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LIFE OF BUSHRANGER POWER.
SOME CURIOUS EXPERIENCES.
A GARRULOUS OLD AGE.
HIS DEALINGS WITH THE POLICE.
(By Frank Corlette.)
(All Rights Reserved.)
III.
Power was so garrulous, had such an easy
and insinuating flow of stored-up-stockade-
learned data of extraordinary and sensa-
tional happenings that one listening to him
would “fall in” unconsciously, if he had not
the means of going to the police authorities
for substantiation. His blood-curdling nar-
rative of escape from the Kilmore Gaol after
his early capture for horse-stealing was
more thrilling than anything Gaboriau ever
wrote of Paris and its old-time criminals.
The description he gave me of “knocking
out” the warders with a heavy broom,
seizing their firearms, and the keys with
which he let himself out, and then locked
the gaol gates behind him, was a too-well
concocted and polished story to be swallowed
wholesale by a journalist who daily saw the
worst of murderous offenders at the old
City Police Court in Swanston-street, Mel-
bourne.
The Vanity of Ignorance.
A master-hand at gulling the unsophisti-
cated, he was vain enough to try the same
poisonous doses on the man with a ready
antidote in his pocket. It was in this man-
ner that the wiry bushranger over-reached
himself, the culminating point in the pala-
verous story of his life coming home to him
with a shock when he detailed the convict
hulk riots at Williamstown, when Captain
Price was fatally shot. There was plenty in
his extraordinary life without taking on
things with which he had nothing to do.
At different times he referred to the shoot-
ing of Captain Price, and I spent much
time investigating it, and proving it un-
truthful, for the men who took part in
that desperate affray were all shot. If Pow-
er was in it he must have been under an-
other name, and could not have taken any
active part. Mr. Jerry Dwyer, who was Go-
vernor of the Melbourne Gaol made com-
plete searches for me, and furnished the
names of all connected with the outbreak,
and nothing even answering to Power’s des-
cription was recorded. Mr. Dwyer asserted
that Power was detailing what he had read
and heard in Pentridge. It has been said
that Power was not his correct name, but I
have no doubt whatever about it. More
than once I questioned him closely on this
subject, but only to irritate him and get
the reply that “No true Irishman who had
fought the battles of his country against
the landlords would dream of changing his
patriotic name.”
Power’s Best Friend.
When Power was master-bushranger of the
North-eastern district, and the Kellys were
his pupils and assistants in horse-stealing,
he pinned his faith to young Kate Kelly,
who even then in her early years, was a
fine horsewoman. He put more trust in the
girl than in Ned Kelly, and arranged a
wireless system of telegraphy, which she
alone manipulated, according to his instruc-
tions. It consisted of a simple piece of
cord attached to a corner post of a three-
rail fence.
The code was a series of knots, and ac-
cording to the number that Kate put on the
cord Power knew if the police were out, and
how many of them had been seen moving
about hunting and seeking information
about him.
“ I used to take regular visits to that
corner post, just to see what was going on,
and I always knew the movements of the
troopers.”
“ That would be during the time you were
lying low, I suppose ?”
“ Exactly. I never feared the police at
all, and they never could have got me but
for the traitors.”
Not So Much Money.
“ You must have had a good deal of
money one way and another ?”
“Well, I didn’t get as much as people
think.”
“ What about the mail-coaches you stuck
up ?”
“ They never had much, and the passen-
gers never carried more than they actually
wanted on the road.”
“ Did you always take what they had on
them ?”
“Decidedly I did ; I couldn’t afford to be
short.”
“ Was there any trouble with the Beech-
worth mail-bags which you twice seized ?”
“ There was no particular trouble with
them, but it took a little time opening the
letters.”
“ Of course you never destroyed any let-
ters ?”
“ No, no. I didn’t make a practice of open-
ing every letter ; you could easily tell by the
feel and their appearance if they contained
money.”
“ It would be an anxious time for you
opening the letters ?”
“ Very anxious. I had to keep my eye on
the driver and passengers and maintain a
sharp look-out in both directions along the
road, so that I couldn’t be surprised by the
troopers.”
Single-handed Bushranging.
“ It must be a difficult game, Power, single-
handed, this bushranging ?”
“ Yes, there’s both difficulty and danger
in it when you’re sticking up a coach by
yourself; there’s so many to watch, and
you’ve got to keep a tight bold on your
horse, too.”
“ Did you always have your revolver in
hand in opening the mail-bags ?”
“ My word, I should think so !”
“ What practice, did you adopt with the
mail coaches ?”
“ I made the driver come down from his
seat and hold the horses’ heads—stand fair
in front of the horses.”
“ And the passengers ?”
“ I always ordered them out, or down from
the top one at a time.”
“ Was it your practice to search them ?”
“ No. I told them one by one to turn out
their pockets and drop the contents on a
clean spot on the side of the road, and then
to get back into or on the coach.”
“ All this time you would keep them cov-
ered with a revolver ?”
“Yes, the revolver must be in your right
hand the whole time. It would never do to
have it in the pouch.”
Troublesome Passengers.
“ Were the coach passengers ever particu-
larly troublesome ?”
“ Only the women. The male passengers
never gave me any trouble.”
“ What was the conduct of the women ?”
“ It was not so much fear of me, as delay
and resistance. They wanted to argue the
matter of handing over their money.”
“ How did you manage to get your sup-
plies and horse feed ?”
“ Never had any trouble. The Quinns
were always ready to get me anything I
wanted. Very often they cooked my meat
and took it up to my mia-mia. They were
never short of money while I had it. Al-
though I didn’t have much at any time in
my life, I used regularly call in at Quinn’s
shanty going out and returning.”
The Warning Peacock.
It was well known in the ranges, and also
to the police who troopered the North-
Eastern district, that no stranger could ap-
proach Quinns’ shanty without being seen
by the peacock, which perched and paraded
on the roof and announced the approach
of a visitor by continuous and penetrating
calls peculiar to that beautiful bird. These
noises would echo through the ranges and
could be heard for a great distance. This
bird was guardsman for Power, and the
police knew it was hopeless looking for the
bushranger at any time of the day. Primed
in all these things by the traitor, Ned
Kelly [no; Jack Lloyd], Inspectors Hare and Nicholson, with
Sergeant Montford, made their attack upon
Power by night. Hiding in the bush during
a terrific rainstorm, they saw Power ride
up to his sleeping camp and quietly waited
till dawn to effect his capture. There was
no peacock to disturb them by night, and
their ascent of Powers’ Pass and descent
upon him were easy. Creeping noiselessly
to the hut, Hare and Nicholson quickly fell
upon him while asleep and handcuffed
him. The bushranger hadn’t a chance to
struggle or resist, and was very sad at being
caught so simply. Power’s store of food
was of no further use to him, so the police
cold, wet, and worn out, indulged them-
selves to the full.
Power a Suspected Murderer.
On the way to Beechworth gaol Power and
the police were met by a large number of
people, and wherever a crowd was gathered
the bushranger cried out, “They caught me
asleep ; they never could have got me but
for the drink.”
In the Beechworth gaol he was closely
questioned by the police about the mystery
of Mr. Holmes Davies, the lucky Castlemaine
miner, or rather Forest Creek, which is out-
side of the populous town. The best gold
ever got in Victoria was found at Forest
Creek alluvial diggings, the price paid for
it being £4 2s. 6d. an ounce. Holmes Davies
was fortunate to a very extraordinary de-
gree, and banked a very considerable sum
of money. So much gold did he raise that
when he was leaving the field he gave his
claims to some friends. He bought two
horses, rode one with a new saddle, and
used the other as a pack. It was supposed
that he was going into Castlemaine to sell
his gold, and then to draw his money, sell
the horses, and go down to Melbourne.
Horses Return to the Fields.
Not very long after he left Forest Creek
both horses returned minus saddle and
bridle and pack, and Holmes Davies was
never afterwards beard of. Inquiries were
made at the Castlemaine banks and at the
railway station, and he had not been seen
at either.
Just at that very time Harry Power was
known to be in the neighbourhood of Castle-
maine. Two troopers had been shot and
wounded by Power. It seems the troopers
regarded the horse he was riding as a
stolen animal, and bailed him up. Strange
to say, they drew their swords instead of
revolvers, and Power, as quick as thought
shot them both and dashed away out of
sight on his fine horse.
It was Power’s intention at that time to
go to the Bendigo goldfields, but, after the
shooting he doubled back on Forest Creek
again. He knew that if he went in the
direction of the golden city he would quick-
ly fall into the hands of the mounted police.
The Police Theory.
The police held the opinion that Power, in
returning after the shooting of the police
met Holmes Davies, robbed and shot him.
What became of the body no one ever found
out. Certainly Power was not seen for a
very long time afterwards. It was easy
enough in those days to dispose of gold, and
a bushranger could sell it at the banks un-
suspected, like any ordinary digger. Power
frankly admitted to me that it cost him a
deal of money to remain quietly in hiding
and feel secure. This can be easily under-
stood, for he had to “square” the Kellys,
the Quinns, and Lloyds, etc., and treat the
whole household and a pack more every
time he visited Quinns’ shanty. Assuming
that he did away with Holmes Davies and
got his gold, the last that the miner was
taking away from the field, he would pro-
bably make £100 and that sum would not
go far among the horse-stealers and thieves
of the Beechworth, Wangaratta. Benalla,
Greta, and other parts of the North-Eastern
District. The bushranger is not unlike the
average run of thieves and rogues who are
compelled to close many mouths, and their
ill-gotten gains don’t as a rule do them
much good.
Power always vehemently denied that he
knew anything of Holmes Davies or his
gold, and his protestations of innocence had
to be accepted in the absence of any trace of
the remains of the missing man, who was
undoubtedly murdered on the goldfields and
his body dumped into some old alluvial
workings.
Visits to Melbourne.
At least on two occasions Power rode into
Melbourne to get revolvers and ammunition.
They were more easily got in the capital
than in the country and were more satisfac-
tory. On one of these occasions he put his
horse up at Sleight’s stables, in Little Col-
lins-street immediately in front of the old
city lock-up alongside the Town Hall. The
hero of so many daring sticking-up cases
used to laugh heartily over this, and the
fact that he felt much safer near the police
station than in any other part of the city.
This was on all fours with Chemist Sheri-
dan, who rented a house close by the detec-
tive office in Sydney for the practice of il-
legal operations. When a young girl died
in the house he cut the body up and packed
it in a box. In trying to get rid of the
box on the Woollomooloo Bay wharf his
movements gave rise to suspicion. He was
arrested, convicted, and hanged.
Inglorious End of Power.
After all his daring deeds, sticking coun-
try travellers up and robbing mail coaches,
Power didn’t know enough to get out of a
small stream which he fell into while fish-
ing some distance out of Melbourne. He
was drowned while he was really in the en-
joyment of life and freedom. Over seventy
years of age, he was still hale and hearty.
His main difficulty was how to kill time. He
was nothing if not fidgety and impatient.
Tiring of the gun and rabbit shooting, he
evidently thought quiet, fishing more suitable
to his years, and, not being able to swim a
stroke, met his death in the most unex-
pected fashion.
Alleged Suicide.
One of the Melbourne papers, itching for
sensation, irrespective of any truth at all,
went clean out of its way to say that Harry
Power, the bushranger, frightened of the
plague out-break in Sydney reaching Mel-
bourne and spreading over Victoria, delib-
erately suicided by drowning himself. No
more wilful untruth was ever published.
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