Dogs! Think of your chiefs by this hand that were slain.
Exhaust all your tortures, you try them in vain;
For the chief of oswego shall never complain.
Long ere dawn the next day the bushrangers were afoot, bringing with them the wretched Rashleigh, who, though he was perforce compelled to swallow a large draught of the fiery spirit that morning to revive his prostrate energies, yet felt so ill that he would fain obtain permission to lie down and die. And never did he hail a place of repose with more heartfelt joy than spread itself over him when they at length arrived at the cavern and he was at liberty to stretch his palsied limbs upon the rocky floor of that secure retreat.
Here he lay all day in a state of semi-insensibility, until, in the evening, he was aroused by the full deep tones of Foxley, who ordered him to get up directly and come along with them, a command which he was fain to obey, though every nerve in his body trembled like the leaves of an aspen through the latent effects of his involuntary but deep debauch.
The moon was in its first quarter, and its pale light was just glimmering above the trees when the little band of plunderers set forth from their hiding-place, as Rashleigh doubted not, upon remembering the last night’s conversation, to carry havoc, and perhaps slaughter, to some peaceful fireside. By the great caution evinced among the party, it was evident they feared detection more than was their custom, and the oft-repeated baying of watch-dogs near them proved that human habitations were numerous and close to the route they were pursuing.
For some hours they continued their journey in silence and at length entered a spacious clearing, in the centre of which a cluster of huts appeared, that they boldly approached. All was silent within, nor was there any light to be seen, and the outer door being fastened only by a latch, the whole party soon stood in an apartment which served the usual purposes of dining-room and kitchen to the family, none of whom were yet apparently awake; though many dogs, who had probably been absent at the critical moment of the marauders’ approach, were now exerting their vigilance too late, by baying most furiously around the door, which some of them were making fierce efforts to open, but in vain, for the uninvited visitors had taken the precaution of shutting it fast behind them.
A light was obtained by McCoy, and at that instant a man clad in sleeping dress came out of an inner apartment to that occupied by the intruders, grumbling, as he came forth, sundry drowsy imprecations against the dogs for their clamour. He had, however, scarce placed his foot upon the floor of the outer room when the hand of Foxley upon his shoulder and the muzzle of a pistol presented at his forehead caused him to start and utter an equivocal sound, which the robber at once checked by growling in a suppressed tone, “Silence! On your life! Or I’ll drive a brace of bullets through your skull!!”
Foxley then dragged him to the opposite side of the room, when he continued, “What men are there asleep in the house?”
“Only my two sons and a stranger,” was the reply.
“Where are they?” was the next demand.
“In yonder,” returned the old man, shaking as if with an ague fit, and pointing out a door different from that at which himself had entered.
Foxley now, with a mute motion to Smith that he should guard the settler, took a light, entered the room with McCoy, and soon his rude voice was heard arousing the inmates, who then, to the number of three, as the old man had said, came forth in their shirts and were ordered to take their places beside the first prisoner.
“Now,” said Foxley, addressing the old farmer, “call your wife and daughters out here; but mind! if there’s any more men, even another one, he shall die and all of you too!”
The women soon made their appearance, pale, disordered and trembling; but McCoy desired them to lay aside their fears, assuring them no harm was intended to their personal safety, an assurance which was echoed by Foxley, who ordered the mistress of the house and her daughters to prepare a feed for all the party.
While this request was being complied with, Foxley spoke to the settler himself, who now stood motionless in the corner where he had been placed, evidently suppressing strong feelings of indignation at the unceremonious behaviour of the bushranger.
“Well, Mr Shanavan,” said the robber chief, “I’ve been informed that you came up from Sydney with a swag of property the other day. I mean to have my share of it. So look sharp and bring it out here to the light; and mind that there is not one article deficient in the lot you bought; for if there is I shall be able to tell in a minute and I’ll cob you within an inch of your life . . . Where is it?” resumed the ruffian after a pause.
“In my bedroom,” stammered out the old man at length.
“Then come with me,” was the next direction given by the outlaw in such a tone of command that Shanavan dared not deny him, and taking up a lamp, he marshalled the bold intruder into another room.
In the mean time Smith the bushranger had been steadfastly looking in the face of the stranger whose ill fortune had brought him that night to partake of Shanavan’s hospitality, and who was now standing beside the two young men, sons of his host. This man did not seem at all easy under the scrutiny of Smith and repeatedly changed his position in order to evade the ruthless gaze of the other, which was evidently fraught with no kindly meaning.
At length Foxley returned with the master of the house, whom he compelled to carry out a quantity of wearing apparel and other goods, which were consigned to the care of McCoy.
Smith now addressed his leader thus, “I say, Foxley. who do you think we ve nailed upon the ground hop at last?”
“I can’t tell, I’m sure. Who is it?” replied the other, examining the man whom Smith’s gesture indicated, but whose face was now hidden from view, until the bushranger, stepping over to him, laid hold of that ear which was nearest to him, and with a sudden jerk, turned his head completely round to the light, saying, as he did so, in tones of the coarsest sarcasm, “Come, Mr McGuffin, let us have a look at your pretty mug (face). You didn’t use to be so bashful!”
“Why, ’tis McGuffin the tyrant!” roared Foxley in tones of savage triumph.
“You may well say that,” rejoined Smith. “Why, the very last time I ever saw him, he flogged our whole gang, fifteen in number, overseer and all, giving all us that were working hands fifty lashes each, and the overseer a hundred without being charged with any crime, and of course without the shadow of a trial; and when jack Bunn, the overseer, as good a fellow as ever broke the world’s bread, asked what we were all to be flogged for, this scoundrel said, ‘Why, to keep the hair out of your eyes, to be sure, you rascal!’”
“Aye, aye. I know him well by report!” now remarked Foxley. “An’t he the beautiful inspector of falling parties that Major Fireplace got the Governor to grant power to, so that he might flog any or all the men in the gangs under him without the trouble of bringing them to Court? And ever since that time, hasn’t he gone about on horseback all through the country, with a flogger at his heels for a running footman, sarving out stripes to all and sundry, so as to show, not only that he had got the power, but also that he was determined not to let it go to sleep in his hands. And now, my gentleman, I’ve got you. I’ll try if I can’t clear off all scores with you. At any rate, you’ve sarved out your last slops!!!”
McGuffin. who was a tall, weather-beaten, dark-complexioned man with unusually stern and determined features, seemed quite appalled by the ferocity of Foxley’s tone and manner when the latter began to talk; but by the close of the robber’s speech he recovered self-possession, and said, in a cone as resolved and stern as that of the other, “Well, you infernal, cold-blooded, murdering, treacherous ruffian, and what can you do after all but only take my life? And that you may do and be damned, if you like. Yes, I have had hundreds of such crawling caterpillars as you and your mob well flogged before now, and I’ve got one comfort left yet. It is this, that neither God nor man can much longer keep you from the gallows; for the Devil has almost done with you, and Jack Ketch must soon get his due in choking you and your loblolly boys. So you may do your worst, for I defy you!”
The bushrangers appeared paralyzed by his indomitable boldness. At almost his first word Foxley had taken a pistol from his belt, which he deliberately cocked, and with a scornful sneer, as coolly levelled at the captive’s head, still, as it seemed, suspending his final purpose, though his brow, true index to a tragic page, grew black with the darkness of tenfold night. As for Smith and McCoy, they stood gaping at McGuffin as though they were charmed with the audacity of his defiance; but the instant he had ceased to speak, McCoy, whose face was perfectly livid with the intensity of his rage, lifted his musket and felled the prisoner to the earth with the butt end of his weapon; while a loud shriek burst from one of the girls, who dropped senseless on the floor.
Foxley sprang up and said, “Now, by all my hopes of deep and black revenge, I’m glad you knocked the bragging bully down! For I was just that instant going to shoot him, and it would have been ten thousand pities he should get such an easy death! Is he hurt much?”
This query being satisfactorily replied to, Foxley next demanded what had ailed the girl who cried out, and having elicited that she had fainted through fear at the fate she supposed intended for McGuffin, to whom she was about to be married, the heartless ruffian roared out, striking his hand with tremendous energy upon the table, “Better and better . . . Why, this is glorious. We shall have most capital sport here presently. Bring the wench to, as quick as you can.”
He paced the apartment for a few moments with hurried strides as if under the influence of some extraordinary excitement, and presently broke out again with, “McCoy, throw a bucket of water over that grovelling beast. So! That will revive him! And now, mistress, let’s have our supper directly!”
McGuffin was then bound fast to a mill post that stood on one side of the room. The bushrangers had before this secured Shanavan and his two sons by placing them back to back, next tying their arms, legs and bodies together with many cords and lastly girthing them tight up with a horse’s surcingle.
Foxley and the other two now sat down to supper in such a position that they could keep their eyes upon the prisoners. Rashleigh was also invited by the former to partake, but he declined. He in truth felt such a sensation of nausea, which arose from apprehending that perhaps a scene of worse atrocity might here be perpetrated than any he had yet witnessed, that it was quite impossible for him to swallow any food whatever; and he sat shivering with dread and longing for a means of escape, yet completely cowed and fascinated by the searching glances which Foxley directed towards him from time to time.
This ruffian compelled the girl betrothed to McGuffin to serve him with food upon her knees and to taste everything on the table prepared for their supper. He also bade her, “Remember, as nobody else but such a superfine scoundrel as McGuffin would do you for a husband, his life is now in my hands; so you’d better try to keep me in good temper.”
After supper was over the involuntary attendants were obliged to produce spirits, and Foxley, having ascertained there was very little flour in the house, directed one of the girls to fill the hopper of the steel mill with wheat. This being done, McGuffin was partially unbound and ordered by McCoy to set to work and grind the grain.
His reply was equally brief and energetic. “I’ll see you all in hell first!”
Foxley heard this, and leaping up, cried, “Oho, you mutiny, do you? I’ll see how game you are!”
And he ran to a saddle, from which he stripped the stirrup-leather. Then, pouncing upon McGuffin, he tore the shirt from his back and this being his only garment, the latter was quite naked. The bushranger then began to beat him with the buckle end of his heavy weapon. The prisoner struggled violently; yet, though he was a very powerful man, he could not loosen the ligatures with which he was tied; but from the peculiar manner in which they were secured, his efforts only served to make the rude cords cut into his flesh.
For all this, the sufferer, whose courage and fortitude appeared indomitable, instead of deprecating the barbarity of Foxley, only continued to excite him with the keenest sarcasms, such as, “Strike, scoundrel! You couldn’t knock a sprat off a gridiron. You couldn’t brush a fly off your mother’s nose!”
Although through the powerful blows inflicted by his bulky antagonist his back was sorely mangled and the blood running in a fair stream down to the ground, yet his co............