A CONVICT STORY.

It was soon after landing at Sydney from my second voyage that I fell in with an old friend, who was then a magistrate of the town.

After comparing notes since we had last met, he asked me to go out and visit his family who lived in the bush, about seven miles from Sydney. The captain of the “Tartar,” the vessel I had come out in, was to go with me; and so we hired a gig, and drove out.

It was a wild, dreary country, sure enough, that we went over, and a most dismal locality to reside in. Why, the nearest house was the police-station, and that was three miles off; but, as we shall see, the police are not at all bad neighbours in that part of the world.

We got to our journey’s end, and the first sight we saw was four gibbets erected near the gate. We thought, perhaps, that they were the sign that a magistrate lived there, or that they were put up, just like the old stocks one sometimes sees on a village green, to be ready when wanted, and to be a terror to people always; but the account that my friend gave showed that they were erected for some real criminals.

About six weeks before this, a gentleman and his son were spending Sunday here; and in the afternoon the young man, with my friend’s son, were strolling about the yard, when they fancied they heard a strange noise in an out-house.

They listened for some time, till, feeling sure they heard footsteps, they went near, and opened the door, when immediately they found themselves attacked by four convicts.

A desperate struggle took place, for the young men were strong, and were not to be easily beaten; but the odds were too great, and it might have gone very hard with them, had not the scuffle been heard in-doors.

My friend said he was sitting with his daughter in the back parlour, when he heard a noise of heavy footfalls, with loud and laboured breathing. They went out into the yard, the father taking his gun with him; but, as it was getting dusk, they could see nothing.

“Who’s there?” shouted he. No answer; but he could just make out the form of a man scrambling from the ditch, and retreating over the wall. He fired; and then three other men retreated in like manner. The young men quickly appeared and related how they had been attacked, and how narrowly they had escaped strangulation, for it was their hard breathing that had been heard in-doors.

They soon informed the police, who quickly caught the four men, and they were hung near the scene of their crime.

I had been left with the ladies for some time, wondering where my friend and the captain had gone; but when I came to inquire, I was rather annoyed to find that they had gone to Sydney in the gig, as the magistrate was sent for in a hurry, and had left word for me to remain there for the night. I must say I did not like the idea at all.

I knew something of these convicts, what desperate fellows they were, and thought it not unlikely that they might resent the punishment so lately inflicted on some of their order, particularly as the gibbets reminded them of the event, and were likely to keep alive any ill-feeling that might exist. Besides, I knew I was the only male in the house, and that great things would be expected of me in case of an alarm.

When I got up to my room, my first care was to fasten the door; but, alas! there was no lock; and I could only discover a small button. I then searched the room for some weapon, and found a gun; but this, like the door, was without a lock. I got hold of a whaddy, a short, club-like stick, heavier at one end than the other; so, placing this with the gun near me, I jumped into bed. Then I was rather ashamed of myself for getting at all alarmed, and so I soon went asleep. I was awoke shortly after by the sound of heavy breathing, such as my friend had described; and at once all the circumstances of his account came into my mind. I sat up in bed, and heard the breathing—now dying away, now getting louder—and also footsteps in like manner. I got out of bed, seized my weapons, and was close to the door, feeling that a desperate encounter was at hand. I should not care to see a sketch of myself as I then appeared. My lower limbs were altogether unprotected, and were not very steady; but I hope you will charitably put down any shaking there may have been to cold rather than fear.

The footsteps were again drawing near, the breathing was more plainly heard, and the door was gently shaken. I opened it, sprang out—shouted “Who’s there?”—got no answer—saw no one—listened—heard the footsteps retreating, and felt sure there were several. I then returned to my room, and soon heard the footsteps again approaching so this time prepared for the worst; and when I imagined they had got up to the door, I rushed out, and confronted two as strongly-built, savage-looking bloodhounds as I ever saw, which, after giving a good sniff at my legs—I, of course, expected a bite—turned round, and kept their watch as before. My friend had got them since the night of the attack as a protection.

Ah! it’s all very well to laugh now, but it was no laughing matter at the time, my young friends.