Rolf Boldrewood - In Bad Company and other stories

'Oh, then, he lent you a horse – very kind of him – and accompanied you here. How was that?'

'Well, I believe there was some sort of a case trumped-up against me.'

'Oh! some kind of a trumped-up case, was there? We'll hear more about that, by and by. That will do for the present, Mr. Delegate.'

The witness then left the Court, followed by the strange trooper, so closely indeed, that but for the absence of handcuffs he might have been thought to have been in custody.

'Call Sergeant Kennedy.'

John Kennedy, being duly sworn, deposed as follows: 'I am a senior Sergeant of Police, stationed at Dilga, on Cowall Creek, which runs into the Darling. I saw the last witness at Tandara Run on December the 20th instant. He was given into my custody by Mr. Macdonald, the manager, charged with wilfully and maliciously setting fire to the run. I searched him in his presence and found on him two half-crowns, a knife, a meerschaum pipe, a plug of tobacco, two sovereigns, a copy of Union Shearers' rules, a letter, and a cheque. The cheque was drawn by John Macdonald in favour of William Hardwick, dated 10th October. The amount was £55: 17s.'

When this announcement was made an audible murmur arose from the body of the Court, even a few hisses were heard, which were promptly suppressed. Bill opened his eyes in wonder and amazement, and then turned to where Jenny sat crying peacefully to herself, but not from grief. Their money had been recovered, their traitorous enemy disgraced and confounded. She, in her mind's eye, saw her home once more glorified with Bill's presence – a free, unstained man. God was merciful, and she despaired no longer of His goodness.

'You didn't observe anything in the rules of the A.S.U. as to pocketing the cash of all shearers unfriendly to the Union? No? Then you may go down.'

'I have no questions to ask this witness,' said the Crown Prosecutor, with emphasis – 'at present, that is to say.'

So Mr. J. Stoate, who had departed with the trooper, was for greater safety and security lodged in the modern substitute for the dungeon of the Middle Ages, until the Judge, after the finding of the jury, should have pronounced sentence or otherwise on the other prisoners.

'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.'