Читать книгу The Outlaws of Weddin Range - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 7

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The police case against Ben Hall was of the flimsiest possible description. Trooper Garrett had seen one of Gardiner's associates making in the direction of Sandy Creek soon after the Eugowra robbery, and another member of the same gang had been tracked across the Weddin Mountains, which lay to the south of Ben's run. Such were the facts which had determined the unfortunate man's arrest, and evidence of any other sort against him there was none. Two days after his arrival at Forbes, Ben was brought before the bench of magistrates, and, at the instance of the police, he was remanded for a week for the production of further evidence. Ben forcibly proclaimed his innocence, and asked for bail. Some of his friends who were in court testified to his high character, and signified their willingness to go surety for him for any amount, but the application was curtly refused. The explanation seems to be that the Eugowra robbery had thrown the community into a state of consternation. Frank Gardiner's name was held in almost universal terror, and the magistrates, reflecting public opinion, dared not set at large any person suspected, however remotely, of having associated with the outlaw. Ben was taken back to prison and securely confined. He strove hard to endure his misfortunes with composure, but he did not perfectly succeed. It was impossible for one so abused not to feel himself a persecuted and deeply injured man. Ben was of a peculiarly ardent and enthusiastic temperament; essentially a man of action.

The indignity and compulsory inactivity of gaol life played havoc with his proud spirit and undermined his health. Confident as he was that his innocence would at length be fully established and his reputation cleared, he began to brood darkly on his wrongs. The iron of injustice had entered his soul. He could not eat, he could not sleep. His guardians appear to have treated him with great sympathy and kindness. They supplied him with good food and furnished him, against the regulations, with tobacco; they found him a docile prisoner, for he was always sunk in apathy, and he obeyed all directions with indifference; but they could not induce him to converse, nor could they win him over to take the faintest apparent interest in his surroundings.

When the bench re-assembled, it was a sick man who was brought before the Court. The sergeant in charge of the prosecution had no fresh evidence to prefer, and he applied promptly for a further remand. Ben feebly protested, but the application was granted. Ben spent the next fortnight in the infirmary attached to the lock-up. By then his bodily strength had returned, but his mental condition was one of settled gloom. Once more he was haled before the Court, and again remanded, bail again being refused. He laughed loudly as the police removed him from the dock, but he made no remark. At his next appearance a lawyer, engaged by some of his friends, made a vigorous attempt to procure his release, but the bench stubbornly stuck to its guns, and Ben was taken back to prison. This sort of thing, however, could not go on for ever, and at length the day of his emancipation dawned. Ben had been, in all, seven weeks and two days falsely and unjustly imprisoned, when he was brought for the last time before the Court. As before, the police applied for a remand, but they found the magistrates for the first time uncomplaisant. The chairman's answer is on record. He said:—

"We consider, sergeant, that you have had ample time and abundant opportunity to substantiate your charge against the accused. You have completely failed to produce a shred of evidence against him, and we have decided to admit accused to bail if he is able to give satisfactory assurances that he will appear if called upon. We have fixed bail at £500 for accused, and two sureties of £250 each."

It is almost needless to remark that from first to last the whole of the magisterial proceedings were flagrantly illegal. The bench had no warrant at law to grant so many and such lengthy remands without admitting Ben to bail, and when at last the magistrates actually admitted him to bail they were legally bound either to have acquitted him or to have committed him for trial. The Crown law authorities subsequently took a very strong view of these high-handed irregularities, and severely censured both the magistrates and the police. As a matter of fact, Ben was never committed at any time for the charge on which he had been arrested, and as soon as the papers in the case reached headquarters, the Attorney-General of the colony directed that his sureties should be discharged from their recognisances.

Ben, however, for reasons presently to be related, never obtained any compensation for the abuses to which he had been subjected, and to the very last moment of his imprisonment his oppressors persisted in abusing him. It was known to everybody that he was well off, and that his bond for such a sum as £500 might be accepted without risk, but the police refused to accept it, and obliged Ben to produce and lodge in court the amount stated in cash. Thus was he, in the final act of the police drama, not merely wronged, but robbed.

He was sent out into the world with a disgraceful charge hanging over his head from which he ought both at law and in justice to have been freely absolved, and before obtaining even thus much liberty he had been compelled, in outrage of the law, to entrust the police indefinitely with the control of almost every penny of ready money that he possessed.

We can easily imagine Ben's feelings as he stepped from the court-house into the street. He knew the law well, he had taken pains to learn it during his confinement, but he saw all the officers and machinery of the law banded together to deprive him of his civic rights and to deny him justice. It would be little wonder if Ben had forthwith committed some desperate deed in order to avenge himself on his enemies, but he did nothing of the kind. Resentment burned fiercely in his heart, but his spirit was sorely bruised, his pride crushed into the dust. His one desire was to escape from all men's sight. His one hope was to fly for ever, and as quickly as possible, from the place where he had been so cruelly maltreated. Friends clustered round him, proclaiming their sympathy and warmly offering their help. They would have made his release the subject of a big public demonstration, and indeed great preparations had been made to that end. But Ben would not allow it. Tearing himself from the kindly crowd, he mounted the horse which one of them had thoughtfully provided, and, only pausing to implore his friends not to consider him ungrateful, he left the township at a reckless gallop. He had not been gone half an hour before a trooper and a black tracker quietly set out from the police station and followed on his trail.

It was not a good policy in those primitive days for any bushman to make an enemy of a policeman. Beyond doubt, the thought had entered into the mind of at least one local constable: "Surely now, at length, Hall will do something to vindicate our suspicions and the loving attentions we have paid him." Perhaps it was a thought even more uncharitable, still Sir Frederick Pottinger justified his action on the grounds of common prudence. He may have been perfectly sincere, but a haunting doubt must be confessed, for the trooper he sent to spy on Ben was James Garrett, and Sir Frederick Pottinger was not ignorant of the bad blood that flowed between the men.