Three Finger Jack
October 12th 2006 11:06
They call him Jack. Little do they know. He walks the road from Bealiba to. . . well nobody knows. But I know. I know his whole life, or at least as much as one can after a hundred and thirty years. Little enough of it there is to tell.
He walks the road. Him and his dog. Most often, during the half moon, at that time of day where dusk becomes full dark in the blink of an eye. He can be seen leaving an empty block at the south end of town. He walks north east up the main street and out of town. Just him and his dog. People have said that if you listen carefully you can hear him talking to himself or to the dog. Well, that’s what they say. His clothes are of an older time, his shirt and pants of a coarse material and boots of the hob-nail variety that give a faint metallic sound on the pavement.
When he goes by people turn away and shut their doors. He is a part of the town they don’t want to know about.
I first met Jack on one of those nights with broken cloud scudding past on the wind. I had just left a friends house and was going home. I came around the corner and there he was. Right in the middle of the road. Hell! He was right in front of me. I swerved and hit the brakes. It was too little too late. I went right over him. I sat there clutching the wheel shaking. When I looked up I saw Jack and his dog walking up the road. Cloud passed across the moon and he disappeared.
I must have sat there for an hour before I stopped shaking enough to drive home. It took me twenty minutes to drive the eight kilometres to my place.
It was three months before I saw Jack again. I was coming home from a job in South Australia and it had been dark for about ten minutes. The night was clear with the moon just a bit past half full. I was being careful as this road is known locally as Kangaroo Alley. As I came around the bend just before Piano Bridge Road there was Jack and his dog. I slowed right down and Jack just walked across the road and sauntered up Piano Bridge Road with never a look in my direction.
I had to know. I turned left into the track Jack had taken. He was gone. I grabbed the torch and got out of the car for a better look but he was nowhere to be seen. I’ll tell you now, I heard a dog bark up that road. It was as if it had come on the wind from a long way off. There was no wind. I got in the car and went home.
I started to haunt the road. I would be out there waiting. I started in town but someone called the cops about me standing around in the dark. Well I guess I can understand that. I moved out between Ironbark Ridge Road and Piano Bridge Road and waited.
Three weeks or more went by before I saw Jack and his dog again and it was just luck I looked in that direction at the time. I say luck but in the back of my mind is the thought that I heard a dog bark.
I was ready. I had my large torch and the small one as well. I had also brought my GPS. Jack crossed the road not more than thirty metres ahead of me and made his way up Piano Bridge Road. I had to jog to catch up or I would loose him again. When I got to the track he was gone. I wasn’t going to give up that easy though and continued up the track. I only just caught sight of him as he melted into the trees off to the right. I hurried after him. Even with my torch it was hard going through the trees and brush. He moved as if he was on a well known track while I struggled through the brush to keep him in sight. Then he was gone.
It was an interesting moment when I realised, that while Jack seemed to know where he was going, I was in the forest, in the dark, and I had forgotten to set a start point on the GPS. Did I mention the dark? Did I mention that my car was somewhere behind me? The only thing that made my day was that the GPS knew where home was. It very kindly pointed off through the bush and said that home was two kilometres east, as the crow flies. I’m not crow. Two and a half hours it took me to get home. At least I remembered to set a way point and take a bearing of the direction Jack was going when I lost him.
Early the next day I rolled over and went back to sleep until noon, when I got up, had a shower, a sandwich and walked up the road to get my car.
I pulled up Piano Bridge Road and parked as close as I could get to the way point I had set the night before. Following the GPS I found the way point and was amazed. Nothing there but forest. No track. Nothing. I headed off in the direction Jack was going the night before. After ten minutes I knew it was hopeless. It was just trees, hills and gullies. No indication where Jack might have gone. I went back to the car and returned home.
I was sitting in my car on Piano Bridge Road the next night just as it was going dark. I saw Jack coming up the road and turn off into the forest. I grabbed my gear and hurried off after him through the trees. I was no more than three or four meters behind him as he climbed the hill. If he knew I was there he gave no indication. I jogged up the hill, I didn’t want to loose him again. As I crossed the crest of the hill there was a long tearing noise above me. I tried to run.
I woke up with Jack’s dog licking my face. Jack was standing there looking down at me. He said ‘I thought you was gone.’
‘Shit mate. So did I. What happened?’
‘Tree dropped a branch. You better come to my place and we will put a bit of hot tea inside ya.’
Jack held out his hand and pulled me to my feet.
He lead me down a well used track that meandered along the gully and ended at a small grassy clearing. There were a couple of apple trees and a small garden plot on one side. The other side was occupied by Jack’s humpy. Next to the humpy was a grave with a headstone. I stopped to have a look. This is what it said
I followed Jack inside his humpy. He poured some rum into two cups and put the billy on the wood stove. As he was putting the tea into the billy I noticed that he had just three fingers on his right hand.
Oh Yes, I know all about Jack. But I’m not telling. Besides who would I tell. People turn away and shut their doors when I go by, so I ain’t telling and I ain’t goin’ either.
He walks the road. Him and his dog. Most often, during the half moon, at that time of day where dusk becomes full dark in the blink of an eye. He can be seen leaving an empty block at the south end of town. He walks north east up the main street and out of town. Just him and his dog. People have said that if you listen carefully you can hear him talking to himself or to the dog. Well, that’s what they say. His clothes are of an older time, his shirt and pants of a coarse material and boots of the hob-nail variety that give a faint metallic sound on the pavement.
When he goes by people turn away and shut their doors. He is a part of the town they don’t want to know about.
I first met Jack on one of those nights with broken cloud scudding past on the wind. I had just left a friends house and was going home. I came around the corner and there he was. Right in the middle of the road. Hell! He was right in front of me. I swerved and hit the brakes. It was too little too late. I went right over him. I sat there clutching the wheel shaking. When I looked up I saw Jack and his dog walking up the road. Cloud passed across the moon and he disappeared.
I must have sat there for an hour before I stopped shaking enough to drive home. It took me twenty minutes to drive the eight kilometres to my place.
It was three months before I saw Jack again. I was coming home from a job in South Australia and it had been dark for about ten minutes. The night was clear with the moon just a bit past half full. I was being careful as this road is known locally as Kangaroo Alley. As I came around the bend just before Piano Bridge Road there was Jack and his dog. I slowed right down and Jack just walked across the road and sauntered up Piano Bridge Road with never a look in my direction.
I had to know. I turned left into the track Jack had taken. He was gone. I grabbed the torch and got out of the car for a better look but he was nowhere to be seen. I’ll tell you now, I heard a dog bark up that road. It was as if it had come on the wind from a long way off. There was no wind. I got in the car and went home.
I started to haunt the road. I would be out there waiting. I started in town but someone called the cops about me standing around in the dark. Well I guess I can understand that. I moved out between Ironbark Ridge Road and Piano Bridge Road and waited.
Three weeks or more went by before I saw Jack and his dog again and it was just luck I looked in that direction at the time. I say luck but in the back of my mind is the thought that I heard a dog bark.
I was ready. I had my large torch and the small one as well. I had also brought my GPS. Jack crossed the road not more than thirty metres ahead of me and made his way up Piano Bridge Road. I had to jog to catch up or I would loose him again. When I got to the track he was gone. I wasn’t going to give up that easy though and continued up the track. I only just caught sight of him as he melted into the trees off to the right. I hurried after him. Even with my torch it was hard going through the trees and brush. He moved as if he was on a well known track while I struggled through the brush to keep him in sight. Then he was gone.
It was an interesting moment when I realised, that while Jack seemed to know where he was going, I was in the forest, in the dark, and I had forgotten to set a start point on the GPS. Did I mention the dark? Did I mention that my car was somewhere behind me? The only thing that made my day was that the GPS knew where home was. It very kindly pointed off through the bush and said that home was two kilometres east, as the crow flies. I’m not crow. Two and a half hours it took me to get home. At least I remembered to set a way point and take a bearing of the direction Jack was going when I lost him.
Early the next day I rolled over and went back to sleep until noon, when I got up, had a shower, a sandwich and walked up the road to get my car.
I pulled up Piano Bridge Road and parked as close as I could get to the way point I had set the night before. Following the GPS I found the way point and was amazed. Nothing there but forest. No track. Nothing. I headed off in the direction Jack was going the night before. After ten minutes I knew it was hopeless. It was just trees, hills and gullies. No indication where Jack might have gone. I went back to the car and returned home.
I was sitting in my car on Piano Bridge Road the next night just as it was going dark. I saw Jack coming up the road and turn off into the forest. I grabbed my gear and hurried off after him through the trees. I was no more than three or four meters behind him as he climbed the hill. If he knew I was there he gave no indication. I jogged up the hill, I didn’t want to loose him again. As I crossed the crest of the hill there was a long tearing noise above me. I tried to run.
I woke up with Jack’s dog licking my face. Jack was standing there looking down at me. He said ‘I thought you was gone.’
‘Shit mate. So did I. What happened?’
‘Tree dropped a branch. You better come to my place and we will put a bit of hot tea inside ya.’
Jack held out his hand and pulled me to my feet.
He lead me down a well used track that meandered along the gully and ended at a small grassy clearing. There were a couple of apple trees and a small garden plot on one side. The other side was occupied by Jack’s humpy. Next to the humpy was a grave with a headstone. I stopped to have a look. This is what it said
“HERE LIES JOHN CHARLES AMBROSE
KNOWN AS THREE FINGER JACK
AFTER A ACCEDENT WITH HIS GUN
DIED MARCH 3 1853
HIS LAST WORDS WERE
“I AIN’T GOIN”
KNOWN AS THREE FINGER JACK
AFTER A ACCEDENT WITH HIS GUN
DIED MARCH 3 1853
HIS LAST WORDS WERE
“I AIN’T GOIN”
I followed Jack inside his humpy. He poured some rum into two cups and put the billy on the wood stove. As he was putting the tea into the billy I noticed that he had just three fingers on his right hand.
Oh Yes, I know all about Jack. But I’m not telling. Besides who would I tell. People turn away and shut their doors when I go by, so I ain’t telling and I ain’t goin’ either.
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