Volume 2 — TRANSPORTATION

SECTION I

Transportation, considered not as a question of national policy but as a fact, demands a place in this record. It will be our object to ascertain those incidents which illustrate its local operation—to trace events that have attended the repeated changes in its colonial spirit. It belongs to the British statesman to scan its effects on the population of the empire; but fairly to exhibit its Australasian aspect, will not be without utility to the colonies themselves.

Although a separate relation will derange the thread of Tasmanian history, the reader may be compensated by a view more perspicuous and useful.

Thousands of British offenders, who by their exile and sufferings have expiated their crimes, trod almost alone the first stages of Austral colonisation, and amidst toils and privations, initiated a progress now beheld by nations with curiosity and admiration. Economists still weigh in uncertain balances the loss and the gain, and the legislator longs for facts which may decide the perpetual conflict between them who denounce and those who approve this expedient of penal legislation. It is not the intention of this narrative to anticipate conclusions: its design will be accomplished when the story of the past is truly told.

Exile, the penalty denounced by the Almighty against the first homicide, was among the earliest affixed by man to lesser crimes, or whenever the presence of the offender endangered the public repose. The Roman law permitted the accused to withdraw from impending judgment by a voluntary exile. Such was the practice in the time of Cicero. When men sought to avoid bondage or death, adjudged by the laws, they had recourse to exile as to an altar; nor did they forfeit their civic standing, except with their lives.[37]

At a later period, under the imperial government, the islands of the Mediterranean became places of exile: several thousand Jews were banished from Rome to the Island of Sardinia.[38]

Transportation was unknown to the common law of England, but abjuration of the realm, which resembled the Roman practice, was not infrequent: "it was permitted," said Sir Edward Coke, "when the felon chose rather to perdere patriam quam vitam,"—to lose his country rather than his life. The culprit having found sanctuary within the precincts of a church, took oath to abjure the realm: assuming the character of a pilgrim, he received a cross to protect him on his journey. By the Act of James I. the privilege of sanctuary was taken away,[39] and thus the abjuration, founded upon it, virtually abolished.

The Spanish was the first Christian nation which to banishment united penal labor. Columbus found it difficult to allure adventurers: to work the mines, was necessary to gratify his patrons, and he prevailed on Ferdinand to furnish colonists by clearing the galleys. These recruits attended the great discoverer on his third expedition (1498): they largely contributed to the disorders which vexed the infant settlement, and aroused the resentment of the unfortunate Indians.[40]

Banishment was first formally recognised by English law in the reign of Elizabeth (39 Eliz. cap. 4).[41] It was enacted, that "dangerous rogues, and such as will not be reformed of their roguish course of life, may lawfully by the justices in their quarter sessions be banished out of the realm, and all the dominions thereof, and to such parts beyond the seas as shall for that purpose be assigned by the privy council." Return was made felony without benefit of clergy. A brand was affixed upon the shoulder, of the breadth of an English shilling, with a great Roman R upon the iron: "for a perpetual mark upon such rogue, during his or her life."[42]

Until commerce had extended the knowledge of distant parts, and the constant publication of correspondence with colonies made their affairs familiar, imagination depicted them as desolate and frightful. The London apprentice and the plough boy, thought of exile as a severe calamity. The love of home was rendered more intense, by the universal wilderness imagined beyond it: thus, loss of country was deemed a penalty fully equal to ordinary offences, and more severe than any domestic form of punishment short of the scaffold.

"Duri est non desiderare patriam. Cari sunt parentes; cari liberi, propinqui, familiares; sed omnes omnium caritates patria una complexa est: pro qua quis bonus dubitet mortem oppetere?"

It is to James I. that the British nation and the colonists owe the policy, whether salutary or baneful, of sending convicts to the plantations: "the good sense of those days justly considered that their labor would be more beneficial to an infant settlement, than their vices could be pernicious."[43] James directed the sheriff to deliver, and the governor and court of Virginia to receive one hundred prisoners, included in the definition of rogues and dangerous persons, and compelled the proprietors of that colony to become agents in their deportation.

The Lord Chief Justice Kelyng stated, that about the time of the restoration it became customary for a prisoner within benefit of clergy to procure from the king "a conditional pardon," and to send him beyond the seas to serve five years in some of the king's plantations; there to have land assigned him, according to the usage of those plantations for servants after their time expired.[44] A needless delay of departure, or a return within the period appointed, made the instrument of pardon void.

In the reign of Charles II. an act passed (Car. ii. 13, 14. cap. 2. s. 1), "for preventing dangers that may arise from certain persons called quakers," which authorised their transportation beyond the seas. Thus, the practice was not new: after the battle of Worcester, the parliament transported the royalists, and in the mutations of power all parties in their turn transported each other.

It had not been unusual for persons to sell themselves for a term of years. After the dissolution of the army of the commonwealth, many, to escape danger and poverty, sold their liberty to others, who carried them to the plantations.[45]

After the defeat of Monmouth, a letter was addressed by James II. to the governor of Virginia, which after reciting that the royal clemency had been extended to many rebellious subjects by ordering their transportation, required the governor to propose a bill to the assembly to prevent their redemption, by money or otherwise, until the expiration of ten years. The assembly declined to carry out the royal vengeance, and received the exiles with kindness.[46]

In 1717, transportation assumed a prominent place in English jurisprudence. An act of parliament (4 Geo. i.) recited that the customary punishments were inefficient, and that the "labor of criminals in the colonies would benefit the nation;" and mentioned the "frequent failure of those who undertook to transport themselves." Under this law, they were committed to the charge of ship-masters, who gave bonds for their transit; and who were obliged to produce certificates that they had disposed of their cargo according to law. It is said that £40,000 per annum were raised by the contractors, carrying annually two thousand prisoners, whom they sold for £20 each.[47] For a long time these importations were highly acceptable; the demand for labor reconciling the colonists to the attendant evils. The object of the law was to exile offenders from the mother country, and bondage in America was simply intended to indemnify its cost. It was in the power of the captains to set them free, or a friendly agent by appearing as a purchaser might release them.[48] When landed, they were sold by auction to the colonists, for the term of their sentence; and even the royal pardon did not cancel an obligation to serve—except by the repayment of the purchase money to the planter.

This course had many inconveniencies, and led to atrocious crimes. The treatment of the convict depended on the individual who bought his service: the state imposed but slight responsibilities, and the colonial control was regulated by local laws.

Many notices in annals of those times indicate that the practice of kidnapping, especially of youth, was not uncommon. Johnson, in his immortal memoir of the poet, Savage, numbers in the catalogue of his mother's cruelties, an attempt to send him captive to the plantations, and to sell him for a slave.

Goldsmith refers to establishments devoted to this species of slavery:—"I regarded myself as one of those evil things that nature designed should be thrown into her lumber room, there to perish in obscurity. It happened that Mr. Crispe's office seemed invitingly open to give me a welcome reception. In this office Mr. Crispe kindly offers to sell his Majesty's subjects a generous promise of £30 a year; for which promise, all they give in return is their liberty for life, and permission to let him transport them to America as slaves."[49]

Before the era of separation, the American planters had begun to resent the influx of felons. Free labor grew plentiful, and the colonial reputation was compromised: nor were these the sole reasons for opposition; the management of negro slaves became a capital branch of domestic industry; the prestige of color was endangered by the subjection of white men to the discipline of slavery.

The practice of transportation did not terminate until the era of independence. The Canadas remained loyal; but the ministers of the day did not deem it prudent to reward their submission with the stigma of transportation.

Franklin, when the colonists were about to cast off the imperial rule of Great Britain, complained of this system: he compared it to pouring "cargoes of rattlesnakes on the shores of England." He, however, maintained that this description of exiles formed but a small proportion of the American people; that of one million, eighty thousand only had been brought over the ocean, and of these one-eighth only were convicts. In reference to the number transported to America, the accounts of the British and American writers considerably differ. None were sent to the New England colonies. Jefferson, during his diplomatic residence in France, furnished a statement for the Encyclopédie Méthodique, in which he asserted that the convict element of the American population was too small to deserve enumeration. He estimated the total number at 2,000, and their descendants at 4,000, in 1785, or something more than one-thousandth part of the entire people. This calculation has been, perhaps justly, charged with partiality; but it is useless to meet error by conjecture.[50] This obvious topic of sarcasm was early adopted. Party writers poisoned the shafts of political warfare, by references to the convict element of the trans-atlantic population: "their Adam and Eve emigrated from Newgate,"[51]—"their national propensities to fraud, they inherited from their convict ancestors,"—"they are the offspring of convicts, and they have retained the disposition of their felon progenitors." Such were the sayings of critics, lords, and statesmen: it was thus they described a people, who among their forefathers can enumerate heroes and saints; who, flying from the scourge of bigotry and despotism, laid the foundation of an empire. Can we expect more complacency?

FOOTNOTES:

SECTION II

During and subsequent to the American war, the prisons of Great Britain were crowded. A distemper, generated in the damp and fœtid atmosphere of gaols, carried off thousands: to be charged with an offence, was to be exposed to the risk of a malady generally fatal. Sometimes, it passed beyond the precincts of prisons: at Taunton, the judges and other officers of the court, and hundreds of the inhabitants, perished.

Howard, after spending a large portion of his life in retirement and devotion, was chosen sheriff of Bedfordshire. He exposed the sufferings which he witnessed; and accelerated transportation, by revealing the secrets of the prison house. It is needless to describe his labors—they belong to all nations: he reproved kings, and received the blessings of thousands ready to perish; and he lost his life in the service of mankind.[52]

The attention awakened by Howard, the philanthropist, led to the general improvement of prisons (1779). A variety of projects were suggested for the disposal of prisoners: some it was proposed to confine in dock-yards, salt works, mines, or where concentrated labour might be possible. Mr. Eden, at first, suggested that enormous offenders should be sent to the Mahomedan ports, and sold for the redemption of Christian slaves, or be employed on the coasts of Africa, on small islands, for the benefit of navigation.[53] It was recommended by a committee of the House of Commons to transport criminals to the coast of Africa and the East Indies. These plans were effectually resisted, or failed of their design.

Judge Blackstone and Mr. Eden contrived a scheme, in concert with Howard, which they embodied in the "Hard Labor Bill." Its object was twofold: to establish labor houses all over England, and to regulate the employment of convicts on board the hulks. This measure was published preparatory to its being submitted to parliament, and fell into the hands of Bentham. Hailing the movement as fraught with important improvements, he produced his Panopticon, which he described as applicable to all houses of industry, and wherever inspection is constantly required. The plan exhibits remarkable ingenuity: the separation being made consistent with continual oversight, and an economy of space with health and exercise. The design of the building itself is circular: the external area cut up into angles, and separated by walls running to a common centre. The interior is formed of a succession of circles, not inaptly compared by the satirical opponents of the scheme to a spider's web.[54] He afterwards accompanied his plans with minute definitions of the objects and methods of penal coercion.

Sir John Parnell, chancellor of the Irish exchequer, Mr. Pitt and Lord Melville of the English ministry, were anxious to establish the panopticon system in their respective countries. The design was not formally abandoned until 1813, when the erection of the Millbank Penitentiary, extinguished the scheme of Bentham. He had written political articles offensive to the court: George III. had attempted to refute his opinions, and cherished towards him the antipathy of a rival. A contract was formed with Bentham, to erect and conduct his panopticon: he had received possession of a spot of land assigned for the purpose, and nothing was wanting but the royal signature to his official appointment. His hopes were finally crushed by the obstinacy of the inexorable king.[55]

FOOTNOTES:

SECTION III

Whatever advantages were supposed to pertain to a system of domestic punishment, it was opposed by formidable difficulties. To Bentham's system it was objected, that it required a supervision practically unattainable. The enthusiasm, ability, and integrity of the projector, it was alleged, would be probably confined to himself; and although the better plan, while under his eye, it would prove of all the most dangerous and inefficient, when directed by the unskilful and corrupt.[56] Nor did it prevent the return of the offender to society, and thus a relapse into crime.

The large preliminary outlay required to test the scheme of Bentham, which exceeded his first calculations, was urged against its trial, and its complicated details wearied the attention of the county magistrates. They preferred transportation, and cheerfully resigned the offender to the good or ill-fortune of his colonial career.

These views were strengthened by the increasing aversion to capital punishments. To detain a criminal for life seemed cruel to himself, and to release him would be perilous to the community. His treatment while in bonds, would vary with the temper of individuals entrusted with his punishment. This, Bentham himself confessed: he observed—"different tempers prescribe different measures of security and indulgence. Some forget that a convict in prison is a sensitive being; others that he is put in there for punishment. Some grudge him every gleam of comfort or alleviation of misery, to which his situation is susceptible; to others every little privation, every little unpleasant feeling, every unaccustomed circumstance, every necessary point of coercive discipline, presents matter for a charge of inhumanity."[57]

To American transportation, the following is a summary of his objections. 1. It was unequal: a man who had money might buy off the servitude. Again, with regard to banishment, it was unequal: some would have been glad to go by choice, others would rather die. 2. It was unexemplary: what the convict suffered, be it much or little, was unknown. 3. It was unfrugal: it occasioned great waste of life in the mode, and of money in the expenses of conveyance. 4. It did answer in some degree, in disabling the offender from doing further mischief: yet it has always been easier for a man to return from transportation than to escape from prison. 5. It answered, every now and then, the purposes of reformation pretty well; but not so well upon the whole, under the variable and uncertain direction of a private master, whose object was his own profit, as it might be expected to answer under regulations concerted by the united wisdom of the nation.[58] In these objections to American transportation the colonists will recognise familiar sounds—the chief elements of the arguments, in times both remote and recent, against the practice of transportation.

The worst class of criminals were often found in London, before their first sentence had expired. Many suffered capitally for this offence. Before the practice of contracting with shippers, political offenders preferred the continent of Europe to the hardships of America. It was made felony, without benefit of clergy (20 Geo. ii.), for rebels under sentence of transportation to reside either in France or Spain; and the inhuman penalty was denounced against their friends who might correspond with them in any form. When the crown carried out the sentence, the offender's return was still capital, and though unpopular, the guilty rarely escaped the penalty on conviction.

When this colony was established, the chief towns of Great Britain were haunted by innumerable thieves, who were organised for the purposes of robbery. In London armed men assailed passengers by night, and even by day. The arrest of robbers was accompanied with considerable danger, and it was not until towards the close of the eighteenth century that the military guard ceased to attend executions. A vast multitude of persons had degenerated into a robber caste. They lodged under the arches of bridges, or nestled in nooks or corners, wherever they could burrow. The districts of the city occupied by the better class of society, seemed but a small portion of the metropolis—like islands in a sea of vice and destitution. There were numerous places of savage amusement and small gambling houses; and young men of family, hanging loose on the world, not unfrequently became amateur adventurers in crime. The populace felt no aversion to a highwayman of spirit. The pursuit of criminals became a voluntary and profitable calling, and offenders against the laws were encouraged and sheltered, until they were ripe for the executioner.

Every part of London was the scene of executions: malefactors were hung in chains on every common and way-side. The populace treated the culprit with cheers or hisses, according to their view of his crime. Many wore a white cockade in their hats, in token of their innocence, when they were carried in procession to the scaffold.[59]

To compensate for the feebleness of the police, and the popular sympathy with crime, the crown paid £40 for each capital conviction. In 1796, a conspiracy was developed, which led to the legal slaughter of seventy persons, at a profit to the conspirators of £2,800. In 1818, the legislature reluctantly terminated this traffic in blood.[60]

Thus, after much discussion, the plan of a new penal settlement was finally preferred: denominated, in the official correspondence, "the improved Colony of New South Wales."[61] In dedicating his work to Thomas Townsend, Viscount Sydney, Collins ascribes the establishment of the colony to that nobleman. "To your patriotism" he writes, "the plan presented a prospect of political and commercial advantages." The facts recorded he alleges evinced with how much wisdom the measure was suggested and conducted; with what beneficial effects its progress had been attended, and what future benefits the parent country might with confidence anticipate. It was expected by Collins, that the colony would prove a valuable nursery for soldiers and seamen.

The territorial seal provided by the crown, stamped on the instruments of government the primary design: on the obverse, the royal arms and title; but on the reverse, convicts were represented landing, received by Industry, who, surrounded by her attributes—a bale of merchandise, a pick-axe and shovel—released them from their fetters, and pointed them to oxen ploughing. The legend was appropriate: "Sic fortis Etruria crevit."[62]

"He who lives among a civilised people, may estimate the labor by which society has been brought into such a state, by reading in the annals of Botany Bay, the account of a whole nation exerting itself to floor the government-house. Yet time shall come, when some Botany Bay Tacitus shall record the crimes of an emperor lineally descended from a London pickpocket."[63]

FOOTNOTES:

SECTION IV

The convicts first sent to New Holland, entered on the voyage with dread. The letters they addressed to their friends, while the fleet lay at anchor, were examined by the officers: they were filled with lamentations. They deeply deplored, that the distance of their exile cut off the hope of return; the perils of so long a voyage alone seemed frightful: should they reach the shores of New Holland, they expected to be destroyed by savages, or to pine away in want. The females seemed least to fear their banishment; and while several of the men were deeply moved, a spectator, who curiously remarked the mental influence of their prospects, saw only one woman weep.[64]

When the ocean had often been traversed by convict ships, these vague terrors declined; but the order, comfort, and security which now prevail, were little known. The freight was of such importance, that the masters were tempted to defraud the prisoners of water, and even of food; confiding in their means to silence or compensate the sufferers, when in sight of port, or to satisfy the government. So slightly considered was this species of fraud, or so useful to colonial traders, that the magistrates held the payment of a gratuity to be a bar to further inquiry.[65] The convicts were thus exposed to severe, and even dangerous privations. Scurvy, a malady often in those days fatal to half a ship's crew, broke down the strength of men emaciated, dispirited, and diseased: many perished by the way, and a much larger number arrived unfit for labor, and a public burden.

The management of a convict ship legally vested in the captain: his duty contemplating nothing more than a safe arrival. The personal government of the prisoners was confided to the surgeon, subject however to the discipline of the ship, of which the captain was exclusive judge. The health of the company was often sacrificed to the security of the vessel: the prisoners suspected of piratical intentions, were battened down and forbidden exercise, lest they should rise upon the crew. From the first, the officers in charge claimed a right to inflict corporal punishment; but, up to 1823, without the sanction of law. By the act then passed, power to order punishment was confided to the surgeon-superintendent, with the concurrence of the captain; who was intrusted with a veto, and was bound to enter his assent in the log-book, with the nature of the offence and extent of the infliction.[66]

Apprehensions of mutiny were much more common, when transportation to New Holland was recent, than experience has justified. On the slightest alarm, the prisoners were loaded with chains, fastened to ring-bolts attached to the ship's sides. Perhaps, no vessel ever crossed the Line without some plot, rumoured or real; but the most ordinary precautions have been found usually sufficient to detect and explode them: their inventors have often been their discoverers. The prisoners, commonly distrustful of each other, shrank from the confidence required to plan and execute a revolt. But when timid officers were in charge, they sometimes adopted restrictions severely oppressive; and which men of more courage and experience perceive to be needless.

During the war, the deportation of prisoners was attended with special difficulties: no ship's company were less likely to support the flag of their country. They were often delayed until a convoy could attend them. These hindrances were frequent, when this colony was founded. Both male and female prisoners were commonly forwarded together: the officers and soldiers selected companions for the voyage, and a sentence of transportation included prostitution. It is not incredible that modest women rejected life on such terms, or preferred a public execution to the ignominy of a floating brothel. These practices were first tolerated as inevitable, and afterwards justified as politic. No conspiracy could be concealed, while the women were paramours and spies; and, when long detained, the population of the ship considerably augmented before she dropped anchor. The government of the vessel was not less severe than its aspect was licentious.[67]

Thus the abuses which, during the war, penetrated every branch of public business, rioted in the convict ship; whilst the contractors, who engaged to convey the prisoners at a price, snatched a profit from the subsistence stipulated by the crown. Malignant fevers, brought from the hulks or prisons, propagated in the stagnant atmosphere, and, when combined with low and crude diet, more than decimated the list. These effects of official negligence were early apparent. The second fleet lost nearly one-fifth of the whole, either on the voyage, or shortly after the arrival. Of the previous expedition, the loss was trifling.[68] It was fitted out with integrity, surpassing the custom of the times, or the pioneers of the colony might have perished on a barren shore.

Captain Parker, of H. M. S. Gordon, detected this peculation: he traced the unusual mortality to the frauds of the officers, whose subduction from the standard allowance had "starved the prisoners to death;" but it was not till many years after, that the humanity of ministers interposed effectual regulations. The numbers who perished on board the General Hewitt, the Surry, and the Three Bees in 1814, forced the attention of the local government to the subject; and on the report of Surgeon Redfern, great improvements were adopted.[69] The dispatch of vessels without regard to the season, brought the prisoners within the cold latitudes, and exposed them to the southern winds in the winter; and thinly clad, and enervated by the heat of the tropics, they were crowded below, or shivering on the deck. A supply of warm clothing, and the choice of the proper period of sailing, greatly mitigated the voyage; and the constant examination of the diet, samples of which were preserved, checked the avarice which cost so many lives, and had thus led to atrocious crimes. It is humiliating to find, at every step, the traces of wrong: the comforts supplied the prisoners by their friends, were often stolen by the seamen: the pledges lodged in their hands were not restored: boxes were pillaged, and the trifles furnished by the self-sacrifice of a broken-hearted parent, became the spoil of the assignees of public vengeance. These evils were aggravated by the delay of the voyage, to subserve the commercial speculations of the surgeons, who, beyond the general gains of merchandise, were allowed a large remission of the customs.

Dr. Bromley, who superintended the transit of prisoners on several occasions during the first quarter of the century, availed himself largely of these trading privileges. Thus he landed, free of duty, at the close of one voyage, 150 gallons of spirits, one hogshead of wine, and ten baskets of tobacco, beside a shipload of women. This profitable form of investment excited no local complaint, and implied no disgrace.

The female convict ships continued under the same system of management, until some flagrant instances induced the Board of Admiralty to check the grossness of vice. Of vessels remembered for their pollution, the Friendship and Janus are distinguished: the keys of the prison were accessible during the night: the conspiracy reached from the cabin to forecastle: the officers were libertines themselves, or, even when their conduct was least equivocal, it was difficult to obstruct irregularities: not even bars and bolts resisted the ingress of forbidden guests. The wooden barriers, which covered the entrance, were displaced by some traitress within, who left no protection to her companions but the point of honor.

The first who improved the discipline of the convict ships, were Captain Brown and Dr. Reed, of the Morley: they endeavoured, by precept and example, to inculcate morality. Coercion had been found ineffectual, and the women, when restricted, filled the vessel with clamour and profaneness; but these gentlemen adopted a system of mental influence, and their prisoners, whatever was their subsequent conduct, were far superior to their predecessors. The result of this instance led to a permanent amelioration, and proved what had hitherto been doubted—that even the worst societies can be controlled, by those who unite a sense of virtue with official authority.[70]

The safety ascribed to the system of prostitution, was but an apology for vice, and the voyage of the Jane Shore dissolved the illusion. The persuasion of the women accomplished what the male prisoners rarely attempted, and when on their passage to the colonies have never been able to effect. The soldiers and sailors, seduced by their caresses, seized the vessel, and having shot the captain and the chief officer, steered into a South American port. Once only, did a piratical plot assume a serious form. The prisoners by the Chapman devised a capture; but the report of the design being communicated, the guard was prepared for resistance. A deadly fire covered the deck with carnage: several were precipitated into the sea. The sanguinary conflict, which might have been prevented by timely precautions, obtained for the Chapman the popular prefix by which it is distinguished.[71] On one occasion, a vessel was in imminent danger, through the foolish incaution of the guard. It was the custom to discharge the fire-arms at sunrise, and to load them at noon: the interval seemed to offer the fairest prospect of success, and the prisoners extensively joined in the conspiracy; but they were overheard in conversation by a soldier standing at the hatchway: the ringleaders were seized, and the plot defeated.

During the shorter voyages, from port to port, such accidents have been much more common, although rarely successful. Knatchbull, a relative of the eminent Kentish family, and formerly an officer in the navy, enticed his fellow prisoners to attempt the capture of the vessel which conveyed them: but his device, to poison all but the conspirators with arsenic, was denounced.[72]

The prisoners sent down from Sydney to Van Diemen's Land, were conveyed in small crafts and small numbers, and without much regard to their health; but as an example of wretchedness, nothing could exceed the usual passage from Hobart Town to Macquarie Harbour. The unhappy men, often destitute of clothing, were placed in the hold of a vessel, without bedding or blankets, and were exposed, sometimes for five or six weeks, to the chills of a wintry voyage: on one such, there were thirty-five men, who had but four blankets among them; and one was found without any other covering than his shirt, in which plight he had been forwarded from the gaol.[73]

The surgeon-superintendent enters on his office at the same moment with the guard: his duties are multiform—the magistrate, the chaplain, the mentor, and the physician. The surgeons are usually popular with the prisoners, and the penal administration with which they are entrusted, is generally the most disguised. Educated men, they are not commonly haughty and capricious: they are able to distinguish moral imbecility from perverseness, and both from disease. The habit of scrutinising quickens their sagacity, and fits them for a station, where the knowledge of the heart is the great secret of control. Accustomed to behold human nature, stript of all its external trappings, the grade of the prisoner, in their estimation, does not wholly debase the man. Witnesses to the wretchedness of humble life, the squalor of its garrets and its cellars—observant that want, which sometimes forms the felon, much oftener makes the martyr, and crowds the hospital rather than the gaol—they are not incapable of pitying either class of victims. The horrors which others feel for disease, whether of the body or the mind, excite no antipathies in men who have devoted their lives to its relief: thus their government of convicts often affords a singular contrast to the agency which precedes or follows them. The recollection of their conduct is mentioned by the prisoner with respect, and even with fondness. No profession can better prepare for practical benevolence: what it withdraws from the sensibility it adds to the understanding; and those in charge of convict vessels have exhibited, in full average, the virtues of their profession.[74]

When physical suffering became infrequent, and the arrangements secured both convenience and comfort during the voyage, it was long ere moral control, or a reformatory discipline, became objects of concern. A surgeon,[75] employed from 1818, amused the public with the details of his system of management—not wanting in humanity. He encouraged a joyous indifference to the past or the future: the prisoners sang from morning to night, and often spent the evenings in dancing. The greatest criminals were selected on principle for offices of trust, as far the most trusty! The discourse was licentious—the feats of thievery, the chosen topics of amusement and conversation. A stage, decked out with the remains of former spoil, exhibited "the forty thieves," or a comedy of judges, officers, and felons: mock charges were enforced by barristers, arrayed in blankets; the bench was filled with an actor decorated with a quilt, while a swab covered his head, and descended to his shoulders. In the female prison ships, dancing and concerts, at which the cabin passengers were spectators, whiled away the voyage. The gross immoralities of a former period had subsided when he wrote: he mentioned the change with regret. A free intercourse, he thought, more conducive to reformation, as well as to harmony: the attachment formed by the women, softened their demeanor, and facilitated their control. Such were his views, and they had many partisans: but in connection we learn, without astonishment, that he thought contemptuously of saintship, considered reformation utopian, and honesty rather the result of habit than of principle; the convicts, more unfortunate in their detection than peculiar in their crimes: capable of the devotion of hypocrites; hardly of repentance. The dash of libertinism which sparkles in the pages of this writer, fell in with the humour of the day, and the work was popular. It greatly tended, notwithstanding its levity, to change the character of penal discipline in the colonies.[76]

The discipline of a convict vessel, as administered by Surgeon-superintendent Browning, exhibited a different scene, and was carried out in another spirit. The devout character of his mind, his confiding disposition, and boundless good-will, are well known in these colonies; and his management has been regarded with great admiration, or great contempt. His high valuation of human nature contrasted with the common official estimate: he not only saw fellow men in the worst prisoners, but practicable materials, which knowledge and judgment might form into comparative moral excellence. The plan of his government recognised a wide distribution of oversight and responsibility: the names by which he distinguished those whom he employed were flattering: they were not gaolers and turnkeys, but captains of divisions and delegates. He delivered lectures upon geography and astronomy: those who could play instruments, such as clarionet, fife, and violin, were stationed on the deck, while the rest marched in ranks. He instituted a court of enquiry, consisting of five persons, of which his clerk was the recorder, who examined witnesses, and disposed of trivial offences, by exhortation, warning, and reproof; and in more flagrant cases, these preliminary inquiries formed the basis of his own adjudication. He treated the prisoners as persons sequestered from society for their own good. He has shewn, by tables, that those who acquired a knowledge of reading under his instruction, often indeed imperfect, formed a large proportion of the whole.[77] His addresses exhibit the ardour of his character: most critics would discern a tinge of enthusiasm; which, however, is common to all, who successfully attempt the reformation of mankind. Under such a guardian, it may be imagined, that the physical welfare of the prisoners was carefully superintended. Medical comforts were distributed with great liberality: flogging was wholly disused. Moral influence, assisted by occasional deprivation of food or liberty, comprehended the agency he employed. The systems of Browning and Cunningham, though contemplating the same general objects, were singularly adverse; and in nothing did they differ more pointedly than their estimate of the substrata of convict character, the influence of religious instruction, and the usefulness of the cat. Dr. Browning was subject to much imposition—a liability which meets every aspect of practical benevolence; but that he preserved order and health, discouraged blasphemy, provided for the occupation of time, and prevented gambling and peculation—that he sheltered the well-disposed from the violence and contamination of the worst—and that he parted with his charge, with their ideas increased and their moral sensibility awakened—is, with all deductions, a claim to no trifling praise. Colonel Arthur, a keen observer, mentioned the general emotion which separation occasioned: the prisoners heard his valedictory address with tenderness and reverence, and melted into tears.[78] To reproach his labors would be a sin against mankind; but an over-estimate of their effect, diminished the moral weight of their example. "Dr. Browning's pets" became marked men; their conduct was watched with curiosity, often with ill-will, and their lapses were reckoned up with exultation.

The ample provision for the accommodation, exercise, and food of the prisoners, has been of late years a topic of complaint. They require more care, and a diet more nicely chosen, than laborers in health and mental tranquillity. Efforts to reduce these comforts have been followed by fever and physical prostration; and whatever aspect their treatment may wear, those who deprive them of liberty are bound to provide for their safety. The law sentences to transportation: no question of public policy could justify a minister, when converting that penalty into a sentence of death.[79]

Notwithstanding the length of the voyage, the navigation of convict vessels has been fortunate: for thirty years no vessel had been lost. The merchant ships met with the average of accidents; but the transports were supposed, by the curious, to be under a peculiar destiny. They attributed their safe passage to the force of the proverb, which implies that the trident of Neptune is powerless against the heritage of the executioner.

A succession of calamities, in the navigation of convict vessels, changed the aspect of their fortune, and filled all classes with commiseration: such was the wreck of the Amphitrite, in 1833, which struck on the coast of Bologne. That vessel was in a position of great danger, and the French pilot, Heuret, endeavoured to warn, in time to save; but the risk of the usual reward, it is said, the surgeon was unwilling to incur; and the captain, not less indisposed to forfeit his bond, which included a penalty for every prisoner who might escape. Their hesitation was fatal to themselves: the women were not permitted to come on deck, or to avail themselves of the opportunity to save their lives. These unfortunate females, to the number of 103, with their children, were drowned; and their naked corpses, floating to the coast of France, exhibited an appalling spectacle. The French and English mingled their tears, as they beheld the bodies strewed along the beach—some models of feminine beauty, others disfigured by the recent concussions; among the rest, a young mother, with her child clasped in her arms. Nor does it appear that the instructions of the government had ever foreseen or provided for such dangers, or authorised the temporary release of prisoners, when the situation of the ship might require their liberation.

The wreck of the George the Third, in April, 1835, excited the most painful sensations. Having fifty-three persons on the sick list, occasioned by a deficiency of proper food, Captain Moxley endeavoured to reach Hobart Town through D'Entrecasteaux's Channel: while running at an easy rate, and in smooth water, the leadsman cried out, "a quarter less four:" that instant the vessel struck; at first gently, then heavily, and in less than ten minutes she was a perfect wreck. The prisoners were below, imploring release: they rushed to the hatchway, where a corporal's guard was armed to repress them: they forced through the bars, and a few were seen to escape; the soldiers, ordered to resist their egress, then fired. The waters rushing into the hold of the vessel drowned the sick, and reached the knees of the convicts, who were ascending the hatchway; and Major Ryan, and the surgeon-superintendent, expected instant death. They succeeded in sending the long-boat on shore, amidst the cheers of the prisoners. Assistance was afforded by the Louisa schooner; and a party dispatched in the cutter, obtained help from Hobart Town: but of two hundred and twenty, one hundred and thirty-three perished. The fate of the convicts who fell at the hatchway, excited great commiseration and some complaint: the officers disclaimed the order to fire—an act which could only be excused by the danger to the whole company in a rush to the boat. A board of inquiry acquitted all parties of blame.

One man, only, was found on the wreck; an aged prisoner, on his passage to the colony under his third sentence of transportation: unable to face the surf, he lashed himself to a ring attached to the hull, and there closed his career of crime.

A disaster, not less appalling, occurred off King's Island, by the wreck of the Neva, in May, 1835, at 4 o'clock in the morning: she struck upon the rocks, swung on the reef, and admitted the sea. The pinnace was lowered, and the prison being broken by the shock, the unfortunate women rushed on the deck; they filled the boat, which was instantly swamped, and all, except three seamen, perished. The long-boat was then carefully laden; but being upset by the surf, all sunk, except the master and chief officer: these having regained the ship, she parted; and the women, aroused from their beds in the twilight of a wintry morning, clung shivering to the fragments. Their cries of suffering and anguish were soon hushed, and of two hundred and forty, a few moments before slumbering in tranquillity, twenty-two only were borne on broken pieces of the ship to land; of these, seven died from exhaustion, and the remainder must have perished, but for the intrepid exertions of Mr. Charles Friend, who caught sight of their signals when passing the coast.

Two women disputed about the position of the vessel: exasperated by contradiction, they were tearing each other by the hair, when a wave swept them from the deck into eternity.

The wreck of the Governor Phillip, in 1848, was the last instance of such disasters. The vessel struck on a sand bank off Cape Barren Island; but, except four, all the prisoners were saved: six soldiers and five seamen perished, with Lieutenant Griffiths, the officer in command—a young gentleman of amiable disposition and great promise. He exhibited a brilliant example of humanity, calmness, and self devotion. The prisoners broke from their quarters, rushed on the deck, and obstructed the exertions of the seamen: entreating them to return, he gave them his hand and his word, that he would not desert the vessel until they were clear of the wreck. While some were conveyed to the shore, he remained knocking off the irons of the rest; and then finding the boat could not regain the ship, he plunged into the sea, and was last seen struggling with the current. The risk of life is common to the military profession; but a sacrifice so nobly made, was surely not less glorious than when on the field of battle.

FOOTNOTES:

SECTION V

Those who delight to distinguish practical wisdom from theory, will derive no countenance from the early practice of transportation. To rid the parent state of an encumbrance, was alone the immediate object of the government: all beyond was surrendered to fate. The absorbing agitation of Europe, then filled with wars and revolutions, diverted the public gaze from a distant experiment, and left to local discretion the details of its working. The difficulties of this extempore system were really great: that competition for penal labor, which afterwards made its distribution a boon, had no existence; the social influence of a strong body of settlers, habituated to industry, and expecting opulence as its reward, was an auxiliary unknown. Political economy, as a practical science, was lightly esteemed: the choice of instruments to effect a royal purpose, rarely determined by their specific qualifications. The first rulers of these colonies were, indeed, men of literary pretensions; several, of extensive nautical experience: trained on the quarter deck in the discipline of war, when royal ships were often scenes of great courage, and of equal despotism and debasement—when seamen were taken from the dock, impressed from the trader, and even stolen on the streets. Taught to govern a crew, they were judged by the ministry exactly qualified to coerce and control a body of prisoners. There were some advantages in this choice: they were men who knew how to subject the will of masses; their fearless temper felt no dread of those wild and lawless spirits surrendered to their power. They could transfer the system of the navy to the shore: they were not intimidated by hardships, and they were accustomed to privations: perhaps, no other profession could have furnished adventurers, on the whole, so well qualified for their task.

But in planting a colony, tillage is the first element of success; of this, they knew nothing: they could destroy a fort, or erect a tent; but to subdue the earth to the plough, or to construct a town, required another education. They gave, and long preserved, to the site of the city, the name of camp: thus the first efforts at cultivation were unfortunate: they had passed two years in New Holland, scratching up the earth with hoes, and ought to have gathered a harvest, when they were on the verge of starvation.[80]

Among the thousand persons landed, not one could be found possessing a knowledge of agriculture.[81] What they did not know, they could not teach. The misapplication of labor was prodigious: they acquired the art of cultivation by the slow process of experiment; and thus they came to a conclusion, only lately obsolete—that an Australasian husbandman is spoiled by the agricultural knowledge of Europe.

The immediate direction of labor, from the beginning, was committed to convicts. To stand over the prisoners, was not an agreeable occupation for gentlemen: thus the actual working of transportation, as a penal system, was entrusted to men, often clever and corrupt, whose brutal habits and savage demeanour excited disgust and fear. This error perpetuated itself: persons of character rejected a position, so often occupied by the worthless: even the distribution of labor was entrusted to such hands, or subject to their influence. To the prisoners, in reality, they sold indulgences of the crown, or exacted a revenue from their vices. The chief superintendent of convicts at Sydney, and who long determined what men should be dispatched to this country, was himself doubly convicted.[82] This was far from destroying eligibility: it became at last an official proverb, that bad men, from the very vices of their character, were the fittest for a direct supervision; and, finally, that the world is divided between the rogue and the fool. The use of power, when entrusted to such hands, is no problem; nor is it possible to imagine greater degradation, or punishment more capricious, than of the unfortunate person subject to such taskmasters; in whose hands, according to the custom of early times, the rod of authority was not a metaphor.[83]

That form of service, known as assignment, was established by Governor King in 1804. The master was bound by indenture to retain his servant for one year, and for every day deficient, a penalty of one shilling was imposed: the quantity of the work to be done was prescribed; contingent, however, on the nature of the soil, the state of the weather, and the strength of the workman: the surplus of his time might be occupied by the master, but his earnings were his own. Wages were £10 per annum, and for a female £7; but the deficiency of money, induced the employers to allot a proportion of time as a compensation, or to supply goods, on which an advance was claimed, often extremely oppressive; and when the season rendered servants less useful, the masters were tempted to obtain relief by false accusations, or to allow their men to quit the premises—who sought, by labor or theft, the means of subsistence.

To restrict the habit of change, Macquarie established the rule that no convict should be returnable, except for infirmity, sickness, or crime; but when the supply exceeded the demand, this condition was evaded, and the result—an accumulation in the hands of the government. A large proportion were from the manufacturing districts of Great Britain: they were utterly ignorant of farming, and when the plough superceded the hoe, they required a tedious training before they repaid the expense of their support.

The agriculture of this colony was long trifling: the convicts were chiefly employed as stockmen and shepherds: from the banks of the Derwent to the district of Launceston, the land in general was a wilderness, unfenced and untenanted: the men, stationed forty and fifty miles from their masters' dwellings, were rarely visited, and were under no immediate control. They were armed, to defend themselves from the natives, and clad in skins: they lived in turf huts, thatched with long grass, and revived the example of savage life.[84]

It was the custom to allot to the superior officers, magistrates, and constables, in proportion to their rank, a certain number of men, who were subsisted from the king's stores. A skilful mechanic, or pedlar, was a valuable acquisition: he hired his own time, and paid from 5s. to £1, according to its estimated weekly value, while the master drew, for his own use, the rations of the servant. Others rented farms, and paid their masters in produce; and when "government men," as assigned servants were called, were unable to obtain payment, and thus failed to make good an engagement with the master, they were liable to be thrown back into their former position.

Tickets-of-leave were freely given to those incapable of much service to the government, or its officers: such as were useful, whatever might be their conduct, were long detained, and for a period often indefinite. Females, who arrived with property, were discharged to enjoy it. If followed by the husband, the wife was instantly assigned to his care. To enable a prisoner to support his wife when she joined him, or when a convict married a convict, if of no special value he was released to labor for himself.

No accurate account was preserved of these distributions, and a notice appeared during the government of Sorell, which required all women living at large to give an account of the grounds on which they pretended to freedom, or otherwise to obtain a regular ticket-of-leave.

Under a system so irregular, great practical injustice was occasionally inflicted: while advantages were enjoyed by artisans, who could hire their time; who obtained large profits from their trade, and indulged in every form of vice and licentiousness.[85]

An action in 1821 (Loane v. Beamont), for the recovery of a debt incurred by a prisoner of the crown assigned to the defendant, illustrated the system which then prevailed. The man in question arrived in 1813, and in 1816 he was Beamont's government man, who then by verbal agreement, and afterwards in writing, engaged to sell him a farm, near Herdsman's Cove, for £1,400, including the stock and implements of husbandry. He possessed, besides a sum of money, a considerable flock of sheep. There was nothing disguised in this transaction: the annual rental was intended to cover the purchase. The judge remarked, that the memorandum "was as good a sale upon honor as ever he saw." The suit was an instance of the strange perversion of prison discipline, which however excited no remark, and therefore could not be uncommon.

At the close of Governor Davey's administration in 1817, the population of Van Diemen's Land was 3,114, and of these 566 resided in the county of Cornwall. The convicts were slowly augmented by deportations from Sydney, and they were subject to the absolute will of the officers. It is in vain to look for systems in a community so small, and separated by so great a distance from public opinion. Management was lax or rigid, according to the temper of the moment; and no object was contemplated by those who had power, except to render its exercise subservient to their private views. Previous character had no marked influence in determining the lot: a life of crime was no barrier to indulgence, when its price could be paid: the early career of the prisoners was generally unknown. The discipline was, indeed, often severe: lashes were administered by hundreds, and crimes or offences, were resented or forgiven, not according to rule, but circumstances. There were, however, gradations of penal banishment: as at Sydney, those separated to special punishment, were sent to Hobart Town; such as were still further implicated were forwarded to Launceston; but the dregs of all settled at George Town. What was the character of the inhabitants of that place, may be inferred from the Commissioner's Reports. Prisoners, male and female, living in skillings, the commandant disobeying the orders of his chief, inferior officers exhibiting flagrant immorality; labor compensated by the government in a currency of rum; sold by abandoned women—who were often the depositories of stolen goods passed from Hobart Town and Launceston. Such was George Town at, and for some time after, this era.

The charges against the prisoners, were such as result from slavery and debasement. All crimes, of less magnitude than murder, or burglary under aggravated circumstances, were punished in a summary manner. To prosecute, was to encounter ruin: the person despoiled, while pursuing the robber, lost the remnant of his property; and, returning to his dwelling, found it wrecked and pillaged. Mechanics, and others entitled to money, were paid in rum, and its prompt consumption was the only means to secure its enjoyment. Those who earned considerable sums, were rarely richer than their neighbours.

While Governor Collins lived, some order was maintained: it was during the rule of his successor that the British standard covered a state of society, such as never before possessed the official sanction. Once or twice a month, this Governor enjoyed a carouse, to which a sea-port, in times of war, might furnish an example. Having selected a station, not far from the town, he provided for the feast: the more talented of the convicts surrounded the tent, and enlivened the entertainment with songs. Rum, in large quantities, loaded the board: first the chiefs, and then their retainers, revelled in its overflowing abundance. The gaol gang, warned by his Honor's steward of the direction the guests had taken, sometimes followed after the jovial ruler; and when the moon arose, the Governor and his attendants, of various grades, might be seen winding home together. A number of settlers, whom he had offended, refused an invitation: when time had obliterated their resentment, he invited them again: the table was covered, and the guests were seated; but at that moment, the gaol gang, facetiously called the Governor's band, and who were posted near the spot for the purpose, burst into the chamber, and swept away all the provisions. The Governor pretended to regret this termination; but consoled himself by saying, he could "get a dinner at Stocker's." Such was this trustee of national justice!

FOOTNOTES:

SECTION VI

The adventurous habits of a hunting life, favored by the early necessities of the settlement, trained the prisoners to bushranging.[86] The lawless pioneers of the settlers repeated in Tasmania the exploits once common in Great Britain, when the merry green wood was the retreat of the outlaw; and always found where the population is scanty and the government feeble: the popular names of places denote the character or tastes of their early visitors and heroes.[87] The bushrangers at first were absentees, who were soon allured or driven to theft and violence; but so early as 1808, Lemon and Brown, by systematic robbery, had excited feelings of alarm: one of these men was surprised asleep, and decapitated, at Lemon Springs, which bear his name.

The severity of corporal punishment, which prevailed at that period, when no prison more secure than a stockade had been built, induced the accused to obtain a respite by retiring to the bush. Some men of milder disposition abstained from all active violations of the law, and kept aloof from offenders of a different temper. Of a sailor, who deserted to the forest, it is said that he not only refrained from robberies, but often prevented them: he had carried to his retreat a young woman whom he professed to love, and remained for three years in his seclusion. The romance of this event was, however, extinguished at the close of their exile: the man grew prosperous, abandoned his faithful companion, and married another.

Towards the close of 1813, the daring and sanguinary violence of bushrangers, reduced the colony to the utmost distress: the settlers, generally of the lowest class, received their plunder, and gave them notice of pursuit. Their alliance with stock-keepers, who themselves passed rapidly, and almost naturally, from the margin of civilised to a lawless life, was well understood: nor could they readily refuse their friendship: the government, unable to afford them protection, left them no other source of safety. The division of the colonists into those who had been convicts, and those who controlled them, naturally ranged all of loose principles on the side of the outlaws. Nor was their mode of life without attractions: they were free: their daring seemed like heroism to those in bondage. They not unfrequently professed to punish severity to the prisoners, and like Robin Hood of old, to pillage the rich, that they might be generous to the poor. The course adopted by the government indicated the strength of the robbers: despairing to reduce them by force, in 1814 Macquarie tendered pardon, except for the crime of murder, to those who, within six months, should return to their duty. To give effect to this treaty, time was judged necessary for its publication; and to allow for the hesitation of the penitent, a distant day was appointed for closing the door.

This singular document was prepared by his Majesty's judge, who was thus himself bound in honor to its unexampled conditions; but the legal acumen of the robbers soon detected the error: its effect was not only pardon for the past, but, with the exception of murder, a license to ravage the colony until the date expired. Thus, they gathered the harvest of crime, and continued their depredations to the last. Nor was another advantage foreseen, although eagerly embraced by the robbers: they almost universally submitted, and having cleared with the law, were prepared again to abscond, and risk once more the chances of the field; but if the document was absurd, the conduct of the local authorities was not less impolitic. The removal of men, so well acquainted with the colony and its hundred retreats, was an obvious, yet neglected, precaution: some were satisfied with their past experience, but others lost no time in returning to the bush.

For several years the settlement suffered the utmost mischief from these bands of robbers: among those celebrated for daring, for resolute resistance, and for frequent escapes, Michael Howe, a seaman, obtained the largest share of fame. Formerly in the royal navy, and afterwards owning a small coal craft, he had acquired some notion of order and command. On his arrival in Van Diemen's Land, in 1812, he was assigned to Mr. Ingle, a merchant and stock-holder; but he had declared, that having served the king, he would be no man's slave, and to cast off the yoke of such subjection was, perhaps, the main object he contemplated. Such was his pretence. Having received the benefit of the amnesty, he soon joined a gang, of which one Whitehead was the leader; among whom was a deserter of the 73rd regiment, and two aboriginal women. The settlers of New Norfolk, they deprived of all their portable property, their arms and ammunition; and shortly after, thus equipped, they burned the wheat stacks and barns of the police magistrate, Mr. Humphrey, and those of Reardon, the district constable at Pittwater. The following month they appeared again at New Norfolk, and pillaged the residence of Mr. Carlisle, who advising his neighbour, Mr. M'Carty, of their vicinity, induced him to arm for the protection of a vessel, the Geordy, which he presumed they would endeavour to capture. M'Carty, and those who were with him, coming up with the robbers, demanded their arms. They were under the cover of a large hollow tree: the settlers were thus exposed to their aim: Carlisle himself received a ball in the groin, and three slugs in the breast, and died within an hour. O'Birnie, master of the vessel, was wounded by a ball in the cheek, which perforated his tongue and lodged in his neck. The banditti now commanded instant surrender, which being refused, the firing was renewed. The settlers were compelled to abandon one of their number, who was preserved by Whitehead from the violence of his comrades. When an account of this skirmish was received, armed parties were dispatched from Hobart Town, and came closely on their track. They re-appeared at the house of Mr. Humphrey, and compelled his servants to tie the hands of each other: they then plundered whatever they found useful, destroying the rest in revenge: they had discovered handcuffs in the house. Hitherto Whitehead had been the leader; but his spite ultimately led to his destruction: he conducted his gang to the house of M'Carty, into which they wantonly fired a volley of shot: a party of the 46th regiment were lying in ambush; a brisk fire commenced, and Whitehead was mortally wounded. The darkness of the night prevented pursuit: Whitehead ran towards Howe, who, at his request, immediately cut off his head. They had bound each other thus to provide against the recognition of a fallen companion—to deprive their pursuers of the promised reward. Howe then became the leader of the band. A party of soldiers succeeded in the capture of two who had separated from the rest: they also recovered ammunition and fire-arms, of which the settlers had been pillaged. To effect the reduction of such disturbers of the public peace, martial law was proclaimed by Lieutenant-Governor Davey—an exertion of power beyond his commission, and opposed by his only official adviser, the Deputy Judge Advocate. Macquarie promptly disallowed this interference with his authority. It was argued, that the right to declare martial law, if vested in Davey, might be claimed by any subaltern, whose distance from the central authority gave the plea of necessity. To bring the offenders to justice at all, it was first necessary to take them: when in bonds, they would cease to be dangerous, and might be forwarded to the tribunal appointed by the crown. These arguments did not prevail to stay process: a court-martial condemned to death Macguire and Burne, bushrangers, and Stephens, a perfidious stock-keeper, by whom they had been countenanced.

The movements of the robbers were rapid: they plundered the residence of Mr. David Rose, near Launceston, and escaping a diligent pursuit, they re-appeared at Bagdad, a distance of 100 miles. Their scouts had informed them that property to a large amount would be found there: their confederacy was extensive, and it was asserted by Howe, that some most active in his pursuit, had been sharers in the profits of his crimes. The tone assumed by this robber, was that of an independent chief, and in the management of his men he attempted the discipline of war. They subscribed to articles, which bound them to obedience: penalties were inflicted, such as cutting and carrying wood for their fires, or even stripes. He professed the piety of a quarter-deck, and read to them the scriptures: his style and title was "Governor of the Rangers," and he addressed the King's representative as "Governor of the Town." His taste for ceremony was once curiously exhibited: having met a traveller, he ranged his party, and called on the stranger to witness an oath, which was administered on the Prayer Book by one of the gang. The purport of their vow might be inferred from their message: they said, they could set the whole country on fire with one stick, and thrash in one night more than could be gathered in a year.

Happily for mankind, the association of evil men is but transient. Howe, often absent from his party, without assigning reasons, awakened a suspicion: he retreated with a native girl, Mary, but was shortly after followed by soldiers. His companion was taken, and he lost his dogs, his knapsack, and arms: it is said, that he fired at the girl, because she encumbered his flight; but it was asserted by himself, that he only intended to alarm, and not destroy her. She became useful to the government, by discovering the resort of the robbers, and a flock of sheep they had stolen. At length, weary of his wandering life, Howe proposed to surrender to the government. A person, who had formerly joined him in an attempt to escape in an American vessel, became the channel of communication. Howe affected to dread the violence of the settlers, who might kill him for the reward, or to prevent his disclosures; but Governor Sorell sent Captain Nairne to the place of meeting, with an assurance of present safety, and intercession for his forgiveness.

Society must have been at the verge of dissolution, when letters and messages passed between the government and an outlaw. To admit its prudence, requires a recollection, not only of the power of the robbers, but the number of their friends.[88]

The disclosures of Howe were not important, and his companions continued still a terror to the public: their losses were frequent, but they received continual accessions. They seized the boat, which carried provisions between George Town and Launceston; probably with the concurrence of the crew, several of whom joined them. They were now twenty in number, and it became necessary to unite the colony against them. The more opulent settlers were compelled to abandon their dwellings, and to take refuge in the towns. Sorell, by a spirited appeal, roused their more decided efforts to destroy the marauders: sums, subscribed by the inhabitants of Hobart Town, of eighty or one hundred guineas, were offered for their apprehension. A party of military traced them to the Black Brush, and thence to a settler's house at the Tea Tree, where they had dined. They had the advantage of position, but Geary, their leader, was slain, and several others wounded. The rain had damped the powder of the soldiers, which prevented their muskets from telling with full effect; but their success was ominous to the robbers.

Notwithstanding the character of Howe, on the plea of ill-health, he was permitted to walk abroad in charge of a constable; but whether he distrusted the promise of pardon, or preferred the license of the bush, he eluded his guard, and escaped—without, however, trusting his safety to the fidelity of his former companions. These soon met their fate: Hillier resolved to purchase his life by the sacrifice of his comrades. At midnight, while two of them slept, he attempted their destruction: cutting the throat of one, from ear to ear, and wounding the other with his own rifle.

The bushrangers were now reduced to three: Howe, Watts, and Browne. The last, surrendered; but Watts conspired with a stock-keeper, named Drewe, to seize Howe. This man, when in charge of his master's flock, occasionally corresponded with him. They accordingly met him, at a place called Longbottom. Within one hundred yards of each other, these old companions in crime demanded, and agreed, that both should knock out the priming of their guns: they then kindled a fire. Watts threw Howe on the ground; Drewe tied his hands, and took his knives from his pocket: they then prepared breakfast. After some delay, they proceeded to Hobart Town; Watts, with his gun, walking before Howe, and Drewe behind him. The captive disengaged his hands, and, with a knife he had concealed, stabbed Watts; and in an instant, seizing his gun, he shot Drewe dead. Watts then expected a similar fate; he, however, reached Hobart Town, and was thence forwarded to Sydney, where he died of his wounds.

The Lieutenant-Governor, anxious to end the career of this desperate man, offered, beside the pecuniary reward, freedom and a passage to England to any prisoner, who might succeed in his capture. Stratagems were continually devised to entrap him; but he retired into the distant parts of the wood, only appearing when hunger or lack of ammunition compelled his visits. His courage and skill made him a formidable antagonist: none would venture to face him; yet so hot was the pursuit, that he again left behind his knapsack and ammunition. He continued at large until the 21st October, 1818. Warburton, often an accomplice, became his betrayer: he enticed him to a hut, where he said that he would find supplies necessary for subsistence; and, notwithstanding his hesitation, which occasioned long delay, he was caught in the snare: having discovered the ambush, he retreated with precipitation; but was overtaken, and slain.[89]

Howe was charged with several murders, beside those here recorded. It was the fashion of the day, to admit every rumour of his cruelty. It was stated, on doubtful authority, that having quarrelled with Edwards, a comrade, respecting some plunder, he slew him; that another, Bowles, having discharged a pistol in sport near his person, suffered the same fate—that he tied the hands and feet of the offender, and shot him dead. The death of Davenport, a stockman, without much probability, was attributed to Howe: his remains were afterwards discovered, without confirming the suspicion. The relations of these men naturally led to treachery and revenge, and in the terms of their union retaliation was included. Howe kept the secret of his gang, and displayed much sympathy when his companions were sick or wounded. He was a bold outlaw, prepared to maintain his freedom at whatever cost; nor does it appear that he was wanting in those equivocal virtues, which are compatible with a life of violence and guilt. His knapsack contained a record of his dreams, written on kangaroo skin with blood; he was haunted by visions of his old companions who were dead: the subject of one, was his sister. He had made a list of seeds, vegetables, fruits, and even flowers, intended to adorn the seclusion which he contemplated. Howe's form was athletic, his countenance strongly marked; his beard of an extraordinary length, and he was dressed in the skin of kangaroo.[90]

Five years after his death, Howe's dwelling was found. The site was chosen with taste, in an open undulating country, stretching to the western mountains: the spot was secluded from observation, was covered with a large honeysuckle, and on a rise sloping to the stream. A gigantic tree, prostrate, which he used as a chopping block, was the boundary to which he permitted Warburton to approach.[91]

The privation, fatigue, and anxiety endured by the bushrangers, they have often depicted with horror. The country, destitute of indigenous fruits or herbs, afforded no safe retreat; and they were compelled to hover round the inhabited districts to obtain ammunition, even when willing to live by the chase. The increase of the settlers has long prevented protracted concealment, and multiplied the chances of capture. Prompted by passion, or allured by the fascination of liberty, an unbroken succession of adventurers have sought shelter in the bush, and passed through the miseries of a vagrant life; but their suppression has usually been easy, and for years the penalty of their crimes certain.

In the progress of these memorials, allusions to bushrangers must occur; but the records of crime are disgusting. The Italian robber tinged his adventure with romance; the Spanish bandit was often a soldier, and a partisan; but the wandering thieves of Tasmania were not less uncouth than violent—hateful for their debasement, as well as terrible for their cruelty. They can rarely be objects of interest, save when points in their career illustrate principles, or exhibit traits in contrast with their ordinary course. It may be proper to notice instances of courage, of constancy, or of unusual suffering: they may set forth the social state out of which they have arisen, and thus the operation of systems; but who would delight to read the dull details of wickedness which crowd the annals of this country?

FOOTNOTES:

SECTION VII

It was the policy of the local government to relieve the crown from that class of prisoners who were incapable of useful labor on the public works. The settlers from Norfolk Island, who had acquired their liberty, or fulfilled their military service, became the employers of prisoners: many of the masters, in their principles and habits, did not differ from their men—frequently, their accomplices and sharers of their spoil. Those engaged in the interior, in tending the flocks and herds, were often paid in proportion to the increase, and beside the property of their masters, they had charge of their own. This system, fraught with mischief, continued for many years, in spite of the interdicts of the government, and the fatal results exhibited in the courts of justice. Cattle and sheep stealing were carried to an astonishing extent: the owners, ignorant sometimes of the amount of their wealth, confided its safety to men incapable of resisting ordinary temptation. The more opulent estimated their annual loss at one-fifth of the increase; and in unfavorable situations, where many cotters were established, they found the preservation of their stock impossible, and relinquished the attempt in despair.[92] The brand was obliterated, often with great ingenuity: the I became H, C was turned into G, and P into B; the more daring, blotted out all brands, by a heated shovel. Stock yards were enclosed and hidden by the bush, where cattle were slaughtered, and sheep by scores were salted down. Ewes were driven into the interior until their lambs were weaned, when they were returned to their owners. In supplying the commissariat, it was not unusual to drive a flock of sheep for inspection, which were again returned to the fold, and others from a stolen stock passed under the certificate thus obtained; and the plunder of the royal herds, were slaughtered and sold to the crown.

Such depredations were enormous: large gangs were in combination, and the first session held in Van Diemen's Land, brought to light extensive robberies, comprehending twelve hundred sheep.[93] These evils were encouraged by difficulties in the administration of justice. For five years, fifteen charges only were tried by the court of criminal jurisdiction in New South Wales: the prosecutor, the witnesses, and the prisoners were forwarded together. On one occasion, six were sent up for trial: the skins of the stolen beasts were deposited in a cask, and the proof was deemed complete; but of the same cooperage, another was prepared, an admirable imitation. This last was opened in court, but it was found filled with the skins of seals; and, by the ingenious transformation, the prosecution was satisfied.

It is just to observe, that the absence of legal redress not only prompted, but extenuated these violations of law: crime retaliated crime: the lower settlers carried on a system of plunder; but the uncertain tenure of property weakened that moral principle which is its surest defence. The cattle stealer was himself a loser by the man he robbed: a stray beast was branded without question; the owner, when he discovered that his property was beyond his reach, except by the prosecution of the robber, adopted a shorter course. Reprisals thus lost half their guilt: nor is it wonderful that such feelings, as borderers were said once to cherish, prevailed among men who found excuses in their position, and indemnified their past or possible losses by the first spoil which came in their way.

But these combinations led to other crimes. The robbers had their accomplices and abettors: the theft complete, they grew suspicious of each other, and some who disappeared, were sacrificed by the jealousy of their companions. When engaged in these depredations, they usually set a watch: a cautious traveller avoided inquiry, and well authenticated instances proved how perilous, in those days of violence, was an expression of curiosity or suspicion.

To stop these plundering habits, the King's Commissioner Bigge advised a periodical sitting of the court in Van Diemen's Land. In 1821, Judge Wylde visited this country, and for various crimes, twenty-five persons were condemned to death, of whom ten were executed. One hundred and sixteen persons were incarcerated prior to his arrival—a large proportion, compared with the census (7,372); but two years after, the number charged with similar offences proved that crime was not abated. Among those who suffered death was George Richardson: his case illustrated the process by which such felonies were perpetuated. Formerly the confidential servant of Colonel Davey, he was employed by Dr. Scott, and had charge of his flock—himself being an owner of stock. Having received an order to supply Doctor Spence a quantity of sheep, he deliberately separated them from a neighbour's flock, and drove them to their destination, with the coolness proper to an ordinary transaction. The proof of guilt was too clear to be affected by artifice, though calculated to elude suspicion by its very deliberation. Nor is it difficult, when examining the criminal records of those times, to suppose, that the trepidation natural when violating the law, was overcome by the indifference of habit.

Few of the higher classes, it may be presumed, connived at these nefarious transactions: one memorable instance, proved that no class is absolutely safe in an atmosphere of guilt. A settler, connected with a Scottish family of great respectability, thus forfeited his life. It was stated that his robberies were incessant, and that he leagued with bushrangers; to whom, perhaps constrained by fear, he gave notice of danger by signals. A secluded sheep-yard was discovered, and a large sheep brand, of a remarkable shape: at a distance, four hundred sheep were found, bearing the mark newly made, which was contrived to obliterate the brand of Mr. Jones, the owner. The culprit had prepared this flock, to transfer to another person, to whom a number were due. It was in vain that witnesses testified to his character and to the respectability of his house: the jury pronounced him guilty, and he was executed. A friend, who accompanied him to the scaffold, heard him say, that that moment was the most happy of his life! It doubtless brought deliverance. He left behind an infant family, the last of whom was born while the father was in prison, and an aged parent in Scotland; who, long after he was dead, indulged her maternal tenderness, by preparing clothing for his use, and hoping for tidings of his prosperity. His name is suppressed, lest even now the record of his fate might meet the eye of a mourner.

Society, as it then existed, nourished every species of crime: tattered promissory notes, of small amount and doubtful parentage, fluttered about the colony: dumps, struck out from dollars, were imitated by a coin prepared without requiring much mechanical ingenuity; and plate, stolen by bushrangers and burglars, was melted down and disposed of in a similar form.

Nothing was neglected: they burnt the implements of husbandry for the iron; they robbed the gibbet of the chains: they even wrenched the plate from the coffin of an opulent merchant, and stripped him of his shroud.[94]

In looking at the origin of the population, and the various inducements continually offered to the perpetration of wickedness, the total dissolution of manners is no subject of surprise. It was, perhaps, but a small aggravation, that prostitution and concubinage were held too venial for remark: many of the officers of government made no secret of their relation to the women whom they adopted as mistresses, and sometimes respected as wives. Among the anomalies of the day, was the release of such females from compulsory attendance on divine worship, on account of the official preference they enjoyed—a curious immunity from a penal obligation: to be taken, perhaps, as a sinister acknowledgment, that the government was not insensible to virtue—as the Russian courtezan extinguishes the candle of ceremony, and veils her patron saint.[95]

Sorell, on his accession to the government, attempted to reform the more flagrant abuses by which he was surrounded: he was aided in his task by Mr. Humphrey, a man superior, by education and habit, to many charged with similar duties. He established an exact register of the conviction, arrival, and distribution of the prisoners, and appointed times for the muster of such as were assigned. He imposed some restrictions on their wandering habits, and required that those who employed them should answer for their residence. It was the custom, however, to allow the greater part to reside in lodgings provided by themselves; they thus spent their leisure time where they were exposed to perpetual temptation, and nightly robberies attested their diligence. The traders of Hobart Town, for several years, were compelled to sleep on their counters, and watch their property with the most scrupulous care: an inquiry who had been pillaged, became the ordinary morning salutation. The thieves broke through the walls with oriental skill: a stormy night afforded them a harvest. During a tempest of extraordinary severity, which deluged the streets and carried away fences, they contrived to pillage to a great amount; a ladder was discovered at a window, constructed for the purpose, by which they ascended to the upper chamber, and thus proved that no elevation was safe. Nor did they confine their ravages to the towns; they entered the store of a settler, and stripped his dwelling of £400 worth of goods, which they conveyed by boat to Hobart Town. Many were living without any lawful means of subsistence, and as their numbers increased, fraud and robbery were perpetrated in every house, and at every hour of the day.

Such was the state of the colony at the close of Sorell's administration, who found that without the means of nightly restraint, all regulations of police were in vain. On resigning office, he predicted the difficulties of his successor, and warned him that he must expect to contend with increasing crime.[96] To estimate the merit of Arthur's government, it is necessary to remember those evils—with what difficulty authority, long relaxed, is recovered—even by the most skilful and vigorous hands. When a few years had elapsed, the security of the colony was a subject of universal astonishment; and it was boasted, that men slept with their doors unlocked, and their windows unfastened, and often with property to a large amount strewed around their dwellings; notwithstanding, a dangerous temerity. By what means these results were, even partially attained, the reader will be curious to know.

FOOTNOTES:

SECTION VIII

It will be proper, however, first to retrace the penal history of these settlements, and to mark the incidents which moulded their form, and contributed to their failure or success. The administration of the penal laws cannot be understood, except by a broad and continuous survey. The developments of one colony re-acted on the other: Van Diemen's Land, long the satellite of New South Wales, attended all its motions, and with it prospered or suffered. From the fortunes of that colony, the history of Tasmania is inseparable.

The evils described, were not of a recent origin; they may be traced from the commencement of penal colonisation: the journals of the first officers exhibit all sorts of mischief, which only entered into new combinations as times advanced, and property was diffused. Collins, whose account descended to the close of the century, records a perpetual struggle with vice and crime. What could be expected of men who burned their gaol at the risk of their lives, and the church to escape attendance on worship?

The first expiree, James Rouse, who was established (1790) as a settler, was industrious and successful. Phillip, anxious to test the competence of the land to sustain a cultivator, cleared two acres for this man, erected his hut, and supplied him with food. Fifteen months after, he relinquished his claim on the King's stores, and received thirty acres of land, in reward for his diligence. It thus became common to afford similar facilities to expiree convicts,[97] but generally in vain.

The solicitude of Phillip was displayed in every form of kindness; but the proneness of his subjects to intemperance, defeated all his efforts: he gave them stock; and had scarcely left the land, when his gifts were sold for rum. His successor was not more successful, when he tried the same plan. Cargoes of American spirit produced the madness of intoxication; and the freed settlers neglected their farms, or anticipated their produce to obtain the liquid destruction. Their passion for gaming was universal: they sometimes staked not only their money and their goods, but even their clothing, and were seen to labor in the field, as free from clothing as the savages who surrounded them.

In spite of the dread of famine, they consumed their time and substance in intemperance: sold their seed, lent to insure their harvest. In the distribution of stores, robberies were daily committed; double rations were issued; and Collins ingenuously confesses, that office converted the most trusty into thieves; and that peculations were forgiven, because a change of agency was useless. All in superior circumstances, unprotected by military vigilance, were robbed and robbed again. Missionaries, who fled from Tahiti, found their countrymen more savage than strangers: one was wounded, and plundered of all his property; and another, murdered with an axe, while writing a receipt for a payment, which his destroyer thus hoped to evade. The Governor, in an imploring tone, enumerated the robberies which every day occurred, and hoped that the constables, in whose presence they were committed, did not profit by such crimes! Those who obtained their freedom, were a source of infinite annoyance: unable to depart from the country, they refused all kinds of labor; and, joined with others equally worthless, astonished the officers by the vigour and ingenuity of their spoliations.

The account given by Collins, is a valuable delineation of society when set free from moral influence, and proves how little simple coercion can check a general disposition to crime. So rare was reformation, that a single instance is mentioned with triumph: among the few who redeemed that settlement from utter dishonor, was George Barrington, celebrated for his dexterity as a pickpocket, and for his pathos at the bar; who robbed a prince with the grace of a courtier, and was the beau ideal of swindlers. He was distinguished in New South Wales for his integrity in the office of chief constable, and his diligence as a farmer. He died regretted, in the year this dependency was colonised.[98]

Governor Hunter authorised the opening of a theatre at Sydney. The principal actors were convicts, and in default of a chamberlain, they were threatened, for a second offence, with the penal settlement. The price of admission, one shilling, was paid in meal or rum, taken at the door! Many had performed the part of pickpocket in a London play-house, but at Sydney this was more difficult; yet they were not discouraged: they saw by a glance at the benches what houses were left unprotected, and proceeded to rob them. The motto of the actors was modest:—"We cannot command success; but we will endeavour to deserve it." Their first play was The Revenge: the first prologue, characteristic both of the actors and the audience. The aptitude of one of these couplets, has transferred it into a proverb; but it is worth seeing in its connexion, as a representation of the real sentiments with which violations of the law were remembered.[99]

PROLOGUE

The connection between ardent spirits and the early disorders of our penal colonies is patent at every stage of their progress. Then the habits of the navy were intemperate; rum was considered the great parent of valor. The founders of our colonies never entertained a suspicion that society could exist without its aid. Thus the first fleet, in their progress, touched at a port to take in a large supply, which proved of the most deleterious kind:[101] every vessel was deeply laden with the same commodity. The limitation of wholesale dealing to the officers, was not to restrain its consumption, but to monopolise its profits. The advantage of its distribution, as an incitement to labor, atoned for the moral ravages it spread: for this reward alone, would the prisoners yield their full strength; and when the taste, inflamed by indulgence, drove them to crime, or laid them in the dust, their ruin suggested no reflection beyond the general evils of intemperance. Had the light of science illuminated the imperial authorities, they perhaps had provided some check on this grand incentive to crime.

The deposition of Bligh was occasioned by this fatal appetite: whether from sullenness, or conviction, he discouraged the vendors of rum, and attempted to obstruct their living on the vices of the prisoners. The landing of a still, and its seizure, was followed by a series of altercations, which led to the military rebellion, and terminated his government. This event roused the public attention for a moment, to the state of the colony. In 1811-12 a committee of the House of Commons was appointed "to enquire into the manner in which the sentence of transportation had been executed, and the effects produced by that mode of punishment." The result was remarkable: the committee advised that more constitutional tribunals should be established, and distillation allowed.[102] The ministers of the day feebly vindicated the royal commission violated in the deposition of Bligh; and having once more set in motion the machine of legal government by the appointment of Macquarie, fell back into long slumber. Thenceforth, and for many years, rum was a great agent in the working of government, and the source of private opulence. The monopoly escaped official hands, but the expirees succeeded to the profitable calling. The large fortunes accumulated by many, were rarely derived from any other trade. Their prosperity was traced with startling uniformity: they sold their spirits to the settlers for produce, which they vended at the royal stores: they indulged them with credit, until hopelessly involved, when mortgages were executed, and foreclosed with a rapidity and precision which leaves modern conveyancing in the shade.[103] Individual powers of consumption were incredibly great: the expiree farmer, and his not more intemperate prisoner servant, broached the vessel, poured out its contents into buckets, and drank until they were insensible, or until, roused to frantic vigor, they were swift to shed blood. Such scenes were common.[104]

The specious advantage to the revenue, exhibited by our colonial statistics, protected a vice so useful. The influence of this interest cannot be overstated: to put down spirit drinking would, in equal proportion, disturb colonial finance. The demands of the public service were always in advance of its means, and no colonial administration was found sufficiently enlightened or courageous to add the prevention of this poisonous indulgence to the other consequences of banishment.

Macquarie revived the policy of the Stuarts, in regulating this trade: to Messrs. Wentworth, Riley, and Blaxland, he granted (1810) the exclusive privilege of importation, and by the duty they paid (7s. per gallon), erected a hospital. They proved, in defiance of economists, how monopoly can, sometimes, enlarge the supply, and thus increase the demand. They dispatched their agents to the Mauritius, India, and the Cape, and bought at 2s. 6d. per gallon; and arrack and rum deluged the colony. The success of their enterprise was great: in less than two years they obtained sufficient to raise the edifice, which could not want occupants, and cost more than £20,000.

The effects of this measure were flagrant: a letter, addressed by Marsden, the chaplain, to Macquarie, depicted the wretched condition of the prisoners. The scenes of dissipation which passed before him deprived him of repose. Free women, living at Parramatta, unprovided with public shelter, ran headlong into vice, and dropped all around him, slain by rum and dissipation. He stood aghast and powerless before the devastation: at times he observed, "I envy the situation of the most menial servant, who is free from this solemn and sacred responsibility."[105] The reply of Macquarie was witty rather than relevant. He told Lord Sidmouth, in effect, that the sorrows of Marsden were too deep for discovery: noted for the cheerfulness, and even gaiety of his temper, his movements were too rapid for grief; and his days, divided between the cares of farming, grazing, and trade—to say nothing of his clerical occupation—left him no time for sorrow.[106] The evils he described are, however, proved by uniform testimony: they must exist where dealing in spirits is the sure path to wealth, and wealth the title to social distinction.