The Ovens and Murray Advertiser 15/3/1879 (2)
full text of the article
AN INTERVIEW WITH NED KELLY
(By Q. Vive in the free press)
“I am in the place where I am demanded of conscience to speak the truth, therefore the truth I speak, impugn it whoso list.” Scanning the columns of the leading Melbourne journal the other day, I observed the foregoing extract from one of the speeches of that decidedly unpleasant but terribly earnest reformer. It set me pondering. It isn’t often I ponder but when I do, the result is generally surprising to the public, and considerably more so to myself. This particular ponder led to the evolution of a double idea – a pair of mental twins. I felt that the false intelligence disseminated by the Melbourne press required correcting. I also arrived at the conclusion that I was the one man in the colonies able to satisfactorily undertake the task. My country called on me to speak the truth. Could I refuse? When I go in for poetry I read Homer, it was therefore natural that when I wanted authentic information on matters connected with the bushranging interest, I should go to Ned Kelly. Having by means on which it is needless here to enlarge, made an appointment with the renowned outlaw to spend a day with him at his country seat Footscray election. A free railway pass came by return post, which secured civility from the guard, and took me to Benalla. Having reached the head quarters of the police force, I hired a horse and started for the rangers. There were about forty policemen and detectives hanging about, and when it was heard that I was going to Strathbogie, one of them said, “See here, old fellow, if you drop across Ned Kelly, you might let us know. I am hungering athirst for the £6000. Why don’t you go out into the ranges yourself.” I replied, “Why we might get shot if we went out,” was the rejoinder. “I always thought that police were paid to run such risks in protecting society.” “Oh, dear no, the popular impression is quite inaccurate. We draw our money to look smart and charm servant girls. After a few hours ride a loud “cooey” brought me to a standstill, and Ned Kelly, in deshaoitle, appeared walking leisurely down the road. “Hallo, my buck, you’ve arrived, have you. I though you’d got lost, or some of the peelers had bailed you up. Well, come in and have some whisky. What’s your favourite brand?” Ned then led the way to his encampment. There were two large framed tents, lined inside with druggetting, with bark chimneys and well protected with boughs and logs from the weather. They were very comfortably furnished inside, and there was a liberal supply of the necessaries and luxuries of life. The back part of the tent was a young arsenal. There was about forty revolvers, a dozen rifles, and any number of knives arranged in it. On a side table the “Hand of Glory” dimly flickering, while a large pile of newspapers ornamented one of the sofas.
After indulging in some really first-class whisky, I observed,
“Have you lived here ever since the Stringy Bark Creek affair?”
“Oh yes; we’ve had no necessity to move. We were thinking of building a brick house and taking out a license to sell grog, so many people pass this way now.”
“Don’t the police interfere with you?”
“Not at all, my dear boy.” We’ve seen a good many parties of them, but they are generally knocked up and harmless. Hart has saved the lives of lots of them when they have been lost in the bush. A couple of days ago when I was out for a ride, I heard a dozen of them blowing at what they d do if they saw me. When I dropped upon them they shift up in a minute. I took the poor devils up to the tent and gave them some tucker and whisky.”
“But are you not afraid of them?”
“Not at all. So long as they keep on their present style I’m quite safe. In fact I never enjoyed myself better or was more free from anxiety. When I was in the horse duffing line I used always to be in a state of worry, but since I’ve found out what the force is made of, I don’t bother my head.”
“It’s always puzzled me what you do with your horses.”
Kelly: “Oh, we keep some in a stable in Benalla. But our best steeds are at livery in Green’s Stables, Melbourne . When ? we want to do any business we have them up by special train.”
“How did you come from Jerilderie? Ride straight through?”
Kelly: “Lord bless you, no. We got so tight that we fell off our horses and did not move than seven or eight miles. Byrne was on the spree at every public house on the road down, and it took us more than a week to get here.”
“Gatley is growling awfully at Standish not running you in. He says it is defrauding him out of feed legally due to him. And is talking about making the Government pay interest as long as you’re out.”
Kelly: “Well, yes, I think Gately has a good action for damages against the Commissioner of Police. However, I’ll sling him to keep him quiet. Let’s change the conversation. Talking about Gately gives me a crick in the neck.”
“Do you know many detectives?
Kelly: “Oh yes, but they’re in Byrne’s department. He’s been on the spree with a lot of them at Wahgunyah and Rutherglen. They’re a curious lot. Byrne and Hart won about £30 from a couple of them at poker the other night.”
“How do the detectives generally act?”
Kelly: “Oh, they come into town and swear they are Kelly sympathizers. By that means an impression gets abroad that I have about ten times as many friends as I really have, and they get credit for great exertions, when the fact is they are doing nothing but traveling round spending the ‘secret service money’ uselessly. By the Lord,” continued Ned, “there was a great lark with one of them lately. You know a little pody fellow who is a railway guard, and says he is a detective looks like the jack of clubs escaped from a second hand pack of cards.”
“Has he been infesting Corowa and Wahgunyah lately?”
“That’s the cove,” resumed Ned “Well, one day, about a fortnight ago he went to my sister’s Kate’s place. He was armed with two revolvers and a rifle. He commenced blowing ? ? ? he put Kate out of temper. She took his weapons from him and spanked him on a place where he will be ashamed to show the marks, and sent him away blubbering. I know he must have been awfully frightened, for he left his weapons behind when he sleeped.”
“Where are your mates?”
“Hart and Dan are down playing a billard match at Benalla, and Byrne is on the burst at Corowa, or about there. These young fellows spree awfully. Could you manage to get Longmore to come up and remonstrate with them on the folly of drinking. It interfares with their business. Why if they had’nt been drunk last week, we’d have cleared out the banks at Rutherglen, Corowa, and Wahgunyah. They’ll never get on, these young fellows, I’m afraid.”
“What do you do with the money you get from the banks?”
“Well some of it we sling to our friends but I’ve come in ? ? ? money lending line. It pays better then bushranging, but I think it a good deal more disreputable.
“How about those numerous sympathizers?”
“Oh, it’s only a flam. Barring half-a-dozen of my old chums, there isn’t a man in the North-eastern district would move a peg to save me from perdition. All that which appears in the papers about my confederates is rot. The police get up these yarns to cover their wretched failures and incapacity.”
“Did you actually intend to stick up Corowa last week,” as reported.
“Well, we would have done so if the other fellows had been sober. Byrne was over there, and the detectives obligingly gave him all the information he required regarding the special constables, arms, &c, and he also got a plan of the building, where the watch was kept. Lord, didn’t that podgy cove we were just talking about get sucked. He swore eternal friendship for Byrne, and wanted him to come over to Corowa to be sworn in as a special constable. I was thinking of insuring my life,” continued Ned, “Can you recommend me to an office?”
“I don’t know of one that would take the risk, just now, but I’ll write to you when I get back to Corowa. By the way, how shall I address?”
“Oh, to Benalla; we get a loose bag made up at the post office there.
At this juncture one of the other outlaws rode up in a wild state of intoxication, yelling snatches of base Australian ditties.
“Bail up” shouted Dan as soon as he perceived me, placing a revolver in unpleasant proximity to my face.
“Stash that,” sternly said Ned, “you know we don’t do any thing professional at home; here we are private gentlemen.”
“Well, I was only keeping my hand in,” grumbled Dan, “who’s your friend?”
“Why he’s an inkalinger, who wants to print the straight tip about us.”
“Glad to see you, my boy,” observed Byrne, “we’d have given Gill a big rise if he had only stayed to be introduced.”
“Seen the Chief Commissioner while you were in Benalla,” inquired Ned of Hart.
“Oh, yes, he was doing a bit of killing at the ----‘s. Lord, if we had some girls with us we wouldn’t be at large long. The Captain is the very devil for the women.”
“Yes,” said Dan, “there’ll be a generation of young troopers in Benalla before this fixing is over.”
“What about the £8000 reward?”
“Well, that is rather rough on us, but you see, as we don’t trust anyone, we can’t very easily be betrayed.”
“What about the betrayal of Power?” I ventured to inquire.
The outlaw picked up a pistol and intimated that any further allusions to that subject would probably be attended with unpleasant results.
“What are you going to do with the police uniforms?”
“Oh, you’ll hear about them. We’ve got a fresh lot made to fit us. They come in very handy,” said Dan. “Why, Byrne and Hart put uniforms on the other day, and arrested some of the detectives on a charge of being sympathizers with the outlaws. What cussed fools the traps are to arrest these fourteen men. I don’t think they’ve got any evidence against them. Anyhow they have made enemies in the very quarter they ought to have tried to secure friends. We could have an addition to the gang, but four’s enough for one gang. We’re thinking of sticking up the Royal Mint, Melbourne, next. We want to make a good rise. These small banks scarcely pay.”
“Well, I think I’ll be off.”
“Oh,” said Ned, “I’ll see you into Benalla. If you see the Chief Commissioner, tell him I’ll see him at the saddling paddock at the races this week. Ask him what his favorite is for the Australian Cup, and tell him I don’t mind laying fifty with him. Ta, Ta.” And the outlaw departed.
The above is pure, unadulterated lying, but is quite as true and much more readable than most of the reports which appear in the metropolitan journals
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