In Bad Company, and other stories

'Call Cyrus Cable!' for the defence. As the long-legged, bronzed Sydney-sider lounged up to the witness-box, Bill's face, which had assumed a more hopeful expression, became distinctly irradiated. For this man was one of the shearers who had travelled down with him from Tandara, and had agreed to drop all connection with the Union and its revolutionary tactics. They had both been imprisoned at Poliah; had suffered wrong and indignity at the hands of the insurgents. How had he come up from the Darling, just in the nick of time? Bill didn't know, but if he had seen Dick Donahue outside of the Court he might have guessed.

'My name's Cyrus Cable, native of Bathurst. I'm a shearer in the season; have a selection at Chidowla, this side of Tumberumba. I know some of the men in the dock; saw them at Poliah when the row was on and the steamer was burnt.'

'Will you point out any of the prisoners that you can identify?'

'Well, there's Bill Hardwick, an old mate of mine—and fellow-prisoner, if it comes to that. It's dashed hard lines on him to be scruffed and gaoled by those Union scallowags, first for not joinin' 'em, and then locked up and tried because they ill-treated him and he couldn't get away. I call that a queer sort of law.'

The witness is requested to confine himself to answering such questions as are put to him, and not to give his opinion as to the law of the land.

'Do you identify any other prisoners?'

'Yes. I saw that beauty with the hobbles on, fire his gun at the crew on the boat twice; I saw him reload. He was one of the men as hustled Bill, and the rest of our mob that came from Tandara, into the tent and set a guard on us. I took notice of him then, and can swear to him positive.'

'Was the prisoner Hardwick with the rioters?'

'Yes, like me, because he couldn't help himself. I heard the President, as he calls himself—there he is, the t'other end of the "bot" (I mean the dock, but it's so like a branding pen)—say to that Janus Stoate, him as passed the wire with our names when we left Tandara—"Put a good man on each side of Bill Hardwick, so's he can't stir, and they'll take him for a Unionist and keep pottin' at him. What fun it'll be!" and he laughed. "I'll be behind him," says Stoate, "so he won't have no chance of boltin'." That's the way it was worked to bring Bill, as straight a chap as ever sharpened shears, into this steamer-burnin' racket.'

'How was it that you and your mates left your comrade in the lurch?'

'Well, we cleared as soon as the police came. The Union men bolted in all directions and left the free labourers to mind themselves. We thought Bill was comin' after us, and never missed him till we were miles away.'

'Did you not return to rescue him?'

'No fear! We thought the police might run us in for "aidin' and abettin'." It was every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.'

The witness was reprimanded for levity, and directed not to refer to the devil unnecessarily. In cross-examination he stated that he took particular notice of the man in irons, as he had repeatedly struck him and his mates with the butt-end of his rifle. Like the other rebels, he was very brave against unarmed men, but cut it when the police showed they meant business.

'Have you not a revengeful feeling against the prisoner Abershaw, the one who is (very improperly, in my opinion) brought into the Court in leg-irons?'

'Well, I've the feelings of a man, and I don't cotton to a cowardly dog who kept rammin' the butt-end of his gun into the small of my back, when I couldn't defend myself. But I'm here to speak the truth, and to get justice for an innocent man.'

'I suppose you were told that you would be paid your expense for attending this trial?'

'I got a Crown subpœna. So did Martin.'

'Who served it to you?'

'A police constable at Toovale.'

'Was anybody with him?'

'Yes, Dick Donahue. He told me and my mate, Martin Hannigan, that Bill Hardwick was to be tried at Wagga for burnin' the Dundonald and shootin' at the crew. "That be hanged for a yarn!" says I. "Fancy Bill, with a farm and a wife and kids, settin' out to burn steamers and kill people! Holy Moses! Are you sure he didn't rob a church, while he was about it?" But he said it was no laughing matter, and he might get three years in gaol. So of course we come, and would have turned up if we'd had to do it on foot and pay our own expenses!'

'Of course, your Honour will note this witness's evident bias?' said the counsel for the prisoners.

'I shall take my notes in the ordinary manner,' said the Judge. 'It is not necessary for counsel to suggest points of practice to a Judge before he addresses the Court at the conclusion of the evidence.'

'Your Honour will perhaps pardon me; I thought it might have escaped your notice.'

'I trust, Mr. Carter, that nothing escapes my notice in an important criminal case. Let the next witness be called.'

'Martin Hannigan is your name?' said Mr. Biddulph. 'You were at Poliah Camp on the 28th of August, were you not? Do you know the prisoners before the Court?'

'Some of them. I know Bill Hardwick, and the man with the leg-irons, but not his name. Yes; I know the one with the black beard—they called him the President.'

'Who called him by that title?'

'The shearers, or rioters, or loafers, whoever they were. They were six of one and half-a-dozen of the other, if you ask me.'

'Never mind answering what you are not asked. What did you see them do?'

'Well—Mr. President and his mob, all armed, made Bill and me and eight or nine other chaps that came down from Tandara, prisoners of war, in a manner of speakin'—"robbery under arms" I call it, for they boned our swags, our horses, our grub, and our pack-saddles. I found the horses, when they were boltin' from the police, or we should 'a never seen 'em again; two of us had to ride bareback. I seen that gaol-bird there—he's "done time," I'll take my oath—and another man shovin' Bill Hardwick between them towards the river-bank—one of 'em was puttin' a gun into his hand—swore he'd shoot him if he didn't carry it. I saw one of 'em fire at the boat. I'd not swear he hit anybody. I heard the "President" say, "We'll burn the bally boat; that'll learn 'em to bring 'scabs' down the river." I saw the steamer blaze up after the crew and free labourers was out. Then the police came, and Martin, my mate, and I cleared for our lives. We caught our horses in a bend and rode down the river to Toovale, when we got a non-Union shed, and wired in. That's about all I know.'

By the Crown Prosecutor.

'Your name is Martin Hannigan. Are you an Irishman?'

'No, nor an Englishman either. I'm an Australian, and so was my father. What's that to do with the case?'

'I thought you were rather humorous in your evidence, that's all. The Irish are a witty race, you know.'

'So they say. I've never been there. Anythin' else you'd like to ask me?'

'Only a few questions. When were you served with a subpœna to attend this Court, and where?'

'At Toovale, on the Lower Darling. The policeman came to the shed where Cable and I were working and served us. Dick Donahue came with him, and told us that Bill Hardwick was being tried with the other men for burning the Dundonald.'

'Didn't you know before? That seems strange.'

'Well, we were workin' hard to make up for lost time, by this strike foolishness, and we were too dashed tired at night to go in for readin' papers, or anything but supper and a smoke.'

'I suppose Donahue told you all about Hardwick's being arrested, and you had a talk over the case—what evidence you could give, and so on.'

'He didn't say much about evidence. He knew we was there, and seen all there was to see; might have felt something too, if a bullet had come our way—they were flying pretty thick for a few minutes. I seen that President chap fire once, and load again.'

'And that was all that passed?'

'Yes, pretty well all; we weren't "coached," if that's what you mean.'

'You swear that you saw that man fire, and load again?'

'Yes.'

'Did you see the free labourers?'

'Yes, forty or fifty; some looked damp, as they had been chucked into the river. Some had only their shirts on. They were stood up in a line, and counted like a lot of store cattle. They cleared off like us, when the police came, and the Union fellows bolted. We passed little mobs of them makin' down the river.'

'You swear you didn't see Hardwick fire his gun?'

'It wasn't his gun, and he didn't shoot.'

The sensational part of the trial was over; other witnesses were examined for the defence. They agreed in 'swearing up' for the prisoners before the Court, always excepting for Bill Hardwick. 'The other four men had exhibited great mildness, and a desire for peace. They had not seen the captain of the Dundonald assaulted; they saw the steamer on fire—they didn't know how it had started burnin'—might have been from kerosene in the cargo—it often happened. There was some shooting, but the crew of the steamer fired first. They didn't see any of the prisoners firing at the boat, except William Hardwick. Would swear positive that he had a gun, and loaded, after he fired every time—yes, every time. Saw no men thrown overboard. Some of them swam ashore, but they did it of their own accord.'

These witnesses broke down under cross-examination.

The Crown Prosecutor made a brief but powerful address to the jury, pointing out discrepancies in evidence, and the manifest perjury committed by the last witnesses. He trusted the jury would not overlook their conduct, and appraise their evidence at its true value.

The counsel for the defence, a well-known barrister, made a long and impassioned appeal to the jury 'to excuse the more or less technically illegal acts, which, he admitted, could not be defended. It was, however, in the line of "rough justice," the origin of which was a long series of capitalistic tyranny and oppression. They had suffered long from inadequate payment for their skilled labour, for shearing was no ordinary muscle work which could be performed by the mere nomadic labourer of the day. It required an apprenticeship, sometimes lasting for years. It was difficult, and exhausting beyond all other bush labour, having to be performed at a high rate of speed and for long hours, unknown to the European workman. The food was of bad quality, the cooking rude. The huts in which they had to dwell, worse than stables, nearly always. They had besides to travel long distances, expensive in time lost and wayside accommodation. For all these reasons, they had come to the conclusion that the question of pay and allowances, with other matters, required reconstruction, and failing to obtain a conference with the Employers' Union—a combination of squatters, merchants, bankers, and plutocrats generally—they had used the only weapon the law allowed to the workers of Australia and had organised a strike.

'The labour leaders had in all cases counselled moderation and constitutional action for the redressing of their wrongs. But—and it was by none more regretted than by the labour organisers themselves—rude and undisciplined members of the Union had resorted to personal violence, and had injured the property of squatters and others, believed to be desirous of crushing Unionism. Some allowance might be made for these men. They saw their means of livelihood menaced by cargoes of free labourers, bought up like slaves by the capitalistic class. They saw their wages lowered, their industry interfered with—the bread taken out of their mouth, so to speak—by a wealthy combination, which had no sympathy for the workers of the land, who had by their labour built up this enormous wool industry, now employing armies of men and fleets of vessels.

'Were they, the creators of all this wealth, to be put off with a crust of bread and a sweating wage? No! They had been worked up to frenzy by a plutocratic invasion of their natural rights; and if they crossed the line of lawful resistance to oppression, was it to be wondered at? He trusted that his Honour, in the highly improbable event of a verdict of "guilty," would see his way to inflict a merely nominal term of imprisonment, which, he undertook to say, would act as an effective caution for the future.'

His Honour proceeded to sum up. 'In this case, the prisoners were charged with committing a certain act, distinctly a criminal offence, punishable by a term of imprisonment. He would not dilate upon the collateral results, but impress upon the jury that all they had to consider was the evidence which they had heard. Did the evidence point conclusively to the fact that the prisoners had committed the crime of arson—the burning of the steamer Dundonald—then and there, on the 28th of August last, on the waters of the Darling River? With the conflicting interests of the pastoral employers, and the rate of wages, or the propriety of strikes, or otherwise, they had nothing whatever to do. He would repeat, nothing whatever to do.

'Did they believe the evidence for the prosecution? He would take that evidence, seriatim, from his notes.

'First there was that of the officer of Volunteers, which was direct and circumstantial. He deposes to having seen the steamer Dundonald floating down the river, burning fiercely then, with apparently no one on board. He saw a large camp of armed men, who shouted out that they had burnt the steamer, and would roast the captain and crew, for bringing up blacklegs. This last expression, he was informed, meant non-Union labourers. He caused the arrest of several men with arms in their hands, pointed out to him as having fired at the crew of the vessel, or having set fire to her. Among them was the prisoner Hardwick, who had a gun in his hand.

'The next witness was the sergeant of Volunteers. He saw the burning vessel, the crowd of armed men, and also men firing in the direction of a barge containing the crew presumably. He arrested by the colonel's order the six prisoners now before the Court, as well as others. They had arms in their hands.

'Captain Dannaker of the Dundonald deposed to a very serious state of matters. He had as passengers forty-five free labourers. Before daylight, a band of armed, disguised men boarded the vessel—of which they took full possession. Their action was not far removed from that of pirates. They threatened with death the captain, the crew, the agent of the Employers' Union, several of whom were assaulted, and ill-used. They "looted" the steamer, to use an Indian term—smashing cabins and appropriating private property. These unlawful acts they completed by forcing the free labourers to land, compelling the crew to go into the barge, setting the steamer on fire and casting her away, after which she was observed to sink. He also saw men on the river-bank firing at the crew and passengers. He identifies Abershaw, the prisoner in irons, as the man who assaulted and threatened him. He did not notice prisoner Hardwick.

'Mr. Davidson, the agent of the Employers' Union, corroborates the foregoing evidence in all particulars. He himself was assaulted, as were the free labourers. He saw the rioters throw some of the free labourers overboard. He saw them unloosing the steamer and preparing it for burning. His clothes and money were taken out of his cabin. He identifies Abershaw, but not prisoner Hardwick. He identifies Dawker, the man with the large beard, as the "President," so called.

'The witness for the Crown, Janus Stoate, gave, in his (the Judge's) opinion, unsatisfactory evidence after the adjournment. He described himself as a shearer; also a delegate appointed by the Shearers' Union. Though present at the scene of outrage, he apparently saw no one conduct himself indiscreetly, with the exception of his friend and fellow-shearer, William Hardwick. He swears that he saw him load and fire a gun in the direction of the steamer. He did not see the two prisoners Abershaw and Dawker, identified by the other witnesses, say or do anything illegal. He heard the report of firearms, but could not say who used them, except in the case of Hardwick. In several respects his evidence differed from that given before the Bench of Magistrates at Dilga Court of Petty Sessions, when the prisoners were committed for trial. He admitted in cross-examination having had a quarrel with Hardwick at Tandara woolshed, and to having arrived here in custody.

'Sergeant Kennedy, of the New South Wales Police, deposes to the arrest of this witness at Tandara station, on a charge of maliciously setting fire to the grass on the run, and to finding in his pocket, when searched, a cheque drawn in favour of William Hardwick for £55: 17s., said prisoner having previously testified as to its being lost or stolen.

'He would tell the jury here that he had no confidence whatever in the evidence of the witness Stoate. He appeared to have prevaricated, and also to have been actuated by a revengeful feeling in the case of William Hardwick, though, strange to say, he was apparently without eyes or ears in the case of the other prisoners, all of whom had been positively identified as having been seen in the commission of unlawful acts. In conclusion, he would entreat the jury to examine carefully, to weigh well, the evidence in this very serious and important case, and with close adherence to the obligation of their oaths, to bring in their verdict accordingly. The Court now stands adjourned till two o'clock.'

The jury were absent more than an hour, and during that time Mr. Biddulph persuaded Jenny to have a cup of tea, and otherwise refresh herself and the children, who had outstayed their usual meal-time.

She, with difficulty, was induced to touch anything: dead to all ordinary feelings, as she described herself, until Bill's fate was decided. 'How can I think of anything else?' she exclaimed passionately to Dick Donahue, who, with unfailing optimism, tried to convince her that Bill must be let off, and next day would be with her and the children on the way to Chidowla.

'How can we tell?' said she. 'Wasn't there Jack Woodman, and the lawyers told him he must be let off on a point of law, instead of which he got three years, and he's in gaol now.'

'Ah! but that was for cattle-stealing,' replied Mr. Donahue; 'and Jack had been run in before, for duffing fats off Mount Banda—tried too, and got off by the skin of his teeth. This time he shook a selector's poddies, and the jury couldn't stand that. But Bill's innocent, as everybody knows. See what the Judge said about Stoate's evidence! I'll bet you a hat to a new bonnet that Bill's out a free man this afternoon, and that Stoate's in the dock for settin' fire to Tandara, with a six to one on chance of seem' the inside of Berrima Gaol, and those four other chaps to keep him company.'

Jenny couldn't help relaxing into a wintry smile at this reassuring prophecy. But her face assumed its wonted seriousness as she said, 'Well, Dick Donahue, you've been a staunch friend all through this trouble, and I'll never forget you and Biddy for it as long as I live, and Bill won't neither.'

'Don't be troubling yourself about that, Mrs. Hardwick,' said Donahue. 'You were a good friend to her and her children before all this racket—they would have wanted many a meal only for you. But I'm a changed man. I've some hope before me, thanks to Mr. Calthorpe; and if Bill will go partners with me, we'll be Hardwick and Donahue, with a tidy cattle-station one day yet.'

'The Court's sitting,' called out some one, 'and the jury's agreed.' A rush was made by all interested persons and the spectators generally. Not a seat was vacant as the Court official demanded silence, and the Judge's Associate proceeded to read out the names of the jurors, who, headed by their foreman, stood in line on the floor of the Court.

'Are you agreed, Mr. Foreman, on your verdict?'

'We are.'

'How do you find?'

'We find William Stokes, Daniel Lynch, Hector O'Halloran, Samson Dawker, and Jeremiah Abershaw guilty of arson, and we find William Hardwick not guilty.'

The verdict of guilty was received in silence. A number of the spectators were Unionists, and though the more sensible members of the association had always been opposed to lawless proceedings, yet from a mistaken sense of comradeship they felt bound not to repudiate the acts of any of their confraternity. No doubt at the next ballot the voting would have been almost unanimous against injury to property, and such outrages as the law's slow but sure retribution has never yet failed to overtake.

But when the verdict of 'Not Guilty' was announced, there was a cheer which it tasked the stern mandate of the Deputy-Sheriff and the vigorous efforts of the police to suppress. Jenny did not hear much of it, as the fateful words had barely been pronounced when she fell as if dead. She was promptly carried out into the witnesses' room, and measures taken for her recovery. When she came to herself, Bill was bending over her, and the children, smiling amidst their tears, were holding fast to one of his hands.

Anxious as both husband and wife were to shake the Wagga dust from their feet and get away up the river to their half-deserted home, Bill's Court work was not yet concluded. He was constrained to appear again in the memorable cases of Regina versus Stoate, charged with arson, and the same Gracious Lady (who impersonates Nemesis on so many occasions over such a wide area of the earth's surface) versus Stoate, charged with 'larceny from the person.'

No sooner had the jury been dismissed, and, with the witnesses, were wending their way to the office of the Clerk of the Bench, expectant of expenses, than the Crown Prosecutor addressed his Honour, representing that only at luncheon had he received the depositions in a fresh case—he referred to that of Regina versus Stoate. He was aware that the cases just disposed of had been supposed to conclude the sitting, and that his Honour was expected at Narrabri the day after to-morrow; but under the peculiar circumstances, as several of the witnesses and two members of the legal profession who were concerned in the last case were to be briefed in this, he trusted that his Honour would overlook his personal discomfort, and consent to deal with this case at the present sitting of the Court.

His Honour feared that the jurors and witnesses in the heavy cases at Narrabri might suffer inconvenience by the postponement of his departure; but, as the adjourning of this case to the next Assize Court—nearly five months—would more seriously affect all concerned, and as he was opposed on principle to prisoners on committal being detained in gaol, or defendants delayed one week longer than was actually necessary, he would accede to counsel's very reasonable request.

'Let another jury be impanelled, Mr. Associate, and then adjourn the Court until ten o'clock to-morrow morning. I shall consider the evidence taken in the previous cases, and deliver the sentences at the opening of the Court. The prisoners may be removed.'

On the following morning the five prisoners were again placed in the dock, looking anxious, and more or less despondent, with the exception of Abershaw, the man in irons. He was a hardened offender, and reckless as to what might befall him in the shape of punishment. He had served terms of imprisonment in another colony. Like many criminals, he had unfortunately not taken warning by previous penalties, as it was less than a year since he had been released. He looked around with an affected contempt for his surroundings, and smiled at an occasional sympathiser in Court with unabashed defiance.

But, as the Judge commenced to address the prisoners before announcing the sentences, the look of tension on the other men's faces was painful to witness, and even he appeared to feel the seriousness of the situation.

'William Stokes, Daniel Lynch, Hector O'Halloran, Samson Dawker, Jeremiah Abershaw, you have been found guilty, on the clearest evidence, of a dangerous and concerted attack on society. If organisations of this kind were permitted—if lawless bodies of men, organising themselves with the discipline of a military force, were permitted to go about the country interfering with honest men—there could be no safety for any one in the community. I am gratified to find that the jury have arrived at the only conclusion rational men could arrive at in such a case, and with no more time spent in deliberation than was necessary to consider the case of each man separately. I do not suppose that, excepting the residents of the neighbourhood of Poliah and the Lower Darling region generally, people are fully aware of what has been going on there.

'I have had a tolerable knowledge of the country, but I had no idea, until I came to try this case, what a state of things existed in the locality mentioned in depositions—a state of things probably unparalleled in the history of New South Wales.

'I should not have thought it possible that six or seven hundred men could camp on a main stock route, by a navigable river, for the purpose of preventing honest men going to work, much less could capture, bind them as prisoners, and hold them as such.

'Let any one contemplate what may follow if this kind of thing is permitted. There would be an end of liberty and safety; but the law exists for the protection of all, whether high or low, in the community, and those who take part in proceedings of this kind must expect to have every man's heart hardened against them. If a man's liberty were interfered with, if his life were threatened by overwhelming numbers, he and every other honest man is entitled to protect himself by taking the lives of those who come upon him. This, in law, is termed justifiable homicide; on the other hand, if lawless persons take life, they are guilty of murder.

'Having explained the law on intimidation, I will pass on to the circumstances more immediately surrounding the case. It is proved beyond doubt that the Dundonald steamer was deliberately and wilfully set on fire by the prisoners and others. If any person had perished in the flames by their act, or if, when shooting at the vessel, any of the crew or passengers had been killed, they would now be on their trial for murder.

'As it is, they have, most properly, been found guilty of arson by the jury, a crime punishable, under Victoria No. 89, section 6, with imprisonment with hard labour, and solitary confinement.

'I accordingly sentence Samson Dawker, who has been referred to as the "President," and Jeremiah Abershaw, to three years' imprisonment with hard labour, and periods of solitary confinement, both to be served in Berrima Gaol. The other prisoners do not appear to have been so actively employed in these unlawful, demoralising acts. They are therefore sentenced to two years' imprisonment only, with hard labour. I cannot conclude my remarks without stating that I fully agree with the verdict of acquittal by the jury in the case of William Hardwick, who might have been deprived of his liberty by a conspiracy of unprincipled persons, had not the jury rightly discriminated as to the manifest unreliability of the evidence against him. He therefore is enabled to leave the Court, I have pleasure in stating, without a stain upon his character.'

Regina v. Stoate.
 
Charged with Arson.

'May it please your Honour,' said the Crown Prosecutor, 'the prisoner before the Court is charged with wilfully and maliciously setting fire to the grass of the Tandara Run. I purpose calling the arresting constable and the manager, Mr. Macdonald; also the aboriginal Daroolman, who is exceptionally intelligent. The case will not be a lengthy one. Call Senior Sergeant Kennedy.'

'My name is John Kennedy, Senior Sergeant of the New South Wales Police Force, stationed at Dilga, on the Darling. I called at Tandara station on duty. I there saw Mr. Macdonald, the manager. He remarked that there had been no rain for a month, and the grass was very dry. He requested me to accompany him a few miles on the up-river road. He mentioned that a man named Stoate had left shortly before, having been refused rations, threatening "to get square with him." He considered him a likely person to set fire to the Run, and was just going to track him up.

'I agreed, and put my black boy on the trail. After riding two or three miles, the boy pointed to the tracks leaving the road and making towards a sandhill. We rode fast, as we saw smoke rising. The aboriginal said "that one swaggie makum fire longa grass, me seeum lightem match." We saw a man kneeling down, and galloped towards him. Apparently he did not hear us coming; as he looked up he seemed surprised. The grass around him had just ignited and was burning fiercely. There was no wood near. Mr. Macdonald seized him by the arm, saying, "You scoundrel! You're a pretty sort of delegate! I thought you were up to some mischief." Prisoner seemed confused and unable to say anything. The black boy picked up a brass match-box, half full of wax matches; also a half-burned wax match. The match-box (which I produce) had J. S. scratched on one side. Prisoner declined to say anything, except that he was going to boil his billy. There was no wood, nor any trace of roadway in the vicinity. I arrested him on the charge of setting fire to the Tandara Run. He made no reply. On searching him I found the cheque referred to in my former depositions, it was drawn in favour of William Hardwick for £55: 17s., also a knife, two sovereigns, and some small articles. I conveyed him to the lock-up at Curbin, where he appeared before the Bench of Magistrates, and was committed to take his trial at the next ensuing Assize Court. We put out the fire with difficulty; if it had beat us it might have destroyed half the grass on the Run.'

John Macdonald, being sworn, states:

'I am the manager of Tandara station. I have known the prisoner, off and on, for some years, as a shearer and bush labourer. He came to me on December 20th and asked for rations. He was on foot. I said, "You had better ask the Shearers' Union to feed you, I have nothing for agitators; you tried to spoil our shearing, and now you come whining for rations." I threatened to kick him off the place.

'He went away muttering, "I'll get square with you yet." Being uneasy, I mounted my horse, and shortly afterwards the last witness and a black boy came up, and at my request accompanied me. The boy followed his track till it turned off the main road in the direction of a sandhill. As we rode nearer, a small column of smoke rose up. We found prisoner standing by the fire, which had just started. I saw the black boy pick up the box of matches (produced in Court) from under prisoner's feet. It was marked J. S., and was nearly full of wax matches. The black boy pointed to a half-burnt match, close to the tuft of grass from which the fire had started. I said, "You scoundrel! You're a pretty sort of delegate!" I saw the sergeant take the cheque (produced) for £55: 17s., payable to William Hardwick, out of his pocket. If we had been five minutes later, all the men in the country couldn't have put the fire out; it would have swept the Run.'

'What would have been the effect of that?' asked the Judge.

'We might have had to travel 100,000 sheep, which alone would have needed fifty shepherds, besides the expense of cooks and ration-carriers, with tents, provisions, and loss of sheep. Altogether it would have meant an expenditure of several thousand pounds at the very least—besides injury to the sheep.'

'Have you any questions to ask, prisoner?' said the Judge.

'None,' said Mr. Stoate. 'These witnesses are at the beck of the capitalistic class, and will swear anything.'

Richard Donahue and the black boy corroborated the previous evidence, the latter saying, 'Me seeum light when piccaninny match-box tumble down alonga that one fella tarouser.'

Being asked if he had anything to say in his defence, Mr. Stoate elected to be sworn, taking the oath with great solemnity, and making a long-winded, rambling defence, in which he abused the capitalists, the police, the bankers, and the selectors, who, he said, were all in a league with the 'plutercrats' to crush the Union workers, and grind down the faces of the poor. With regard to the cheque, he had picked it up, and intended to restore it to Hardwick. If that man swore that he never gave him or any other man authority to take care of his money, he swore what was false. It was a common custom among mates. If the jury convicted him on this trumped-up charge, which any one could see was manufactured, he would willingly suffer in the cause of his fellow-workers. But let the oppressor beware—a day of reckoning would come!

The Court was not very full. The 'fellow-workers' to whom Stoate so often referred had made up their minds about him. Open warfare, rioting, plunder, even arson or bloodshed, in a moderate degree they would have condoned. But to be caught in the act of setting fire to a Run, and detected with a stolen cheque in your pocket—that cheque, too, belonging to a shearer—these were offences of mingled meanness and malignity which no Union Caucus could palliate. 'He's a disgrace to the Order; the Associated Workers disown him. The Judge'll straighten him, and it's hoped he'll give him a good "stretch" while he's about it.'

This was the prejudicial sentence. And having made up their minds that their over-cunning ex-delegate by dishonourable imprudence had played into the hands of the enemy, few of the Unionists took the trouble to attend, for the melancholy pleasure of hearing sentence passed on their late comrade and 'officer.'

So, the evidence being overwhelming, the jury found Mr. Stoate guilty, and the Judge, having drawn attention to the recklessness and revengeful feeling shown by the prisoner—not halting at the probable consequences of a crime against society, by which human life might have been endangered, if not sacrificed—sentenced him to five years' imprisonment with hard labour. He was immediately afterwards arraigned on the charge of 'stealing from the person,' and the sergeant's evidence, as well as that of Hardwick, was shortly taken. Being again found guilty, he was sentenced to two years' imprisonment—which, however, the Judge decreed to be concurrent, trusting that the longer term of incarceration might suffice for reformation. In conclusion, he again congratulated William Hardwick on the recovery of his money and his character, both of which he had so nearly lost through association with men who had banded themselves together to defy the law of the land, and to attempt illegal coercion of workmen who differed from their opinions.

Such associations often led to consequences not foreseen at the time. Many a man had cause to blame them for loss of liberty, if not life. He trusted that this lesson would be received in the way of warning, and that he and all honest working-men who had witnessed the proceedings in this Court would go home resolved to do their duty in their own station of life, not following blindly the lead of agitators, however glib of speech, who might prove as unprincipled and dangerous guides as the prisoner who had just received sentence.

No time was lost, it may be imagined, by Bill and Jenny in 'clearing,' as they expressed it, for Chidowla. The coach for Tumut held a very cheerful load when he and she, in company with Dick Donahue, who had covered himself with glory, and had a satisfactory outing as well, took their seats. Bill wished to cash his newly-found cheque, but Jenny—practical as usual—persuaded him to give it to her for transmission to Mr. Calthorpe.

'I brought down a pound or two that I'd got stowed away, and there'll be just enough to take us back without breaking the cheque. Mr. Calthorpe's stood by us, and we must do our level best to get square again, and show the bank as he knows the right people to back. I'll go bail we'll do it inside a year, if we don't have any more delegate and Union business, eh, Bill?'

'No fear!' replied Bill with emphasis. 'I'm another man now, though I won't get the feel of them handcuffs off me for a month o' Sundays. I'm goin' to be a free labour cove, to the last day of my life. And Janus Stoate's where he wanted to put me, d—n him! I hope he feels comfortable. But I'll never give the clever chaps as lives on us fools of shearers a chance to work such a sell again. Dick, old man, you stood to me like a trump. We must see if we can't go in for a partnership, when we're turned round a bit. What do you say, Jenny?'

'I say yes,' said Jenny, 'with all my heart. Biddy's milkin' those cows of ours now, or I don't know what I'd 'a done. I believe if we put both our selections into a dairy farm we could make money hand over fist. But we must have more cows; this cheque of Bill's—and Jenny slapped her pocket triumphantly—now we've got it, will buy near a dozen, and we'll soon make a show.'

Dick Donahue, for the first time in his life, found hardly anything to say. He gripped both their hands, but brought out little more than 'Thank ye, thank you both! You've given me a new lease of life, and I'll—I'll keep my side up—now I've something ahead of me, or my name's not Dick Donahue. Thank God, it's a grand season, and that gives us a clear start, anyhow.'

When they arrived at Tumut—some time after dark, but all well and happy—they found Biddy awaiting them with the spring cart, which she had driven over. There were a few stumps on the road, but Bill's eyes were good, so that they got home safely and with a superior appetite for the supper which Biddy had set out for them. This they discussed with their friends, who had much to hear and tell; after which the Donahues drove away and left them to the enjoyment of their home, which looked like a palace to Bill, after his misfortunes and adventures.

They were both up, however, before sunrise next morning, and at the milking-yard, where they found everything just as it should be. In the dairy, moreover, there was a keg of butter three-parts full, which Biddy had made during their absence. Bill was thinking of going into Talmorah after breakfast, when a boy galloped up with a letter from Mr. Calthorpe, requesting him not to come in till Saturday (the day after next), as a few friends and fellow-townsmen wished to meet him at two o'clock at the Teamster's Arms to show their regret at his undeserved persecution, and to present him with an Address, expressive of the same.

'Bother it all,' said Bill, 'I wish they'd let a fellow alone. I suppose I shall have to make a speech.'

'Oh, you must go,' said Jenny. 'Mr. Calthorpe wants you, and we mustn't be ungrateful after all he's done for us. Besides, didn't you make one at Tandara, when the shed had cut out, after "long Jim Stanford" euchred the Head Centre at Wagga? My word, you were coming on then; next thing you'd 'a stood for Parliament, or been elected delegate, any way.'

'See here, Jenny,' replied Bill. 'I suppose I'll have to say something when they give me this Address, as they call it; but after that's over, if any one but you says a word about our "feller-workers" or "criminal capital," or any bally Union rot of that kind, I'll knock him over, as sure as my name is Bill Hardwick.'

Bill and Jenny went into Talmorah a little before twelve o'clock on Saturday morning, the former to meet his friends, and the latter to pay in the celebrated cheque to their account, and have a few words with the banker; also, to make quite sure that Bill didn't have more than a whisky or two on the auspicious occasion. When the meeting was assembled in the big room at the Teamster's Arms, they were astonished at the number of townspeople that turned up. Some, too, of the neighbouring squatters appeared, whom they only knew by name, and that Bill had never worked for. The clergyman, the priest, the opposition banker, the storekeepers, great and small, were there—in fact, everybody.

Saturday afternoon in country places is a recognised holiday, except for shop assistants; and as they have on other days of the week much leisure time on their hands, they do not object. It is a change, an excitement, and as such to be made the most of.

A long table had been laid on trestles in the 'hall' of the principal hotel, a room which had been used indifferently in the earlier days of Talmorah, when it was a struggling hamlet, for holding Divine service, police courts, and 'socials,' which included dancing, singing, recitations, and other expedients subversive of monotony.

Couples had been married there by the monthly arriving minister; prisoners sentenced to terms of imprisonment, even hanged, after depositions duly taken there and the verdict of a coroner's jury. Political meetings had been held, and on the election of a member for the district it had been used for a polling booth, so that it was well and favourably known to the inhabitants of the town and district, and no one had any difficulty in finding it. It was now more crowded than on any occasion recalled by the oldest inhabitant.

Mr. Thornhill, the principal landowner in the district, holding the position by reason of his wealth, power, and popularity, which is generally yielded to the squire in the old country, was unanimously elected chairman, and opened the proceedings.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' he commenced—'for I am pleased to see so many of the former present, as also my good friends and neighbours in the district, who have worked with me in peace and harmony for so many years—(murmur of applause)—we are met together this day to do an act of simple justice, as well as of neighbourly kindness, by welcoming back to his home and friends a man whom we have all known personally or by report as an honest, straightforward, industrious settler. A man of small means, but a son of the soil, and the head of a family. (Interjection—"No; Jenny's the boss.") (Laughter.) My friend who corrected me, doubtless with the best intentions, is aware, as I am, that a good wife is the very sheet-anchor of success in life—(cheers)—and that probably, if our friend Hardwick had taken her counsel rather than that of agitators and false friends, he would not have suffered the pecuniary loss, anxiety, and—er—inconvenience which we so deeply regret this day. (Great cheering.) However, that is past and gone; we have now a pleasurable aspect of the case to dwell upon. We congratulate our friend, Mr. William Hardwick, and his good and true wife, upon their return to their home and their neighbours, by whom they are so deservedly respected. (Immense cheering.) In this connection it should not be overlooked that the high character, the result of years of honest industry, neighbourly kindness, and upright dealing, was of signal advantage in the time of need. By it they had gained staunch friends, who stood by them in the day of adversity. Mr. Calthorpe, the manager of the Bank of Barataria, had done his best for them, and they knew what a power for good a gentleman in that position could be in a country place. (Loud cheering.) Their neighbour, Mr. Donahue, had mustered important witnesses for the defence in a manner which only a good bushman, as well as a good friend, could have accomplished, while Mrs. Donahue had personally managed the farm and the dairy in Mrs. Hardwick's absence. (Repeated bursts of cheering.) Other friends and neighbours, among whom he was proud to number himself, had helped in the matter of expense, which, as everybody knew who had anything to do with law and lawyers, was unavoidable. (Cheers and laughter.) Though here he must admit that his friend Mr. Biddulph's professional services were invaluable, and if ever he or any of his hearers got into a tight place—well, he would say no more. (Great cheering and laughter.) He would now read the Address. Mr. William Hardwick, please to stand forward.'

Here Bill advanced, looking far from confident. However, as he confronted the chairman, he held up his head and manfully faced the inevitable, while the following Address was read:—

'To Mr. William Hardwick of Chidowla Creek.

'Dear Sir—We, the undersigned residents of Talmorah, desire to congratulate you and Mrs. Hardwick upon your return to your home and this neighbourhood, during your long residence in which you have been deservedly respected for industrious, straightforward conduct. We have sympathised with you sincerely, while regretting deeply the unmerited persecution by which you have suffered. We feel proud to think that residents of this district were chiefly instrumental in establishing your innocence, their evidence having caused his Honour, Judge Warrington, to discharge you "without a stain upon your character." We beg to tender you this address, signed by the principal inhabitants of this town and district, and to beg your acceptance of the purse of sovereigns which I now hand to you.'

Bill's self-possession failed him under this ordeal, and he nearly dropped the purse, which contained fifty sovereigns. Jenny had put her head down between her hands. This seemed to suggest to Bill that somebody was wanted to represent the family. So turning, so as to have a view of the assembled neighbours, as well as the Chairman, he managed to get out with:

'Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen,—I'm no hand at a speech, as perhaps most of you know. I did make a try in the woolshed at Tandara just before the Shearers' War bust upon us. I don't deny as I might have come on a bit, with practice; might have been promoted as high as to be a Union Delegate—(laughter)—but bein' among the prisoners of war, when the naval battle of the Darling River took place, I was "blocked in my career," as the sayin' is. I found myself in gaol pretty soon after, when it was explained to me, for the first (and, I hope, the last) time, what steel bracelets were like. The next place where I had to talk was in the dock, when I made a speech with only two words in it. They was "Not Guilty." (Cheers.) I'm in for a longer one now, and then I'll shut up for good, and never want to hear another sham-shearer talk rot, or hear the gag about Unionism again, as long as I live. I don't join another one, no fear! (Cheers.) And now, I just want you to believe, all my old friends as have turned up to stand by us in this handsome way, and Mr. Thornhill, the Chairman (and if all squatters were like him there'd never have been a strike, or the thought of one), I hope you'll believe that Jenny and I feel your kindness to the very bottom of our hearts, and that we shall remember it to our dying day.' Here the cheering burst forth; stopped and began again, until one would have thought it never would have ended.

By this time, however, tables had been covered with an array of bottles of wine and beer, and certain viands in the shape of sandwiches, tongues, hams, rounds of beef, biscuits, and cakes of various hue and shape—all things necessary for a cold but generous collation. The corks being drawn, the sound wine and beer of the country was set flowing, when Bill's health and Jenny's were drunk with great heartiness and fervour.

The Chairman then proposed—'His friend Mr. Calthorpe, in fact, the friend of all present, as the gentleman who, by equipping Richard Donahue and sending him to find and notice witnesses for the defence, had done yeoman's service for the worthy pair they had met to honour that day.'

In the course of an effective speech in return for the toast of his health, which was enthusiastically honoured, Mr. Calthorpe stated that the directors of the bank which he had the honour to serve always supported their officers in any extra-commercial action—as he might call it—in favour of honourable constituents, such as William Hardwick and his wife. He might take this opportunity to inform them that a partnership was in train, and would probably be arranged under the style of 'Hardwick and Donahue,' as these worthy yeomen had decided to join their selections, indeed to take up additional, conditional leases and devote themselves to dairy-farming on a large scale. They hoped to secure a share of the profits of butter-making which were attracting so much attention in their district of Talmorah, for which the soil, climate, and pasture were so eminently adapted. He might inform them that he had applications in the names of each of the partners, for nine hundred and sixty acres of conditional leasehold. This, with the original selections, would form an area of two thousand five hundred and sixty acres. They would agree with him, a tidy grazing-farm on which to commence the dairying business! Furthermore, he would take this opportunity of stating that there was every prospect of a butter-factory being established in Talmorah within twelve months. He trusted that the new firm's enterprise would inaugurate, in that method, one of the most profitable labour-employing industries, by which our graziers, big and little, have ever benefited themselves and advanced the interests of the town and district at large.' (Tremendous cheering.)

When the applause had subsided, the prospective partners lost no time in getting off, Jenny being aware that all conversation after such proceedings was liable to conclude with the 'What'll you have?' query—one of the wiles of the 'insidious foe.' Bill confessed to two or three 'long-sleevers,' the day being warm and the lager beer cool; but Dick Donahue, who had 'sworn off' before the priest for two years, before he went down the Darling, had touched nothing stronger than tea. Upon reaching their homes, the whole four resumed their working clothes and busied themselves about the farms until sundown. 'We'll sleep better to-night, anyhow,' said Jenny as, after putting the children to bed, she sat by Bill while he had his after-supper smoke in the verandah. 'But we must be up at daylight; it will give us all we know to get the cows milked and breakfast over and clean things on, for church in the township. For we'll go there, Bill, as we've good right to do, after all that's come and gone—won't we?'

'Right you are, Jenny; seems as if we'd been took care of, somehow.'

So the old mare missed her Sunday holiday, and had to trot into Talmorah between the shafts of the light American waggon—the capital all-round vehicle, that in the bush answers so many different purposes; and the Donahues went to their chapel, where, no doubt, Father Flanagan congratulated them on their improved prospects, while admonishing Dick to be more regular in his 'duty' for the future.

From this time forward the fortunes of the firm of Hardwick and Donahue steadily improved and prospered. The wives and husbands were eminently suited for co-operative farm management.

Biddy could milk a third more cows in the morning than any other woman in the district, and had won more than one prize for butter at the Agricultural and Pastoral Show. Jenny was not far behind her in these industries, but in the curing of bacon and hams had rather the best of it, by the popular vote. Dick was the smarter man of the two, having, moreover, a gift of persuasive eloquence, which served the firm well in buying and selling stock; this department having been allotted to him. He was thus able to get the change and adventure which his soul loved, and as he stuck manfully to his pledge, he wasted no time, as formerly, in his attendance upon shows and auction sales.

He began to be looked up to as a solid, thriving grazier, and with hope before him, and increased comfort in his home and family, pressed forward with energy to the goal of success which he saw awaiting him. His children were well fed, well clothed, and well schooled, holding up their heads with the best of the other yeoman families.

Bill worked away with his old steadiness and perseverance, not envying the change and occasional recreation which Mr. R. Donahue came in for. 'He had had enough of that sort of thing to last him for the rest of his life. His home, with Jenny and the children [now an increasing flock], was good enough for him,' he was heard to say.

There was also a run of good seasons, which in Australia is summed up and may be exhaustively described in one word Rain, with a large R by all means. The grass was good; so were the crops; so were the prices of butter, cheese, and milk.

The factory at Talmorah was a substantial, well-equipped, scientific institution, the monthly cash payments from which caused the hearts of the storekeeper and the tradesmen of that rising township to sing for joy. The only persons who discussed the change from 'the good old times' with scant approval were the publicans, who observed that the farmers sent the monthly cheque for milk to their account at the Banks of Barataria or New Holland, and their orders by post to the tradespeople, instead of 'going into town like men and stopping at the hotel for a day,' whenever they sold a ton of potatoes or a load of wheat.

From such modest commencements many of the most prosperous families in New South Wales and Victoria have made their start in life. Such families not infrequently hold the title-deeds of thousands of acres of freehold land. Contented to live economically and to re-invest their annual profits, they acquire large landed estates. As magistrates and employers of labour their position year by year becomes one of greater provincial importance and legislative influence. In physique, energy, and intelligence their sons are an honour to their respective colonies, and a valued addition to the loyal subjects of the British Empire—that Empire, in whose cause they are, even as I write, sending the flower of their youthful manhood to a far-off battlefield, holding it their proudest privilege to fight shoulder to shoulder with the 'Soldiers of the Queen.'