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Cookson, The Sun, Sunday, September 24 1911.
Glenrowan. Everyone acquainted with the facts knows that. Their fate is beyond all dispute. Escape was impossible, because the police surrounded the house and poured in volleys from back and front. The bodies of the dead outlaws were seen on the floor of the hotel before it was quite destroyed. The report of this part of the siege, written for the Melbourne "Age" by Mr. Joseph Melvin, a pressman of recognised capacity and reliability, is as follows:- "The police opened up a heavy fire on the hotel from the front and rear. This was done in order to cover the operations of Senior-constable Johnston, who rapidly approached the house on the north side with a to. It was known that Martin Sherry (sic), an old man, was still in the house, and when the last prisoners had escaped he was alive, though badly wounded. The thought that the unfortunate man would be sacrificed, and perish in the flames with the determined bushrangers who had made so long a stand, caused a feeling of horror to pervade the crowd. "Kate Kelly at this juncture came upon the scene, but the only expression which escaped her lips was the one uttered in heart-broken accents, "My poor, poor brother." Mrs. Skillian exclaimed, "I will see my brother before he dies," and then sped towards the hotel, from the roof of which by this time tongues of flame were beginning to ascend. the police ordered her to go back, and she hesitated. "Father Tierney (sic) emerged from the crowd, saying he would save Sherry. The brave clergyman was encouraged on his mission by a cheer from the spectators. He walked boldly to the front door, was lost to view amongst the smoke, and directly afterwards a mass of flames burst from the walls and roof of the dwelling at the same instant. A shout of terror from the crowd announced the fear that was felt for the safety of the courageous priest. Constable Armstrong, with some other policemen, rushed into the building from the rear, and a few seconds afterwards their forms, with that of Father Tierney, were seen to emerge, carrying with them Sherry, who was in a dying state, and the dead body of the outlaw Byrne. "On reaching a place of safety they stated that Dan Kelly and Hart were lying upon the floor apparently dead. Nothing, however, could be done to rescue their remains from the fire. Soon afterwards the building was completely demolished, and a search being made amongst the ruins, two charred skeletons were raked out from the smouldering debris. Wild Wright, Hart (the brother of Steve), and other well-known friends, were witnesses of this terrible scene. All the bushrangers were clad in the same kind of armor as that worn by Ned Kelly, which weighed as much as 97 lb., and had evidently been constructed by some country blacksmith out of ploughshares. The marks on Kelly's armor showed that he had been hit 17 times with bullets. "The unfortunate man Sherry died soon after being rescued from the burning building. Ned Kelly was brought on to Benalla by the evening train, and lodged in the lock-up, to await the inquest to be held in the morning."Not one of the surviving relatives of the dead men has a thought to spare for the suggestion that they are alive. And there are reasons-weighty, cogent, unanswerable-for the unanimous belief in their death-reasons which it is not necessary to mention. But the suggestion actually has been made that these two members of the party escaped, and that they have been seen and spoken to in recent years. And upon this suggestion there has been lately written, and published, a great deal of matter relating to the wrongs of Ireland, and to a host of other things that never concerned Dan nor Hart in their lives, but which, after their deaths 32 years ago, they are made to discourse upon in the fluency and knowledge of educated men of the present day. It is as well to explain how this suggestion of survival originated. And the explanation is furnished by the following statement, written by a pressman who was in South Africa a few years ago:- "I was vaguely informed, at Pretoria, that Dan Kelly and Steve Hart were still alive. the informant, at the time, did not persist in the assertion. A few days later he reverted to the Kelly gang, and repeated that the two outlaws were in the land of the living. To humor him, and to dispose of his delusion, the facts, as far as memory served, were related of the fate of Dan Kelly and Steve Hart. 'Were not their bodies found the among the debris?' 'No,' he declared, 'they were not,' 'Whose remains were they, then?' He asserted that they were those of two drunken travellers who had been shot during the first volleys from the besieging police. I scouted the idea. A week or so later my Pretorian acquaintance called me aside, and assured me I had been introduced to both Dan Kelly and Steve Hart under assumed names. I could not recall anyone who struck me as a bushranger. I asked my Australian acquaintance to point out the notorious individuals. He replied there was not gold or diamonds enough in South Africa to tempt him to give them away. He was assured there was no such intention; that it was not the business of a pressman to act the amateur detective. He said he would see them and endeavor to arrange a meeting. I was curious only to know who were the men alleged to belong to the famous gang. Of course, I put it all down to swagger, if there was any base at all for the semi-confidences of my acquaintance. "One night, when Pretorians, under martial law regulations, had long retired to rest, I was aroused by a knock at the door, in a detached cottage of the Cosmopolitan Hotel. On opening the door my acquaintance walked in. He was nervous and excited. 'I have brought them!' he whispered mysteriously. 'Brought what?' I asked. 'The boys.' 'What boys?' 'Dan and Steve.' 'Oh! You mean the Kellys. Show them in!' "The irrepressible party shot out and returned with a deputation of two men of middle age, athletic build, keen-eyed, sunburnt, firm-featured, typical Australian bushmen, who had obviously roughed it. I had met, or casually nodded to, them a score of times. I did not know them, however, as Kelly and Hart. They sat and made themselves at home. " 'Now which is Dan Kelly?' I asked flippantly. 'Here,' replied the darker-complexioned of the two. 'But,' he added, 'you must not call me that, again.' 'And don't call me Steve Hart.' snapped the other. 'Are you afraid?' 'Well, we don't want it known,' said Kelly. He added after a pause: 'You promise never to mention this?' 'But, why did you come to me?' 'Well, he'-pointing to the acquaintance-'got us to come. Now you promise or by---' 'You needn't fear, for I have only your word for it; and, anyway, who wants to court trouble with the Kellys?' 'Well, that's all right.' "A bottle was opened, pipes were filled, and, long after midnight, Dan Kelly, who had listened avidly to stories of Ben Hall, Frank Gardiner, Gilbert, O'Meally, Burke, Vane, and other earlier Australian bushrangers, combed his tangled hair with his fingers, and stated: 'I don't mind you using this, if it's worth while; but not for three or four weeks, when we're well away. Steve here, and me, and Ned, and Joe Byrne were in that pub, all right. Ned got away, and we were to foller (sic) him, but Joe was too full, and we couldn't pull him together. When he wasn't watched he went outside and was shot. After that, two chaps, strangers to us, wild with grog, were shot through the winder (sic). They would have a go at the police, so we gave them rifles and ammunition. They fell when the firing was too hot for us to reach them, so our rifles and things were found by their remains. This is why they thought they had burnt us up. I was sorry these coves wouldn't take the tip and clear out of the pub. They'd the drink and the devil in them, and I think Joe's recklessness made them madder. Well, Steve and me planned the escape. We were in a trap, and had to get out of it. We had policemen's uniforms and caps-carried for disguises. We put them on, and you couldn't tell us from troopers. Steve in a joke wanted to arrest me, and I told him I would report him for impersonating the police. That's so, isn't it, Steve? (Steve nodded assent.) The next thing was how to leave the pub. A few trees and bushes and logs at the back decided for us. We hung along the ground for a few yards, and blazed away at the pub, like the bobbies, backing all the time. We retreated from tree to tree and bush to bush, pretending to take cover. Yes, cover from Steve and me! We were soon through the scattered traps, who, no doubt, thought we were funking it. But we banged away at the old caboose more'n any of them. You'd think the police would've known we didn't belong to them; but you see, they came from a hundred miles around and many were strangers to each other. Then the police were either mad with fear or excitement. No doubt some thought we were mad to get so near the pub. But we were getting far away from it. No, the police suspected nothing, and so we backed gradually into the thick timber, and got away. Soon we saw the shanty burning, and thanked our stars we weren't roasting. Well, we made for a shepherd's hut-a friend's. We planted for days, and the shepherd brought us the news and the papers, and we heard all about our terrible end-burnt to cinders-and all that sort of thing. We heard of Ned's capture, and were for taking to the bush again; but the old shepherd made us promise we'd quit Australia quietly. We had plenty of money and means of disguise; so when we were ready, we crossed the border, and made for Sydney, and then Newcastle, where we boarded a ship for the Argentine. We've had a fairly good time since, in South and North America, and ain't been interfered with. We didn't interfere with anyone, either. A few years ago we crossed to the Transvaal, and, when the war broke out, we went to the front and fought for the Crown that had set a price on our heads. We've had narrower escapes, but none like we had in Victoria, and, particularly at that pub. We're off at daylight, but don't want anyone to know where. You can say what I tell you, but not for three or four weeks, and then it won't matter. Now, mind me! If you give us away, a little thing like this, in the hand of a friend of ours, will blow your lights out.' And he put the point of a revolver nearly into my eye. I looked at him sharply, and the glare in his eyes, and the rigidity of his jaw made me think he meant it. The three men emptied the bottle, and filed out. After breakfast the cable flashed to London, and the correspondents circulated the story over seas and territories. Six weeks later, in Adderley-street, Capetown, I encountered the two men. " 'Well,' said Dan Kelly, 'you kept your word. We've heard nothing. You may say what you like, after t'morrer(sic).'
ALLEGED RETURN TO AUSTRALIA
"The other day, in George-street, Sydney, I met the insistent party, the connection of the Kellys, who introduced that strange deputation in the bedroom at Pretoria, eight years ago. We got in conversation, and I asked him what became of his outlaws. " 'You never believed me, or them,' he said, reproachfully, and with that quiet earnestness characteristic of the Australian bushman. " "Well, I was interested; that was something. But surely you did not expect me to swallow the yarn?' " 'No yarn at all. the gospel truth. I tell you.' he insisted, hurt. " 'Well, a romantic and circumstantial narrative, calculated to excite the curiosity of creation.' " 'You needn't laugh. It's been no laughing matter. They've been free and all that; but not as free as you and I. They've had to be careful.' " 'Well, what became of them? I saw them last in Capetown.' " 'I know. They told me. They shipped next day in a meat boat back to Argentine, on the sheep and cattle runs, as we call them. A couple of years ago they came back to Australia.' " 'Never. That's too daring.' " 'Yes, they're daring all right. I'm always anxious about them. I wonder if the police would interfere.' " "I don't know. They are officially dead, anyway; and the rewards were paid. I don't think their affidavits would convince the Crown they are the capitally offending customers.' " 'That's what I hear.' " 'Tell me about them.' " 'Well,' he drawled slightly, 'they've been all over Australia, in the cities, but mostly in the bush, at odd jobs. They went all over the Kelly country. They called at the hut of the old shepherd, near Glenrowan, but only a few posts and slabs were standing. They wanted to thank the old man, but found he died years ago. Nobody recognised them in their get-up and changed appearance. they visited Aaron Sherritt's house, and climbed over the Strathbogie Ranges, where the police were shot. Yes, they've been over their old tracks. Strange, isn't it?' " 'Rather. Where are they now?' ' 'They're in Australia. That's as far as I'll say-for reasons. But, as they took to you and trust you, maybe, someday, you'll meet them again. But it wouldn't do for me to say anymore. You know.'" There are more than two weak points in this story. It bristles with them. But the yarn is hard and hopelessly up against the fact, as testified to by everyone who was in the hotel-and survived-that there were no such two men shot as this imaginative states. Byrne was shot-and identified. Hart and Dan Kelly were shot-and identified by Father Tierney, Constable Armstrong and others. Sherry was shot-and subsequently removed, only to die. Mrs. Jones's two children were shot-one fatally. But that was the extent of the killing. There were no others. And in order to have these two outlaws alive again two other corpses had to be found. And there were not any more corpses. Every person in that inn on that fateful night has been accounted for. The whole story of the escape is stupid and useless, besides being preposterous. Dan Kelly and Steve Hart are dead-and no one can have reasonable ground for doubt on the fact. In the name of justice let them rest. to inquire into the Kelly outbreak and its result states clearly and beyond doubt that both Dan Kelly and Hart perished. And this commission it must be remembered, examined all the people who knew anything about the matter, including those who entered the hotel whilst it was burning and identified the three dead bodies there as those of Byrne, Dan, and Hart, who pulled the wounded man, Sherry, out of the burning building. The report states that, judging from the appearance of the bodies of Hart and Dan, they had taken off their armor and committed suicide. Their identity has never been called in question during all these years. (The End.)
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THE DEATHS OF HART AND DAN KELLY.