, Charles was being dragged back toward Sydney under the shadow of Eugowra. One brother was returning to the road; the other was being returned to the law. The colonial press treated them as part of the same criminal family drama.
The evidence against Charles remained less direct than the evidence against men such as Manns, Bow, and Fordyce. Manns was ultimately hanged after the Special Criminal Commission; Bow and Fordyce had their death sentences commuted. Charles Gilbert’s case sits in a more ambiguous space. He was suspected, named, arrested, and publicly associated with the robbery, but the contemporary evidence is tangled by aliases, imperfect identifications, and the evasions of witnesses who used Christian names rather than surnames.
That ambiguity is important. Charles Gilbert should not be treated simply as a proven escort robber unless supported by a specific conviction record. He is better described as John Gilbert’s brother, also known as Darcy, arrested at Otago and returned to New South Wales on suspicion of complicity in the Eugowra escort robbery. His case illustrates the long reach of the police pursuit after Eugowra and the way the robbery contaminated everyone close to Johnny Gilbert.
For Johnny, Charles's arrest was part of the wider pressure building around him in 1863. He was no longer just a young rider from Gardiner’s world. His name carried a reward, his family was under scrutiny, his brother had been seized across the Tasman, and his own movements were being watched by police and bush telegraphs alike. Yet instead of retreating, Johnny stepped further into notoriety. As Charles was brought back from Otago, Johnny was mounting Jacky Morgan and riding into the next stage of his bushranging career. Charles was released and migrated to the USA.
The first clear burst of activity came around the Young and Marengo district in early June. A report from the Marengo correspondent, dated 4 June 1863, described two stores being “gutted” on the day of the Young races: Mr Chard’s store at Spring Creek and Mr Herbert’s Red Shirt Store. The timing was shrewd. Most of the police were attending the races, leaving the stores exposed. The robbers were described as four well-mounted and armed men, each leading a packhorse, and “Lieutenant Gilbert in person” was said to be at their head, mounted on the stolen Burrowa racehorse Jacky Morgan. At Chard’s, resistance was offered, and Gilbert reportedly fired point blank, one ball passing close to the man’s skull before another shot was fired. The raiders then packed selected goods and rode away.
These early June robberies already show the pattern that would define Gilbert’s year. He was not merely taking cash. He was helping strip country stores of the practical materials needed by mounted bushrangers: clothing, supplies, weapons, ammunition, and packable goods. Newspapers also increasingly personified the group around him, using phrases such as “Gilbert’s gang” or “Lieutenant Gilbert,” suggesting that his notoriety was rising independently of Hall’s.
The violence soon escalated. Later compiled newspaper chronologies record that on 21 June Gilbert and Lowry shot and killed the miner John McBride at Duffer Gully, near Burrangong.
Now Johnny Gilbert’s bushranging had moved beyond the theft of horses and the plundering of stores. The violence that always lay beneath his audacity now came into the open where the miner John McBride was shot during an encounter with Gilbert and Lowry, though the inquest evidence itself described them by appearance rather than by name.
On the Sunday morning, about eight o’clock, two mounted men rode to the place of Margaret Sinnet, a widow living at Duffer Gully. They asked for spirits, then for tea. She gave them each a mug, and during the exchange began to suspect who they were. When she asked whether they had come from Lambing Flat, they replied that they would “take care” not to let anyone in there — a remark that made her look more closely. One of the men opened his coat, and she saw that his belt was lined with revolvers. Both men had holsters on their saddles. They were not disguised, and Sinnet believed she would know them again.
After leaving her place, the two men rode toward Lambing Flat. Sinnet watched them until they reached a hut occupied by Mrs Beck. There she saw smoke and heard gunfire. More than five shots were fired. The men rode about, crossed the road more than once, and then dismounted. Shortly afterwards, Sinnet saw men carrying another man into Mrs Beck’s hut. When she went over about half an hour later, she found John McBride lying on a bed, groaning and badly wounded.
The fullest account of the confrontation came from Alfred Lablonde, a miner from the Twelve Mile Rush. He had been coming home from the Flat between half-past nine and ten o’clock when he encountered two armed horsemen about two hundred yards from where McBride lay. They stopped him and other diggers, warning them that if they had money they had better hand it over, or they might be served as they had served a “bravado” whom they had just shot in the leg and left lying by a tree. One of the men was dark, with whiskers and moustache, riding a tall chestnut horse. The other was fair, without hair on his face, wearing a cabbage-tree hat and carrying a large single-barrelled pistol.
When Lablonde reached McBride, he found him lying near a tree, close to the hut. McBride was pale, exhausted, and bleeding heavily. His pockets had been turned inside out. He said the men had robbed him of five or six shillings, all the money he had with him. He also said that, had there not been two of them, they would not have taken his pistol. They had come upon him from both sides, leaving him no chance. He had fired five shots at them before he was hit.
Other men told Lablonde that they too had been stuck up by the horsemen. McBride, seeing what was happening, had left the road and gone into the bush, firing at the robbers. They returned fire, and a short fight followed. McBride was struck in the thigh. His boot was full of blood, and blood was on the ground around the tree where he had fallen. He complained of cold in his feet and asked for the wounded leg to be bathed constantly with warm water.
Dr Henry Wilkinson, a medical practitioner at Young, was called to Duffer Gully about noon. He found that the ball had passed through McBride’s right thigh, entering on the outer side several inches above the knee and coming out lower on the inner side. The shot had narrowly missed the femoral artery and nerve, passing only about a quarter of an inch behind them. At first Wilkinson did not regard the wound as immediately fatal. He checked the bleeding with a compress and silk handkerchief, gave brandy and water, and left instructions for further care.
During the night McBride became delirious. The following day his mates asked whether he could be removed to the hospital. Wilkinson did not approve of the move, believing him better where he was, but the men said there was little accommodation and that they could not continue attending him there. Wilkinson reluctantly consented. McBride was placed in a spring cart, but he died on the road before reaching safety.
The post-mortem showed that the wound, though not directly severing the great vessels, had been sufficient to cause death when combined with shock to the nervous system. The inquest jury returned a verdict that McBride had died from the effects of a gunshot wound inflicted by one of two armed men by whom he had been attacked and robbed.
The jury added a sharp rider. In their opinion, the Executive Government deserved severe censure for failing to devise effective and stringent measures to suppress bushranging, which they described as rampant in the district. That rider is as important as the verdict itself. McBride’s death was not treated merely as an isolated killing. It was evidence of a wider collapse of security around the goldfields: armed men riding openly, robbing travellers, firing on those who resisted, and vanishing before the law could reach them.
For Gilbert’s biography, the Duffer Gully affair marks a darkening of the record. In May he had stolen Jacky Morgan with theatrical boldness near the Burrowa police barracks. In early June he had led the plundering of stores near Young, mounted on that same stolen racer. But at Duffer Gully the performance turned lethal. McBride resisted, fired back, and was shot down. Whether Gilbert fired the fatal shot or rode beside the man who did, the affair placed him within a killing that changed the tone of his 1863 campaign. The bold young horse-thief and store-robber was now associated with bloodshed.
The same chronologies place Gilbert and O’Meally in a run of late-June and early-July robberies: the Forbes and Young coach near Bogolong, Coupland and Howard at Main Creek, Mr Emanuel near Young, the Sydney mail near Goulburn, and stores and public-houses at Junee. These lists are retrospective rather than immediate reportage, but they fit the broader contemporary picture of Gilbert and O’Meally operating as a fast-moving pair before the larger Hall combination fully formed.By late July, Gilbert and O’Meally had carried their audacity into Carcoar. The attack on the Commercial Bank at Carcoar was one of the earliest daylight attempts on a bank in the colony.
At noon on Thursday, 30 July 1863, two horsemen entered Carcoar with a plan as audacious as it was simple.
John Gilbert and John O’Meally did not gallop into town with revolvers raised or masks drawn across their faces. They rode directly to the Commercial Bank, dismounted in the street and fastened their horses outside. Then they walked into the bank as ordinary customers.
Carcoar was not an isolated roadside settlement. It was an established township with police close at hand and people moving through its central streets. To attempt a bank robbery there in the middle of the day required either extraordinary confidence or extraordinary recklessness. Gilbert and O’Meally possessed both.
They had already announced their presence on the road. Before reaching Carcoar, the pair stopped a traveller somewhere between Blayney and the town and relieved him of three pounds and his watch. Yet there was nothing hurried in their approach to the bank. According to the first detailed account, published by the Bathurst Times and reprinted in Sydney’s Empire, the men tied their horses and entered with the composure of men conducting legitimate business.
Inside stood the teller, Mr Parker.
One of the strangers produced a cheque and placed it before him. It was heavily blotted and suspicious in appearance. Whether it had been deliberately made difficult to read or merely served as a prop, it achieved its purpose: Parker bent his attention to the paper and began examining it closely.
The deception ended at once.
While Parker scrutinised the cheque, one of the men drew a revolver and levelled it at his head. He was ordered to remain still and silent or have his brains blown out. The transition was startling—from a routine banking transaction to an armed seizure within the space of a breath. Parker was trapped behind the counter, apparently at the mercy of the two men before him.
But the bushrangers had already attracted attention.
Mr MacDonald, the bank manager, had been standing farther along the street speaking with Mr Harrison, a shoemaker. He had seen the two strangers arrive and disliked their appearance. Once they entered the bank, his suspicion sharpened. MacDonald broke away from his conversation and walked back towards the building to investigate.
He reached the doorway at precisely the critical moment.
From the threshold, MacDonald heard the threat directed at Parker. He stopped rather than enter. One of the bushrangers saw him hesitate and, with remarkable calmness, invited him to “step inside.”
MacDonald declined.
He turned and ran into the street to raise the police.
That movement broke the bushrangers’ control of the room. With their attention divided between MacDonald’s flight and the teller behind the counter, Parker acted. He suddenly dropped out of sight beneath the counter, where the bank kept a loaded revolver.
Two shots rang out.
Parker was not attempting to shoot the robbers. The contemporary report described the shots as an alarm—a violent signal to the town that something was wrong inside the bank. Their effect was immediate. Whatever Gilbert and O’Meally had intended to do next—secure the staff, reach the bank’s money or hold the building against interference—was now impossible. MacDonald was running for the police, pistol shots had sounded in the main street, and every moment increased the likelihood that armed men would close around them.
The robbery collapsed before the robbers had taken anything.
Gilbert and O’Meally abandoned the enterprise, rushed from the bank and made for their tethered horses. They mounted and fled through Carcoar before the alarm could become an effective pursuit. Police followed shortly afterwards, but the bushrangers had gained enough distance to escape.
The town was left, as the newspaper reported, “all in commotion.” The attempt had lasted only minutes. Its startling character lay partly in its violence, but even more in its setting: two notorious bushrangers had entered a functioning bank at noon, presented a fraudulent cheque and attempted to convert an ordinary transaction into an armed robbery before the eyes of the town.
Their failure was not the result of a large police guard or a planned defence. It turned upon three quick decisions. MacDonald trusted his suspicion and returned to the bank. He refused the bushrangers’ invitation to enter and instead ran for help. Parker, once the robbers’ attention shifted, dropped below the counter and fired the alarm shots. Together, those actions destroyed the few moments of surprise upon which the entire enterprise depended.
Contemporary reports were initially cautious about the identities of the two men. The Bathurst Times account stated that, from the descriptions supplied, they were believed to be Gilbert and O’Meally and were thought responsible for both the bank attempt and another robbery committed later that day. Subsequent chronologies likewise attributed the Carcoar affair to them.
Their flight from Carcoar did not end the day’s violence.
Later that afternoon, the same two men rode leisurely into Caloola and entered the store of Stanley Hosie. There they displayed the coolness that had deserted them only when the alarm sounded at the bank. Both were said to carry four revolvers. With several people present, they emptied approximately £36 from the till and selected silk dresses, boots, shoes and other goods, explaining that the articles were intended for “their people.”
Hosie, unwilling to watch his property disappear without protest, challenged either robber to put down his weapons and settle possession by a fair fight. The proposal amused them. One declined with the observation that they did not conduct business in that manner. The bushrangers then took two horses from Hosie’s stable, loaded them with the stolen goods and departed before effective pursuit could be organised.
The gang’s confidence was tested sharply on 6 August, when Gilbert, O’Meally, and John Vane attacked the Carcoar mail coach near the Waterholes, about four miles from Carcoar. The coach carried prisoners suspected of being bush telegraphs, escorted by Superintendent Morrisett and several constables. The bushrangers came down on the coach at speed, O’Meally taking the front while Gilbert and Vane rode at the sides. They shouted “bail up,” but the escort resisted. A running gunfight followed. Vane held somewhat aloof, while Gilbert and O’Meally pressed the attack with conspicuous horsemanship. Constable Sutton was wounded by O’Meally, and Gilbert’s horse was struck. Gilbert was reported as saying that, had their ammunition not been running short, they would have followed the police “to h—ll” and fought it out.
That August coach fight is important in Gilbert’s biography because it reveals his fighting character. He was not only a comic or theatrical figure at inns and balls; he was willing to close on an armed police escort and sustain fire at short range. The same report also shows the police beginning to understand the “bush telegraph” problem. The prisoners being conveyed were suspected informants or assistants of the bushrangers, and the attack may have been intended in part to rescue them. Gilbert’s bushranging was therefore already embedded in a wider rural support system.
Through September the gang expanded into its most famous form: Gilbert, John O’Meally, Ben Hall, John Vane, and Micky Burke. Their raids became larger, more theatrical, and more humiliating to the authorities. At Mount Macquarie, near Carcoar, three troopers sent specially to capture bushrangers were themselves stuck up, tied to a tree, stripped of their jackets, and mocked before being released. The incident was remembered as a symbolic inversion of authority: the police, sent to hunt the gang, became the gang’s captives.
The second raid on Hosie’s store at Caloola showed the punitive side of Gilbert’s company. Reports said Hall, Gilbert, O’Meally, Burke, and Vane handcuffed Hosie and his men using handcuffs taken from police the day before, then ransacked the store, destroyed goods, and made clear that the visit was punishment for information Hosie had allegedly given to the authorities. Court evidence later stated that Gilbert and O’Meally searched the parlour and cash box, and that Gilbert threatened Hosie not to go for the police. This was not random plunder. It was retaliation against perceived cooperation with the law.
At Grubbenbong, or Grubbenbong near Carcoar, the gang visited the house of John Loudon. They arrived at night, called themselves police, and then forced entry. Shots were fired through the door before the household submitted. The men were handcuffed, the house was searched, and supper was ordered. Yet the report also preserves one of the strange contradictions of Gilbert’s conduct. When smoking inside became disagreeable to the women, Gilbert suggested going outside so as not to annoy the ladies. This mixture of armed violence and affected courtesy recurs throughout the newspaper accounts of Gilbert.
From Grubbenbong the gang moved to Mr Rothery’s place at Clifden, about fifteen miles from Carcoar. Rothery’s sons saw them coming and prepared resistance, but the household ultimately submitted. Gilbert, Hall, O’Meally, Vane, and Burke dined, drank champagne and brandy, joked with their prisoners, selected horses, saddles, and bridles, and then left, saying they were bound for Canowindra. During the meal Gilbert reportedly proposed Mr Rothery’s health and expressed the hope that his sons might be gazetted sub-inspectors — a mocking compliment to men who had been ready to fight.
The move to Canowindra gave Gilbert’s bushranging its most theatrical expression. The gang entered the town, searched houses and persons for cash, took clothing and money from traders, and then settled at Robinson’s hotel. Gilbert paid for tea and for a ball, asked a young lady to play the piano, and joined a night of forced festivity that ran until daylight. Constable Sykes, himself a prisoner of the occasion, was made master of ceremonies at Hall’s suggestion. Gilbert kept the company laughing with jokes at the expense of the police. The whole scene was robbery converted into performance: the town held under arms, yet made to dance.
October carried this theatrical insolence into Bathurst itself. On a Saturday evening, about half past seven, Gilbert, O’Meally, Hall, Burke, and Vane rode into the heart of the town and attempted to stick up a jeweller, Mr McMinn, in William Street. Gilbert and O’Meally entered the shop while the others waited outside, but the screams of women raised the alarm. The bushrangers retreated, galloped through the streets, fired a shot in the air, and escaped by manoeuvring past the police pursuit. The episode had little profit but enormous symbolic force. Gilbert and his companions had shown themselves in one of the colony’s principal inland towns and escaped.
Later in October came the attack on Mr Keightley’s place at Dunn’s Plains, near Rockley. This was one of the defining moments of the 1863 gang. Keightley resisted from his house and shot Micky Burke, who died shortly afterwards. The gang threatened retaliation and demanded a ransom for Keightley’s life. Contemporary reports emphasised the pleading of Mrs Keightley, whose intervention saved her husband. Hall and Gilbert were said to have been moved by her appeal, and the ransom was fixed at £500. Gilbert’s role here is important because it shows him at the hinge between vengeance and calculation: one of the armed men who might have killed Keightley, but also one of those involved in converting revenge into ransom.
The gang was already beginning to fracture. Vane surrendered in November under the influence of Father McCarthy, and his later evidence provided much of what was known about the gang’s internal history. Vane said he had fallen in with Gilbert and O’Meally and been drawn into their crimes. His surrender removed one of the younger members of the group and confirmed that the moral and physical pressure of the campaign was telling even before the final disasters.
Gilbert, Hall, and O’Meally nevertheless continued. In early November they appeared again at Canowindra, arriving at Robinson’s hotel around half past one in the morning. This time the party was smaller. They said Vane had left them and that they felt safer with fewer men. Hall entered with two revolvers, while Gilbert and O’Meally stood by. They drank, took port wine and Old Tom gin, offered a £5 note that Robinson could not change, and warned him not to mention the visit because they wanted to “clear out” quietly. The tone was different from the earlier Canowindra occupation. The swagger remained, but the gang was now more guarded.
Soon afterwards, near Eugowra, Gilbert, Hall, and O’Meally narrowly escaped police pursuit. Draymen recognised Gilbert and greeted him by name, and Gilbert ordered breakfast and horse feed. Seven troopers approached, and Gilbert gave the alarm: “To saddle!” Hall’s horse became bogged, and Gilbert and O’Meally drew up beside him, each with revolvers in hand, ready to cover him. The police came within about twenty yards and fired, but missed. Hall freed his horse, and the three escaped. The episode shows Gilbert’s loyalty under pressure: he did not abandon Hall when Hall’s horse failed.
The decisive blow came at Goimbla on 19 November 1863. Hall, Gilbert, and O’Meally attacked the station of David Henry Campbell, a known opponent of bushrangers. The motive was generally understood as vengeance and plunder. The raiders fired on the house and set fire to a hay-filled shed or barn, using the blaze to illuminate their target. Campbell and his wife Amelia resisted. Amelia fetched arms and ammunition, while Campbell fired by the light of the flames. O’Meally was shot dead. Hall and Gilbert fled, leaving their companion behind.
Goimbla changed Gilbert’s position. Micky Burke was dead, Vane had surrendered, and O’Meally was killed. The large, swaggering gang of September and October was gone. What remained was a smaller and harder combination, with Gilbert and Hall at its centre. In biographical terms, this was the point at which Gilbert ceased being merely one brilliant figure in a crowd of bushrangers and became Hall’s principal surviving fighting companion.
December found Gilbert and Hall still active, but operating in a more strained and dangerous fashion. Near Bowning and Binalong, reports said Gilbert, Hall, and two others held roads for long periods, bailing up dozens of travellers. Henry Morgan and his wife were stopped on the Binalong road; Gilbert appeared in a “sporting” mood, exchanged hats with Morgan, placed Mrs Morgan in a poncho, took money and clothing, and detained them for hours. Other teams were stopped, breakfast was commandeered, and horses were used to spell the bushrangers’ mounts.
The same Bowning reports also show Gilbert’s menace. When the carrier Lake was stopped, Gilbert put a revolver under his chin and threatened him, took money, then tossed back a small coin. This was the dual Gilbert of the newspapers: at one moment comic, gallant, and theatrical; at the next, violent and humiliating. By the end of 1863 he had become one of the colony’s most recognisable bushrangers, not only because of the number of crimes attached to his name, but because each report seemed to add a new role — shooter, rider, robber, dancer, wit, bully, avenger, and survivor.
Thus, from May to December 1863, John Gilbert’s career accelerated with extraordinary speed. He began the period raiding stores around the Burrangong and Young districts, often in company with O’Meally. By July he was attacking a bank at Carcoar. By August he was fighting police escorts on the road. By September and October he was part of the full Hall gang, humiliating troopers, punishing informers, dining in captured homesteads, and turning Canowindra into a captive ballroom. By November, after Keightley, Vane’s surrender, and Goimbla, the gang had been bloodily reduced. By December, Gilbert remained at large with Hall, still bold enough to command the roads, but increasingly one of the last survivors of a collapsing company.
The Legend of Ben Hall movie is a pure film gem, much like being there in 1860's, the countryside so gorgous it appears "photoshopped" and its crazy how the actors without sugar coating anything could make the purely criminal characters so....lovable. Amazing movie which many will miss, poor things.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful web site and so much research and detail about Ben Hall and his accomplices Johnny 'Happy Jack' Gilbert, John O'Meally etc. Ditto Harold Missamore (above) comments. I borrowed the DVD from my local library on the recommendation of Johnny Gilbert's ggg niece. Proud to have Johnny Gilbert in our family tree. A loveable rogue who went wayward.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much. Still a lot to do. Have his niece contact me if you wish.
Deletewhy would you be 'proud'.. He shot and killed a police trooper. That's nothing to be proud of.
DeleteIve been fascinated by Ben Hall and his exploits since the BBC series many years ago, and collected a few books about him on a visit to Australia seven years ago. Just recently watched the Legend of Ben Hall movie mentioned above and was struck by how close the actors chosen resembled the Ben Hall and his accomplices, and how close the story seemed to be to the actual truth. Great site, thankyou, Tony Matthews (no relation!)
ReplyDeleteCongratulations on your awesome website. Constable John Bright of the NSW Mounted Police 1864-1866 Carcoar was my 3x great grandfather and I do believed he is the police officer who shot and killed John Gilbert.
ReplyDeleteThank you, still have far to go. However, my research continues and I will arrive at your esteemed relatives great contribution to ending Gilbert's career and almost John Dunn. Mark Matthews.
DeleteMegan, thankyou for the information of your 3x great grandfather Constable Bright who shot and killed Johnny 'Happy Jack' Gilbert. I will pass it on to his 3x ggg niece.
DeleteSue, my husband was a former NSW Police Officer for 30 years. Maybe my choice of word 'proud' offends but how many family genealogists find convicts, law breakers in their family history?
Keep searching Mark!