The Tale of Timber Town

“Tell the jury all that you heard them say and all that you saw them do in the cave?”

“I had returned from exploring a long passage in the limestone rock, when I heard voices and saw a bright light in the main cave. For reasons of my own, I did not desire to be discovered; therefore, I crept forward till I lay on a sort of gallery which overlooked the scene. Four men were grouped round a fire at which they were drying their clothes, and by the light of the flames they divided a large quantity of gold which, from their conversation, I learned they had stolen from men whom they had murdered. They described the method of the murders; each man boasting of the part he had played. They had stuck up a gold-escort, and had killed four men, one of whom was a constable and another a banker.”

“That was how they described them?”

“That is so. The two remaining murdered men they did not describe as to profession or calling.”

“You say that you had previously met these fiends. What were their names?”

“They called each other by what appeared to be nicknames. One, the leader, was Dolly; another Sweet William, or simply William; the third was Carny, or Carnac; the fourth Garstang. But how far these were their real names I am unable to say.”

“Where did you first meet them?”

“In The Lucky Digger. I played for money with them, and lost considerably.”

“When next did you meet them?”

“Some weeks afterwards I saw two of them – the leader, known as Dolphin, or Dolly, and the youngest member of the gang, named William.”

“Where was that?”

“On the track to Bush Robin Creek. I had come out of the bush, and saw them on the track. When I had hidden myself, they halted opposite me at a certain rock which stands beside the track. From where I lay I heard them planning some scheme, the nature of which I then scarcely understood, but which must have been the sticking-up of the gold-escort. I heard them discuss details which could have been connected with no other undertaking.”

“Would you know them if you saw them again?”

“Certainly.”

“Look round the Court, and see if they are present.”

Benjamin turned, and looked hard at the sea of faces on the further side of the barrier. There were faces, many of which he knew well, but he saw nothing of Dolphin’s gang.

“I see none of them here,” he said, “but I recognise a man who could bear me out in identifying them, as he was with me when I lost money to them at cards.”

“I would ask you to point your friend out to me,” said the Judge. “Do I understand that he was with you in the cave?”

“No, Your Honour; I knew him before I went there.”

“What is his name?”

“On the diggings, he is Bill the Prospector, but his real name is William Wurcott.”

“Call William Wurcott,” said the Judge.

William Wurcott was duly cried, and the pioneer of Bush Robin Creek pushed his way to the barrier and stood before the Court in all his hairiness and shabbiness.

Tresco stood down, and the Prospector was placed in the box. After being sworn according to ancient custom, Bill was asked all manner of questions by counsel and the Judge, but no light whatever could he throw on the murder of Isaac Zahn, though he deposed that if confronted with the visitors to Tresco’s cave, he would be able to identify them as easily as he could his own mother. He further gave it as his opinion that as the members of the gang, namely, Sweet William and his pals – he distinctly used the words “pals” before the whole Court – had drugged him and stolen his money, on the occasion to which Tresco had referred, they were quite capable, he thought, of committing murder; and that since his mate Tresco had seen them dividing stolen gold in his cave, on the day of the thunderstorm, he fully believed that they, and not the prisoner at the bar, were the real murderers.

All of which left the minds of the jury in such a confused state with regard to the indictment against the prisoner, that, without retiring, they returned a verdict of Not Guilty, and Jack left the Court in the company of Rose, the Pilot, and Captain Sartoris.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

The Way to Manage the Law

It may have been that the Prospector’s brief appearance in Court had roused the public spirit latent in his hirsute breast, or it may have been that his taciturnity had been cast aside in order that he might assume his true position as a leader of men; however that may have been, it is a fact that, on the morning after the trial, he was to be seen and heard haranguing a crowd outside The Lucky Digger, and inciting his hearers to commit a breach of the peace, to wit, the forcible liberation of a prisoner charged with a serious crime.

“An’ what did ’e come for? – ’e come to see his pal had fair play,” Bill was exclaiming, as he stood on the threshold of the inn and faced the crowd of diggers in the street. “’E proved the whole boilin’ of ’em, Judge, law-sharks, police, an’ bum-bailies, was a pack of fools. He made a reg’lar holy show of ’em. An’ what does ’e git? – Jahroh.”

Here the speaker was interrupted by cries, approving his ruling in the matter.

“He come to give Justice a show to git her voice ’eard, and what’s ’e find? – a prison.” Bill paused here for effect, which followed immediately in the form of deep and sepulchral groans.

“Now I arsk you, ain’t there plenty real criminals in this part o’ the world without freezin’ on to the likes of us? But the Law’s got a down on diggers. What did the police know of this Dolphin gang? Nothing. But they collared Mr. Scarlett, and was in a fair way to scrag ’im, if Justice hadn’t intervened. Who have you to thank for that? – a digger, my mate Tresco. Yes, but the Law don’t thank ’im, not it; it fastens on to the very bloke that stopped it from hangin’ the wrong man.”

Here there arose yells of derision, and one digger, more vociferous than his fellows, was heard to exclaim, “That’s right, ole man. Give ’em goss!”

The crowd now stretched across the broad street and blocked all traffic, in spite of the exertions of a couple of policemen who were vainly trying to disperse Bill’s audience.

“Now I want to know what you’re goin’ to do about it,” continued the Prospector. “All this shoutin’ an’ hoorayin’ is very fine, but I don’t see how it helps my mate in the lock-up. I want to know what you’re goin’ to do!”

He paused for an answer, but there was none, because no one in the vast assembly was prepared to reply.

“Then,” said the Prospector, “I’ll tell you what. I want six men to go down to the port for a ship’s hawser, a thick ’un, a long ’un. I want those men to bring that there hawser, and meet me in front of the Police Station; an’ we’ll see if I can show you the way to manage the Law.”

The concourse surged wildly to and fro, as men pushed and elbowed their way to the front.

“Very good,” said Bill, as he surveyed the volunteers with the eye of a general; “you’ll do fine. I want about ten chain o’ rope, thick enough and strong enough to hold a ship. Savee?”

The men detailed for this special duty answered affirmatively, seized upon the nearest “express,” and, clambering upon it, they drove towards the sea amidst the cheering of the crowd.

The Prospector now despatched agents to beat up all the diggers in the town, and then, accompanied by hundreds of hairy and excited men, he made his way towards the lock-up, where the goldsmith, who had been arrested immediately after Scarlett’s trial, lay imprisoned. This place of torment was a large, one-storied, wooden building which stood in a by-street facing a green and grassy piece of land adjacent to the Red Tape Office.

By the time that Bill, followed by an ever increasing crowd, had reached the “station,” the men with the hawser arrived from the port.

No sooner were the long lengths of heavy rope unloaded from the waggon, then deft hands tied a bowline at one end of the hawser and quickly passed it round the lock-up, which was thus securely noosed, and two or three hundred diggers took hold of the slack of the rope.

Then was the Prospector’s opportunity to play his part in the little drama which he had arranged for the edification of Timber Town. Watch in hand, he stepped up to the door of the Police Station, where he was immediately confronted by no less a person than the Sergeant himself.

“’Day, mister,” said Bill, but the policeman failed to acknowledge the greeting. “You’ve got a mate of ours in here – a man of the name of Tresco. It’s the wish of these gentlemen that he be liberated. I give you three minutes to decide.”

The infuriated Sergeant could hardly speak, so great was his anger. But at last he ejaculated, “Be off! This is rioting. You’re causing a breach of the peace.”

“Very sorry, mister, but time’s nearly up,” was the only comment that the Prospector made.

“I arrest you. I shall lock you up!”

Bill quickly stepped back, and cried to his men. “Take a strain!” The hawser was pulled taut, till it ticked. “Heave!” The building creaked to its foundations.

Bill held up his hand, and the rope slackened. Turning to the Sergeant, he said, “You see, mister, this old shanty of yours will go, or I must have my mate. Which is it to be? It lies with you to say.”