"NUMBER 43 is no better, doctor," said the head warder, in a slightly
reproachful accent, looking in round the corner of my door.
"Confound 43!" I responded from behind the pages of the Australian
Sketcher.
"And 61 says his tubes are paining him. Couldn't you do anything for
him?"
"He is a walking drug-shop," said I. "He has the whole British
pharmacopoeia inside him. I believe his tubes are as sound as yours are."
"Then there's 7 and 108, they are chronic," continued the warder,
glancing down a blue slip of paper "And 28 knocked off work yesterday -
said lifting things gave him a stitch in his side. I want you to have a
look at him, if you don't mind, doctor. There's 31 too - him that killed
John Adamson in the Corinthian brig - he's been carrying on awful in the
night, shrieking and yelling, he has, and no stopping him either."
"All right, I'll have a look at him afterward," I said, tossing my
paper carelessly aside, and pouring myself a cup of coffee. "Nothing else
to report, I suppose, warder?"
The official protruded his head a little further into the room. "Beg
pardon, doctor," he said, in a confidential tone, "but I notice as 82 has
a bit of a cold, and it would be a good excuse for you to visit him and
have a chat, maybe."
The cup of coffee was arrested half-way to my lips as I stared in
amazement at the man's serious face.
"An excuse?" I said. "An excuse? What the deuce are you talking
about, McPherson? You see me trudging about all day at my practice, when
I'm not looking after the prisoners, and coming back every night as tired
as a dog, and you talk about finding an excuse for doing more work."
"You'd like it, doctor," said Warder McPherson, insinuating one of
his shoulders into the room. "That man's story's worth listening to if you
could get him to tell it, though he's not what you'd call free in his
speech. Maybe you don't know who 82 is?"
"No, I don't, and I don't care either," I answered, in the conviction
that some local ruffian was about to be foisted upon me as a celebrity.
"He's Maloney," said the warder, "him that turned Queen's evidence
after the murders at blue-mansdyke."
"You don't say so?" I ejaculated, laying down my cup in astonishment.
I had heard of this ghastly series of murders, and read an account of them
in a London magazine long before setting foot in the colony. I remembered
that the atrocities committed had thrown the Burke and Hare crimes
completely into the shade, and that one of the most villainous of the gang
had saved his own skin by betraying his companions. "Are you sure?" I
asked."
"Oh, yes, it's him right enough. Just you draw him out a bit, and
he'll astonish you. He's a man to know, is Maloney; that's to say, in
moderation;" and the head grinned, bobbed, and disappeared, leaving me to
finish my breakfast and ruminate over what I had heard.
The surgeonship of an Australian prison is not an enviable position.
It may be endurable in Melbourne or Sydney, but the little town of Perth
has few attractions to recommend it, and those few had been long
exhausted. The climate was detestable, and the society far from congenial.
Sheep and cattle were the staple support of the community; and their
prices, breeding, and diseases the principal topic of conversation. Now as
I, being an outsider, possessed neither the one nor the other, and was
utterly callous to the new "dip" and the "rot" and other kindred topics, I
found myself in a state of mental isolation, and was ready to hail
anything which might relieve the monotony of my existence. Maloney, the
murderer, had at least some distinctiveness and individuality in his
character, and might act as a tonic to a mind sick of the commonplaces of
existence. When, therefore, I went upon my usual matutinal round, I turned
the lock of the door which bore the convict's number upon it, and walked
into the cell.
The man was lying in a heap upon his rough bed as I entered, but,
uncoiling his long limbs, he started up and stared at me with an insolent
look of defiance on his face which augured badly for our interview. He had
a pale, set face, with sandy hair and a steely-blue eye, with something
feline in its expression. His frame was tall and muscular, though there
was a curious bend in his shoulders, which almost amounted to a deformity.
An ordinary observer meeting him in the street might have put him down as
a well-developed man, fairly handsome, and of studious habits - even in
the hideous uniform of the rottenest convict establishment he imparted a
certain refinement to his carriage which marked him out among the inferior
ruffians around him.
"I'm not on the sick-list," he said, gruffly. There was something in
the hard, rasping voice which dispelled all softer illusions, and made me
realize that I was face to face with the man of the Lena Valley and
Bluemansdyke, the bloodiest bushranger that ever stuck up a farm or cut
the throats of its occupants.
"I know you're not," I answered. "Warder McPherson told me you had a
cold, though, and I thought I'd look in and see you."
"Blast Warder McPherson, and blast you, too!" yelled the convict, in
a paroxysm of rage. "Oh, that's right," he added in a quieter voice;
"hurry away; report me to the governor, do! Get me another six months or
so - that's your game."
"I'm not going to report you," I said.
"Eight square feet of ground," he went on, disregarding my protest,
and evidently working himself into a fury again. "Eight square feet, and I
can't have that without being talked to and stared at, and - oh, blast the
whole crew of you!" and he raised his two clinched hands above his head
and shook them in passionate invective.
"You've got a curious idea of hospitality," I remarked, determined
not to lose my temper, and saying almost the first thing that came to my
tongue.
To my surprise the words had an extraordinary effect upon him. He
seemed completely staggered at my assuming the proposition for which he
had been so fiercely contending - namely, that the room in which he stood
was his own."
"I beg your pardon," he said; "I didn't mean to be rude. Won't you
take a seat?" and he motioned toward a rough trestle, which formed the
headpiece of his couch.
I sat down, rather astonished at the sudden change. I don't know that
I liked Maloney better under this new aspect. The murderer had, it is
true, disappeared for the nonce, but there was something in the smooth
tones and obsequious manner which powerfully suggested that the witness of
the queen, who had stood up and sworn away the lives of his companions in
crime.
"How's your chest?" I asked, putting on my professional air.
"Come, drop it, doctor - drop it!" he answered, showing a row of
white teeth as he resumed his seat upon the side of the bed. "It wasn't
anxiety after my precious health that brought you along here; that story
won't wash at all. You came to have a look at Wolf Tone Maloney, forger,
murderer, Sydney-slider, ranger, and government peach. That's about my
figure, ain't it? There it is, plain and straight; there's nothing mean
about me."
He paused as if he expected me to say something; but I remained
silent, he repeated once or twice, "There's nothing mean about me."
"And why shouldn't I?" he suddenly yelled, his eyes gleaming and his
whole satanic nature reasserting itself. "We were bound to swing, one and
all, and they were none the worse if I saved myself by turning against
them. Every man for himself, say I, and the devil take the luckiest. You
haven't a plug of tobacco, doctor, have you?"
He tore at the piece of "Barrett's" which I handed him, as ravenously
as a wild beast. It seemed to have the effect of soothing his nerves, for
he settled himself down in the bed and reassumed his former deprecating
manner.
"You wouldn't like it yourself, you know, doctor," he said: "it's
enough to make any man a little queer in his temper. I'm in for six months
this time for assault, and very sorry I shall be to go out again, I can
tell you. My mind's at ease in here; but when I'm outside, what with the
government and what with Tattooed Tom, of Hawkesbury, there's no chance of
a quiet life."
"Who is he?" I asked.
"He's the brother of John Grimthorpe, the same that was condemned on
my evidence; and an infernal scamp he was, too! Spawn of the devil, both
of them! This tattooed one is a murderous ruffian, and he swore to have my
blood after that trial. It's seven years ago, and he's following me yet; I
know he is, though he lies low and keeps dark. He came up to me in
Ballarat in '75: you can see on the back of my hand here where the bullet
chipped me. He tried again in '76, at Port Philip, but I got the drop on
him and wounded him badly. He knifed me in '79, though, in a bar at
Adelaide, and that made our account about level. He's loafing round again
now, and he'll let daylight into me - unless - unless by some
extraordinary chance some one does as much for him." And Maloney gave me a
very ugly smile.
"I don't complain of him so much," he continued. "Looking at it in
his way, no doubt it is a sort of family mater that can hardly be
neglected. It's the government that fetches me. When I think of what I've
done for this country, and then of what this country has done for me, it
makes me fairly wild - clean drives me off my head. There's no gratitude
nor common decency left, doctor!"
He brooded over his wrongs for a few minutes, and then proceeded to
lay them before me in detail.
"Here's nine men," he said; "they've been murdering and killing for a
matter of three years, and maybe a life a week wouldn't more than average
the work that they've done. The government tries them, but they can't
convict; and why? - because the witnesses have all had their throats cut,
and the whole job's been very neatly done. What happens then? Up comes a
citizen called Wolf Tone Maloney; he says 'The country needs me, and here
I am.' And with that he gives his evidence, convicts the lot, and enables
the beaks to hang them. That's what I did. There's nothing mean about me!
And now what does the country do in return? Dogs me, sir, spies on me,
watches me night and day, turns against the very man that worked so very
hard for it. There's something mean about that, anyway. I didn't expect
them to knight me, nor to make me colonial secretary; but, blast it! I did
expect that they would let me alone!"
"Well," I remonstrated, "if you choose to break laws and assault
people, you can't expect it to be looked over on account of former
services."
"I don't refer to my present imprisonment, sir," said Maloney, with
dignity. "It's the life I've been leading since that cursed trial that
takes the soul out of me. Just you sit there on that trestle, and I'll
tell you all about it; and then look me in the face and tell me that I've
been treated fair by the police."
I shall endeavor to transcribe the experience of the convict in his
own words, as far as I can remember them, preserving his curious
perversions of right and wrong. I can answer for the truth of his facts,
whatever may be said for his deductions from them. Months afterward,
Inspector H. W. Hann, formerly governor of the jail at Dunedin, showed me
entries in his ledger which corroborated every statement. Maloney reeled
the story off in a dull, monotonous voice, with his head sunk upon his
breast and his hands between his knees. The glitter of his serpent-like
eyes was the only sign of the emotions which were stirred up by the
recollection of the events which he narrated.
You've read of Bluemansdyke (he began, with some pride in his tone).
We made it hot while it lasted; but they ran us to earth at last, and a
trap called Braxton, with a damned Yankee, took the lot of us. That was in
New Zealand, of course, and they took us down to Dunedin, and there they
were convicted and hanged. One and all they put up their hands in the
dock, and cursed me till your blood would have run cold to hear them -
which was scurvy treatment, seeing that we had all been pals together; but
they were a blackguard lot, and thought only of themselves. I think it is
as well that they were hung.
They took me back to Dunedin Jail, and clamped me into the old cell.
The only difference they made was, that I had no work to do and was well
fed. I stood this for a week or two, until one day the governor was making
his rounds, and I put the matter to him.
"How's this?" I said. "My conditions were a free pardon, and you're
keeping me here against the law."
He gave a sort of a smile. "Should you like very much to get out?" he
asked.
"So much," said I, "that unless you open that door I'll have an
action against you for illegal detention."
He seemed a bit astonished by my resolution.
"You're very anxious to meet your death," he said.
"What d'ye mean?" I asked.
"Come here, and you'll know what I mean," he answered. And he led me
down the passage to a window that overlooked the door of the prison. "Look
at that!" said he.
I looked out, and there were a dozen or so rough-looking fellows
standing outside the street, some of them smoking, some playing cards on
the pavement. When they saw me they gave a yell and crowded round the
door, shaking their fists and hooting.
"They wait for you, watch and watch about," said the governor.
"They're the executive of the vigilance committee. However, since you are
determined to go, I can't stop you."
"D'ye call this a civilized land," I cried, "and let a man be
murdered in cold blood in open daylight?"
When I said this the governor and the warder and every fool in the
place grinned, as if a man's life was a rare good joke.
"You've got the law on your side," says the governor; "so we won't
detain you any longer. Show him out, warder."
He'd have done it, too, the black-hearted villain, if I hadn't begged
and prayed and offered to pay for my board and lodging, which is more than
any prisoner ever did before me. He let me stay on those conditions; and
for three months I was caged up there with every larrikin in the township
clamoring at the other side of the wall. That was pretty treatment for a
man that had served his country!
At last, one morning up came the governor again.
"Well, Maloney," he said, "how long are you going to honor us with
your society?"
I could have put a knife into his cursed body, and would, too, if we
had been alone in the bush; but I had to smile, and smooth him and
flatter, for I feared that he might have me sent out.
"You're an infernal rascal," he said; those were his very words, to a
man that had helped him all he knew how. "I don't want any rough justice
here, though; and I think I see my way to getting you out of Dunedin."
"I'll never forget you, governor," said I' and, by God! I never will!
"I don't want your thanks nor your gratitude," he answered; "it's not
for your sake that I do it, but simply to keep order in the town. There's
a steamer starts from the West Quay to Melbourne to-morrow, and we'll get
you aboard it. She is advertised at five in the morning, so have yourself
in readiness."
I packed up the few things I had, and was smuggled out by a back
door, just before daybreak. I hurried down, took my ticket under the name
of Isaac Smith, and got safely aboard the Melbourne boat. I remember
hearing her screw grinding into the water as the warps were cast loose,
and looking back at the lights of Dunedin as I leaned upon the bulwarks,
with the pleasant thought that I was leaving them behind me forever. It
seemed to me that a new world was before me, and that all my troubles had
been cast off. I went down below and had some coffee, and came up again
feeling better than I had done since the morning that I woke to find that
cursed Irishman that took me standing over me with a six-shooter.
Day had dawned by that time, and we were steaming along by the coast,
well out of sight of Dunedin. I loafed about for a couple of hours, and
when the sun got well up some of the other passengers came on deck and
joined me. One of them, a little perky sort of fellow, took a good long
look at me, and then came over and began talking.
"Mining, I suppose?" says he.
"Yes," I says.
"Made your pile?" he says.
"Pretty fair," says I.
"I was at it myself," he says; "I worked at the Nelson fields for
three months, and spent all I made in buying a salted claim which busted
up the second day. I went at it again, though, and struck it rich; but
when the gold wagon was going down to the settlements, it was stuck up by
those cursed rangers, and not a red cent left."
"That was a bad job," I says.
"Broke me - ruined me clean. Never mind, I've seen them all hanged
for it; that makes it easier to bear. There's only one left - the villain
that gave the evidence. I'd die happy if I could come across him. There
were two things I have to do if I meet him."
"What's that?" says I, carelessly.
"I've got to ask him where the money lies - they never had time to
make away with it, and it's cached somewhere in the mountains - and then
I've got to stretch his neck for him, and send his soul down to join the
men that he betrayed."
It seemed to me that I knew something about that cache, and I felt
like laughing; but he was watching me, and it struck me that he had a
nasty, vindictive kind of mind.
"I'm going up on the bridge," I said, for he was not a man whose
acquaintance I cared much about making.
He wouldn't hear of my leaving him, though.
"We're both miners," he says, "and we're pals for the voyage. Come
down to the bar. I'm not too poor to shout."
I couldn't refuse him well, and we went down together; and that was
the beginning of the trouble.. What harm was I doing any one on the ship?
All I asked for was a quiet life, leaving others alone and getting left
alone myself. No man could ask fairer than that. And now just you listen
to what came of it.
We were passing the front of the ladies' cabin, on our way to the
saloon, when out comes a servant lass - a freckled currency she-devil -
with a baby in her arms. We were brushing past her, when she gave a scream
like a railway whistle, and nearly dropped the kid. My nerves gave a sort
of jump when I heard that scream, but I turned and begged her pardon,
letting on that I thought I might have trod on her foot. I knew the game
was up, though, when I saw her white face, and her leaning against the
door and pointing.
"It's him!" she cried; "It's him! I saw him in the court-house. Oh,
don't let him hurt the baby!"
"Who is it?" asked the steward and half a dozen others in a breath.
"It's him - Maloney - Maloney, the murderer - oh, take him away -
take him away!"
I don't rightly remember what happened just at that moment. The
furniture and me seemed to get kind of mixed, and there was cursing, and
smashing, and some one shouting for his gold, and a general stamping
round. When I got steadied a bit, I found somebody's hand in my mouth.
From what I gathered afterward, I concluded that it belonged to that same
little man with the vicious way of talking. He got some of it out again,
but that was because the others were choking me. A poor chap can get no
fair play in this world when once he is down - still, I think he will
remember me till the day of his death - longer, I hope.
They dragged me out on to the poop and held a damned court-martial -
on me, mind you that had thrown over my pals in order to serve them. What
were they to do with me? Some said this, some said that; but it ended by
the captain deciding to send me ashore. The ship stopped, they lowered a
boat, and I was hoisted in, the whole gang of them hooting at me from over
the bulwarks. I saw the man I spoke of tying up his hand, though, and I
felt that things might be worse.
I changed my opinion before we got to land. I had reckoned on the
shore being deserted, and that I might make my way inland; but the ship
had stopped too near the Heads, and a dozen beachcombers and such like had
come down to the water's edge and were staring at us, wondering what the
boat was after. When we got to the edge of the surf the cockswain hailed
them, and after singing out who I was, he and his men threw me into the
water. You may well look surprised - neck and crop into ten feet of water,
with sharks as thick as green parrots in the bush, and I heard them
laughing as I floundered to the shore.
I soon saw it was a worse job than ever. As I came scrambling out
through the weeds, I was collared by a big chap with a velveteen coat, and
half a dozen others got round me and held me fast. Most of them looked
simple fellows enough, and I was not afraid of them; but there was one in
a cabbage-tree hat that had a very nasty expression on his face, and the
big man seemed to be chummy with him.
The dragged me up the beach, and then they let go their hold of me
and stood round in a circle.
"Well, mate," says the man with the hat, "we've been looking out for
you some time in these parts."
"And very good of you, too," I answers.
"None of your jaw," says he, "Come, boys what shall it be - hanging,
drowning, or shooting? Look sharp!"
This looked a bit too like business. "No, you don't " I said. "I've
got government protection and it'll be murder."
"That's what they call it," answered the one in the velveteen coat,
as cheery as a piping crow.
"And you're going to murder me for being a ranger?"
"Ranger be damned!" said the man. "We're going to hang you for
peaching against your pals; and that's an end of the palaver."
They slung a rope round my neck and dragged me up to the edge of the
bush. There were some big she-oaks and blue-gums, and they pitched on one
of these for the wicked deed. They ran the rope over a branch, tied my
hands, and told me to say my prayers. It seemed as if it was all up; but
Providence interfered to save me. It sounds nice enough sitting here and
telling about it, sir; but it was sick work to stand with nothing but the
beach in front of you, and the long white line of surf, with the steamer
in the distance, and a set of bloody-minded villains round you thirsting
for your life.
I never thought I'd owe anything good to the police; but they saved
me that time. A troop of them were riding from Hawkes Point Station to
Dunedin, and hearing that something was up, they came down through the
bush and interrupted the proceedings. I've heard some bands in my time,
doctor, but I never heard music like the jingle of those traps' spurs and
harness as they galloped out on to the open. They tried to hang me even
then, but the police were too quick for them; and the man with the hat got
one over the head with the flat of a sword. I was clapped on to a horse,
and before evening I found myself in my old quarters in the city jail.
The governor wasn't to be done, though. He was determined to get rid
of me, and I was equally anxious to see the last of him. He waited a week
or so until the excitement had begun to die away, and then he smuggled me
aboard a three-mastered schooner bound to Sydney with tallow and hides.
We got far away to sea without a hitch, and things began to look a
bit more rosy. I made sure that I had seen the last of the prison, anyway.
The crew had a sort of an idea who I was, and if there'd been any rough
weather, they'd have hove me overboard, like enough; for they were a
rough, ignorant lot, and had a notion that I brought bad luck to the ship.
We had a good passage, however, and I was landed safe and sound upon
Sydney Quay.
Now just you listen to what happened next. You'd have thought they
would have been sick of ill-using me and following me by this time -
wouldn't you, now? Well, just you listen. It seems that a cursed steamer
started from Dunedin to Sydney on the very day we left, and got in before
us, bringing news that I was coming. Blessed if they hadn't called a
meeting - a regular mass-meeting - at the docks to discuss about it, and I
was marched right into it when I landed. They didn't take long about
arresting me, and I listened to all the speeches and resolutions. If I'd
been a prince there couldn't have been more excitement. The end of all was
that they agreed that it wasn't right that New Zealand should be allowed
to foist her criminals upon her neighbors, and that I was to be sent back
again by the next boat. So they posted me off again as if I was a damned
parcel; and after another eight-hundred-mile journey I found myself back
for the third time moving in the place that I was started from.
By the time I had begun to think that I was going to spend the rest
of my existence traveling about from one port to another. Every man's hand
seemed turned against me, and there was no peace or quiet in any
direction. I was about sick of it by the time I had come back; and if I
could have taken to the bush I'd have done it, and chanced it with my old
pals. They were too quick for me, though, and kept me under lock and key;
but I managed, in spite of them, to negotiate that cache I told you of,
and sewed the gold up in my belt. I spent another month in jail, and then
they shipped me abroad a bark that was bound for England.
This time the crew never knew who I was, but the captain had a pretty
good idea, though he didn't let on to me that he had any suspicions. I
guessed from the first that the man was a villain. We had a fair passage,
except a gale or two off the Cape; and I began to feel like a free man
when I saw the blue loom of the old country, and the saucy little
pilot-boat from Falmouth dancing toward us over the waves. We ran down the
Channel, and before we reached Gravesend I had agreed with the pilot that
he should take me ashore with him when he left. It was at this time that
the captain showed me that I was right in thinking him a meddling,
disagreeable man. I got my things packed, such as they were, and left him
talking earnestly to the pilot, while I went below for my breakfast. When
I came up again we were fairly into the mouth of the river, and the boat
in which I was to have gone ashore had left us. The skipper said the pilot
had forgotten me; but that was too thin, and I began to fear that all my
old troubles were going to commence once more.
It was not long before my suspicions were confirmed. A boat darted
out from the side of the river, and a tall cove with a long black beard
came aboard. I heard him ask the mate whether they didn't need a mud-pilot
to take them up in the reaches, but it seemed to me that he was a man who
would know a deal more about handcuffs than he did about steering, so I
kept away from him. He came across the deck, however, and made some remark
to me, taking a good look at me the while. I didn't like inquisitive
people at any time, but an inquisitive stranger with glue about the roots
of his beard is the worst of all to stand, especially under the
circumstances. I began to feel that it was time for me to go.
I soon got a chance, and made good use of it. A big collier came
athwart the bows of our steamer, and we had to slacken down to dead slow.
There was a barge astern, and I slipped down by a rope and was into the
barge before any one missed me. Of course I had to leave my luggage behind
me, but I had the belt with the nuggets round my waist, and the chance of
shaking the police off my track was worth more than a couple of boxes. It
was clear to me now that the pilot had been a traitor, as well as the
captain, and had set the detectives after me. I often wish I could drop
across those two men again.
I hung about the barge all day as she drifted down the stream. There
was one man in her, but she was a big, ugly craft, and his hands were too
full for much looking about. Toward evening, when it got a bit dusky, I
struck out for the shore, and found myself in a sort of marsh place, a
good many miles to the east of London. I was soaking wet and half dead
with hunger, but I trudged into the town, got a new rig-out at a slop-hot,
and after having some supper, engaged a bed at the quietest lodgings I
could find.
I woke pretty early - a habit you pick up in the bush - and lucky for
me that I did so. The very first thing I saw when I took a look through a
chink in the shutter was one of those infernal policemen, standing right
opposite and staring up at the windows. He hadn't epaulets nor a sword,
like our traps, but for all that there was a sort of family likeness, and
the same busybody expression. Whether they followed me all the time, or
whether the woman that let me the bed didn't like the looks of me, is more
than I have ever been able to find out. He came across as I was watching
him, and noted down the address of the house in a book. I was afraid that
he was going to ring at the bell, but I suppose his orders were simply to
keep an eye on me, for after another good look at the windows he moved on
down the street.
I saw that my only chance was to act at once. I threw on my clothes,
opened the window softly, and, after making sure that there was nobody
about, dropped out onto the ground and made off as hard as I could run. I
traveled a matter of two or three miles, when my wind gave out; and as I
saw a big building with people going in and out, I went in too, and found
that it was a railway station. A train was just going off for Dover to
meet the French boat, so I took a ticket and jumped into a third-class
carriage.
There were a couple of other chaps in the carriage, innocent-looking
young beggars, both of them. They began speaking about his and that, while
I sat quiet in the corner and listened. Then they started on England and
foreign countries, and such like. Look ye now, doctor, this is a fact. One
of them begins jawing about the justice of England's laws. "It's all fair
and above-board," says he; "there ain't any secret police, nor spying,
like they have abroad," and a lot more of the same sort of wash. Rather
rough on me, wasn't it, listening to the damned young fool, with the
police following me about like my shadow?
I got to Paris right enough, and there I changed some of my gold, and
for a few days I imagined I'd shaken them off, and began to think of
settling down for a bit of rest. I needed it by that time, for I was
looking more like a ghost than a man. You've never had the police after
you, I suppose? Well, you needn't look offended, I didn't mean any harm.
If ever you had you'd know that it wastes a man away like a sheep with the
rot.
I went to the opera one night and took a box, for I was coming out
between the acts when I met a fellow lounging along in the passage. The
light fell on his face, and I saw that it was the mud-pilot that had
boarded us in the Thames. His beard was gone, but I recognized the man at
a glance, for I've a good memory for faces.
I tell you, doctor, I felt desperate for a moment. I could have
knifed him if we had been alone, but he knew me well enough never to give
me the chance. It was more then I could stand any longer, so I went right
up to him and drew him aside, where we'd be free from all the lundgers and
theater-goers.
"How long are you going to keep it up?" I asked him.
He seemed a bit flustered for a moment, but then he saw there was no
use beating about the bush, so he answered straight;
"Until you go back to Australia," he said.
"Don't you know," I said, "that I have served the government and got
a free pardon?"
He grinned all over his ugly face when I said this.
"We know all about you, Maloney," he answered. "If you want a quiet
life, just you go back where you came from. If you stay here, you're a
marked man; and when you are found tripping it'll be a lifer for you, at
the least. Free trade's a fine thing but the market's too full of men like
you for us to need to import any."
It seemed to me that there was something in what he said, though he
had a nasty way of putting it. For some days back I'd been feeling a sort
of home sick. The ways of the people weren't my ways. They stared at me in
the street; and if I dropped into a oar, they'd stop talking and edge away
a bit, as if I was a wild beast. I'd sooner have had a pint of old
Stringybark, too, than a bucketful of their rot-gut liquors. There was too
much damned propriety. What was the use of having money if you couldn't
dress as you liked, nor bust in properly? There was no sympathy for a man
if he shot about a little when he was half-over. I've seen a man dropped
at Nelson many a time with less row than they'd make over a broken
window-pane. The thing was slow, and I was sick of it.
"You want me to go back?" I said.
"I've my order to stick fast to you until you do," he answered.
"Well," I said, "I don't care if I do. All I bargain is that you keep
your mouth shut and don't let on who I am, so that I may have a fair start
when I get there."
He agreed to this, and we went over to Southampton the very next day,
where he saw me safely off once more. I took a passage round to Adelaide,
where no one was likely to know me; and there I settled, right under the
nose of the police. Id been there ever since, leading a quiet life,' but
for little difficulties like the one I'm in for now, and for that devil,
Tattooed Tom, of Hawkesbury. I don't know what made me tell you all this,
doctor, unless it is that being lonely makes a man inclined to jaw when he
gets a chance. Just you take warning from me, though. Never put yourself
out to serve your country; for your country will do precious little for
you. Just you let them look after their own affairs; and if they find
difficulty in hanging a set of scoundrels, never mind chipping in, but let
them alone to do as best they can. Maybe they'll remember how they treated
me after I'm dead, and be sorry for neglecting me. I was rude to you when
you came in, and swore a trifle promiscuous: but don't you mind me, it's
only my way. You'll allow, though, that I have cause to be a bit
touchy now and again when I think of all that's passed. You're not going,
are you? Well, if you must, you must; but I hope you will look me up at
odd times when you are going your rounds. Oh, I say, you've left the
balance of that cake of tobacco behind you, haven't you? No: it's in your
pocket - that's all right. Thank ye doctor, you're a good sort, and as
quick as a hint as any man I've met.
A couple of months after narrating his experiences, Wolf Tone Maloney
finished his term, and was released. For a long time I neither saw him nor
heard of him, and he had almost slipped from my memory, until I was
reminded, in a somewhat tragic manner, of his existence. I had been
attending a patient some distance off in the country, and was riding back,
guiding my tired horse among the boulders which strewed the pathway, and
endeavoring to see my way through the gathering darkness, when I came
suddenly upon a little wayside inn. As I walked my horse up toward the
door, intending to make sure of my bearings before proceeding further, I
heard the sound of a violent altercation within the little bar. There
seemed to be a chorus of expostulation or remonstrance, above which two
powerful voices rang out loud and angry. As I listened, there was a
momentary hush, two pistol shots sounded almost simultaneously, and with a
crash the door burst open and a pair of dark figures staggered out into
the moonlight. They struggled for a moment in a deadly wrestle, and then
went down together among the loose stones. I had sprung off my horse, and,
with the help of half a dozen rough fellows from the bar, dragged them
away from one another.
A glance was sufficient to convince me that one of them was drying
fast. He was a thick-set burly fellow, with a determined cast of
countenance. The blood was welling from a deep stab in his throat, and it
was evident that an important artery had been divided. I turned away from
him in despair, and walked over to where his antagonist was lying. He was
shot through the lungs, but managed to raise himself up on his hand as I
approached, and peered anxiously up into my face. To my surprise, I saw
before me the haggard features and flaxen hair of my prison acquaintance,
Maloney.
"Ah, doctor!" he said, recognizing me. "How is he? Will he die?"
He asked the question so earnestly that I imagined he had softened at
the last moment, and feared to leave the world with another homicide upon
his conscience. Truth, however, compelled me to shake my head mournfully,
and to intimate that the wound would prove a mortal one.
Maloney gave a wild cry of triumph, which brought the blood welling
out from between his lips. "Here, boys," he gasped to the little group
around him. "There's money in my inside pocket. Damn the expense! Drinks
round. There's nothing mean about me. I'd drink with you, but I'm going.
Give the doc my share, for he's as good --" Here his head fell back with a
thud, his eye glazed, and the soul of Wolf Tone Maloney, forger, convict,
ranger, murderer, and government peach, drifted away into the Great
Unknown.
I cannot conclude without borrowing the account of the fatal quarrel
which appeared in the columns of the West Australian Sentinel. The curious
will find it in the issue of October 4, 1881:
"FATAL AFFRAY. - W. T. Maloney, a well-known citizen of New Montrose,
and proprietor of the Yellow Boy gambling saloon, has met with his death
under rather painful circumstances. Mr. Maloney was a man who had led a
checkered existence, and whose past history is replete with interest. Some
of our readers may recall the Lena Village murders, in which he figured as
the principal criminal. It is conjectured that during the seven months
that he owned a bar in that region, from twenty to thirty travelers were
hocussed and made away with. He succeeded, however, in evading the
vigilance of the officers of the law, and allied himself with the
bushrangers of Bluemansdyke, whose heroic capture and subsequent execution
are matters of history. Maloney extricated himself from the fate which
awaited him by turning Queen's evidence. He afterward visited Europe, but
returned to West Australia, where he has long played a prominent part in
local matters. On Friday evening he encountered an old enemy, Thomas
Grimthorpe, commonly known as Tattooed Tom, of Hawkesbury. Shots were
exchanged, and both were badly wounded, only surviving a few minutes. Mr.
Maloney had the reputation of being not only the most wholesale murderer
that ever lived, but also of having a finish and attention to detail in
matters of evidence which has been unapproached by any European criminal.
Sic transit gloria mundi!"
