The Last of the Bushrangers: An Account of the Capture of the Kelly GangHare, Francis Augustus
History
The Last of the Bushrangers: An Account of the Capture of the Kelly Gang
Hare, Francis Augustus
Brigands and robbers -- Australia; Kelly, Ned, 1855-1880
The tracks in the mountains are made by the wild cattle, and I am sure
I often thought it a marvel that we did not roll down the sidlings we
crossed. One night we spent a terrible time. We had arrived at the foot
of a steep mountain, and I told the men to camp there, and fixed the
spot where my hammock was to be slung. I then took three men with me
and ascended the mountain. It was a fearfully wild place. I went up to
see if I could observe any signs of fire in the distance. We stayed on
the top of the mountain for an hour or two, and then descended; but we
had a terrible job to get back with our rifles in our hands. It was
pitch dark, and the difficulty of our position caused much amusement.
Every now and then one of us would come bump up against a rock, and we
would be calling to each other to ascertain whether we were keeping
together, and we were very doubtful whether we should find the spot
where the other men were camped. However, I had taken particular notice
of the hills as I went up, and if there is one thing I am proud of
being able to do more than another, it is being able to find my way
about the bush. I have been thirty years knocking about the country,
and I only once lost myself, and had to stay out all night, and that
was under very exceptional circumstances.
We got to the camp, had some tucker, and I jumped into my hammock,
which had been slung between two saplings, when two or three native
bears began to sing out in a most piteous manner, like children crying.
I stood this for a short time, and then called out to one of the men
to cut the tree down, so as to get rid of the bears. He did so, and I
fastened my hammock to the stump of the tree, and fell asleep. When I
awoke in the morning my rug was frozen, the country round was perfectly
white with frost, and the men told me the running water in the creek
close by was frozen.
One night in the Warby Ranges is forcibly fixed in my mind. We were in
one of the most favourite resorts of the outlaws, and were searching a
side of the mountain. The men were stationed at equal distances from
one another. I was very anxious to search all the gullies leading up
the mountain, so I took the lower position myself, the men being all
above me. They searched every nook and corner, behind all the rocks,
the scrub, and any place in which a man could hide.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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