There are more things in heaven and earth, horatio,

Than are dreamed of in your philosophy.

It was many weeks before McCoy was judged sufficiently out of danger to travel, in the tender estimation of the medical gentlemen, who were most assiduous in their attention to him, so that he might be sufficiently recovered to grace the gallows with proper éclat. At length they set forward in a bullock-cart, well guarded by a posse of mounted police. Both Rashleigh and the other were heavily ironed, and at their departure, so far from attracting any execrations from the crowd that had assembled to see them set out, most of the bystanders seemed to pity them very much; and what our adventurer thought more strange than all, the women in particular gave vent to many tears of commiseration, especially devoted to McCoy, whose yet languid motions and pallid features showed the severity of the sufferings occasioned by his wound; and many were the gifts of money, tobacco, spirits and provisions that were made to the prisoners before they left Bathurst.

They were ten days in journeying about a hundred miles, resting at lock-up houses, the quarters of road gangs, or the various military stations on the mountains, frequently passing large parties of their fellow-convicts, either with or without irons on their legs, who were employed in the formation of those stupendous roads which traverse that once impassable district. As often as any of these men expressed their sympathy with the prisoners, whose death by the hangman all looked upon as certain, McCoy would reply in accents of triumph,

“Well, I’ve had a merry life, if ’twas only a short one; and I’d go and be hanged a hundred times over rather than drudge like slaves as you chaps are doing now.” And he would sometimes add, “Why don’t you all turn out like men, and then the blasted tyrants would soon be put an end to?”

The corporal in charge of the escort was asked by an overseer on the road why he did not stop this kind of talk, as it was obviously inciting the minds of those who heard it to mutiny, to which query he replied, laughing, “Why, how can I hinder the poor devil from talking? He’s got but a very little while longer to live, and it would be a pity not to let him spout away as he likes. Besides,” and here the speaker assumed a most comically knowing look, “don’t you know, friend, that the more runaways there are, the more rewards there will be for taking them; and if there were no bushrangers, what would be the use of the mounted police?”

This settled the matter apparently to the satisfaction of the other, who, no doubt, like many of his brother convict overseers, had not the least objection to earn a pound now and then by taking any such men as he could first persuade to run away; and a large sum of money was then annually paid in reward, for apprehending men who had absconded, to such personages as the speaker, who afterwards gave a small portion of the bonus to those whom they had taken.

Journeying in this manner, they at length reached the lock-up at Penrith, where Ralph was quickly recognised as having not long before belonged to Emu Plains. Among a crowd that had assembled to look at the remains of “Foxley’s gang” our adventurer soon observed those three girls that had acted so prominent a part with the bushrangers at Richmond. They were now very much over-dressed in the spoils acquired at the robbery of Shanavan’s place, which had led to the unremitting pursuit that resulted in the capture of their former acquaintances.

These frail fair ones pressed to the side of the vehicle and seemed to vie with each other in expressions of tenderness towards McCoy, as well as lamentations over his present position and the unhappy fate of his companions.

The constables at length removed the prisoners, and Rashleigh and his associate in misfortune were now for the first time since their capture locked up together by themselves.

McCoy began a conversation by asking Ralph, “Well, what do you think of it now? Would it not have been as well for you to have joined Phil Foxley and the rest of us at first, seeing that you led the life of a dog all the while you was with us, and now, in spite of all you can say, you are sure to die the death of one.”

To this cheering as well as sensible speech, our adventurer only replied, “As for death, it must come sooner or later, and though I have no great fancy for the gallows, I have quite as much liking for that as I have for such a wretched life of cruelty and crime, attended by frequent starvation and toil, as was led by the scoundrel Foxley and those that were with him.”

“You dared not call him a scoundrel while he lived,” replied McCoy, “and you are an unmanly rascal to do so now.”

“Hark ye, McCoy,” said Ralph, who began to grow enraged, “I’d have you to know that if Foxley had been alone with me, unarmed as I was, or if I had been able once to have laid hold of a loaded musket while I was with him, he would have found out what Ralph Rashleigh dared to do. And as for you, were it not for your weakness, I would just this instant beat your brains out against that wall to repay you for your treatment me when I was helpless.”

McCoy jumped up, and throwing off his jacket, cried, “Come on, you crawling beggar, I’ll soon let you see how weak I am.”

A hundred recollections of this man’s ill usage during his career of crime, when he had his ruffian associates to assist him, crowded upon the mind of our adventurer, and maddened by fury at these thoughts, Ralph rushed upon him.

Rashleigh knew nothing of what is called the science of pugilism, in which McCoy was very expert. Thus, in spite of his superior strength, our exile was likely to get the worst of it, until exerting himself suddenly, he beat down his antagonist’s guard, and seizing his head by the ears, bore him back into a corner, where he pounded the unlucky McCoy’s skull against the wall until the other roared for mercy, and the turnkey came in, who wanted to know what the matter was. But as McCoy did not tell him, Rashleigh would not. The official then enquired which of the two was called McCoy, and this question being replied to, the janitor asked what the other would stand provided he were to allow one of the titters (girls) that was outside to pass the night with him.

To this McCoy replied that he would give a pound. The turnkey grinned acquiescence and withdrew. But when it became quite dark the door again opened, and the young woman who has before been spoken of as McCoy’s sweetheart made her entrée, bringing a basket with her, while the screwsman, who followed her with a quantity of bedding, said, as he placed the latter on the floor, “There’s your sister, young fellow; and here’s all the bedstuff I can muster for the three of you, so you must do the best you can.”

He then retired, carefully securing the massy fastenings of several doors as he went out.

McCoy and his “ladye love” after many endearments, began to converse in a low tone; and in a short time, a candle being lighted, a quantity of provisions and two bottles of spirits were produced from the basket, which the young woman invited Rashleigh to share.

He declined to do so very abruptly, but she said, “Why, I hope you an’t any ways offended with me. And if you and Sandy have had a few words or a blow or two, that’s nothing . . . Surely you can make it up again, especially as you have not got long to be together, at any rate.”

McCoy then observed, “You may as well not quarrel with the victuals, but come and get some, for maybe you won’t get another chance soon.”

Rashleigh at length consented to share the meal, in the course of which the girl remarked that it just put her in mind of her last sweetheart’s last night on earth, for he was then confined in Windsor lock-up and was shot dead in an attempt to escape from it early next morning. This young woman proved herself to be perfectly au fait and well inured to scenes like the present, nor did she appear to be at all cast down at the thoughts of the fate that was in store for McCoy, whom she only exhorted to “die like a trump, and split (tell) nothing.”

In fact, it seemed great part of her present errand to ascertain whether there was any probability of either McCoy or Rashleigh betraying herself and family for harbouring the marauders while they were in the bush or for receiving the property they had stolen from Shanavan’s, part of which she now wore. After she had apparently satisfied herself that no danger was to be apprehended from McCoy, she led the conversation to the nature of the charge against our adventurer, and said to her lover that if he thought fit, he could get the young man out of it, as it was pretty generally understood he had never taken a very active part in committing depredations.

To this McCoy replied, with an oath, that “he’d be blowed if he would though, or any crawler like him . . . No, no, Soph,” continued the desperado. “Let the beggar die as well as me, and then he can’t tell any tales!”

Upon this the girl dropped her endeavours, and after having drunk the spirits among them, all three lay down to rest.

The next morning “Soph” took a tender leave of her paramour, promising to follow them to Sydney in a day or two; and then, turning to Rashleigh, she observed, “I hope you won’t bring anybody else into trouble, young fellow, for that won’t do you any good; but if you must die, do so like a man!”

Ralph assured her that whatever might be his fate, he would never turn informer. They then parted; nor did the latter ever see this fair specimen of frailty more.

In the space of two days from this our criminals reached the old gaol of Sydney, a building of which it has often been remarked that if the sentries and fetters did not keep the prisoners from breaking out, the strength of the edifice never would. The inmates of this pandemonium may be far better conceived than described, especially when it is reflected that as New South Wales was the proper receptacle for the offscourings of villainy from three mighty kingdoms and all their vast dependencies, so this choice den was the great cesspit for the moral filth of the convict colony; and, of course, all undreamed-of and scarcely imaginable wickedness flourished within t............