from sitting out in a fine drizzle. The light had gone out in the house at about 10 o’clock, so I’d spent the hours of the night staring at darkness. Then at about four in the morning I noticed some movement—a single figure creeping out of the door and going over to the horses. I nudged Constable Mills next to me who, though he swears he wasn’t, was asleep. There was no moon, so it was hard to make out, but I could see that the figure was carrying heavy bags and heading to the horse paddock.
Whoever it was saddled one of the horses and mounted. We crept over to our horses and followed at a safe distance.
“This is it,” I whispered to Mills. “They’re taking food to the Kellys.”
It was hard tailing the horse what with there being no moon. After an hour I thought I’d lost them. Then suddenly we came out of the trees. The horse and rider were on the other side of a clearing. I held my horse still, hoping we hadn’t been seen, but it was too late. The rider spurred the horse which galloped off.
The chase was on then. We were gaining a little. The rider’s hat blew back and I could see long black hair stream out. She was wearing trousers and riding astride like a man, but I knew for sure it was Maggie Skilling and her saddle bags were stuffed full of food for her brothers.
Just as we thought we were going to catch her, she disappeared. Mills and I split up. I went up a ravine, while Mills followed another track. The ravine was steep and narrow, but there was no sign of her. The first light of the morning was just starting to smear the horizon. A terrible thought came to me. What exactly was I going to do if I suddenly came across the Kellys’ camp? If they were waiting at the end of this ravine, I’d be a sitting duck. I couldn’t possibly manage four men by myself. Just then a rider came up behind me. I turned, pulling my gun. Lucky I didn’t fire. It was Mills. The track he had followed had petered out. With guns drawn, we rode on without a word. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart. We rode up that narrow gap for an hour, always feeling that every moment could be our last. Then the track skirted around a large fallen rock and there in front of us was Maggie Skilling. She was sitting on a log with her thumbs pressed into her cheeks, her fingers waggling and her tongue stuck out.
“G’day, boys,” she said. “Out for some early morning air?”
I quickly glanced around. She seemed to be on her own. I dismounted and went to inspect her bulging saddlebags. If we couldn’t have the Kellys, we’d have Maggie on suspicion of aiding and abetting outlaws. I undid the buckles and pulled out the contents. The bags, both of them, were stuffed with tablecloths. When she saw my face, Maggie laughed till tears ran down her face.
Jim Dixon, volunteer Kelly hunter
The Legend Grows
“Circumstances have forced us to become what we are—outcasts and outlaws, and, bad as we are, we are not so bad as we are supposed to be.”
Ned thinks the gang doesn’t deserve its bad reputation, Letter to Chief Secretary
Soon after the Jerilderie hold-up, the reward for capture of the gang increased in both Victoria and New South Wales. There was now an unbelievable total of £8000 reward. This amount is the equivalent today of around $2 million. The fact that no one was ever tempted to give the Kellys away is an indication of the support they had. The gang’s exploits were already starting to move into the realm of legend. Songs were written about them and sung to the tunes of traditional Irish songs by their sympathisers and admirers. Joe Byrne, a man who was “for a bushman clever with his pen” is said to have written at least one of the ballads himself.
“My name it is Ned Kelly,
I’m known adversely well.
My ranks are free,
my name is law,
Wherever I do dwell.
My friends are all united,
my mates are lying near.
We sleep beneath these shady trees,
No danger do we fear.”
A verse from
Whoever it was saddled one of the horses and mounted. We crept over to our horses and followed at a safe distance.
“This is it,” I whispered to Mills. “They’re taking food to the Kellys.”
It was hard tailing the horse what with there being no moon. After an hour I thought I’d lost them. Then suddenly we came out of the trees. The horse and rider were on the other side of a clearing. I held my horse still, hoping we hadn’t been seen, but it was too late. The rider spurred the horse which galloped off.
The chase was on then. We were gaining a little. The rider’s hat blew back and I could see long black hair stream out. She was wearing trousers and riding astride like a man, but I knew for sure it was Maggie Skilling and her saddle bags were stuffed full of food for her brothers.
Just as we thought we were going to catch her, she disappeared. Mills and I split up. I went up a ravine, while Mills followed another track. The ravine was steep and narrow, but there was no sign of her. The first light of the morning was just starting to smear the horizon. A terrible thought came to me. What exactly was I going to do if I suddenly came across the Kellys’ camp? If they were waiting at the end of this ravine, I’d be a sitting duck. I couldn’t possibly manage four men by myself. Just then a rider came up behind me. I turned, pulling my gun. Lucky I didn’t fire. It was Mills. The track he had followed had petered out. With guns drawn, we rode on without a word. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart. We rode up that narrow gap for an hour, always feeling that every moment could be our last. Then the track skirted around a large fallen rock and there in front of us was Maggie Skilling. She was sitting on a log with her thumbs pressed into her cheeks, her fingers waggling and her tongue stuck out.
“G’day, boys,” she said. “Out for some early morning air?”
I quickly glanced around. She seemed to be on her own. I dismounted and went to inspect her bulging saddlebags. If we couldn’t have the Kellys, we’d have Maggie on suspicion of aiding and abetting outlaws. I undid the buckles and pulled out the contents. The bags, both of them, were stuffed with tablecloths. When she saw my face, Maggie laughed till tears ran down her face.
Jim Dixon, volunteer Kelly hunter
The Legend Grows
“Circumstances have forced us to become what we are—outcasts and outlaws, and, bad as we are, we are not so bad as we are supposed to be.”
Ned thinks the gang doesn’t deserve its bad reputation, Letter to Chief Secretary
Soon after the Jerilderie hold-up, the reward for capture of the gang increased in both Victoria and New South Wales. There was now an unbelievable total of £8000 reward. This amount is the equivalent today of around $2 million. The fact that no one was ever tempted to give the Kellys away is an indication of the support they had. The gang’s exploits were already starting to move into the realm of legend. Songs were written about them and sung to the tunes of traditional Irish songs by their sympathisers and admirers. Joe Byrne, a man who was “for a bushman clever with his pen” is said to have written at least one of the ballads himself.
“My name it is Ned Kelly,
I’m known adversely well.
My ranks are free,
my name is law,
Wherever I do dwell.
My friends are all united,
my mates are lying near.
We sleep beneath these shady trees,
No danger do we fear.”
A verse from
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