PROCEEDINGS WITHIN THE HOTEL.

        It is necessary at this stage that the reader should know something of what transpired in the hotel after Constable Bracken had been taken prisoner and, plucky Curnow had gone home with his women-folk; and I cannot do better than quote from the narrative given by one of the unfortunate prisoners who was compelled to share the dangers of injury or sudden death from the pelting bullets of the police during the long hours of the siege. Here is his story:—

About half-past one or two o'clock on Monday morning, the word went round that the Kellys were going to clear out, they having got sick 
of waiting for the train; at the same time they thought that perhaps the police had got word of their being there, and were going to surprise 
them from a different direction. The announcement that they were going away was received on all sides with evident satisfaction, as despite 
the rather novel experience, and the fun that we were most undoubtedly having, many, in fact, I may say all, were longing for a good sound 
sleep and a rest. Upon making enquiries from Ned Kelly as to whether the report was true or not, he said, "Yes, my boy" (he always 
addressed me familiarly), "we are off directly, and when we are gone you can clear out as soon as you like." I felt this rather comforting 
at any rate, and made arrangements to go home at once. When all was in readiness to go, and all waiting for them to clear out, Ned Kelly 
came out of the room where they had stacked all their accoutrements, and called out, "Everybody come into the dining-room; I have 
something to say, and want everybody to hear it." We all crushed in after him, wondering what it might be that he was going to say. 
After a few preliminaries, such as mounting a chair and getting off again, he proceeded:

"First, I wish to tell you all that if I should hear of any one of you present here to-night telling the police of any of our doings or sayings, or showing the way we left, or in fact telling anything whatever about us, I shall make it my duty to visit them some day and have a settling with them, and I can promise you that it will not be such a settling as I had this day with young Delaney there. I let him off, but, by God, I'll not let any more off the same way; so you know what to expect from me if any of you should let out any of our plans that you have heard here. I am not a bit afraid of the police, and know that if they alone hunted me I would never be taken; but what I am really afraid of is those Queensland black-trackers; those boys I honestly fear, for I know what they can do; they can track me over bare stones. and a white man stands no chance with them at all; it was mainly to kill those —— that I tore up those rails down there, and in fact what brought me here. I knew very well that when they heard that we were down at Beechworth, they would pack those incarnate devils after us, and I was prepared to meet them, but only half way; I can't make out what has delayed that train, and think they must have taken a different route. but again I don't see how they are to get there, especially as they are not accustomed to the country. No. I think they have got information of our being here, and are leaving it till they are positive. Well, anyhow, let them come when they like; we are ready for them even now. I suppose some of you people would like to know what I have been doing lately, and how I have managed to escape capture so long. Well, I don't mind telling you a little. It can't do any harm, and it will pass away a few minutes. A lot of people imagine that after robbing the Euroa bank, and before sticking up the Jerilderie, that we were out of funds, and had to stick up the Jerilderie bank to supply ourselves. Nothing of the sort. I had no more intention of robbing the Jerilderie bank a fortnight before than I have now of flying. What brought us to Jerilderie was this. I was after that infernal scoundrel Sullivan that turned Queen's evidence in New Zealand. I heard that he came up the north-eastern, and was told of his being at Rutherglen. I followed him there, but he was too quick for me, and had gone on to Uralla. Up to Uralla we went, and found that he had gone to Wagga, and there we lost sight of him. We thought he had gone up Hay way from there, and consequently made for there, but abandoned the chase. And when coming home through Jerilderie it struck us to stick up the bank, which we did, as you all know. I don't know how much money we took away from either Jerilderie or Euroa, but a considerable deal more than they said in the papers. Anyhow, we lost sight of Sullivan, and I would sooner have met him than have robbed a dozen banks. I consider him to be one of the greatest villains unhung, and moreover the first time I come across him the Lord pity him. I won't shoot the hound—it is too good for such as he—but I will hang, draw, and quarter him—kill him by inches. I have not given him up yet, and will hunt the —— till I die. I will give £500 to the man who tells me where he is. I don't want to have him brought to me, only to be told where he is. I would follow him to England if I knew he was there. After coming down from Jerilderie I took a trip to Melbourne and bought some firearms—these revolvers and some Winchester rifles, besides as much ammunition as we wanted—"

Kelly's narrative was broken off rather short, as at this moment the shrill whistle of a train was distinctly heard a short distance from where we were. "By God!" exclaimed Kelly, "that b— Curnow has deceived us!" and at once jumping down from his seat he hurried outside, and there mounting his horse he rode down to where the train was stopped, returning in a few minutes. He said, "Yes, Curnow has stopped the train and told the police, and they are now coming up here, so we must be ready. "Dan," addressing his brother, "you keep your eye on these folk whilst we get ready, and then you can fix yourself up afterwards."

So saying, he led the others into their arsenal—if you can call it such—and there they immediately put their armour on, and generally got themselves in readiness for the fray. We could hear the knocking of the armour and the smothered curses when a thing would not fit to their satisfaction. In a comparatively short space of time they emerged from the room clad in their sombre armour. This was the first time that I had seen the men in their "full dress," and the thought inwardly struck me that the police would stand a very poor show indeed when opposed to these desperate men, clad as they were in what seemed complete armour.

Whilst Dan Kelly was "doing his toilet" Ned gave us a bit of advice—viz., he ordered all the lights to be put out, the fire to be extinguished, and generally to make the place look as natural as possible; and he also told us that there would be some heavy firing, and the best thing we could do was to lie down as close to the floor as possible, and on no account try to escape, as by so doing we ran the double risk of being taken for one of the gang by the police, and for one of the police by some of the gang.

We heard the train slowly steam into the station, the officers giving orders, and the noise made by the horses getting out of the trucks, and then we could distinctly hear the police walk down the line to Mr. Stanistreet's house and ask some questions. Mrs. Stanistreet immediately told them that the Kellys were up in Jones' hotel, and had half the town with them, and then closed the door in their faces.

The excitement now waxed intense as we heard the police outside, in front of the hotel. After a delay of a few moments, one of the police called out to the Kellys—who were by this time arranged in a row on the verandah—to surrender in the Queen's name. "Surrender, be d—!" they called out, rattling the points of their revolvers on their iron breasts, "you can shoot at us for six months and never hurt us."

The firing now began, but whether it was the police who began first or the Kellys I am not quite sure, as they seemed to begin together. Almost as soon as the firing began, we heard one of the Kellys exclaim, "My God, I'm shot." It turned out to be Ned, who was shot both in the elbow and in the foot; but the firing did not seem to abate at all, both sides keeping up a brisk cannonade, meanwhile all us poor unfortunates lying down full on our faces and expecting every minute to be the last, when the firing abated, which it did at intervals. At this time Constable Bracken effected his escape from the house and found the police, and it was well that he did so, as both Dan Kelly and Joe Byrne came in immediately after and made repeated inquiries as to where he was. Their object was, no doubt, to shoot him, as they both seemed to be in a terrible rage when they were convinced that he had escaped. I made an attempt to get away, thinking, and no doubt rightly, that it was a little safer a bit farther away, when I was met at the door by Joe Byrne, who asked me where I was going. I told him that I wanted to get away from the house. "Well," he said, "you can go if you like, but if you take my advice you will stop where you are; the place is surrounded with police, and ten to one they will take you for one of us and shoot you. Stop inside and you will be all right." Accordingly I went back again, though rather reluctantly, and had scarcely got inside when the firing began. Creeping on my hands and knees, I joined the others, and laid very low—very low indeed. There were about thirty or thirty-five in the room, not one of whom ever expected to get out alive. The position I occupied was just inside the parlour door against a couch, and in a good position should any chance arise of getting out. The bulk of those in the room were praying, and some few were sleeping, especially the young fellow who went asleep almost as soon as the firing commenced, and did not awaken till we were all leaving the place. However, again some of the more daring of those present got up and had a look outside, but only to be frightened back again by the shots which were being fired continually into the house by the police outside.

Young Reardon, who was lying next to me, feeling rather stiff from lying so long in one position, got up to turn round, and while doing so received a shot in his shoulder; he fell back moaning that he was killed, and calling on his father to come and see where the wound was. With the aid of a few matches we examined the wound; it seemed to be a revolver bullet that had struck him, the hole being a very small one. Of course we could do nothing for the poor fellow, and consequently he had to endure the pain. Almost immediately after young Reardon was shot, Mrs. Jones came running frantically into the room, crying and exclaiming that her son Jack was shot and was dying. She asked if there was a man in the room who would help her to carry him to bed. For a time nobody seemed to be anxious to run the risk of being shot to carry the boy to his bed. When Martin Cherry (who was afterwards shot dead himself) said to me, "Come on, lad, we'll carry him in." Accordingly Martin and myself followed Mrs. Jones to where her boy was, and taking him up we carried him to the back part of the house and laid him on the bed. The wound was a frightful one, and even to our unpractised eyes it was easily seen that he could not long survive it; the bullet went in his left hip, and travelling in an upward direction came out in his right side through the ribs. After doing all we could for the poor lad, we again retired to our place of safety—if it could be called such. The firing ³⁶¹now seemed to be more intense; as a matter of fact more police had in the meantime come to the scene of action, and of course every new arrival, as soon as he got into position, fired as many shots as he possibly could into the unfortunate building, with the hope of killing the bushrangers; one of the shots struck the clock on the mantelpiece and started it striking. It struck, I suppose, about forty before I began to count them, and then I counted sixty odd, when another shot shattered it and laid the fragments on the floor. I am not at all superstitious as a rule, but this I will say, that I looked upon that clock striking as a sort of a death knell. One of those in the room, thinking the fire-place a safe retreat, accordingly got up it, but upon seeing one of the bricks displaced by a Martini-Henry bullet, changed his mind, and once more joined the crowd upon the floor.

There were numerous suggestions from different people in the room as to a means of escape, some suggesting that we should all make a rush to the door, and, holding up our hands, call out to the police for protection. This seemed to savour of too much danger to the majority, and was abandoned. One daring individual suggested that we should borrow some arms from the Kellys and retaliate on the police. This again did not meet with much favour; and I question very much if the individual referred to was game enough to attempt it, should anyone be ready to join him. I forget the time exactly, but think it was about six o'clock in the morning, that Joe Byrne came into the room and asked how we were getting on. Several appealed to him to get them away, but he said, "Stop where you are; you are a great deal better off than we are." He then went into the bar for the purpose, I think, of having a drink. Almost immediately I heard a dull thud, and turning around saw him lying at full length on the floor. He was the first of the gang to fall. The wound he received must have proved fatal in a few minutes after receiving it. He was lying about four feet from where I was situated, and his presence there did not in any way tend to re-assure me as to our own individual safety.

About an hour after Byrne paid the penalty of his crimes, someone in the room heard the police calling out to us, and on listening attentively we heard someone outside calling out that all civilians would be allowed ten minutes to get out. When it was explained to everybody that we were allowed a time to get away, some of them were so much terrified that they would not agree to it, saying that we were almost sure to be killed if we attempted to leave the place.

"Well," I said, "We may as well be shot outside as in, and I for one am going," and so saying I got up, and rushing to the door, which I opened, made at once for a covered spot ³⁶²which I knew of in front of the hotel. The example being set, the rest soon followed, and on making their appearance were called upon by the police to hold up their hands, and when they had got a short distance away from the hotel they were told to lie down on the ground and hold up their hands. In the meantime I had separated from the rest, and continuing my run, jumped into the drain inside the railway enclosure. As it happened I had jumped fairly into the midst of Inspector O'Connor's detachment of black-trackers, who, immediately on seeing me, closed around and, presenting their revolvers to my head, called upon me to surrender. I explained, as well as I could under the circumstances, that I was not a bushranger, and seeing O'Connor, appealed to him. He released me from his men, and, instead of letting me go to some place of safety, made me go back the way I had come and join the rest, who by this time were lying on the ground, and being examined by the police. Accordingly I passed in front of the hotel again, and joined my comrades.

We were examined one by one by the police, and then allowed to take our own course. Naturally I made for the railway station, where there seemed to be a crowd, and was at once seized upon by reporters, who wanted to know what had passed inside. After satisfying these, I asked for something to eat, as it must be remembered that we had fasted for nearly twenty-four hours. The police were pretty well provided in the line of refreshments, and after satisfying the inner man I went round to the back part of the station buildings to see Ned Kelly, whom I had heard was captured before we had got out of the house. Coming into the room I saw him lying on his back on a stretcher, guarded by about six troopers. He seemed to be covered with blood, and looked very downhearted. I stood looking at him for a time, and was about to turn away, when he turned round and, looking me full in the face, said, "Well, I'm done for now, old man; my race is run," and, falling back, seemed to go in a sort of faint. I left the room there, and, mingling with the crowd, waited the advent of further excitement. We had not to wait long, as the police, directly all the civilians had left the premises, commenced firing from all points into the hotel, with the hope of shooting the two surviving bushrangers. Byrne they knew was dead, for we told them that after getting out. Some idea of the amount of shooting that now took place may be gained when you consider that about forty-five or fifty police, each armed with a breech-loading rifle, were firing as quickly as they could into all parts of the house. Whilst the civilians were in the hotel the police had orders to fire high, but now the order was to fire where you liked, and there is no mistake about it they did fire where they liked.

 

        The prisoners of the outlaws must have spent a terrible time in the hotel during the firing, and the marvel is that they were not, everyone of them, 
riddled by the bullets that poured through the windows and boarded walls of the place. It was a terrible risk they ran, and not a little obloquy was cast upon 
the police for what many persons considered reckless firing—endangering the lives of thirty persons in order to shoot three. 
For some of their subsequent proceedings also the police were soundly rated by the Melbourne press, as they were considered both injudicious and unnecessary.