Far distant from the many other islands with which the Southern Pacific
Ocean is studded, one stands alone, rich in natural beauty, and with a
climate almost unrivalled.
This lovely island was visited by Captain Cook in 1774, and named by him
Norfolk Island; it was then uninhabited, and neither the vegetable nor
the animal world had been disturbed. For about two hundred yards from
the shore, the ground was covered so thickly with shrubs and plants as
scarcely to be penetrable further inland. The account given by Cook led
to an attempt at settlement on Norfolk Island; but this was attended
with difficulty. The island is small, being only about six miles in
length by four in breadth; and was therefore unavailable for a large or
increasing population. Lying nine hundred miles from Port Jackson, in
Australia, it was inconveniently remote from that country; and, worst of
all, its cliffy and rocky shores presented serious dangers to mariners
attempting a landing. Its general unsuitableness, however, for ordinary
colonization, was considered to adapt it as a penal settlement,
subordinate to New South Wales, and to which convicts could be sent who
merited fresh punishment while in course of servitude. Thus, one of the
loveliest of earthly paradises was doomed to be a receptacle for the very
worst of malefactors. It was imagined that the beauty of Norfolk Island,
and the fineness of its climate, would greatly tend to soothe the
depraved minds of its unhappy tenants, and reconcile them to compulsory
expatriation; but such was not the case: the feeling uppermost in the
minds of the convicts was to make their escape; and this, along with
other circumstances, caused the island, after a time, to be abandoned as
a penal settlement. The narrative that follows may be relied upon as a
true relation of facts, and will, it is hoped, afford warning to such as
may be tempted to go astray, and deeply impress those who may be on the
verge of crime, with the danger of their situation, by showing them that
a course of error is a course of misery, ending in consequences the most
afflicting.
"On the northern side of Norfolk Island, the cliffs rise high, and are
crowned by woods, in which the elegant whitewood and gigantic pine
predominate. A slight indentation of the land affords a somewhat
sheltered anchorage-ground, and an opening in the cliffs has supplied a
way to the beach by a winding road at the foot of the dividing hills. A
stream of water, collected from many ravines, finds its way by a similar
opening to a ledge of rock in the neighborhood, and, falling over in
feathery spray, has given the name of Cascade to this part of the
island. Off this bay, on the morning of the 21st of June, 1842, the brig
_Governor Philip_ was sailing, having brought stores for the use of the
penal establishment. It was one of those bright mornings which this
hemisphere alone knows, when the air is so elastic that its buoyancy is
irresistibly communicated to the spirits. At the foot of the cliff, near
a group of huge fragments of rock fallen from the overhanging cliffs, a
prisoner was sitting close to the sea preparing food for his companions,
who had gone off to the brig the previous evening with ballast, and who
were expected to return at daylight with a load of stores. The surface
of the sea was smooth, and the brig slowly moved on upon its soft blue
waters. Everything was calm and still, when suddenly a sharp but distant
sound as of a gun was heard. The man, who was stooping over the fire
started on his feet, and looked above and around him, unable to
distinguish the quarter from whence the report came. Almost immediately,
he heard the sound repeated, and then distinctly perceived smoke curling
from the vessel's side. His fears were at once excited. Again he
listened; but all was hushed, and the brig still stood steadily in
towards the shore. Nearer and nearer, she approached; until, alarmed for
her safety, the man ran to summon the nearest officer. By the time they
returned, the vessel had wore, and was standing off from the land; but
while they remained in anxious speculation as to the cause of all this,
the firing was renewed on board, and it was evident that some deadly
fray was going on. At length a boat was seen to put off from the brig,
and upon its reaching the shore, the worst fears of the party were
realized. The misguided prisoners on board had attempted to seize the
vessel. They were but twelve in number, unarmed, and guarded by twelve
soldiers, and a crew of eighteen men; yet they had succeeded in gaining
possession of the vessel, and held it for a time, but had been finally
overpowered, and immediate help was required for the wounded and dying.
"June 21, 1842.--My duty as a clergyman called me to the scene of blood.
When I arrived on the deck of the brig, it exhibited a frightful
spectacle. My heart sickened at the extent of the carnage; and I was
almost sinking with the faintness it produced, when I was roused by a
groan so full of anguish and pain, that for a long time afterwards its
echo seemed to reach me. I found that it came from a man lying further
forward, on whose face the death-dew was standing, yet I could perceive
no wound. Upon questioning him, he moved his hand from his breast, and I
then perceived that a ball had pierced his chest, and could distinctly
hear the air rushing from his lungs through the orifice it had left. I
tore away the shirt, and endeavored to hold together the edges of the
wound until it was bandaged. I spoke to him of prayer, but he soon grew
insensible, and within a short time died in frightful agony. In every
part of the vessel, evidences of the attempt which had ended so fatally
presented themselves, and the passions of the combatants were still
warm. After attending to those who required immediate assistance, I
received the following account of the affair:
"The prisoners had slept the previous night in a part of the vessel
appropriated for this purpose; but it was without fastening or other
means of securing them below. Two sentries were, however, placed over
the hatchway. The prisoners occasionally came on deck during the night,
for their launch was towing astern, and the brig was standing off and on
until the morning. Between six and seven o'clock in the morning, the men
were called to work. Two of them were up some time before the rest. They
were struck by the air of negligence which was evident on deck, and
instantly communicated the fact to one or two others. The possibility of
capturing the brig had often been discussed by the prisoners, among
their many other wild plans for escaping from the island, and recently
had been often proposed by them. The thought was told by their looks,
and soon spread from man to man. A few moments were enough; one or two
were roused from sleep, and the intention was hurriedly communicated to
them. It was variously received. One of them distrusted the leader, and
entreated his companions to desist from so mad an attempt. It was
useless; the frenzied thirst for liberty had seized them, and they were
maddened by it. Within a few minutes, they were all on deck; and one of
the leaders rushing at the sentry nearest to him, endeavored to wrest
from him his pistols, one of which had flashed in the pan as he rapidly
presented it, and threw him overboard; but he was subsequently saved.
The arms of the other sentry were demanded, and obtained from him
without resistance. A scuffle now took place with two other soldiers who
were also on the deck, but not on duty, during which one of them jumped
over the vessel's side, and remained for some time in the main-chains;
but upon the launch being brought alongside, he went down into it. The
other endeavored to swim ashore (for by this time the vessel was within
a gun's shot of the rocks;) but, encumbered by his great coat, he was
seen, when within a few strokes of the rock, to raise his hands, and
uttering a faint cry to Heaven for mercy, he instantly sunk. In the
meanwhile, the sergeant in charge of the guard hearing a scuffling
overhead, ran upon deck, and seeing some of the mutineers struggling
with the sentry, shot the nearest of them dead on the spot. He had no
sooner done so than he received a blow on the head, which rendered him
for some time insensible. Little or no resistance was offered by the
sailors; they ran into the forecastle, and the vessel was in the hands
of the mutineers. All the hatches were instantly fastened down, and
every available thing at hand piled upon them. But now, having secured
their opponents, the mutineers were unable to work the brig; they
therefore summoned two of the sailors from below, and placed one of them
at the wheel, while the other was directed to assist in getting the
vessel off. The cockswain, a free man in charge of the prisoners, had at
the first onset taken to the rigging, and remained in the maintop with
one of the men who refused to join in the attack. At this moment, a
soldier who had gone overboard and endeavored to reach the shore, had
turned back, and was seen swimming near the vessel. Woolfe, one of the
convicts, immediately jumped into the boat alongside, and saved him.
Whilst this was the state of things above, the soldiers had forced their
way into the captain's cabin, and continued to fire through the gratings
overhead as often as any of the mutineers passed. In this manner several
of them received wounds. To prevent a continuance of this, a kettle of
hot water was poured from above; and shortly afterwards, a proposal was
made to the captain from the prisoners to leave the vessel in the
launch, provided he handed up to them the necessary supplies. This he
refused; and then all the sailors were ordered from below into the
launch, with the intention of sending them ashore. Continuing to watch
for the ring-leaders, the captain caught a glimpse of one of them
standing aft, and, as he supposed, out of reach. He mounted the cabin
table, and, almost at a venture, fired through the woodwork in the
direction he supposed the man to be standing. The shot was fatal; the
ball struck him in the mouth, and passed through his brain. Terrified at
the death of their comrades, the remainder were panic-struck, and
instantly ran below. One of the leaders sprung over the taffrail, and
eventually reached the launch. The sailor at the wheel, now seeing the
deck almost cleared, beckoned up the captain, and without an effort, the
vessel was again in their possession. In the confusion, a soldier, who
had been in the boat, and was at this moment with the sailors returning
on deck, was mistaken for one of the mutineers, and shot by the
sergeant. The prisoners were now summoned from their place of
concealment. They begged hard for mercy; and upon condition of their
quietly surrendering, it was promised to them. As the first of them, in
reliance upon this assurance, was gaining the deck, by some unhappy
error, he received a ball in his thigh, and fell back again. The rest
refused to stir; but after a few moments' hesitation, another of them
ventured up, was taken aft by the captain, and secured. A third
followed, and, as he came up, he extended his arms and cried: "I
surrender; spare me." Either this motion was mistaken by the soldiers,
or some of them were unable to restrain their passion, for at this
instant the man's head was literally blown off. The captain hastened to
the spot, and received the others, who were secured without further
injury.
"When we reached the vessel, the dying, dead, and wounded, were lying in
every direction. In the launch astern, we saw the body of one wretched
man who had leaped over the taffrail, and reached the boat badly
wounded; he was seen lying in it when the deck was regained, and was
then pierced through with many balls. Nothing could be more horrible
than his appearance; the distortion of every feature, his clenched
hands, and the limbs which had stiffened in the forms of agony into
which pain had twisted them, were appalling. The countenance of every
man on board bore evidence of the nature of the deadly conflict in which
he had been engaged. In some, sullenness had succeeded to reckless
daring, and exultation to alarm in others.
"Nothing could have been more desperate than such an attempt to seize
the vessel. The most culpable neglect could alone have encouraged it;
and it is difficult to conceive how it could have succeeded, if anything
like a proper stand had been made by those in charge of her when it
commenced.
"The wounded were immediately landed, and conveyed to the hospital, and
the dead bodies were afterwards brought on shore.
"The burial ground is close to the beach. A heavy surf rolls mournfully
over the reef. The moon had just risen, when, in deep and solemn
silence, the bodies of these misguided men were lowered into the graves
prepared for them. Away from home and country, they had found a fearful
termination of a miserable existence. Perhaps ties had still bound them
to the world; friends whom they loved were looking for their return,
and, prodigals though they had been, would have blessed them, and
forgiven their offences. Perhaps even at that sad moment, mothers were
praying for their lost ones, whom in all their infamy they had still
fondly loved. Such thoughts filled my mind; and when a few drops of rain
at that moment descended, I could not help thinking that they fell as
tears from heaven over the guilt and misery of its children.
"On the morning following the fatal occurrence, I visited the jail in
which the mutineers were confined. The cells were small, but clean and
light. In the first of them, I found George Beavers, Nicholas Lewis, and
Henry Sears. Beavers was crouching in one corner of the cell, and
looking sullen, and in despair. Lewis, who was walking the scanty space
of the cell, seemed to glory in the rattle of his heavy chains; while
Sears was stretched, apparently asleep, upon a grass mat. They were all
heavily ironed, and every precaution had evidently been taken to prevent
escape.
"In the other cell I found Woolfe and Barry, the latter in much agony
from an old wound in the leg, the pain of which had been aggravated by
the heavy irons which galled it. All the prisoners except Barry and
Woolfe, readily acknowledged their participation in the attempt to seize
the brig, but most solemnly denied any knowledge of a preconcerted plan
to take her; or that they at least had attempted to throw the soldiers
overboard. They were unwilling to be interrupted, and inveighed in the
bitterest manner against some of their companions who had, they seemed
to think, betrayed them, or at least had led them on, and at the moment
of danger had flinched.
"The names of the surviving mutineers were John Jones, Nicholas Lewis,
Henry Sears, George Beavers, James Woolfe, Thomas Whelan, and Patrick
Barry.
"The depositions against them having been taken, all the men I have
mentioned, with the exception of Jones and Whelan, who were wounded,
were brought out to hear them read. They listened with calm attention,
but none of them appeared to be much excited. Once only during the
reading, Beavers passionately denied the statements made by one of the
witnesses present, and was with difficulty silenced. His countenance at
that moment was terribly agitated; every bad feeling seemed to mingle in
its passionate expression. They were all young, powerful, and, with one
or two exceptions, not at all ill-looking men.
"From the jail I proceeded to the hospital, where the wounded men were
lying. They had each received severe wounds in the thigh, and were in
great agony. The violence of Jones was excessive. Weakened in some
degree by the loss of blood, the bitterness of his spirit nevertheless
exhibited itself in passionate bursts of impatience. He was occasionally
convulsed with excessive pain; for the nerves of the thigh had been much
lacerated, and the bone terribly shattered. His features were distorted
with pain and anger, and occasionally bitter curses broke from his lips;
yet there was something about his appearance which powerfully arrested
my attention--an evident marking of intellect and character, repulsive
in its present development, yet in many respects remarkable. His history
had been a melancholy one, and, as illustrative of many thousand others,
I give it as I afterwards received it from his lips.
"At eleven years of age, he was employed in a warehouse in Liverpool as
an errand-boy. While following this occupation, from which, by
good-conduct, he might have risen to something better, he was met in the
street one day by the lad whom he had succeeded in this employment, and
was told by him how he might obtain money by robbing the warehouse, and
then go with him to the theatre. He accordingly took an opportunity of
stealing some articles which had been pointed out, and gave them to his
companion, who, in disposing of them, was detected, and of course
criminated Jones. After remaining some weeks in jail, Jones was tried,
and acquitted; but his character being now gone, he became reckless, and
commenced a regular career of depredation. In attempting another
warehouse robbery, he was detected, and sentenced to twelve months'
imprisonment. By the time he was released from this, he was well tutored
in crime, and believed that he could now adroitly perform the same
robbery in which he had previously failed. He made the attempt the very
night of his release from jail, and with temporary success. Subsequently,
however, he was detected, and received sentence of transportation for
seven years. He underwent this sentence, and an additional one in Van
Diemen's Land, chiefly at Port Arthur, the most severe of the penal
stations there. From this place he, with Lewis, Moss (who was shot on
board the brig), and Woolfe, having seized a whale-boat, effected their
escape. During three months, they underwent the most extreme hardships
from hunger and exposure. Once they had been without food for several
days, and their last hook was over the boat's side; they were anxiously
watching for a fish. A small blue shark took the bait, and in despair one
of them dashed over the boat's side to seize the fish; his leg was caught
by one of the others, and they succeeded in saving both man and hook.
They eventually reached Twofold Bay, on the coast of New South Wales, and
were then apprehended, conveyed to Sydney, and thence sent back to Van
Diemen's Land; tried, and received sentence of death; but this was
subsequently commuted to transportation for life to Norfolk Island.
"Jones often described to me the intense misery he had undergone during
his career. He had never known what freedom was, and yet incessantly
longed for it. All alike confessed the unhappiness of their career. Having
made the first false step into crime, they acknowledged that their minds
became polluted by the associations they formed during imprisonment. Then
they were further demoralized by thinking of the _glory_--such miserable
glory!--attending a trial; and the hulks and the voyage out gave them a
finished criminal training. The extent of punishment many of them have
undergone during the period of transportation is almost incredible. I have
known men whose original sentence of seven years has been extended over
three times that period, and who, in addition to other punishment, have
received five thousand or six thousand lashes!
"After many solemn interviews with the mutineers, I found them gradually
softening. They became more communicative, and extremely anxious to
receive instruction. I think I shall never forget one of the earliest of
these visits to them. I first saw Sears, Beavers, and Jones. After a
long and interesting conversation with them, we knelt together, and I
offered prayer. When we arose, I perceived that each of them had been
shedding tears. It was the first time I had seen them betray any such
emotion, and I cannot tell how glad I felt; but when I proceeded
afterwards to read to them the first chapter of Isaiah, I had scarcely
uttered that most exquisite passage in the second verse--"I have
nourished and brougth up children, and they have rebelled against
me,"--when the claims of God, and _their_ violation and rejection of
them; His forbearance, and _their_ ingratitude, appeared to overwhelm
them; they sobbed aloud, and were thoroughly overpowered.
"For a considerable time we talked together of the past, the wretched
years they had endured, the punishments, and the crimes which had led to
them, until they seemed to feel most keenly the folly of their sad
career. We passed on to contrast the manner in which their lives had
been spent, with what God and society required from them; their
miserable preversion of God's gifts, with the design for which He gave
them, until we were led on to speak of hope and of faith; of Him who
"willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn from
his wickedness and live;" and then the Saviour's remonstrance seemed to
arrest them--"Ye will not come to me that ye might have life;" until at
length the influences of the Holy Spirit were supplicated with
earnestness and solemnity. These instructions and such conversations
were daily repeated; and henceforth each time I saw them, I perceived a
gradual but distinct unfolding of the affections and the understanding.
"August.--The wounded men are much recovered, and the whole of the
mutineers are now confined together in a large ward of the jail. They
have long received extreme kindness from the commandant, and are
literally bewildered at finding that even this last act has not
diminished the exercise of his benevolence. That anybody should care for
them, or take such pains about them after their violent conduct excited
surprise at first almost amounting to suspicion; but this at length gave
place to the warmest gratitude. They were, in fact, subdued by it. They
read very much, are extremely submissive, and carefully avoid the
slightest infringement of the prison regulations. At first, all this was
confined to the three men I have mentioned; but their steady consistency
of conduct, and the strange transformation of character, so evident in
them, gradually arrested the attention of the others, and eventually led
to a similar result.
"They will be detained here until the case has been decided by the
authorities in Sydney. They will probably be tried by a commission sent
from thence to the island for the purpose. Formerly, however, prisoners
charged with capital offences here were sent up for trial; but (it is a
horrible fact) this was found to lead to so much crime, that, at much
inconvenience and expense, it was found absolutely necessary to send
down a judicial commission on each important occasion, in order to
prevent it. The mere excitement of a voyage, with the chances connected
with it, nay, merely a wish to get off the island even for a time, led
many men to commit crimes of the deepest dye in order to be sent to
Sydney for trial.
"Two months, therefore, at least must intervene between the perpetration
of the offence and their trial; and this interval is usually employed in
similar cases in arranging a defence but too commonly supported by
perjury. In the present instance, I found not the slightest attempt to
follow such a course. They declare that they expect death, and will
gladly welcome it. Of their life, which has been a course of almost
constant warfare with society, ending in remorseful feelings, they were
all thoroughly weary, although only one of them exceeds thirty years of
age.
"In addition to the ordinary services, Captain Maconochie, each Sunday
afternoon has read prayers to them, and has given permission to a few of
their friends to be present. Singular good has resulted from it, both to
the men and those who join in their devotions. At the conclusion of one
of these services, Sears stood up, and with his heart so full as
scarcely to allow him utterance, to the surprise of every person there,
he addressed most impressively the men who were present. 'Perhaps,' said
he, 'the words of one of yourselves, unhappily circumstanced as I am,
may have some weight with you. You all know the life I have led; it has,
believe me, been a most unhappy one; and I have, I hope not too late,
discovered the cause of this. I solemnly tell you that it is because I
have broken God's laws. I am almost ashamed to speak, but I dare not be
silent. I am going to tell you a strange thing. I never before was
happy; I begin now, for the first time in my life, to _hope_. I am an
ignorant man, or at least I was so; but I thank God I begin to see
things in their right light now. I have been unhappily placed from my
childhood, and have endured many hardships. I do not mention this to
excuse my errors; yet if I had years since received the kindness I have
done here, it might have been otherwise. My poor fellows, do turn over a
new leaf; try to serve God, and you, too, will be happier for it.' The
effect was most thrilling; there was a deathlike silence; tears rolled
down many cheeks, which I verily believe never before felt them; and
without a word more, all slowly withdrew.
"This man's story is also a common, but painful one. At fifteen years of
age, he was transported for life as an accomplice in an assault and
alleged robbery, of which, from circumstances which have since
transpired, I have little doubt he was entirely innocent. During a long
imprisonment on Horsham jail, he received an initiation in crime, which
was finished during the outward voyage. Upon his arrival in New South
Wales, he was assigned to a settler in the interior, a notoriously hard
and severe man, who gave him but a scanty supply of food and clothing,
and whose aim seemed to be to take the utmost out of him at the least
possible expense. Driven at length to desperation, he, with three
fellow-servants, absconded; and when taken, made a complaint to the
magistrate, before whom they were brought almost without clothes. Their
statements were found to be literally correct; but for absconding, they
were sent to New Castle, one of the penal stations of New South Wales,
where Sears remained nearly two years. At the expiration of that time,
he was again assigned, but unfortunately to a man, if possible, worse
than his former employer, and again absconded. For this offence, he was
sent to Moreton Bay, another penal settlement, and endured three years
of horrible severity, starvation, and misery of every kind. His temper
was by this time much soured; and, roused by the conduct of the
overseers, he became brutalized by constant punishment for resisting
them. After this, he was sent to Sydney, as one of the crew in the
police-boat, of which he was soon made assistant cockswain. For not
reporting a theft committed by one of the men under his charge, he was
sentenced to a road-party; and attempting to escape from it, he was
apprehended, and again ordered to Moreton Bay for four years more. There
he was again repeatedly flogged for disobedience and resistance of
overseers, as well as attempting to escape; but having most courageously
rendered assistance to a vessel wrecked off the harbor, he attracted the
attention of the commandant, who afterwards shewed him a little favor.
This was the first approach to kindness he had known since when, years
before, he had left his home, and had its usual influence. He was never
again in a scrape there. His good-conduct induced the commandant to
recommend him for a mitigation of sentence, which he received, and he
was again employed in the police-boat. The free cockswain of the boat
was, however, a drunkard, and intrusted much to Sears. Oftentimes he
roused the men by his violence, but Sears contrived to subdue his
passion. At length, one night, returning to the hut, drunk, the man
struck at one of the crew with his cutlass, and the rest resisted and
disarmed him. But the morning came; the case was heard; their story was
disbelieved; and upon the charge and evidence of the aggressor, they
were sent to an ironed gang, to work on the public roads. When Sears
again became eligible for assignment, a person whom he had known in
Sydney applied for him. The man must be removed within a fixed period
after the authority is given. In this case, application was made a day
beyond the prescribed time, and churlishly refused. The disappointment
roused a spirit so untutored as his, and once again he absconded; was of
course apprehended, tried, and being found with a man who had committed
a robbery, and had a musket in his possession, was sent to Norfolk
Island for life. This sentence has, however, for meritorious conduct,
been reduced to fourteen years; and his ready assistance during a fire
which recently broke out in the military garrison here, might possibly
have helped to obtain a still further reduction. He never, during those
abscondings, was absent for any long period, and never committed any act
of violence. His constant attempt seems to have been to reach Sydney, in
order to effect his escape from the scene of so much misery.
"For some time past, I have noticed his quiet and orderly conduct, and
was really sorry when I found him concerned in this unhappy affair. His
desire for freedom was, however, most ardent, and a chance of obtaining
it was almost irresistible. He has since told me that a few words kindly
spoken to himself and others by Captain Maconochie when they landed,
sounded so pleasantly to him--such are his own words--that he determined
from that moment he would endeavor to do well. He assures me that he was
perfectly unconscious of a design to take the brig, until awakened from
his sleep a few minutes before the attack commenced; that he then
remonstrated with the men; but finding it useless, he considered it a
point of honor not to fail them. His anxiety for instruction is intense;
he listens like a child; and his gratitude is most touching. He,
together with Jones, Woolfe, and Barry, were chosen by the commandant as
a police-boat's crew; and had, up to this period, acted with great
steadiness and fidelity in the discharge of the duties required from
them. Nor do I think they would even now, tempting as the occasion was,
have thought of seizing it, had it not been currently reported that they
were shortly to be placed under a system of severity such as they had
already suffered so much from.
"Woolfe's story of himself is most affecting. He entered upon evil
courses when very young; was concerned in burglaries when only eleven
years of age. Yet this was from no natural love of crime. Enticed from
his home by boys older than himself, he soon wearied of the life he led,
and longed to return to his home and his kind mother. Oftentimes he
lingered near the street she lived in. Once he had been very unhappy,
for he had seen his brother and sister that day pass near him, and it
had rekindled all his love for them. They appeared happy in their
innocence; he was miserable in his crime. He now determined to go home
and pray to be forgiven. The evening was dark and wet, and as he entered
the court in which his friends lived, his heart failed him, and he
turned back; but, unable to resist the impulse, he again returned, and
stole under the window of the room. A rent in the narrow curtain enabled
him to see within. His mother sat by the fire, and her countenance was
so sad, that he was sure she thought of him; but the room looked so
comfortable, and the whole scene was so unlike the place in which he had
lately lived, that he could no longer hesitate. He approached the door;
the latch was almost in his hand, when shame and fear, and a thousand
other vile and foolish notions, held him back; and the boy who in
another moment might have been happy--_was lost_. He turned away, and I
believe he has never seen them since. Going on in crime, he in due
course of time was transported for robbery. His term of seven years
expired in Van Diemen's Land. Released from forced servitude, he went a
whaling-voyage, and was free nearly two years. Unhappily, he was then
charged with aiding in a robbery, and again received a sentence of
transportation. He was sent to Port Arthur, there employed as one of the
boat's crew, and crossing the bay one day with a commissariat-officer,
the boat was capsized by a sudden squall. In attempting to save the life
of the officer, he was seized by his dying grasp, and almost perished
with him; but extricating himself, he swam back to the boat. Seeing the
drowning man exhausted, and sinking, he dashed forward again, diving
after him, and happily succeeded in saving his life. For this honorable
act, he would have received a remission of sentence; but ere it could
arrive, he and five others made their escape. He had engaged with these
men in the plan to seize the boat, and although sure of the success of
the application in his favor, he could not now draw back. The result I
have already shewn. There were two more men concerned in the mutiny,
who, with those I have mentioned, and those killed on board the brig,
made up the number of the boat's crew. But neither of these men came
under my charge, being both Roman Catholics.
"At length the brig, which had been despatched with an account of the
affair, returned, and brought the decision of the governor of New South
Wales. He had found it extremely difficult, almost impossible, to obtain
fitting members for the commission, who would be willing to accept the
terms proposed by the government, or trust themselves in this dreadful
place, and therefore he had determined that the prisoners should be sent
up for trial. The men were sadly disappointed at this arrangement. They
wished much to end their days here, and they dreaded both the voyage and
the distracting effect of new scenes. They cling, too, with grateful
attachment to the commandant's family, and the persons who, during their
long imprisonment, had taken so strong an interest in their welfare. I
determined to accompany them, and watch for their perseverance in
well-doing, that I might counsel and strengthen them under the fearful
ordeal I could not doubt they would have to pass.
"The same steady consistency marked the conduct of these men to the
moment of their embarkation. There was a total absence of all
excitement; one deep, serious feeling seemed to possess them, and its
solemnity was communicated to all of us. They spoke and acted as men
standing on the confines of the unseen world, and who not only thought
of its wonders, but, better still, seemed to have caught something of
its spirit and purity.
"November.--The voyage up was a weary, and, to the prisoners, a very
trying one. In a prison on the lower deck of a brig of one hundred and
eighty-two tons, fifty-two men were confined. The place itself was about
twenty feet square, of course, low, and badly ventilated. The men were
all ironed, and fastened to a heavy chain rove through iron rings let
into the deck, so that they were unable, for any purpose, to move from
the spot they occupied; scarcely, indeed, to lie down. The weather was
also unfavorable. The vessel tossed and pitched most fearfully during a
succession of violent squalls, accompanied by thunder and lightning. I
cannot describe the wretchedness of these unhappy convicts; sick, and
surrounded by filth, they were huddled together in the most disgusting
manner. The heat was at times unbearable. There were men of sixty--quiet
and inoffensive old men--placed with others who were as accomplished
villains as the world could produce. These were either proceeding to
Sydney, their sentences on the island having expired, or as witnesses in
another case (a bold and wicked murder) sent there also for trial. The
sailors on board the brig were for the most part the cowardly fellows
who had so disgracefully allowed the brig to be taken from them; and
they, as well as the soldiers on guard (some of them formed a part of
the former one), had no very kindly feeling towards the mutineers. It
may be imagined, therefore, that such feelings occasioned no alleviation
of their condition. In truth, although there was no actual cruelty
exhibited, they suffered many oppressive annoyances; yet I never saw
more patient endurance. It was hard to bear, but their better principles
prevailed. Upon the arrival of the vessel in Sydney, we learned that the
case had excited an unusual interest. Crowds assembled to catch a
glimpse of the men as they landed; and while some applauded their
daring, the great majority very loudly expressed their horror at the
crime of which they stood accused.
"I do not think it necessary to describe the trial, which took place in
a few days after landing. All were arraigned except Barry. The
prisoners' counsel addressed the jurors with powerful eloquence; but it
was in vain: the crime was substantiated; and the jury returned a
verdict of guilty against all of the prisoners, recommending Woolfe to
mercy.
"During the whole trial, the prisoners' conduct was admirable; so much
so, indeed, as to excite the astonishment of the immense crowd collected
by curiosity to see men who had made so mad an attempt for liberty. They
scarcely spoke, except once to request that the wounded man, who yet
suffered much pain, might be allowed to sit down. Judgment was deferred
until the following day. When they were then placed at the bar, the
judge, in the usual manner, asked whether they had any reason to urge
why sentence should not be pronounced upon them. It was a moment of deep
solemnity; every breath was held; and the eyes of the whole court were
directed towards the dock. Jones spoke in a deep, clear voice, and in a
deliberate harangue pointed out some defects in the evidence, though
without the slightest hope, he said, of mitigating the sentence now to
be pronounced on himself and fellows. Three of the others also spoke.
Whelan said, 'that he was not one of the men properly belonging to the
boat's crew, but had been called upon to fill the place of another man,
and had no knowledge of any intention to take the vessel, and the part
he took on board was forced upon him. He was compelled to act as he had
done; he had used no violence, nor was he in any way a participator in
any that had been committed.' At the conclusion of the address to them,
Jones, amidst the deep silence of the court, pronounced a most emphatic
prayer for mercy on his own soul, and those of his fellow-prisoners, for
the judge and jury, and finally for the witnesses. Sentence of death was
then solemnly pronounced upon them all; but the judge informed Woolfe
that he might hold out to him expectations that his life would be
spared. They were then removed from the bar, and sent back to the
condemned cells.
"I cannot say how much I dreaded my interview with them that day; for
although I had all along endeavored to prepare their minds for the worst
result, and they had themselves never for a moment appeared to expect
any other than this, I feared that the realization of their sad
expectation would break them down. Hitherto, there might have been some
secret hope sustaining them. The convulsive clinging to life, so common
to all of us, would now, perhaps, be more palpably exhibited.
"Entering their cells, I found them, as I feared, stunned by the blow
which had now fallen on them, and almost overpowered by mental and
bodily exhaustion. A few remarks about the trial were at length made by
them; and from that moment I never heard them refer to it again. There
was no bitterness of spirit against the witnesses, no expression of
hostility towards the soldiers, no equivocation in any explanation they
gave. They solemnly denied many of the statements made against them;
but, nevertheless, the broad fact remained, that they were guilty of an
attempt to violently seize the vessel, and it was useless debating on
minor considerations.
"In the meantime, without their knowledge, petitions were prepared and
forwarded to the judges, the governor and executive council. In them
were stated various mitigatory facts in their favor; and the meliorated
character of the criminal code at home was also strongly urged. Every
attention was paid to these addresses, following each other to the last
moment. But all was in vain. The council sat, and determined that five
of the men should be hanged on the following Tuesday. Whelan, who could
have no previous knowledge of a plan to seize the vessel, together with
Woolfe, was spared. The remaining four were to suffer. The painful
office of communicating this final intelligence to these men was
intrusted to me, and they listened to the announcement not without deep
feeling, but still with composure.
"It would be very painful for me to dwell on the closing scene. The
unhappy and guilty men were attended by the zealous chaplain of the
jail, whose earnest exhortations and instructions they most gratefully
received. The light of truth shone clearly on the past, and they felt
that their manifold lapses from the path of virtue had been the original
cause of the complicated misery they had endured. They entreated
forgiveness of all against whom they had offended, and in the last words
to their friends, were uttered grateful remembrances to Captain
Maconochie, his family, and others. At the place of execution, they
behaved with fortitude and a composure befitting the solemnity of the
occasion. Having retired from attendance upon them in their last
moments, I was startled from the painful stupor which succeeded in my
own mind, by the loud and heavy bound of the drop as it fell, and told
me that their spirits had gone to God who gave them."
Since the foregoing narrative was written, the treatment of convicts has
undergone considerable change, government having found the experiment of
transporting the worse class of criminals from New South Wales to
Norfolk Island to be a failure. The penal settlement was therefore
broken up in 1855, and convicts are now confined in different
establishments in the United Kingdom, where, without subjecting them to
absolute silence or solitude, they are separated from the contaminating
society of each other. Under the present system, it is a fixed principle
never to allow, if at all possible, the punishment--while it may be made
to any extent disagreeable--to injure either the body or the mind.