Читать книгу The Outlaw - John David Hennessy - Страница 4

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One morning, some two months after the events already recorded, McBurton's Hotel, on the Liverpool Plains Road, was uncommonly busy.

There was to be a dinner and a dance that night at a wealthy squatter's about four miles off, and not a few of the guests had looked in on the way to have a drink and lunch and hear the news, or to do some business with acquaintances, before proceeding to the scene of the festivities.

Sam Grant, the overseer at Eurimbla, was among the early arrivals. He had arranged to meet Ben Baxter, of Mount Hope, about some cattle.

"By-the-way, Sam," said the latter, after their business was transacted and they sat in the commercial-room smoking, with glasses before them, "that Jack Salathiel of yours has not let the grass grow under his feet since he took to the Bush. I hear that he is leader now of one of the gangs that has been playing old boots with them up Walcha and Armidale way."

"Ah!" replied Grant, "it's an awful pity about him; he was a quiet enough chap down at Eurimbla, and a gentlemanly fellow too; I hear that old Walker is in a great fluster. Salathiel sent him a letter last week; quite a formal document, by George!—you know he is a fine scholar—threatening him with summary vengeance if he flogged any more Government men on his place without full inquiry."

"Things are coming to a pretty pass," grumbled Baxter, "these dashed mounted police are not a bit of protection. By-the-way, Sam," he continued, laughing, "I hope you had nothing to do with sending the fellow off with that bull-calf to Maitland. It's no wonder the wretch took to the Bush."

Both men were laughing at this, when the overseer, turning round suddenly, exclaimed: "What's up in the bar?"

Evidently something very unusual was happening. The two men rose to their feet and started to the door.

"Bail up now!" cried a rough voice. They were covered by firearms, and threw up their hands immediately.

Three armed men stood in the doorway, and it was evident that resistance would be useless. Not a shot had been fired so far; but judging by the general commotion, the bushrangers were there in force. Both Baxter and Grant were unarmed, so they quietly went back and sat down again upon their chairs, as directed.

"Whose gang is it?" asked Grant nervously.

"Salathiel's," was the answer, "and understand this, there's no one going to be robbed or shot if you keep quiet. The Captain's here on a bit of lynch law business—there's a dozen of us, and the pub surrounded, so there's going to be no flutter, and it's no use making any fuss."

In the meantime, the leader of the gang had walked coolly into the bar, where quite a dozen men were standing, and putting down a one pound note, called for drinks for himself and his men, and any of the company who might care to join them.

The man serving at the bar hesitated for a moment. He had recognized Salathiel, and hearing the clatter of horses outside and the general commotion, completely lost his head.

"Now be quick, my friend, if you don't want a bullet through your skull," said Salathiel, pointing a double-barrelled pistol at him, "there's five of them to serve in front, and the others are somewhere at the back."

In dress and general appearance, Salathiel was now a man very different from the cowed and fearful convict with a bull-calf in tow upon the Maitland Road. His bushy brown beard and moustache were carefully trimmed in the fashion of the time. Gold chain and seals hung from the fob of his well-cut riding breeches, and his jack-boots, bright spurs, smart riding jacket and cabbage-tree wide-awake suggested a wealthy sporting squatter or an officer of mounted troops in mufti.

No one in the bar dared lift a hand against the bushrangers, for they knew that it was as much as their lives were worth to do so.

When the barman, white as a sheet from fright, came back from serving the men outside, he and the others were ordered into the commercial-room, where they found all on the premises gathered under guard. There were several well-known men of the district present, as the gang had expected; for the latter knew all about the dinner and the dance.

Having seen that all was right outside, Salathiel walked in and ordered one of his men to place refreshments on the long table. "It's paid for, all on the square, gentlemen," he said. "If any of you wish to do so, help yourselves."

With that he took a more careful look round the room, nodding to Sam Grant and one or two others whom he recognized, including a Maitland publican, and then called out: "Where's McBurton?"

"I don't think he's at home," replied the barman hastily.

"No lies," said Salathiel quietly. "Go and fetch him here, or we'll serve you as we intend, later on, to serve him."

A few minutes afterwards McBurton was dragged in by one of the gang, followed by the barman. They had found him, half-drunk, hiding in the cellar.

"Stand him down at the other end of the table," commanded Salathiel.

Among the company, besides those already mentioned, there were three commercial travellers and the manager of a big northern station—Jack had hoped that his late master might be there too.

"We are going to give this man a fair trial," said the bushranger, addressing the room, "and if we find him guilty, summary punishment. The charges against him are, that twelve months ago he secured the hanging of two of his assigned servants without just cause, and more recently, the brutal flogging of others for trivial offences...What do you say, McBurton: are you guilty or not guilty?"

"For God's sake spare me, Jack Salathiel," groaned the terrified man.

"Ah well, we'll let you plead not guilty, as a matter of form."

"Fitz," he said, addressing one of the gang, "go into the office and bring out McBurton's old magistrate's Bible, that he used to swear oaths on, before he resigned the Commission of the Peace to start this pub; and you, George," nodding to one of the commercial travellers, "come over here with that order book of yours and take down the depositions, and act generally as clerk of the court. Do you hear?" he called out roughly, picking up his pistol from the table when George hesitated.

"All right, Salathiel; put down your shooting iron," said the commercial man, who was a representative of a big Sydney firm. "Notice, gentlemen," he continued, addressing the company somewhat nervously, "I am acting on compulsion."

Six men, including Baxter, Grant, a commercial, and the Maitland publican, were then gravely sworn on McBurton's Bible, to give a true verdict according to the evidence; and Salathiel called one of his men as first witness for the prosecution. He made him kiss the Book with due formality.

The man was an escaped convict, who, until recently, had been in service on a large selection which McBurton owned. He swore to having been an eyewitness of the hanging of his fellow servants in a paddock, only a few yards from the main road. After frightful ill-usage and provocation, they had attempted McBurton's life.

"How many times were these men flogged by the prisoner's orders before they were executed?" asked Salathiel.

"Mostly every month," replied the witness.

McBurton glared across the table at his old servant, and was heard to mutter something.

"Silence in court!" thundered Salathiel, pointing his double-barrelled pistol at the prisoner. "I won't have the witnesses intimidated. Another word until you are called upon to speak, and I will deal with you myself."

At this, the company behind and nearest to the prisoner hurriedly pushed themselves farther out of the way.

Two other witnesses from the gang then gave evidence on oath, each one corroborating the charges of cruelty, of which many instances were cited.

"Now, what have you to say for yourself, prisoner, in reply to these charges?" said Salathiel harshly. "If you have any witnesses, we'll have them called."

The trembling, bloated wretch, overbearing and cruel as he was, proved a cur at heart. He tottered half fainting with fright at the end of the table, and held the edge of it with his hands; the sweat stood in beads upon his face; but he made no reply. He had no witnesses to call. His revolting cruelty to his assigned servants was the talk of the countryside. He shook his head, but made no answer. His expectation, and that of every man in the room, excepting the gang, was that he would be shot in his tracks as he stood at the end of the table.

"Gentlemen of the Jury," said Salathiel, turning sternly around to the men he had sworn to return a true verdict. "You have heard the evidence; the prisoner at the bar was, like many others, transported here from the old country. What his crimes may have been I don't know. Here he successfully worked himself into the favour of the authorities, until, ultimately, through his wealth, or his cunning, or his villainy, he was made a magistrate—that in itself was illegal, as you all know—but, being on the Commission, it only gave him opportunity for more brutality. He has shown no pity for the men, whose hard lot he himself well knows. To agonizing appeals for mercy from those who were equally his fellows in the sight of God, he has shown no pity. You have heard how he has flogged fainting women with his own hand, when the Government flogger refused to proceed further. Several men have died as the result of floggings by his instructions; two of his victims he has hanged; and dozens have, in various ways, been brutally ill-treated by him. Bad as some of them have been, they are largely what his devilish cruelty made them. You are on your oaths, gentlemen, to do justice between man and man; there is no need for you to retire from the court. I will give you five minutes, by that clock, to consider your verdict. Is the prisoner guilty or not guilty of the charges alleged against him?"

On this Salathiel sat down, somewhat flushed, while a silence as of death fell on the company.

After they had listened to the ticking of the clock for a few minutes, the bushranger looked sternly at the jury and lifted his weapon significantly. It was quite enough; they at once put their heads together and conferred in whispers. It was clear that the gang would stand no trifling.

A moment afterwards the commercial traveller stood up. "Jack Salathiel," said he, "we recommend the prisoner to the mercy of the Court."

"Thank you, gentlemen," said the bushranger, dryly bowing his head to them.

"Prisoner at the bar," he said sternly, looking over at McBurton, "you are found guilty by the jury, although they have not exactly said so; but they recommend you to mercy. Probably you do not know what that means; but I will explain. Had you been found guilty only, you would have been taken out of this court and hanged under your own signboard as a warning to other brutes and murderers; but in view of the jury having recommended you to mercy, the sentence of the Court is that you be stripped and tied under your signboard in full view of the public and receive fifty lashes, well laid on."

Every one passing along the Liverpool Plains Road that afternoon was bailed up to see the flogging, and Salathiel and the gang took good care that the lash (a cat-o'-nine-tails found in McBurton's own office) was properly applied.

McBurton fainted after the thirtieth stroke, so Salathiel ordered him to be cut down, and handed him over, stripped and bleeding as he was, to his wife and daughter.

Although, when it heard of this outrage, the whole Colony laughed in its sleeve and chuckled over McBurton's well-deserved punishment, Salathiel and his gang knew that if anything were likely to stir up the police to unwonted activity, it was the flogging of a one-time magistrate. It was a reflection, also, upon the administration of Justice's justice in the Colony.

The night closed in with a thunderstorm and heavy rain, and Salathiel decided that, under cover of the storm, his gang should scatter for a few weeks. Some of the men grumbled that they had not been allowed to ease the publican and his guests of their loose cash and jewellery; but Salathiel told them that he would not spoil a good thing and explained to them that their moderation would stagger the authorities, and make them not a few friends.

Then he informed them that, as their wants for the time being were well supplied (they had just before 'stuck up' a couple of store-teams), he intended to take himself off south for a month or so, where he had a good thing on. He would meet them when matters had quietened down, at their old rendezvous in the Liverpool Ranges.