Moran had saved a hundred pounds by digging in Picaninny Gully, and
he was soon afterwards admitted to serve Her Majesty again in the
police department. On the Sunday after Price was murdered by the
convicts at Williamstown I met Moran after Mass in the middle of
Lonsdale Street. I reproached him for his baseness in deserting to
the enemy--Her Majesty, no less--and in self-defence he nearly
argued my head off. At last I threatened to denounce him as a "Joey"
--he was in plain clothes--and have him killed by the crowd in the
street. Nothing but death could silence Moran. The rest of his
history is engraved on a monument in the Melbourne Cemetery; he, his
wife, and all his children died many years ago.--R.I.P. He was
really a good man, with only one defect--most of us have many--he
was always trying to divide a hair 'twixt West and South-West side.
I met Santley after thirty years, sitting on a bench in front of the
"Travellers' Rest" at Alberton, in Gippsland. He had a wrinkled old
face, and did not recognise my beautiful countenance until he heard
my name. He had half-a-dozen little boys and girls around him--his
grandchildren, I believe--and was as happy as a king teaching them
to sing hymns. I don't think Santley had grown rich, but he always
carried a fortune about with him wherever he went, viz., a kind heart
and a cheerful disposition.
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