CORNELL 
 
 U NJm V E R S 1 T Y 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Gift of 
 
 Susan Williams Beelick 
 Class of 1961 
 
„,f05NELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 3 1924 085 256 372 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924085256372 
 
CASTLE VANE 
 
 A ROMANCE OF BUSHRANGING ON THE 
 UPPER HUNTER IN THE OLDEN DAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 J. H. M. ABBOTT 
 
 Author of "Gommy CormlaBi, Letters from Qgeer Street, etc. 
 
 AUSTRALIA: 
 
 ANGUS & ROBERTSON LTD. 
 
 89 CASTLEREAGH STREET, SYDNEY 
 1920 
 
" Castle Vane," was originally published in The World's News. 
 The author's thanks are due to the Editor and Proprietors of that 
 journal (or permission to republish it in its present form. 
 
 Printed by W. C. Penfold & Co. Ltd. 
 88 Pitt Street, Sydney, Australia 
 
 Obtainable in Great Britain from the British Australasian Book-store, 
 
 51 High Holborn, I<ondon, W.C. 1, and all other Booksellers; and 
 
 wholesale only) from the Australian Book Company, 16 Farringdon 
 
 Avenue, I^ondon B.C. 4. 
 

 CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 Chaptei 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 I. 
 
 The Major's Nose - 
 
 - 
 
 I 
 
 II. 
 
 The Bookseller 
 
 - 
 
 12 
 
 III. 
 
 The Recruit - 
 
 - 
 
 22 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Free Company 
 
 
 32 
 
 V. 
 
 The Night Ride 
 
 - 
 
 - 40 
 
 VI. 
 
 At Castle Vane 
 
 
 - S3 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Jewboy 
 
 - 
 
 - 62 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Jewboy's Jest - 
 
 - 
 
 - 73 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Trial 
 
 - 
 
 - 84 
 
 X. 
 
 The Deep Sea 
 
 - 
 
 - 95 
 
 XL 
 
 To the Mountains 
 
 - 
 
 - 106 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Jewboy's Lair - 
 
 - 
 
 - "7 
 
 XIII. 
 
 At the Bookshop - 
 
 - 
 
 - 128 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Story of Richard Delane 
 
 - 139 
 
 XV. 
 
 Caroline 
 
 
 - 149 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Attack 
 
 - 
 
 - 159 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The Counter-Stroke 
 
 - 
 
 - 171 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A Day with the Outlaws 
 
 - 182 
 
 XIX. 
 
 On the Trail - 
 
 - 
 
 - 192 
 
 XX. 
 
 Doughboy Hollow - 
 
 - 
 
 - 202 
 
 XXI. 
 
 All's Well 
 
 - 
 
 - 213 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 The Major's Nose 
 
 MAJOR JOHN HILARY VANE, of Her 
 Majesty's One Hundred and Forty- 
 sixth Regiment of Foot, strode angrily 
 up George Street. 
 
 If a man ever wore that expression of feature 
 which is known as "a black look," it was worn 
 by the senior major of the old "Perishers" on 
 this sunny morning in the year of Our Lord 
 one thousand eight hundred and forty. So 
 black was it that a child ceased its play at the 
 corner of Hunter Street, and howled dismally, 
 as it caught sight of the lowering countenance 
 of the tall field-ofificer. A top-hatted constable 
 had paled to the roots of his red whiskers as he 
 saluted him; and old Danny Burke, a First 
 Fleeter, tottering along the sidewalk with the 
 help of two sticks, had tripped over one of them, 
 and sprawled into the gutter, in an access of 
 sudden terror, when he beheld the major close 
 upon him. 
 
 "Glory be !" the old man muttered, as a kindly 
 passer-by assisted him to his feet. "Glory be! 
 'Twas warse than Guv'nor Bligh he do be look- 
 ing, Shure, 'tis flogging dayfaulters he'll be 
 doin' this same morning. 'Tis the black wrath 
 
2 CASTLE VANE 
 
 — the black, black divil — he has roused in him. 
 God hilp the 'Perishers' this day!" 
 
 People turned to look after the handsome, 
 hard-faced man in full regimentals, as he crossed 
 the street towards the barrack gates. 
 
 There was always something about John Vane 
 that commanded attention. The strong, stern, 
 well-featured face, almost swarthy in com- 
 plexion, the straight line of black eyebrows over- 
 shadowing bright and piercing black eyes — 
 it was a face that compelled regard, that aroused 
 a feeling of respect in the average man, not un- 
 tinged with fear. It was not the kind of face 
 that is soon forgotten, nor the sort that is lost 
 in any merging with other faces. It would be 
 as easily forgotten as is the face of the great 
 Duke of Wellington. 
 
 The sentry inside the gateway saw him 
 coming, and stiffened like a ramrod. 
 
 "Guard, turn out!" he bawled. 
 
 The stout sergeant, lounging under the ver- 
 andah of the guard-room, wheeled hastily, and 
 caught the sentry's hoarse stage-whisper: — 
 "Quick, sergeant! 'Tis the major." 
 
 "Guar-rd, tur-rn out!" he bellowed into the 
 open door of the guard-room, and as Major Vane 
 passed through the gate, the main guard, with 
 the sergeant behind it and corporal upon its right 
 flank, red-coated and pipe-clay belted, stood 
 rigidly to attention. 
 
 "Present ar-rms!" cried the sergeant, and the 
 little guard of soldiers accorded Major John 
 
THE MAJOR'S NOSE 3 
 
 Hilary Vane the compliment that was his due 
 as temporarily commanding the 146th. He 
 stiffly acknowledged the salute, and was striding 
 on, when something caught his eye and brought 
 him abruptly to a halt. 
 
 "Sergeant!" he rasped out, in the barrack- 
 square voice which the "Perishers" knew so well 
 and loved so little. 
 
 "Sir!" — and the anxious sergeant doubled 
 round to the front of the guard, and stood to 
 attention before the great man. 
 
 "A dirty guard, sergeant. Look at this 
 
 man! He is not dressed." He pointed with his 
 white gloves to a tall young private — a fine- 
 looking man, who was on the left flank of the 
 guard. 
 
 "No, sir," promptly agreed the sergeant, 
 searching the soldier with his eyes in an almost 
 vain attempt to detect anything amiss with his 
 appearance. "No, sir — a dir-rty soldier, sir." 
 
 The tall young private gazed immovably to 
 his front, over the head of the anxious sergeant. 
 
 "Two buttons of his jacket are undone. Make 
 him a prisoner, sergeant. And send him under 
 escort to the orderly-room immediately. I will 
 deal with him this morning. Consider yourself 
 fortunate that I do not reduce you to corporal. 
 Damnably careless! A disgrace to the army." 
 
 The black-browed major strode on across the 
 barrack-square to the orderly-room, where it 
 was his immediate duty to dispense the daily 
 dose of justice, injustice, and tyranny which was 
 
4 CASTLE VANE 
 
 considered essential to the well-being, discipline, 
 and efficiency of any regiment of the British 
 Army, at home and abroad. 
 
 And so, by reason of two unbuttoned button- 
 holes in the scarlet jacket of Private Richard 
 Delane, as detected by his commanding officer 
 on a morning of January, 1840, does this story 
 have its beginnings. 
 
 Out in the barrack square the band of the 
 regiment was forming up for practice, and, in 
 the street without the wide gateway, a little 
 rag-tag company of idlers and passers-by, that 
 always complimented it by listening to the per- 
 formance which Bandmaster Bernstein put it 
 through, was gathered in force. The band of 
 the 146th was a popular institution in Sydney 
 in the forties of the last century. But this 
 morning, because of the displeasure of the 
 acting-commander of the regiment, the audience 
 was doomed to disappointment. Hardly had the 
 first strains of the regimental quick-step saluted 
 the sunny morning when a corporal came 
 running from the orderly-room with uplifted, 
 forbidding hands. Fat Mr. Bernstein saw him 
 coming, and immediately stopped the music. 
 
 "The adjutant's orders, Mr. Bernstein, and 
 you're to take the band into the Domain, an' 
 practise there." 
 
 "Ach— for why is this. Corporal Hall?" de- 
 manded the scandalized bandmaster in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
THE MAJOR'S NOSE 5 
 
 "Begad, Mr. Bernstein, 'tis because th' 
 major's ragin' like a mad devil." 
 
 "With me — with the musicians?" 
 
 "No. God only knows. 'Send th' dam band 
 to hell,' he says to Captain Clare. Oh, we're in 
 for it to-day." 
 
 So, silently, the band moved off across the 
 parade ground and out into George Street, fol- 
 lowed towards the Domain by its assorted 
 audience. 
 
 "Clare," said the major, as he took his seat 
 with a frown behind the table in the orderly- 
 room. "Clare — it is my opinion — my very de- 
 liberate opinion, that his Excellency is an un- 
 conscionable ass. An ass, a fool!" 
 
 "Major!" exclaimed the adjutant, scandalized 
 by this treasonable utterance on the part of his 
 commanding officer. How? Why? What has 
 Sir George Gipps done, may I ask?" 
 
 The adjutant of the 146th had in his aspect 
 less of the man of war than one would have 
 looked for in so responsible an officer of such 
 a truculent regiment as the "Perishers." A mild 
 man, a man who was constitutionally a neutral, 
 an enemy of strife, a deplorer of harsh measures 
 — Captain Clare's appearance did not belie his 
 gentle nature. It was easy for his friends to 
 understand why, ten years later, his government 
 of that outpost of hell at Norfolk Island was 
 such a dismal failure. He was too gentle for a 
 soldier, they said, too mild for a convict dis- 
 ciplinarian, too much of a gentleman, too scru- 
 
6 CASTLE VANE 
 
 pulous and fair for an official position that de- 
 manded ruthless and unscrupulous determina- 
 tion. Now, as chaplain of the 146th he might 
 have been an unqualified success; as a bishop, 
 even, he would have been admirable. But as 
 adjutant, or gaoler, he was clearly the wrong 
 man in the wrong place. You had but to look 
 at him to realize so much as this. It was 
 obvious in his very appearance. 
 
 A grave and serious face of a peculiar plain- 
 ness was his. It had honesty and lack of humour 
 writ clear over its homely features. A certain 
 air of primness almost suggested some old- 
 maidish habit of mind, some faculty for scan- 
 dalization and disapproval that in these days 
 would have not altogether deservedly earned for 
 him in Sydney the title of "wowser." He was 
 clearly a good man, and just as clearly a dull, 
 narrow man, to whom dullness was congenial 
 and altogether natural. For his epitaph he 
 would have desired nothing better than the 
 simple and noble words, "He did his duty." By 
 the addition of one word to it his whole bio- 
 graphy might have been written, "He did his 
 duty drearily" would have summed up the life 
 story of Captain William Clare, of H.M. 146th 
 Foot, to a nicety. All the tale of his sojourn on 
 earth might have been told in those five words. 
 
 Such an expression of forceful opinion as 
 Major Vane had just given vent to seemed to 
 the adjutant to savor of little less than blas- 
 phemy. 
 
THE MAJOR'S NOSE 7 
 
 "My dear major!" he exclaimed. "The Gov- 
 ernor! Dear me." 
 
 "Yes," went on Vane. "He is an imbecile, 
 a dolt. He does not understand the essentials 
 of colonial government. Damme, Clare, he has 
 had the effrontery, the incapacity, the un- 
 paralleled short-sightedness to refuse me con- 
 firmation of the grant of land on the Hunter 
 River which his predecessor, a truly wise and 
 far-seeing pro-consul — excellent Sir Richard 
 Bourke — had promised me, and where, mark 
 you, I am already established and settled. I 
 may purchase from the Crown on favourable 
 terms, he says; but he sees no reason why I 
 should obtain the land for nothing. For 
 nothing, mark you. Is all my pioneering work 
 nothing? Have I purchased my stock for 
 nothing? Am I nothing myself? Is my enter- 
 prise of no value to this country? He is unfit 
 to conduct this government, I say. He will ruin 
 the colony. Mark my words. He will bring it 
 to ruination." 
 
 "Dear me ! His Excellency will not confirm 
 your occupation of Castle Vane, then, major? 
 Do I understand you alright? Will he not re- 
 consider the matter?" 
 
 The major laughed harshly. 
 
 "Reconsider! No. He is explicit on that 
 point. He even gives me a date in which to pay 
 for the land or to evacuate it. Under no cir- 
 cumstances will he reopen the matter, he writes. 
 
8 CASTLE VANE 
 
 I have his letter, received this morning, in my 
 pocket." 
 
 "And have you come to any decision?" 
 "Yes. As you know, I have sent in my papers, 
 and in a few weeks at most I shall have left 
 
 the regiment. the Governor. I thank God 
 
 I have the means to purchase, and will not be 
 baulked by his ignorant maladministration. I 
 shall lodge the purchase money to-day. We will 
 see whether his Excellency can hinder the 
 development of the colony. But come, Clare — 
 have the defaulters brought in." 
 
 Six drunks, one resister of the picket, two in- 
 subordinations, three leave-breakers, and a 
 deserter were duly paraded in turn before the 
 acting commanding officer of the 146th, and had 
 grim and unpleasant reason to remark the fact 
 that his temper was ruffled. Each and all of 
 them received the maximum punishment, even 
 to courts-martial, which it was in the power of 
 the irate officer to award summarily or to recom- 
 mend. In no instance was the slightest excuse 
 available, and the sentences were savagely 
 severe. It seemed that the O.C. had no desire 
 to leave pleasant memories behind him in the 
 old regiment. With each successive case his ill- 
 humour grew more pronounced. Even the 
 provost-sergeant, parading the prisoners, 
 narrowly escaped arrest, and the adjutant him- 
 self, mercifully putting in a word as to the 
 deserter's good record, was abruptly and per- 
 emptorily rebuked. 
 
THE MAJOR'S NOSE 9 
 
 "That, sir, ends the defaulters' list," said 
 Captain Clare, closing the book of fate with a 
 sigh. 
 
 "And a lot of scoundrels, too," growled 
 
 the major. "But wait a moment, Mr. Adjutant 
 — here is one more. A prisoner of my own, I 
 think. Bring him in, sergeant," he cried to the 
 little group on the verandah. 
 
 Between his escort of two soldiers of the 
 guard, with bayonets fixed, Private Richard 
 Delane was paraded before the tribunal of jus- 
 tice, to answer the charge of being improperly 
 dressed upon guard duty — to render account of 
 himself over the hideous sin of offending his 
 commander's eye with two unbuttoned buttons 
 of his jacket. Truly a terrific crime, and un- 
 forgivable. 
 
 The young soldier stood erect between his 
 guardians, and faced the major's scowling stare 
 with an air of defiance. 
 
 He was a handsome , youth, of somewhere 
 about twenty-four — tall, clean-limbed, and 
 athletic — with a face that expressed some in- 
 dication of a temper that might be as fiery as 
 that of the man who sat and glared at him. 
 But it lacked the ill-humour that was all too 
 evident in the older man's habitual expression. 
 
 "Private Delane, sir," said the provost- 
 sergeant. "Improperly dressed on guard duty; 
 dirty, sir." 
 
 The major eyed him for a few seconds in 
 silence, before taking up his pen to record the 
 
10 CASTLE VANE 
 
 sentence. No explanation was asked of the 
 soldier, no record of character was inquired into. 
 His sentence was prompt and terrible. It was 
 a sentence which Major John Hilary Vane was 
 inflicting upon his Excellency Sir George Gipps, 
 Governor and Captain-General in and over His 
 Majesty's Territory of New South Wales. Even 
 the provost-sergeant gasped as he heard the 
 words. The adjutant turned pale. Even in 
 those days of iron discipline it was a fearful 
 sentence for such a trivial crime. 
 
 "Fifty lashes!" said the major. 
 
 For a moment the young soldier glanced at 
 him. Then, swiftly, and before the astonished 
 escort could intervene, he took a step forward 
 to the itable, shot out his clenched fish, and 
 smote his commanding officer upon the nose, as 
 he leaned across his papers. 
 
 Instantly he turned, and, with a sweep of his 
 strong arms, pushed the astonished escort apart, 
 leaped to the door, and ran out into the sun- 
 shine, sprinting across the barrack square to- 
 wards the gate. His action was so startingly 
 sudden as temporarily to paralyse those in the 
 room. He was already half-way to the gate 
 before the provost-sergeant and the escort came 
 racing after him from the orderly-room. 
 
 The sentry at the guard-room, pacing down 
 towards the street, with his back to the square, 
 was a man of slow comprehension, and gaped 
 at the oncoming flying figure, when the shouts 
 of the escort drew his attention, in bewilder- 
 
THE MAJOR'S NOSE ii 
 
 ment. As Private Delane sped near him, he 
 aimed his musket at him, but, for the luck of 
 Delane, it only flashed in the pan, and the next 
 moment the young soldier was racing diagonally 
 across George Street. He dived into the open 
 door of a little book-shop. 
 
 And from that moment Private Richard 
 Delane, of the 146th, disappeared from the face 
 of the earth — at any rate so far as that 
 thoroughly mystified, and not altogether dis- 
 pleased, regiment could make out. There were 
 few of the rank and file who grudged him his 
 liberty. The major's broken nose buttoned a 
 multitude of buttons. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 The Bookseller 
 
 IT was a quiet, unobtrusive, dark little shop 
 with small and dingy windows, and it stood 
 not far from where a great grey trachyte 
 building of an American insurance office stands 
 to-day in George Street. A plain and unadorned 
 stone cottage of the Macquarie regime, with- 
 out a verandah, but having a sort of low stone 
 pavement, a couple of yards in width, dividing 
 it from the building alignment of the street — 
 it was one of scores of little primitive dwellings, 
 solid and substantial, and exceedingly ugly, that 
 gave shelter to the majority of the citizens of 
 Sydney in 1840. 
 
 It was not until the goldfield days that the 
 capital of the Australias began to adorn itself 
 architecturally by means oJ private enterprise. 
 Nearly all the imposing buildings, scattered 
 here and there through the towns, were official 
 before the fifties — gaols, barracks, churches, 
 stores, and Government offices. Up on the 
 Rocks, and out by Woolloomooloo, were some 
 fine mansions of the merchants and rich eman- 
 cipists, but in Sydney itself the streets were 
 for the most part rows of cottages, broken here 
 
 12 
 
THE BOOKSELLER 13 
 
 and there by larger buildings that were still 
 severely simple in design. 
 
 In one of the two small-paned windows of the 
 cottage were displayed the backs of several dingy 
 rows of books, and over the door was a sign 
 that intimated that Jacob Losky conducted 
 within a Subscription Library, and sold Books, 
 Prints, and Periodicals. Also that the establish- 
 ment rejoiced in the patronage of his Excellency 
 the Governor and his Honor the Chief Justice. 
 
 The provost-sergeant and his two men, 
 blocked by a broken-down hay waggon, and a 
 gathering crowd about it, reached the door of 
 the shop a good forty seconds after Private 
 Richard Delane had dived through its narrow 
 portals into the dim interior. 
 
 "In there he went," directed a small and eager 
 boy. "I see him run in." 
 
 But within the dark little book-shop the pur- 
 suers drew a blank. 
 
 "Where is he?" demanded the sergeant. 
 "Where's the man who ran in here just now?" 
 
 A girl, reading behind the low counter, seated 
 upon a stool, put her book down and rose to her 
 feet. She was a black-haired handsome Jewess, 
 about eighteen years old, shapely and well 
 developed, and with a magnificent pair of flash- 
 ing, dark eyes, that the sergeant noted and ad- 
 mired, as she turned their wondering gaze upon 
 him. 
 
 "What man, sir? There has been no one 
 
14 CASTLE VANE 
 
 here this last half-hour. Indeed, I have not yet 
 had a customer this morning." 
 
 "Nonsense, my gal," shouted the sergeant, 
 impatiently. "Nonsense! One of our men ran 
 in here this very minute. He was seen to. 
 Come, where is he?" 
 
 "No one has been here. How should I have 
 missed seeing him? I have been here since we 
 opened the street-door at nine o'clock. There 
 has been no one, sergeant. I am sure of it. 
 There could not have been anyone. It is you 
 who talk nonsense." 
 
 There was an inflection of impatience in her 
 speech. But the sergeant was not impressed 
 by it. He turned to the two soldiers standing 
 in the doorway. The tousled head of the small 
 boy thrust itself between them. 
 
 "Come in here, you!" he cried, seizing the 
 urchin by the hair. "You say you saw the man 
 run in here — a soldier? Come — speak up!" 
 
 "O-o! Leggo my hair!" the boy squealed. 
 "Yes, I did. 'E came runnin' across from th' 
 barrack gate, when t'other sojer fired 'is gun 
 ofif. I seen 'im. An' 'e jumped in 'ere. Seen 
 'im do it. My colonial oath, so I did." 
 
 "There, miss — what have you to say to that? 
 This boy saw him run in here just now. Where 
 is he? Where has he gone ? He must be hiding 
 here." 
 
 There was anger in the girl's voice as she 
 replied: "He is not here. I tell you no one 
 
THE BOOKSELLER 15 
 
 has been here. The boy is mistaken. He is a 
 little liar." 
 
 "I ain't no liar!" the small boy protested 
 shrilly. " 'E come in 'ere. I knows '00 it was. 
 It was Mister Delane. I knows 'im all right." 
 
 "I'll search the house," cried the wrathful 
 provost-sergeant. "Stay you at the door, Jen- 
 kins. Marshall, you come with me. The 
 beggar's listening to us now, I'll be bound. And 
 laughing at us." 
 
 One of the soldiers entered the room, and the 
 sergeant took a stride towards the door at the 
 back, over which hung a pair of heavy green 
 curtains. As he did so they were drawn aside, 
 and an old, white-bearded man appeared in the 
 opening — a little old man, who stooped some- 
 what, but in whose bright eye and alert appear- 
 ance there was nothing of feebleness. 
 
 "Who are you who will search my house ?"^ 
 he demanded of the sergeant. "What is this 
 disturbance? What — it is you, Mr. Baylis! 
 What do you want — and what are these armed 
 soldiers doing here ?" 
 
 "A prisoner has escaped from over yonder, 
 Mr. Losky, and I'm after him. He's badly 
 wanted. He bolted from my custody, after 
 assaulting Major Vane, cleared through the 
 guard at the gate, and ran across the street into 
 your shop. I must have him. Stand aside while 
 I search the place." 
 
 "Softly, Sergeant Baylis — softly! How can 
 you search my house ? Where is your authority ? 
 
i6 CASTLE VANE 
 
 Have you a warrant ?" The sergeant spluttered, 
 but fell back a pace. 
 
 "Rachel," continued the old man, "did any 
 soldier come in here? It is useless my asking, 
 for if he had I should have heard him. I have 
 been in the back room since opening the shop 
 half an hour ago. But did you see anything of 
 this man?" 
 
 "No, grandfather," replied the girl. "No one 
 has been here — soldier, bond, or free — since you 
 opened the door. I have told the sergeant so." 
 
 "This boy saw him," said the sergeant 
 doggedly. 
 
 The old man smiled. 
 
 "Then the boy has wonderful powers, which 
 he should cultivate. He can see the invisible. 
 Sure, it must have been a ghost he saw." 
 
 "Will you let me see for myself, Mr. Losky?" 
 demanded the sergeant. 
 
 "At your request, willingly, Mr. Baylis. But 
 it is not your right. You could not force an 
 entrance legally without a search warrant. 
 However, to humour you, and to convince you 
 that no soldier has been here this morning — 
 pray, come this way." 
 
 The old man bowed, and waved his arm 
 towards the back of the house. 
 
 "Look first, however, in this front room," he 
 went on. " 'Tis my granddaughter's. You do 
 not object, Rachael?" 
 
 "No, grandfather. But the sergeant might 
 
THE BOOKSELLER 17 
 
 spare himself the trouble. He will find no 
 soldier beneath my bed." 
 
 The old man conducted the sergeant into the 
 girl's bedroom. In a few seconds they came 
 out, and he led the way to the back of the 
 cottage. The two rooms and the kitchen, which 
 made up the rest of the premises, yielded no 
 better results. Nor the garden and outhouses 
 at the back. So presently they returned, the 
 sergeant crestfallen and anxious as to the anger 
 of the major when he should return empty- 
 handed; the old man smiling. 
 
 "The boy has been mistaken, you see, Mr. 
 Baylis. I wish you good morning. Perhaps you 
 will have better luck elsewhere." 
 
 Withdrawing his men, the provost-sergeant 
 braced himself to face the wrath to come, and 
 marched back, empty-handed, to the barracks. 
 
 The old Jew smiled a farewell as he stood 
 in the middle of the little shop. Then he turned 
 to his granddaughter. She was laughing too. 
 
 "Well, Rachel," he said softly, "It is a good 
 getaway. That was a fair test. And now we 
 must dispose of our guest." 
 
 "It will not be easy," answered the girl; "but 
 I've no doubt you will find a way, grandfather." 
 
 "Yes, yes — it is simple enough. But watch 
 how well it works; how easily I vanish. The 
 thing was well worth the trouble." 
 
 He walked through the door, and halted just 
 inside the inner room. Over his head, within 
 easy reach, a metal vase, with handles at either 
 
1 8 CASTLE VANE 
 
 side, in which grew a flourishing cluster of 
 maiden-hair fern, was suspended by three brass 
 chains from a ring-bolt in the painted wooden 
 ceiling. It was an innocent-looking and grace- 
 ful ornament. The old man turned about, and 
 glanced at the street door to make sure that no 
 one was looking in. 
 
 "See, my Rachael," he laughed — "our dis- 
 appearing trick !" He reached up and tugged at 
 a handle of the vase. The next instant the floor 
 opened and the old man disappeared into a 
 yawning pit. At once the trap-doors sprang 
 back into place, and the floor was apparently 
 sound and solid again. The handsome Jewess 
 clapped her hands and laughed musically. 
 
 "Oh, but he is clever," she murmured. "The 
 cleverest man on earth! It was well for Dick 
 Delane that he knew the trick of it. I wonder 
 what grandfather means to do with him — what 
 use he will put him to. He surely has him now 
 — body and soul. And such a man should prove 
 useful. Ah, well — I will know in good time, I 
 suppose." 
 
 She picked up her book and resumed her 
 reading, as she awaited the coming of custom. 
 
 It was a strange place into which the old man 
 had so suddenly vanished, as the young soldier 
 had done not ten minutes before him — a strange 
 and cunning place. 
 
 There was a deep cavern hollowed out beneath 
 the floor of the cottage, and at its bottom coarse 
 sacking covered a great pad of straw some 3ft. 
 
THE BOOKSELLER 19 
 
 deep. The sides of the pit were padded also to 
 a height of about 5ft. The drop was a good 
 10ft., but so soft was the landing that no man 
 might injure himself who fell through the trap- 
 doors. In a far corner was a narrow opening, 
 through which a man might squeeze himself, and 
 through it shone a dim light, as from a candle 
 or lantern, in some cavity beyond. 
 
 The old man picked himself up and made 
 towards the gleam of light, squeezing through 
 the opening, and emerging into a wider tunnel, 
 where, in the light of a ship's lamp, he found 
 the soldier seated upon a bench, 
 
 "What ho, Father Jacob!" The young man 
 stood up to greet him, grasping both his hands, 
 and wringing them vigorously. "1 salute my 
 preserver !" 
 
 "Gently, gently, my pretty fellow," cried the 
 old man. "So you are the first to benefit- by my 
 invention ! It seems that it made a mighty con- 
 venience to you. Sergeant Baylis was eager- 
 ness itself to lay his hands upon you. What 
 does it mean? Why were you in such a hurry 
 to leave the army? — for that is what I presume 
 you have done?" His voice sank to a murmur, 
 and he eyed the young man narrowly. 
 
 "Is it murder?" he vvhispered hoarsely, laying 
 his hand upon the soldier's knee. "Come — tell 
 me. I am your friend — else I would not have 
 made you free of this — convenience." 
 
 The private laughed. 
 
 "Murder! Good God — no! 'Tis not so bad 
 
20 CASTLE VANE 
 
 as that. But I have broken Black Jack's nose 
 for him, I think. I have spoiled his beauty for 
 a day or two. Like this!" 
 
 He doubled up a great fist and smashed it 
 into the open palm of the other hand. 
 
 "Black Jack ! Major Vane — ^you have beaten 
 him?" 
 
 "Well — not exactly 'beaten him.' Just a tap, 
 that is all. But a hard enough tap to land me 
 with the iron gang for longer than I care to 
 think about." 
 
 "How— why?" 
 
 "I was on the main guard when he came into 
 barracks this morning. That blundering clown, 
 Roarty, turned us out when he was almost 
 between the gate-posts. I missed two buttons 
 in my jacket, and he saw it, cursed me, and 
 made me a prisoner, had me up before him 
 at orderly-room on the instant, and — what 
 think you? — sentenced me to fifty lashes. Good 
 God! Me at the triangles. Me, Dick Delane — 
 as smart a soldier as is in the 'Perishers.' For 
 a thing like that! Something had made him 
 mad with rage. You could see it in his face as 
 he inspected the guard. So I left the army," 
 he laughed defiantly. 
 
 "Yes — but to strike him! Why, 'tis almost a 
 hanging matter!" 
 
 "It would be so — if we were upon active 
 service." 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 "Well, now, I suppose, I am in your hands. 
 
THE BOOKSELLER 21 
 
 Father Jacob. Will you sell me to the floggers 
 and the road gang's overseers?" 
 
 "No, no. But Dick, lad" — the old man leaned 
 forward and peered into his face — "will you join 
 us now? Is there anything else you can do? 
 Will you not be one of us?" 
 
 The soldier remained silent for a time, his 
 arms folded across his great chest, staring into 
 the lamp. At last he sighed and shrugged his 
 shoulders. He held out his right hand to the 
 Jew, and the latter grasped it eagerly. 
 
 "All right, Father Jacob. There is nothing 
 else for it. I am with you. 'Tis my fate, I 
 suppose. I am with you. I can do no other- 
 wise." 
 
 The Jew wrung his hand. 
 
 "Good!" he cried joyfully. "You will not 
 regret it, Dick." 
 
 "And what's to be done now?" 
 
 "You must lie low here until after dark. I 
 will find some clothes for you. Your red jacket 
 will be found upon the cliflFs at South Head to- 
 morrow. And to-night I will send you to a safe 
 enough place. My son — I am glad that you are 
 with us in the Free Company. We could have 
 no better recruit. Give me your hand again!" 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 The Recruit 
 
 ALL through the long day the refugee 
 ZA remained in Jacob Losky's strange sub- 
 terranean hiding-place. 
 
 It was an interminable day, and the first part 
 of it, before he had become a little accustomed 
 to his situation, seemed to Richard Delane to 
 be the most wearisome and dreary of it all. The 
 hours dragged with heavy feet, and he had 
 nothing to do but pace up and down the tunnel 
 and consider the somewhat unpromising outlook 
 that was his. There was a strange collection of 
 all manner of odds and ends stored along the 
 sides of the passage, and he whiled away part of 
 his captivity by examining it. 
 
 The old Jew seemed to be a veritable human 
 jackdaw — so diverse and dissimilar were the 
 contents of the cavern. Boats' sails and oars, 
 firearms, bales of cotton goods, furniture, doors 
 and window frames, tools of all description, old 
 boots, pictures, and rolled carpets were a few 
 items of the strange jumble. There were heavy 
 iron-bound chests and tin deed boxes, and an 
 immense accumulation of faded yellow papers 
 tied in bundles. He seemed to have overlooked 
 in his collection nothing that was portable, and 
 
THE RECRUIT 23 
 
 what use much of it might be to him was more 
 than his guest could imagine. 
 
 A wooden door closed the further end of the 
 tunnel, which was almost thirty feet long by ten 
 feet wide and high. It was securely locked — 
 apparently on the other side. Delane took the 
 ship's lamp down from its hook to explore the 
 place, and it was while he was examining the 
 closed door that it opened, and Rachel, the old 
 man's granddaughter, appeared on the thresh- 
 hold. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Delane," she laughed, pick- 
 ing up a tray of food and drink, which she had 
 placed upon the ground while manipulating the 
 heavy padlock. "How did you know I was 
 coming." 
 
 " 'Twas but chance. Miss Losky. I was ex- 
 ploring this queer place," he replied, a little 
 startled by her sudden appearance. 
 
 "Rachel, if you please," she smilingly cor- 
 rected him. "Grandfather tells me you are 
 going to join the Free Company. We are all 
 Tom, Dick, Harry, and Rachel to one another 
 in the Company. So you are Dick, or Dicky, 
 to me, and I am Rachel to you. It is just as 
 well. We will get to know one another's — weak- 
 nesses — pretty well, I've no doubt." 
 
 Dicky Delane (he was a young man) looked in- 
 to her splendid eyes — deep, dark pools of mystic 
 depth — and realized that he would be a bold 
 man who would seek to fathom Rachel Losky's 
 weaknesses. Strength and beauty — the hand- 
 
24 CASTLE VANE 
 
 some, over-beautiful beauty of the young Jewess 
 — were in every curve of her face and every line 
 of her lissome body. There was in her regard 
 of him something that was entirely frank and 
 fearless, nothing of a kind that would earn Mrs. 
 Grundy's classification of "bold." There was 
 friendliness in it, combined with a certain you- 
 be-damnedness and utter independence. 
 
 "And are you of the Company too — Rachel?" 
 He baulked a little at the name. "I hardly 
 thought it had women in its membership." 
 
 "I am no lady, Dick — or Dicky, I think. I 
 am my father's daughter — and my father was 
 hanged outside Newgate. And I am Jacob 
 Losky's granddaughter — and maybe Father 
 Jacob will hang some day. But I am the only 
 woman in the Company. The only one of my 
 sex who has its freedom. And sometimes I 
 think that, but, for my grandfather, I am the best 
 man in it." 
 
 She laughed in his face. 
 
 "I know I am a better man than you," she 
 continued. 
 
 He looked down at her in a puzzled fashion. 
 
 "How then? You are but a girl," he began. 
 
 "Aye, a girl — but nevertheless a better man 
 than Dick Delane. I would not go mad, and 
 break the major's nose, and ruin my own life, 
 and be driven into the earth — into the depths 
 — as you are driven — because of my bad temper. 
 I would do better than that." 
 
 "But to be flogged — for two buttons!" 
 
THE RECRUIT 25 
 
 "You might have escaped, as you did, with- 
 out making an active enemy of John Vane." 
 
 She laughed again, and changed her tone to 
 one of business-like instructions. 
 
 "But come — ^you must eat. It is past mid-day. 
 And then you must fill in the afternoon. Sleep, 
 I should. You have a rough night before you. 
 Later on, my grandfather will come down to pre- 
 pare you for your journey." 
 
 "A journey?" 
 
 "Yes. You do not think you can stay here. 
 You are to take the field to-night. Take to the 
 bush, as they put it in New South Wales." 
 
 "To the bush!" 
 
 "Yes, my friend. There is nothing for you 
 now but the bushranging profession. People of 
 your violence of nature generally come to it here 
 — and the gallows. You see, I hold out no hope 
 to you of retiring on a competence. We are all 
 gallows-birds in the Company — and most of us 
 will find our perch below the cross-beam one of 
 these fine days. Even I — perhaps. You — for 
 certain. !" 
 
 "But where am I to go to-night — what to do ?" 
 
 "You will go where I take you, and you will 
 do what the Jewboy says." 
 
 "The Jewboy!" he exclaimed. It was becom- 
 ing a well-known name. "The Jewboy- — is he of 
 the Company?" 
 
 "The very soul of it. But good-bye for the 
 present," and she was gone before he could 
 question further, slamming the door behind her. 
 
26 CASTLE VANE 
 
 Delane sat down, and attacked the food and 
 wine with eager appetite. After his meal he 
 stretched, himself upon the floor of the tunnel 
 and slept the afternoon away. 
 
 How long he slept he did not know, but he 
 was awakened by hearing his name pronounced. 
 The old Jew was bending over him, and shaking 
 him by the shoulder. 
 
 "You are a sound sleeper, Richard," he 
 grumbled. "But come now, it is time you were 
 moving. I am going to dress you for a new 
 part." 
 
 The soldier rose, and stretched himself, yawn- 
 ing. "Egad, Father Jacob," he said, "it seems 
 years to me since I played in my last one. What 
 is this to be ?" 
 
 "Strip off those regimentals, and put these 
 clothes on. I have to get you away from Sydney 
 to-night, and it would not be easy to get you 
 off in that costume. Sydney is being scoured 
 for you. There has been a soldier at my door all 
 day, and Major Vane himself came to see me. 
 He is a pretty sight. Both eyes are black, and 
 his nose is all sticking plaster. I think he would 
 dearly love a sight of you, Dicky. Shall I send 
 for him ?" he asked banteringly. 
 
 "What had he to say?" 
 
 "He said that if he ever found that I had 
 harbored you he would have me hounded out of 
 Sydney. And he would, too. But there is no 
 chance." 
 
 "He is a devil," growled the young soldier, 
 
THE RECRUIT 27 
 
 "I wish it was his neck I had broken, instead of 
 his nose." 
 
 He busied himself changing his clothes, and 
 when he had put on the rough countryman's 
 suit which the Jew had provided for him, the 
 latter made him sit down while he completed the 
 d'isguise. 
 
 "Now I will make you so that your mother 
 would not know you. I was a dresser at Drury 
 Lane in my young days, Dicky — you may count 
 that as one of the favours Providence has dis- 
 pensed to you to-day. I don't think I've lost my 
 skill. Why, I made the Jewboy into a Christian 
 when I got him away!" 
 
 He rubbed some dark stain into Delane's face 
 and hands, and completed his metamorphosis 
 by adorning him with beard, whiskers, and 
 moustache. It was skilfully done. The old man 
 had not forgotten the art of theatrical make-up. 
 When he was finished he held a hand mirror up 
 to his subject, and the latter was startled by the 
 change. 
 
 "You'll do for to-night, at anyrate," said 
 Losky. "By the next daylight you should be 
 where you won't want a disguise. And now 
 we'll start — come. Supper is waiting above." 
 
 He opened the door, and led the way down 
 a very long, dark passage, carrying the ship's 
 lamp in his hand. At its further end they 
 mounted a short flight of steps, and the old man 
 opened a door at their top. They came into a 
 lighted room in which was a table spread with 
 
28 CASTLE VANE 
 
 a substantial supper. Seated at the table was a 
 boyish-looking young man, whose face seemed 
 strangely familiar to Delane. 
 
 "Be seated," said Losky, "and eat your fill. 
 You have a long night before you. This is your 
 travelling companion," he said, with a smile, 
 motioning with his hand towards the young man. 
 
 Delane stared in a puzzled fashion at the 
 latter. He was a fair-haired youth, with reddish 
 mutton-chop side whiskers adorning a handsome 
 face. He was dressed in riding costume, and he 
 smiled at Dick in a friendly and quizzical fashion. 
 
 "Good evening," he said. "I think Mr. De- 
 lane and I have met before." 
 
 "I'm puzzling about that," returned Delane. 
 "Where was it — and when?" 
 
 "Twice to-day. Once in Father Jacob's shop, 
 and once in the place whence you have just 
 arrived. Don't you know me, Dicky?" 
 
 "Good heavens! Is it Rachel?" 
 
 "Well — it was. It's Jimmy Smith, or Jacky 
 Jones — anyone you please in this costume. How 
 do you like it?" 
 
 "It's a marvellous disguise !" 
 
 "Not so good as yours, though. Father Jacob 
 is an artist, isn't he? But make a start — we 
 must be off soon." 
 
 The soldier set to willingly, and whilst they 
 supped Jacob Losky explained the plans he had 
 formed for getting Delane out of the way. 
 
 "I am sending you to join the Jewboy, Dick, 
 as I have told you. He will find you something 
 
THE RECRUIT 29 
 
 to do. Rachel here will be your guide. To-night 
 you must ride to the Hawkesbury, and there 
 you will be handed over to another guide, who 
 will conduct you to where the Jewboy — Edward 
 Davis — has his headquarters." 
 
 "What part of the Hawkesbury?" asked De- 
 lane, looking up from his plate. "There is a 
 detachment of the regiment at Windsor?" 
 
 "No, no — not to Windsor. That would be 
 from the frying pan to the fire. I am sending 
 you to the mouth of the river at Broken Bay. 
 A boat will carry you across the bay into Bris- 
 bane Water, and there you will come into touch 
 with the Free Company. Fine fellows they are, 
 Dick, living a venturous, open life, full of excite- 
 ment, such as a soldier should love, and gaining 
 rich rewards. You will be a welcome addition 
 to their number. In time you will be rich, and 
 can find a means of leaving the country and 
 getting back to England." 
 
 "But they are outlaws — bushrangers!" 
 
 "True. But what are you yourself but an 
 outlaw? What else is there for you? Nothing 
 — but the road gangs. There is your choice. 
 Make what you can of it. Join in with us, or 
 join the canaries — the poor devils, who are 
 lashed, and driven, and starved. Give yourself 
 up to the military authorities, and you will be 
 put in the way of joining them — with a couple 
 of hundred lashes to begin with. It should not 
 be a difficult choice. You will join us?" 
 
 Delane stared gloomily at the table for a little 
 
30 CASTLE VANE 
 
 while before he replied. At last, with an angry 
 shake of the head, he answered: — 
 
 "Yes — there is no choice. I must. I can 
 never go back now. And I see no way of getting 
 clear except this. But I tell you, Father Jacob, 
 that whenever an opportunity ofifers I mean to 
 get away. I have been out after bushrangers 
 myself, and I know that the life of a hunted dog 
 is n'ot an agreeable one. Let it be clearly under- 
 stood that I leave your gang." 
 
 "Company, Richard — the Free Company," 
 murmured the old man. 
 
 "Your Company, then — as soon as it is safe 
 to do so." 
 
 "Of course — that is what they all aim at. 
 The Company, of which I am president and 
 Sydney agent — ha, ha — the Company was 
 formed in order to assist the deserving to escape 
 from servitude, and to enable them to pay them- 
 selves back for the slavery that society has in- 
 flicted upon them. They make war upon society 
 — but it is only that they may recompense them- 
 selves for the outrages that society has inflicted 
 upon them. That is all. Compensation, 
 Richard, compensation — and escape." 
 
 "Well — I join you. Here is my hand upon it," 
 said the young man. 
 
 "Good. You will not regret. And now you 
 had better start. You will be back to-morrow 
 evening, Rachel. Good-bye, Richard. You will 
 hear of me often, but I don't think we will meet 
 
THE RECRUIT 31 
 
 for many months. Rachel will deliver you 
 safely." 
 
 "But how do we get away from here?" 
 "You are in a house in Pitt Street that the 
 tunnel connects with my shop. You have but 
 to cross the harbour to Sirius Cove, and you will 
 find horses waiting for you. Rachel has every- 
 thing arranged. Good-bye. 
 
 He opened the street door, and the soldier 
 and the girl slipped out into a wet and windy 
 night, and made their way towards the harbour 
 side. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 The Free Company 
 
 IN the year 1840, there were living in Sydney 
 and New South Wales many quite re- 
 spectable, and a good many quite disre- 
 putable, free citizens of the State, who had not 
 always been free citizens. Some of them, a few, 
 were men and women who had not deserved at 
 all, or, at the most, only half deserved the loss 
 of liberty and endurance of an ultra-slavery 
 which had been their sad lot. Some of them, 
 the fierce fires through which they had passed 
 had purged of all dross. On some of them their 
 sufferings had impressed the significance of the 
 Eleventh Commandment — "Thou shalt not be 
 found out" — without cleansing them in any way. 
 And some of them had been utterly ruined, body 
 and mind, by the terrible system which, claiming 
 to be reformative, was only vindictive, aggra- 
 vating, and soul-destroying. Taken together, 
 the Emancipists comprised as strange and 
 diverse a class of human beings, as had ever been 
 in the world. They were good, and half good, 
 and bad and superlatively bad. But there were 
 few amongst them who combined each of these 
 qualities in his own being. 
 
 Jacob Losky did. He was good and moder- 
 
THE FREE COMPANY 33 
 
 ately good, bad and incredibly bad, in turn and 
 simultaneously. It was as impossible to define 
 his character exactly as it would be to count the 
 sands of the sea-shore. He was a wicked and 
 dangerous man, and a good and benevolent one, 
 in the same minute of the same hour. He could 
 coolly carry out a terrible crime at the same 
 time that he was making some self-sacrificing 
 effort for the betterment of a fellow-creature. 
 For many things he deserved to be hanged; for 
 many others he almost merited canonization. 
 He had every good quality, and every bad 
 quality, and they did not always manifest them- 
 selves in turn. He was such a man as the world 
 is mercifully spared for age-long intervals. 
 When the Creator was constructing him, it al- 
 most seemed as if He must have done so in 
 some spirit of sarcastic rebuke to man — as 
 though He should have said: — "Who are you, 
 to judge your fellows by your own standards of 
 right and wrong? Judge Me this one." 
 
 Jacob Losky never was judged quite ade- 
 quately by his fellows. But it was not the fault 
 of his fellows that they were not divine and 
 omniscient. 
 
 By extraction, Losky was a Russian Jew — 
 by birth a Londoner of the second generation. 
 He had begun life as a call-boy at Drury Lane 
 Theatre, had become a dresser, ^ad even acted 
 minor parts, and at twenty-six years of age was 
 secretary to the great Mr. Barry O'Shaughnessy, 
 the Irish tragedian, who, until the memorable 
 
34 CASTLE VANE 
 
 occasion of his falling foul of the Prince Regent, 
 over a lady of the theatre, had enjoyed a some- 
 what remarkable vogue in the English dramatic 
 world. A year or so before the downfall of the 
 O'Shaughnessy, the clever young secretary had, 
 for the only recorded time in his life, broken the 
 abovementioned Eleventh Commandment. He 
 had forged, the signature of his employer, and, 
 by one chance in a hundred, which it is needless 
 to explain here, the forgery had been detected. 
 
 Jacob Losky was sentenced to death, but — by 
 the active effort of the eminent actor, and the 
 intervention of the F"irst Gentleman in Europe, 
 still delighting in the society of the witty Irish- 
 man — had escaped the gallows, and been trans- 
 ported for life to His Majesty's penal settlement 
 of New South Wales. He arrived in Sydney not 
 very long after Captain William Bligh, late of 
 H.M.S. Bounty, had assumed the government of 
 the young colony. 
 
 From the first, the clever young Jew had 
 done well in the new world in which he 
 found himself. In twelve months he had 
 received his ticket-of-leave as a reward for 
 his share in bringing to justice three 
 robbers of the Government stores. And almost 
 one of the last acts of Captain Bligh, before his 
 deposition, had been to grant him a conditional 
 pardon, on account of his single-handed appre- 
 hension of a notorious escapee, who had 
 terrorized the district of the Green Hills — as 
 Windsor was then styled — in a fashion both 
 
THE FREE COMPANY 35 
 
 gallant and diplomatic. Through the troublous 
 interregnum that succeeded the Bligh rebellion, 
 he had managed to keep in favour with the 
 usurping officers of the New South Wales Corps, 
 and was easily able to demonstrate to Governor 
 Macquarie, upon his arrival, that he had been 
 entirely loyal to Governor Bligh in his mis- 
 fortunes. In the meantime, he had prospered 
 not a little. 
 
 Macquarie found in the handsome young Jew 
 just the type of man which he deemed it his 
 duty to encourage by every means in his power 
 — the criminal who was to be redeemed. The 
 good Governor looked upon the colony as being 
 designed before everything else, as a place in 
 which the outcasts of society were to be given 
 a chance, and every assistance in rehabilita- 
 ting themselves. This was the reason of its 
 foundation, he maintained, and in making good 
 and useful citizens of those who had temporarily 
 fallen from grace its chief function lay. 
 
 The progress of Jacob Losky was an interest- 
 ing and fascinating study to him. He en- 
 couraged it in every possible way — now by a 
 judicious grant of land, now by the sanctioning 
 of some trading venture, and now by a gift of 
 breeding stock. And always he was careful to 
 emphasise, in his personal dealings with such 
 Emancipists as Losky, that their past counted 
 for nothing, that socially they were as good as 
 anyone in the colony, and that they might ever 
 regard him as their friend and sympathiser 
 
36 CASTLE VANE 
 
 whilst they continued in such courses as made for 
 their own good and the advancement of the 
 settlement. 
 
 By the end of Macquarie's reign Jacob Losky 
 was so entirely established that no one even 
 thought of him as ever being anything other 
 than the estimable citizen -he undoubtedly was. 
 And in the eighteen years that followed, and 
 that brings his history down to the time of our 
 story, he had established himself so firmly that 
 his good character was easily sufificient to cover 
 and conceal any of the doings that his bad one 
 was responsible for. 
 
 He had married at eighteen, and left his wife 
 and infant son with her people in England when 
 he came to the colony. The son had inherited 
 all the bad side of his father's composition, and 
 had died outside Newgate, to the tolling of St. 
 Sepulchre's bell, in his twenty-fifth year, as an 
 unrepentant highwayman. He had left behind 
 him a wife, and a daughter three or four 
 years old. Her mother dying soon after, Jacob 
 Losky had sent home for his granddaughter, and 
 had brought her up himself in Sydney. She was 
 Rachel Losky. 
 
 Such, briefly, is an outline of the career of the 
 founder of the Free Company, up to the time 
 when this story begins. 
 
 Jacob Losky was a rich man. No enterprise 
 in which he had been concerned had ever been 
 anything but a success. He had farms on the 
 Hawkesbury, a cattle station out in the new 
 
THE FREE COMPANY 37 
 
 country of the Liverpool Plains, a coal-mine near 
 Newcastle, and a couple of schooners which 
 traded up and down the coast, and sometimes 
 further oversea, to New Zealand and the South 
 Sea Islands. The book-shop in George Street, 
 opposite to the barrack gates, was a hobby — 
 one that paid its way, but still only a hobby. 
 
 He had many irons in the fire, and some of 
 the fires in which they glowed were fed with 
 very questionable fuel. Some of the enterprises 
 were honest and open, and some were, not too 
 openly, dishonest. He would dabble in almost 
 anything that did not seem to him to be foolishly 
 risky of his own personal liberty. All was fish 
 that came to his net, and his net was a wide 
 one with narrow meshes. Nearly every con- 
 dition of life in the new country seemed to him 
 to be worthy of exploitation. And so, regarding 
 the great bushranging industry which flourished 
 so openly in the first half of the last century in 
 New South Wales, he saw that it was a form of 
 activity which, properly organized, might be 
 well rewarded. 
 
 He therefore founded and organized the Free 
 Company. The Free Company was a band of 
 cattle stealers, bushrangers, and outlaws, that 
 was almost wholly recruited from the ranks of 
 the convict class. The active toilers who 
 collected the spoil were desperate men with a 
 price upon their heads. Jacob Losky was the 
 agent and manager, who planned most of the 
 larger enterprises, and saw to the disposal of 
 
38 CASTLE VANE 
 
 the booty and the realization of the profits. 
 Between him and them were a host of go- 
 betweens — ships' captains, corrupt officials, and 
 storekeepers and publicans in the country- 
 districts. He had planned an elaborate system 
 of intelligence throughout the regions in which 
 the Company operated, mainly in the districts 
 of the Hunter River and the plains of the north- 
 west. News of the Company's transactions 
 came to him through a score of channels. 
 Wonderful codes existed by whose use perfectly 
 innocent people would be made to carry infor- 
 mation from place to place in entire innocence. 
 Elaborate get-away arrangements — of such a 
 kind as was exemplified in the trap-door and 
 tunnel at his headquarters — had been perfected 
 in many places. A cave in a Blue Mountain 
 gully, a little mangrove-hidden creek in the 
 Hawkesbury, a drinking-shop near the water- 
 side, a sailors' boarding-house in Sydney or 
 Newcastle — in such had he established secret 
 meeting places, and outlets of escape for those 
 of the Company upon whom the law pressed too 
 hard. In no aspect of the lawless organization 
 which he controlled did he take greater delight 
 and interest than in that of making good the 
 escape of its members from the tight corners 
 in which they found themselves from time to 
 time. He was an expert in dramatic disappear- 
 ances. 
 
 The Free Company only had an existence of 
 less than three years, from, say, the beginning 
 
THE FREE COMPANY 39 
 
 of '39 to the middle of '41. But in that time 
 its revenues must have been enormous. New 
 South Wales was literally overrun with bush- 
 rangers. They varied in calibre, from the 
 scum of Van Diemen's Land and Port Arthur to 
 the petty thieves of a few ewes and lambs, or the 
 occasional robbery of a farmer returning from 
 market. Whether individually controlled direct- 
 ly by Jacob I.osky or not, it was almost certain 
 that the Company would be called upon to act 
 the profitable part of receiver of their stolen 
 goods. There was no safer method for big or 
 little robber to dispose of his booty than through 
 its agency. 
 
 And now, having outlined the inception and 
 the scope of the extraordinary organization with 
 which this story has to do, we will proceed with 
 our narrative of the adventures of Richard 
 Delane, lately of H.M. 146th Regiment of Foot. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 The Night Ride 
 
 RACHEL and her charge hurried down 
 Pitt Street with the wind and rain at 
 their backs. A stiff southerly was 
 blowing and it promised to be a wild night. It 
 was a little after nine o'clock as they came to 
 the shores of Sydney Cove. 
 
 Once they passed a picket of the 146th, under 
 charge of a corporal, strolling perfunctorily 
 along the sidewalk, the moisture gleaming on 
 their high shakoes as they swung by lighted 
 windows. They took no notice of the tall, 
 bearded countryman and his youthful com- 
 panion, and Dick felt that his disguise was com- 
 plete. They were men of his own company. 
 
 At the end of the street stood an inn, the 
 Seaman's Rest — its front distinguished by a 
 great red oil-lamp. From its interior came a 
 discordance of drunken choruses — old sea 
 chanteys, and obscene songs of the wide world, 
 blended with pathetic ballads of poor sailor lads 
 who find themselves upon lee shores. Half a 
 dozen singers seemed to be favouring the com- 
 pany together, each according to his individual 
 fancy. 
 
 "Some ship just in," said Rachel in a low tone. 
 
 40 
 
THE NIGHT RIDE 41 
 
 As they passed before the open door, a tall 
 figure emerged, and stood for a moment in the 
 strip of glare that shone out into the wet street. 
 It was a woman's figure, and Delane noticed 
 that she seemed to sway a little, as if intoxicated. 
 Suddenly she threw her arms up with a wild 
 gesture, and plunged out into the muddy cause- 
 way, running, in the darkness, towards the 
 water's edge. With some half-defined notion 
 that the woman sought her own destruction, 
 Delane followed her. 
 
 "You fool!" called the young Jewess, "You 
 fool — let her alone !" As she, too, hurried after 
 them, she heard a splash, and came to the 
 water's edge just as Delane, hastily divesting 
 himself of his top-coat, sprang into the water. 
 
 "Oh — the idiot, the numskull!" muttered 
 Rachel, striving to pierce the darkness and to 
 make out what had become of them. Then she 
 uttered an exclamation, and ran to the wharf- 
 side. She knew that she was close to where 
 a boat was awaiting their coming, in charge of 
 old Tom Higgins, one of her grandfather's 
 wharfmen. 
 
 Yes — just below her lay the boat, with a lan- 
 tern in the stei^n-sheets. She turned back, and 
 picked up Delane's discarded overcoat. 
 
 "Quick, Tom— is that you?" 
 
 "Aye, aye, Miss Rachel ! — bin 'ere this quarter- 
 hour or more." 
 
 There was another man in the boat with him. 
 
42 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "Hurry," she said, "and cast off." She lowered 
 herself down from the wharf. "Our man has 
 jumped in to save a woman. We must get him 
 out. Did you hear the splash?" 
 
 "Thought I 'card something," he answered in 
 a surly tone, as they pulled the boat round. "But 
 't'warn't our business." 
 
 The girl stood up. 
 
 "Dick!" she called, and the wind carried her 
 voice across the waters. "Dick — where are you." 
 
 " 'Tis all right!" came his voice, quite close to 
 them. "I've got her." 
 
 Rachel held up the lantern, and in the edge 
 of its radiance caught sight of Delane, support- 
 ing a white-faced woman above the surface. In 
 a moment the boat was beside them, and in a 
 few seconds they were both aboard. 
 
 "We must land her, and take her to the inn," 
 said Delane, bending over the unconscious 
 figure in the boat. "She's half drowned." 
 
 "No!" cried Rachel, angrily. "You fool — do 
 you want to be taken? Pull, Tom — pull across 
 to Sirius Cove. She will take no harm — 'tis a 
 warm night, in spite of the rain. You cannot 
 risk it, Dick. You'll be certain to be recognized. 
 She must come with us to the other side. Tom, 
 here, will bring her back." 
 
 The two oarsmen bent their backs to their 
 task and soon the boat was out in the stream 
 opposite Fort Macquarie. The night was as 
 black as pitch, and the southerly wind pressed 
 hard on their beam. Rachel was at the tiller, 
 
THE NIGHT RIDE 43 
 
 but she took all her steering directions from 
 Tom, the boatman. 
 
 That worthy seemed to be gifted with a super- 
 natural faculty of direction. He was never 
 wrong as to his position in the harbour, and his 
 short, terse advices to the girl kept them well 
 up the stream until they were beyond the island 
 of Pinchgut. Then he swung the boat's prow to 
 the north, and the wind drove them up into the 
 mouth of Great Sirius Cove — round which the 
 red-roofed suburb of Mosman clusters to-day. 
 It was not long before the keel grounded on 
 the sandy beach at the head of the bay. 
 
 Dick had been studying the features of the 
 unconscious woman at his feet in the dim light 
 of the ship's lantern. They were regular and 
 well cut, and he judged that she might have been 
 a handsome enough girl not so long ago. But 
 there were unmistakable and disfiguring traces 
 of dissipation and drink — tell-tale lines and 
 wrinkles that spoke of reckless living and des- 
 pair. As the boat grounded, she opened her eyes 
 and stared up at the dimly-lit faces that bent 
 over her. 
 
 "Where am I?" she gasped, in a weak voice. 
 "Oh, why didn't you let me go? I wanted to 
 go. I've had enough." 
 
 She fell to sobbing bitterly, and hid her face 
 in her arm. Dick looked at Rachel, but there 
 was no sign of pity in her handsome face — only 
 contempt and disgust. 
 
44 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "What's to be done with her ?" he asked hope- 
 lessly. 
 
 "We can do nothing," answered the girl. 
 "She must go back to Sydney. Tom will take 
 her back. She is not our business. You'll land 
 her, Tom?" 
 
 "Aye — I knows her!" growled the boatman. 
 "AH the waterside men knows her — an' many 
 others. 'Tis Sal Devine. She's — savin' y'r 
 presence, Miss Rachel — not what she ought to 
 be. She's a hout-an'-houter, Sal is. Bin drinkin' 
 a bit extra, I s'pose — to try an' cut 'er lucky like 
 this 'ere. Ho — I'll take 'er back. There's some 
 as'll give 'er shelter, maybe. She can doss in 
 th' boatshed if there's nowhere else." 
 
 "Come," said Rachel. "She will be all right. 
 We have no time to waste, Dick. The horses 
 will be waiting for us up here." 
 
 But Delane lingered by the boat. He could 
 not help pitying the poor creature whom he had 
 saved from death. 
 
 "See here, you Tom Higgins," he said, putting 
 his hand in his breeches pocket. See, here's a 
 crown piece. Take it, and do what you can for 
 her. Think if it were your own daughter. Poor 
 devil! See to her, will you?" 
 
 "I'll land her, y'r honor, and see to it she gets 
 lodgings to-night. But y'd have done her a 
 kindness to let her go the way she wanted." 
 
 "Is he to be trusted?" Dick asked Rachel, in 
 an undertone. 
 
THE NIGHT RIDE 45 
 
 "Yes — if I tell him to. See to her, Tom. And 
 now — ^we must hasten. Come." 
 
 She almost dragged him up to the edge of the 
 flat beach. The tide was out, and there was a 
 wide expanse of sand left bare. At its shore- 
 ward side, under the trees, beside a little brook, 
 they came to where a man held two horses. 
 
 "Is everything right, Tim?" asked the girl. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Rachel — they knows you're 
 coming down to Pittwater. Billy-the-boy took 
 word this afternoon. Ye'U find all ready. Ye've 
 a bad night. But th' rain will blow itself out." 
 
 "I'll be back to-morrow night, Tim," she said, 
 as she took the reins from him and mounted. 
 "Up with you, Dick. We must be moving. 
 We've wasted too much time over that trollop 
 already." 
 
 "Thank God I was able to save the poor 
 creature," said Dick. 
 
 Rachel led the way unerringly, along a narrow 
 track that took them up the gully, down which 
 a little streamlet trickled into the Cove. They 
 did not go near the buildings of the whaling 
 station that stood at one side of the beach, but 
 reached the ridge behind it, and followed it up 
 by a winding bridle path through the wet and 
 dripping bush, until they gained the higher ridge 
 that divides the waters of Port Jackson proper 
 from Middle Harbour. Every inch of the way 
 seemed familiar to the girl, and Delane, an in- 
 different horseman, and no bushman, marvelled 
 at the unerring instinct that guided her in the 
 
46 CASTLE VANE 
 
 blackness of the night, amidst the dense forest 
 of scrub-covered rock and boulder through 
 which their track seemed to lie. 
 
 Dimly, he could see her ahead of him at inter- 
 vals. As a rule, however, it was only by the 
 clatter of her horse's hooves amongst the stones 
 that he could make out her position. Often she 
 was obliged to halt until he caught her up. 
 
 "Leave your reins alone, Dick," she said to 
 him once, when he had pulled his steed off the 
 track and wandered away to the left, so that she 
 had to ride back looking for him. "Your horse 
 will follow mine. They both know the road." 
 
 He took her advice, and found that it was 
 sound. 
 
 There was little settlement at that time in 
 the wild country that lay about Middle Harbour. 
 Opposite to Sydney itself, in the vague district 
 known as the North Shore and St. Leonards, 
 there was the beginning of a scattered village 
 whose villagers were still pioneers of a wild 
 and inhospitable country. Settlement thinned 
 out towards Gordon and the head of the Lane 
 Cove River into a rugged No Man's Land that 
 stretched to the creeks and ravines of the es- 
 tuary of the Hawkesbury. But between Sirius 
 Cove and the Spit, the land was hardly occupied 
 at all. There was the whaling station beside 
 the Cove, and one or two country houses that 
 overlooked Sydney from the northern heights — 
 the residences of retired military officers and 
 holders of grants from the Crown. Beyond the 
 
THE NIGHT RIDE 47 
 
 dividing ridge, along which the Military Road 
 leads to Middle Head to-day, there was hardly 
 a single dwelling. Only cunningly hidden, little, 
 rough stone huts were planted, here and there, 
 at the head of some rivulet emptying its tiny 
 stream into the great landlocked lake of Middle 
 Harbour. 
 
 They were mere squattages — as often as not 
 the centre of some contraband trade, such as 
 the illicit distillation of spirits. It was almost 
 as wild a country as might be explored in the 
 Blue Mountains themselves. Delane foi\nd it 
 hard to believe that only a journey of an hour 
 or so separated them from the capital of Aus- 
 tralia. 
 
 It was past midnight when, descending from 
 the heights, they stumbled down on to a long, 
 level point of sand — the Spit, which they fol- 
 lowed to its end, and found themselves on the 
 southern shore of the great harbour's narrowest 
 part. Here there was a tiny hut, on whose door 
 Rachel, dismounting, knocked with the butt of 
 her riding crop. Presently a light glowed 
 within, and the door opened. 
 
 A burly and bearded man shaded the flickering 
 light" of a tallow candle with his hand, as he 
 peered out into the darkness. 
 
 "Is, it Miss Rachel?" he growled. "They told 
 -me to expect ye to-night. Billy-the-boy left 
 word this afternoon. Ye're goin' across ?" 
 
 "Yes, Isaac — and be quick. We have a long 
 
48 CASTLE VANE 
 
 way to go yet; we are to be at Pittwater by 
 daylight." 
 
 "Well, Miss Rachel, wait till I light my lan- 
 tern, an' I'll be with you." 
 
 In a few moments he came out, and led the 
 way down to the waterside, where a flat- 
 bottomed boat was moored to a post driven into 
 the sand. It was just about large enough to 
 accommodate a cart and horses. Without much 
 trouble — they were evidently used to it — the 
 horses were led aboard, and, manipulating a 
 pair of sweeps from the forward end of the 
 boat, the ferryman slowly transported them 
 across the narrow waters. The boat grounded 
 on a little sandy beach, and presently, with a 
 rough "Good-night" from Isaac in their ears, 
 they were again in the saddle, and climbing up 
 a tortuous zig-zag cart track leading to the top 
 of the further hillside. 
 
 Through the dark hours they pressed on at 
 a steady walk. They hardly spoke at all. 
 Rachel always rode some yards in advance of 
 Delane, and he, letting his horse have its head, 
 was content to follow blindly in her tracks. 
 
 The tiny settlement at Manly Beach they left 
 Tar on their right, and followed a bridle path 
 that took them round the head of the lagoon to 
 the north of it. Every inch of the way seemed 
 to be familiar to the girl. Though the path she 
 took was narrow and rough, it was evidently a 
 well-used one. She told him that her grand- 
 father made much use of Broken Bay in con- 
 
THE NIGHT RIDE 49 
 
 nection with his shipping enterprises, and that 
 this bridle track was his nearest and most direct 
 means of communication with his agents at Pitt- 
 water. 
 
 Round the ends of rough, jutting tongues of 
 land, across little creeks, past still lagoons, they 
 travelled through the small hours of the morn- 
 ing. About two o'clock the weather began to 
 clear, and towards daylight — as they passed 
 along by gleaming white beaches beyond the 
 Narrabeen Lakes, which they skirted round 
 through the foot-hills — a declining fragment of 
 moon lit them on their way. 
 
 Just as the dawn was coming, the girl -reined 
 in her horse, and waited for Delane to ride up 
 beside her. 
 
 "Dick," she said, as he drew level with her, 
 "a mile from here, and we will be at our 
 journey's end. You've travelled far in the last 
 twenty-four hours. But 'tis but a little way 
 compared with the distance you have to go yet." 
 
 "Well, it's not far ofif in miles, is it," he replied, 
 wondering at the seriousness of her tone and 
 look. "We are hardly twenty miles from 
 Sydney?" 
 
 "I don't mean that. What I mean is, since 
 you ran through the barrack gates yesterday 
 morning you have travelled all the distance 
 that lies between Honest Town and Rogue City. 
 You've become a rogue — and you were an 
 honest man. Do you see? You were of the 
 world yesterday, and now you are out of it— an 
 
50 CASTLE VANE 
 
 outcast, a vagabond. You are one of Father 
 Jacob's bargains." 
 
 "What choice had I? What was there be- 
 tween this and the lash? But for your grand- 
 father, and for you, I'd have been in the cells 
 by now, awaiting a trial at which I was con- 
 demned beforehand. Then I'd have been cut to 
 pieces at the triangles, and drummed out of the 
 regiment to the tune of the 'Rogues' March.' 
 A rogue ! I think I am less of a rogue as a 
 free man than I'd have been as a convict in irons 
 on one of the road-gangs. There was not much 
 choice, Rachel." 
 
 "And yet, I don't know," she said, looking 
 at him thoughtfully with her great black eyes, 
 in which there was a gleam of pity. "You are 
 young — you might have lived through it all. 
 But once you make this journey into the bush 
 as an outlaw, you begin a journey that only 
 has one ending — death. The bullet, or the 
 gallows — most likely the gallows." 
 
 She looked very handsome, as she rode beside 
 him in the early morning in her manly costume 
 — a well-built, active stripling. But there was 
 something of the woman in the way she regarded 
 him, despite her breeches, and boots, and 
 whiskers. He felt full of gratitude towards her, 
 and of an interest in her, that might not alto- 
 gether have been due to gratitude alone. 
 
 "They'll never catch me!" he cried, a little 
 boastfully. 
 
THE NIGHT RIDE 51 
 
 "Maybe, maybe," she said. "Others have felt 
 that too, Dicky — others who have been caught 
 and hanged." 
 
 For a time they rode on in silence. She was 
 deep in thought, whilst he breathed in the fresh 
 morning air, as they jogged along, and thanked 
 his good fortune that he was free, and not an 
 unwilling guest of the provost-marshal. 
 
 Presently she drew rein. 
 
 "Here, Dick, I leave you. I take the horses 
 to a place I know of, and rest for the day. You 
 must go on alone. Follow this path down, and 
 it will take you to where you are expected, 
 hardly half a rhile from here. Give me your 
 reins." 
 
 He dismounted, and handed the reins to her. 
 He walked round to the near side of her horse. 
 
 "Rachel" he said, "I thank you. You have 
 saved me — ^you and your grandfather both." 
 
 "My grandfather has not saved you, Dick. 
 He has sentenced you. But I may be able to. 
 God knows ! Take this packet, and when you 
 reach the Jewboy, give it him unopened." 
 
 She looked at him with a strange wistfulness. 
 Suddenly she leaned over towards him until her 
 face was close to his, and he could feel her warm 
 breath upon his cheek. 
 
 "Kiss me, Dick," she said. 
 
 More in astonishment than fervor, his lips 
 met hers. Instantly she straightened up in the 
 
5.2 CASTLE VANE 
 
 saddle, crimson-faced, wheeled her horse, and 
 trotted off through the trees, leading his. His 
 eyes followed her wonderingly. 
 
 "Well, I'm blowed!" he said, as he turned, 
 when she was out of sight, to follow the path 
 along which she had directed him. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 At Castle Vane 
 
 FOUR months after that unhappy morning 
 in the orderly-room of the Barracks at 
 Sydney, Major John Hilary Vane duly 
 and completely established himself in his princi- 
 pality upon the Upper Hunter River. That is 
 to say that, having retired from the active list 
 of the army, he came to settle down upon his 
 freehold estate of Castle Vane, which was situ- 
 ated not very far from the little village of Scone, 
 He had been in occupation of Castle Vane, or 
 rather his duly appointed representative, Mr, 
 Overseer M'Nab, had been in occupation, for 
 some two years before this date, as a lessee of 
 the Crown at an almost nominal rent. Having 
 vainly besought his Excellency Sir George Gipps 
 to confirm his title to the estate as a grant from 
 Her Majesty's Government — in fulfilment of a 
 promise which he maintained had been made to 
 him at the time of his first occupation — he had, 
 with an ill grace, paid the purchase money for 
 some 3,000 acres of splendid land with a fron- 
 tage to the river, which consisted for the most 
 part of rich alluvial flats and gently rising ridges 
 that ran up towards the foothills of the ranges. 
 
 S3 
 
54 CASTLE VANE 
 
 And he got it at a figure much below its value 
 even then, three-quarters of a century ago. 
 
 It was, nevertheless, a bitter grievance to John 
 Vane, until the day of his death, that he had 
 had to pay anything at all for Castle Vane. He 
 remained a deeply injured man — until he left the 
 colony in disgust, ten years, exactly, after he had 
 come to the Hunter to establish his dynasty. 
 
 Although he possessed the freehold of only 
 3,000 acres, his cattle and horses had a country- 
 side as large as an English county for their 
 pasturage. In common with his neighbours, up 
 and down the river, he had the use of the whole 
 district that lay between and about their hold- 
 ings. Only by their brands did they set bound- 
 aries to the wanderings of their cattle and 
 horses. Fences — save around the home pad- 
 docks and the fields of cultivation — there were 
 none. The cattle running in the hills and 
 ranges were mustered periodically for branding 
 or for sale. The sheep were shepherded in the 
 most suitable localities. And nearly all the 
 labour was supplied, by the assignment gystem, 
 from the ranks of the very large convict popu- 
 lation of the colony. 
 
 It was meant to be a great day when the 
 lord of the manor drove up to Castle Vane, 
 The fine new house which he had built — it is old, 
 and a dairy farm, now — was decorated with 
 flags, and green boughs, and ferns from the 
 mountains. Mr. M'Nab wore his best broad- 
 cloth, his ancient beaver top-hat, and his least 
 
AT CASTLE VANE 55 
 
 appalling look. The convict labourers — between 
 fifty and sixty of them — were paraded in front 
 of the house, and made a demonstration that 
 was ostensibly one of welcome, but in reality 
 was an utterance of ribaldry and loathing that 
 did not dare to express itself openly. 
 
 Mr. M'Nab rode to meet the major's cavalcade 
 as it forded the crossing below the house. 
 
 There was the major, his lady — the beautiful 
 woman who made his life such a hell — and his 
 daughter Caroline. The major and Mrs. Vane 
 had both enjoyed previous matrimonial experi- 
 ence before venturing upon the united experi- 
 ence — a disastrous one — of one another. His 
 daughter was the child of his first marriage — a 
 fair-headed English girl, with a sweet face, but 
 not so lovely as her handsome stepmother's. 
 She was prettily conscious of this, and her step- 
 mother was not the kind of lady who would 
 ever be likely to permit her to forget it. The 
 three travelled in a light phaeton, drawn by a 
 magnificent pair of dapple greys. 
 
 Behind them came a large conveyance, con- 
 taining Major Vane's soldier-servant, John 
 O'Toole, whose discharge from the 146th he 
 had purchased on his own retirement ; his French 
 chef, Louis Pinaud, and the two maids in attend- 
 ance upon the ladies. Further behind was a 
 two-horsed cart, transporting the travelling 
 equipment and personal baggage of the party; 
 and far back on the Great Northern Road, a 
 heavily-laden bullock dray toiled up the river 
 
56 CASTLE VANE 
 
 from Morpeth, at the head of navigation in the 
 Hunter, piled with furniture and luxuries for 
 the equipment at Castle Vane. 
 
 The major sat very erect, beside his hand- 
 some wife — his grim, cold, austere face relaxing 
 a little as he greeted his dour deputy. 
 
 "How d'ye do, Mr. M'Nab ? My dear — allow 
 me to present to you Mr. M'Nab, my overseer." 
 
 The raw-boned Scot removed his ancient 
 beaver, and bowed low over the pommel of his 
 saddle. 
 
 "Ye're varra welcome, me leddy. Ah hope 
 ye'll find Castle Vane to your liking. 'Tis a 
 bonny place, or 'twill be when all's set in or-der. 
 The view's fine, d'ye no ken? An' 'tis a braw 
 hoose his Honor's builded for ye. We'll be 
 layin' oot a bit garden the noo." 
 
 Mrs. Vane nodded disdainfully at him. The 
 girl in the back seat smiled in such a way as to 
 win his heart at once — and the heart of Donald 
 M'Nab was not easily won. 
 
 "Drive on, John," commanded the major's 
 lady. "Who are those dreadful creatures before 
 the house? What a noise they are making! 
 It positively makes my head ache. Do, please, 
 send then away immmediately." 
 
 The sorry rabble of ill-clad convicts was re- 
 joicing, as duly ordered by the overseer. 
 
 "Send them about their business, M'Nab," 
 said the major. "Send them back to work. It 
 spoils such scum as these people to indulge them 
 with holidays." 
 
AT CASTLE VANE 57 
 
 A little crestfallen, Mr. M'Nab rode ahead of 
 the procession, and cursed the servants into the 
 background. 
 
 One of them — a sturdy fellow — had been a 
 soldier of the 146th. He muttered ias they slunk 
 back to their tasks : — 
 
 " 'Tis the same hell-hound of a Johnny Vane. 
 By heavens you chaps will find M'Nab was a 
 grandmother compared to this felHe. I'll bet 
 any one of ye a fig of tobacco he sends some of 
 ye into Scone to the justices for a floggin' be- 
 fore the twenty-four hours is out. I know the 
 wretch !" 
 
 "Sure — but it might be y'silf he'll be sendin'. 
 Miles, me lad !" growled an old convict near him. 
 "How'd ye like that, me pebble?" 
 
 "I'm goin' to do all I can to keep out of his 
 eyesight. He's had me flogged once, d — n him. 
 If it comes again — 'tis Miles Marvel for the bush. 
 But I'll kill him if he does. He's a devil — a 
 devil out of hell." 
 
 "To-morrow morning, M'Nab," said the major 
 that evening, as if issuing Regimental Orders 
 of the Day, "at seven o'clock, you will hold a 
 parade of the servants on the estate, when I will 
 make an inspection of them. This will be a 
 daily affair. You will attend yourself, with a 
 nominal roll and a written statement of each 
 man's task for the day. You will there report 
 to me all breaches of discipline, which I will 
 deal with after breakfast at my office. I shall 
 leave it to you to see that my punishments are. 
 
58 CASTLE VANE 
 
 carried out. Discipline, discipline, M'Nab. 
 Discipline is the thing for these creatures. I 
 will discipline them. We will carry on in this 
 fashion from henceforth, if you please. I rather 
 think that the servants have become too used to 
 your easy-going ways." 
 
 "Ma certes," murmured M'Nab grimly, as he 
 returned to his quarters, "he ca's my ways 'easy- 
 goin' !' I wonder how yon prees'ner bodies will 
 find his." 
 
 In the morning — ^just as the sun was peeping 
 over the indigo line of ranges, and sending 
 golden gleams sparkling across the frosty grass 
 on the river flats — the major held his first 
 parade. A great bell clanged out its summons 
 hard by the overseer's quarters, and presently 
 the ill-clad wretches came shuffling and slouch- 
 ing from their huts to the front of the home- 
 stead. There, being duly ordered in some kind 
 of double rank formation by M'Nab, and the 
 roll being called, the master of their souls and 
 bodies stepped down from the verandah, high 
 stocked and closely buttoned, to speak a little 
 of his mind to his assembled serfs. His address 
 is so characteristic of the man that it may be 
 given in full. 
 
 He stood before them in the morning sunlight 
 — the very personification of the martinet of a 
 period in British military history when not to 
 be a martinet was to confess oneself a weakling. 
 It had not yet been discovered that the British 
 soldier was amenable to kindness, and the dis- 
 
AT CASTLE VANE 59 
 
 ciplinary reputation of the Great Duke, together 
 with his unflattering opinion of the private, was 
 still a tradition of regimental messes. The major 
 proposed to keep the tradition alive amongst his 
 assigned servants. 
 
 "Stand at 'attention!' Damme, Mr. M'Nab, 
 you should call them to attention when I appear 
 on the verandah. Now, listen to me, you 
 prisoners. I have an idea that you have been 
 having altogether too easy a time of it, and I 
 intend to smarten you. Who is that man in 
 the rear rank chewing tobacco? Fall out — ^you 
 I mean," pointing at a little old man who wore 
 brass ear-rings. "What is your name? Cassidy? 
 Mark Cassidy for punishment, Mr. M'Nab. I 
 will have no nonsense. If you behave you will 
 get — what you are entitled to under my agree- 
 ment with Government. If you are insubor- 
 dinate, or insolent, you will be chastised. For 
 graver offences, the Law will deal with you. I 
 remind you that, although you are not in gaol 
 or labouring in the road-gangs, you are still 
 prisoners of the Crown, and still amenable to 
 prison discipline. See that you bear it in mind. 
 I will have no shirking of work. If a man does 
 not carry out his task to my satisfaction, or that 
 of my overseer, Mr. M'Nab, his diet will be re- 
 duced. If he shams illness as an excuse, he will 
 be sent in to the justices in Scone. If he should 
 prove incorrigible, he will be returned to Hyde 
 Park Barracks, in Sydney, with a full recom- 
 mendation. You understand — there will be no 
 
66 CASTLE VANE 
 
 excuses at Castle Vane. Now be off to your 
 work — and remember what I have said. Stay a 
 moment, though. Come here — ^you." 
 
 He had caught sight of the ex-soldier. With 
 a scowl on his face, but the effects of the drill 
 still strong in him, the convict Marvel took 
 three military strides to the front, saluted the 
 major, and stood rigidly to attention. 
 
 "I have seen you before. You were drummed 
 out of the regiment, and sent to prison. What 
 is your name?" 
 
 "Miles Marvel." 
 
 "Why do you not say 'sir' ? Mr. M'Nab, this 
 man for punishment also. I will cure your 
 insolence, my man. Mr. M'Nab, you may dis- 
 miss the parade," and he strode inside to break- 
 fast. 
 
 "Get to h— 1 out of this," was Mr. M'Nab's 
 curt way of issuing the order deputed to him. 
 "And ye'd best mar-rk what the major said to 
 ye. He's no the mon for triflin'. You two — 
 Cassidy and Marvel — come to the office at nine 
 o'clock. Ye fools, ye — t' get into the major's 
 black books already. Ye'll repent it — or me 
 name's not Donald M'Nab." 
 
 By ten o'clock, Messrs. Cassidy and Marvel, 
 bearing a letter to the bench of magistrates in 
 Scone — in the which their brother justice. Major 
 John Hilary Vane, begged for them the award 
 of twenty-five lashes apiece for "gross insolence 
 and misbehaviour" — were tramping sullenly to 
 their punishment. By sunset, with raw and 
 
AT CASTLE VANE 6i 
 
 bleeding backs, and raw souls that were filled 
 with bitter hatred, they had reported themselves 
 to the overseer at Castle Vane. 
 
 It was an expeditious and useful business, this 
 interchange of courtesies by brother justices in 
 the country districts. Every large land-holder 
 was a Justice of the Peace, and nearly every one 
 — save those rare and wise exceptions who 
 recognized its costliness — availed themselves of 
 the assigned servant system. To prevent in- 
 justice and tyranny a paternal government had 
 ordained that no master should inflict corporal 
 punishment upon the prisoners in his care. He 
 had to send them for trial before a duly consti- 
 tuted court of summary jurisdiction. So Mr. A, 
 the neighbour of good Mr. B, when sitting in 
 judgment, saw to it that Mr. B's delinquents 
 paid for their digressions with their skins, and 
 Mr. B, in his turn, duly attended to the dis- 
 ciplinary interests of the worthy Mr. A. There 
 was a delightful give-and-take about the arrange- 
 ment. And there was an element of humour 
 in the mere fact that the man who was to do 
 the taking quite often carried a letter which 
 was something after the following style: — 
 
 "Dear A, — Please give bearer fifty lashes, and 
 oblige. Yours to command — B." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 The Jewboy 
 
 LATE in the afternoon of the third day after 
 his arrival at Castle Vane, the major, 
 strolling up and down a pathway of what 
 was to be, in time, the garden, beheld a man 
 on horseback riding up from the river-crossing 
 towards the house. The stranger was too far 
 off for recognition, but as he drew closer to him, 
 the major perceived that he was a well-appointed 
 person, of evidently some importance, and that 
 he was exceedingly well mounted. Further- 
 more, he decided that, whoever he might be, the 
 stranger was not unwelcome to Castle Vane — 
 for the simple reason that its overlord was 
 beginning to suspect himself of being in danger 
 of becoming bored with too much of his own 
 society. 
 
 For days the handsome mistress of the 
 establishment had been in one of those moods 
 which puzzled and disquieted her husband. 
 Nothing he could do could please her. She 
 maintained an almost unbreakable silence, or, 
 if she did speak, it was only in complaint about 
 the conditions of existence in the colony, and 
 her imfortunate lot in finding herself situated 
 in such an out-of-the-way corner of the world. 
 
THE JEWBOY 63 
 
 He did everything that he could imagine would 
 divert her mind and occupy her fancy, but to 
 no purpose. Sometimes she sulked. At others 
 she supposed herself to be ill, and kept her room. 
 He could arouse her to no interest in the affairs 
 of Castle Vane. And she had been like this 
 ever since they had left Sydney. 
 
 Between his daughter, Caroline, and himself 
 there was not much sympathy. They had seen 
 little of one another since the death of Caro- 
 line's mother, when she was a child five years 
 old, and her girlhood had been passed at a school 
 in Belgium, where he had left her during his 
 services abroad, in India and New South Wales. 
 Last year he had returned to England on leave, 
 with an intention of bringing her back with him 
 to preside over his establishment in Sydney, had 
 found her almost a stranger, and, falling des- 
 perately in love with the young widow of a 
 retired naval captain who had committed suicide 
 after a short and disastrous career on the Stock 
 Exchange, had brought that lady instead, with 
 his daughter as a somewhat unwilling member 
 of their household. 
 
 Neither daughter nor stepmother appreciated 
 the position over-much, and there was little 
 enough of friendliness, not to speak of afifection, 
 wasted between the two. Caroline was a warm- 
 hearted, impulsive, merry, and sweet-natured 
 girl. With her beautiful stepmother — selfish, 
 vain, and luxury-loving to a degree — she was 
 altogether out of relationship. Her father was 
 
64 CASTLE VANE 
 
 almost a stranger to her, and his cold, precise, 
 somewhat pompous manner rather overawed 
 her. She could see, too, that her father was a 
 friendless man, through his own unlovable 
 character, and that he was bitterly hated by all 
 who were beneath him for his tyrannous and 
 overbearing demeanour. The family could 
 hardly be described as a happy one. 
 
 So it was almost with a sense of relief that, 
 this evening, the major walked down the garden 
 to meet the new arrival. 
 
 The latter was a tall and good-looking man, 
 athletic, healthy, and bright-eyed. The valise 
 strapped in front of the saddle marked him as 
 a traveller, if the dust upon his well-cut clothes 
 and Wellington boots had not done so too. 
 Obviously he was of Hebraic extraction, but his 
 features were not aggressively Jewish, even if 
 there was no mistaking their cast. 
 
 The major and the newcomer reached 
 opposite sides of the garden gate at the same 
 time. The latter lifted his hat, and bowed 
 politely, without alighting — a courtesy which 
 the major stiffly acknowledged. 
 
 "Good evening, sir" — the man spoke pleasant- 
 ly, and in the tone of an educated and well-bred 
 person — "have I the honour of addressing Major 
 John Vane, late of Her Majesty's 146th Regi- 
 ment?" 
 
 "You have, sir," — replied the major, bowing. 
 "Pray what can I do for you? And may I en- 
 quire whom you may be, sir?" 
 
THE JEWBOY 65 
 
 "I carry a letter of introduction to you, Major 
 Vane, from your agents in Sydney. Allow me 
 to present it you." 
 
 He got down from his horse, and, taking a 
 letter from an inside pocket of his coat, handed 
 it to the major. He stood flicking his boots 
 gently with his riding whip, whilst the latter 
 opened and read it. His eyes travelled over 
 the house in a swift, comprehensive glance, and 
 a smile twitched his lips as the major studied 
 the letter with knitted brows. 
 
 He seemed to become aware of the open- 
 mouthed, gaping stare of a convict, who was 
 digging up a flower bed a few yards away. The 
 man had paused in his work for a moment to 
 take stock of the stranger — a look of astonish- 
 ment and apprehension in his face. The 
 stranger made a sign with his hand — a peculiar 
 sign, that might have been merely made to 
 brush away a fly from his nose, or to convey a 
 hasty signal. The convict knew what it con- 
 veyed. 
 
 "Howly saints!" he muttered to himself. 
 " 'Tis the Jewboy — and that's the 'lie low' sign 
 he's give me. Sure — there's something in the 
 wind." 
 
 The major looked up from the paper and 
 opened the little gate. He held out his hand to 
 the'stranger. 
 
 "I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Davis," he 
 said, with as much delight in his cold tone as 
 he was able to express. "My agents inform me 
 
66 CASTLE VANE 
 
 of your journey's object, and it gives me pleasure 
 to ofifer you the hospitality of Castle Vane. 
 Will you come inside?" 
 
 He looked round, and saw the convict. It 
 was the unfortunate old Cassidy, who had had 
 his twenty-five lashes the day before, but was 
 not for that reason excused from labour. 
 
 "Here you — prisoner!" called the major 
 sharply. "Take this horse to the stables, and 
 tell the groom to water and feed him and rub 
 him down. Ah — it is Cassidy, is it? Well, 
 Cassidy — I trust your manners are improved." 
 
 The old man touched his hat. 
 
 "Yis sorr! 'Tis that they are." 
 
 He hobbled painfully to the gate. The dried 
 blood made a pattern on the back of his coarse 
 cotton shirt. He led the horse round to the 
 stables, muttering to himself as he went. 
 
 "The Jewboy! Thin 'tis the divil Vane is 
 goin' to sufifer. I must get word wid him — for 
 to tell him not to shpare th' hell-hound." 
 
 "A taste of the cat?" remarked the visitor, 
 airly and pleasantly, as his host led the way 
 indoors. 
 
 "Yes," replied the major. "He was lacking 
 in respect. I consider it necessary — most 
 necessary — to enforce discipline upon these 
 creatures. They are quite worthless." 
 
 "Quite, major, quite," agreed the other. "It 
 does 'em good." 
 
 The major pulled the bell-cord, and in a few 
 
THE JEWBOY 67 
 
 moments his butler, John O'Toole, appeared in 
 the door of the dining-room. 
 
 "Glasses, O'Toole. You will take a little 
 refreshment, Mr. Davis? We dine at live 
 o'clock. Have you ridden far to-day?" 
 
 "Only from Muswellbrook. I spent the night 
 at the inn there — in excellent company. You 
 know Mr. Denny Day — the police-magistrate 
 from Maitland? He was there too. Delightful 
 company — such reminiscences." 
 
 "By repute only. I have not yet met him. 
 What is he doing in these parts?" 
 
 "He has been after a certain notorious char- 
 acter, a highwayman, whom I daresay you have 
 heard something of. He is known as the 
 Jewboy " 
 
 He took the glass of brandy and water which 
 Vane had mixed for him. "Your health, Major ! 
 The scoundrel is a namesake of mine." He 
 laughed. 
 
 The major bowed. 
 
 "I fancy that my overseer has mentioned the 
 ruffian to me. I can assure him of a warm 
 welcome if he comes onto my estate. And did 
 he elude Mr. Day?" 
 
 "Yes, he escaped to the ranges. Perhaps 
 Mr. Day will have better luck next time." 
 
 " 'Tis to be hoped so !" replied the major. 
 "And now, sir, will you allow me to show you 
 to your room. I will send for your valise. 
 Dinner will shortly be served. Will you come 
 with me?" 
 
68 CASTLE VANE 
 
 He led the way to the guest-room, and after 
 seeing that the visitor had all that he required 
 for his toilet, left him alone. 
 
 Mr. Davis sat down on the side of the bed 
 and laughed silently. "Ah, my fine bird," he 
 soliloquized in a low tone — "you little realize 
 the angel you are entertaining unawares. It is 
 an amusing adventure — I wonder will he see the 
 joke of it to-morrow? I doubt much if a sense 
 of humour is amongst my worthy host's 
 characteristics. But we will put him to the test 
 to-morrow. There is one of my band, at any 
 rate, whom the situation will divert. Dick 
 Delane will enjoy it. By George — I think we 
 might put a little honest amusement in the way 
 of old Cassidy too.. It will take his mind off his 
 sore back." He laughed silently as he threw 
 off his coat and waistcoat. A knock came to 
 the door. 
 
 It was the old Irish convict with his valise. 
 The Jewboy held up his hand warningly. 
 
 "Not a word, Denis — 'twill be your turn to- 
 morrow." 
 
 The old man grinned slyly, nodded his head 
 twice, and took himself off. Opening his valise, 
 the visitor brought to light a small bundle of 
 clean linen and a pair of horse-pistols with their 
 ammunition — a flask of powder and a bag of 
 bullets. There were also a formidable-looking 
 kaife and a small hatchet. He rapidly completed 
 his toilet and fastened up his valise. 
 
 In the dining-room he found the major with 
 
THE JEWBOY 69 
 
 his daughter, and was duly presented. The 
 major apologized for the absence of his wife. 
 
 "Mrs. Vane is indisposed, and is keeping her 
 room, sir. She begs to be excused from re- 
 ceiving you, Mr. Davis, but hopes to have the 
 pleasure of meeting you in the morning." 
 
 "The loss, I am sure, is mine, Major Vane. 
 But there is some consolation in the presence 
 of your charming daughter." 
 
 Their guest proved to be an agreeable com- 
 panion, and, gradually, the major's frozen and 
 formal politeness thawed a little, and he found 
 himself listening with appreciation to the 
 anecdotes and recollections of the stranger. 
 
 The latter was evidently a man of wide read- 
 ing and extensive travel. He was a Londoner, 
 and knew the other European capitals — Paris, 
 Berlin, St. Petersburg, Rome, and Madrid — al- 
 most as well as he knew the English metro- 
 polis He talked to Caroline of Belgium and 
 France, and of Bruges, where she had been at 
 school, and made himself altogether agreeable. 
 She was quite sorry when the time came for her 
 to withdraw and leave the gentlemen sitting 
 over their wine. 
 
 "And so, Mr. Davis, you propose to settle 
 down across the ranges?" began the major, 
 when they had lighted their cigars. 
 
 "Yes — if the run which I am going up to 
 inspect suits me. I have great confidence in 
 the future of this country, major. It will be 
 
70 CASTLE VANE 
 
 a rich one some day. Not in our time, perhaps 
 — but our children will reap what we sow." 
 
 "I agree with you." 
 
 "You are fortunate in the property which you 
 have acquired, sir," went on the other. "I 
 admired it greatly as I rode through it to-day. 
 You will find it a good investment." 
 
 "Do you think so ? I hope it may be. I have 
 paid a fair price for it." 
 
 "Ah — I should have supposed it had been a 
 grant from the Crown, major, as some reward 
 for your distinguished services. Surely they 
 have entitled you to so much." 
 
 Whereupon, as Mr. Davis was not altogether 
 unexpectant, he was told much concerning the 
 ungratefulness of those in power, their short- 
 sightedness, and the disastrous effects which 
 their misguided policy would inevitably bring 
 about with regard to the welfare of the colony. 
 Also, he heard some plain-spoken criticism of 
 his Excellency Sir George Gipps. He sym- 
 pathized feelingly with the major, agreed that 
 he had been treated with gross unfairness, and 
 that it was a shameful thing that persons of his 
 sort, being desirous of settling in the country, 
 for its good and their own, should not receive 
 more considerate treatment. 
 
 "It is a fine house that you have built here, 
 sir," he said, casting his eyes round the hand- 
 some room in which they sat. "I perceive that 
 your furnishings are not altogether complete, 
 though. On their way, doubtless?" 
 
THE JEWBOY 71 
 
 "No," replied his host, "they are not complete. 
 But they soon will be. Some heavy baggage, 
 together with all my plate, has been coming 
 from Morpeth this week past. I am bringing 
 the goods up by bullock dray — a slow but sure 
 method. They are only a few miles from here 
 to-night. In fact, I am riding out early in the 
 morning to meet them." 
 
 "Ah — then perhaps I may ride with you? I 
 must return to Muswellbrook to complete some 
 business before I pursue my journey northwards. 
 I am to meet a gentleman — with a view to in- 
 specting some cattle which he has at Page's 
 River. May I have the pleasure?" 
 
 "Delighted," said the major. "I will order 
 an early breakfast, and shall be glad of your 
 company. It is indeed a pleasure to meet with 
 one who has had so extensive an experience of 
 the world, and has observed it so well as your- 
 self. And now, shall we join my daughter in 
 the drawing-room? We may persuade her to 
 favour us with some music. She sings a little, 
 and numbers a knowledge of the guitar amongst 
 her accomplishments." 
 
 "With pleasure," murmured Mr. Davis. 
 
 They spent a pleasant evening, during the 
 course of which Mr. Davis further impressed 
 himself upon the major and Miss Caroline as a 
 charming acquaintance. When bed-time came, 
 the major pressed him to stay over a few days. 
 
 "No — I thank you. Much as I should like to, 
 my business undertakings demand my im- 
 
72 CASTLE VANE 
 
 mediate attention. Perhaps you will welcome 
 me some other time?" 
 
 Major Vane was almost genial in his invita- 
 tion to his new friend to come whenevfer it might 
 suit him?" 
 
 "Perhaps," murmured Mr. Davis, as he got 
 between the sheets and blew his candle out — 
 "perhaps, my worthy big-wig, you will not feel 
 so inclined to welcome the Jewboy by to-morrow 
 night." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 The Jewboy's Jest 
 
 THE major and his guest rode away from 
 Castle Vane soon after sunrise. It was a 
 beautiful, clear morning of early winter, 
 and all nature seemed to rejoice in the glorious 
 keenness of the air and the brightness of the 
 sunshine. Magpies sang in the high timber 
 along the river, and the rustling of the breeze 
 through the dark she-oaks that fringed its wind- 
 ing course made a soft music in their ears. 
 
 "That is a fine horse you are riding, Mr. 
 Davis," remarked the major, casting an ap- 
 proving and discriminating eye over the 
 splendid black gelding upon which his com- 
 panion was mounted. "May I, without seeming 
 impertinent, ask you what you gave for him?" 
 
 "Yes, he is a fine animal, major — but as to 
 what I gave for him, that is no criterion of 
 his value. I gave nothing for him. He was a 
 present — from a man I know." He might have 
 added that the price of him was the escape from 
 death of his late owner, which had been gladly 
 accepted by that unfortunate person in exchange 
 for the horse — but did not do so. "Your own 
 is not a bad animal, sir. Is he imported — may 
 
 73 
 
74 CASTLE VANE 
 
 I ask?" Mr. Davis approved of the brown 
 stallion the major rode. 
 
 "Yes. I brought him out with me, on my 
 return from England last year. He, also, was 
 a present — from my uncle, the Earl of Marsh- 
 ford." 
 
 "Lord Marshford! Are you, then, related to 
 his lordship?" 
 
 "My father was his youngest brother. But 
 did you know him?" 
 
 "I often encountered him in the European 
 capitals, at most of which he was ambassador 
 in turn. I knew him fairly intimately — as in- 
 timately as a humble individual like myself may 
 become acquainted with so distinguished a 
 character. A great man, sir ! Are you in favour 
 with him, may I ask? Have you expectations?" 
 
 The major laughed grimly. 
 
 "No, I think not. I fancy that the old man 
 regarded the gift of this horse as discharging 
 any claims I may have had upon his affectionate 
 remembrances. I fear that I can look for 
 nothing further in the way of favour from the 
 Earl. However, the horse is rather more than 
 I expected from him. He was never notorious 
 for his liberality to his kinsmen." 
 
 They rode along through the pleasant morn- 
 ing, chatting of many things — of Sydney and 
 its people, official and otherwise ; of the major's 
 war services in India ; of his companion's travels ; 
 of the prospects of the pastoral industry in New 
 
THE JEWBOY'S JEST 75 
 
 South Wales — until they were between three 
 and four miles from Castle Vane. 
 
 They had followed the dray-track which led 
 from the station to the Great Northern Road, 
 and which was all the approach there was as 
 yet to the major's homestead. Just here it 
 led through the bush in a straight avenue of 
 half a mile or so in length. In the distance 
 they beheld a bullock dray standing in the 
 middle of the road, without its team. It seemed 
 to be deserted. 
 
 "By heavens !" cried the major, "I believe that 
 is my dray!" He checked his horse. Then he 
 heard his companion, a few feet in his rear, say 
 quietly : 
 
 "Major Vane. One moment, if you please." 
 
 The major half turned in his saddle, and 
 found himself looking down the barrel of a for- 
 midable horse-pistol. At the same instant, a 
 rough-looking man jumped from behind a tree, 
 and seized his bridle reins. His late guest 
 smiled at him along the barrel of the pistol. 
 
 The major was a brave man, but the sudden- 
 ness of the thing bewildered him. 
 
 "Good heavens, Mr. Davis! What does this 
 mean?" was all he was able to gasp in his 
 astonishment. 
 
 "It simply means, major, that I think you had 
 better get out of the saddle. It also means 
 — this loaded pistol of mine — that if you move 
 a hand towards your pockets you are a dead 
 man. It means it very sincerely, I assure you." 
 
76 CASTLE VANE 
 
 Furious with rage and mortification, the 
 major got off his horse, and stood in the track, 
 glaring at the visitor. 
 
 "Put your hands above your head, if you 
 please, my dear major," suavely requested the 
 latter. "Morris," he called, "come along. Take 
 my horse." 
 
 Tvvo more men, armed with muskets, came 
 out of the bush. One of them took their leader's 
 horse by the bridle, the other covering Major 
 Vane as Mr. Davis dismounted. As soon as he 
 was on the ground he again presented his pistol 
 at the major. 
 
 "Search him, Albert," he said. "See if he has 
 any weapons." With a thoroughness that be- 
 spoke some familiarity with the process, the 
 other man searched the major, taking from one 
 of his pockets a small double-barrelled pistol. 
 When he had handed it to Mr. Davis, the latter 
 lowered his weapon, and bowed ceremoniously 
 to his captive. "Permit me to introduce myself, 
 Major Vane. It is true that you are already 
 acquainted with my real name, but I am not sure 
 that you know me as the Jewboy. A rather 
 undignified title, perhaps, for a man of my parts 
 — but it is tolerably well-known and respected, 
 and does well enough. Now, will you kindly 
 walk beside me to the dray? Bring the horses, 
 lads. Albert — shoot the major if he tries to bolt 
 into the bush. I should not attempt it if I were 
 you, sir — the young man is an excellent shot." 
 
 The major was a picture of misery and futile 
 
THE JEWBOY'S JEST y7 
 
 anger. It was not of the least use his oflfering 
 any resistance to his captors — that he knew — 
 but to walk quietly in order to look over the 
 looting of his own property was a terribly hard 
 trial to his dignity. He turned to the Jewboy. 
 
 "Davis," he said, "you seemed to me last night 
 to be a gentleman — you had a letter that 
 vouched for you from my agents. How did you 
 come by it?" 
 
 The robber laughed. 
 
 "My dear major, the letter was forged in 
 Sydney, and sent up to me here on the Hunter, 
 in case I should wish to use it. It was done 
 by a man who can imitate any writing. I con- 
 fess that I wanted to reconnoitre Castle Vane, 
 and to be your guest before you became mine. 
 It was a pleasant enough thing to drop the bush- 
 ranger for one evening, and sleep under a 
 gentleman's roof. I am not quite a gentleman, 
 perhaps — but such little polish as I may have 
 was imparted to me in your own family. You 
 look surprised. I was valet to the Earl of 
 Marshford for eight years. Few men know him 
 better. I am glad to gain possession of a horse 
 that was bred at Marshford. You see, the whole 
 little comedy has been prettily played, major, 
 has it not.-" A little farce before the main per- 
 formance, eh? Let us hope that we have to 
 stage no tragedy." 
 
 "What do you mean to do with me ?" 
 
 "Personally, my dear major, I would set you 
 at liberty, once our own liberty was assured — • 
 
78 CASTLE VANE 
 
 when we had made good our escape — ^but I am 
 not altogether a free agent. There are two or 
 three members of my company who wish to 
 transact a little business with you. I am afraid 
 that they will hold different views from my own 
 as to what should be done with your person. 
 But here we are — let us see what you have been 
 so good as to bring from Sydney for our benefit. 
 Sit down on the grass, will you ? Albert, attend 
 to the major. I wish to look over the spoil." 
 
 The attentions of Albert did not relax for a 
 single instant. He squatted down opposite to 
 the unfortunate gentleman and kept him covered 
 with his musket, the butt resting on his thigh, 
 and the hammer at full-cock. 
 
 "Move, ye devil, an' I'll let daylight into you !" 
 was his pleasant caution to his charge. 
 
 For more than half an hour the unhappy 
 owner of Castle Vane remained in this humilia- 
 ting position. His back was to the bullock-dray, 
 and he could not see what was going on, but 
 from the occasional bursts of laughter that broke 
 upon his hearing, it seemed that the gang was 
 enjoying itself over the investigation of his 
 property. At last the Jewboy called to his 
 guardian to bring the prisoner up. 
 
 "Git up," growled the amiable Albert, and the 
 major rose to his feet, and faced about. A 
 queer spectacle met his astonished vision. They 
 had broken into the boxes containing his clothes 
 — indeed, they had broken open everything — 
 and finding his uniforms in one of them, four of 
 
THE JEWBOY'S JEST 79 
 
 the bushrangers stood arrayed in all his military 
 splendours, so far as they would go round. One 
 man, a grotesque individual with a flaming red 
 beard, had donned his full dress frock coat. 
 Another had on his gold-laced mess jacket and 
 his cocked hat. Two more had blended various 
 incongruous articles of military clothing in a 
 ridiculous fashion, and were strutting about 
 among the trees. A couple of open cases of wine 
 revealed the source of this humour. 
 
 "Fall in th' gyard of honor!" shouted the in- 
 dividual in the frock coat, and the other three 
 unsteadily arrayed themselves in line., 
 
 "Do not, I pray you, regard this bufifoonery 
 too severely, my dear major," said the Jewboy. 
 "We lead a strenuous life, with only infrequent 
 relaxation. I am obliged to loosen the reins of 
 discipline a little when such an opportunity as 
 this presents itself." 
 
 The major said nothing. He did not know 
 what to say. Never in his life before had he 
 been a butt for the entertainment of others. But 
 he knew well that this foolery was not to prove 
 the worst of the experiences that were to be his 
 this morning. His only consolation lay in the 
 fact that none but this motley crew of runaway 
 convicts was present to witness his discomfiture. 
 That was something. And, at any rate, his 
 hands were free. If it came to the worst he 
 would sell his life dearly. 
 
 But even this small comfort was snatched 
 away from him. 
 
8o CASTLE VANE 
 
 "There is a dangerous look in your eye, I 
 
 think, major," remarked the leader of the gang 
 
 — "I think we will secure our persons from the 
 
 exercise of your prowess. Bind his hands behind 
 
 *him." 
 
 It was promptly done, and then he was shoved 
 and led through the trees to a little circular open 
 space, which had evidently been prepared for 
 his reception. 
 
 Another group of men stood waiting here. 
 They seemed to have been arranging the 
 appointments of the place. 
 
 Much of his furniture had been taken from 
 the dray. A small table had been placed at one 
 side of the clearing, with a high-backed chair 
 behind it. A semi-circle of his dining-room 
 chairs — part of an expensive suite which he had 
 brought from England — was arranged in front 
 of it. In the spaces between, an empty packing 
 case had been placed. And, very ominously, 
 from the branch of a great tree that projected 
 over the spot, there dangled a rope with a noose 
 at the end of it. The situation, truly, looked 
 alarming enough. These scoundrels were going 
 to exercise their feeble humour upon him before 
 they took his life. They designed to make his 
 end as ridiculous as they knew how. Well, all 
 that he could do would be to remain as unmoved 
 as possible under the ordeal that was inevitable, 
 and, if he had to die ridiculously, he would not 
 let any act of his own contribute to the enjoy- 
 
THE JEWBOY'S JEST 8i 
 
 ment of this riff-raff. He kept his eyes fixed 
 upon the ground. 
 
 At a sign from the Jewboy he was partly 
 lifted onto the box, amidst the jeers of the con- 
 victs. Then they tied his ankles together, and* 
 put the noose about his neck. 
 
 He lifted his eyes once, and surveyed the 
 characters in this strange drama. The three 
 men who had been in charge of the bullock-dray 
 were bound to saplings at the side of the little 
 sylvan amphitheatre, with gags in their mouths. 
 His grotesque guardians had arranged them- 
 selves behind him. Several others of the gang 
 lounged about on the grass. A small group of 
 three took his attention particularly. 
 
 Could he believe his eyes? Yes — there was 
 no doubt about it — that tall man who looked 
 at him with so much of dislike in his handsome 
 face was the young soldier who had smitten him 
 in the orderly-room that morning four months 
 ago. He was talking to the convict Marvel, 
 whom he had recently sent into Scone to be 
 flogged. And with them was old Denis Cassidy, 
 who had also recently suffered through his 
 caprices. If these men were to be his judges, 
 his shrift would be a short one. The Jewboy 
 stood beside the table, smiling at him. And then 
 he heard him speaking. 
 
 "Major Vane," he began, "you may have sur- 
 mised, from the proceedings of the last hour, 
 that your position is a delicate one — an extreme- 
 ly delicate one. But for my influence with these 
 
82 CASTLE VANE 
 
 gentlemen, you would already have been a dead 
 man. But I have persuaded my brave comrades 
 to accord you the benefit of a trial. You will 
 be accorded nothing but justice. I do not mean 
 justice as the word commonly has its meaning 
 understood. What I mean is the kind of justice 
 that these men are used to seeing served out to 
 themselves and their fellows in misfortune in 
 New South Wales, by you and your class. You 
 stand exactly in the same position that many a 
 man has stood in before, in this land of bondage. 
 Your hands are tied, and your ifeet. Your 
 punishment — symbolized by the rope about your 
 neck — is arranged before you come to your trial. 
 So it is with nearly every unfortunate prisoner 
 who faces the bench in this colony, upon any 
 charge of conduct indulged in as a protest 
 against the intolerable tyranny of such men as 
 yourself. You will experience the consolation 
 of such a trial — just as many better men than 
 you have experienced it before. It will surely 
 be a great consolation indeed. Your judge will 
 be a partial and prejudiced one, and the jury of 
 two who will decide your fate will be selected 
 on account of their bias against you. So you see 
 that it will all be quite fair — as the word 'fair' 
 is understood in this part of the world. And 
 now his Honor the venerable Mr. Justice Cassidy 
 will take his seat upon the bench. Come, Denis. 
 And the jury, both lately of your old regiment, 
 will take their seats. There are a dozen chairs 
 for them to occupy, as they really represent 
 
THE JEWBOY'S JEST 83 
 
 twelve good men and true, and I have no doubt 
 that they will do their duty towards the honor- 
 able court, yourself, and the community." 
 
 A burst of cheers greeted this deliverance, 
 mingled with oaths and ribald jests upon the 
 major's appearance. Old Cassidy shufHed into 
 the seat of justice, and the two soldiers sprawled 
 over the chairs behind the impromptu gallows. 
 
 "You hound !" the major burst out — "you shall 
 pay for this outrage." 
 
 "Yes, my dear major — but not so soon as you 
 will pay for some of your own outrages." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 The Trial 
 
 IT was a grotesque scene — grotesque and 
 horrible. 
 The tall, angry, black-browed gentleman 
 on the packing case, with the rope about his 
 neck, and his hands tied behind him, was, in 
 some respects, a legitimate source of a grim 
 kind of amusement. The scowling countenances ■ 
 of the half-drunken outlaws who made up the 
 majority of the audience, their ferocious delight 
 in the unfortunate major's jeopardy, the hideous 
 taunts which they flung at him, and their 
 gestures of fierce hatred, turned the farce into 
 a terrible and revolting tragedy. But most 
 terrible of all was the smiling, cynical politeness 
 of their leader, the cruel cat-like playing with 
 his victim in which he indulged, and his obvious 
 enjoyment of the whole proceedings. It was 
 only the dignity and courage of the major him- 
 self, under such fearful circumstances, that lent 
 a touch of the heroic to a scene that was bestial 
 and savage to an extremity. 
 
 But there was one man who found little satis- 
 faction in this torture of the victim — Dick 
 Delane. The young soldier was of a different 
 stamp to his companions. He was not a 
 
THE TRIAL 85 
 
 polished "swell-mobsman," like Davis — a highly 
 cultivated "crook," with a capacity for refined 
 cruelty, and a perverted sense of the ridiculous. 
 He could not share the Jewboy's exquisite en- 
 joyment of the scene. He had no love for Major 
 Vane, but he had a hatred of all deviltry of 
 this kind; even though circumstances — of which 
 the major's own malignant temper, and his hasty 
 one, were the chiefest and most active — had 
 driven him into outlawry. He had not con- 
 sented to taking refuge with the bushrangers in 
 order to be a party to such performances as this. 
 Whatever might be done, he made up his mind 
 to have no share in it. But he did not see how 
 he could hinder it. 
 
 The other ex-soldier, Marvel, was bitter with 
 the rage of his recent flogging. He enter- 
 tained no feeling of mercy towards the tyrant 
 who had sent him to the triangles in such a 
 wanton fashion. His torn and bruised back, 
 swollen and raw from the laceration of the day 
 before yesterday, was too present a torture to 
 allow him to feel at all gently disposed towards 
 the cruel devil who had been instrumental in 
 inflicting it upon him. They might do what 
 they liked, so far as he was concerned — and he 
 wasn't sure that he wouldn't help them in what- 
 ever they might do. Nothing was too hard for 
 such a tyrant. He deserved all that he was 
 getting. 
 
 As for the old Irish convict, Denis Cassidy 
 — such a deed as he found himself participating 
 
86 CASTLE VANE 
 
 in was an unadulterated pleasure, a festival, the 
 reward and compensation for years of misery 
 and woe. He had been flogged, and flogged 
 again, through almost half a century of his gaol- 
 bird career. All that they had not scourged out 
 of his man's soul was the native Irish wit that 
 was of his very flesh and bones. They could 
 only take that from him with his life. 
 
 In his fiercest moments of bitter resentment 
 of the hideous existence that had been his, when 
 he wondered vaguely what could pay him for 
 all that he had had to endure, he had never 
 risen to the height of imagining that such a re- 
 compense as this would be vouchsafed to him. 
 He would some day soon close his old eyes when 
 his time came — on the gallows, as he always 
 supposed — with resignation, and gratitude for 
 the fact that such an opportunity as this had 
 come his way. It was more than he had ever 
 hoped. 
 
 "Now, major," said the Jewboy, "your judge 
 takes his seat — do you not think that you ought 
 to bow to him? Most prisoners who are being 
 tried for their lives — as, of course, you are — 
 deem it a wise precaution to endeavour to pro- 
 pitiate the judge. But please yourself. Denis, 
 I think you ought to show the gentleman your 
 commission to try him. He may doubt the 
 justice of it. Up on the chair, and show him 
 your parchment." 
 
 Davis had evidently rehearsed the old man 
 for this. Shakily he climbed upon the seat of 
 
THE TRIAL 87 
 
 the chair, with his back to the major, and pulled 
 his shirt tail's out of his breeches. The Jewboy 
 stepped forward, and lifted the blood-caked 
 cotten garment up to the old man's rounded 
 shoulders, exposing his torn and still bleeding 
 back. 
 
 It was a fearful and sickening sight. The 
 white flesh was mottled in a dreadful blue and 
 green and red pattern of crossed cuts. It must 
 have looked like a blood-soaked sponge when 
 the fliagellator had finished his task. Now, it 
 was still oozing little thick gouts of blood in 
 places, and the bruised and torn flesh seemed to 
 be almost ready to putrefy. It was healing, no 
 doubt, as well as might be expected — but it did 
 not look like it. Of course, to the old man, 
 who had in his time experienced floggings that 
 were reckoned by the hundreds of lashes, a mere 
 25 was a bagatelle — but its effects were not 
 pleasant to look upon. 
 
 "You see, major," jeered the Jewboy, "the 
 venerable judge has his written authority to 
 preside at your trial — written on the parch- 
 ment of his own hide. Such authority is 
 hardly questionable, is it? You would not 
 gainsay it, would you, my dear major?" 
 
 The major had paled a little, as the disgust- 
 ing exhibition was made before him, but he 
 said nothing. 
 
 There was something fine in his almost con- 
 temptuous scorn of the rabble that surrounded 
 him, with its jeering taunts, and its gloating 
 
88 CASTLE VANE 
 
 revelling in the misery of his situation. Much 
 as he hated him, Dick Delane could not feel 
 anything but admiration for the man he hated. 
 He had pluck, at any rate — courage of the 
 highest sort. 
 
 "And now, my lord, will it please your lord- 
 ship if I open the prosecution of the prisoner?" 
 mockingly inquired the Jewboy. 
 
 "Aw — ye're the fine fellie for th' talkin', so 
 ye are, Misther Jewboy," responded the old 
 man, leering his admiration of the outlaw, and 
 licking his cracked lips in a sort of animal en- 
 joyment. "Shure — let th' coort hear what ye've 
 got to say. Soilince in th' coort, ye wine- 
 swabbin' blackgyards there foreninst me! Is 
 it none of ye've got th' dacincy to pass th' joodge 
 a bottle for his own comfort?" 
 
 One of the correctly-described audience came 
 forward with a half-empty bottle of port, and 
 the Bench refreshed itself. 
 
 "Git on wid ye, me Jewboy. Th' coort is dyin' 
 t' see th' rope stretched." 
 
 "Well — my lord, and gentlemen — I have very 
 little to say." The Jewboy was enjoying him- 
 self immensely, smiling all the time at his dis- 
 dainful victim. "The prisoner is charged with 
 being a tyrant of tyrants, a black-hearted devil, 
 a persecutor. He has driven men to crime by 
 his over-bearing demeanour. He has driven 
 Dick Delane, for an instance, to desert from his 
 regiment, to join in with us who are beyond 
 the law, to place himself in peril of the law — 
 
THE TRIAL 89 
 
 for what? Why, for not having two buttons 
 buttoned in his jacket when his august highness 
 chanced to cast his evil eye upon him. He has 
 flogged an old man for having a quid of tobacco 
 in his mouth when he looked at him. He has 
 flogged an old comrade-in-arms for not address- 
 ing him as 'sir.' Shall I call evidence, my lord, 
 to prove what I say?" 
 
 "We don't want any ividence," screeched the 
 old man, banging a gnarled fist on the table. 
 "Luk at th' black face of him! 'Tis ividince 
 enough, so it is. The on'y ividence th' coort 
 is afther wantin' to take is at th' inquist. An 
 th' sooner that's got to th' betther. Th' coort 
 sintinces ye, ye black-faced villain, to be 
 hanged where ye shtand. Git along wid it, 
 bhoys, an' shwing him high." 
 
 "Ain't hangin' too good for th' dog, Dinny?" 
 cried one of the gang. "He don't feel it long 
 enough. Give him a taste of his own medicine 
 — th' cat — before we turn him off. Flog th' 
 courage out of him. Leave him just enough life 
 in him so as he'll taste th' pleasure of bein' 
 turned off. Spread it out a bit — make him feel 
 it." 
 
 A chorus of approval greeted this happy 
 suggestion. 
 
 "Aye — skin th' varmint!" yelled one. 
 
 "Give him a taste of fire!" howled another. 
 
 "Crucify the carrion!" gently suggested a 
 third. 
 
90 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "Yis, yis," cried old Cassidy eagerly, shaking 
 his fist at the major. The idea pleased him 
 immensely. "That's it, b'ys ! We'll flog th' dog 
 till he howls. An' 'tis me an Moiles as'll do th' 
 floggin'. 'Tis only right an' just it should be so. 
 We'll give him a sore back — t' show whin he 
 parades afore Ould Nick! So we will!" 
 
 "You hear, my dear Major? The court pro- 
 poses to add to your enjoyment. Take him 
 down, boys. It is a good notion," said the Jew- 
 boy. "We will postpone his execution for half 
 an hour or so." 
 
 Half a dozen of them, yelling and cursing, 
 lifted the major from the packing case. They 
 handled him roughly. One cur smacked him 
 across the mouth with the back of his hand. 
 They tore his coat, waistcoat, and shirt from his 
 back, slashing the clothing with their knives in 
 order to get it free from his bound arms. One 
 of them cut the lashing round his wrists, re- 
 marking that his elbows would save his skin if 
 they were left in that position. 
 
 "Tie him to a tree," cried the Jewboy. "His 
 arms round the trunk. Here is one that will 
 just fit him." 
 
 They dragged him to where their leader 
 pointed, and bound him to a box-tree that was 
 a little more than a foot in diameter. His feet 
 they secured to it at the ground, and about the 
 buttocks they set another lashing, to assist in 
 keeping him in an upright position. 
 
THE TRIAL 91 
 
 "There, now, Major, I think you are quite 
 comfortable," laughed the Jewboy. "My only 
 regret is that we have not some of your friends 
 here to witness your enjoyable situation. I am 
 sure it would entertain them." 
 
 In all this rough handling they had not 
 succeeded in drawing a word from John Vane. 
 Trussed up to the tree, with a little trickle of 
 blood, drawn by the ruffian who had struck him, 
 running ■ down over his chin, stripped to the 
 waist, and in as degrading a situation as a man 
 could be, this undaunted victim of their 
 savagery would not give them the satisfaction 
 of letting them see him falter. He was deadly 
 pale, but that was the only sign of an apprecia- 
 tion of his position that he gave. His face was 
 black and set, and the rage that tortured him 
 was evident enough — but by no word, no plea 
 for mercy, would he seek to save himself. 
 
 Dick Delane sat through the wretched busi- 
 ness without taking any share in it. It had gone 
 further than he had bargained for. Davis had 
 told him that all that was to be done to the 
 major was to humiliate him, to make him a 
 ridiculous butt for the pleasantries of the gang 
 — maybe to give him sufficient whipping to 
 enable him to understand that there were two 
 aspects to a flogging — that of the flogged as well 
 as of the floggers. But it was evident that the 
 ruffians who had him at their mercy were 
 carried away by their desire for revenge against 
 the system under which they had suffered, as 
 
92 CASTLE VANE 
 
 personified in their prisoner. They would know 
 no restraint. They would not understand that 
 the major had already suffered more agony than 
 he had ever experienced before. Their own 
 feelings lay in their skins. They would not be 
 satisfied with anything less than physical torture 
 and death. 
 
 He turned to Marvel, when the crowd had 
 surged across to the tree that was to serve as 
 whipping post, and spoke to him in a low tone. 
 
 "By heavens, man, we can't stand this!" 
 
 "For why not?" growled the other. "Don't 
 the dog deserve it?" 
 
 "He deserves a good deal — but, by heavens, 
 this is going too far. Why, these fellows mean 
 to kill him. There is no play about this!" 
 
 "Did you think there was?" said the other 
 hoarsely. "Did you think that the Jewboy 
 meant anything less? It was me who put him 
 on to it. The night I had my flogging I was 
 down at the riverside seeking to cool my back, 
 when I came across him reconnoitrin' Castle 
 Vane. I tells him about the devil Vane. 'Well,' 
 he says, 'will ye join in with us if I punish him 
 for ye?' An' so 'twas all arranged. The dray 
 was took yesterday afternoon, as you know. 
 You'd time enough to say your say when Davis 
 was explainin'. Sure, you were never soft 
 enough to think that we were goin' to let him 
 ofif with a talkin' to an' a whippin', did ye? 
 What's come to ye, man? Wouldn't he have 
 cut the back off you, too; for less than nothing? 
 
THE TRIAL 93 
 
 Let them flog him to pieces, and hang him after. 
 Old Dinny may do my share — he'll give him all 
 I would." 
 
 Hardly knowing what to do, Delane looked 
 up to see what was happening. 
 
 One man was busy with the great green-hide 
 bullock whip — unravelling its coarse strands — 
 whilst another was whittling down a stick to 
 make a short handle. They were fashioning 
 an impromptu cat-o'-nine tails. The convict 
 crew crowded about the bound, half-naked 
 figure of the major, shrieking insults at him 
 and indescribable obscenities and filth. One 
 man set a fashion by spitting in his face, another 
 kicked him behind, and they all followed suit. 
 Old Cassidy danced and raved round the tree. 
 
 "Hurry up b'ys — hurry up !" he howled. "Me 
 arm's itchin' to be at him. I'll cut th' heart 
 out av him! I'll do Marvel's share as well — 
 sure, he won't be grudgin' an ould man his little 
 bit of divarshin. Oh, be th' saints, me name's 
 not Dinis Cassidy if I leave him wid more than 
 jist enough life in his carcase to be squazed out 
 av him wid th' rope!" 
 
 They cut the thongs of the bullock whip into 
 lengths a yard long, and bound nine of them 
 to the short handle that had been improvised. 
 The thongs were hard and twisted, and made a 
 fearful weapon of punishment. They passed it 
 to the Jewboy for approval. He handled it 
 smilingly, and nodded his head, then gave it 
 
94 CASTLE VANE 
 
 back to them, and moved into a position where 
 he could watch the major's face. 
 
 Never a word of protest or plea for mercy 
 issued from that inflexible mouth. 
 
 "He's game enough!" muttered the ex-soldier 
 beside Delane. 
 
 The little, bent old man, trembling with ex- 
 citement, and his hand shaking as with a palsy, 
 eagerly grasped the "cat" when they passed it 
 to him. Someone passed him a bottle of brandy. 
 
 "Take a swig for luck, Dinny — 'twill 
 strengthen y'r arm!" He took a great gulp of 
 the raw spirit, and stepped back from the major. 
 With a short run, and a little jump, he brought 
 the fearful lash down on the white back. 
 
 "Hooroo!" he yelled. "Wan for ye, ye dog!" 
 
 Dick could stand it no longer. With an oath, 
 he jumped to his feet, and dashed into the little 
 crowd about the tree, scattering it left and right. 
 He sprang straight at the Jewboy, and dealt him 
 a mighty knock-out blow on the point of the jaw, 
 so that he collapsed in a heap where he stood, 
 and lay insensible on the turf. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 The Deep Sea 
 
 IN an instant there was a wild uproar. For 
 a second or two the little mob of half- 
 drunken scoundrels stood still, bewildered 
 by this sudden diversion. The only quick wit 
 amongst them was incapable of exerting itself, 
 and there was no one in the band, save Delane, 
 who could direct them as a leader. They were 
 slow and dull animals naturally, and the life that 
 each of them had led, before tasting the liberties 
 of their bushranging career — as cattle under the 
 goads of the merciless drivers of the convict 
 system — had not added anything to the, quick- 
 ness of their perceptive faculties. It took time 
 for them to grasp what was happening. When 
 they saw the Jewboy go down under Delane's 
 blow, it paralysed them momentarily. 
 
 Tearing a clasp knife from the pocket of his 
 jacket, Dick ran to the major, and, in less time 
 than it takes to tell it, he had severed the cords 
 that bound him to the tree, and had thrust a 
 pistol into his hands. 
 
 "Quick, sir! We must fight. Tackle them at 
 once. They are nearly drunk, most of them." 
 
 The moment that he felt himself free the 
 major dashed at his tormentors. He was a 
 
 95 
 
96 CASTLE VANE 
 
 tough and powerful man, in the prime of life, 
 and he was maddened and infuriated by the 
 treatment he had received at the hands of the 
 gang. With a passing blow at old Cassidy, that 
 brought the aged instrument of convict ven- 
 geance to his knees, he jumped in amongst the 
 startled men, making straight for the fellow who 
 masqueraded with his sword. In an instant he 
 had snatched the sword from his faltering grasp. 
 Then he drew back a pace, and deliberately ran 
 the man through the body. With the still un- 
 used pistol in his left hand, he laid about him 
 in so effective a fashion as speedily to drive the 
 astonished outlaws back a few paces, some with 
 wounds, leaving their dying comrade grovelling 
 in a pool of blood formed from the stream that 
 gushed from his distorted mouth. 
 
 Dick had charged too, armed only with his 
 fists. But he knew how to use them, and his 
 vigour and activity were such that none of the 
 bewildered crew could stand up to him. The 
 man Albert dropped on one knee, and fired point 
 blank at him with his musket, but in a moment 
 Delane was upon him, had wrested the piece 
 from his hold, and stretched him out upon the 
 grass with the butt across his temple. 
 
 Miles Marvel had sat, dazed, upon the chair 
 after Dick had jumped up, hardly realizing 
 what the latter was about. When it came to 
 him that his fellow-soldier was seeking the de- 
 liverance of his persecutor he was minded for a 
 moment to side with the members of the gang 
 
THE DEEP SEA 97 
 
 against him, and jumped to his feet with every 
 intention of doing as much. But a sudden re- 
 vulsion of feeling swept over him, and only 
 realizing that he was either to fight with the 
 old regiment or against it, he decided to cast 
 in his weight on the side of his late comrades 
 in arms, even though one of them was the 
 bitterly-hated major. With a shout of 
 "Perishers! Perishers to the rescue!" — a slogan 
 known in many an English and Irish garrtson 
 town and Indian cantonment — he jumped into 
 the fray, picking up the handle of the mutilated 
 bullock whip, and laying about him with its butt. 
 He took the bushrangers in flank. 
 
 The convicts broke and gave ground before 
 the fury of this three-sided attack, and ran back 
 to the bullock dray, where most of them had 
 left their muskets." 
 
 "To the horses, major — to the horses !" yelled 
 Dick. 
 
 He ran to where the three men who had been 
 bailed up with the dray were lashed to the trees, 
 and in a few seconds had cut their bonds. 
 
 "Run for your lives ! Make for Castle Vane," 
 he cried to them. "They will rally presently." 
 
 The three free men needed no urging. They 
 dived into the bush, and were lost to sight in 
 an instant. What became of Marvel, Delane had 
 no time to observe. 
 
 He and the major ran to where the Jewboy's 
 horse and the major's stallion were tethered to 
 some bushes, hastily unfastened their bridles. 
 
98 CASTLE VANE 
 
 clambered into the saddles, and, flogging them 
 into a gallop, fled through the trees in the 
 direction of the homestead. A spattering fire 
 of musketry followed them, and a few bullets 
 whistled by, but did no damage. They raced a 
 full mile before the major drew rein, and Dick 
 checked his horse and rode beside him. 
 
 "I thank you, Delane," said the major. "It 
 was more than I expected of you." 
 
 "It was no more than I could help doing," 
 replied Dick coldly. "I am not a murderer — 
 or a brutal savage." 
 
 "Yet you connived at my capture by that 
 blackguard Jew?" 
 
 "I did so because I had a score against you, 
 sir. You drove me from the regiment — ^you 
 sentenced me to torture and disgrace. For a 
 trivial piece of carelessness, you ruined my life. 
 It is ruined now — but not in the degrading 
 fashion that you would have brought about. I 
 have not been scourged like a beast. No thanks 
 to Major John Vane for that, though. You'd 
 have cut the manhood out of me if I'd not run 
 away — just as it's been cut out of any of that 
 pack we've but just escaped from." 
 
 The major was silent. It came to him that 
 this youngster was a better man than himself. 
 For the first time in many years, John Vane 
 felt a glow of generosity — of humble admission 
 to himself that all things were not shaped to 
 the glory of John Vane. He put out his hand, 
 and laid it upon the younger man's arm. 
 
THE DEEP SEA 99 
 
 "Delane," he said — more softly than the 
 soldier had ever heard him speak before, "De- 
 lane — it may be that I am a hard man — have 
 been a hard, perhaps a cruel, man all my life. 
 But this last hour, virhen I was in the hands of 
 those ruffians, has taught me something. How 
 does it go? 'Judge not that ye be not judged' 
 — that is the lesson that I think I have learned. 
 I ask your forgiveness for the wrong I have 
 done you. Will you give it me?" 
 
 It was a strange scene, there in the sunlit 
 bush, between these two men — the one young, 
 handsome, athletic; the other strong, stern, 
 carrying his native dignity in spite of the dis- 
 array of his clothing, his bleeding, lacerated 
 body, and his blood-stained face. 
 
 Delane felt something of pity for John Vane. 
 It was no easy thing for such a man to abase 
 himself to one whom he had but yesterday 
 looked upon as the smallest cog in the military 
 machine — a cog that might be broken carelessly, 
 without doing harm to anybody, or without 
 giving himself any concern at all. He knew that 
 the words he had just heard were genuine 
 enough — that nothing but very real and deep 
 feeling could have prompted their utterance. 
 
 And yet he felt that he owed Vane still 
 another grudge for having been compelled to 
 come to his rescue. It was hideously ironical 
 that he should be forced by his own action into 
 a friendship vvath this man whom he had 
 schooled himself to hate and to regard as the 
 
loo CASTLE VANE 
 
 evil genius of his life. It was unfair. He would 
 have tried to save anyone in such circumstances. 
 That the man he had saved should have been 
 his bitterest enemy gave him no satisfaction at 
 all. 
 
 He looked the major in the face, and in his 
 own was a dislike and antipathy which the latter 
 could not fail to remark. 
 
 "Sir," he said, "I am sorry that I struck you 
 that morning in Sydney. You give me to under- 
 stand that you regret having ordered me to the 
 triangles for a paltry offence. Well, then — ^let 
 it rest at that. What is done can't be done over 
 again. You can no more give me back my red 
 coat and clean sheet — for I had a clean sheet 
 before that morning — than you can raise from 
 the dead that man whom you killed back there 
 a short while since. I am a deserter. I have 
 committed one of the most serious crimes that 
 exist in the military calendar — that of striking 
 my superior ofificer. The facts remain — that I 
 am an outcast and an outlaw, and that you are 
 my natural enemy. Forget, if you will, that 
 you owe me anything, and if we should meet 
 again, only remember that it is your duty to 
 apprehend a deserter, and to run an outlaw to 
 earth. I ask for no recognition of what I have 
 done this morning. I am sorry that I had to 
 do it." 
 
 Major Vane flushed, and his face set into the 
 hard lines that those who knew him were used 
 to. 
 
THE DEEP SEA loi 
 
 "Well — so let it be, Delane. I can ofifer no 
 more." He shook his bridle reins, wheeled his 
 horse about, and cantered through the timber, 
 back towards Castle Vane. 
 
 Dick Delane sat staring after him, a prey to 
 his own gloomy thoughts. He was aroused 
 from his semi-stupor by hearing his name 
 called. He turned his head, and saw Miles 
 Marvel running towards him. 
 
 "Quick, Dick," he called; "they are after us. 
 The Jewboy has come to, and swears he will 
 cut your heart out for the blow you gave him. 
 Can you take me up behind you? Remember, 
 I came to your help. By heavens! It will go 
 hard with us if we fall into the hands of that 
 gang. I'm for the bush myself — but it will have 
 to be in other company than the Jewboy's." 
 
 Dick roused himself, and recognized that Mar- 
 vel was right. 
 
 He laughed bitterly. 
 
 "By thunder," he said, "I'm out with all of 
 them now. Come along, Miles. Put your foot 
 in the stirrup" — he withdrew his own. "This 
 is a good mount of Davis's. I think he'll carry 
 us both out of danger." 
 
 The other climbed up behind him, and Dick 
 urged the horse through the forest. They could 
 hear the shouts of their pursuers, but knew that 
 they had not yet been seen, and before long, 
 after a smart gallop over the undulating, well- 
 wooded country, they came out on the river 
 
102 CASTLE VANE 
 
 flats, a couple of miles below Castle Vane. 
 They halted to consider a plan of action. 
 
 "The Jewboy was making down the country," 
 said Dick, as they sat on a log at the edge of 
 the steep, alluvial bank. "He has some notion 
 of paying a visit to Sydney, and leaving the 
 gang to operate, as he calls it, from the mount- 
 ains about the Wollombi. What he wants to 
 go to Sydney for I've no notion. I fancy there's 
 a woman in the case. But there's one thing — 
 if he's away for any length of time, and leaves 
 that precious collection of his to their own de- 
 vices, he'll find very little of it left by the time 
 he comes back. They're the worst collection of 
 louts I've ever come across — crawlers, loafers, 
 boozers. That little Cockney, Albert Hogg's the 
 only one of them with half a notion of sense. 
 The rest are a hopeless lot. It's only the per- 
 sonal influence of Davis that keeps them to- 
 gether. He's rather a remarkable man, that 
 fellow, but a cruel brute. Some of the things 
 he brags of doing are damnable. This is the first 
 active service I've seen with them. They've 
 been laying low for the last three months, up 
 in the mountains to the north of here — ^living 
 on the proceeds of some robberies of station 
 stores they'd looted just before I joined them, 
 after I got away from Sydney. It's going to be 
 the last, too, for I've got heartily sick of them. 
 They're a poor lot, Miles, and it's a poor life. 
 You've not missed much by falling out with them 
 at the start. The bold bushranger may boast 
 
THE DEEP SEA 103 
 
 that the life's a free and merry one — but there's 
 very little romance in it, as far as I could see. 
 It's saying the most of it when you class it as 
 just a degree better than life in a chain-gang." 
 
 "Well, it seems to be the only choice that 
 we've got left — bushranging or roadmaking," 
 said the other, dejectedly. "Even if we never 
 bail up man, woman, or child, and live honestly 
 on 'possum and wild honey, we're still classed 
 as bushrangers. I'm a runaway convict, and 
 you're a deserter. And now we've chucked the 
 other side, too. Seems to me we're between the 
 devil and the deep sea." 
 
 "There isn't a very bright look-out for us, 
 and that's a fact. But one thing's pretty certain. 
 We've got to get away from here. If the Jew- 
 boy's fellows get hold of us it won't be too 
 healthy for us, and if the police should round 
 us up it'll be pretty well as bad. We'll simply 
 have to wait and see how things shape, and in 
 the meantime get away from here. But I've 
 got an idea about what we'd better do for a 
 start — a sort of plan of campaign, such as it is." 
 
 "Let's hear it." 
 
 "You see that big mountain up there — ^^the 
 one with the round hump and a sort of neck, 
 and then another big hump ?" 
 
 He pointed northward to the ranges sleeping 
 in the morning sunlight, deep blue against the 
 lighter azure of the cloudless sky. 
 
 "The one that looks like the outline of a big 
 
104 CASTLE VANE 
 
 cat lying down and looking this way. That's 
 Mount Murulla — or the Murlow, as they call it. 
 Well, up in oiie of the creeks that run down 
 from there is where the Jewboy has had his 
 headquarters for some months past — ever since 
 I joined the gang. It's about twenty miles from 
 here as the crow flies — say thirty as we have 
 to travel. He has left two fellows in charge 
 — one an old man, and the other crippled. Got 
 a bullet in his leg six months ago. Our best 
 notion, I think, is to get up there, surprise his 
 caretakers, and fit ourselves out from his plant. 
 It's stolen property, of course, but it's our only 
 show. And then we might cross the ranges, 
 and make out across the plains to the north- 
 west. Plenty of new stations are being formed 
 there, and we ought easily to pick up a couple 
 of jobs that suit us. There won't be much chance 
 of our being identified out there. They don't 
 ask many questions as to a man's antecedents, 
 I believe. What do you say? It's a vague kind 
 of programme, but as far as I can see it's our 
 only one. We'll take turns with this horse of 
 the Jewboy's. There are sonje others at his 
 depot, and we can help ourselves. I've got a 
 few pounds, and can slip into Scone to-night 
 and purchase some provisions. Nobody knows 
 me there. How about it?" 
 
 "It's about all we can do, Dick. I'm with you. 
 Come along, then, the sooner we're away from 
 here the better." 
 
 They crossed the river, and commenced their 
 
THE DEEP SEA 105 
 
 journey northward, taking Mount Murulla as a 
 guiding landmark. 
 
 As Dick remarked to his companion, they 
 were making a choice of the deep sea rather 
 than the devil. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 To THE Mountains 
 
 THE two soldiers kept on through the bush 
 until they were opposite to the little 
 settlement which some good Scot had 
 named after the ancient royal burgh of his 
 native land. 
 
 Scone was a primitive little bush township in 
 1840 — one of those milestones of the coloniza- 
 tion that was rapidly spreading north and north- 
 west of the head of the Hunter Valley. Already 
 the valley had become a highway to the wide 
 lands beyond — lands watered by the Namoi and 
 the Barwon, and their tributaries — that 
 stretched away in fertile and virgin splendor 
 into Queensland, and out into the vast and un- 
 explored territories of the huge continent of 
 Australia. Settlement of a sort had quickly 
 followed in the tracks of Major Mitchell, the 
 Surveyor-General, and the little villages along 
 the valley, besides being the centre of the rich 
 districts surrounding them, flourished also by 
 reason of the ever-growing traffic that passed 
 through to the north. 
 
 They halted in a clump of timber, half a mile 
 to the eastward of the township. Dick handed 
 the reins of the Jewboy's horse to his companion. 
 
TO THE MOUNTAINS 107 
 
 "Listen," he said. "I will go into the place 
 on foot, and you must wait for me here. I 
 don't think there's any chance of my being 
 recognized as one of the gang. I've never been 
 out with them before, and I only consented to 
 come this time because I wanted to help despoil 
 Major Vane, and to assist in making some sort 
 of fool of him. I little thought I'd be compelled 
 to save his life. But I know this horse is a 
 well-bred one, and was taken from some station 
 down the river. There may be someone in the 
 town who would know him. We won't want 
 very much in the way of provisions — only 
 sufficient for three or four meals at the outside. 
 There is plenty, and to spare, at the gang's 
 hiding-place in the ranges. I'll see whether I 
 can hear anything about the gang. I hardly 
 think it is likely that they will make back again. 
 More likely, I should think, to keep away along 
 the line of rough country to the westward, 
 giving a wide berth to the settlements. There's 
 no doubt that this attempt upon th^ major's life 
 will set the whole countryside buzzing. They 
 will have to take cover for a while." 
 
 "How long do you think you'll be?" asked 
 Marvel. 
 
 "Perhaps two hours — maybe less. It depends 
 on circumstance's. But don't you move from 
 here. * Remember, you are a runaway convict, 
 and there must be several people hereabouts 
 who would recognize you as an assigned servant 
 at Castle Vane. Mv face isn't known — except 
 
io8 CASTLE VANE 
 
 to the major and the Jewboy gang — and they're 
 hardly likely to come looking for me in Scone." 
 
 He left his companion in the timber, and 
 walked across the flats towards the outskirts of 
 the township. 
 
 Dick rapidly reviewed the situation as he 
 made his way cautiously towards the small 
 cluster of houses that peeped through the trees. 
 The more he studied it the more puzzling it 
 seemed to grow. He had hastily outlined the 
 only plan he could think of, a little while before, 
 for the benefit of Marvel, but as to its merits 
 or chances he had to confess himself uncertain. 
 
 It was a queer position that he found himself 
 in. Delane was not very old, but he was old 
 enough to have a "past." It was the "past" 
 that had driven him to enlist in the 146th, then 
 under orders for India, four years before. What 
 it was we will keep to ourselves until we reach 
 a later stage in this veracious narrative. The 
 only thing about it is that it is necessary to 
 chronicle the fact of its existence, and the further 
 fact that the only person in the colony who had 
 any knowledge of it was the old Jew, Jacob 
 Losky. How he knew, Dick could only surmise, 
 but that he did know he had very plainly given 
 him to understand. 
 
 For his own reasons, Delane desired that his 
 whereabouts should remain a mystery in 
 England. He had hoped for a long time that 
 his death might have been presumed by all who 
 had had anything to do with him. And he felt, 
 
TO THE MOUNTAINS 109 
 
 instinctively, that the reason why the old man 
 took so much interest in him as to have show^n 
 him the secret of the trap-door in the shop, and 
 to have assisted in his escape from Sydney, was 
 because of his knowledge as to who he really 
 was. Even when he had been waiting in the 
 tunnel beneath the Jew's house, on that event- 
 ful day at the beginning of the year, he had had 
 his doubts about the wisdom of putting himself 
 into the power of the old man to any further 
 extent. But the certainty of his terrible fate, 
 had he been re-taken by the military authorities, 
 had left him no alternative to act otherwise than 
 by availing himself, as he had, of the refuge of 
 the Free Company. 
 
 What he had seen of the last-named organi- 
 zation had opened his eyes as to the real 
 character of the bookseller of George Street. 
 The old man was a master craftsman in crime. 
 For years he had been a receiver of stolen 
 property, an agent and promoter of all sorts of 
 robbery and swindhng. There was no pie, how- 
 ever unwholesome, into which he would not put 
 his fingers — provided that the pie contained 
 plums which he could pull out for himself, and 
 was not so hot as to burn him in the process. 
 Losky had no scruples as to sharing in its dis- 
 tribution. He was a wily and cunning criminal, 
 with' a truly marvellous capacity for covering up 
 his operations. 
 
 The Free Company was nothing else than a 
 consolidation of his many illegal interests. He 
 
no CASTLE VANE 
 
 saw how he might exploit the crime into which 
 escaped convicts and all sorts of unfortunates 
 were driven by necessity. He realized the 
 profits of roguery on a wholesale scale. But 
 he took care that, save to a very few, he was 
 unknown as the head and brains of his curious 
 organization. And only two or three of them 
 fully understood the lines upon which he ran it. 
 
 It had not taken long for Dick Delane to find 
 himself altogether disgusted with the fact that 
 he had placed himself in Jacob Losky's power 
 so completely, nor was he long in the society 
 of the Jewboy and his associates before he be- 
 gan to cast round for some means of escaping 
 from all connection with the gang. He had 
 resolutely refused to take an active part in 
 their bushranging exploits, and his presence 
 with them on the present occasion had only been 
 due, as he had told Miles Marvel a short time 
 before, to a desire to witness the discomfiture 
 of the man who had driven him from the army. 
 And now the events of the last twenty-four 
 hours had solved his perplexities, and he found 
 himself cut adrift from the gang — ^even in actual 
 hostility to it, and the Free Company as well. 
 
 But he was also in hostility with the forces 
 of law and order. As Marvel had put it, he 
 was truly between the devil and the deep sea. 
 He could not take his place amongst honest 
 men, and he would not be a rogue. The more 
 he thought over his position the more difficult 
 did it become. However, he told himself, 
 
TO THE MOUNTAINS in 
 
 sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof. 
 Just now his business was to procure some food. 
 The future would have to remain an uncertainty 
 for a few days. 
 
 He came into the little township, and found 
 it agog with excitement. Word had just been 
 brought in from Castle Vane of the outrage 
 upon the major. The latter had despatched a 
 messenger to the police-magistrate with news 
 of the affair and an urgent request for assist- 
 ance in following up the gang. 
 
 It had been ascertained that they were making 
 across the mountains behind Muswellbrook, 
 Major Vane was all for a hot pursuit. He would 
 come in himself, in an hour or two, as soon as 
 he had had his injuries attended and had taken 
 a little rest after the rough handling he had 
 received. In the meantime, he begged that a 
 party might be raised in Scone to aJssist in the 
 chase of the outlaws. 
 
 But the police-magistrate was hardly a man 
 of action. He was an easy-going official of 
 somewhat staid and decorous habit. He held 
 it to be no part of his duty to lead an armed 
 posse in pursuit of the bushrangers. There 
 was only one mounted constable in the town, 
 and it would be obvious folly to 'send him out 
 after such a party as the one Davis had with 
 him. He would await the arrival of Major Vane, 
 and, in the meantime, make out warrants for 
 the apprehension of the Jewboy, and such of 
 his following as might have been identified, 
 
112 CASTLE VANE 
 
 either by the major or his three employees who 
 had been in charge of the dray. That was all, 
 the worthy police-magistrate contended, that he 
 could do for the present. 
 
 So Mr. M'Nab, who was himself the bearer 
 of the major's message, had not scrupled to call 
 
 the police-magistrate "a ijeet," and had 
 
 ridden back to acquaint his master with the 
 hopelessness of stirring him up towards taking 
 any energetic measures against the outlaws. 
 
 Dick obtained some tea, sugar, flour, and 
 bacon at the little store that was kept by the 
 proprietor of the only inn, one Wilkie. He also 
 bought a small billy-can and a couple of panni- 
 kins, together with a supply of tobacco, and a 
 clean shirt for his companion. He was fortunate 
 enough to espy some pots of healing ointment 
 on the shelves, and purchased one for the benefit 
 of Marvel's lacerated back. He filled a sack 
 with his stores, and, after looking about the 
 township, and talking to one or two of the in- 
 habitants in order to allay suspicion, turned his 
 steps towards the place where he had left his 
 fellow refugee. 
 
 He had hardly got beyond the last cottage 
 when he ran into Major Vane himself, riding 
 into the town, with a face black with anger 
 against the easy-going police-magistrate. He 
 had met M'Nab a little way out, who, having 
 acquainted him with the unsatisfactory slack- 
 ness of that ofificial, had been sent back to Castle 
 Vane to organize and arm a small party of such 
 
TO THE MOUNTAINS 113 
 
 of the servants who could be trusted, in order 
 to give chase to the Jewboy. The major would 
 see what he could do in the way of raising a 
 small force of the townspeople to avenge the 
 insults and violence which had been offered to 
 him that morning. 
 
 The major drew rein when he recognized the 
 man who was carrying the sack. 
 
 "Delane!" he exclaimed. "Where are you 
 going?" 
 
 Dick halted, and looked up at his interrogator 
 doubtfully. He hardly knew how to answer 
 him. 
 
 "You are not going to rejoin the bush- 
 rangers ?" asked the major. 
 
 "No, I have cut loose from them," replied 
 Dick, realizing that he must say something. 
 
 "Come with me and help to capture them! 
 T need a man like you with me." 
 
 "You forget that I am a deserter and an out- 
 law myself!" 
 
 "No, I do not. But here is a chance for 
 you to earn a pardon. Why not take jt? The 
 capture of that gang would wipe out everything 
 for you. I would see to that. Come ! It is 
 the best you can do." 
 
 Dick thought for a while, looking down at 
 the ground, whilst the major continued to urge 
 him to take the course he suggested. At last 
 the young man looked up. He shook his head. 
 
 "No, sir. I doubt if you and I would suit 
 one another, Major Vane. We had better part. 
 
114 CASTLE VANE 
 
 I hope you will be successful — I have no liking 
 for that band of blackguards. But I will not 
 join you." 
 
 "Is that final, Delane?" asked the major, 
 frowning down at him. 
 
 "Yes — I will go my own way." 
 
 "As you will. You need never fear that I 
 will seek to interfere with your freedom. I am 
 too grateful for what you have done for me 
 to-day. Come to me if you think better of it. 
 I want to be your friend." 
 
 With a gesture that almost indicated dislike 
 for any such idea, Dick shouldered his load and 
 walked into the bush. The major put spiirs to 
 his hofse, and galloped into the town. There 
 was a bad quarter of an hour in store for the 
 police-magistrate. And he experienced it. 
 
 It was well past midday by the time that Dick 
 rejoined his companion, and they were very 
 ready for a meal. So, leading the Jewboy's 
 horse, they travelled on slowly, intending to 
 halt when they should reach the first water. 
 They had not gone half a mile before they came 
 to a small watercourse that trickled down from 
 a long mountain spur ending abruptly just 
 opposite to Scone, on the right hand side. Here 
 they secured the horse to a sapling, and set 
 about the preparation of food. Dick carried 
 flint and steel, and it was not long before they 
 had the billy over the fire, whilst Miles mixed 
 a small damper, and Dick attended to the broil- 
 ing of some slices of the bacon. They made a 
 
TO THE MOUNTAINS 115 
 
 hearty meal, and afterwards rested for an hour 
 or so, smoking and discussing their route in 
 the immediate future. 
 
 The valley up which they were making has 
 its head beneath the shadow of the high dome 
 of Mount MuruUa. It is a rich strip of more 
 or less flat country, stretching in a narrowing 
 fa'shion into the Liverpool Ranges. A little 
 creek, the Kingdon Ponds, runs down its midst, 
 and empties into the Hunter a few miles below 
 Scone. Over a spur of Mount Murulla the 
 northern road leads into the valley of the Page, 
 another and longer tributory of the main riyer, 
 that joins it further to the east. At the head 
 of that valley, beyond Murrurundi, the Main 
 Dividing Range is crossed, and the western 
 watershed entered. 
 
 Dick's plan, which he imparted to Marvel as 
 they lay smoking their pipes after dinner, was 
 to cross the valley diagonally, and follow the 
 Kingdon Ponds up towards Mount Murulla, 
 along its further side. They would thus avoid 
 the traffic up and down the road, which keeps 
 to the eastward of the creek. It was a dozen 
 miles — possibly nearer fifteen — to the wild part 
 of the jumble of rugged mountains where the 
 Jewboy had his northern outpost. They could 
 hardly make the place that night, and, indeed, 
 Dick was not sure that he could find his way 
 through the narrow gorges and wild approaches 
 that led to it in the darkness. 
 
 They would camp somewhere within a few 
 
ii6 CASTLE VANE 
 
 miles of the place, and reconnoitre it at day- 
 light. He hoped that they would be able to 
 surprise the old man who had been left in 
 charge. They could easily overpower, and make 
 prisoners of, both him and the injured man who 
 had been left behind. 
 
 So, all the afternoon, they pressed on up the 
 valley, after they had crossed over to its further 
 side. It was long after sunset when they de- 
 cided to make their camp for the night. Dick 
 said that he was sure they were within a mile 
 or so of the creek that ran down the gorge in 
 which the bushrangers' hiding-place was situa- 
 ted. They lit a fire, and settled themselves 
 down until morning. And being, of course, 
 without blankets, they passed a cold and com- 
 fortle'ss night. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 The Jewboy's Lair 
 
 LONG before dawn they had rekindled the 
 fire into a dancing blaze. It was bitterly 
 cold, and they greatly appreciated the 
 hot billy of tea which was their first considera- 
 tion. 
 
 Dick decided, with some regret, to let the 
 horse go. He was a splendid animal, and it 
 seemed a wasteful business to turn him loose. 
 He could only hope that some honest man might 
 come across him in the valley, who would 
 recognize his brand, and restore him to his 
 rightful owner. They could not take him with 
 them this morning. If they were to approach 
 the bushrangers' retreat unobserved, they would 
 have to make their way through the scrubs and 
 rocky defiles that lay between them and it, over 
 country through which they' could not possibly 
 lead a horse. 
 
 After they had breakfasted, and just as the 
 first coming of the dawn was paling the stars 
 in the east, they started off, keeping parallel with 
 the direction of the line of sandstone and con- 
 glomerate cliffs which skirted the lower slopes 
 of the mountains, and through which numerous 
 streams from the high country behind have cut 
 
 117 
 
ii8 CASTLE VANE 
 
 precipitous passages. It was for the mouth of 
 a certain one of these gorges that Dick wais 
 keeping a look-out. There was little difference 
 between any of the entrances to the range, and 
 Marvel asked him how he was going to tell when 
 he came to the right one. 
 
 "There is a big blue-gum tree standing below 
 a high white blufif, where the rock has been 
 broken down," he replied. "The tree is on the 
 right bank of the creek, as you face towards its 
 source. If we were opposite here, out in the 
 valley, you would be able to see the white face 
 of the rock. The members of the gang use it 
 to shape their direction when they are making 
 for their hiding-place. We can't very well miss 
 it." 
 
 "And when we get up to these fellows, what 
 do you reckon we're going to do? I suppose 
 they have firearms. How are we going to 
 tackle them without any?" 
 
 "We must get close up to the hut, and see 
 how the land lies. It may be that we'll have 
 to wait until night before we tackle them. But 
 we'll know soon enough. We've got to get the 
 best of them somehow — unless we want to 
 starve." 
 
 "And what then, Dick?" 
 
 "Then we'll fit ourselves out, and make over 
 the ranges. It's all we can do. We've got to 
 give the slip to police and bushrangers both. A 
 cheerful outlook — but it's our only one." 
 
 They crossed the mouths of two ravines that 
 
THE JEWBOY'S LAIR 119 
 
 broke the wall of rock, and, just as the sun rose 
 over the high broken country opposite across 
 the valle3^ Dick, who was a little way in front, 
 called to hi's companion: — 
 
 "Here we are — here's the blue-gum. See the 
 white rock above it there, just catching the 
 sunlight." 
 
 There was no mistaking the two landmarks, 
 and they sat on a fallen rock to rest for a few 
 minutes before starting up the creek — a larger 
 one, with a greater volume of water, than the 
 two they had passed by, but still only a swiftly- 
 running brook, with here and there a pool 
 perhaps three or four feet deep. 
 
 "What's that smoke rising away over there, 
 across the valley — on the side of that hill ? Look 
 — where that bare red place is." 
 
 Marvel pointed to where a great scar appeared 
 in the blue ridges opposite, and a faint eddy of 
 thin smoke drifted up into the sunlight, about 
 three miles away. 
 
 "Oh that — that's the Burning Mountain — 
 Wingen." 
 
 "What— a volcano?" 
 
 "No — only burning coal seams near the sur- 
 face. It's a queer place. I walked over to it 
 once, with the Jewboy. That bare strip is the 
 burnt-out track of the fire. It's burning on the 
 slope of a ridge that's away from us here. But 
 come on — we'd better be moving." 
 
 He led the way into the dark gorge through 
 which the little mountain rivulet tinkled out of 
 
I20 CASTLE VANE 
 
 its parent hills. They followed a faintly seen 
 footpath, that crossed and recrossed the stream 
 continually. The narrow gorge was deeply 
 carpeted with ferns, and from the trees that 
 arched overhead, great supple-jack vines, as 
 thick as a man's wrist, hung downwards. In 
 many places they had almost to force a way 
 through the scrub — for the path was little better 
 than a wallaby track. It was a cold and gloomy 
 passage — almost dark in places, where the tree 
 tops interlaced overhead — and dripping with 
 moisture from the melting frost upon leaves and 
 limbs. 
 
 Great stag-horns grew on the rock faces and 
 in the forks of dead and damp old forest giants. 
 Every now and again a little brown rock 
 wallaby scuttled up from the water, interrupted 
 at his morning drink. Up above them, the wild 
 hullabaloo of the laughing-jackasses, noisily 
 celebrating the coming of a new day, echoed and 
 re-echoed amongst the crags and hills. And 
 high overhead the tree tops were turned to green 
 and gold by the climbing sun. Every now and 
 again they could catch glimpses of the higher 
 mountains before them, their crests changing 
 from a cold dark indigo into a sort of golden 
 purple as the sunlight crept down their steep 
 slopes. 
 
 They penetrated almost a mile along this 
 gloomy rift in the conglomerate, shivering with 
 the cold, and almost wet through by reason of 
 the continual dripping from the leaves and the 
 
THE JEWBOY'S LAIR 121 
 
 dampness of the ferns that grew knee-deep all 
 along the track. Dick held up his hand as a 
 signal to his companion to halt. 
 
 "We're nearly at the end of the gully now," 
 he said. "It opens out into a sort of basin in 
 the mountains. The entrance is not more than 
 about thirty feet wide, and they've built a fence, 
 with slip-rails, across it, to keep their horses and 
 cattle from straying out of the hollow. It's an 
 ideal place for such a purpose as theirs. The 
 hills rise up steeply on every side, and though 
 there are one or two places where you can ride 
 or lead a horse up over the ranges, this is really 
 the only entrance to it that's of any use. The 
 stock never stray up to the summits — simply 
 because there is any amount of feed in the 
 hollow, and on the lower slopes. The creek 
 always runs as strongly as it does now, even 
 in the driest weather. It has its source in a 
 spring at the foot of the opposite Iside to this." 
 
 "Do we go in through the mouth of the 
 passage, then?" asked Marvel. 
 
 "No — we'd better not. When the Jewboy's 
 here he always insists upon a watch being kept 
 upon the entrance, and, for all I know, the old 
 man Gately might have some sort of a look-out. 
 There. is a Httle bark shelter for the look-out, 
 near the slip-rails, and he might have camped 
 there during the night. I heard Davis telling 
 him to keep a careful guard when we left here 
 three days ago. We'll climb over here to the 
 left. It's pretty rough, but there's a way over." 
 
122 CASTLE VANE 
 
 They scrambled up the left side of the creek, 
 between great moss-grown boulders and 
 through clinging shrubs. In one place they had 
 to cHmb a sapling in order to negotiate a little 
 impassable precipice, and several times they had 
 to slip off their boots and clamber up over al- 
 most perpendicular rock faces. At last, how- 
 ever, they found themselves on the flat, scrub- 
 covered crest of a spur that formed one of the 
 walls of this mountain fastness. They forced 
 a way through the bushes, and lay down on the 
 edge of a steep declivity to reconnoitre. 
 
 It was a magnificent piece of mountain 
 scenery into which they gazed. They were on 
 the edge of a vast amphitheatre — a place that 
 would have made an ideal arena for some great 
 series of athletic games. On all sides the 
 mountain walls towered up for a thousand feet 
 and more — steep • and wall-like, and densely 
 clothed with timber. The place was almost a 
 circle, and was about half a mile in diameter, 
 the creek dividing it into two nearly equal 
 portions. Immediately below them, not one 
 hundred yards from where they lay peering over 
 the rim of the great basin, were two substantial 
 slab huts with bark roofs, well and strongly 
 built, and not far away from them was a stock- 
 yard, in one corner of which was a killing pen, 
 with a gallows jor hoisting up the carcases of 
 cattle for dressing. 
 
 Marvel looked over to where Dick lay, after 
 they had examined the place intently for a 
 
THE JEWBOY'S LAIR 123 
 
 minute or so, and noted a puzzled expression 
 in his face. 
 
 "Seems pretty quiet down there, Dick, don't 
 it? Those two must be late risers." 
 
 "I can't make it out," replied Delane. "No 
 smoke from the chimney — no sign of life any- 
 where. Gately would be about by now, ordin- 
 arily. It's well after seven o'clock. They've 
 cleared out, or something's happened to them. 
 Come — we'll crawl down and investigate. Keep 
 under cover as much as you can. He's a queer- 
 tempered devil, old Gately, and he'd be quite 
 likely to take a pot-shot through one of the 
 loop-holes, if he saw anyone creeping up towards 
 the hut from behind." 
 
 They scrambled down through the rocks with- 
 out much difficulty, and presently were walking 
 quietly through the trees, across a gentle slope, 
 towards the rear of the buildings. Suddenly 
 Marvel trod on a dry stick, which broke with 
 a crack that sounded startingly clear and loud 
 in the stillness of the place. Almost instantly, 
 the loud barking of a dog broke the uncanny 
 quiet, and a blue cattle-dog raced round the end 
 of the hut nearest them. The dog saw them, 
 but ran round the end of the hut for a moment, 
 and then came back, and set up his lamentation 
 again. 
 
 "Tfiere's something wrong," said Dick. 
 "That's old Gately's dog, Bluey. Let's go 
 down." 
 
 As they came closer, the dog rushed out at 
 
124 CASTLE VANE 
 
 them, snarling and snapping, but, suddenly- 
 recognizing Delane, came jumping about him, 
 looking as if he felt relieved at seeing someone 
 whom he knew. Every now and then he would 
 whimper and crouch down, with his ears pricked, 
 as if listening for something. Dick patted the 
 dog, and spoke soothingly to him, and the two 
 men walked round to the front of the hut. Here 
 a strange sight met their horrified gaze. 
 
 Sitting on the ground, with his back against 
 the slabs of the hut, his head sunk on his chest, 
 and with his legs sprawled out in front, was an 
 old, white-bearded, bald-headed man — apparent- 
 ly asleep. Beside him was a two-gallon spirit- 
 keg, and, with his left forefinger crooked 
 through its handle, a tin pannikin half full of 
 rum rested on the ground beside him. 
 
 "Good heavens!" said Dick. "It'is old Gately 
 —drunk !" 
 
 He stepped forward and put his hand on the 
 old man's shoulder. 
 
 "Hi— Micky!" he cried. "Come— wake up!" 
 He shook him gently. 
 
 The old man tumbled over on his right side, 
 stififly keeping in the sitting posture. The left 
 arm stuck up in the air, and the pannikin rolled 
 on the ground. 
 
 "By Jove! He's dead!" said Marvel hoarsely. 
 "Dead as Aaron — and stifif." 
 
 Dick stooped over, and felt for the old man's 
 heart-beat, inside his shirt. He wore no coat. 
 He straightened up immediately. 
 
THE JEWBOY'S LAIR 125 
 
 "Yes — he'd dead, right enough. Quite cold. 
 By Jove's he's broken into their grog store, and 
 got a skinful, and gone to sleep out here — 
 probably in the sunshine yesterday, and slept 
 into the night, and the frost's finished him. 
 That's about what it is. That's probably the 
 size of it. Look — the door of the other hut's 
 open. That's the store. I know the Jewboy 
 had it locked up when we came away. He 
 handed out a month's supply of provisions to 
 the old man, arnd locked it up again. Gately's 
 broken in, and helped himself to the rum. But 
 I wonder where the wounded man is? Let's 
 get inside." 
 
 The door of the living hut was ajar, and they 
 went in. It was a large hut, with a big open 
 fire-place, and canvas bunks, stretched on sap- 
 lings, were arranged round three walls. There 
 was a long white table in the middle, with some 
 unwashed tin plates and pannikins upon it. The 
 ashes in the fire-place were quite cold. Tumbled 
 blankets in two of the bunks testified to their 
 recent occupation. But there was no sign of the 
 other man. 
 
 "Maybe he's drunk — or dead — in the store- 
 house," suggested Marvel. 
 
 "We'll go and see," said Dick, stepping to 
 the door. 
 
 They walked across to the other hut, Dick 
 in the lead. He put one foot across the thresh- 
 hold, and then started back. 
 
 "Look here !" he gasped. 
 
126 CASTLE VANE 
 
 Marvel came behind, and peeped over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Just inside the door, lying in a pool of blood, 
 was the body of the other man — his head beaten 
 to a pulp, and his face smashed in with blows 
 that had disfigured it beyond recognition. A 
 rudely fashioned crutch lay across the body. 
 
 "Murdered — by George!" whispered Marvel. 
 "Holy Sarah! What a doing the poor devil's 
 had!" 
 
 Dick gazed at the corpse for a moment or 
 two, morbidly fascinated by the ho.rror of the 
 spectacle. Then he stepped back into the sun- 
 shine and spat on the ground. 
 
 "Phew!" he whistled. "That's the story, in 
 three words. Grog, a drunken quarrel, and 
 then murder. The old fellow, Gately, was a 
 perfect devil in drink. Did you see how he'd 
 hacked at the fellow? There's a tomahawk 
 beside the body, in the blood. That's it. I 
 suppose they'd been drinking ever since we left 
 the place the other day." 
 
 "What'll we do with them?" asked Marvel. 
 
 "V/e'll have to set to and dig a grave, I sup- 
 pose," replied Dick. "Not a pleasant job — but 
 it's got to be done. There are some tools in 
 the other hut. Go and get them, and we'll finish 
 the job at once. We'll have to stay here a day 
 or two — and it won't be pleasant with these two 
 gentlemen lying about. They're not a pretty 
 sight, either of them, are they?" 
 
 "By Jove — they're not. It's made me sick to 
 
THE JEWBOY'S LAIR 127 
 
 look at them," replied Marvel in disgust. "The 
 sooner we get away from this God-forsaken 
 spot, the better I'll be pleased. Yes — we'd 
 better get it over." 
 
 By mid-day they had finished their gruesome 
 task. They found plenty of provisions in the 
 store, and cooked themselves a good dinner. 
 
 As they sat smoking afterwards, Dick out- 
 lined his ideas as to what they had better do. 
 
 "We'll fit ourselves out with everything we 
 want. There are muskets and pistols — a regular 
 armory-— in the store. Then, to-morrow, we'll 
 run in what horses they have left, and take our 
 choice. There are a couple, of saddles under 
 that corner bunk. And then we'll set fire to the 
 two huts, and get away from the infernal spot. 
 You've seen what that gang is. We may be 
 outcasts from society ourselves, but we can at 
 least do it the good turn of destroying this 
 stronghold and arsenal of the Jewboy's. Maybe 
 it will atone a little for our ever having been 
 mixed up with the ruffians." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 At the Bookshop 
 
 ON the evening of the first week in June, 
 soon after Mr. Jacob Losky had put up 
 the shutters of his book-shop, and was 
 seated with his granddaughter at supper, a loud 
 knocking on the street door resounded through 
 the little house in George Street that was 
 opposite to the Barrack gates. The old man got 
 up from his seat, and, taking one of the candles, 
 went to see whom his visitor might be. 
 
 The door was strongly barred, and it took 
 some little time to undo all the fastenings that 
 secured it. In the meantime the knocking 
 repeated itself. I^osky called out impatiently, 
 "All right, all right! Who are you that is in 
 so great a hurry to come into my house?" 
 
 The reply somewhat startled him. 
 
 "Police !" 
 
 Losky hastened to open the door. On the 
 threshold stood a tall man in the quaint costume 
 of a constable of the period — glazed top hat, 
 white pantaloons, and blue, swallow-tailed coat 
 complete. He was a tall, well-made man, with 
 reddish side-whiskers, and, as the old man 
 dropped back to permit his entrance, he stepped 
 
AT THE BOOKSHOP 129 
 
 across the threshold, holding out a folded paper 
 to the Jew. 
 
 "For you," he said. "Read it!" 
 
 The Jew — his hand shaking a little — put down 
 the candle on the counter, and, taking the paper 
 from the constable, unfolded it, and held it up 
 to the light to read. 
 
 "Read it aloud," ordered the policeman. 
 
 The old man hastened to comply. 
 
 "To Jacob Losky," he read. "Take notice, 
 at your peril, that you are hereby commanded 
 to receive into your house, for safe keeping, 
 the body and soul of Ned Davis." 
 
 Losky stopped, and looked up in surprise. 
 
 "Why, I declare, if it's not Ned himself! 
 Well, of all the jokes to play upon an old friend !" 
 He took up the light again and examined his 
 visitor critically from head to foot. " 'Tis a 
 good disguise, Ned," he said admiringly, "and 
 you carry it ofif well. But, in the name of Father 
 Abraham, what are you doing here in Sydney? 
 Have you said good-bye to life, then, that you 
 must come putting your head into the noose like 
 this? Man, I think you must be mad, to come 
 to Sydney! But come in, come in. Rachel," he 
 called into the other room, "here is an old 
 friend of yours come to supper. Set another 
 place, my girl — 'tis Ned Davis, come from 
 Hunter's River to spend the evening with us." 
 
 "Ned Davis !" exclaimed the girl in surprise 
 —"The Jewboy!" 
 
130 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "No; only Police-constable X," laughed the 
 outlaw, "come to court the cook." 
 
 They went into the back room, and -the girl 
 put out her hand to him by way of greeting. 
 He took it, and sought to draw her to him, but 
 she drew back. 
 
 "What — not a kiss, my Rachel, after all these 
 months?" 
 
 "Not now, Ned," she murmured hurriedly. 
 "Later on, perhaps." 
 
 "Ha, ha! She is shy about her old grand- 
 father," laughed the old man. ''Or maybe she 
 is shy of having too much to do with the police, 
 Ned. 'Tis a sound instinct, my children — a 
 sound instinct." 
 
 "Well, well!" said the Jewboy, sitting down 
 and looking at the girl with admiration in his 
 handsome face. "Afterwards must suffice, I 
 suppose. And how does Father Jacob do? 
 Prospering as ever, no doubt. Growing rich 
 upon the labours of us poor field workers. Tell 
 me, Jacob — does the company prosper too? 
 How are its other ventures turning out? I 
 think you have little reason to complain of the 
 part that our branch on the Hunter has plaved 
 in advancing its fortunes. Have you?" 
 
 "None whatever, Ned. You have been indus- 
 trious, and your labours well rewarded. It is 
 a profitable district, the Hunter. From no other 
 part of the colony have we done nearly so well 
 as in the stretch of it over which you exercise 
 supervision and levy taxation. Long may it 
 
AT THE BOOKSHOP 131 
 
 continue so. We had two of our men hanged in 
 Goulburn Gaol last week — most unfortunate!" 
 
 "Ah — who were they?" He sat himself at the 
 table and began to eat. 
 
 "Long Tom Allan and Paddy the Ram. They 
 murdered a shepherd at Goulburn Plains, and all 
 they took from him was a tin tobacco-box — 
 empty !" 
 
 "A cheap business, indeed. But the game has 
 its risks. Even your own neck is not absolutely 
 safe. Father Jacob. We cannot always be upon 
 our guard." 
 
 "That is so. But it is safer than yours is, I 
 think, Ned. Especially here in Sydney. Tell 
 me — what is it brings you to town? It is not 
 for the mere sake of a holiday that you have 
 taken such a fearful risk. There is some better 
 reason than that behind it. What is it?" 
 
 "I will tell you — over our pipes and some hot 
 grog. I am hungry now. I have had nothing 
 to eat since I left Broken Bay this morning, and 
 it's nearly nine o'clock. Give me a chance." 
 
 "Eat your fill, my son — we have the night 
 before us." 
 
 The Jewboy made a hearty meal, his wants 
 attended to by Rachel. At last he heaved a sigh 
 of satisfaction, pushing his plate aside. 
 
 "The best I have eaten in months, my dear 
 Rachel. We live fairly well up in our mountain 
 home, but it is the pleasure of feeding at your 
 fair hands that gives a sauce to the victuals. 
 And now, Father Jacob, a glass of grog, a 
 
132 CASTLE VANE 
 
 churchwarden pipe, and your good attention — 
 and we'll get to business. I have plenty to tell 
 you." 
 
 "Good, my son." 
 
 He got up and went to a shelf, on which 
 were a box of long clay pipes and a tobacco 
 jar. He placed the latter on the table, together 
 with a couple of the churchwardens. 
 
 "Brew us a bowl of punch, Rachel. She 
 knows how to mix it to your liking, I think, 
 Ned. I'll warrant she's not forgotten the pro- 
 portions." 
 
 They filled and lit their pipes, and the Jewboy 
 smoked for a couple of minutes in silence. Then 
 he turned in his chair, and looked across the 
 table at the old man. 
 
 "Jacob," he began, "I've some bad news for 
 you" 
 
 "Bad news!" said the old man. "How? 
 What has happened? I thought that things had 
 been going well with you. The last letter from 
 you told me so. What is the matter?" 
 
 "The matter is simply this — that the gang has 
 had a set-back. Tell me — ^you got our last con- 
 signment safely? It was a valuable one. The 
 silver, I mean — Major Vane's silver." 
 
 "Yes. I have it in the vaults beneath us. It 
 all reached me safely. The schooner picked it 
 up in Broken Bay. It was all as you had said 
 in your letter." 
 
 "What do you estimate its worth to be?" 
 
 "Five hundred pounds — if a penny. 'Twas a 
 
AT THE BOOKSHOP 133 
 
 fine haul, Ned — the best and cheapest we have 
 made so far." 
 
 "It might be the best, but it wasn't the 
 cheapest." 
 
 "How? Why do you say that? A man's life 
 was but a small price to pay for it." 
 
 "It will have cost more than one man's life 
 by the time that it is paid for. It may cost 
 yours, and mine, too — which is more important, 
 though I daresay you don't hold with that." 
 
 "Tell me what you mean." 
 
 "We paid more for that dray of Major Vane's 
 and its contents than I quite like to reckon on 
 or to think about. It is like this," he began, 
 laying down his half-smoked pipe. At that 
 moment Rachel entered the room, bearing a 
 steaming bowl of punch. 
 
 "Ah, that is good," He snififed the vapour of 
 the fragrant brew as the girl placed it on the 
 table between them. She brought glasses from 
 the sideboard, and a ladle for filling them. "Fill 
 us each a glass, Rachel. You have not forgotten 
 my recipe, I see." 
 
 They drank in silence, the old man anxiously 
 awaiting what the bushranger had to say. 
 
 "Go on !" he said, impatiently. "Tell me what 
 you are driving at." 
 
 "Only this. Father Jacob — that I begin to see 
 the beginning of the end." 
 
 "The end? How the end? Of the gang, do 
 you mean?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
134 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "Nonsense," snorted Losky. "If you are care- 
 ful, it should be a long time yet before you begin 
 to think of the breaking up of your command. 
 I look to you to last for a year or two yet." 
 
 "Maybe. But I don't." 
 
 "What has made you doubtful of yourself? 
 You used not to lack in confidence." 
 
 "This, then. In my letter I told you how we 
 had bailed up the dray in which Major Vane 
 was conveying his household goods from Mor- 
 peth to his station on the Hunter River, and 
 how we lost a man in the afifair. But I did not 
 tell you everything." 
 
 "And why not ? Had I not the right to know 
 all?" 
 
 "Yes, yes — but this part of it was outside the 
 actual business. It was a little whim of my own. 
 You remember the letter of introduction you 
 wrote for me in the character of a wealthy in- 
 vestor in station property, using my own name 
 and the name of Major Vane's agents — I had 
 asked for it in case I should ever wish to meet 
 the redoubtable major, with a view of levying 
 a distress upon him?" 
 
 "I do," replied the old man, a little proudly. 
 " 'Twas a fine piece of penmanship." 
 
 "Well, some devilment prompted me to make 
 use of it on the night we took the dray. We 
 intercepted it quite close to Castle Vane, and, 
 with the letter in my pocket, I rode in to the 
 station and introduced myself to the major. 
 With the excellent address for which you have 
 
AT THE BOOKSHOP 135 
 
 often given me credit, Father Jacob, and your 
 letter of introduction, my little bit of play-acting 
 was altogether successful. He received me 
 most cordially, and we. spent a really pleasant 
 evening. That was as far as I had meant it 
 to go, but in the course of my visit I learned 
 that this bloody-minded tyrant had, but the day 
 before, sent in two of his Government men to 
 the magistrates in Scone, and had them cruelly 
 scourged — the one for chewing tobacco when 
 paraded before his high-mightiness, and the 
 other for omitting to 'sir' him when replying 
 to a question of some trivial sort. This angered 
 me more than perhaps I can make you under- 
 stand. I have told you how I myself was un- 
 justly flogged at Norfolk Island ; and how I have 
 always vowed that, whenever it was in my 
 power to do so, I would punish the users of 
 the lash in the severest manner I could. I deter- 
 mined to exact a penalty upon this man Vane 
 that would be a lesson to his brother scourgers. 
 After retiring to my room for the night, and 
 when the household was asleep, I sought out 
 these two men whom he had had flogged, and 
 told them of my plan. I ofifered them the free- 
 dom of the gang, and sent them ofif that night to 
 join it and to tell the men whom I had left 
 camped with the dray to have everything ready 
 to carry out the performance which I intended 
 for the next morning. I sent a note with them 
 to that fellow Delane, apprising him of the fact 
 that he might expect the major as a prisoner 
 
136 CASTLE VANE 
 
 on the morrow, and that I intended submitting 
 him to some humiliation as a punishment for 
 his cruelty. But I did not hint to him how far 
 I intended to go with the business." 
 
 "Yes — and I suppose he agreed? Though I 
 have no approval for these dramatic touches of 
 yours, Ned. The business is the main thing." 
 
 "He seemed to approve when I appeared with 
 the major in the morning. I had ridden with 
 him when he went to meet his caravan, under 
 the pretence that I had to return to Muswell- 
 brook over a matter of some cattle. But 
 Delane is a treacherous dog. I arranged a mock 
 trial, in which the major was to be judged by 
 the oldest of the two men he had punished, and 
 was, as a result, to be flogged by both of them. 
 Then I had intended to swing him to a tree, 
 and let him down almost at his last gasp, to 
 recover as he might, while we fled with the 
 booty. I did not intend to take his life, only 
 to go as near to doing so as I could." 
 
 "And you did this?" 
 
 "No. As soon as the old man began the 
 flogging this Delane interfered. He took me by 
 surprise, knocked me unconscious with a blow 
 of his fist — the fellow is as strong as an ox — 
 released the captive, and his three men, whom 
 we had bound to trees to witness the punish- 
 ment, drove back my cowardly followers, and 
 escaped with the major. And the other man 
 who had been flogged escaped with them. We 
 got away with the booty — as you are aware 
 
AT THE BOOKSHOP 137 
 
 from the fact that it is in your possession now 
 — but were chased hard for a day and a half by 
 a party raised by that black devil, Vane." 
 
 "And Delane — what became of him?" the old 
 man asked eagerly. 
 
 "We made for the Wollombi, and finally to 
 the depot in the mountains behind Brisbane 
 Water. It seems that the two soldiers went 
 back to the hiding-place which we use, just on 
 this side of the mountains from Page's River. 
 There they fell upon the two men I had left 
 in charge, murdered them, helped themselves to 
 whatever they were in need of from our store- 
 house, and set fire to the huts. Where they 
 made for after that I know not, but suspect it 
 was over the ranges, into the plains country to 
 the north-west. I sent a man back to the 
 northern depot a fortnight ago, and he brought 
 me word at the Hawkesbury, only a few days 
 since, that things were as I have said. That 
 is all I know. But I am uneasy about it. I fear 
 that this fellow means to put us away — that he 
 will bring about the destruction of the gang. I 
 have an idea, as I have said, that this is but the 
 beginning of the end. If ever I lay my hands 
 upon him, he dies. Damme, I was but giving 
 him satisfaction, also, upon the major. Did 
 ever you hear of such ingratitude?" 
 
 "Do you think you can lay your hands upon 
 him?" asked the old man excitedly. "Do you 
 think it will be possible to find him?" 
 
 "It might be — if he has not gone too far afield. 
 
r38 CASTLE VANE 
 
 Our organization is a good one, as you know. 
 We have men out in the new country whom I 
 can rely upon. I may have word from them. 
 As a matter of fact, I have already despatched 
 a messenger over the ranges to see whether he 
 can find tidings of them. But why do you want 
 the fellow? Once I have him he will not be 
 much use to anyone. I'll burn the hound alive 
 for that blow he gave me !" 
 
 "Listen to me, Ned. You must find that man 
 Delane — and you must not injure a hair of his 
 head. He is too valuable. You must find him, 
 and keep him safely until I can see him." 
 
 "In the name of God — why?" 
 
 "It is for a strange reason. Listen to me, and 
 I will tell it you. This is the story of that 
 young man. When you have heard it, you will 
 agree with me that we must have him safely in 
 our power again, and that no harm must come 
 to him." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 The Story of Richard Delane 
 
 " ¥ N the first place," said the old man, "I may 
 
 I as well tell you that his name is not 
 
 ■*■ Richard Delane at all." 
 
 "Not Delane! Then what is it?" asked the 
 Jewboy. 
 
 "Marsh." 
 
 "What ! Not one of the " 
 
 "Yes." One of the Marshfords of Marshford, 
 with whom, my friend, you have had something 
 to do." 
 
 The bushranger laid down his pipe, and stared 
 at the old man for a full half minute, before he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Then he is " 
 
 Losky interrupted him with uplifted hand. 
 
 "He is not one of the family of whom 
 you have any knowledge, Ned, — intimately ac- 
 quainted though you be with the affairs of the 
 present earl. He is altogether outside your 
 knowledge. You could not guess correctly who 
 this young man is if you tried for a month to 
 do SO; You would never guess. There is no 
 man outside or inside the family who knows his 
 lordship so well as you — who has had greater 
 opportunity than yourself of becoming ac- 
 
 K 139 
 
I40 CASTLE VANE 
 
 quainted with the details of his private life — and 
 yet there is one part of it that was as closely 
 hidden from you as from the rest of the world. 
 Indeed, it was a thing that happened before your 
 time — although the consequences of it were still 
 active enough in his life, during the years that 
 you were with him." 
 
 "Strange if I did not know anything that 
 there was to be known !" 
 
 "It is strange — but it is a fact that you did 
 not know this." 
 
 "Are you sure that it is not some mare's nest 
 that you have discovered?" 
 
 The old man laughed. 
 
 "No, it is no mare's nest. Of that you may 
 rest assured. It is as much a reality as that 
 you and I sit here to-night, drinking punch and 
 smoking our pipes — ^you, Edward Davis, the 
 bushranger, and I, Jacob Losky, the — ah — book- 
 seller and dealer in antiques — and other things." 
 
 "Especially other things," said the Jewboy, 
 with a smile. "And do you mean to tell me_ 
 what this mystery is that has been hidden from 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes. But you must give me your assurance 
 that you will believe me. I cannot show you 
 proof — at least, not proof absolute — this side of 
 London." 
 
 "You have my assurance. Proceed." 
 
 "But will you agree to act in accordance with 
 what I tell you — with regard to this young man 
 Delane?" 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD DELANE 141 
 
 "What is there for me in it? Do I stand in 
 with you in whatever is to be gained? I know 
 that there must be something, or you would not 
 be so interested in the fellow. Father Jacob 
 does little for nothing." 
 
 "Yes — there is much to be gained," said the 
 old man slowly. "And you will share with me 
 on equal terms." 
 
 "Well, Father Jacob, I have always known 
 you to be honest in your dishonest capacity — as 
 you are dishonest in your honest one. I will 
 agree to smother my own inclinations as to this 
 fellow, and to act towards him in accordance 
 with your direction. Come, now — the story. 
 I confess I am as anxious to hear of this un- 
 familiar side of the Earl of Marshford as I am 
 to learn the origin of Dick Delane." 
 
 The old man leaned back in his chair and 
 folded his hands, looking at the Jewboy over the 
 top of his glasses. 
 
 "You have heard of Fanny Delane?" 
 
 "The actress — who used to play at Drury 
 Lane?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "She was before my time, of course — ^but all 
 who know anything of the history of the British 
 stage have heard of her. It is a famous name." 
 
 "She was this boy's mother." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Can you guess who his father was?" 
 
 "Of course not — tell me. Maybe Fanny De- 
 lane could not guess herself." 
 
142 CASTLE VANE 
 
 The old man sprang to his feet, trembling 
 with passion. He shook his fist at the Jewboy. 
 
 "Dog!" he shouted. "No better woman ever 
 lived. She was pure and virtuous and unsullied 
 until the day of her death." 
 
 "Gently, gently — old man," said the Jewboy. 
 "Calm yourself. What does it matter whether 
 she was or not ? There is no need to excite your- 
 self. What was she to you?" 
 
 "She was my daughter," said the old man, 
 subsiding into his seat. It was the Jewboy's 
 turn to show excitement. 
 
 "Good heavens !" he said. "Then this fellow 
 is your grandson — and Rachel's brother?" 
 
 "No. Rachel is the daughter of my son Abe 
 — him that was hanged at Newgate. They are 
 cousins." 
 
 "But there is no trace of our race in this Dick 
 Delane's features?" 
 
 "None whatever. But neither was there in 
 his mother's face. My wife was a Christian. 
 And Dick is the living image of what his father 
 was as a man of his age." 
 
 "Ah, )'es — his father. Who was his father?" 
 
 "The Earl of Marshford." 
 
 For a long time the Jewboy stared at Jacob 
 Losky with wondering eyes, without speaking. 
 
 "Well, well," he said at last. "Tell me about 
 it. I think you will tell me the truth. Tell me . 
 the story." 
 
 The old man emptied his glass, and began. 
 
 "As you know, Ned, I began life as a call boy 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD DELANE 143 
 
 at Drury Lane Theatre. Then I became assist- 
 ant to the stage carpenter, and a sort of generally 
 useful man about the theatre. I was sometimes 
 a scene-shifter, and sometimes in the box-ofifice. 
 For a little time I went on the boards myself — 
 but I never had more than minor parts to play. 
 I am a better actor off the stage than on it. 
 Finally I became a dresser — the best in all the 
 theatrical world of London. I was a sort of 
 Joshua Reynolds in my branch of art — had a 
 genius for making up faces. No one could dis- 
 guise a face, or alter it, as I could — a thing that 
 has often stood my friends in good part since I 
 came to this side of the world. My services 
 commanded high fees, since there was keen com- 
 petition for them amongst the heads of the 
 theatrical profession, and in course of time, being 
 always a careful and methodical man, with the 
 frugal instincts of our race strongly developed, 
 I became fairly well to do. My clients were 
 numbered not only amongst those who trod the 
 boards, but in the houses of the aristocracy as 
 well. I was a wonderful hairdresser, and could 
 generally name my own fee for attendance 
 upon ladies of the nobility who required my 
 services in the arrangement of their coiffures for 
 some important society function or other. I 
 became a sort of fashion — just as a doctor be- 
 comes one. More than once my assistance has 
 been invoked towards the adornment of his late 
 Royal Highness, the Prince Regent. Not a little 
 of his taste in dress was my taste. 
 
144 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "I married a lady's maid in one of the rich 
 houses where my services were often called in. 
 She bore me two children — that fool Abe, the 
 father of Rachel, and my daughter Fanny, who 
 became the mother of Richard Delane, and was 
 the celebrated actress of her day, whom all the 
 world flocked to see and hear. 
 
 "Fanny was a beauty. She inherited all her 
 mother's good looks, and cleverness, and virtues 
 — and all my brains. From a little child she was 
 in love with the stage. She would come with 
 me to Drury Lane, and sit in a corner of the 
 dressing-rooms, whilst I attended to the make- 
 up of the most notable actors and actresses of 
 the day. The atmosphere of the theatre became 
 essential to her. She was a beautiful child, and 
 attracted notice everywhere. Before she could 
 read or write, she had acted children's parts at 
 Drury Lane. As you know, she was a leading 
 lady when she was eighteen. I had given her a 
 good education, with all the accomplishments. 
 Many of my patrons delighted in the tuition of 
 such a pupil as she was. She worked hard to 
 perfect herself, and all the world knows how well 
 she succeeded. She went from triumph to 
 triumph. But it did not turn her head. She 
 always remained the same sweet-natured, kind- 
 hearted girl, with not a trace of vanity or of 
 frivolity in her conduct, either in the theatre or 
 out of it. 
 
 "I was immensely proud of her, and of the 
 admiration she evoked. Her mother died while 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD DELANE 145 
 
 she was yet a child, and she was all I had. I 
 was an honest man then, Ned. My collecting 
 of curios — to put it politely — came later, when 
 she had gone from me. Her brother Abraham 
 was a graceless young scoundrel from his boy- 
 hood. A born criminal. That did not come from 
 his mother — it was my gift to him, I suppose. 
 The pity is he was not hung earlier than he was. 
 It was not because he did not deserve it. 
 
 "Women are deep mysteries to us, Edward. 
 I never knew anything until after it was over. 
 You have heard how suddenly she disappeared 
 from the theatre? I had suspected nothing — 
 knew nothing, until I received a letter from her, 
 written from Dover on her way to Paris, ac- 
 quainting me that she had run away with young 
 Richard Delane, Lord Marsh, the son and heir 
 to Lord Marshford. It never came out. It was 
 never a nine-days wonder in London. She only 
 lived a year after. She died giving birth to a 
 son. And that son is our friend, the ex-soldier 
 of the 146th." 
 
 "Then he would be the heir to the earl — 
 if he were not illegitimate," interrupted the 
 Jewboy. 
 
 "He is the heir, my friend. His parents were 
 married in Dover. There is no doubt about 
 that. They were properly married, according to 
 the rites of the Anglican Church. I have seen 
 the record, and it still exists. There is no doubt 
 that my girl was the wife of Lord Marsh — that 
 she was the Countess of Marshford before her 
 
146 CASTLE VANE 
 
 death. The old earl died within a month of the 
 elopement, but his son did not return to England, 
 to take up his title and estate, until after my 
 daughter's death and the birth of his son. 
 
 "But he never acknowledged his son — he al- 
 ways lived as a bachelor, and posed as a woman 
 hater." 
 
 "He did — for some strange whim. He hated 
 the boy, because his coming was the death of 
 his mother. But he saw to his bringing up 
 and his education. He might have done some- 
 thing for him — if the lad hadn't run away to sea. 
 He was a wild young imp, full of a longing for 
 adventure. Somehow he found out the truth 
 about his parentage, and became filled with 
 anger against his father for his treatment of his 
 mother's memory — sufifering it to remain to the 
 world as that of his mistress, and not of his wife 
 — and swore that he'd have nothing to do with 
 him. So he lost himself about the world, from 
 his eighteenth to his twentieth birthday. He was 
 here in a ship once, and I became acquainted 
 with him. He was always fond of books and 
 reading, and I was able to assist him in satisfying 
 his literary appetites, so we became friends. In 
 a burst of boyish confidence, on the eve of his 
 departure, he told me his story. I communicated 
 with friends in England, and was able to confirm 
 it. But he was away in the ship before I could 
 form any plan about him for the advantage of 
 anyone. The next thing is that he turns up here 
 as a full private in the 146th Regiment. As for 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD DELANE 147 
 
 the latter part of his story — ^you know as much 
 as I do." 
 
 "It is a strange business," said the Jewboy. 
 "So this fellow is properly Lord Marsh — that is 
 the title of the heirs to the Marshford earldom 
 — and the son of my old master. And to. think 
 that I, who knew so much of the earl, had no 
 suspicion of this ! I always felt that the old man 
 had depths in his character which might not be 
 easily fathomed. But I never dreamed of any- 
 thing of this kind. He would have been much 
 older than your daughter, of course ?" 
 
 "Nearly twenty years," replied the old man. 
 "Let me see. My daughter was twenty-three 
 when they ran away — he was forty-two. Dick 
 is about twenty-five or twenty-six now. That 
 makes the old man nearly seventy." 
 
 "He seemed to be that when I knew him," 
 the Jewboy said, "but he was a man who had 
 aged prematurely. And now, tell me. Father 
 Jacob, what is all this worth to you? And — 
 more to the point — how does it affect me?" 
 
 "There are two alternatives, Ned. Of course, 
 as you probably understand, I only look at the 
 affair from the point of view of how it may be 
 turned to our material benefit. It does not 
 matter a straw to me, or to you, who becomes 
 the next Earl of Marshford. But there is this 
 about it." 
 
 He paused a moment, and was lost in thought. 
 
 "Well, what. Father Jacob? What is there 
 in it?" the other exclaimed impatiently. 
 
148 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "Lord Marshford might reward us handsomely 
 for finding his heir. We might make terms with 
 him. We should have to approach him carefully. 
 Or the man who is at present his heir might, 
 when he comes into his inheritance, be glad to 
 remain uninterfered with. He might be made 
 to pay handsomely for the — shall we say — sup- 
 pression of the rightful heir. In any case, you 
 see that Richard Delane is a valuable asset to 
 us. You must find him, Ned. He is too good 
 to lose. Do you think that you can trace him 
 in the north?" 
 
 "I can try. I think it is possible. But for 
 my own sake — apart from his value to us finan- 
 cially — I would rather find him dead than alive. 
 It would gratify me to be able to assist him to 
 a better world." 
 
 "No, no! You must not think of that. Find 
 him, and then we must keep him safely. You 
 do not think I assisted him to escape the con- 
 sequences of his assault upon his superior officer, 
 and sent him up to join your party, for his own 
 sake, do you ?" 
 
 "Well, I confess I could not understand your 
 motive, Father Jacob. But I do not always pre- 
 tend to understand your motives. I hardly 
 thought that your interest in Delane was wholly 
 of an unselfish kind." 
 
 "No, it was not. You see what it is. It is 
 to your interest to assist. I am sure you will?" 
 
 "I will do my best." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 Caroline 
 
 SINCE the fortunate escape which he had 
 had from the murderous attentions of the 
 Jewboy gang, Major Vane had taken many- 
 precautions to ensure his own safety, and that 
 of his household at Castle Vane, from further 
 attack by the outlaws. 
 
 The station itself had been turned into a 
 veritable fortress. Round the back of the house 
 he had set his assigned servants, under the di- 
 rection of the capable M'Nab, to the building of 
 a high stone wall, that completely shut in the 
 kitchen and ofifices in a compound, the sole en- 
 trance to which was a small postern gate made 
 of hardwood timber, and strongly clamped and 
 bound with iron. He had had heavy iron 
 shutters made for the front windows, and the 
 walls pierced with loopholes for musketry. In 
 some junk store in Sydney his agents had picked 
 up two small ship's cannon, of the swivel pattern, 
 which were mounted on the verandah, and pro- 
 tected by low stone turrets on either side of the 
 short flight of steps leading up to the entrance 
 to the house. 
 
 Nearly three months had gone by since he 
 had entertained — to his everlasting chagrin — 
 
 149 
 
ISO CASTLE VANE 
 
 the leader of the gang upon the occasion of his 
 impudent and nearly disastrous visit to Castle 
 Vane, and matters had progressed quietly- 
 enough in the district. The chase of the out- 
 laws, which the major had organized on the day 
 of his experience of their murderous intentions 
 towards himself, had been fruitless. The start 
 of several hours which they had obtained, and 
 the excellence of the horseflesh with which they 
 were provided, had enabled them to reach the 
 cover of the ranges, and, although for several 
 days their pursuers had been close upon their 
 trail, they finally succeeded in eluding capture. 
 
 They were, it was said, lying low in the rough 
 and wild country at the back of Brisbane Water, 
 only committing occasional robberies of stock 
 that were being driven overland to the Sydney 
 market, and bailing up an unfortunate traveller 
 here and there, for what he had upon him. They 
 had not attempted anything, recently, upon a 
 large scale, and the district of the Upper Hunter 
 was beginning to congratulate itself upon being 
 left in peace by the murderous band of ruffians. 
 
 The major's domestic afifairs were not of the 
 happiest. His beautiful wife was altogether a 
 misfit in her present situation. A cold, vain, 
 selfish, and incapable woman — she was as little 
 suited to the life of the bush in which she foimd 
 herself as a delicate hot-house flower would have 
 been suited to the climate of the Antarctic. Her 
 husband surrounded her with every luxury he 
 could procure for her in Sydney, sought to study 
 
CAROLINE 151 
 
 and satisfy her every whim and caprice, but to 
 no purpose. She declared that the country bored 
 her to death, that she could not bear the con- 
 ditions of life she was called upon to face — 
 finally, that if the major insisted upon her re- 
 maining at Castle Vane, he might just as well 
 prepare a grave for her, for she would be ready 
 to occupy it in six months. At last, in despair, 
 he took her to Sydney, installed her in a suite 
 of rooms at the Royal Hotel, and returned to 
 the Hunter without her. 
 
 To finish the history of the lady, without much 
 regretting her fate, it may be recorded that in 
 less than six months she had run away with an 
 American merchant captain, leaving a legacy of 
 debts for settlement by the major — a circum- 
 stance which by no means added to the sweet- 
 ness of his temper. 
 
 At the time of which we are writing, the major 
 had just returned from settling his wife in 
 Sydney. 
 
 Caroline was now installed as mistress of 
 Castle Vane. From M'Nab down to the 
 youngest pickaninny in the blacks' camp pitched 
 on the river flat at the back of the house, she 
 was beloved and respected by every soul about 
 the place. Even the worst of the convict ser- 
 vants gave her their nearest approach to a 
 blessing. Louis Pinaud, the French cook, de- 
 lighted in teaching her his art. The dour M'Nab 
 would do anything for her. And John O'Toole, 
 the taciturn butler, an old soldier-servant of the 
 
152 CASTLE VANE 
 
 major's, silent and stern automaton as he was, 
 was occasionally seen to smile as he looked after 
 her when she passed by. 
 
 "If her mother had lived — shure, it's a lady 
 she was — an' his honor had not gone off his 
 head over that jade indoors — what with such a 
 daughter as Miss Carry, 'tis the happier man 
 he'd be to-day," he confided to M. Pinaud, one 
 afternoon, before the departure of his mistress. 
 
 "A good riddance !" he observed when that 
 
 event took place. 
 
 Caroline was happy in her new home — that is 
 to say, after the departure of her step-mother. 
 She loved the freedom and spaciousness of 
 station life, and the many interests of the new 
 land appealed to her tremendously. 
 
 It is true that she was almost completely cut 
 off from the society which is indispensable to 
 most girls of her age. Nearly all their neigh- 
 bours were hard-working, hard-living people, 
 who had little time to spare from the carvinr^ 
 out of their fortunes, and the development of 
 their lands, for the lighter aspects of life. Such 
 visitors as they had were, for the most part, 
 cattle buyers and commercial men. Very rarely 
 the major had invited an officer of his old regi- 
 ment up from Sydney, to spend a few weeks of 
 his leave. But he was not a man who had many 
 intimate friends, and those who enjoyed his 
 hospitality were most often middle-aged and of 
 little interest to the young girl. 
 
 The major spoke of seeking out some com- 
 
CAROLINE 153 
 
 panions for her of her own sex, or of sending 
 her to Sydney again, to live with Mrs. Vane. 
 But she answered him that she was perfectly 
 contented, had no need of companionship, and 
 could find plenty to interest her in Castle Vane 
 and her household duties. So she stayed on at 
 the station, happy enough in the novelty and un- 
 doubted charm of the beautiful country in which 
 her home was situated. 
 
 M'Nab saw to it that she was provided with 
 two or three excellent mounts, which he had 
 broken in himself, and schooled to the riding 
 habit. She often made long, solitary excursions 
 up and down the river and into the mountain 
 country to the east, accompanied only by her 
 dogs. She had no fear of any danger. The 
 blacks about the place were harmless enough, 
 and the convicts were either too terrified of her 
 father, or too grateful to Caroline herself for the 
 many little kindnesses she was constantly doing 
 them, to think of harming or annoying her. 
 
 One beautiful afternoon, she had ridden away 
 from the station with her dogs, on one of these 
 excursions, intending to ride around by Scone, 
 in order to carry out some necessary small 
 shopping, and to call at the post-ofifice for the 
 mail. 
 
 It was a glorious day in late September. The 
 sky was cloudless, and the blue mountains that 
 lay round and about the top of the valley slept 
 in a flood of sunshine that was the beginning 
 of summer, and yet had the mildness and balm 
 
154 CASTLE VANE 
 
 of spring in its pleasant warmth and bracing 
 freshness. 
 
 She crossed the river, and rode over the flats 
 opposite to the house, passing through the tall 
 belt of river timber, and coming out beside a 
 wide strip that a gang of convicts was clearing 
 for the plough. 
 
 M'Nab had just ridden up from the other side, 
 and sat upon his horse in the middle of the 
 clearing, giving directions concerning the work 
 to the overseer whom he had left in charge of 
 that particular gang. She waved a salutation 
 to him with her riding whip, and he took off his 
 hat to her as she rode past. Two or three of 
 the men nearest did the same, and she smilingly 
 nodded a greeting to them as she passed by. 
 
 "There goes a angel!" remarked Big 
 
 Peter, one of the "hardest cases" in the gang, and 
 the man who was cock of the walk amongst the 
 rest of them. She had nursed him through an 
 attack of pneumonia six weeks before, and 
 Heaven help the man who had anything to say 
 of her that was not all it should be, while Big 
 Peter was within earshot. 
 
 She cantered along the track, singing to her- 
 self, and calling to her dogs, as they raced and 
 gambolled in and out amongst the tree trunks, 
 chasing each other in play, and sometimes, with 
 a chorus of yelps, dashing off in pursuit of a 
 kangaroo-rat or a scrub-wallaby that invariably 
 out-distanced her two fat pets. 
 
 She was a couple of miles from the homestead 
 
CAROLINE 155 
 
 when, skirting a clump of timber, in an open 
 piece of country, she heard a man's voice calHng 
 to her, and looked round in surprise. 
 
 She became aware of a tall, handsome young 
 man standing beneath a tree, holding the reins 
 of his horse in one hand, and with his hat in 
 the other, who looked as if he wished to speak 
 to her. She pulled up her horse, wondering who 
 it could be, and what he wanted. 
 
 He was dressed in the ordinary garb of a 
 bushman — riding breeches, top-boots, and a 
 dark-blue flannel shirt open at the neck. The 
 hat in his hand was a wide brimmed cabbage- 
 tree. His coat was strapped across the pummel 
 of the saddle. 
 
 He looked up at her with a serious face. 
 
 "Is it Miss Vane?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes — I am Miss Vane," she replied wonder- 
 ingly. It never occurred to her to be frightened 
 of this stranger. "May I ask who you may be, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Miss Vane," he said hurriedly, disregarding 
 the last part of her acknowledgment, "wheel 
 your horse about, and ride slowly back towards 
 home. Don't go out of a walk until I tell you 
 to do so. But be ready to gallop your horse as 
 fast as he can go. I'll tell you what is the matter 
 as we ride along." 
 
 He gathered up his own reins, and swung 
 easily and lightly into the saddle. 
 
 Something about him impressed her, and she 
 did as he had suggested. 
 
iS6 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "Miss Vane," he asked, as he drew up beside 
 her, "is the major — is your father at home?" 
 
 "Yes," she said. "But, tell me, what is the 
 matter ? Is it some danger you are warning me 
 to avoid, that you bid me ride back the way I 
 have come." 
 
 "Yes — the very gravest danger. You remem- 
 ber the Jewboy and his gang — the ruffians who 
 sought your father's life a few months ago?" 
 
 "Of course I do. What of them?" 
 
 "They are surrounding the station even now — 
 drawing in to attack it from this side and the 
 others. They mean that they will have your 
 father's life, this time, without any chance of 
 failure, and they mean to burn Castle Vane to 
 the ground. The Jewboy himself is with them." 
 
 "How did you learn this?" 
 
 "By the merest chance, as I came down the 
 Northern Road to-day. I chanced upon a 
 messenger of the Jewboy's, who was riding to 
 summon some of his men who have been hiding 
 in the mountains at the head of the valley. His 
 horse had fallen with him, and his leg was 
 broken. I knew him, and he boasted to me that 
 they were going to do for the major thoroughly 
 this time. He was a little drunk, I think. There 
 was an empty bottle of rum on the ground be- 
 side him. He was to have brought those others 
 down from Mount Murulla to assist in the 
 sacking of the place to-morrow, and in carrying 
 off the spoil. The Jewboy has a large party with 
 him this time — a choice collection of black- 
 
CAROLINE IS7 
 
 guards and cut-throats. As I came across the 
 flat, I saw you in the distance, and waited by 
 these trees to warn you to go back. You would 
 be a welcome hostage in their hands, and the 
 brutes would stick at nothing in using you to 
 force your father to surrender." 
 
 "But who are you, please?" asked the girl. 
 "You know the gang, and are apparently on 
 familiar terms with the Jewboy's messenger — 
 so much so that he trusts you with their plans 
 — and yet you come to warn us against them." 
 
 He looked at her for a moment before he 
 replied. 
 
 "Maybe you have heard your father speak of 
 one Richard Delane." 
 
 She looked up into his face with sudden 
 interest. 
 
 "The soldier — the deserter — the man who 
 saved him from the Jewboy in May last? The 
 man who broke his nose in the barracks? Yes. 
 I thank you for doing your last good turn to 
 my father — though the first was rather a severe 
 measure, wasn't it?" she laughed. 
 
 "Yes, I am the man who broke your father's 
 nose, Miss Vane. And I saved his life against 
 my own will. I am doing it again. There is 
 little love lost between your father and myself. 
 But I can do no less. I have no sympathy with 
 the bushrangers." 
 
 As he was speaking a shot rang out behind 
 them. 
 
158 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "Ah !" he cried, "I thought they were not far 
 away. Ride, Miss Vane — ride your hardest. I 
 will come and help. We have a good start of 
 them, and can warn the men in the fields." 
 
 Side by side they raced back through the 
 timber to the river crossing. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 The Attack 
 
 HALTING for a moment to acquaint Mr. 
 M'Nab, superintending the forest- 
 clearing gang near the river, with the 
 news of the coming of the Jewboy and his men, 
 CaroHne and Dick rode through the crossing and 
 up to the house. 
 
 Major Vane was standing in front of his 
 homestead, when he saw the two of them coming 
 up from the river at a fast canter. He was 
 puzzled, at first, to think whom the young man 
 might be who accompanied his daughter. To 
 say that he was astonished when he realized that 
 it was Delane is to put it midly. 
 
 Delane was the last man whom he had ex- 
 pected to receive at Castle Vane. The recol- 
 lections of the almost contemptuous manner in 
 which the ex-soldier had taken the expression 
 of his gratitude, when he had offered it to him 
 after his escape from the Jewboy's hands, and 
 a few hours later in the same day, when he had 
 met him coming out of Scone, was still a sore 
 point with the major. To owe his life to the 
 man who had struck him whilst seated upon his 
 own particular throne in the orderly-room in 
 Sydney was humiliating enough. To feel com- 
 
 159 
 
i6o . CASTLE VANE 
 
 pelled to acknowledge his indebtedness was, 
 truly, an act of grace to be accounted to him. 
 To have his friendly advances repulsed with what 
 was nothing else but scorn and insolence, was 
 the most galling thing that had ever occurred 
 to him in all his military career — indeed, in all 
 his life. 
 
 It would have been contrary to human nature 
 if he had felt any pleasure in their meeting. 
 However, to do him justice, Major Vane was, 
 after his own peculiar definition, a gentleman. 
 As Dick dismounted, he came down to the gate 
 and held out his hand. To his bitter mortifica- 
 tion, which pride forbade him to exhibit, Dick 
 seemed to make a point of not noticing it. The 
 major turned to Caroline. 
 
 "Why, what is the matter, Carry? Has any- 
 thing happened?" 
 
 The girl's face was flushed, and her eyes shone 
 with excitement. 
 
 "This gentleman will tell you, father — what he 
 has told me." 
 
 Major Vane turned to Dick again, eyeing him 
 coldly. 
 
 "Delane — ^you have seen fit to reject my ad- 
 vances of reconciliation towards you. I do feel 
 inclined to make them afresh. May I ask to 
 what cause I owe the honour of this visit?" 
 
 "Sir," said Dick, "It is not my fault that I 
 cannot find any affection for the man who would 
 have flogged me over two buttons — and neither 
 is it my fault that circumstances always seem to 
 
THE ATTACK i6i 
 
 force me into a position of coming to your 
 assistance. But there is not much time to bandy 
 words. I thank God that it was my good fortune 
 to meet your daughter a short while ago, in time 
 to save her from falling into the hands of those 
 brutes. Major Vane, that cursed scoundrel Davis 
 — the Jewboy — is coming to attack Castle Vane, 
 to seek to destroy you and your household. We 
 had to ride hard to keep ahead of them. They 
 are closing in on all sides. It is the purest 
 accident that I learned of their intentions — only 
 owing to my having met one of the Jewboy's 
 messengers, lying injured on the Northern Road, 
 did I hear of it. I should say that they will be 
 here within the hour. Make what preparations 
 you can for a defence — I beg of you. They mean 
 mischief — bad mischief." 
 
 The old soldier in the major had stififened at 
 the prospect of a fight. His face set in deter- 
 mined lines. Again he held out his hand. This 
 time, with a little hesitation, Dick grasped and 
 shook it. 
 
 "I thank you, Delane," was all the major said, 
 simply. "And I thank God we are well prepared. 
 Caroline !" 
 
 "Yes, papa," said the girl eagerly. 
 
 "You know wha:t to do. Get O'TooIe, and 
 close all the shutters. Tell him and Louis to 
 bring the horses in out of the stables into the 
 courtyard. See to the muskets." 
 
 She ran inside. 
 
 "Delane, we will lead these horses round 
 
i63 CASTLE VANE 
 
 the back, and put them into the yard too. Did 
 my daughter warn the overseer as you came in ? 
 You must have passed close to where the gang 
 was working, if you came along the track from 
 Scone." 
 
 "Yes — Miss Vane thought of it. Ah — here he 
 comes now — up from the river." 
 
 The major turned and looked. Mr. M'Nab 
 was riding up the hill at a gallop — alone. 
 
 "Ah — as I thought. The servants have de- 
 serted us. Well — one could hardly expect more 
 from them. Though I think some of them will 
 hide, rather than join the bushrangers. Wait a 
 moment, and we will hear what M'Nab has to 
 tell us." 
 
 The Scotch overseer, with a white and startled 
 face, reined in his horse at the gate, and flung 
 himself from the saddle. He was tremendously 
 excited. 
 
 "By heavens, sir — th' dom wretches hung back. 
 Refused tae come up to th' hoose for tae defend 
 it, as I called on 'em to do. One fellie — that 
 Irishman Clancy — came at me with an axe, and 
 I shot him. They were howling after me that 
 they'd join the Jewboy." 
 
 "All right— all right, M'Nab. Don't excise 
 yourself. We will beat the blackguards off, I 
 have no doubt. Get your horse round to the 
 back. Delane, come along — we must see to our 
 armory." 
 
 He walked round to the back of the house. 
 
THE ATTACK 163 
 
 leading his daughter's horse. M'Nab and Delane 
 followed. Delane noted with relief the high wall 
 that entirely surrounded the back premises of 
 the homestead, the massive door that blocked the 
 entrance to it after they had passed through, 
 and the loop-holes in the wall. Clearly, the 
 major was not a general to be caught napping. 
 
 All the windows of the house — a large stone 
 cottage, massively constructed — were closed 
 with their iron shutters, which Caroline had been 
 fastening whilst they secured the horses. Four 
 valuable animals from the stables were tied up 
 in the court-yard to ringbolts in the walls. 
 There was a well in the centre of the yard, and 
 a shed well stored with hay. It looked as though 
 the place had been prepared to stand a siege — as 
 indeed it had, since the major's experience with 
 the bushrangers early in the year. 
 
 All told, the garrison of Castle Vane numbered 
 nine rank and file. These were the major, Dick, 
 Mr. M'Nab, O'Toole the butler, the French cook, 
 Louis Pinaud, Caroline, and three convicts — 
 trustworthy men — who were employed about 
 the house. It was not a strong garrison, but 
 Dick judged that it was one that would be 
 disinclined to surrender. 
 
 The major disposed of his little force. 
 
 "M'Nab," he said, "you remain at the front 
 of the house. There is communication between 
 every room, and you can keep an eye on them 
 through the loop-hole by the hall door. Grice 
 and Jenkin" — naming two of the convicts — "you 
 
i64 CASTLE VANE 
 
 will take the east end of the house. Pinaud, 
 you and Jones" — the other convict — "will take 
 the other end. O'Toole — you stay in the yard. 
 You and I, Delane, will remain unattached, 
 ready to reinforce where we are required. Caro- 
 line, you will load the guns, and hand them to 
 us. We shall beat the rufifians back, if they 
 attack us, I have not the slightest fear. We 
 have plenty of arms and ammunition. Now I 
 will attend to the two guns. Delane, help me to 
 bring them inside. They are only ornaments in 
 their present positions." 
 
 They were only small pieces, able to throw a 
 three-pound shot; and they lifted them from 
 their swivels, and brought them into the house. 
 The major pointed out where mountings had 
 been prepared for them in the hall, so that they 
 commanded the doorway from a short distance 
 inside it. The major explained that he would 
 presently load them with heavy slugs, and that, 
 if they decided to use them, they would throw 
 open the front door and fire across the threshold. 
 
 Down towards the river, seen through the still 
 opened door, the landscape as yet contained no 
 sight of the attackers. They could hear, now 
 and again, faint cheering from beyond the river. 
 It was the audible manifestation of rebellion 
 among the servants, no doubt, observed M'Nab 
 in broad Scots. 
 
 An hour passed slowly by, and there was still 
 no sign of the attack. Down by the river all 
 was quiet. Once they heard a single shot, far 
 
THE ATTACK 165 
 
 away beyond the trees, and were at a loss to 
 account for it. 
 
 "Perhaps," said the major, "the fellow finds it 
 necessary to urge his brave troops on. He may 
 have had to make an example." 
 
 Evening drew on, and the green tops of the 
 river trees were bathed with gold. It was a 
 lovely, clear evening, and so still that any sound 
 of voices would have travelled miles through the 
 quiet atmosphere — but they heard nothing. 
 
 The major and Dick stood on the verandah, 
 smoking, and gazing towards the quarter whence 
 they expected the raiders to make an appear- 
 ance. For the most part they were silent. 
 There was a constraint between the two men, 
 which neither of them found easy to lessen. But 
 at last the major addressed a direct question to 
 his companion. 
 
 "Delane," he said, "do you mind my asking 
 what became of you after you left here in May? 
 I do not seek to pry into your affairs, but I 
 would be interested to hear. Anything you tell 
 me is, I need hardly say, confidential. Where 
 did you go after I saw you outside Scone ? You 
 did not continue in the freebooting line of busi- 
 ness, I presume?" 
 
 Dick laughed, and shook his head. 
 
 "No, Major Vane — I fear I was not cut out 
 for a bushranger. There is little to tell you. 
 Miles Marvel " 
 
 The major interrupted him. 
 
 "Ah, yes. The young man who was to have 
 
i66 CASTLE VANE 
 
 flogged me, but wouldn't — Delane, I wish I 
 could ask his pardon." 
 
 "You'll never be able to do that. He was 
 drowned in the Namoi, two months ago." 
 
 The major made a gesture with his hand, that 
 might have been some indication of regret. He 
 said nothing. 
 
 "Marvel and I went, first of all, to the Jew- 
 boy's lair in the ranges — up there yonder, below 
 Mount Murulla, opposite to the Burning Mount- 
 ain at Wingen. We had determined to over- 
 power the man he had left in charge of it, to- 
 gether with another one who had been wounded. 
 But we found them both dead. They had broken 
 into the spirits, and the injured man had been 
 murdered by the other. We buried them, fitted 
 ourselves out from the Jewboy's store, and then 
 set fire to the huts that the bushrangers had built. 
 
 "You are not much in sympathy with such 
 ruffians — I am glad to hear it." 
 
 "I am not a criminal — nor do I come of a 
 criminal stock," said Dick coldly. 
 
 "Pardon. Proceed, if you please." 
 
 "Then we crossed over the mountains down 
 into the valley of the Page. We had taken 
 horses from the Jewboy's mob, and fire-arms and 
 provisions. We led a pack-horse, with our 
 effects on his back. From the Page we crossed 
 over the Liverpool Range, and struck out across 
 the plain country. It was not long before we 
 obtained employment on a new station that was 
 being formed on the Namoi, I was made an over- 
 
THE ATTACK 167 
 
 seer, and Marvel became stockman. There I 
 have been ever since. As I said just now, my 
 companion was drowned whilst swimming his 
 horse across the river when it was in flood." 
 
 "And how came you back into this district?" 
 
 "I had been sent down to Maitland to take 
 charge of a mob of cattle which Boyce Brothers 
 — my employers — had purchased. I went to hire 
 drovers and travel them up to the station. To- 
 day, on the other side of Scone, I came across 
 the Jewboy's messenger lying in the road with a 
 broken leg, half-drunk beside. He bragged to 
 me of what was on foot — so I came to warn you." 
 
 "A thousand thanks, Delane. But for your — 
 your kindness and forgiveness, I should have 
 been caught napping." 
 
 Dick looked up, and was about to speak — 
 when suddenly the major gripped his arm. 
 
 "Look, Delane — look! They are coming." 
 
 He pointed to a little group that had appeared 
 on the flat along the river bank — perhaps two 
 hundred yards from where they stood. 
 
 "What is that? They've got a white flag 
 hoisted," exclaimed Dick. 
 
 "Some d — d treachery, no doubt," said the 
 major. "However, we'll let them open the ball. 
 We'll see what terms of capitulation they ofifer." 
 He laughed grimly. 
 
 The sun was just setting as half a dozen men, 
 one of them mounted, came slowly across the 
 narrow flat, and up the gentle slope that led to 
 Castle Vane. They had a white handkerchief 
 
i68 CASTLE VANE 
 
 affixed to a slim sapling, which they waved from 
 side to side, as if desirous of attracting attention. 
 
 "That's the Jewboy, himself, on the horse," 
 said Dick. "I wonder what the little game is? 
 Some piece of extravagant posing, I've no doubt. 
 The fellow always loves to act the role of some 
 great commander. He calls himself 'Captain' 
 Davis" 
 
 "I wonder at his modesty," commented the 
 major. "He might have made himself a general 
 as easily. However, it is time he was halted. 
 We will signal him to heave to, with a shot 
 across his bows." 
 
 He picked up a double-barrelled gun, and fired 
 over the heads of the advancing group. They 
 stopped instantly. They were not more than 
 a hundred yards from the house by this time. 
 
 "A flag of truce," bawled one of them. 
 "Would ye fire on the vvhite flag?" 
 
 "We will hear what they have to say," said 
 the major quietly. "Have your gun ready, De- 
 lane. It may be some trick." He shouted to the 
 bushrangers : — 
 
 "Let your leader come to the gate, unarmed — 
 the rest of you stay where you are. We will 
 open fire if you advance." 
 
 Slowly the Jewboy rode up the slope. He 
 reined in his horse just outside the wicket fence 
 of the garden. 
 
 The handsome bushranger was most hand- 
 somely arrayed. He wore a tall cabbage-tree 
 hat. A crimson silk shirt, over which he wore 
 
THE ATTACK 169 
 
 a brown velvet coat, fawn riding-breeches, and 
 top-boots shiningly polished, completed his cos- 
 tume. He saluted the major, who looked sternly 
 at him, without making any acknowledgment. 
 
 "I have the honour. Major Vane, to call upon 
 you to surrender to superior force," he began 
 grandiloquently. "We outnumber you ten to 
 one. The party which you see behind me is but 
 the advance guard of my little army, which has 
 been considerably reinforced by the defection of 
 your own servants. I call upon you to surrender, 
 in order to save the useless effusion of blood." 
 He noticed Dick for the first time. 
 
 "Ah, Delane," he said, "so this is where you 
 are ! I have been seeking you for months. You 
 need have' no apprehensions as to your own 
 safety. I have forgiven your hasty action — your 
 extremely ill-considered action — in turning upon 
 me last May, long ago. Your place in our com- 
 pany is still open to you." 
 
 "To hell with you and your company," growled 
 Dick. 
 
 "And I say Amen to that," cried the major. 
 "Turn your horse about, and join your precious 
 'army.' you blackguard. If you are not ofif at 
 once, I will give you a charge of buckshot. I 
 make no terms with such as you." 
 
 "Very well then, major. The consequences be 
 upon your own head." 
 
 "Go!" roared the major. "You have half a 
 minute." 
 
 Just as the sun sank to rest, and the cold half- 
 
170 CASTLE VANE 
 
 lights of the short evening swallowed up the last 
 of the golden glow on tree-tops and hill-tops, the 
 Jewboy turned his horse's head, and rode slowly 
 down the flat. 
 
 "Just a piece of his theatrical posturing," said 
 Dick. "He can't do without it. What now, 
 major?" 
 
 "We will sound the 'commence fire,' " replied 
 the major. "Let them have it^lads." 
 
 He fired the second barrel of his piece in the 
 direction of the group of bushrangers. Dick 
 followed suit. From his loop-hole M'Nab did 
 likewise. The men who were the target fell flat 
 on the ground. The defenders could not tell 
 whether their shots had done any execution. 
 
 "Come on and be d — d to you!" cried the 
 major. 
 
 He and Dick retired inside, and closed the iron 
 door. Half a dozen muskets spoke from in front, 
 and as many bullets flattened harmlessly on the 
 stone front of the house. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 The Counter-stroke 
 
 FOR a little while the firing continued from 
 both sides. Bullets cracked on the stone 
 walls and clanged on the iron shutters. 
 Whether they did any damage to the bush- 
 rangers, the defenders were unable to tell. The 
 fast gathering dusk made it difficult to see them, 
 and the major, Dick, and M'Nab could only fire 
 at the flashes of the outlaws' muskets. 
 
 Then they heard a shot at the back of the 
 house. O'Toole, the butler, had come into 
 action. Telling the overseer to keep a sharp 
 look-out, the major called to Dick to follow him, 
 and ran through the house into the courtyard. 
 
 A chorus of yells and threats came from out- 
 side. O'Toole was calmly reloading his double- 
 barrelled gun. 
 
 "I bagged one of the men, yer honor," he said 
 to the major. "They've taken cover behind the 
 stables. This buckshot is a fine thing at close 
 quarters." 
 
 The major and Dick each established himself 
 at a loop-hole. They occasionally caught a 
 glimpse of a man, who would step out from 
 behind the corner of the stables, fire a shot, and 
 
 M 171 
 
172 CASTLE VANE 
 
 hastily retreat. Whenever they did so, one or 
 other of them would fire — not with much hope of 
 doing any execution, but as a sort of defiance of 
 the attackers. 
 
 After a little of this exercise, the major hailed 
 Dick. 
 
 "Delane," he said, "it is almost dark now, and 
 I think that as soon as the light is all gone they 
 will try and rush the front — probably with some 
 sort of a battering-ram to break in the front 
 door. Will you remain here with O'Toole and 
 keep these fellows occupied? I will go in and 
 get the little swivels ready, so that we can give 
 them a warm welcome. Keep up your firing, so 
 that they may think we expect the main attack 
 from the rear. I will send out for you if they 
 come on. I think that our artillery ought to be 
 rather a surprise for General Jewboy. He can 
 hardly have expected to face cannon! I fancy 
 the attack will come soon, for the moon rises 
 in an hour or so, and it will be almost as bright 
 as day." 
 
 He went inside, and Dick and O'Toole con- 
 tinued their desultory mode of warfare in which 
 no great harm was done on either side. 
 
 It was difficult to see how the outlaws could 
 hope to capture Castle Vane by any means short 
 of artillery. The stone walls and iron doors and 
 shutters made the place impregnable. Their 
 only possible hope of gaining an entrance would 
 be by battering down either of the doors, at front 
 or rear. There was no other method available. 
 
THE COUNTER-STROKE 173 
 
 And for this, as he had announced, the major 
 was prepared. 
 
 Half an hour and more had slipped by, when 
 Dick felt a touch upon his arm. He looked 
 round. It was the major's daughter. 
 
 "Mr. Delane," she said, in a low tone, "father 
 wishes you to join him. He thinks that they are 
 coming up in the dark. Quickly, he says." 
 
 Dick followed her indoors. He spoke to the 
 girl as they crossed the courtyard. 
 
 "You have no fear. Miss Vane?" he said. 
 
 "Fear — no!" she laughed. "I am a soldier's 
 daughter, you know, Mr. Delane. I am not per- 
 mitted to indulge in the luxury of fear." 
 
 In the hall, in absolute darkness, Dick found 
 the major. 
 
 "Can you find your way, Delane?" he said. 
 "We cannot show a light. I am sure they are 
 creeping up to the garden-gate — M'Nab heard 
 them sneaking about, a little while ago, as if to 
 reconnoitre. And I think I did too. Now, what 
 I am going to do is this. This little gun ought 
 to settle the business. When we are certain that 
 they are near the fence, I will get you to swing 
 the door open. They will not be able to see 
 that it is open ; the doorway only . shows as a 
 black oblong against the white sandstone. Feel 
 — here is the gun, all primed and ready, with the 
 other one beside it. I think one will be enough. 
 Caroline has a slow-match burning in the 
 drawing-room. When I call to her, she will 
 bring it out, and we will touch off our little 
 
174 CASTLE VANE 
 
 beauty here. I rather fancy that this should 
 damp their ardour." 
 
 "Hist!" came from M'Nab, at the door of the 
 next room. "They're gathering round the gate," 
 major. I can hear them whispering." 
 
 Dick and the major applied their ears to the 
 loop-holes on either side of the door. Yes — 
 there was no doubt. They could hear whispered 
 conversations down on the other side of the low 
 fence. 
 
 "We'll give it to them now!" said the major. 
 "I don't want to blow them to pieces. This stufif 
 will scatter pretty well. At any rate, it ought 
 to terrify them a little. They hardly expect it. 
 Come, Caroline, the match!" 
 
 She came out of the drawing-room, with the 
 glowing match in her hand, and passed it to her 
 father. 
 
 "Back — out of the passage, my dear," he said. 
 "Now, Delane — just pull the door towards you 
 — all the bolts and bars are unfastened — and step 
 back here beside me." 
 
 Dick pulled the door towards him as the major 
 had requested. It swung back noiselessly. The 
 major kept the match hidden behind his back. 
 Dick stepped to the rear of the little cannon. 
 
 The major applied the match to the touch- 
 hole. 
 
 There was a flash and a bang, and the little 
 gun jumped back off its stand. The hall was 
 filled with white smoke. From the garden there 
 came a pandemonium of sound. Yells, curses. 
 
THE COUNTER-STROKE 175 
 
 howls succeeded the explosion. A few shots 
 cracked against the front of the house. Then 
 there was silence, broken only by the moans of 
 wounded men. 
 
 "Now for the counter-stroke !" cried the major. 
 "Delane! M'Nab! Charge them. Come, Jenkin, 
 Jones, Grice," he shouted to the three convict 
 servants who had remained faithful. "Charge. 
 Give it to them, my lads ! Ten pounds to the 
 man who takes the Jewboy !" 
 
 Surprised and stunned by the roar and flash 
 of the little gun, and many of them injured by 
 the pellets which it scattered amongst them, the 
 bushrangers broke and ran, leaving several of 
 their number stretched upon the ground. The 
 six defenders of Castle Vane followed them to 
 the little gate, firing after the dark figures that 
 ran into the darkness. 
 
 Suddenly they heard Caroline's voice from the 
 verandah behind them. 
 
 "Father — Mr. Delane! Come back; they are 
 breaking into the court-yard. Quick ! They are 
 smashing down the gate." 
 
 Calling off his men, the major dashed back 
 to the house, crying: "Shut the door, Delane. 
 Into the yard, lads. They are making their real 
 attack there. This was only a feint." 
 
 They were just in time. 
 
 As they entered the yard, the door in the wall 
 crashed inwards. In the flashes of the muskets 
 and pistols which were being discharged on 
 
176 CASTLE VANE 
 
 either side, and which momentarily lit the yard, 
 they had glimpses of savage faces pressing in- 
 wards through the opening. The horses were 
 rearing and plunging in their fright. Dick 
 caught a momentary view of the tall figure of 
 O'Toole, fighting valiantly to stop the rush of 
 the outlaws. A second or two afterwards, as he 
 ran to his assistance, he saw him go down. He 
 fired a pistol over his body, and the flash lit up 
 the pale face of the Jewboy. With a shout, Dick 
 hurled his pistol at him, jumped over the pros- 
 trate butler, and closed with the leader of the 
 gang. The two men swayed for a moment, and 
 then, coming down to the ground, rolled over 
 and over upon one another, in a fierce struggle 
 for mastery. 
 
 They were both powerful men, in the pink of 
 good condition, and their fierce contest might 
 have gone either way in its result — had it not 
 been for a strange mishap, which gave the 
 advantage to the Jewboy. Dick had wrenched 
 an arm loose from the strangling hold which the 
 other had round his body, and had flung it out 
 for a moment, in his struggles, so that it was 
 stretched upon the ground. As he did so, 
 M'Nab, running haphazard into the scrimmage, 
 frod with his heavy boot across the wrist. Dick 
 felt the bones of his fore-arm snap. As it 
 happened, the Jewboy scrambled up, drew a 
 pistol from his pocket, and fired point-blank into 
 the face of his adversary. Dick saw the flash — 
 and that was all he saw, beyond a fleeting im- 
 
THE COUNTER-STROKE 177 
 
 pression of the Jewboy's face, white and dis- 
 torted with rage. 
 
 When he came to, the light of the risen moon 
 was flooding the court-yard, and he had a dim 
 consciousness of water on his face, and of gentle 
 fingers, that did something — he hardly knew 
 what — that tended to relieve him of a throbbing 
 pain in the head. The bright moonlight dazzled 
 him, and the quietness seemed strange and un- 
 real. He closed his eyes again. 
 
 After a long time he became newly conscious 
 of things, and opened his eyes once more. He 
 was really conscious this time, and saw the major 
 standing near him with a candle in one hand and 
 a bottle in the other. But he was most conscious 
 of the fact that Caroline was supporting his 
 head, and washing the blood from his face. 
 Somehow — why he did not know — her gentle 
 ministration, and the touch of her hands, did him 
 a world of good and gave him strength. Pain- 
 fully, he managed to sit up. And then he became 
 aware of his broken right arm. Caroline said to 
 him: — 
 
 "There now. How do you feel?" 
 
 "Oh — better!" He laughed at the strange 
 weakness of his own voice. 
 
 "By Jove !" the major said, "you've had a 
 narrow escape, Delane. The Jewboy's bullet just 
 graaed the side of your head. You're minus the 
 left ear, I'm sorry to say — but it might have been 
 the left side of your skull." 
 
 "Did you beat them off?" 
 
178 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "Yes — they're gone. We have given them a 
 bad time of it. Three or four dead in the front 
 of the house, and one here — ^besides three 
 wounded men." 
 
 "And ourselves?" 
 
 "Poor O'Toole is killed. M'Nab is slightly 
 wounded in the leg, and Grice, one of the ser- 
 vants, in the chest — dangerously, I'm afraid." 
 
 "What of the Jewboy? Did you get him?" 
 
 "He escaped. Led the retreat immediately 
 after he had fired at you. They have all gone. 
 Louis Pinaud crept down to the riverside just 
 now, and saw them riding away in the moon- 
 light. I think they have had a lesson that they 
 won't forget in a hurry. But, here, take a pull 
 at this brandy and water, and see if you can get 
 inside. We must put you to bed. I'll send in 
 to Scone in the morning for Dr. Morgan, and 
 we'll get that arm of yours attended to." 
 
 Assisted by Caroline, Dick scrambled to his 
 feet. She supported him into the house, where 
 the major helped him to undress, and presently 
 he was between the sheets, with a bandage 
 round his head, and his injured arm supported 
 on a small table at the side of the bed. 
 
 The rest of the" night passed quietly enough, 
 though there was little sleep for anyone. The 
 major insisted that a careful watch should be 
 kept, in case the bushrangers should possibly 
 take it into their heads to return. He sent one 
 of the servants down to keep a look-out at the 
 river. Caroline busied herself in attending to 
 
THE COUNTER-STROKE 179 
 
 the wounded. The dead, with the exception of 
 O'Toole, were carried into the stables, to await 
 the inevitable inquest. 
 
 It was a welcome dawn, when day broke over 
 Castle Vane. 
 
 A curious feature of the affair was the return 
 of the convict servants on the following morning. 
 With the exception of some half-dozen — 
 probably those who had been injured in the 
 attack, and therefore bore wounds whose evi- 
 dence alone would have been sufficient to hang 
 them — they all returned. Their excuse for their 
 defection was, of course, that they had been 
 terrorized by the bushrangers into joining them, 
 and could not help themselves. 
 
 "Well," said the major, "I'll give you the 
 benefit of the doubt — although I don't believe 
 you. However, you will all be sent back to the 
 Hyde Park Barracks, in Sydney, as soon as 
 possible. Some other master may have the 
 benefit of your faithful services. I intend, for 
 the future, to work Castle Vane with free men. 
 Your sort are not worth their rations. I will 
 begin with three free men, Grice, Jones, and 
 Jenkin. They have earned the absolute pardon 
 for which it is my intention to apply to his 
 Excellency the Governor on their behalf." 
 
 The major came into Dick's room that after- 
 noon, 'and sat down. For a while he seemed to 
 be at a loss for something to say. 
 
 At last, clearing his throat, he began. 
 
 "Delane, I am come humbly to beg your par- 
 
i8o CASTLE VANE 
 
 don for the unjust and wicked provocation I gave 
 you to strike me, in the beginning of the year. 
 I think I am a changed man, since the morning 
 in May, when you saved me from the terrible 
 fate which those scoundrels intended for me. In 
 a measure, I can realize that I have deserved to 
 incur the resentful fury of such men. I have 
 been a hard man — too hard and severe towards 
 those beneath me. I think I have to thank you 
 for first bringing me into a frame of mind that 
 enables me to understand this. I hope I may 
 ask your forgiveness this time without fearing 
 your refusal of it?" 
 
 There was something almost plaintive in his 
 tone. Dick looked into his eyes for a moment, 
 and saw that they were brimming with tears. 
 He put out his uninjured left hand across the 
 bed, and the major took it. 
 
 "It is not the proper hand, major, to clench 
 a bargain with, but it must do until the right 
 is available. I do, indeed, forgive you, as I hope 
 you forgive my hasty blow. May we remain 
 friends always! You will always have my res- 
 pect as a brave man." (He might have added, 
 "With a charming daughter," but did not). 
 
 "Good. Then you will stay here until your 
 bones are mended?" 
 
 "I thank you, major. It is very good of you." 
 
 "And then, Delane, if you will think over it, 
 we might arrange for you to remain in my ser- 
 vice. I do not ask for a reply to this proposal 
 yet — take your time to consider it. I think I 
 
THE COUNTER-STROKE i8i 
 
 can condone your desertion from the army — in 
 fact, I am sure I can. There are, you understand, 
 wheels within wheels. At any rate, I mean to 
 try. I feel pretty sure that I can succeed." 
 
 "Thank you again, Major Vane. I am glad 
 to escape from being a bushranger," laughed 
 Dick. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 A Day with the Outlaws 
 
 THE first cold light before the dawn was 
 climbing the eastern sky and swallowing 
 up the stars, as Edward Davis, the Jew- 
 boy, aroused his followers. He had thrown a 
 dry branch or two on the embers of the camp 
 fire, and the flickering light lit up in spasmodic 
 gleams the blanket-shrouded forms of the bush- 
 rangers lying in a circle about it, with their 
 heads pillowed on their saddles, their firearms 
 beside them, and their effects scattered about 
 on the grass below the great trees that over- 
 shadowed them. 
 
 "Come, Ruggy — hullo there, Marshall — show 
 a leg, show a leg. Time we were moving, boys. 
 There's business a foot this morning. Come — 
 up with ye! We must be on the road by sun- 
 rise." 
 
 The Jewboy went from heap to heap, stirring 
 up the sleeping bushrangers with his foot, and 
 sometimes stooping down to shake too sound a 
 sleeper roughly by the shoulder. 
 
 "Rouse yourselves, my brave lads," he cried. 
 "Rouse up for the road. We've work to do 
 to-day!" 
 
 One by one the sleeping men unwillingly 
 
 182 
 
A DAY WITH THE OUTLAWS 183 
 
 crawled from their blankets, and grouped them- 
 selves about the fire, shivering in the dampness 
 of the morning. 
 
 "Now then, boys," he urged them mercilessly, 
 "ye can't stand warming yourselves all day long. 
 See to the horses some of you. Saddle up, and 
 make ready for the road. Fill the pots and boil 
 some tea — you, Chitty. You know we've got 
 an appointment to keep on the main road this 
 morning. Look lively, now!" 
 
 Before long, urged by their leader, the out- 
 laws had saddled their horses, and were seated 
 round the fire, drinking tea and devouring 
 mutton and damper. 
 
 " 'Tis poor rations we're having lately, Ned," 
 grumbled the unprepossessing person whom the 
 Jewboy had addressed as Ruggy. "Is there no 
 place hereabouts where they live on better fare 
 than this? That was a poor concern we struck 
 last night. We ought to have pimished the 
 people for not treating us better." 
 
 "We got all they had," replied the Jewboy. 
 "But never mind, Ruggy — two or three hours 
 will see us in the midst of full and plenty." 
 
 "What is it this time?" asked one of the men. 
 "Is it a public-house or a store?" 
 
 "Both, Johnny. There's both bite and sup in 
 store for you. But not too much of the sup, 
 mind. Our business is to get out across the 
 ranges into the plains. This country's becoming 
 too hot for us, and we'll have to seek pastures 
 new. Now, mind what I say, lads! There's to 
 
i84 CASTLE VANE 
 
 be no hard drinking at to-day's crib. Those 
 fellows from Sydney are too close upon our trail 
 to permit of any risks. If any of you get drunk 
 — drunk enough to be helpless, I mean — ^he'll be 
 left behind. But he'll be left behind dead. We 
 can't chance anything. I'll shoot the man 
 myself, who endangers the safety of the band. 
 There's no sense in drinking when we are on 
 duty. We'll take enough with us for a good old 
 spree when we get to a place of safety — but 
 there's to be nothing like a spree until we do 
 that. Now, mind what I say — every man Jack 
 of you!" 
 
 As they rode away from their camping place, 
 the sun was just rising. Behind them lay the 
 rugged mountain country between the WoUombi 
 and the Hawkesbury, and they were coming out 
 into the flats of the Lower Hunter, a little above 
 the town of Maitland. They were making a 
 forced march towards the north, driven out of 
 their down-country haunts by reason of the 
 pressure of a special party of mounted police 
 which had been sent up from Sydney and had 
 been altogether too persistent in its pursuit of 
 them, from place to place, to suit the Jewboy's 
 liking. 
 
 As he had said, they were bound for the more 
 recently opened up country out in the north-west. 
 He had come to a conclusion that there was 
 nothing for it but to lead his little command 
 further afield. The hiding-place below Mount 
 Murulla was, he knew, watched too closely to 
 
A DAY WITH THE OUTLAWS 185 
 
 permit of his making further use of it. It was 
 with regret that he came to this decision, for the 
 place was an ideal one for their purposes — 
 sheltered, well watered, and easily defended. 
 But he knew that, if there was no one else who 
 cared to interfere with him, the owner of Castle 
 Vane would be ever remorselessly upon his 
 tracks, if he remained in the district. He had a 
 wholesome distaste for Castle Vane, since the 
 defeat which the major had inflicted upon him 
 a couple of months before, and had no intention 
 of calling upon that gentleman, as he passed by 
 on this occasion. 
 
 The band of robbers was well mounted and 
 well equipped. Each man led a pack-horse, and 
 only three of them were loaded, so that the re- 
 maining three were available for what booty 
 they might pick up during their northward 
 march. They were well armed, and had plenty 
 of ammunition. Every man carried a double- 
 barrelled gun and a brace of pistols. As some 
 sort of badge of office, Davis ' himself had a 
 sword — looted from some outlying Sydney resi- 
 dence — hanging to his saddle. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Denison, of the Rest Inn, on the 
 Great Northern Road, ten miles, or thereabouts, 
 outside West Maitland, had just finished his 
 breakfast, and was filling his pipe before his 
 front door, when he observed a party of horse- 
 men riding up the long hill, upon the crest of 
 which stood his inn, his store, and his black- 
 smith's shop. They made a considerable cloud 
 
i86 CASTLE VANE 
 
 of dust as they travelled along the dry highway, 
 and Mr. Denison reflected pleasantly that such 
 dust, in conjunction with the heat of the day, 
 was by no means a bad selling agent for the very 
 excellent ale with which his cellars were stocked. 
 He prepared himself to extend a genial welcome 
 to the, no doubt, thirsty travellers whom he 
 beheld approaching. 
 
 To his surprise, however, the party halted 
 about three hundred yards away, and appeared 
 to be holding a consultation of some sort. For 
 a few minutes they seemed to be deliberating 
 among themselves. 
 
 Then he saw them separate. Two men re- 
 mained with the led horses, and the remainder 
 rode on towards the inn. They had not pro- 
 gressed a few yards before they set spurs to 
 their horses, and came galloping up the road, 
 yelling and shouting, and making a prodigious 
 clatter in the still, sunny morning. For a 
 moment he stared at them, astonished. Then, 
 suddenly realizing the situation, he dropped his 
 jaw and his clay pipe, threw his arms above his 
 head, and ran inside, calling out at the top of his 
 voice : — 
 
 "By heavens ! The bushrangers !" 
 
 He slammed the door, as the howling caval- 
 cade pulled up before the inn, but it was too 
 late. Several gunshots cracked out, and bullets 
 pierced the door and broke a window. 
 
 "Surrender!" cried the Jewboy. 
 
 Being a man of discretion, Mr. Denison very 
 
A DAY WITH THE OUTLAWS 187 
 
 promptly did so, and indicated as much by hastily 
 reopening the door, and appearing on the thres- 
 hold with his hands extended, palm outward, 
 above his head. 
 
 "Good morning to you, sir," said the Jewboy, 
 in mock politeness. "That's right — keep your 
 hands so. It is the safest plan. Who is inside? 
 Stay — I will see for myself." 
 
 He dismounted, and advanced, gun in hand 
 and ready cocked, towards the terrified Mr. 
 Denison. 
 
 "Who are you, sir, and wh-what do you want?" 
 trembling inquired that unhappy gentleman. 
 
 "You may have heard of me, landlord. I'm 
 known as the Jewboy — and these worthy fellows 
 are my troopers." 
 
 "The Jewboy!" 
 
 "Yes — the only plucky Jew I've ever known. 
 I'm the Jewboy. I can see you've heard of me. 
 Now, Mr. Landlord, just step out here, while I 
 see whom else we have to deal with." 
 
 Pulling the scared host out of the doorway, 
 he went inside. 
 
 One of the outlaws had ridden past the inn, 
 up the road, to act as an outpost, and another 
 made his way round the house to the back. 
 Another entered the store that 'stood beside the 
 inn, and another rode to the front of the black- 
 smith's shop, and speedily had the scowling 
 blacksmith, with his assistant, standing in the 
 roadway 
 
 Presently the Jewboy drove the inmates of the 
 
1 88 CASTLE VANE 
 
 house out through the open door — the buxom 
 Mrs Denison, a female cook, and an old man. 
 The bushranger who had gone to the back of 
 the inn returned with the stableman, and the 
 storekeeper, a young man, was haled from be- 
 hind the counter. The little group was marched 
 out across the road, and each individual of it 
 made fast to separate trees — with the exception 
 of the landlord himself. 
 
 "We will need you, Mr. Denison. You must 
 do the honours of your house for us," pleasantly 
 remarked the Jewboy. 
 
 The poor landlord said nothing. He appeared 
 to be utterly overcome by the sudden audacity 
 of the business. 
 
 The Jewboy marched him inside. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Derxison," he said. "We want your 
 money. Where do you keep it?" 
 
 With an ill grace, the landlord opened the till. 
 
 "Here you are," he said; "this is all I have in 
 the place. I just sent in to the bank in Maitland 
 yesterday all the takings of the last month." 
 
 The Jewboy went behind the counter and 
 emptied the drawer. He counted out the coins. 
 
 "Five pounds seventeen and sixpence 1 Well, 
 now, that's not much, Mr. Denison. Are you 
 quite sure you've no little nest-egg stowed away 
 anywhere — up the chimney, or under the bed, or 
 in your good woman's stocking? Come now!" 
 
 "That is every penny," said the landlord, 
 hesitating. "There is nothing more — if I die for 
 it." 
 
A DAY WITH THE OUTLAWS 189 
 
 The Jewboy looked at him suspiciously. He 
 was not satisfied. He had a notion that the stout 
 landlord was lying stoutly, and all the instincts 
 of his race were aroused. He thought for a few 
 moments, and then moved towards the door. 
 
 "Jack Shea," he called out into the roadway. 
 "Come in here, I want you." One of the men 
 entered the bar-room. 
 
 "Jack, do you keep watch on this fat liar. I 
 think he's hiding something from us. I'll soon 
 find out." 
 
 He walked across the road towards the 
 prisoners. Taking off his hat, he bowed to the 
 terrified Mrs. Denison. 
 
 "Madam," he asked, "did any of your house- 
 hold go to Maitland yesterday?" 
 
 The frightened woman regarded him fearfully, 
 as she replied, in a weak voice : 
 
 "No, sir — 'tis over a month since any of us 
 went to town. Oh, sir — I beg you to have mercy 
 on us. We've always been good friends to the 
 gentlemen of the road, so we have. Why, only 
 last week " He interrupted her. 
 
 "Mrs. Denison," he said sternly, "do you see 
 that limb above your head ? Do you think it will 
 support the weight of your husband? Because 
 he's very likely to be hung up to it soon." 
 
 The poor woman screamed. 
 
 "Oh, sir! Oh, no, no, no!" 
 
 The Jewboy looked at her savagely for a few 
 moments, allowing her to steep herself in terror. 
 Then he pulled out her husband's watch. 
 
I90 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "He has five minutes to live, Mrs. Denison — 
 unless you tell me where your money is hid. 
 Come — tell me at once to save trouble. Where 
 is it?" 
 
 The unfortunate landlady blubbered wildly 
 that it was all in a bag beneath the mattress of 
 their bed. She was not a lady of even such moral 
 fortitude as her husband. 
 
 "Thank you," said the Jewboy, and went in- 
 side. 
 
 He passed by the landlord without addressing 
 him. and went into the bedroom of the couple, 
 whence he speedily emerged, carrying a heavy 
 canvas bag in his hands, the sight of which 
 caused the landlord to turn white. 
 
 "How much is in it?" asked the Jewboy. 
 
 "Two hundred and twenty pounds in gold, 
 silver, and notes," sulkily replied the landlord. 
 
 "Now then, Mr. Denison, don't you think 
 you're a bit of liar?" said the Jewboy. "I think 
 you must be punished. Jack, take him outside 
 and flog him." 
 
 With sheer delight the enthusiastic Shea 
 shoved his prisoner through the doorway. 
 
 "Here, boys !" he cried. "Come and hold this 
 fellie while I belt him. The Captain's caught 
 him lying about his money. He says, I'm to flog 
 him." 
 
 In spite of his appeals for mercy, and the 
 screams of his frantic spouse, the unhappy land- 
 lord was soundly thrashed. 
 
 When this little ceremony was finished, the 
 
A DAY WITH THE OUTLAWS 191 
 
 Jewboy called the gang together, telling them to 
 take what they wanted from the store, and to 
 bring him one of the packhorses, which he would 
 load up with liquor. He would not permit any 
 of them to have more than a glass of ale in the 
 bar. 
 
 "We must get out of this," he said, "and away 
 from the road. It's a miracle no one has come 
 by as yet. We'll find a suitable spot, my lads, 
 and have a picnic with the grog. We've not 
 done so badly — and can afford to spend an hour 
 or so in drinking one another's healths." 
 
 They presently rode away, leaving the un- 
 happy Denison family tied to the trees, to await 
 release at the hands of the first passer-by along 
 the highway. 
 
 It was a much relieved and very tearful Mrs. 
 Denison, who saw them ride away from the Rest 
 Inn. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 On the Trail 
 
 IT was a warm evening in December, and 
 again a round moon flooded Castle Vane 
 with its pale radiance as it had done on that 
 memorable night three months before, when the 
 Jewboy and his gang had attacked the station. 
 Major Vane, his daughter, and Dick Delane sat 
 in the verandah after dinner, talking idly, and 
 gazing out up the moonlit valley to the distant 
 sleeping mountains in the north. 
 
 Caroline had revived the topic of the bush- 
 rangers, by remembering that it was on just such 
 a night as this that the battle with the Jewboy's 
 gang had been fought. 
 
 "So it was," said the major. "I wonder what 
 has become of the cut-throats ? They have been 
 keeping pretty quiet, Delane. Do you think 
 they can have left the country?" 
 
 "1 hardly think so, sir," replied Dick. "But 
 there can be no doubt that they have left this 
 part of it again. The constant watch which we 
 have kept on their hiding-place, up yonder, has 
 discouraged them. No; they have not gone. I 
 rather fancy that they may be found somewhere 
 between the Wollombi and Brisbane Water, in 
 their old, original haunts, which they used to 
 
ON THE TRAIL 193 
 
 frequent before they ever intruded into the 
 valley of the Hunter. The Jewboy is probably 
 preparing for some big raid. He always lies low 
 for a while, so as to lull people into a false sense 
 of securit)'^, before he breaks out. I don't doubt 
 but that we shall hear of him again before 
 long." 
 
 "I had a letter the other day from Clare — you 
 remember him, the adjutant of the 146th — in 
 which he told me that a large and well-equipped 
 party of mounted police, under the command of 
 a subaltern officer of that body, had been or- 
 ganized in Sydney. They were to proceed — 
 almost immediately, he said, and his letter is a 
 fortnight old — to the Brisbane Water district, 
 and had orders to devote themselves to rooting 
 out and destroying the band. I should think it 
 is not at all unlikely that, if they are driven out 
 of their fastnesses down there, they may again 
 pay us a visit. Well, if they do come, and intend 
 to honour Castle Vane with another attack, I 
 fancy we will be able to give them as warm a 
 reception as the last one. What do you say, 
 Delane?" 
 
 "I think so, sir. But this time we ought to 
 make sure of them by following them up, and 
 wiping them out altogether." 
 
 A servant came out on to the verandah. 
 
 "What is it, Casey?" asked Caroline. "Do 
 you want to see me?" 
 
 "No, miss. 'Tis a letter for th' major. A 
 young man from Muswellbrook have just been 
 
194 CASTLE VANE 
 
 afther bringin' it. He's in the kitchen, awaitin' 
 for an answer." 
 
 "For me, Casey?" said the major, rising from 
 his chair, and taking the note which the man 
 held out to him. "Excuse me a moment, my 
 dear. I must go into the light to read this." 
 
 In a few minutes the major came back. His 
 step was brisk, he spoke eagerly, and in a tone 
 of subdued excitement. 
 
 "By jove, Delane — 'talk of the devil!' Listen 
 to this. It is from Mr. Day, the police-magistrate 
 from the next district. Come into the light, will 
 you, while I read it." 
 
 Caroline and Dick followed the major into the 
 lamp-lit drawing-room. 
 
 "Is it about the bushrangers, father?" asked 
 Caroline, growing a little pale. "Those dread- 
 ful men! How I hate to hear of them. What 
 have they done now?" 
 
 "Listen. Mr. Day has sent this over to me 
 to-night." 
 
 "My dear Vane," he read. "Can you join me 
 here at once? The gang of bushrangers led by 
 the ruffian Davis has once again invaded the 
 Hunter River district, and I am organizing a 
 party to hunt them down. Come well mounted, 
 and bring any assistance that may be available. 
 It will be a stern chase, but I intend to follow 
 them up, and force them to a fight. I am, yours 
 obediently, Edward Denny Day." 
 
 "Denny Day! I know of him," said Dick; "he 
 has a great name in his district down the river, 
 
ON THE TRAIL 195 
 
 as a fearless and determined magistrate. He is 
 a strong contrast with that duffer in Scone. 
 Mr. Day evidently knows him, and is determined 
 to ignore him. I'm with you, major. We'd 
 better start at once." 
 
 "Yes, the sooner the better. Caroline, you 
 will be quite safe here with M'Nab and the other 
 men. No; on second thoughts, you had better 
 come into Muswellbrook with us. There is just 
 a possibility that they may pay Castle Vane a 
 visit. I would be easier in my mind if I was 
 certain that you were in safety. You can stay 
 at the parsonage until we return. By jove, I'm 
 delighted with this chance. Come along, Delane, 
 it's boot and saddle. Put on your riding habit, 
 Caroline, and we will see to the horses. You 
 had better bring clothes enough to last you for 
 a week or so. We ought to be back by that 
 time, if fortune favours us." 
 
 It was a little short of midnight when they 
 reached Muswellbrook. They rode straight to 
 the inn whence Mr. Day had dated his letter. 
 
 He and the major were old friends, having 
 known one another in India, before the 146th 
 had come to New South Wales. The police- 
 magistrate was an ex-army officer, who, coming 
 to the colony in the first place on sick leave, 
 had liked it so well that he had resigned his 
 commission, and settled down in a civil position. 
 He had been police-magistrate for the Maitland 
 and Port Macquarie districts for a year or two 
 before this time. 
 
196 CASTLE VANE 
 
 The major introduced his daughter and Dick 
 to Mr. Day, and, when the former had retired 
 to her room, the police-magistrate outlined his 
 plan of campaign. 
 
 "I am determined. Vane, to keep on the tracks 
 of these fellows until I can bring them to 
 account. They have committed one or two 
 robberies on their way up here, close to the 
 Wollombi, and I have an idea that, finding the 
 more closely-settled districts becoming too hot 
 for them, they intend to make across the Liver- 
 pool Ranges into the plains country. We are 
 fairly close to them now, and by morning, when 
 I have assembled a party for their pursuit, they 
 should not have a very long start of us. I have 
 sent out messengers to several gentlemen of the 
 neighbourhood, who can be depended upon to 
 do their best to bring these ruffians to justice, 
 and whom I know personally, and we should be 
 ready to start as soon as we know for certain 
 what direction they have taken. In the mean- 
 time, I think we had better get to bed. We 
 have several hard days in front of us." 
 
 The following day was Sunday, and the police- 
 magistrate lost no time in making his prepara- 
 tions. Several landholders of the neighbourhood 
 had ridden into Muswellbrook in the early 
 morning, before breakfast, in answer to the 
 police-magistrate's summons, and, although that 
 somewhat autocratic personage, had rejected the 
 services of two or three, as being too old for 
 what was likely to be a somewhat severe test of 
 
ON THE TRAIL 197 
 
 endurance, he was able to form a compact little 
 party of seven, including the major and Dick, 
 and two troopers of the Border Police, as the 
 mounted arm of the constabulary service was 
 then entitled in the bush. 
 
 Each member of the party was well horsed, 
 and every man had a double-barrelled gun and 
 a brace of pistols. They were to ride light, 
 carrying nothing but their ammunition and a 
 little food. Mr. Day announced it as his inten- 
 tion, once he was sure of the direction the bush- 
 rangers were taking, to keep on after them with- 
 out a halt, in the hope of forcing them to give 
 battle. 
 
 "If you once compel those fellows to stand 
 and fight," he said, "they are as good as cap- 
 tured — for each man knows that he fights with 
 a rope about his neck, and so he fights with a 
 heavy heart." 
 
 "The fellows have sworn never to be taken 
 alive," said one of the party. 
 
 "Yes. I know. But when it comes to the 
 pinch, it's a dififerent matter. They see quite a 
 lengthy period between themselves and the 
 gallows, when they surrender peacefully. How- 
 ever, if the villains are not for giving in, we 
 must destroy them. That is all." 
 
 Early in the morning the police-magistrate 
 had sent out scouts in all directions, to seek 
 tidings of the gang. All day long the party of 
 pursuit awaited some definite information in 
 Muswellbrook as to which way the bushrangers 
 
198 CASTLE VANE 
 
 had gone. There was little use in starting out 
 on any trail but the one that would bring them 
 up with the outlaws in the quickest possible 
 time. They had looted a store on the afternoon 
 before, but since then had disappeared, and 
 whether they had gone east, north, or west was 
 a moot point. 
 
 Midday passed without any word being 
 brought back, and the afternoon wore into 
 evening, and still there was no news. Mr. Day 
 chafed at the delay, as they all did, but there 
 was no help for it; they had to wait. It was 
 not until 2 o'clock in the morning that anything 
 definite was learned. 
 
 It seemed that the gang had taken shelter in 
 a secluded spot not very far from the scene of 
 their last crime, in the broken country to the 
 west of the town. It was not until after dark 
 on the Sunday evening that they were seen 
 moving camp towards the north. 
 
 As soon as he received word, Mr. Day lost no 
 time in rousing up his party. They were saddled 
 up, had breakfasted, and were ready to start in 
 less than an hour. Caroline came down, hastily 
 dressed, to say good-bye. Perhaps the major did 
 not hear her say, as she wished Delane "farewell" 
 in the softest and shyest of voices, "Good-bye, 
 Dick. God keep you!" 
 
 It was nearly four o'clock when the party, 
 started, and day was just breaking as they rode 
 out of Muswellbrook. They little realized how 
 far and hard they were to ride before dark should 
 
ON THE TRAIL 199 
 
 overtake them again. It was the morning of 
 December 21. 
 
 News travelled slowly in those days. Six days 
 later a Sydney newspaper published the follow- 
 ing from its correspondent in Scone. It is 
 quoted here as a specimen of the journalism of 
 the "forties." It accounts for the doings of 
 the gang in the early part of the day, whilst 
 their pursuers were picking up their tracks. 
 
 "The Rubicon is past, and human blood is 
 again shed by one of the most lawless gangs 
 of bushrangers that ever infested the Hunter. 
 Blood that cries aloud for retribution at the 
 hands of our vacillating Government. Blood — 
 yes, blood — the first of a long list which it is 
 anticipated will mark the career of the Hunter 
 River bushrangers. My last letter feebly nar- 
 rated the career of this gang at the Wollombi, 
 of their assault on the late Constable M'Dougall, 
 and the murderous attack on one of Mr. Craw- 
 ford's men ; of their rencontre at the Red House ; 
 and other particulars of their misdeeds. This, 
 though not so full of particulars, will be more 
 full of horror. It appears that on leaving the 
 Wollombi they were joined by six others, thus 
 making their number 10, when they proceeded 
 to Scone, simultaneously attacking the inn of 
 Mrs. Chivers and the stores of Mr. Thomas 
 Dangar; their approach, however, was observed 
 by a young man, clerk to Mr. Dangar, named 
 Graham, who injudiciously armed himself with 
 a pistol, which he fired at the advancing party. 
 
200 CASTLE VANE 
 
 when one of them (Marshall, it is thought) 
 levelled his gun and shot him dead at the door 
 of his master's house, whose property he was 
 defending. Davis, the chief of the robbers, on 
 hearing the report, came forward ; he seemed to 
 regret it much, but I will quote his own words: 
 'I would give a thousand pounds that this had 
 not happened, but as well a hundred now as one.' 
 We may, therefore, expect that this one murder 
 mentioned is the precursor of others, each more 
 sanguinary than the other. The last report we 
 have heard of them is at the Page." 
 
 Mr. Day led his little party first of all to the 
 spot where the bushrangers had camped. The 
 man who had seen them estimated roughly that 
 they numbered about half a dozen, and the leader 
 of the pursuit felt that the tracks of such a large 
 body would not be difficult to follow, even 
 though they were without the services of a 
 tracker. 
 
 They found the place where the outlaws had 
 passed the night — in a deep gully, in some 
 broken country a little to the north-westward of 
 Muswellbrook. The remains of a slaughtered 
 sheep and an assortment of empty bottles littered 
 the ground. It was evident that they had rested 
 themselves and their horses in this place, secure- 
 ly, all through the Sunday, whilst the police- 
 magistrate's scouts were seeking to determine 
 their line of march. 
 
 It was early in the afternoon when the pur- 
 suers rode into Scone, and became aware of the 
 
ON THE TRAIL 201 
 
 further crime which was to be charged against 
 the gang. 
 
 It was a pitiable business. The young store- 
 keeper was a fine specimen of the immigrant 
 who was beginning to come into Australia. It 
 was over his body that Mr. Day delivered him- 
 self of sundry forcible expressions of opinion 
 concerning his brother-magistrate — to whom he 
 did not extend the courtesy of an apology for 
 trespassing on his district — and the people of 
 Scone generally. 
 
 "It is people like these," he said to the major, 
 in the hearing of a group of the townspeople, 
 "who encourage crime. If half a dozen of them 
 had the manhood of this young fellow, we might 
 have had the Jewboy and his gang in irons by 
 this time." 
 
 Mr. Day permitted no long halt in Scone. 
 They waited not more than half an hour, to 
 water and feed the horses and to snatch a few 
 mouthfuls of food themselves. Then he had 
 them into the saddle once more, and they started 
 up the valley of the Kingdon Ponds in hot pur- 
 suit of the bushrangers. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 Doughboy Hollow 
 
 ALL through the warm afternoon they 
 L pressed on up the valley, sparing neither 
 their horses nor themselves. 
 
 The hunters were hot on the trail — the bush- 
 rangers could scarcely be more than three hours 
 ahead of them, and they were evidently riding 
 hard and fast to escape the vengeance which the 
 Jewboy realized that their last murder would 
 call for. He w&s not deceived by the cowardice 
 which had been displayed in Scone. He must 
 have known, at anyrate — whether he was aware 
 of Mr. Day's pursuit or not — that, as soon as he 
 heard of it. Major Vane, for one, would turn out 
 in chase of him. It was imperatively necessary 
 for him to get out of the circumscribed area of 
 the narrowing valley, and to place the Liverpool 
 Ranges between himself and the men who would 
 surely by this time be hunting him and his band 
 to destruction. 
 
 The knowledge of this, also was an incentive 
 to Mr. Day to press the pursuit hard. While 
 the bushrangers were in the valley of the 
 Hunter's tributaries — the Kingdon Ponds and 
 the Page — they must necessarily keep more or 
 less close together. The nature of the country 
 
 202 
 
DOUGHBOY HOLLOW 203 
 
 itself ensured as much as this. But once over 
 the pass above Murrurundi they could scatter 
 out along the western slopes of the range, or 
 into the plains, until it suited their purpose to 
 come together again. He must try and catch up 
 with them before they got to the head of the 
 Page valley. 
 
 The major remarked once that he thought 
 there was little chance of picking the gang up 
 before they reached the pass. Mr. Day laughed, 
 and shook his head. 
 
 "I don't agree with you there. Vane," he said. 
 "It is true that they have some hours' start of 
 us, and that their horses have had some rest, 
 and have not travelled so far as ours have — but 
 we have one great advantage over them." 
 
 "What is that, sir?" asked Dick, as they 
 cantered along side by side. 
 
 "A very important one, Mr. Delane. We do 
 not require to pull up at every public-house we 
 come to along the road. These fellows will never 
 pass one — though I am told that the Jewboy is 
 an abstemious man, especially when he is what 
 he calls 'on duty.' Now, there is an excellent 
 inn at the Page — Atkinson's — and I would not 
 be at all astonished if that very tavern was not 
 the means of their capture. Mark my words, and 
 see whether I am right." 
 
 By the time that they had reached the foot of 
 Warland's Range — the dividing range between 
 the valley of the Kingdon Ponds and the Page 
 — their horses were beginning to feel the dis- 
 
204 CASTLE VANE 
 
 tance and the pace which they had maintained 
 since early morning. It was well over thirty 
 miles from Muswellbrook to this place by the 
 road, and they had ridden considerably more 
 than that distance, when the first stage of the 
 march round by the outlaws' last camping-place 
 is considered. They were compelled to slacken 
 their pace as they climbed up the heavy gradients 
 of the range, and at the top they took a few 
 minutes' rest, in order to breathe the horses. 
 
 "Look round. Major," cried Mr. Day. "I'll 
 engage you have seldom seen a more beautiful 
 view than this. Isn't it shameful that such a 
 lovely countryside should be polluted by such 
 scum as these fellows we are after?" 
 
 "It is indeed a glorious view," enthusiastically 
 assented the major. 
 
 "Ah — but there's better to come," said Dick. 
 "Wait until we are able to look back along the 
 Page." 
 
 Presently they pushed on, down the long slope 
 that leads to the pretty river in the beautiful 
 valley. They were obliged to walk their tired 
 horses more frequently now, and the five or six 
 miles that lay between Warland's Range and the 
 little settlement of Murrurundi, further up the 
 valley, was the slowest stage of the journey. It 
 was after five o'clock before they came to 
 Atkinson's Inn. 
 
 Here they found a great commotion and the 
 most intense excitement. Mr. Atkinson, seeing 
 the armed party coming up the road, had first 
 
DOUGHBOY HOLLOW 205 
 
 of all retired into his house, closing the door. 
 He came fearfully to a window, in answer to 
 Mr. Day's furious knocking and loud demands 
 for admission. When he was convinced that 
 the party was not another relay of bushrangers, 
 his satisfaction was immense. He opened the 
 front door. 
 
 "But, by h — 1, Mr. Day, saving your presence 
 — you're too late. The Jewboy has been gone 
 but twenty minutes or half an hour. And the 
 dogs were here a good two hours." 
 
 "Can you supply us with remounts, Atkinson ?" 
 asked the police-magistrate. "Our horses are 
 about done. We have ridden since daylight, and 
 from Muswellbrook." 
 
 "From Muswellbrook!" cried their host, al- 
 most incredulous. "Why, Mr. Day — let me see 
 — 'tis forty-three miles from here to the 'Brook, 
 if it's a yard." 
 
 "We have done it, at anyrate. Come — have 
 you any horses ? We should catch up with them 
 by dusk — if we can get fresh mounts." 
 
 "The brutes have taken every hoof of horse- 
 flesh I had in my stables, Mr. Day. They've left 
 four knocked-up mokes that are as badly used 
 up as your own. But perhaps, by an hour's time, 
 say, we might be able to hunt up something in 
 the neighbourhood. Come in and rest, gentle- 
 men.' You've surely earned it. And what will 
 you all be pleased to take ? It is with the house 
 this time. No one has ever been so welcome as 
 yourselves." 
 
2o6 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "Thank you for the refreshment, Mr. Atkin- 
 son," said the police-magistrate. "We shall be 
 most grateful for it. But we cannot wait an 
 hour. Ten minutes' rest is all we can afford. 
 We must push on, even if our horses drop under 
 us. Don't you think so. Major?" 
 
 "I agree with you, Day — if it is possible. But 
 would it not be better to wait for remounts?" 
 
 "No, I will explain why. I know this country 
 fairly well. Just over the range, a few miles 
 from here, there is a fine camping-place called 
 Doughboy Hollow, with good grass and water. 
 I feel certain that the gang will halt there, for 
 a few hours, if not for the night. If we can come 
 on them there, we have them. If we fail to do 
 so, we must inevitably lose them. I say push 
 on, at whatever cost — even if we have to finish 
 the last mile on hands and knees. It is worth 
 while, I assure you." 
 
 "I am agreeable. Day — and I have no doubt 
 these other gentlemen also see the force of what 
 you say. A drink for the horses, one for our- 
 selves — and a forced march. What say you, 
 gentlemen ?" 
 
 There was a chorus of willing assent, and, 
 after a short rest, the pursuers stumbled wearily 
 forward, worn out in all but spirit and determin- 
 ation. 
 
 The road led up the narrow valley between 
 steep mountain sides. To their left lay the great 
 pile of Mount Murulla, with the Square Mount- 
 ain west of it, and Warland's Barn beyond. 
 
DOUGHBOY HOLLOW 207 
 
 Immediately ahead of them there was a gap in 
 the encircling ranges, and it was over this that 
 the route lay to the Liverpool Plains and the 
 north-western country. Until they came almost 
 to the foot of the pass, the road was fairly level, 
 but when it began to wind up the spur it was too 
 much for the weary horses, and Mr. Day called 
 a momentary halt. 
 
 "We must save the horses," he said, "Dis- 
 mount, and lead them. It is pretty clear they 
 cannot carry us up here. We have not far to 
 go now, gentlemen. I hope and trust that we 
 will find our men below us, when we reach the 
 crest of the Divide." 
 
 They straggled slowly up the winding road- 
 way, each man towing his dejected charger, Mr. 
 Day, the major, and Dick leading the way. 
 
 The sinking sun was nearly behind the ridge 
 above them by this time. The major joked about 
 it to Mr. Day. 
 
 "Well, Day, we are favoured in one respect, 
 at least. We are not permitted to delay the sun- 
 set, as Joshua was whilst he finished his battle, 
 but we have the longest possible use of the 
 luminary. You have arranged it excellently. If 
 our men are here, daylight is all we want." 
 
 "How so, Major? What have we to do with 
 the sun ?" 
 
 "Don't you recollect the date — December the 
 twenty-first? It's the longest day in the year. 
 By Jove — if we were in England, we'd have had 
 to yield to darkness before we reached the Page." 
 
2o8 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "I'm not so sure that I'd have given up the 
 chase with darkness," said Mr. Day, setting his 
 determined jaws. "The only way with these 
 fellows is to give them no rest. I feel certain 
 that we will find them here. I don't know why 
 I am so sure of it — but I am." 
 
 "Let us hope you are right. We deserve some 
 rewjard for our toil. I never felt so tired in my 
 life — or so desirous of battle," said the major. 
 
 With the red sun just above the far horizon 
 they topped the pass. 
 
 "What fools — not to leave an outpost up here," 
 said Dick. "This would have been an ideal place 
 for their defence. I suppose they think that they 
 have outdistanced us." 
 
 "Most likely," said the police-magistrate. 
 "Now, gentlemen, will you please tie your horses 
 to the trees. Delane, if you will come with me, 
 we will form an advance guard and seek what 
 we may find. Major, I leave you in command 
 of the main body. Should you hear firing, hurry 
 in the direction of its sound. But unless we are 
 discovered first, I Avill send Delane back to you." 
 
 "Very good. Day," replied the major. "I hope 
 you will find them there. We will be all ready 
 to attack." 
 
 Leaving their horses with the others on the 
 ridge, Mr. Day and Dick made their way stealth- 
 ily down the western side of the dividing range. 
 The neck of land that separates the waters of 
 the Darling from those of the Hunter is so 
 
DOUGHBOY HOLLOW 209 
 
 narrow at this point that it is almost literally 
 true that if a man spits towards the rising sun 
 he adds to the Tasman Sea, and if to the west- 
 ward, swells the waters of the Southern Ocean. 
 
 They had not a great distance to go. Mr. 
 Day was a little way in advance, when Dick saw 
 him halt and raise his arm as a signal. He 
 was peering down at something. Presently he 
 beckoned to Dick to come down to where he 
 stood, partly under cover, behind a big iron-bark 
 tree. As noiselessly as possible, Delane made 
 his way down to the edge of the steep slope. 
 
 The sun had now set, and the short twilight 
 lay over the spurs of the mountains. In the 
 west was the crimson and orange afterglow, and 
 away from them stretched a vast, vague expanse 
 of country, mistily blue in the summer evening. 
 
 Down below was Doughboy Hollow, a little 
 dip, or bay, in the ranges, through which ran a 
 mountain brooklet. The thin blue smoke of 
 camp fires curled up into the evening air. There 
 were waggons camped there, their fires just 
 beginning to show redly amongst the trees. For 
 a moment Dick felt a pang of disappointment, 
 in the belief that the outlaws were not before 
 them. 
 
 "Where are they?" he whispered to Mr. Day. 
 
 "There — by that larger fire," said the police- 
 magistrate in a low voice. "Do you see them 
 — on this side of the drays. Hurry back, Mr. 
 Delane, and acquaint the major, will you? Tell 
 him to come at once, on foot, and to be careful 
 
210 CASTLE VANE 
 
 to make no noise. We will rush them from 
 here." 
 
 Dick departed quickly, to bring up the main 
 body. In ten minutes they were all with the 
 police-magistrate, gazing down upon the unsus- 
 pecting bushrangers. 
 
 "Look," whispered the major to Mr. Day. 
 "There is the Jewboy. By heavens, they are 
 careless! Not even a sentry — and see how far 
 of? their horses are hobbled. Why, there's not 
 a man of them has his gun beside him!" 
 
 The laughter and talk of the outlaws carried 
 plainly to them in the still air of evening. Some 
 of them were engaged in cooking, others were 
 drinking from bottles and flasks which had, no 
 doubt, recently been the stock-in-trade of Host 
 Atkinson. A smell of frying meat whetted the 
 appetite of the hungry attackers. 
 
 Mr. Day made a speedy disposition of his little 
 force. They were to charge down the steep 
 slope, each one picking his quarry, and to en- 
 deavour to shoot or capture his man. Two of 
 them he told ofif to run through the camp to try 
 to secure, or, if that was impossible, to stampede, 
 the horses. He looked round to see that every 
 man was ready, and then yelled out, at the top 
 of his voice : "Hurrah — my lads ! Charge !" 
 
 The startled outlaws sprang to their feet, and, 
 picking up their weapons from the ground, each 
 of them made for the cover of a tree, from which 
 they opened a scattering fire upon the attackers. 
 The latter never hesitated in their rush, but 
 
DOUGHBOY HOLLOW 211 
 
 came on through the timber, firing as they ran 
 into the bushrangers' bivouac. 
 
 Mr. Day made straight for the Jewboy. The 
 latter promptly fired at him without effect. He 
 fired his second barrel, and again missed. The 
 police-magistrate, from a distance of a few yards, 
 sent a bullet through the leader's shoulder, and 
 then, dropping his gun, jumped forward, and 
 closed with him, desirous of taking him alive. 
 They wrestled fiercely for half a minute or so, 
 and then the old soldier threw his man, and 
 stunned him with a blow from the butt of a pistol 
 which he wrested from the Jewboy. 
 
 Bick had been one of those who were deputed 
 to look after the horses, and beyond firing, as 
 he passed, at a man whom he saw taking aim 
 at the major, had no part in the brief struggle. 
 He and his assistant reached the horses, and, as 
 they were hobbled, had no difficulty in con- 
 trolling them. 
 
 Major Vane slightly wounded the man whom 
 he tackled, and who turned out to be one Ruggy, 
 an accomplished villain, and the Jewboy's second 
 in command — and then, rushing him, over- 
 powered him, and bore him to the ground. 
 
 Seeing their leader go down, the remainder 
 of the gang lost heart, and speedily surrendered. 
 One man escaped, but was afterwards taken by 
 some of the carriers, who handed him over to 
 Mr. Day. 
 
 In a short time the outlaws were all hand- 
 cuffed in pairs, and, with sentries over them. 
 
212 CASTLE VANE 
 
 sullenly submitted themselves to the inevitable. 
 
 The Jewboy, hovvrever, affected a certain 
 jauntiness that seemed to be his idea of the 
 behaviour suitable to a brave and unfortunate 
 commander compelled to capitulate to a superior 
 force. As he stood handcuffed between Mr. 
 Day and Major Vane, he saw Dick approaching. 
 
 "Good evening, my lord!" he saluted him. 
 
 "What did you say ? What did you call him ?" 
 exclaimed the major, in astonishment. 
 
 "I merely saluted the gentleman, my dear 
 major, by his proper title." 
 
 Dick paused and reddened as he looked at the 
 bushranger. "Be quiet!" he said. 
 
 "Oh, not at all, my lord. Your lordship is too 
 modest." 
 
 "What is this?" said the major, puzzled. 
 "Why do you address Mr. Delane in this 
 fashion?" 
 
 "I merely accord him his right. You will 
 find that I am correct, my dear major. I have 
 the honour to address my compliments to 
 Richard Vane Temple Delane, Earl of Marsh- 
 ford." 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 All's Well 
 
 IT was late in the afternoon, and the trial of 
 the bushrangers was drawing to a close. 
 The court was crowded, for it was some 
 little time since so many as seven men had been 
 tried for their lives together — not since the 
 participants in the crime of Myall Creek, a year 
 or two before, had faced judge and jury — and 
 Sydney was always fond of these judicial pro- 
 ceedings — en masse, so to speak. There was 
 something intensely fascinating in the contem- 
 plation of a penful of men who faced the grim 
 fact that unless a great amount of good fortune 
 and inconceivable luck came their way, they 
 would before long dangle from the same beam. 
 It was entertaining to compare the demeanour 
 of the individuals who made up the company 
 assembled together in the narrow, spike-fenced 
 arena, in which they were not only the principal 
 performers, but also the most interested audience 
 in this edifying and instructive drama. 
 
 For the most part, interest centred in the trial 
 as it affected the leading man in the drama — 
 Edward Davis, the celebrated Jewboy. There 
 was nothing very uncertain about the fate of 
 his companions. As the court crier had put it, 
 
 213 
 
214 CASTLE VANE 
 
 "they would hang, as surely as God made little 
 apples." Nobody was to be found who would 
 dispute either proposition. 
 
 But the case of the Jewboy was different. It 
 seemed that he had many friends, who were not 
 only able to provide funds for the feeing of the 
 best available counsel for the defence, but who 
 also stoutly believed and maintained that his 
 death at the hands of the hangman would be a 
 distinct loss to the world, something of an in- 
 justice, and a wholly regrettable miscarriage of 
 the judicial process. 
 
 The Jewish community had rallied to his 
 salvation, and nothing at all had been left undone 
 that might secure his acquittal for the charge of 
 murder, or of attempted murder, or any other 
 of the several capital charges under which he 
 was arraigned at the bar. It was evident that 
 his co-religionists found something in the man 
 that redeemed him, that they were genuinely 
 anxious to save his life, if they could not hope 
 to obtain his liberty. That was, of course, out 
 of the question altogether — since he was indis- 
 putably a runaway convict. 
 
 But it was a very noticeable fact that at least 
 one prominent Sydney Hebrew, whom everyone 
 knew and most people respected — Mr. Jacob 
 Losky, the bookseller and curio dealer of George 
 Street — did not take any part whatever in the 
 attempt to save Davis from the consequences 
 of his career as a freebooter. It was a fact that 
 was widely commented upon, and was little 
 
ALL'S WELL 215 
 
 understood, but which, nevertheless, remained 
 a very obvious fact. 
 
 Counsel for the defence — a very eloquent and 
 pathetic gentleman, with a rich endowment of 
 ready tears — had pleaded hard with the jury. 
 He had wept for the jury. He had extolled the 
 high perception and the divine sense of justice 
 of that common-place dozen of Sydney's citizens. 
 And, being a very eminent counsel, with un- 
 doubted gifts in the swaying of juries, it looked 
 not at all imlikely that his efforts, his eloquence, 
 and his tears might be rewarded with sorne small 
 measure of success. Apparently that was the 
 opinion of the smiling, well-dressed, and not un- 
 prepossessing subject of his discourse. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he concluded, "I leave it to you. 
 I leave the fate of my unfortunate client in your 
 hands. I resume my seat with every confidence 
 that you will fairly and courageously administer 
 justice in the case of this perhaps misguided 
 man, who has practised folly, has been guilty 
 of crime — but who, gentlemen, is not a murderer 
 either by deed or intent. By no means, it has 
 been proved to you, can he be held to have had 
 a share in the killing of the young man Graham, 
 at Mr. Dangar's store, at Scone. You have 
 heard how he always counselled his associates 
 towards the avoidance of bloodshed. You have 
 evidence before you that, at the time of the 
 capture of the gang by Mr. Day and his party, 
 he deliberately refrained, when it was in his 
 power to further his escape by so doing, from 
 
2i6 CASTLE VANE 
 
 taking the life of that gentleman or any of his 
 companions. I leave his fate to you, gentlemen. 
 I leave it to you." 
 
 He sat down, with bowed head, and all the 
 court could see the glittering tears that bedewed 
 his fat and florid jowl. 
 
 He had made a deep impression. But the 
 prosecutor made a deeper one. The Solicitor- 
 General arose quietly and said: 
 
 "Recall Mr. Day." 
 
 Mr. Day was recalled, and took his stand in 
 the witness-box. 
 
 "Mr. Day, I will ask you one question only," 
 said the Crown Law Officer. "When the prison- 
 er fired upon you at the time of his capture, did 
 he point his gim at you?" 
 
 "Yes," briefly replied Mr. Day. 
 
 "That will do — ^you may go down, Mr. Day." 
 
 And very speedily it became known that on 
 the morning when the company in the dock was 
 to make its final appearance, it would not be 
 lacking the support of its leading member. 
 
 "Well — I am glad that is over," said the major, 
 as he, Delane, and Caroline sat at dinner in the 
 evening in his private apartment at Petty's 
 Hotel, up on Church Hill. Mr. Day was not 
 present, having pleaded, as an excuse for not 
 accepting the major's invitation, that he had to 
 catch the steam-packet for Morpeth at nine 
 o'clock, and had some business to attend to in 
 the meantime. 
 
 "So am I," said Dick. "They all deserved 
 
ALL'S WELL 217 
 
 their sentence, but there is something beastly 
 about seeing men cast for death whom you have 
 fought with in the open. The Jewboy took it 
 pretty coolly, didn't he? They say that he still 
 expects to get ofif." 
 
 "Little chance, I think," the major said. 
 "And he doesn't deserve it. Those fellows who 
 are to suffer with him were only stupid louts, or 
 half-witted criminals. He it was who worked 
 upon their ignorance, with his posings and his 
 fanciful notions — which, mind you, I think he 
 half believed himself — of the glorious freedom 
 of a bushranger's life. The only wonder is that 
 he did not do more harm. He is a persuasive 
 fellow — a clever rogue. And a taking way with 
 him, too — I mean not 'taking' in the sense of 
 annexing one's property, so much as one's liking 
 and esteem. Do you know, I conceived quite a 
 regard for the scoundrel that evening when he 
 came to Castle Vane, on the night before you 
 rescued me? He was as pleasant a casual ac- 
 quaintance as ever I met. How did you find 
 him. Carry?" 
 
 "Oh — I found him charming, papa. I used to 
 think that I did not like Jews until I met him. 
 Nobody could have been more pleasant than he 
 was. And then to propose to torture you to 
 death in the morning — the wretch ! How did he 
 appear in court?" 
 
 "Oh, very jaunty indeed," answered Dick. 
 "You know, I think the fellow quite enjoyed 
 himself as the centre of attraction. His speech. 
 
2i8 CASTLE VANE 
 
 when they asked him if he had anything to say 
 against sentence of death, was a little master- 
 piece. He knew it was no use, but none the 
 less he thoroughly enjoyed making it. The man 
 is full of conceit of himself." 
 
 "Delane," said the major, after a pause, "you 
 have never yet told us why, on that evening 
 when we took the gang in Doughboy Hollow, 
 he addressed you as Lord Marshford. You have 
 always fought shy of this subject whenever I 
 tried to reopen it. But you can't escape now — 
 can he, Caroline? You know, we are interested 
 immensely. I am a nephew of his lordship — a 
 nephew without expectations, it is true, but 
 nevertheless a close relation. What did he mean 
 by it?" 
 
 "Yes, tell us, do!" pleaded Caroline. 
 
 Dick foimd escape difficult. He looked from 
 one to the other, and read no mercy in their 
 eyes. It seemed, at last, that it must all come 
 out — what he thought was his closely guarded 
 secret, known to no one in the colony save the 
 old Jew, Losky. 
 
 His eyes turned to Caroline. He knew that 
 he loved her. He knew that one day he would 
 ask her father for her. He had entirely lost that 
 dread and hatred for Major Vane which had 
 possessed him so strongly. It had changed into 
 liking and genuine esteem — ^just as the major's 
 hardness and disregard for the rights and 
 opinions of those beneath him had changed. 
 And Dick felt a sincere pity for the major — the 
 
ALL'S WELL 219 
 
 pity of real friendship. It was only a month 
 since the worthless wife,- whom he had idolized 
 so much, had sailed away with her Yankee sea- 
 captain. And, although he showed it little, Dick 
 knew how deeply miserable his friend really was. 
 
 He made up his mind to tell his story — only 
 stipulating that he should be allowed to remain 
 Richard Delane. 
 
 But, in a strange fashion, the story was told 
 otherwise. These things really do happen so 
 sometimes. 
 
 A knock came to the door. 
 
 "Come in," called the major. 
 
 It was the stiff and pompous head waiter of 
 the hotel. He bowed to the company, coughed 
 deferentially behind his hand, and made a little 
 speech. 
 
 "Major Vane, sir — there his two persons hin 
 the hentrance 'all as is desirous of a-comin' up, 
 sir — to hinterview you and Mr. Delane. Hi hin- 
 formed the two persons that such was him- 
 possible. They would not be — ahem — prewailed 
 hupori, 'owever — and so I 'ave made bold, your 
 honors both, to make you acquainted with the 
 fack that these two — persons — is desirous of 
 comin' hupstairs." 
 
 Mr. Sims did not mention that he had been 
 'prewailed hupon' with a small gold coin of the 
 realm, upon which was stamped the image of 
 England's young Queen. 
 
 "Two persons, Sims. Who are they — what 
 are they like?" asked the major, smiling a little 
 
220 CASTLE VANE 
 
 as he contemplated the grave magnificence of 
 Mr. Sims. 
 
 "Her — ^won is a lady, your honor, and the 
 other is — ahem — a female." 
 
 "Oh, show them up. Don't go, Caroline. We 
 may need all the assistance your sex can give 
 us, in dealing writh two mysterious persons of 
 lady-like and female appearance. Yes, we will 
 see them, Sims. Be good enough to ask them 
 to step up here." 
 
 The grave Mr. Sims bowed again, and with- 
 drew. A minute afterwards he opened the door, 
 and announced the visitors : 
 
 "Miss Rachel Losky — hand Mrs. Davis." 
 
 The major rose in astonishment, and Dick, no 
 less surprised, rose also. He stepped round the 
 table, and placed chairs for the two women. 
 Caroline sat wonderingly surveying the scene. 
 
 "Miss Losky?" said the major, bowing. 
 
 The beautiful Jewess inclined her head. Dick 
 thought he had never before seen her looking 
 so handsome. He had never seen her looking 
 sad before. He saf down again, and left the 
 talking to the major. 
 
 "May I inquire, Miss Losky, what I — ^what 
 we — can do for you? Will you be so good as 
 to state your business?" 
 
 The other woman was heavily veiled. She 
 raised it now, as if the better to take part, and 
 Dick recognized her face with a start. It was 
 the woman whom he had rescued from the 
 
ALL'S WELL 221 
 
 harbour on the night when he had fled from 
 Sydney to join the Jewboy ! 
 
 Rachel began to speak, evenly and clearly; but 
 with a note of misery in her voice that went to 
 the soft heart of the major's daughter. 
 
 "Major Vane, I have come to see you and Dick 
 Delane here, because — because I had to. I do 
 not come for my own sake — only for the sake 
 of an unhappy woman who has something to tell 
 you, and a boon to crave of you. I do not 
 need your help, but this poor woman does. All 
 I ask for myself is your promise that I shall be 
 let alone — I mean that the law will not be set in 
 motion against me — for what I have to say." 
 
 The major looked grave. 
 
 "Miss Losky," he said, "you are, no doubt, 
 the daughter of Mr. Jacob Losky, who keeps 
 the book shop in George Street, opposite to the 
 Barrack gates ? Could not your father, who has 
 a reputation for benevolence as well as acumen 
 — could he not better assist you than I ?" 
 
 "My father is dead, sir."* 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 "Yes, he took his own life, but three hours 
 ago — as soon as he heard of the verdict against 
 my husb — against the gang of bushrangers." 
 
 The major was startled, and so was Dick. 
 They looked from one to another. There was a 
 pause, and presently the major signed to Rachel 
 to go on. 
 
 "He took poison," she continued. "He left a 
 note for me. It was only a few words. Shall 
 
222 CASTLE VANE 
 
 I read it? It concerns those present — I mean 
 yourselves." 
 
 The major nodded. 
 
 "Do, if you please, Miss Losky." 
 
 Rachel took a folded paper from her bosom, 
 and opened it. 
 
 "Go to Major Vane," she read, "and see him 
 in the presence of Richard Delane. Give him 
 the papers that concern Dick, and tell him 
 everything. That is all. Farewell, my daughter. 
 I take the course that is least disagreeable to 
 myself, and of most benefit to you. With my 
 death, nothing will come out. The Jewboy will 
 hang, and he will talk before he hangs, if I am 
 still alive. But if I am dead, he will not seek 
 to injure you. Lose no time. Go to Major 
 Vane this evening." 
 
 The major looked around. Caroline sat with 
 wondering eyes fixed upon the handsome 
 daughter of the bookseller. Dick leaned for- 
 ward, staring at her too, his face pale, and a 
 frown contracting his brow. 
 
 "Pray, Miss Losky, then — what have you to 
 tell us? We are all attention. Please proceed." 
 
 "It is this. Major Vane; Dick — Mr. Delane I 
 mean — is the Earl of Marshford, and my cousin. 
 He is also your cousin, and the second cousin, 
 I take it, of this lady here. These papers — 
 which I am to leave with you — prove it." 
 
 The major turned to Dick. 
 
 "Delane, what have you to say to this ? Please 
 explain." 
 
ALL'S WELL 223 
 
 Dick was startled, but calm and collected. He 
 cleared his throat, looked appealingly at 
 Caroline, and replied. 
 
 "I am not the Earl of Marshford," he said, 
 "so far as I am at present aware. It is true I 
 was his son. But I have yet to learn of his 
 death." 
 
 "Have you seen the English newspapers which 
 arrived by the mail that was landed in Sydney 
 to-day?" asked Rachel, turning her dark and 
 lovely eyes upon him. "I have the 'Morning 
 Post' here. The passage is marked. Read it 
 aloud." 
 
 She took a newspaper from her reticule. Dick 
 rose and took it from her, and unfolded it. He 
 bent over the table, and read the passage that 
 was marked. He looked up, and found the 
 major's questioning eyes upon him. 
 
 "Shall I read it, sir?" he said, a little shakily. 
 
 "If you please, Delane," replied Major Vane. 
 
 Dick began. 
 
 "The paper is dated August the 10th, of last 
 year," he said. ''This is what it says : 'We regret 
 to announce the death at his country seat of 
 Marshford, ir^ Hampshire, of the Right Hon- 
 ourable Richard, Seventh Earl of Marshford, 
 P.C, K.C.B., etc., in his sixty-ninth year. The 
 late Earl was for many years in the Diplomatic 
 Service of his country, and successively filled the 
 positions of British Ambassador at Madrid and 
 St. Petersburg. Since his retirement, he has 
 lived quietly at his country seat, seldom coming 
 
224 CASTLE VANE 
 
 to town, and then only for short visits. It was 
 during one of these that he was taken ill at his 
 London residence, 42 Clarges Street, Mayfair. 
 He returned home to die. The late Earl was 
 unmarried, and the estate, which is not entailed, 
 goes to his nephew, Major John Hilary Vane, 
 late of Her Majesty's 146th Regiment, who is at 
 present resident in New South Wales.' " 
 
 He laid the paper down and stared at the 
 major. Caroline broke the silence that ensued. 
 
 "Dick," she said, "then we are cousins?" 
 
 "But these papers," said the major to Rachel. 
 "You say they prove it. How came they into 
 the possession of your father, and why was he 
 interested?" 
 
 "Mr. Delane is my cousin also. His mother 
 was my father's daughter — the actress, Fanny 
 Delane. They were secretly married, and she 
 died a year afterwards," said Rachel. 
 
 "Well — I am — thunderstruck !" said the major. 
 "And you my cousin, Delane — and I came near 
 flogging you! How strange it all is. If it is 
 true, then I do you the injury of robbing you of 
 your estate, and leaving you only the title." 
 
 Dick looked up. 
 
 "That may be compensated for, sir," he said 
 in a low voice. 
 
 "How? In what way?" 
 
 "I will speak of it with you afterwards, sir," 
 said Dick, looking at Caroline, who blushed and 
 lowered her eyelids. "Had we not better in- 
 
ALL'S WELL 225 
 
 quire of these ladies what it is that they wish 
 concerning themselves?" 
 
 "Perhaps so," said the major. "Will you en- 
 lighten us. Miss Losky?" 
 
 "There is not much," said the Jewess, "and 
 I think, myself, that you can do nothing for us. 
 But I have said to her that I would plead with 
 you for him. This woman is the wife of Edward 
 Davis. He married her in London, spent her 
 money, and abandoned her. Mr. Delane rescued 
 her from the harbour on the night that he es- 
 caped from Sydney, last year. She thinks that 
 you might have sufficient influence to secure his 
 reprieve. I tell her that nothing 'can save him, 
 but she clings to any hope. Can you do any- 
 thing, sir? I beg you, also — for I thought that 
 he was my husband too — and indeed I love him." 
 The Jewboy's wife was crying softly. There 
 were tears in the eyes of the beautiful girl who 
 was speaking. 
 
 The major was silent for a long time. At last 
 he shook his head. 
 
 "Madam," he said, "nothing can save him 
 from his fate. I beg you to put it out of your 
 hopes, and to help this poor woman to bear your 
 common grief. He has dealt hardly with you 
 both — but you are a good woman, Miss Losky, 
 and I respect you. However, come to me in the 
 morning, and I will go with you to the Governor. 
 He is no friend of mine, but it is the best I can 
 do. I hold out no hope." 
 
226 CASTLE VANE 
 
 Rachel rose, bowed to the major, and the two 
 women left the room. 
 
 "And now, Delane — or I suppose I should say 
 Marshford — let me congratulate you. Of course, 
 I shall not touch the estate. But what was the 
 compensation you mentioned ? I owe you much 
 already." 
 
 Dick looked at Caroline. Caroline looked up 
 at the major, and a little smile dimpled her 
 blushing cheeks. She rose up from her chair, 
 and stood beside Dick. He took her hand and 
 held it out towards the major. His eyes spoke. 
 
 "This !" he said. 
 
 For a moment the major seemed bewildered. 
 He gazed at them both for a few seconds. Then 
 he sat down in his chair at the head of the table. 
 
 "Dick," he said, "I think if you will pull the 
 bell-cord we will respectfully request Mr. Sims 
 to bring in a bottle of wine. I feel that I should 
 like to drink the health of the future Countess 
 of Marshford — and I have no doubt that you will 
 join me in doing so." 
 
 Dick turned to the happy girl beside him and 
 kissed her. "God bless you. Major," he said 
 huskily. "All's well." 
 
 THE END. 
 
227 
 
 Extract from Sydney Herald, March 17th, 1841 : — 
 "The gang of ruffians recently convicted in the 
 Supreme Court of bushranging and murder, and who for 
 several months previously had infested the Hunter's 
 River district (even extending their depredations to 
 Brisbane Water), paid the forfeit of their lives on the 
 scaffold, in the rear of Sydney Gaol, yesterday. The 
 malefactors were all transported felons from the Mother 
 Country, and their names, ages, etc., were as follows: — 
 Edward Davis, aged 26, arrived in 1833, per ship Camden; 
 Robert Chitty, 37, arrived in 1829, per Sophia; James 
 Everett, 25, arrived in 1832, per Mangles; John Marshall, 
 27, arrived in 1832, per Clyde; Richard Glanville, 31, 
 arrived in 1831, per Lord Lyndoch; and John Shea, 27, 
 arrived in 1837, per Calcutta. These men terminated a 
 long series of systematic burglaries and wholesale 
 plunder by the more heinous crime of deliberate murder. 
 They attacked, on the 21st of December last, the station 
 of Mr. Dangar, at Scone, and meeting with some oppo- 
 sition from Mr. Graham (Mr. Dangar's storekeeper), one 
 of the ruffians followed the unfortunate young man into 
 the bush and deliberately shot him. The notoriety which 
 the crimes of these men have attained drew together a 
 large concourse of spectators to witness their execution. 
 The entrance to the gaol, in George Street, was besieged 
 for admission long before the arrival, at nine o'clock, of 
 a strong military guard from the barracks, and so great 
 was the pressure of the crowd that it required the unre- 
 mitting exertions of Captain Innes to preserve order. 
 At ten past nine the culprits were strongly pinioned and 
 conducted from the cells to the area in front of the drop, 
 where they knelt down. Chitty, Everett, Marshall, and 
 Glanville were attended by the Rev. William Cowper and 
 the Rev. John Elder. Rev. Mr. Murphy, Catholic priest, 
 accompanied Shea; and Davis (being of the Jewish per- 
 suasion) was attended by Mr. Isaacs, minister of the 
 Jewish congregation in New South Wales. All the cul- 
 prits (if we except Everett) deeply lamented their having 
 committed the crimes for which they were about to die, 
 and acknowledged the justice of their sentences. Everett 
 ascended the scaflfold hurriedly, and in an evident state of 
 ex-itement. He was followed by Chitty, Marshall, and 
 Glanville, all three of whom, on reaching the scaflfold, 
 sang the first verse of the Morning Hymn, to be found in 
 many editions of the Book of Common Prayer, com- 
 mencing, "Awake, my soul, and with the sun." This act 
 of devotion, we have since heard, was entirely 
 spontaneous, not having been suggested or even expected 
 
228 CASTLE VANE 
 
 by either of the reverend gentlemen who attended to ad- 
 minister the consolations of religion according to the rites 
 of the Protestant Church. The ropes were speedily ad- 
 justed, and the white caps drawn over the faces of the 
 wretched criminals. In the short interval which elapsed 
 before the withdrawal of the fatal bolt, Marshall and 
 Glanville were engaged in loud and apparently fervent 
 prayer, and we observed the culprit Davis (who was 
 attired in a suit of mourning) thank the Jewish minister 
 for the attention paid him in his last moments. The 
 struggles of all the men were of short duration. The 
 immense crowd dispersed peaceably. It will be 
 remembered that these men were apprehended chiefly 
 through the active exertions of Mr. Day, Police Magis- 
 trate, Maitland." 
 
W. C. Penfold & Co. Ltd. Printers, 88 Pitt Street, Sydney 
 
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