Ghost Stories and Mysteries (11 page)

The Communists had retreated behind a barricade, hastily thrown up at the end of the street, and their opponents were about to charge it. The doctor stooped over a dead body and took the chassepôt that was in its hand; then, as if struck with another idea, threw it down again, and preferred the sword bayonet.

The Versailles soldiers carried the barricade after a desperate hand to hand struggle, during which they lost half their number. Of the Communists not a man escaped—they fell where they stood.

“My faith!” said the corporal, now in command of the party by the loss of both officers, “But if all the citizens had fought like that one lying there, the Comité Central would never have existed.”

His men, looking for their own wounded, and dispatching any insurgent who showed signs of life, had just thrown on one side the dead body of the English doctor.

JERRY BOAKE’S CONFESSION

(1890)

Perhaps one of the most popular fellows on the then newly-opened H— Goldfield, in Far North Queensland, was Jack Walters. Everybody knew him, and everybody liked him, and there was great chaff and much popping of corks ‘ere he started down to C— with the avowed intention of getting married. Walters had shares in one or two good mines, and had a tidy sum of money with him when he left the field amidst the congratulations of ‘the boys’ on his approaching nuptials. Jack was a friend of mine; when he was temporarily crippled by a blasting accident I used to write his love-letters for him.

Three days after he left, Inspector Frost and his black troopers, who all knew Walters, rode into the township. Naturally, the first question asked was, had they met Jack, and how far he’d got on the road?

“Never saw or heard of him,” was the unexpected reply, “perhaps he was off the road.”

“No, he said he was going down easy and expected to meet you.”

“Hum!” said the inspector, “I’m going back to-morrow, and I’ll keep a sharp look-out for him.”

Fifty miles from H— was a creek with permanent water and a good feed, a favourite camping-place. Frost, who had told the troopers to watch for signs of Jack, had almost forgotten the matter, to which, after all, he did not attach much importance, when a shrill whistle from one of his boys a short distance off the road to the right attracted his attention. The boy had dismounted, and was standing gazing at something on the ground. Frost rode up, and had almost anticipated what it was before he reached the spot. Screened by a few bushes from any chance traveller lay the body of a dead man—Jack Walters. His head was pillowed on his riding-saddle, his blanket was thrown over the lower part of his body, and his pack-saddle and bags were close by, where they had evidently been put overnight. He had been shot through the temple, and in his hand he still held a revolver. To all appearances it was one of those motiveless cases of suicide that now and again puzzle everybody.

A careful examination was made, but nothing seemed to have been disturbed; no money save some loose silver was found. Frost collected all the camp paraphernalia, took careful notes of the position of the body and all the surroundings; then, leaving one trooper to guard the remains, despatched a boy back to H—with the news, and instruction to the police there to come out and take the body—he himself had to proceed on his journey. Casting one more glance around, he noticed a newspaper lying some distance away. Such things were commonly found on old camping grounds, but he walked over and picked it up. It was the
H— Express
, the journal of the mining township he had left. He looked at it idly for some time, thinking more of the sight he had just witnessed than of the paper in his hand, when he instinctively noticed the date, which suggested a train of thought. Walters had left the field three days before Frost’s arrival there. The Inspector remembered that fact well, because there had been some debate as to the spot where they should have passed each other. Three days would make it Monday, and this paper was issued on Tuesday. How had it come into the dead man’s camp?

Frost went back and looked at the corpse before the troopers had covered it up with boughs. The revolver taken from the stiffened fingers, he remembered, was but loosely held—it was not in the iron grasp of a dead man’s hand, clutched hard at the moment of death. No doubt remained that the case was not one of suicide, but cowardly, cold-blooded murder. Somebody had left the diggings the next morning, had ridden hard and overtaken Walters at the creek, had shared the hospitality of his camp, and had shot him for the sake of the money he had with him. Where was the murderer now?

Frost, who had gold to take down to the port, did not tarry long between the scene of the murder and C—. The second day saw him closeted with the police magistrate, who had just received a telegram from H—, informing him of the arrival of the native police with the news of Frost’s discovery. Hardly had Frost told his tale before another telegram arrived—“Jerry Boake left here after Walters. See if he is in C—.”

Jerry was a pretty notorious character, and, strange to say, Walters was one of the few men who had befriended him when everybody else had thrown him over.

A very short inquiry elicited the fact that Jerry was in town; also that Jerry was in funds, and had given the barmaid at the ‘Rise and Shine’ a gold watch and chain. Interviewed, the barmaid produced the gold watch and chain, which were at once recognised as the property of Walters, who had bought them as a present for his fiancée. Jerry was straight-way arrested; and, absurd as the statement may seem, was actually wearing a ring well-known to belong to Walters. He denied his guilt stoutly, stated that Walters had given him the ring and the watch and chain to bring down, and that when he was drunk he gave it to the barmaid. Jerry was remanded to H—, and Frost himself started up in charge of him.

The dusk was setting in when they reached the bank of the creek where the dead body had been found. The party from H—had been there and removed it. Frost pulled up, and looked round. The prisoner, manacled to a trooper, was close to him.

“You’re not going to camp here, are you?” stammered Jerry Boake, with pallid lips.

“Why not?” said Frost, sternly, “
you
know nothing about this place, do you?” And without another word he rode straight to the scene of the murder, and got off his horse.

“Turn out,” he said briefly.

The troopers dismounted, and began unpacking and unsaddling. Frost undid the handcuff from the trooper’s wrist, and refastened it on the prisoner’s.

There is only one way in the bush of securing a criminal charged with such a crime as Jerry’s, and who would stick at nothing to escape. A light trace-chain is used, and the prisoner tethered securely to a tree. Without a word, Frost, chain in hand, walked to the tree beneath which the body had been found, and beckoned to the troopers to bring the prisoner. Jerry approached; he had summoned up all his hardihood, and called up a look of defiance on his face, but he couldn’t control the trembling of his now pallid lips. Frost secured him, and the black trooper brought him his blankets, and sat down a short distance off to watch him.

Darkness closed in, the camp fires blazed up, food and tea were given to the prisoner, and with an air of bravado he pretended to eat; but though the food passed his lips not a bite could he swallow. The tea he drank greedily, and asked for more. The day’s journey had been a long one, and the tired men soon dropped off to sleep one after another—but for one man there was no sleep that night. For all that the camp was so quiet, he had an idea that he was being watched, and it gave him a miserable kind of moral support to think that there was someone else awake as well as himself. It would be an awful thing to be the only waking man in that camp.

He had got to the full length of the trace-chain, and must have lost consciousness for a few moments, for, while his heart beat until it nearly choked him, he saw a black shadow under the tree—a dark shadow that was not there before. With an effort he stilled his trembling nerves, and forced himself to gaze at the object. Pah! The moon had risen higher and changed the position of the shadows, that was all. But supposing a man with a bloody smear on his forehead and half-closed dull eyes were really to come and lie down on that spot, while he himself was chained there not able to get away, what an awful thing it would be!

Would morning never come? He thought. Why must he think, think, think, and all about the one thing; his own incredible folly? A few pounds in gold, a few days of drunken ‘shouting,’ and now—it must be a nightmare, surely—he could not have been led away to do such a madly insane deed. He disliked the man mostly because he owed him many kindnesses, but that was not why he killed him for. No, it was for the few miserable pounds he was carrying.

That horrible black shadow seemed to stop there, although the moon’s position had changed. Why did it stop there? Perhaps there was a stain of blood on the ground; he would force himself to go over and see. No, he couldn’t do that, he would stop where he was and try to think of other things; but he couldn’t. Always the same thought, the same hideous picture—a man asleep with his head on a saddle, and another standing over him with a levelled pistol. And then—well, then, a sight that would never leave him; the moon was young and sickly then, but its light was strong enough to show the dead body of the murdered man, with the bloody smear on his face. Would morning never come? Presently the moon would set, and then the darkness would be horrible. Who knows what hideous thing might not creep on him unawares. The air seemed thick with an awful corpse-like smell; had they buried the body there, where it was found? But this thought was too maddening—he would go frantic if he entertained it. Why did not the bleak shadow shift; the moon was getting low now?

* * * * * * *

Just before daylight Frost was awakened by one of the boys at the door of his tent. “Marmee, that fellow Jerry sing out along of you!” Frost got up and went over to the place. The moon had set, and the night was dark; he told the boys to make the fire.

“My God! Mr Frost,” said a piteous voice, “take me away from here, and I’ll tell you everything.” Frost undid the chain, and led him to the fire. He afterwards said that the look on the wretch’s face haunted him for months. Jerry Boake made a full confession—and was hanged a few weeks afterwards.

A HAUNT OF THE JINKARRAS

(1890)

In May, 1889, the dead body of a man was found on one of the tributaries of the Finke River, in the extreme North of South Australia. The body, by all appearances, had been lying there some months and was accidentally discovered by explorers making a flying survey with camels. Amongst the few effects was a Lett’s Diary containing the following narration, which although in many places almost illegible and much weather-stained, has been since, with some trouble, deciphered and transcribed by the surveyor in charge of the party, and forwarded to
THE BULLETIN
for publication.

TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DEAD MAN’S DIARY

March 10, 1888.—Started out this morning with Jackson, the only survivor of a party of three who lost their horses on a dry stage when looking for country—he was found and cared for by the blacks, and finally made his way into the line where I picked him up when out with a repairing-party. Since then I got him a job on the station, and in return he has told me about the ruby-field of which we are now in search; and thanks to the late thunder-storms we have as yet met with no obstacles to our progress. I have great faith in him, but he being a man without any education and naturally taciturn, is not very lively company, and I find myself thrown on to the resource of a diary for amusement.

March 17—Seven days since we left Charlotte Waters, and we are now approaching the country familiar to Jackson during his sojourn with the natives two years ago. He is confident that we shall gain the gorge in the Macdonnell Ranges to-morrow, early.

March 18.—Amongst the ranges, plenty of water, and Jackson has recognised several peaks in the near neighbourhood of the gorge, where he saw the rubies.

March 19.—Camped in Ruby Gorge, as I have named this pass, for we have come straight to the place and found the rubies without any hindrance at all. I have about twenty magnificent stones and hundreds of small ones; one of the stones in particular is almost living fire, and must be of great value. Jackson has no idea of the value of the find, except that it may be worth a few pounds, with which he will be quite satisfied. As there is good feed and water, and we have plenty of rations, will camp here for a day or two and spell the horses before returning.

March 20—Been examining some caves in the ranges. One of them seems to penetrate a great distance—will go to-morrow with Jackson and take candles and examine it.

March 25—Had a terrible experience the last four days. Why on earth did I not go back at once with the rubies? Now I may never get back. Jackson and I started to explore this cave early in the morning. We found nothing extraordinary about it for some time. As usual, there were numbers of bats, and here and there were marks of fire on the rocks, as though the natives had camped there at times. After some searching about, Jackson discovered a passage which we followed down a steep incline for a long distance. As we got on we encountered a strong draught of air and had to be very careful of our candles. Suddenly the passage opened out and we found ourselves in a low chamber in which we could not stand upright. I looked hastily around, and saw a dark figure like a large monkey suddenly spring from a rock and disappear with what sounded like a splash. “What on earth was that?” I said to Jackson. “A jinkarra,” he replied, in his slow, stolid way. “I heard about them from the blacks; they live under-ground.” “What are they?” I asked. “I couldn’t make out,” he replied; “the blacks talked about jinkarras, and made signs that they were underground, so I suppose that was one.”