THE SHOOTING OF FRED LOWRY AT TOM VARDY'S LIMERICK RACES HOTEL, NEAR GOULBURN, NEW SOUTH WALES, AUGUST 29TH 1863.(poem)(Poem)(Brief Article)

 
   A cold, still dawn in the bush. 
   Acting on information, 
   Senior-Sergeant Stephenson 
   and three other men surrounded the pub. 
   It was little more than a roadside shack 
   with a few roughly partitioned rooms. 
   Fred Lowry and mate Larry Cummins 
   were holed up there, 
   having robbed the Mudgee mail coach 
   the month before. 
   Stephenson crept along the verandah, 
   wincing at each creaking board, 
   then thumped on the bushrangers' door. 
   "Police! Open up!" 
   Silence. 
   He called out again. 
   "Police! We've got you surrounded!' 
   Silence still. Broken by a magpie's song. 
   He shouldered the door, breaking the lock, 
   then quickly stepped back to one side. 
   Lowry appeared in the doorway, 
   a revolver in each hand. 
   "My name is Lowry!" he declared. 
   "Come on, I'll fight you fair!" 
   He fired. Stephenson heard 
   a bullet singing as it passed his head. 
   The Sergeant's first shot played its own tune, 
   chiming off the iron door handle. 
   Lowry fired again. The bullet sparked 
   off the barrel of Stephenson's gun, 
   flew inside the sleeve of his cloak 
   then came out at the elbow. 
   The policeman didn't get a scratch. 
   He fired a second time, 
   hitting Lowry in the throat, 
   throwing him flat on his back. 
   The Sergeant dragged Fred, gurgling blood 
   and gasping for air, into the clear. 
   While the other policemen stood guard, 
   he returned and ...