Gangland Robbers by James Morton Page B

people know, and especially my relatives in South Australia, and those who knew me as a boy, that I am not guilty of the crime for which I have been sentenced. Tell them that, although I have been a pretty bad lot, goodness only knows, I have never committed murder, nor sanctioned murder. I did not shoot Berriman, nor was I near the place when he was shot. I was wrongfully convicted. Some witnesses at the trial convinced themselves that they had seen me at the house in St. Kilda, and afterwards at Glenferrie, but they just convinced themselves, and we know that people can do that. From the time I escaped from the Geelong Gaol I never left St Kilda except for a fortnight I put in at Port Melbourne. I used to go down on the beach pretty well every day, and would read a book or play with the children there. Some of the newspapers have really convicted me by the way in which they have created feeling against me. I tell you I was astounded when the jury brought in a verdict of guilty, with not even a recommendation to mercy. How different it was with the Pearce [sic] Brothers and those connected with the Trades Hall shooting. Mr. Gorman, my solicitor, pointed out in the court that in no case that he could find had a man in company with another, as I was said to be, received the full penalty of the law, when that man did not commit the murder. Mr. Gorman did all he could for me, but it made no difference.
    Here I am, my life is fast drawing to an end. I have but thirteen days to live. Sometimes I hear the clanging of the clocks, and it sounds to me like the hammers of death, but I intend to face my fate bravely and keeping a-smiling. What else can a man do? At night I hear the tramp of warders’ feet. I like to see those who know me. It brightens up the day; but I have had to stop the visits of some women friends. They weep, and I don’t like that. Colonel Albiston of the Salvation Army, sees me frequently. He is a good friend to me. Sometimes I think of old days in Adelaide, when life was full of hope. Alas, they are gone. The turning point in my career was when as a boy I was arrested in Adelaide and sentenced for housebreaking. Among those whose houses were robbed, you remember, was the late Chief Justice (Sir Samuel Way). I got a taste of prison life then that rankled ever after. I couldn’t go straight after that. Why should I expect mercy now? I have exposed the penal system on two occasions, and they have remembered me for that.
    I have only a few days more left of me of air and light and food and sensation, all that goes to make up life. Then I will be no more. On the shadow of the scaffold I want to say good-bye to all my friends. These are my parting words:—I am not guilty .
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    Taylor and anti-hanging groups tried to organise a reprieve for Murray, and a petition with some 70 000 signatures was presented. A march was organised in which Taylor drove in an open car, graciously receiving the tributes of the crowd, who respectfully doffed their caps. He was with Ida Pender and their baby.
Truth
reported that he provided his handkerchief for use as a nappy.
    None of it did Murray any good, including a last-ditch attempt to show that he had a child who was a ‘congenital idiot’, and that his father, uncle and an aunt had all committed suicide, which the author ities did not believe added up to his being of unsound mind. In the death cell, he wrote to the man—certainly not Taylor—who had financed his appeal, apologising for presuming on him. When he broke his dentures , the prison doctor, Clarence Godfrey, offered to make him a replacement set as a matter of urgency but, according to
Truth
, he declined, saying, ‘Doctor, do you really think it worthwhile?’
    He was hanged on 14 April 1924. Earlier,
Truth
had been at its sanctimonious best:
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    In the Great Beyond there is a whole army of men who have gone forth from the earth through the gibbet and the gallows. Angus Murray will