Breaking the Bank: An Extraordinary Colonial Crime

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Breaking the Bank

C A R O L

B A X T E R

BREAKING the Bank An extraordinar y colonial robber y

First published in 2008 Copyright © Carol Baxter 2008 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act. Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218 Email: [email protected] Web: www.allenandunwin.com National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: Baxter, Carol. Breaking the bank : an extraordinary colonial robbery. ISBN: 978 1 74175 449 0 (pbk.) Includes index. Bibliography. Bank robberies --New South Wales--Sydney--History--1788-1851. Criminals--New South Wales--Sydney--History--1788-1851. 364.1552099441 Set in 11/15 pt Minion by Bookhouse, Sydney Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

CONTENTS Author’s note & acknowledgements Cast of characters Prologue I II III IV V VI VII VIII

Envy Greed Fear Hope Anger Wrath Despair Resignation

Epilogue The value of the Bank of Australia plunder Endnotes Annotated timelines Bibliography Index

v vii 1 3 55 77 99 125 179 209 251 273 276 279 282 340 346

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AUTHOR’S NOTE & ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

reaking the Bank tells the true story of the outrageous Bank of Australia robbery, the largest documented bank robbery in Australian history. Written as narrative history (that is, history told as a story rather than as fiction or faction), Breaking the Bank covers not only the crime itself, but the lives of the participants and those who suffered as a consequence. A wealth of information about the theft has survived in colonial records, particularly in newspaper reports, court transcripts, correspondence, affidavits and petitions. To generate a sense of immediacy for the reader, a feeling that the characters are living their own story, I have extracted information from these sources to describe events as they happened, and I have converted conversations recounted in court hearings and depositions into verbatim speech. These conversions were not always straightforward: sometimes words, phrases, sentences or even paragraphs had to be omitted, or words added, or the arrangement tweaked slightly for ease of comprehension. Such changes would generally be denoted by the symbols for elisions { . . . } or additions [ ], however these were inappropriate for speech, so I have omitted them. Consistency then

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dictated that I omitted these symbols from the entire story, as one sentence from a particular document could be reproduced as dialogue and another as a quotation. For ease of comprehension, I have also omitted the excessive capitalisation of the period and, where necessary, converted third-person references into the first-person. The sources for general historical information are included in the bibliography. The primary source material relating to the robbery itself and to the robbers, suspects and receivers is documented in a series of annotated timelines, with the endnotes serving as a vehicle for my own elaborations. For a discussion of the methods used to convert the value of the spoils into today’s currency, see ‘The value of the Bank of Australia plunder’ on page 276.

Behind Breaking the Bank lies the support, wisdom and kindness of many people. I offer my heartfelt thanks to: my husband Allan Ashmore, children Camillie and Jaiden Ashmore and mother Jill Baxter for their love, understanding and cooked meals; author Alan Gold, who has taken me under his wing and provided wise counsel and a book title; my friend Kate Wingrove who has again travelled the journey with me; my bosses Malcolm Sainty AM and Keith Johnson AM for their unending support and flexibility; my readers for their kind assistance and constructive criticisms: Allan Ashmore, historian Michael Flynn, Alan Gold, Keith Johnson, Jenny Seage and Kate Wingrove (I take full responsibility for any errors); my inspirational publishing team at Allen & Unwin— publisher Rebecca Kaiser and editor Alexandra Nahlous as well as copyeditor Ali Lavau and proofreader Clara Finlay; literary agent Tara Wynne; the many others who have provided information or advice: Debbie Drinkell, Ralph Hawkins, Dr Wayne Johnson, Professor David Kent, Brad Manera, Ian Middleton, Sonal Moore, Elaine Searle, Jason Stewart, Peter Strauss; and finally to the staff of the Mitchell Library, State Archives of New South Wales, Society of Australian Genealogists and, in England, the National Archives and the Bank of England Archives.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS (Robbers, suspects and receivers)

Cast of characters Blackstone, William Byrne, John Colley, William Creighton, John Dingle, James Dudley, George Farrell, George Kelly, James Lee, James

Blacksmith at lumber yard; serving convict; lodger with Thomas Seeney Shoemaker in shoemakers’ workshop; convict; lodger with James Dingle Serving convict Carpenter; free by servitude; had George Farrell as lodger Shoemaker; free by servitude; had John Byrne as lodger Alias Chapman alias Geordy the Tailor; free by servitude Shoemaker in shoemakers’ workshop; serving convict; lodger with John Creighton Landholder; colonial-born Carpenter; colonial-born; friend of John Creighton

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Madden, James Martin, Susannah McHue, Dennis Morwood, John Payne, Sarah Rourke, Valentine Seeney, Thomas Shortland, Edward Turner, Thomas Wood, James John Woodward, Thomas

Shoemaker in shoemakers’ workshop; serving convict Colonial-born; wife of James Martin Stonemason/brickmaker/labourer; serving convict Free by servitude Free by servitude; wife of John Payne Shoemaker; free by servitude; friend of James Dingle Blacksmith; ticket-of-leave convict; had William Blackstone as lodger Deputy overseer of shoemakers’ workshop; serving convict Overseer of stonemason gang; serving convict Clerk in Principal Superintendent of Convicts’ office; serving convict Clerk at Commissariat Office; serving convict

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For the story of the singularly audacious Bank of Australia robbery, one has to go back to the early part of the nineteenth century, to the bad, bad days of Sydney’s history when anything in the way of criminal exploits had to be uncommonly daring to excite much astonishment in a community of criminals. The Sun, 5 March 1912

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PROLOGUE Prologue

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t 10 am on 15 September 1828 a messenger dashed out of Sydney’s Bank of Australia, raced down George Street and burst into the police office. Messengers were a familiar sight on Sydney’s earthen streets as they zigzagged through jostling crowds and darted around horsedrawn carts, bullocks and gangs of fettered convicts. But this particular messenger had pushed through the crowds with the heedlessness of urgency. Merchants striding from the docks to their shops, matrons hastening home with baskets of provisions, urchins frolicking around ankles: all turned to watch and to listen. The news filtered from the police office even before the constables thrust open the door and bustled out. Thieves had plundered the Bank of Australia. Not the overflowing cash drawers guarded by the tellers or the neatly stacked wads caressed by the directors— the vault itself. The news surged across Sydney with the swiftness of a flash-flood. Rumours gurgled in its wake. An inside job? Skeleton keys? No, a handdug tunnel. No: a sewage drain!

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Crowds swarmed around men hammering news bills onto prominent doors, walls and posts, begging an answer to that crucial question: ‘How much?’ Haughty government officers sporting their £100 to £200 incomes, hardy artisans toiling for £40 to £60 per year, weary housemaids struggling on a £6 to £15 subsistence, penniless but hopeful convicts: all eagerly jockeyed to hear the response. ‘Fourteen thousand pounds!’ As Sydneysiders gasped at the enormity of the robbery and wallowed in the details, another emotion bubbled to the surface: malicious delight. The thieves had targeted the ‘gentlemen’s’ bank rather than the ‘people’s’ Bank of New South Wales.‘Such are the unpopular and impolitic principles on which the Bank of Australia was originally founded by Mr John Macarthur and his adherents,’ warned the Monitor’s editor snidely, ‘that among the bulk of Sydney’s inhabitants the Bank’s loss has created secret and in many cases open satisfaction.’ With remarkable prescience, the Monitor added: ‘We feel greatly afraid that facility rather than impediment will be given to the circulation of the stolen notes to such a degree as will prevent detection.’ While the newspapers heckled, the citizens crowed and the bank directors fumed, the most vital question of all still demanded an answer: Who had the effrontery to commit such a crime in a penal settlement, of all places?

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PART I

ENVY It is a good booty alone that will make a cunning old rogue crook his finger. Peter Cunningham, Two Years in New South Wales

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Chapter 1

A GLORIOUS BEGINNING A glorious beginning Of course, Australia is marked for glory for its people have been chosen by the finest judges in England. Anonymous

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hile traditional colonial histories pontificate that the most significant events for New South Wales in 1828 were the enactment of the new constitution and the extended drought and consequential economic woes, the subject on everybody’s lips was the outrageous Bank of Australia robbery. Naturally, most had their suspicions regarding the robbers’ identities. Their eyes immediately turned towards those skilled in the fine arts of stealing, swindling and other skulduggery. In particular, they focused upon the miscreants who continued to practise their illicit crafts despite banishment to colonial shores. One name kept cropping up, that of the mighty blacksmith William Blackstone—a man able in his vocation and artful in his avocation but, as it would transpire, dangerously gullible and naive. William Blackstone’s name will forever be coupled with the Bank of Australia robbery, although not because he was the robbers’ ringleader.

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It was his pivotal role in the drama surrounding the authorities’ long and frustrating attempts to catch the thieves that would ensure that he, of all the daring members of this gang of bank robbers, would be assigned the most prominent place in the history books. Ironically, Blackstone’s name was already in the history books. When he was born in London in the mid-1790s,1 his parents were probably unaware that they were bequeathing him a name revered in legal circles. English jurist Sir William Blackstone had published his Commentaries on the Laws of England a few decades earlier, a work still acclaimed today as the most comprehensive treatment of the whole of English law ever written by one man. But for a generation in the mid-1800s, in colonial circles at least, the infamy of Sir William’s namesake would mock the reverence previously bestowed upon the jurist’s name and eclipse him in popular recognition. Yet the infamous Blackstone’s story and those of the other bank robbers is not simply the tale of their journey along the path to notoriety. It captures the spirit of this group of men—tough, bold and reckless— and the power of their vision for the future, a vision they would strive to fulfil despite a system determined to crush them. It was this indomitable spirit, this hankering for a better life braced by a refusal to be cowed, that drove most of those who would voluntarily or—in the robbers’ case—involuntarily journey to the Antipodes and would underpin the successful establishment of the nation of Australia. It must be admitted, however, that the robbers themselves were not among those who contributed much to the nation’s weal except, perhaps, in their unintentional Robin Hood role. The bank robbers’ story is not simply the tale of an exhaustive police investigation, either, one which eventually cranked the ponderous wheels of justice into gear. In truth, the robbers’ downfall and our knowledge of this outrageous crime can largely be blamed upon a vengeful turncoat and a pair of boots.

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The younger William Blackstone had a less auspicious youth than his famous predecessor although their origins were not dissimilar. Sir William Blackstone was a London-born silk merchant’s son who lived his youth among the ink-stained students in a private boys’ school, the cap and gowns of an Oxford college, the pomp and periwigs of the courtroom. His namesake sweated it out in a cavernous London smithy. Pumping the bellows to kindle smouldering embers, heaving metal into and out of the blazing forge, hefting a sledgehammer over an anvil and hammering the searing metal into shape, cooling the crafted implements in sizzling vats: as Blackstone baked in the billowing heat, was scalded, scorched and deafened, he passed from apprentice to skilled artisan. A ‘whitesmith and founder’2 he called himself at that time; a ‘blacksmith’ in later years. Yet despite these accomplishments the burly lad was discontented with the smith’s lot. He craved more from life—a longing that would regularly envelop him in the years that followed, often with devastating repercussions. The Napoleonic Wars and the Industrial Revolution provided the backdrop to Blackstone’s youth. It was a period of widespread social upheaval as mechanisation gradually supplanted manual labour in some industries and as the population swelled and became increasingly urbanised. Those who thronged to the cities faced gruelling and often dangerous work, damp overcrowded housing and poor sanitation. Hovering over them was the constant fear of ill-health and unemployment as these anonymous cities lacked the supportive infrastructure of the small community-minded country areas. To add to their sufferings they were surrounded by the wealth flaunted by those who exploited their labour. Yet, across the Channel, the rights of man to be free from oppression and exploitation and to have a voice in his own governance were being proclaimed under the banner ‘liberty, egality, fraternity’. Fortunately for the heads of the British aristocracy, this movement soon became subsumed under the banner of Napoleon’s territorial warfare, renewing the widespread English hatred for most things French rather than fostering the masses’ aspiration to follow their political model.

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In the summer of 1815, as England basked in the triumph of the Waterloo campaign and Napoleon’s long-desired subjugation, Blackstone yearned for riches. Apprentices and their masters regularly gathered in nearby pubs and in the riotous atmosphere, their passions excited by drink and gusto, the daring talked of illicit uses for their skills. They scorned the desperate who burgled, shoplifted and highway-robbed, fencing the stolen goods for cash. Intrepid smiths had a more direct route for obtaining money. They made it. Coining, as it was called, was the domain of the urban criminal and blacksmiths were particularly adept at making false coins. Blackstone was trained by experts. Hidden away in rotting malodorous tenements in the rookeries, the home of London’s criminal underworld, these coiners laid out their precious utensils and set to work. They melted down spoons or pewter, poured the scalding metal into plaster moulds, mixed nitric and water-diluted sulphuric acid with a touch of cyanide to colour the coins, then ran a copper wire from a galvanic battery to electroplate them. Oil and lampblack rubbed into the coins provided such an authentically aged look and professional result that few could detect their falsity. The coiners then slipped this fake currency into pockets and pouches and ventured into the stygian alleyways or the flashhouses (the pubs frequented by professional criminals—the ‘flashmen’) where they found agents keen to purchase the coins. The agents sold them on to utterers who palmed them off through shops, pubs and fairgrounds. Utterers also disposed of counterfeit notes in the same way, and one such note was to prove Blackstone’s undoing. Banknotes were surprisingly easy to counterfeit. In 1797, the government had passed legislation allowing banks to issue paper £1 and £2 notes in lieu of the gold coin required for the war effort. Whereas, previously, the lowest banknote had been of a denomination larger than a year’s wages for some workers, the new notes brought paper currency into the pockets of the general populace, including the largely illiterate working classes. Not only were the agricultural labourers and the factory workers and the maids and menservants unused to handling paper currency, many had difficulty reading the notes and were readily exploited.

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Foolishly, the bank also continued to use the easily reproduced technique of copper plate engraving to print banknotes that comprised little more than a number, date and clerk’s signature. ‘This paper commodity,’ wrote one contemporary, ‘is too tempting for human avidity to resist.’ With a potential fortune at their pen-tips, England’s entrepreneurial coiners turned into forgers and counterfeit notes flooded the country. Small design changes over the following few years had only a momentary impact on the forger’s craft. Two decades later, a parliamentarian claimed that in some parts of the country nearly onehalf of the £1 notes in circulation were forgeries. Shopkeepers and cashiers attempted to carefully examine any notes presented to them, inspect those proffering them, and keep track of any suspected forgeries so the chain of evidence was intact, but the sheer volume of the paper currency transactions they now had to process created an almost insurmountable problem in monitoring them. When they did receive a forged note, they were also responsible for detecting, apprehending and prosecuting the criminal—daunting tasks in themselves. That is, until the country’s most respected financial institution, the Bank of England, stepped in. With the nation’s credit and its own reputation at stake, the Bank of England formulated a plan of action. They prosecuted a number of forgery cases and sat back to watch the nation’s gallows offer the salutary lesson that would deter these scoundrels. It didn’t work. Despite the exponential increase in the number of counterfeiting-related convictions and executions, the forgery industry continued to thrive. So the Bank’s solicitors established a division devoted to prosecuting forgers, one that would become the command centre in a nationwide war against forgery. In an era when policing was renowned for its ad hoc nature—Britain feared allowing the constabulary too many powers after the excesses of the French Revolution—the bank funded a vast and unparalleled manpower and information network that crisscrossed the country. They employed travelling inspectors, rewarded constables (allowed under the ‘entrepreneurial policing’ system of the era), reimbursed solicitors, financed prosecutions, briefed barristers and processed the tons of letters and other paperwork generated by such an operation.

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They carefully chose the cases they would prosecute, earning them an astonishingly high conviction rate and a correspondingly high execution rate. Naturally, those easiest to catch and convict were the utterers—like William Blackstone. Greed, a thrill-seeking nature, a sense of invincibility, or perhaps a desperate need for money—the lad had married the previous year—all probably spurred Blackstone’s decision to accept a bundle of counterfeit notes to circulate. Whether this was his first job as an utterer or if it was a regular sideline is uncertain. On 7 August 1815, the nineteen-year-old smith and an accomplice, eighteen-year-old shopman John Wilson, attempted to pass a counterfeit £1 note to Mary Heard, no doubt for alcohol, food or a bed for the night. A successful utterer required boldness and effrontery, characteristics Blackstone would also display in his later criminal pursuits, and utterers,like shoplifters,were magicians.While shoplifters used diversion and sleight of hand to pilfer shop goods, utterers also used distraction to brazenly slip illegal currency into the hands of merchants and pubkeepers. But on this particular day their plans went awry. Perhaps the note was a particularly poor reproduction; perhaps their demeanour gave them away. Blackstone and his partner were grabbed and the eager constables alerted. If the youths indignantly denied any wrongdoing, their protests faltered when the constables searched them and plucked two more counterfeit notes from their pockets. Trapped by such incriminating evidence they were marched to the police office and charged, then taken to nearby Newgate gaol. Squalid, vermin-infested and typhus-ridden, London’s most notorious prison was loathed by the community—by its miserable inmates; by flashmen who drank toasts to its destruction; by respectable neighbouring residents who feared that rioting prisoners or deadly diseases would breach its thick walls. A founding principle of the penal system at that time was that a prisoner’s misery should exceed that of the working poor, to prevent the poor being tempted by ‘evil ways’. Newgate was the archetype of this government-ordained wretchedness. For five interminable weeks the youths languished in Newgate’s dank cells with the spectre of the gallows haunting them. In the Bloody Code

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of the time, counterfeiting currency was deemed a crime against the King, and deserving of a death sentence. Such a crime threatened the nation’s and, in particular, the ruling class’s assets by weakening currencies, disrupting commerce and endangering the security of financial institutions. The ruling class dictated the legislation and in the political and social atmosphere of the previous half-century most crime-related bills had passed through Parliament with minimal debate. Sir William Blackstone himself had remarked that Britain’s criminal justice system sacrificed lives with reckless barbarity. Little had changed by his namesake’s day. The Middlesex Criminal Session commenced at the Old Bailey courthouse on 13 September 1815. Lists were finalised, names called and the fettered and chained lads hobbled along the underground passageway connecting Newgate with the Old Bailey. Dead Man’s Walk, it was called, as the executed were buried underneath. The guards relished announcing its name as the prisoners approached the passageway, a callous reminder of the fate awaiting the unlucky. Lodged in the cells under the courthouse, Blackstone and Wilson waited through the first day and into the second before being chained to a few other malefactors and steered up to the gloomy courtroom and into the dock. Facing the bench of judges, the dirty, tattered prisoners waited in line until their names were called. ‘John Wilson and William Blackstone are indicted for feloniously forging and counterfeiting one £1 note purporting to be a note of the Governor and Company of the Bank of England,’ intoned the Clerk of the Arraigns. ‘How do you plead?’ ‘Not guilty!’ they declared firmly. The clerk looked down at his papers and read out the second charge. ‘John Wilson and William Blackstone are indicted for having disposed of as true one false and counterfeit note purporting to be a note of the Governor and Company of the Bank of England for the payment of £1, well knowing the same to be false and counterfeit. They are also indicted for having in their possession at the same time two other similar false and counterfeit notes.’

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The notes stashed among their clothes damned them. Avowals of innocence had little chance of saving them from the gallows. ‘How do you plead?’ demanded the clerk. ‘Guilty,’ admitted the youths. They had seized the lifeline tossed to them by the bank’s solicitors and were ‘pleading to the lesser charge’. The Bank of England’s initial success in sending forgers to the gallows had generated a curious backlash. Juries became increasingly reluctant to convict, particularly when it became clear that the bank rarely approved requests for mercy. Alarmed at this trend, the influential bank convinced Parliament to pass legislation allowing them to prosecute minor offenders under a lesser charge, that of being ‘in possession of forged bank notes’. In practice, the bank used the legislation as a novel and cunning method to manipulate offenders, a predecessor of the current plea bargain. They indicted them on both the capital and the lesser charge and if the offender stood in the dock and pleaded guilty to the lesser charge, the bank did not proceed against them on the capital charge. It saved the bank the huge expense of a criminal trial, strengthened their hand when dealing with marginal cases and helped them wheedle information from more serious offenders. If, however, the offender rejected the bank’s offer and risked a criminal trial, the bank repulsed any later pleas for mercy. Blackstone and his pal had previously been offered this ‘liberty’ by the bank’s solicitors. Faced with the threat of the gallows, these reckless, foolhardy lads at least had the sense to accept it. Forewarned, the judges dismissed the counterfeiting charge and ordered the youths’ return to Newgate until sentencing. On the last day of the Middlesex Session the guilty lined up for their final appearance before the court. Again they shuffled along Dead Man’s Walk, desperately hoping that the death knell would toll for another. Placed at the bar, the youths saw the judges’ funereal shadow—the black-garbed chaplain who would utter ‘Amen’ at the pronouncement of a death sentence. They heard their companions’ sentences: ‘transportation’ . . . ‘transportation’ . . . ‘death!’. Finally, the clerk called Blackstone and Wilson’s names. Inching forward, they faced the judges. ‘Fourteen years’ transportation,’ one judge ordered

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and thumped his gavel. It was the usual sentence for those who pleaded guilty to the lesser charge. Sentencing choices for ‘serious’ crimes like Blackstone’s were limited and largely mandated: seven years, fourteen years, life or death. Those sentenced to death might be lucky. A reprieve: the bounty of a merciful King who punished some of his wayward subjects by dangling the noose over their heads, locking them up to suffer the horrors of their own imaginations and the gruesome descriptions provided by the sadistic, and then enticing them back to a (hopefully) rehabilitated existence with the offer of life. A life sentence, admittedly, but life nonetheless. Yet while ‘death’ solved one set of problems—purging the country permanently of its crooks—‘life’ contributed to another. What was to be done with the prisoners crammed into Britain’s ancient dilapidated gaols? Britain’s policymakers had long ago legislated another solution— banishment—and they had done so with the ideal dumping ground in mind—the Americas. Some 50 000 convicts were ultimately transported there from Britain and Ireland under an indentured labour system. After the upstart American colonies eventually closed their ports to this distasteful British export—Benjamin Franklin had long argued that America should return the favour by unleashing a cargo of rattlesnakes in London’s glorious St James’s Park—the government’s eyes turned to Botany Bay. Britain longed to shunt all her criminals on a 16 000-mile journey to a destination as far from home as it was possible to travel and to never suffer sight nor sound of them again. Not just banishment, quipped some historians, but ‘vanishment’. However the British authorities knew that they could not simply disgorge these miscreants from the transports, slam the hatches and scud off, although some undoubtedly argued that the rogues deserved little more. Indeed some recognised that, if properly administered, transportation could provide multiple benefits for the mother country: ridding Britain of the criminals polluting its shores, deterring criminality by invoking images of terror on the opposite side of the globe, and exporting what was largely a young, fit and poorly utilised labour force to colonise a new tract of the British Empire.

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By Blackstone’s day, some three decades after Britain founded the penal settlement of New South Wales on the eastern shores of Australia, the experiment had proved a success. The colony was thriving and many of Britain’s convict exportees had become valued members of the fledgling community. Rich, even. Rumours soon spread that New South Wales was a land of boundless opportunities rather than a barely desirable alternative to the hangman’s noose. Had William Blackstone heard the rumours? Perhaps they offered a sense of hope as he endured another four months in Newgate’s grim cells while his gaolers awaited instructions for his disposal. The orders arrived early in January 1816 and he was bundled off to join the 470 prisoners already on the Justitia hulk at Woolwich. Squatting in the Thames River were once-proud troopships and menof-war, denuded of their masts and rigging and suffering the ignominious fate of ending their days as prison hulks. The Hulk Act decreed that convicts would be housed on these relics to relieve the bursting seams of England’s prisons and to provide useful employment until the bureaucratic machinery spat out the final orders for their disposal. If Blackstone initially revelled in his escape from Newgate he undoubtedly soon changed his mind. As his boat neared the hulk, the rowers’ oars churned up the sewage and other rotting detritus girding the vessel. It was a portent of life inside. Another prisoner—the renowned memoirist and triple transportee, James Hardy Vaux—wrote of his own incarceration some years earlier on a neighbouring Woolwich-moored hulk: ‘The reader may conceive the horrible effects arising from the continued rattling of chains, the filth and vermin naturally produced by such a crowd of miserable inhabitants, the oaths and execrations constantly heard amongst them, and above all the shocking necessity of associating and communicating with so depraved a set of beings.’ Rowed ashore each morning, Blackstone and the other prisoners were allocated labouring tasks and consigned to the responsibility of a guard. ‘These were the lowest class of human being,’ Vaux wrote of the guards, ‘wretches devoid of all feeling, brutal by nature, and rendered tyrannical and cruel by the consciousness of the power they possess.’

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As Blackstone commenced work on the shores of Woolwich, the Transport Board engaged the 449-ton Mariner to transport male convicts to New South Wales. The board also sought applications for a surgeon superintendent, the naval medical officer responsible for the transportees’ health and wellbeing. This lowly paid role carried out under difficult and often disagreeable conditions generally appealed only to drunken failures or ill-qualified novices. The surgeon appointed on 6 April 1816 to assume responsibility for the Mariner’s 145 convicts was a novice.Yet Dr John Haslam differed from his fellow applicants. He had a mission: he yearned to save the convicts’ souls as well as cure their ills. The evangelical Christian believed that in banishing Britain’s criminals to a distant land the authorities intended to improve their lives in addition to punishing them, and that with kindness and patience they might become worthy members of their new Christian community.‘My object,’he wrote,‘was to display to my charges the beauties and conveniences of the high road of truth and rectitude of conduct contrasted with the infamy and contempt they now experienced from having deviated into the torturous avenues of vice.’ Armed with detailed instructions from the Colonial Office and a plentiful supply of Bibles and Prayer Books—some through the ‘disinterested’ kindness of a devout friend—he resolved to guide his charges along the path to redemption and to usher into Sydney a boatload of rehabilitated prisoners. The authorities were pleased to employ a surgeon with such an agenda, hoping that a diet of religious instruction might contribute to the prisoners’ reformation or at least moderate their refractory ways. But men like Blackstone were not malleable children to be enticed with spiritual candy. The transportees joined the Mariner in two batches: William Blackstone and another 84 men from the Justitia on 6 May and 60 men from the Retribution, moored in Sheerness, on 12 May. Dr Haslam was somewhat daunted by his initial sight of this ‘depraved assemblage’ clambering over the ship’s side. Instead of meekly lining up on deck, chastened by their punishment and willing recipients of his ministrations, the bold prisoners soon turned the jangling of their chains into an accompaniment

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for a cocky song and dance. Yet most felt anguish at leaving family and friends forever, Blackstone among them. In the years that followed he would inscribe on his own arms his pain at leaving his young wife, Ann Maria Harrison. Taken below, the men were assigned sleeping berths in the six-footsquare cells lining the ship’s sides. Each cell contained four beds, allowing eighteen inches of sleeping space apiece. ‘Ample space!’ pronounced one surgeon superintendent. Ladders removed at night-time and triplepadlocked doors prevented prisoners from sneaking through the hatchways. During the day the men were allowed two rotations on deck, each two hours long. For the remainder they stayed below: gambling, singing, dancing and plotting. The Mariner crept out of London early in June 1816, sailing around Margate and down the coast of Kent to Deal, where the crew heaved the anchor overboard. Lapped by the swells of the English Channel the transport awaited suitable sailing conditions. A loud hail soon heralded the arrival of a visitor, the wife of a transportee. She had travelled from London to farewell her husband, bringing articles to comfort him during the long voyage ahead. Her husband was one of the most orderly and decent convicts, Dr Haslam later recounted, and the couple bade each other a tender and distressing farewell. The wife scrambled back into the dinghy, the waterman slapped oars against water and they headed back to shore. As Dr Haslam idly watched the retreating dinghy, reflecting upon the touching scene, he saw a momentary hesitation, a flurry of activity. Then the waterman tugged on an oar, turned the dinghy and rowed back towards the ship. Surprised, the surgeon hurried over to the railing. He soon discovered that during their parting embrace the husband had picked his wife’s pocket of the money she needed to return to London, and that when he squeezed her hand he had dexterously slipped her wedding ring from her finger. Appalled, Haslam brooded over the husband’s treachery. ‘He seemed to be exempt from moral sensibility, from that reflection which is the attribute of rational beings and the hopeful source of amendment,’ he concluded, adding with bewilderment, ‘and he appeared to be wholly

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insensible of his degraded condition.’ Haslam would soon learn that the husband’s perfidy was not an isolated incident. ‘The prisoners would combine by strength or stratagem for a common plunder, then these partners would rob each other of their dividend of the booty with as little ceremony as they had defrauded the original possessor!’ The fresh-faced graduate from the medical lecture halls had little understanding of the world inhabited by England’s poor. Opportunity had bypassed most of them even before they were born. Many had hopelessly poor parents whose only pleasures were alcohol and sex and for whom the arrival of the inevitable infant was just another greedy mouth to feed until the child—neglected and often mistreated—was old enough to exploit for its labour. Desperate self-interest drove many of these parents and their offspring learnt these lessons in survival. While success later pasted a veneer of respectability over some of the lucky, such ingrained self-serving behaviour could readily surface, as the perplexed Dr Haslam had discovered. Meanwhile, the unlucky frantically sought any means to survive or prosper and if they tottered into the world of vice, they often continued to cheat and steal and sell themselves with a nonchalance that shocked the virtuous, like the Mariner’s surgeon Dr Haslam. The church thundered against their lawless and immoral ways, sermonising that the poor should accept their lot in life, that the social hierarchy was divinely ordained, and that criminal activity, theft in particular, was against God’s laws. In truth, criminal activity threatened the ruling classes’ power and assets so they manipulated God’s laws in their own favour. Cutting down trees in an avenue, for example—the ruling classes’ portal into their handsome estates—became a hanging offence; cutting down trees in a street or lane was merely a misdemeanour. Yet it wasn’t only the ruling classes who were robbed or swindled. As the poor regularly crossed paths with the lower middle classes, proximity made the Mary Heards of London—the shopkeepers, pubkeepers and artisans and their households—easier targets. The law and the church decreed that sins must be punished, so legal retribution was also enjoyed by all classes of British society.

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Of course, all classes also bred felons. Many transportees were skilled tradesmen, like Blackstone; they were not all from backgrounds of poverty and neglect. Clearly someone had cared enough about Blackstone’s future to fund an apprenticeship. He should have known better than to slip outside the boundaries of the law. But perhaps Blackstone and his fellow utterers and forgers failed to see their activities as genuinely criminal— if the banks could print notes and profit from them, why couldn’t they? Or maybe they were just lazy and greedy, as the establishment claimed, unwilling to work hard enough to earn a decent living. Many, however, had few choices. Their criminality was dictated by necessity, by a society that had failed to support them when in need. Yet, astonishingly, few members of the establishment grasped the connection. Naturally, it was in their interests to overlook the truth. They required a compliant and cheap labour force to make themselves rich. The establishment’s failure to comprehend the poverty–criminality nexus meant that their penal policies focused upon punishment rather than reformation. They recognised that detaching criminals from bad connections and offering adequate supplies and new opportunities allowed the malefactors to start afresh. Yet they attributed the ensuing ‘reformation’ experienced by most Australian transportees to the preceding punishment and banishment regime. This misconception prevented them from developing effective strategies for promoting reformation among men like the Mariner transportees, many of whom had spent a lifetime surviving by their wits. It would also have long-term consequences for those like Blackstone who continued to defy the system in later years. The establishment’s representative on the Mariner transport was, of course, Dr Haslam. Although he too lacked insight, he was kind, caring and well-trained in his own profession. Cleanliness, fresh air, exercise, an abundance of good medicines and regular fumigation of living quarters—the recipe for a healthy voyage had been drummed into him and he assiduously carried out his duties. Blackstone and his fellow transportees were fortunate to have such a conscientious surgeon. Yet they stubbornly continued to resist his spiritual ministrations.

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Dr Haslam agonised over their behaviour. Ignorance must underlie their criminality and unchristian ways, he eventually decided; education and example would surely motivate them to seek the path of redemption. But as he sat talking to the men or overheard their conversations, he realised that most had received at least the rudiments of education, Blackstone among them. In fact the young smith had a well-formed signature, not just the shaky ink-splotched scrawl of the barely literate, indicating that someone had funded his education as well. ‘I had fondly hoped to be able to state that education exempted the heart from imbibing the deeper tints of depravity or allowed the stain to be more easily expunged. But from my observations during this voyage,’ the crestfallen doctor acknowledged, ‘I realised that education merely adapted the mind to the more ready attainment of its desires.’ As the weeks passed, the Mariner sailed down through the latitudes, past Portugal, Madeira, the Canary Islands and the Cape Verde Islands near the westernmost tip of Africa. Riding the trade winds south they reached the Cape of Good Hope on the southern tip of Africa, where the Mariner anchored and collected one last transportee. As the vessel wallowed off the cape a heavy squall lashed them. Locked in the prison, the men would have little chance to escape if the ship foundered. Fearful for their safety, Haslam staggered to his little pulpit in the prisoners’ quarters, turned to his glum devotees and flapping his arms around—partly in fervour, partly to keep his balance—exhorted them to repent and be saved, to call upon the Lord’s forgiveness and, if the ship sank, they would be ushered into the Kingdom of Heaven. Some rolled their eyes. One had an epiphany: ‘It’s Bartholomew Fair!’ he shouted, and erupted into a boisterous song commemorating the dissipation and licentiousness of what was for 700 years London’s preeminent summer fair. In a bellow of discordant enthusiasm, the other transportees joined in. As the despairing preacher shouted over the clamour, trying to regain the godly moment, the prisoners mimicked the ship’s rolling and pitching and pretended they were on swings at the fair or enjoying lecherous activities.

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The transportees not only resisted Haslam’s spiritual ministrations, they defied their military guardians. A few days after the storm, some of the prisoners contrived to open the prison door leading to the forehold. Although the breach was soon discovered, they had already succeeded in pilfering some of the stores. The convicts tried again three weeks later as the Roaring Forties blew them towards Tasmania. Wakened by the ship’s bucking as it rode storm-whipped seas, Blackstone and the others could hear the howl of the wind slashing at the sails, torrential rain drumming the deck, waves crashing over the rails and the ship’s timbers shrieking from the constant battering. Through the cacophony the frenzied shouts of the officers and crew penetrated the hold, terrifying the soldiers on guard in the prison. Many of the transportees had already faced death, had received a last-minute reprieve in return for life transportation. They had little to lose. Taking advantage of the noise and the soldiers’ distraction, the intrepid convicts cut a hole in the prison deck, allowing access to the hold and from there to the arms-chest. But before they could arm themselves, the cavity was discovered. The quick-thinking culprits eluded detection. When the ship’s captain, a guard of soldiers and the doctor descended into the prison, all of the prisoners pretended they knew nothing about it, said they had been asleep and, with wide-eyed looks of bewilderment, wondered how the culprits could have managed it. As the doctor ascended the ladder a short time later, he could hear snickers erupting from these undaunted prisoners. On 11 October 1816 eagerness gripped Blackstone and the other transportees. For days the New South Wales coastline had beckoned those desperate to escape, almost within swimming distance. But fear of the fusillade of shots, the hungry sharks and the menacing Aborigines discouraged even the most resolute. The inability to swim deterred the remainder. A better opportunity would arise at their journey’s end, they comforted themselves as calls from the lookout indicated that their destination was approaching: ‘Port Hacking’—named after Sydney’s first pilot; ‘Botany Bay’—the large inlet where the First Fleet had initially landed; and, finally, ‘Port Jackson!’.

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The elegant Macquarie Tower lighthouse which would soon beam a welcoming invitation to the Sydney-bound was little more than a foundation stone on the South Head when the Mariner’s crew spied the twin giants guarding Port Jackson’s entrance. Three-quarters of a mile of choppy seas separated these two formidable headlands, an easy enough passage in fine weather but beset with problems when the elements conspired against them. The Mariner slipped through safely and for those fortunate enough to be on deck one of the most beautiful harbours in the world offered up its treasures. Rainbow-plumed birds swooped across the turquoise water then clustered like exotic flowers in trees lining the shore. Crescent-shaped bays gleamed with flaxen sand against a backdrop of rich evergreen foliage. And the sun, luxuriantly warm, smiled upon them as they sailed down the channel towards Sydney Town. Word of their impending arrival soon reached the settlement. A flotilla of small boats mobbed the ship, bursting with greetings, demanding news from home and offering food and refreshments. As the Mariner rounded Bennelong Point, those on deck caught their first glimpse of the bustling harbour port of Sydney. For many of the transportees, their last memory of freedom had been of a London painted in the sombre hues of winter: leaden skies and bare branches, sooty buildings and gloomy alleyways, coldness, poverty and despair. Their first view of Sydney was startling in its contrast. For a moment, it was as if those tiny blue-and-white Dutch houses they had seen in the windows of London’s curiosity shops had been enlarged and transplanted onto the shores of Sydney town. Of course, the houses themselves were quite different. The impression sprang from the vibrant colours and contrasts: the white walls and blue or brown roofs set against a backdrop of blue skies. And the vividness didn’t end there; there were the soldiers’ red tunics, the dusky orange streets, the bright plumes on birds and belles and the profusion of spring flowers. For some, these differences induced a feeling of unease. Hope lay only with the comforts of the familiar, of family and old acquaintances, of shared memories, traditions and routines, of the sense of control that the familiar offered. For these convicts, the strangeness of this new world

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reignited the flame that would forever draw them back to their old hearths. Others, however, saw in Sydney’s colour and vibrancy an aura of warmth and hope, of new and endless possibilities: perhaps a chance to reinvent themselves; more likely a world for the taking. It lit a new flame of longing. As the crew struck and furled the sails, the town loomed closer. Those on deck could see Government House on the eastern ridge, a pleasant two-storied building with columns and a verandah. It was the hub of law and order in the community, the core of power and official largesse. With symbolic symmetry, the western ridge bore the ‘pepper castor’ tower of St Philip’s Church. While the law attempted to constrain the physical activities of the populace, the church took responsibility for the moral. Or attempted to. Despite its prominent position glowering over the ‘Rocks’, as the rocky hillside on the western shore of the cove was called, the church couldn’t curb the activities of its residents. ‘That fortress of iniquity,’ blasted one contemporary, describing the haphazard tiers of rickety houses and fetid lanes which provided homes for Sydney’s poorer classes, a haven for convict runaways, and a haunt for those prowling for loose women or the colonial elixir—rum. The Rocks had shrugged off the church’s frowns, kicked off the law’s chains. It was bold and saucy, determined to enjoy life on its own terms. It was the breeding-ground of daring plans and grandiose schemes, mostly rum-fuelled visions of the impossible. It was the first place Blackstone would step when he disembarked onto colonial shores. Sounds drifted across the water towards the Mariner: fishmongers and vendors calling out their wares, soldiers cursing reluctant convicts, whips cracking onto beast and human, drunken revelry. Smells as well— the ambrosial aromas of a nineteenth-century harbour port: fish, garbage and sewage. As the Mariner dropped anchor and Dr Haslam completed his medical report, he pondered his achievements. ‘The failure of producing moral reformation among these desperate outcasts, which I candidly confess and record with infinite regret, may in some degree be attributed to my

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own inexperience,’ he mourned. ‘Yet my labours were unremitting and although my hopes declined my zeal continued fervent.’ Despite his inability to save his charges’ souls, Haslam could claim some success. ‘Although I may be deemed a novice in the science of moral therapeutics, it is with considerable satisfaction that I am able to state that of the 146 convicts not one died,’ he scribbled with justifiable pride, no doubt comparing his achievement with the Surrey’s 36 deaths from a cargo of 200 convicts two years previously. ‘Moreover when the prisoners were landed on October 16th at Port Jackson all of them without a single exception were in good health and fully capable of executing any labour that the Governor might direct them to perform.’ Some thought otherwise when catching a glimpse of disembarking transportees. The wife of Sydney’s first Chief Justice of the Supreme Court would later write that ‘as they came forth, one by one, out of the reeking hold, clad in their grey sombre garb, hollow-eyed and with pale and shrunken faces, they seemed to me like a sad procession of weird spectres issuing from a tomb.’ Rowed ashore at daybreak, the Mariner’s transportees staggered off the boats and lined up under the watchful eye of a guard of soldiers. Then they lumbered down Sydney’s main thoroughfare towards the ‘repellently’ yellow-washed walls of Sydney Gaol and assembled in the gaol-yard for inspection. The New South Wales Governor Lachlan Macquarie and his entourage filed into the gaol-yard. Fixing them with his intimidating stare, the Governor harangued the prisoners about their past misdeeds, counselled them to discard their criminal ways and expressed genuine confidence in their ability to redeem themselves. After the Governor’s speech, Dr Haslam approached him ready to offer words of praise for the one transportee whose soul he had managed to save.‘To my utter mortification,’ he later lamented,‘my hopeful penitent was detected picking the pocket of an inhabitant, a spectator of the ceremony.’ And so with disappointment bordering on disgust, John Haslam farewelled the defiantly irredeemable Mariner transportees and never again served as surgeon superintendent on a convict transport bound for Australia.

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Meanwhile, William Blackstone and his fellow transportees joined the thousands of British outcasts already on New South Wales’ shores: the enterprising who had rerouted their energies towards commercial pursuits and had so successfully redeemed themselves that they were accepted at the Governor’s table; the plodders content with a healthier, more financially rewarding life than Britain had offered; the ‘government servants’—in the euphemism of the time—stoically biding their time until their sentences expired or sneakily availing themselves of petty criminal opportunities; the mutinous who were bucking at restraint or mistreatment; and the handful of others whose voyage to the colony had merely been a hiatus in their inexorable journey to the gallows.

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Chapter 2

A NEW WORLD A New World The most beneficial mode of colonisation for the mother country is with convicts because you convert those who were formerly her pests into useful auxiliaries to increase her wealth and strength. Peter Cunningham, Two Years in New South Wales

A

s the Mariner transportees lined up in the gaol-yard, the muster clerks3 opened their registers. Their orders were to jot down detailed information for each new arrival: trial and sentencing information, age, native place and, importantly, physical appearance. The resulting pen portrait would distinguish convicts with the same name and aid in the identification of runaways. When the brown-haired, hazel-eyed William Blackstone reached the muster table, the clerk undoubtedly observed the feature every other clerk noted down in later years: his large nose. Yet even with a humble proboscis, the lad’s chances of evading detection through anonymity would have been slim. Blackstone was emblazoned upon his arm. He had submitted to a tattooist, possibly before his incarceration in Newgate but more likely during or afterwards, and his arms offered an insight into his soul. A love token—AM Blackstone April 11 1814 and a heart

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pierced by darts and ringed by dots—adorned his lower right arm. Prominently displayed on his lower left arm was a crucifix, a religious icon more often chosen by Roman Catholics than Protestants like Blackstone and, nearby, a sun, half-moon and seven stars (the eternal truths). These reflected a surprising spirituality and perhaps a hope for redemption. In later years, colonial tattooists would add to his artwork. Tucked away on his upper right arm was a little cocked anchor—perhaps a poignant reflection of his hope for the future or his determination to hold fast to his own identity. AM Harrison and a bird and branch decorated his upper left arm.4 Although details of physical appearance were of particular interest to the authorities, the most important information collected upon a convict’s arrival was occupation. Some convicts innocently or derisively attempted to tell the truth: ‘pickpocket’, ‘burglar’, ‘highway-robber’. The clerks had heard it all before, most old lags themselves. An official later recounted the story of a clerk sidling up to him, scratching his head and saying: ‘When I ask what their trades are, all the answer I get from three-fourths of them is, “A thief, a thief”. Shall I put these down as labourers, sir?’ Forced to provide a conventional occupation, some transportees plucked one out of the air. Most, like Blackstone, had a ready answer: ‘Whitesmith and founder,’ he announced. The muster clerk scribbled it into his register, knowing that Blackstone would be earmarked for government assignment. The New South Wales settlement served as an open-air prison for these early transportees. Instead of being herded into colonial gaols or hulks they enjoyed a surprising amount of freedom, particularly in comparison to their British counterparts. Banishment and the loss of freedom for a specified period was their punishment, not incarceration, although the wealthy, the connected and the professionally skilled were often able to circumvent all but the banishment clause. Most of these prisoners were distributed among settlers to assist with land clearing, farming and the care of livestock. Some thrived on a diet of healthy food, hard but rewarding work and kindness, ultimately becoming stalwarts of the colonial community. Some continued to rebel

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against a life of subservience and forced labour. Some were treated like slaves. Skilled tradesmen endured a different fate. Commandeered by the government they faced assignment to town gangs or, in Blackstone’s case, to the lumber yard. Blackstone and the other ‘mechanics’—as tradesmen were called—were led a short distance south along George Street to this large walled enclosure which lay immediately south-east of the Bridge Street intersection. As he hobbled through the gates, he saw booths lining the sides of a hollow square. One housed a blazing forge. The others were workshops for the nailmakers, harness-makers and locksmiths, the carpenters, sawyers and coopers, and the tailors, shoemakers and other artisans who supplied necessities for the colonial community. Piled in the middle of the square was the timber brought from the settlements at Parramatta and Newcastle. Beyond, the polluted Tank Stream eddied, providing the water needed by the lumber yard workers. The smith who had yearned for riches and a better life was directed to the nailmakers’ workshop. He spent hour after endless hour melting metal, pouring it into moulds and pounding the resulting rods into shape. His nails joined the timbers in the wooden boats constructed in Sydney Cove and in the buildings erected under Governor Macquarie’s ambitious program of public works. Blackstone and the other government assignees hauled, hacked and hammered from sunrise until 3 pm on weekdays and until 10 am on Saturdays in return for clothes and partial rations. As the authorities were unable to provide housing for these 500 or so men, they fended for themselves using their free time to acquire the money—in cash or kind—to cover lodgings, extra food rations and rum. Naturally they relished such freedom. Predictably those disinclined to work resorted to their old strategies to survive. Much to the authorities’ alarm, crime flourished within the penal settlement. And under British sentencing regulations the punishment for certain crimes was still, ironically, transportation.

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Yet criminal activity was not the only pastime that led to colonial retransportation. The Governor had warned the Mariner’s transportees that breaches of regulations would incur punishments. Blackstone soon learnt that the system was even harsher than the Governor had intimated. He didn’t need to break the rules to be punished—being a ‘bad character’ was enough. Once men like Blackstone were caught in the penal system, their fate was partly beyond their own control. Those blessed with a docile nature generally passed through the system more smoothly than the defiant, particularly when assigned to a kindly rather than an ill-tempered, unreasonable or even sadistic master. Perhaps Blackstone suffered under a difficult master in these first couple of years; more likely he was by nature rebellious or intransigent. Maybe his ‘bad character’ reflected additional behavioural concerns, including attempts to seek the solace of female companionship. In a society in which the pool of available females was less than a quarter that of the desiring males, and in which the affluent and the influential had granted themselves the right to double dip, women had become a particularly valuable commodity. Commissioner John Thomas Bigge, who had been sent by the British authorities to report on colonial affairs, claimed that the scarcity of women was responsible for much of the colony’s disorderly conduct and that the temptation for illicit intercourse encouraged the criminal activity necessary to finance it. In fact, women, rum and gambling offered the few pleasures in a convict’s life. In September 1818, the shackled and chained blacksmith was escorted into the Bench of Magistrates courtroom to face the piercing blue gaze of the aging police magistrate, Dr D’Arcy Wentworth. To many, Wentworth was a surprising choice for police magistrate. Indeed the boundaries of patronage and of penal settlement expediency seem to have been stretched too far in offering the post to a man who, back in England, had himself been brought before the courts on numerous charges of highway-robbery. Yet, according to some of his contemporaries, Wentworth was endowed with the qualities of discrimination, sound judgment and an undeviating sense of justice. The convicts disagreed. Colonial justice, in their eyes,

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A new world

was rife with inequities. While prisoners convicted of misdemeanours generally received 25 to 50 lashes, free settlers convicted of similar offences received only a small fine. Blackstone was particularly unfortunate. Wentworth decided that the charge against the unruly smith warranted punishment and sentenced him to transportation to the dreaded secondary penal settlement for a year. In October 1818 guards escorted Blackstone and a group of other prisoners to the colonial brig Lady Nelson bound for the Newcastle penal settlement at the mouth of the Hunter River, 75 miles north of Sydney. As Blackstone sailed out of Sydney Cove, along the channel towards the Heads, into the open ocean and veered north-north-east for the halfday journey, he heard tales of the settlement’s isolation. Fenced in by towering cliffs and impenetrable gorges, swampy creeks and the Pacific Ocean, Newcastle was accessible only by sea. The penal settlement had been founded in 1804 after the Irish insurrection at Vinegar Hill as a place of punishment for rebellious convicts and those under a colonial sentence of transportation. Its location allowed the government to establish a monopoly over the district’s abundant stands of cedar and rich coal seams, to profit from the convicts’ labour and to again use banishment as a means of punishing and hopefully reforming these recalcitrant prisoners. Blackstone had already faced the threat of the gallows, had endured more than a year in the savage environments of a prison, a prison hulk and a convict transport, and had toiled for long hours in a gang. He had disdained the kindness of a well-meaning ship’s surgeon. Would secondary transportation finally effect the transformation in attitude and behaviour desired by those in authority? As a rebellious rather than a criminal retransportee, Blackstone was almost certainly assigned to the smiths’ workshop upon his arrival at Newcastle. Smiths like Blackstone played a vital role in colonial penal settlements: they attached the irons and chains that shackled the prisoners to their punishments. The blacksmiths’ shop kept a supply of heavy and light irons which Blackstone fitted and released according to each prisoner’s sentence. ‘Prisoners wearing chains had a peculiar way of walking,’

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reported one penal settlement inmate, ‘and you would see the poor fellows just released after six months or so in chains going along as though they still wore them.’ Blackstone’s duties were less onerous than many of the alternatives: the coal mines where men hunched in cold wet conditions and, according to some reports, toiled for days without surfacing; the lime kilns where male and female convicts waded for hours over shell-encrusted rocks picking off oyster shells, or had their hands and eyes corroded as they burnt the shells for the lime demanded by Sydney’s building industry, or their naked shoulders eaten raw as they carried sacks of quicklime through the surf; the salt-panning operations where convicts poured sea brine into coppers, boiled off the water and scooped out the burning salt used for preserving food; the timber-getting operations which took prisoners further up the Hunter River for a month or more with only extra rations and makeshift shelter to protect them from the elements, the wildlife and the Aborigines. Inadequate supplies added to the convicts’ privations. While regulations dictated that prisoners and soldiers should receive specific clothing and food rations, these were inadequate and frequently unobtainable. As a consequence, soldiers and convicts alike stole and traded, and the handful of female prisoners prostituted themselves, despite the harsh punishment all faced for such infractions. For the men, the punishment was generally the lash. The cat-o’-ninetails, with its nine thongs of knotted twine, whipped the men into submission and deterred them from their wicked ways, or so Governor Macquarie and many of the penal settlement commandants believed. Colonel James Morisset, who assumed command during Blackstone’s term of servitude there, was among the vanguard. Morisset was the embodiment of a Jekyll and Hyde conflict. A warinflicted injury had left one side of his face grossly damaged: a bulging, staring eye, a smashed cheekbone and jaw that had healed like a ‘large yellow over-ripe melon’, and a mouth that twisted upwards and whistled when he spoke. Yet, with an appreciation for beauty, he attempted to compensate for his facial disfiguration by the elegance of his attire,

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A new world

dressing like a military dandy in a gold-embroidered uniform. But Blackstone and the other Newcastle inmates soon saw only the dark soul beneath the dashing uniform, that of the bitter man who would eventually take such pleasure in sadistic power that his reputation is almost unequalled in Australian history. The convicts quickly learnt the rules of survival. ‘One morning,’ reported a visitor, ‘when walking with Commandant Morisset to see the beauties of the harbour, I found that no convict passed us walking. All drew up, head uncovered, long before we approached. Every coal cart stopped and the driver stood uncovered until the Commandant and I had passed.’ While Commandant Morisset enjoyed lording it over his subjects and flogging them into submission, he helped breed a class of prisoners who would prove increasingly difficult to rehabilitate. With the perversity of human nature, some would even use their servitude in the penal settlements to form criminal cabals and concoct audacious schemes.

When Blackstone returned to Sydney after his year in Newcastle, he saw the usual gangs of sullen convicts trudging to and from their workplaces, but now there was a difference. Instead of the blue kersey jackets and dark pantaloons, or the summer duck frocks with trousers and breeches, or the military uniforms recycled by a frugal government, or whatever the convicts themselves could cadge after bartering their clothes for rum, he saw garish yellow shirts and trousers daubed with black arrows, the letters P.B., and a barrack number. It was the uniform worn by the inmates of the new prison barracks. Having recognised that Sydney’s housing arrangements shortchanged the government in terms of convict labour and also fostered criminal activity, Governor Macquarie had ordered Francis Greenway to design a building for male convicts: the Hyde Park Barracks. From mid-1819 government assignees and newly arrived transportees were housed in this imposing three-storey brick building on present-day Macquarie

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Street. Blackstone found himself among them. Marched to the barracks he was allocated a hammock, issued with his own prison uniform and assigned to the blacksmiths’ gang. Confining the men in the barracks had an unintended side effect: it increased the severity of penal servitude in Sydney. Blackstone laboured for the government from sunrise until sunset without wages and was then locked away. Built to house 600 prisoners, the barracks allowed each man an area twenty inches by seven feet, and they slept side by side in hammocks with only a blanket to cover them. They received full rations daily and, twice weekly, a clean suit of prison clothes and a head shave. The unlucky also received a flogging. The guards taunted the returned transportees with their changed circumstances. Blackstone, who had clung to his dreams of a better life, realised that he would have years to endure in the barracks before being considered worthy of any indulgences. Three months later he slipped away. The Governor through his mouthpiece, the Sydney Gazette, ordered the constables to use their utmost exertions in apprehending him and lodging him in custody. Prominent nose, tattoos, canary yellow prison uniform . . . Blackstone was soon recaptured. In January 1820 he again faced Police Magistrate Wentworth. The magistrate made no allowance for justification, if any was offered. He sentenced the runaway to another year’s servitude among the 1200 or so unreformed and largely unrepentant prisoners at Newcastle. Blackstone was returned to Newcastle’s blacksmiths’ workshop, only to face further problems soon afterwards when property reportedly stolen from the hospital stores was found in his possession. He incurred the wrath of ‘King Lash’, as one visitor to Newcastle’s penal settlement dubbed the Commandant. ‘Colonel Morisset says that the men have to be flogged when they become unruly or they would rise and cut the throats of every man in the place,’ the visitor reported. ‘One day I saw 32 men tied to the triangles and flogged; one of them received 50 lashes and the others from 20 upwards. The floggers are all convicts who have received their tickets-of-leave and some of them seem to be worse ruffians than the poor brutes they flogged.’

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When questioned about his practices, Morisset boasted, ‘This is a light day! Three months ago we would have the cat going every day but the brutes are getting quietened.’ When his treatment of the convicts was contrasted with that of the other commandants, Morisset added defensively: ‘There might be more floggings at my settlement but there is less hanging. I have only executed seven men in three years.’ With convicts receiving 25 lashes for insolence and 50 for abusive language, suspected theft or absence from work, Blackstone was lucky to be sentenced to only 25 lashes for his ‘possession’ conviction. Escorted to the flogging yard he faced the detested triangle, the pyramid-shaped wooden frame with its ten-foot-square base. Ordered to undress, Blackstone stripped off his clothes, probably down to his breeches, perhaps to a state of nudity. His wrists were tightly roped to a high crossbeam joining the posts on one side of the triangle and his knees and ankles to lower crossbeams. And there he hung, waiting for his punishment. Raising the cat-o’-nine-tails, the flogger slashed it down onto the blacksmith’s tautly stretched frame. Blackstone jerked at the assault. Unless he had bribed the flogger to ‘put it on light’, the flogger’s mood and disposition dictated how harshly he thrashed the malefactors. Blackstone’s red welts seeped after half a dozen lashes and, as the flogger flicked back the cat, specks of his flesh and blood showered the spectators. The other prisoners encircled the flogging-yard, forced to watch the flogging. The Governor and commandants believed that the sight of such punishments would deter them from further criminality. But years of exposure to government-ordained brutality had hardened these men. They accepted such punishments with a shoulder-shrugging stoicism and felt little sympathy for their comrades, jeering if they moaned, cried or pleaded for relief. It was a mark of bravado for men like Blackstone to bear their punishment in silence. It was also a mark of defiance towards those determined to crush their spirit, to mould them into dutiful workers who would abide by the rules and regulations that maintained the social status quo. The brawny blacksmith was accustomed to wielding a heavy anvil and casting red-hot metals. His indomitable spirit would not be so easily quashed.

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In truth, these men were rarely subdued by such punishments. Those like Morisset who praised the lash as swift, economical and effective refused to acknowledge that it rarely frightened the men into virtuousness, that such punishments hardened those who inflicted them and enraged those who received them. They also ignored the warnings of nature: that rage was like the bushfires that consumed vast swathes of nearby land: uncontrollable, unpredictable and extremely destructive. The wayward blacksmith was probably returned to his workshop, soon afterwards although his punishment might have included a term in the gangs building a breakwater between Nobby’s Island and the mainland. This breakwater was intended to protect ships anchored in the harbour from the rough seas whipped up by southerly gales, and the assignment was the most dangerous in the settlement. The fettered convicts used pickaxes, hammers and wedges to cut huge blocks of stone. Assisted by ropes and wooden derricks they craned the blocks to the slippery breakwater, where even the more experienced gang members prayed for perpetual fine weather and a 24-hour low tide. From the commandant’s insistence that this precarious work continue in the face of storms and wild seas, they knew that he cared little about their lives or safety. As the chain gangs slaved at these punishing tasks, the Newcastle settlement and the breakwater gang itself saw the arrival of a new transportee, Sydney stonemason Thomas Turner. He would later become the architect of the Bank of Australia robbery.

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Chapter 3

REFORMATION OR RECIDIVISM? Reformation or Recidivism? It is satisfactory to be able to testify that amongst the thousands transported to New South Wales many became reformed and really good men. Sir Roger Therry, Reminiscences

U

nlike many of his colonial brethren, Thomas Turner had been born into a supportive, successful and well-respected family who trained him in the family stonemasonry business. It was a useful trade and Turner, an intelligent man, became a skilled tradesman. Destitution does not appear to have induced his criminality. A bad crowd? A yearning for more than his circumstances entitled him to? Whatever drove his criminal pursuits, Turner found himself before the Surrey courts facing a death sentence. Reprieved to life transportation, he arrived in Sydney in 1816 three months before Blackstone. Turner and Blackstone were remarkably similar both physically and socially. London-born and around the same age, they were skilled artisans in an industry requiring brawn more than brain. Both were average to

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tall with brown or hazel eyes. Both had pale complexions when alighting from their transports, although years in the harsh Australian sunlight would transform their complexions to a ruddy glow and perhaps hide the pockmarks disfiguring Turner’s countenance. Both had brown hair that would be streaked with grey by the time of the robbery. Yet in character the two men proved dissimilar. Turner showed such aptitude for stonemasonry that the convict authorities transferred him to work on Government Architect Francis Greenway’s Macquarie Tower lighthouse, where he remained until its completion. He became a leader not of a band of rogues, but of a skilled team of stonecutters. He settled down to family life, marrying a colonial-born lass and having two children. But his occasional lapses had such serious repercussions that he remained within the convict system for considerably longer than his abilities and qualities should have dictated. One such indiscretion shunted him to the Newcastle penal settlement in September 1820 and brought him into contact with blacksmith William Blackstone. If a friendship germinated between the two men it had little time to blossom. ‘Send to Sydney by the first good opportunity Thomas Turner, by trade a stonecutter, his services being required at Sydney,’ the Governor demanded of Newcastle’s commandant two months later. ‘He has been sent to Newcastle for only a trifling misdemeanour.’ Appointed overseer of stonemasons soon after his return, Turner worked on another two of the Sydney edifices designed by Francis Greenway: managing the stonework for the grandiose government stables (the current Conservatorium of Music on the outskirts of the Botanical Gardens) and the imposing St James’ Church of England. In 1822, Greenway himself praised Turner’s work. ‘He stepped forward on a particular occasion doing more work with ten stonecutters in three days according to my system than had been done by thirty stonecutters in six weeks in opposition to my system.’ Greenway added that Governor Macquarie had promised Turner an emancipation (or pardon) if he completed St James’ Church to Greenway’s satisfaction and that Turner had done so. But no emancipation eventuated. Sir Thomas Brisbane had

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taken over the governorship and the supremely talented but arrogant Government Architect was himself on borrowed time. Turner received little compensation for his exertions. In 1823 he begged the Governor for assistance, explaining that he was struggling to support his family: ‘We have sold everything we possessed and at this period I am overwhelmed with the most distressing calamity for I have no other means to support them. I sincerely hope that you will have compassion on my distressed situation and allow me to go off the store to my wife even if it is only for three months as it will relieve my family’s distress.’5 His wife added her entreaties: ‘I can no longer survive in the misery I am in and I must abandon my husband and helpless children and go into service. If you will be pleased to let me have him it will save our family from total destruction.’ Their pleas were ignored. In 1824 Turner appealed for a ticket-of-leave, an indulgence that allowed a serving convict to be released from his assignment and to work for himself. ‘I have just returned from South Head where I have completed the arches of towers and windows of the Macquarie Tower in a most masterly manner,’ he wrote, ‘and as your honour must be aware of my exertions and perseverance in completing the work, I most humbly hope you will take my long service into your humane consideration.’ The Civil Architect added his approbation: ‘The repairs of the light (though a difficult and dangerous undertaking) are done in a masterly, permanent and workmanlike manner and Thomas Turner is an ingenious expedient good workman.’ The petition produced only a terse reply: ‘The application must come through the Chief Engineer.’ Despite Turner’s eight years of servitude—the period which, according to recent regulations, a well-behaved life transportee had to serve with the one master before being granted this freedom—no ticket-of-leave was forthcoming. Nevertheless, he was permitted to reside outside the barracks, allowing him the freedom to seek paid work in his spare time. One such job comprised repairs to the stonework in the wall edging part of Sydney Cove. At his day job he oversaw the construction of a sewage drain that ran from Essex Street under George Street to the cove.

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Gradually, as Turner’s duties carried him all over town, a map of Sydney’s surface and underground stonework imprinted itself on his clever brain. As the years passed, however, Turner’s frustration and feelings of injustice intensified. Others who had merely behaved well had been granted tickets-of-leave. He had been promised emancipation for his skilled services and hard work, yet a decade after his arrival he was still a serving convict labouring for the government. When in March 1826 he acted in a manner reported by the Principal Superintendent of Convicts as being ‘so highly disorderly and subversive of all discipline and subordination amongst his fellow convicts’, he was probably venting his frustration. Although recommended for dismissal, Turner proved fortunate. The Colonial Secretary 6 responded that any complaints should be directed to Turner’s department head, the Chief Engineer. No dismissal followed nor even a revocation of his right to sleep out of barracks. In 1827, nearly twelve years after his original conviction, Turner at long last received a ticket-of-leave allowing him freedom of choice in his employment and residence so long as he remained within the Sydney district and attended the required musters. He continued to work for the government and was paid the welcome sum of five shillings per day. In his spare time he privately contracted out his services. His contract work included the construction of ‘Underwood’s buildings’ on land running from George Street to the Tank Stream. From its headwaters in today’s Hyde Park, the once pristine Tank Stream flowed north between Pitt and George streets and, after passing under Bridge Street, became increasingly brackish until eventually disemboguing into Sydney Cove. In the stretch between Bridge Street and the cove, tidal flow washed the stream into landowners’ backyards and there, in the early 1800s, wealthy entrepreneur James Underwood, who was originally a Third Fleet transportee, built a jetty and slipway and added shipbuilding to his business endeavours. Today, Underwood Street and Underwood Lane mark the location of his shipyard and honour his achievements. In the 1820s Underwood embraced property development, constructing the row of connected two-storey houses that became known

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as ‘Underwood’s buildings’ on higher land facing George Street almost opposite the Essex Street intersection. Sydney merchant and landholder Thomas Macvitie leased the largest and northernmost of these houses, employed the canny Thomas Turner to build a strongroom in the basement, and used the premises as his home and as the offices for the newly established Bank of Australia.

Founded in 1826, the Bank of Australia opened amidst an atmosphere of political tension and financial prosperity. Nine years earlier the Bank of New South Wales had been established to meet the colony’s needs for a stable currency and for credit facilities to support colonial businesses. The bank played an important role in the development of the New South Wales economy and contributed to the penal settlement’s evolution from an autocratically administered and restricted gaol to a free market capitalist economy. Nonetheless, some groups within the community were unhappy with the bank’s direction. As the settlement evolved, the voices of the people clamoured to be heard. Liberals like William Charles Wentworth, who supported the small settlers and emancipated convicts, demanded concessions from the government and from the colony’s social leaders, the conservative ‘exclusives’. Epitomised by pastoral king John Macarthur, these exclusives came largely from ordinary backgrounds, yet through entrepreneurial endeavours, and in many instances a ruthless disregard for the wellbeing of others, they had scrambled to the top of the colonial social ladder. Late in 1825, when two prominent pro-Wentworth ‘emancipists’ were elected to the board of the Bank of New South Wales largely on a political vote, the exclusives sniffed that the bank was being taken over by the ‘convict party’. Muttering among themselves that the bank had not been active enough in promoting colonial expansion, particularly when the colony was riding the crest of a speculative boom, the exclusives decided to establish their own bank.

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With Thomas Macvitie as managing director and John Macarthur and his cronies the major shareholders, the Bank of Australia opened in July 1826. It aggressively hunted new business and by March 1827 had a note circulation of £12 000, deposits of £19 000 and loans and discounts totalling £33 500. A year later its balance sheet eclipsed that of the Bank of New South Wales, which was still wrestling with social, political and commercial rivalries. However the economic boom, driven largely by agricultural and pastoral pursuits, was long gone. The inevitable bust had been precipitated by a three-year drought and exacerbated by difficulties associated with British-ordered changes in the colonial currency standard.7 During these years, scathing denunciations of the Bank of Australia and its proprietors regularly erupted from the colonial press. The ‘monopolists’, the ‘pure merino bank’, spat the Monitor and the Australian. Admittedly these two newspapers trumpeted the liberals’ views, Wentworth himself being a founder of the Australian. The conservative Sydney Gazette saw the benefits of demolishing the Bank of New South Wales’ monopoly, although the Bank of Australia’s exclusiveness—both in its politics and shareholders—remained a source of general discontent. Yet despite these political rivalries and verbal outpourings, the liberals’ venom did not transform itself into a plan to rob these gentlemen of Sydney, although some would later suggest otherwise. Rather, opportunism prevailed.

Having supervised the gangs of stonemasons constructing the Bank of Australia’s strongroom and the adjacent sewer, Thomas Turner knew the bank’s vulnerabilities. He devised a plan for an audacious robbery. But Turner’s dreams of wealth were regularly pricked by the knowledge that his involvement in the construction of both the vault and the drain would make him an obvious suspect. Eventually he disclosed his ideas to another transportee, although whether this was intentional or in an alcohol-induced state of garrulity is uncertain.

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Reformation or recidivism?

Turner had initially intended to participate in the robbery. No doubt the loss of his ticket-of-leave late in August 1828 for drinking with prisoners late at night in a public house and afterwards being insolent to the magistrate hampered his plans. However, others pursued them. Turner had already communicated the critical measurements, described the necessary tools and suggested that a skilled blacksmith be recruited to forge them. The name William Blackstone surfaced.

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Chapter 4

AN ARDUOUS PUNISHMENT An arduous punishment The convict who misbehaves after transportation has but a very slight chance of ever retrieving himself as an honest subject. He is flogged and sentenced to a penal settlement, to drag out a period of debased servitude among the vilest of the vile. Peter Cunningham, Two Years in New South Wales

W

hile Thomas Turner’s skills blessed Sydney with some of its early architectural wonders, William Blackstone’s proclivities increased Sydney’s crime rate. Transportation and retransportation had not conquered his desire for easy pickings or his determination to live life on his own terms rather than at the mercy of others. Yet it was his refusal to be subdued and his dogged persistence in striving for autonomy that continued to invoke the authorities’ wrath. Blackstone’s years among the hardened inmates of the secondary penal settlements had also educated him in ways unintended by the British authorities. He gradually segued from defiance to criminality, from being a bad character, a runaway and a possessor of stolen goods to theft itself. ‘Robbery’ reportedly sent him back to Newcastle in 1821 for two years, his third visit to the penal settlement. While there, ‘stealing

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An arduous punishment

and burning palings’ earned him another 50 lashes although a craving for warmth more likely motivated his criminality in this instance than contumacy or profit. During his years in the secondary penal settlements, Blackstone became acquainted with a number of intransigent Roman Catholic Irishmen. The Irish convicts were, in the main, less criminally inclined than their English counterparts and more likely to be reformed—warmth, a full belly and future prospects liberated most from the yoke of povertyinduced criminality. However, with the bigotry bred into them by their own culture, the New South Wales authorities saw them all as a bunch of dangerous Papist rebels. Naturally, the colonial crimes committed by the genuinely vicious and cunning Irish transportees didn’t help. ‘Every murder or diabolical crime which has been committed in the colony since my arrival has been perpetrated by Roman Catholics,’ Governor Sir Thomas Brisbane would complain in a sweeping generalisation, ‘and this I ascribe entirely to their barbarous ignorance and total want of education, the invariable companions of bigotry and cruelty as well as the parent of crime.’ Of course, criminality is defined by laws not by behaviour, and punishments are arbitrary. ‘A man is banished from Scotland for a great crime,’ mused a colonial traveller, ‘from England for a small one and from Ireland, morally speaking, for no crime at all.’ The Scottish penal code reflected more humanitarian attitudes than the English and generally delivered more hardened criminals to the transports. By contrast, the Irish authorities saw transportation as a vehicle for social and political control. Despite lying only a short distance from the flag-bearer of the mighty British Empire, rural Ireland in the early nineteenth century bore little resemblance to Regency England. While England’s expanding population, creeping urbanisation and thumping machinery propelled the country into the industrial era, Ireland’s burgeoning population dragged it towards starvation. Deficient in exploitable natural resources and with little investment from its often absent and frequently uncaring Anglo-Irish

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landlords, Ireland largely remained an agricultural backwater populated by impoverished Roman Catholic labourers and tenant farmers. Barefooted, dirty and cold, these work-worn peasants living in grimy chimney-less cottages with broods of skinny children, poultry, pigs and goats despaired as they struggled to support themselves on a meagre five acres of land or, even worse, faced eviction if unable or unwilling to pay their extortionate rents. For the Protestant Ascendancy, the AngloIrish who had conquered and ruled Ireland for the previous two centuries, were not only keen to exploit the Roman Catholics, they were determined to suppress them and their faith by, among other measures, restricting political representation and land ownership, reducing the masses to penury. With few secondary industries or landlord-led improvements in husbandry, the country gradually outstripped its ability to feed itself. Anger and fear fed bitter resentment against the Protestant elite, who considered the Roman Catholics’ superstitions and religious rituals, their ignorance and simplicity, as signs of an uncivilised society, and treated them as lesser beings. The Irish Catholics rebelled against Protestant domination and British rule through political and social agitation and criminal activity, beginning a ferocious cycle of sectarian violence that has continued to the present day. The British, naturally, were keen to rid themselves of these defiant Roman Catholics and also of their militant Protestant foes. At least onefifth of Irish transportees were banished for crimes of a social or political origin; indeed some had not even faced the courts before being shoved onto the convict ships. Of the remainder, however, most were common felons: some driven by desperation, others by temptation. Four of these Irish transportees would later participate in the Bank of Australia robbery while another two would suffer as suspects. All were among those who proudly called themselves the ‘Dublin boys’.

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Dublin was the jewel in Ireland’s tattered crown. Originally a walled medieval town, Dublin, by the turn of the nineteenth century, had grown into a handsome modern city, resplendent in its Georgian elegance and serenely bearing its reputation as a seat of literary excellence, cultural influence and political importance. Its affluent population—Anglo-Irish gentry and successful Roman Catholics—also enjoyed the ‘insipid vanities and idle dissipations’ of Dublin’s busy social calendar which had fostered a strong commercial sector producing necessities and luxuries including the footwear to garb its liveried workers and adorn its promenading beaus and belles. But, lurking behind the splendour of the townhouses and colonnaded public buildings, the merriment of the balls and soirees, was a world of squalor and misery inhabited by the remainder of the largely Roman Catholic population. Dublin had passed its apogee when the future bank robbers and suspects came to the authorities’ attention in the decade following the end of the Napoleonic Wars. Britain’s Act of Union, which in 1800 abolished the Irish Parliament, had led to the exodus of hundreds of families of ‘quality’. Bad air and water and deadly diseases drove others away. Manufacturing declined, although this was largely in response to the post-war economic depression and the flood of cheaper goods from industrialising England. Unemployment grew. Meanwhile, in dismal workshops scattered across the city and nearby countryside, five Dublin shoemakers hunched over benches. Clutching their awls, they stitched innumerable pieces of leather into an endless supply of stiffened soles. As the country’s economic woes worsened, they used night-time’s shadows to supplement their pitiful incomes. Gradually, Dublin’s criminal underworld tugged some of them in.

Burglary and robbery led to John Byrne’s transportation in 1816 under a commuted death sentence. The initially harsh sentence handed down to the blue-eyed nineteen-year-old bootmaker suggests a history of criminality or, at the least, a particularly costly crime. Like Blackstone,

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Byrne’s was no colonial success story. He too became a regular transportee on vessels ferrying recalcitrant convicts to the secondary penal settlements. One such journey was ordered by magistrate Thomas Macvitie—soon to found the Bank of Australia—on the grounds that Byrne was ‘strongly suspected’ of having committed a robbery. The bootmaker was one of the unreformed Irish transportees Blackstone would encounter at the secondary penal settlements. Back in the Emerald Isle, twenty-year-old Valentine Rourke had served nearly half of his seven-year sentence for ‘felony of a basket etc.’ when he joined the Dorothy transport in 1820. Rourke was the invisible man, slipping through his years of colonial servitude without leaving much of a paper trail. He received a certificate of freedom when his sentence expired in 1824, found work somewhere in Sydney, and kept out of mischief. During the voyage, Bourke had made friends with James Dingle, who was also twenty when he sailed on the Dorothy. Dingle, however, left a more conspicuous trail. Indeed, the wily shoemaker always had an eye for the bigger opportunity. While most thieves purloined small, easily hidden items, Dingle and a friend had lumbered off with a cow. Sentenced to seven years’ transportation, Dingle was in trouble again only a year after his arrival in Sydney. He absconded from his position as an assigned servant, stole from a dwelling house and was sentenced to Newcastle to serve out his original seven-year sentence. There he met bootmaker John Byrne; the two would later lodge together. Despite colonial retransportation, Dingle’s criminal inclinations continued. In 1824 he was ordered to serve fourteen days in a gaol gang—‘hard labour in irons’—and fourteen nights in the cells for the theft of some casks and buckets. Another ‘possession’ charge a few months later sent him to the Port Macquarie penal settlement to serve out the remainder of his Irish sentence of transportation. Sometime after his return to Sydney late in 1826 he acquired another friend, shoemaker George Farrell. Belfast-born but later a Dublin city resident, the slight but feisty George Farrell was only seventeen when sentenced to seven years’

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An arduous punishment

transportation in 1822 for stealing a watch. He was fortunate to escape colonial retransportation in 1826 after he and two others inveigled a man into their company and robbed him of some silver coins; they were instead sentenced to work in irons for three months. His other colonial infractions were merely misdemeanours: being out after hours which earned him a seven-day sentence on the hated grain-grinding treadmill, and drunk and disorderly behaviour early in 1827 which returned him for a time to the Hyde Park Barracks. Farrell would later be assigned to a government shoemaking workshop where bootmaker John Byrne and the fifth of the Dublin shoemakers, James Madden, also worked. Nineteen-year-old James Madden had received a seven-year sentence in 1824 for the theft of pelerines (a woman’s short narrow cape with long ends which meet at the front) and arrived in New South Wales early the following year. Like William Blackstone, he could not abide his detention in the Hyde Park Barracks and absconded in the winter of 1826, remaining at large for five weeks. His punishment was only two months working in irons, unlike Blackstone’s colonial retransportation for a year. But his later assignment to the shoemakers’ workshop would end up becoming an extended punishment in itself. These five ‘Dublin boys’—a moniker the Dublin transportees adopted to distinguish themselves from the scorned ‘Cork boys’ and despised ‘North boys’, yet sadly appropriate given their ages at conviction—would not all become bank robbers. In fact, only three of them joined in. But the web of interconnections between these five men would ultimately bring the two non-participants to the authorities’ attention, with devastating consequences for both of them.

While these Irish shoemakers were announcing their presence in New South Wales, William Blackstone completed his third colonial sentence at Newcastle and returned to Sydney. Assigned to the Parramatta district, he perhaps behaved well for the following eighteen months or, alternatively, was not caught. During that time he met and proposed to

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the colonial-born Ann Hanlan. In December 1824 they sought the Governor’s permission to marry and received the requisite approval— the authorities believed in the civilising effects of marriage for the individuals concerned and also for the community. But the marriage ceremony never took place. Perhaps Blackstone panicked. More likely he remained trapped in the vicious crime-and-punishment cycle: increasingly desperate; unnecessarily foolhardy. In January 1825 he faced another Bench of Magistrates, received another colonial conviction and was sentenced to another term of transportation. This time he joined the scheming James Dingle in Port Macquarie, saving Ann Hanlan from marrying a man who seemed incapable of recognising that his skills as a blacksmith far surpassed his abilities as a thief.

By the 1820s Governor Macquarie and his successor, Sir Thomas Brisbane, had recognised that the location of the Newcastle penal settlement posed administrative problems. Overlanders had beaten tracks through the bush allowing convicts to escape more readily; the low demand for coal and the lack of suitable agricultural land limited the profitability of convict labour; and free settlers were demanding to take up land in the district. The authorities decided that Port Macquarie, a further 140 miles up the New South Wales coastline, would gradually replace Newcastle as a place of secondary punishment. Founded in 1821, the Port Macquarie penal settlement was initially intended for the worst of the criminally inclined transportees. The authorities, with their deficient understanding of human nature, planned to punish them with hard labour and intimidation, believing that this would also inspire habits of industry and reformation. Yet, unlike most of the other penal settlements, Port Macquarie failed to develop the desired reputation as a place of terror. The Port Macquarie commandants had soon recognised that they faced conflicting objectives: they had to punish the convicts yet try

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to profit from their labour. They shrewdly realised that willing, wellnourished labourers would generate more profit than hungry intractable men, so they rewarded hard work with extra rations and instituted an easily manageable work regime. A humane environment developed. Port Macquarie became a busy, noisy, self-contained village where each convict’s labour was maximised. Blackstone was assigned to the walled lumber yard housing the brickbuilt carpenters’ and blacksmiths’ workshops which nestled below the military barracks on the foreshore. Shoemakers like James Dingle and John Byrne joined a shoemakers’ workshop, while tailors, barbers, bakers and millers had their own workshops. Other prisoners worked in gangs at the wharf, agricultural establishments, cedar-cutting operations and public works. All lived in small neat huts, lathed, plastered and whitewashed, and were allowed to grow vegetables in the attached gardens. Not surprisingly, the settlement earned the motto: ‘Live well and do little’. Sir Thomas Brisbane’s successor, Lieutenant-General Ralph Darling, was aghast at the liberalness of the settlement, complaining that many of Port Macquarie’s emancipated convicts begged to be sent back there. He had his own solution: ‘Every man at the penal settlements should be worked in irons and the example may deter others from the commission of crime, and I shall very soon see whether this cannot be effected!’ Despite Darling’s objections, Port Macquarie was no utopia. The convicts were indeed ironed, confined and whipped when they misbehaved. But these punishments were no worse than the men suffered on a regular basis in the Hyde Park Barracks and similar institutions, often for trifling offences. And trifling offences were frequently at the root of retransportation. Darling himself admitted that one-third of Port Macquarie’s inmates had committed offences which did not warrant retransportation and that their sentences of transportation were likely illegal. Yet he failed to recognise that injustice combined with harsh treatment bred rebellion rather than reformation. Despite Port Macquarie’s more humane environment, men regularly attempted to escape, John Creighton among them. A slater and plasterer,

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he would later lay the Bank of Australia’s flooring, absorbing information about the bank and the vault that the robbers would consider useful.

‘Black Irish’ in colouring, with black hair, dark eyes and pale skin, Creighton was another ‘Dublin boy’. Aged twenty when he and two others were convicted in Dublin early in 1819 for ‘stealing tea etc.’, he was sentenced to seven years’ transportation. His use of a pseudonym— ‘John Wilford’—suggests that he was a repeat offender. Sometime after arriving in New South Wales, he was assigned to one of Sydney’s government gangs, apparently as a carpenter and plasterer. He soon received a ticket-of-leave, the indulgence stonemason Thomas Turner begged for. But Creighton was of that discontented breed who fail to appreciate life’s mercies. Convicts had various strategies for evading the exigencies of their situations. John Creighton was a bolter. In November 1823 he stowed away on an American ship, the Chili, which had slipped into Sydney Harbour for refreshments before heading on to New Zealand and the sperm whale fishing grounds. Creighton evidently thought that any vessel heading away from the colony would ferry him to greener pastures, unaware that many of the whalers stayed out for extended periods— two years, sometimes more—only returning to port when the grumblings from the crew escalated into threats of mutiny. But Creighton was not to face that form of servitude. Before the vessel sailed he was caught. Dragged before the magistrates, Creighton had his ticket-of-leave cancelled and he was ordered to the Port Macquarie penal settlement to serve out the remainder of his sentence. Once more, Creighton was unable to recognise a favourable situation. The following winter he bolted again. Settlers had also been encroaching on Port Macquarie’s restricted limits and demanding access to land, and Creighton was one of the increasing number of escapees who followed their tracks south towards civilisation. Some starved to death; some were murdered by Aborigines or stripped and left to stagger into town, if they were lucky; some were

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collared by constables or Aborigines for the reward. Creighton was apprehended, gaoled in Newcastle then shipped to Sydney with a group of other escapees. ‘They are at present in a state bordering on nudity!’ the Colonial Secretary blasted Sydney’s gaol-keeper, ordering him to issue slop-clothing to Creighton and the other prisoners before they faced the courts. Creighton’s ensuing sentence was particularly harsh: three years’ servitude at Macquarie Harbour on the west coast of Tasmania. ‘The Gates of Hell’ was the convicts’ name for Macquarie Harbour’s entrance, as its conditions were so barbarous that humanity itself was thrashed out of the prisoners. Fortunately, Creighton was instead sent to Newcastle to join the small band of convicts who remained there. Under sentence of hard labour in double irons he served out his Irish term of servitude. Soon afterwards he married fourteen-year-old Ann Tool, and the couple settled in Sydney. But discontentment still festered in him.

As the convicts stationed at Newcastle and Port Macquarie completed their sentences and returned to Sydney, few were replaced. The problems of settler encroachment had initiated plans for another penal settlement further north at Moreton Bay, the site of present-day Brisbane. Although Moreton Bay was originally intended for hardened criminals, Governor Brisbane decided to reopen Norfolk Island for that purpose and to forward only minor offenders to Moreton Bay. A preparatory contingent sailed for Moreton Bay in 1824 and a year later Blackstone volunteered to join them. A diet of bread, water and solitary confinement for minor offences and no more than 50 lashes for more serious offences were the instructions Governor Brisbane provided to Moreton Bay’s first commandant. A few years later a newly arrived transportee reported: ‘I was struck with amazement and horror at the cruelty and hardship every poor and unfortunate sufferer appeared to have been subjected to for a length of

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time. Their countenances bespoke starvation and their bodies bore marks of most severe flogging.’ The skilled blacksmith, who was proving particularly adept at making unwise choices, had exchanged the ‘paradise’ of Port Macquarie for purgatory. A relatively humane environment had at first developed at Moreton Bay. Blackstone was among a group of Port Macquarie convicts transferred there in 1825 under the administration of the second commandant, Captain Peter Bishop. Drafted for their skills, these men included carpenters, sawyers, brickmakers, a bricklayer, a fencer and Blackstone the blacksmith. As an administrator Bishop had followed Governor Brisbane’s precepts and the Australian praised his humanity.‘Captain Bishop is right. Flogging seldom produces any result except rendering the bad still worse, still more hardened, still more indifferent to correction of any sort.’ Like those who had discovered that ‘the belly is far more vulnerable and sensitive than the back’, Bishop had recognised the value of a rewardsbased system and requested permission to offer extra rations and indulgences in return for additional work. ‘I am convinced it will be very advantageous to the Government,’ he urged. But humanitarian attitudes had fallen victim to political conservatism. Terror must be reintroduced to make transportation a more effective deterrent, the British authorities had decreed, and in 1825 they appointed the military autocrat Lieutenant-General Ralph Darling to administer New South Wales. In March 1826 another autocrat, Commandant Patrick Logan, assumed responsibility for Moreton Bay and its convict residents. He would soon become known as ‘the tyrant of Brisbane Town’. Energetic and forthright, Logan commenced an important program of development and exploration and he is often portrayed as the true founder of Queensland. However he viewed the prisoners in his charge as lazy ne’er-do-wells and impediments to his plans, and he strove to stamp out their shiftlessness and criminal tendencies through harsh discipline and punishment. During one seven-month period alone, Logan ordered his scourgers to inflict over 11 000 lashes, yet the settlement had

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barely a couple of hundred inmates for most of that period. Even Governor Darling found Logan’s ruthless punishments excessive and half-heartedly attempted to curb him, however distance allowed the despot to reign supreme. Blackstone endured two years at Moreton Bay under Commandant Logan. He eventually slipped free from Logan’s tyranny when his colonial sentence expired. Others fled into the bush, willing to risk everything to escape such savagery. All must have laughed with bitter mirth two years later when they heard of Logan’s death. He had disappeared while exploring alone and a search party had discovered his body. ‘The back of his head appeared to have been beaten about by waddies,’ reported an eyewitness. Aborigines? Runaway convicts? Historians speculate that Logan’s brutalised escapees mistreated the Aborigines, fostering hostility towards the whites which later culminated in Logan’s violent death. The cycle of brutality had turned full circle.

As the clock ticked down towards September 1828 the incorrigibles drifted back to Sydney, unaware of their imminent tryst with the history books. Some of the ‘Dublin boys’ had served out their terms while others were still under the government’s yoke. The unrepentant opportunist, James Dingle, had received his certificate of freedom and settled in Kent Street. With a woman, an apprentice, a house and a business (perhaps employing the elusive Valentine Rourke, as the two had remained friends), Dingle was undoubtedly more successful than he had ever been or could hoped to have been in Ireland. He also had a lodger, bootmaker John Byrne who was employed with George Farrell and James Madden in the government shoemakers’ workshop situated in the grounds of Hyde Park Barracks. Farrell was lodging in Kent Street with the discontented bolter, John Creighton, who was working as a jobbing carpenter and had perhaps found some contentment with his young bride. William Blackstone was the last to surface in Sydney. After returning from Moreton Bay early in 1828 he settled with Thomas Seeney in

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Cumberland Street near Church Hill, the area surrounding St Philip’s Church. Seeney was Blackstone’s closest friend and the two might have known each other in England: both were London-bred blacksmiths of a similar age transported three years apart for having counterfeit notes in their possession. Unlike Blackstone, however, Seeney was quietly serving out his term of transportation. He had remained in government employ until granted a ticket-of-leave in 1826 and was described as honest and sober when he applied for permission to marry soon afterwards. But he too would become embroiled in the ongoing drama following the bank robbery. Most of these men carried the physical scars of their persecution in the secondary penal settlements: angry red welts crisscrossing their backs; knots of puckered flesh. Some exhibited the blank eyes and hardened faces of the severely abused. All were a testimony to the failure of the principles underlying the punishment system: that imprisonment and transportation deterred crime and that a well-timed flogging for a first offence made the sufferer terrified of reoffending. If the system worked, these men would have settled down to a lawful existence: fearful of the gallows and flogging triangles hunkering nearby, abasing themselves to those in authority and carrying out their duties in an orderly and obsequious fashion. But instead, greed beckoned.

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PART II

GREED It was more on account of the amazingly bold plan of operations by which the Bank of Australia robbery was effected that it became such a memorable affair. The Sun, 5 March 1912

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Chapter 5

THE LURE OF RICHES The lure of riches A man is estimated in this kind of society according to the amount and adroitness of his villainies. Peter Cunningham, Two Years in New South Wales

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round eight o’clock on Sunday evening 23 August 1828, a stone skittered along the shingles of William Blackstone’s lodgings. He opened the front door and peered into the darkness. It would be another thirteen years before gas lighting illuminated Sydney’s streets and the town’s many tavern keepers had not yet been ordered to keep an outside light burning all night. Glimpsing the silhouettes of two men standing like ghostly sentinels near the front gate, Blackstone moved towards them. He soon recognised their features: Irish shoemakers James Dingle, with his dark brown hair, hazel eyes and ruddy complexion, and the ferret-faced George Farrell— long visage, pointy nose and wide mouth. ‘How are you getting on?’ Dingle asked, and some idle conversation followed as the men carefully scanned their surroundings. Dingle then whispered to Blackstone, ‘Will you be one of a party to rob the Bank of Australia?’

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Astonished, Blackstone scoffed. ‘It is impossible to be done! It is a foolish idea!’ ‘When you hear my plan you will think otherwise,’ Dingle assured him. ‘It is easily to be done.’ Dingle’s proposal was clever but not of his own contrivance. Cupidity had quickly overridden prudence when Thomas Turner disclosed his plan. Although Dingle was a successful small business operator, this was an unreformed thief’s El Dorado. Blackstone asked some questions and the three men talked for some time. Eventually he told them: ‘I won’t give you a final answer tonight. I’ll consider it and if you come back tomorrow evening I’ll tell you whether I’ll have anything to do with it or not.’ Mulling over the plan, Blackstone considered the possible outcomes: a fortune on the one hand, the gallows on the other. When the others returned the following evening, the reckless opportunist announced, ‘I have considered it and I am agreeable to go with you.’ Dingle then explained the need for Blackstone’s involvement. He uncovered a model of a tool called a jointer (similar to a file but with a round handle) and ordered the blacksmith to make two jointers about sixteen inches in length. Dingle also needed a crowbar, a gimlet about two feet long (similar to a crowbar but with a grooved shank and a cross handle) and a dark lantern. ‘Can you make them by Friday?’ he asked. Blackstone agreed and the others departed. Over the following few days Blackstone used the forge at his landlord’s workshop to prepare the tools, working at night and early in the morning. Dingle returned alone the following Friday evening to check on his progress, and when Blackstone reported that the tools were ready, he announced, ‘I will go and procure some liquor and provisions. You and Farrell and I will start tomorrow morning.’

Four o’clock on a bleak winter’s morning found Blackstone shivering at the corner of his paling fence. Dingle and Farrell slipped out of the

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gloom. After muttering greetings the men hefted their tools, including Blackstone’s newly forged jointers and crowbar, and trudged down the hill following Charlotte Place (now Grosvenor Street) to George Street. They sneaked past the guard’s verandah and across the deserted road then continued northwards towards the Bank of Australia, keeping eyes and ears alert. Constables patrolled the streets and at this early hour in the penal settlement assumed that anybody wandering the streets was up to no good. The men reached the bank, then hurried past and darted into a passageway. It separated the bank from its northern neighbour, a pub belonging to Sydney’s ex-Chief Constable, John Redman, bearing the curious name Keep Within Compass. A short distance away, the pub’s sign hung from a horizontal pole, its illustration no doubt copied from a 1780s print showing a young man posing under the protection of the open arms of a draftsman’s compass as he considered his options before beginning life’s journey. Encircling the picture were the words: Keep within compass and you shall be sure to avoid many troubles which others endure. But outside the compass’s protection—that is, beyond the moral compass—the man’s alter-ego was engaged in various illicit and licentious activities (including, ironically, tippling) until, eventually, he peered out from a gaol cell. Evidently, John Redman hadn’t discarded the cloak of defender of the civil and moral order despite his new role as a purveyor of the evil nectar. For the bank robbers passing through the darkness, however, Redman’s pointed warning was little more than a swinging shadow. A few paces down the passageway the men stopped and lowered their tools to the ground. Dingle pulled a piece of string from his pocket then picked up a broomstick and tied one end of the string to the broomstick head, handing the other end to Farrell. Reaching across the paling fence to the front corner of Redman’s pub, Dingle gently pushed the broomstick up against the wall. Carrying his own end of the string,

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Farrell tiptoed towards a drain grating lying between Redman’s side wall and the bank. When standing over the grating he pulled the string taut and knotted it to mark off the distance. Gathering their tools again the three men slipped under Redman’s archway and down his yard, then continued until they could hear the susurration of the sea against the shore. Turner had explained that the drain carried excess water from Essex Street, and that it burrowed under George Street and beneath Redman’s pub before emptying into Sydney Cove. Having previously reconnoitred the area during daylight, Dingle guided them through the darkness to the drain’s outlet near the beach— an almost man-sized brick mouth venting fetid air and sludge. Balancing against the slimy brickwork the men clambered in. The drain’s low ceiling forced them to stoop and like arthritic old men they shuffled along the upward-sloping passage. They had no lantern to guide them, knowing that dawn’s luminescence and the fresh air penetrating the grate would signal their arrival. From the stench of human effluent concentrated at two sites along the route and the urine-drenched muck they squelched through, the men realised that the drain also served as a sewer, an outlet for the ‘necessaries’ (as privies were colloquially known) in the houses squatting above. Reaching the grating, Farrell pushed the broomstick through its bars while Dingle continued to shuffle up the drain pulling the attached string until it was again taut. He stopped: directly in line with the front walls of Redman’s pub and the bank and between the foundations of the two properties. Turner had told Dingle that a rock platform supported the floors of both the drain and the strongroom, and that the strongroom lay immediately under the cash office at the front of the bank. He had also provided dimensions, explaining that the strongroom was ten feet square, that the bank’s foundations were two and a half feet thick and that the vault had an additional two and a half feet of foundations for extra security. Turner’s instructions were a treasure map guiding them to riches more bountiful than they could even imagine. Daylight had gradually seeped into the drain through the grating itself and through its cavernous beach outlet. The men paced out the

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measurements: five feet back towards the beach for the strongroom’s foundations, then a little bit more just in case. They marked the spot, the keyhole to the treasure. After dividing up the tasks the men grabbed Blackstone’s skilfully crafted tools and set to work. Each tool had a specific purpose. The gimlet served as a feeler, its sharp point piercing the brick and stone joints to determine if the men were heading in the right direction. The jointers tugged out the mortar from between the stones. ‘My tools made no more noise than a mouse gnawing,’ Blackstone would later boast. Dingle and Farrell prised bricks from the drain wall and handed them to Blackstone, who laid them along the drain’s muddy floor, creating a causeway to keep their feet dry. The bricks were all of red sandstock, made and laid by convicts. Some even bore the ominous broad arrow, a warning the men chose to ignore. Used to heavy labour, the men toiled all day, slowly and carefully removing brick after brick until they had penetrated and then broken through the drain wall. Rubble plugged the fissure between the drain wall and the bank’s foundation. The men scooped out the loose earth and lifted out building debris and five large stones. They carried the bulkier rubble down the tunnel and dumped it along the drain wall. Gradually the dimming light warned that darkness would soon blind them. The exhausted men slumped onto the new causeway, munched the remaining provisions, swigged their liquor and rested until twilight. Blackstone had discovered another entrance into the drain after noticing light piercing the darkness further up the tunnel. It lay in Samuel Thornton’s paddock behind his public house, the Union, which fronted George Street opposite the bank. Conveniently the paddock’s adjacent block housed an unfinished building, another belonging to James Underwood. The men were relieved at finding a new route into the drain: the thought of passing beneath a necessary at a particularly inopportune moment revolted even these hardened graduates of the penal settlements. Moreover, any sound they might make risked drawing the attention of those heeding nature’s demands to the nefarious activities below.

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Cautiously the men pulled themselves out of the drain, climbed over the wall surrounding Thornton’s paddock and ambled back to Church Hill, cocky at having escaped detection. Alone in the shadowy grounds of St Philip’s Church—this icon to honesty and probity—they gloated over the day’s achievements and the riches almost at their fingertips. They agreed to meet early the following Saturday morning, Blackstone and Farrell’s only free day; as serving prisoners they had to work or attend musters on the other days. Then these aspiring nabobs separated and headed home. The week passed without any rumours of strange goings-on near the cove, any news breaking of damage to the drain wall, any iron grip manhandling the conspirators into custody. Dingle and Farrell visited Blackstone again on the Friday evening to confirm that he had forged the extra tools they required and would join them the next morning. They arranged to meet at a later hour, closer to daybreak.

As Blackstone waited by his gate in the early hours of Saturday 6 September he saw three men approaching. Dingle and Farrell had a companion— Farrell’s landlord, the bolter John Creighton. ‘Why have you brought him?’ Blackstone hissed. ‘He laid the floor after the strongroom was built,’ they explained reassuringly. After some grumbling, Blackstone grudgingly accepted Creighton’s involvement. The men picked up the newly forged gimlet and dark lantern and headed down the hill to George Street then followed its western footpath to Thornton’s property. As the sky lightened, the men climbed over Thornton’s wall and crept towards the drain, unaware that they had been spotted. ‘What business have you there?’ demanded a man, striding over from the bank and planting his feet near the mouth of the drain. Surreptitious glances passed between the four men as they sought an excuse.

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‘We were just easing ourselves,’ one voice piped up and the other men nodded earnestly. They edged towards the fence, scrambled over and hurried along the road, keen to escape the man’s suspicious glare. Blackstone did not know the man’s identity. He hoped it was mutual. Finding a discreet nook, the men stopped and talked. The narrow escape hadn’t deterred them; avarice had overridden any sense of selfpreservation. However the crafty Dingle decided that he and Farrell should remain outside all day and serve as lookouts while their compliant ring-ins continued the tunnelling operation. The four men slunk south along George Street towards Robert Howe’s new Sydney Gazette building a short distance north of the Charlotte Place intersection. After peering around to make sure they were not seen, they slipped into a neighbouring unfinished building which provided access to the backyards of the properties on the western side of George Street. Blackstone and Creighton scaled the wall then crawled on their hands and knees all the way to the drain entrance in Thornton’s paddock. Dropping down to the drain floor, Blackstone led the way to the excavation site. He assigned himself the easier task, ordering Creighton to dig out the dirt and lift out the stones while he held the lantern. Blackstone then carried each load of rubble down the drain, adding bricks to the lengthening causeway and planting the remainder against the drain walls. Quietly the men tunnelled through the loose rubble and began prising bricks from the bank’s foundations. As darkness descended they halted for the day and climbed out through Thornton’s paddock, spotting Farrell and Dingle loitering nearby. Returning to the safety of Church Hill the men discussed the day’s achievements then organised to meet again the following Saturday morning.

Just before daylight on Saturday 13 September, the third day of the excavation, the men returned to Thornton’s paddock. Dingle and Farrell again assumed sentry duty while Blackstone and Creighton climbed into

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the drain. The men developed a steady rhythm: prising, carrying, laying, prising, carrying, laying. Inch by inch they tunnelled through the bank’s foundations until they had almost reached the strongroom wall. Then, at around 3 pm, one of the huge foundation stones weighing more than 200 pounds tumbled from the top of the rubble and smashed into the lantern gripped by Blackstone as he sat on the drain floor. The hot metal slammed into his hand searing his flesh. Light flooded the drain. The men could see the floorboards of the ex-Chief Constable’s house. They froze. Had anyone heard the thunder of the tumbling rock or Blackstone’s startled grunt of pain? They listened for questioning voices, sudden activity. But instead there was silence. Whispering, Blackstone and Creighton decided to stop for the day. They remained in the drain until dark then wriggled out, slid over Thornton’s wall and hurried back to Church Hill where Dingle and Farrell awaited them. ‘How did you get on?’ Dingle asked. Blackstone described the afternoon’s drama, yet declared, ‘We should be able to complete an entrance into the strongroom in another day.’ A painful immobilising injury and an increased risk of exposure were of little importance given the fortune that was almost within his grasp. ‘You and Farrell and Creighton must go in tomorrow and finish it,’ Dingle decided. ‘It is not prudent,’ Blackstone protested. ‘Farrell and I are prisoners and would be missed from church muster. The Principal Superintendent of Convicts inspects us.’ Although Farrell and Blackstone had been granted permission to sleep outside the barracks, regulations decreed that they attended church and the accompanying muster every Sunday. This joint duty served as a means of controlling the prison population and ensuring religious observance in the seldom-realised hope of spiritually induced reformation. ‘I am acquainted with James John Wood, the Principal Superintendent’s clerk,’ Dingle reassured him. ‘I will get you both exempted from the muster.’

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Dingle however continued to brood about the muster, recognising that the clerk might not be amenable to his suggestion. ‘If I succeed in getting you exempted,’ he murmured to Blackstone and Farrell, ‘I will throw a handful of coppers down the grating as a signal that you might remain below.’ His accomplices accepted his assurances. ‘Where shall we take the money?’ one voice quizzed and the men strolled towards a tavern discussing their options. Arriving at the corner of Kent Street, the four men saw bootmaker John Byrne striding up the hill. He stopped to talk with his landlord, James Dingle. ‘Why don’t you come away?’ Farrell cried out to Dingle.‘What business have you talking to that informer?’ It was the nastiest slur one prisoner could cast at another and perhaps explains why Dingle had not included Byrne in his plans. Hurling angry words at each other, Farrell and Byrne stripped and began to fight. The other men crowded around, egging them on. Nearby residents and passers-by swarmed towards the fracas. The noise intensified. Caught up in the excitement the robbers had forgotten the need for discretion.

Constable Robert Melville was on patrol, tramping the darkened streets of his beat in the Church Hill area. Suddenly he heard the sounds of a nearby punch-up: the distinctive thump of flesh pounding flesh, the feverish chants from the onlookers. Racing around the corner into Kent Street, Melville grabbed the pugilist closest to him—John Byrne. The darkness prevented him from seeing Byrne’s foe. Farrell and the other robbers fled. Dingle, however, halted around the corner and sneaked back to watch. As Melville hustled Byrne towards the watch-house, Dingle followed, pleading with the constable to let Byrne go. ‘A little trifle in your pocket would be better than to let him go to the watch-house,’ he wheedled.

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But Melville was not tempted. Young and colonial-born, he was not drawn from the usual pool of prospective constables: well-behaved ticketof-leavers or time-expired transportees. He ignored Dingle’s shameless offer, propelled Byrne to the watch-house and locked him up. Meanwhile, Farrell, Blackstone and Creighton had kept running, through Barrack Lane to York Street where they panted to a halt. Their close shave demanded emotional replenishment so they sauntered into one of Sydney’s smoky taverns and joined the crowds of drunken revellers, screeching singers, stumbling dancers, fervent card-players and others like them who simply wanted to quaff their half-pint glasses of rum and enjoy a convivial Saturday evening. The men stayed until 8 pm then parted after making plans for the following morning. It would be the final and riskiest day of the tunnelling operation.

The four men assembled again near Blackstone’s fence just before daylight on Sunday 14 September 1828. It was thirteen years to the day since Blackstone’s Old Bailey conviction. Returning to the drain, Blackstone, Farrell and Creighton lowered themselves to its brick floor while Dingle remained on the surface. The ringleader’s excuse for not participating in the most dangerous stage of the operation was that he had to persuade muster clerk James John Wood to exempt Blackstone and Farrell from church muster. In addition, as they had agreed to stash the booty at his house, he needed to make alternative sleeping arrangements for his woman—36-year-old Mrs Mary Ann Armstrong—and his seventeen-year-old apprentice, John Carroll. Lodger John Byrne was no longer a concern. He was locked in the watchhouse and would not be released until Monday at the earliest. Reaching the excavation site the three men stuffed a piece of calico sheeting under Redman’s exposed floorboards to prevent fingers of light stabbing into his room and to dampen any sounds. Although Blackstone’s injured hand limited his abilities, the others returned to work.

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Twenty minutes later they heard muffled scraping noises, a thud, then footsteps shuffling towards them. ‘Who’s there?’ they demanded. ‘Val Rourke,’ came the reply as the footsteps shuffled closer. ‘Who sent you here?’ they challenged. ‘I was sent by a man of the name of Dingle,’ explained the visitor. Their ringleader had probably called for his friend’s assistance knowing that Blackstone’s infirmity would limit his usefulness. ‘It is a very wrong thing of Dingle to send a man down upon us,’ Blackstone raged. ‘I will go outside and having nothing more to do with this!’ ‘I can keep my counsel as well as you,’ Rourke protested. ‘Don’t go out,’ Farrell and Creighton pleaded. ‘You have been doing all the work. You should stop and have the benefit of it.’ Altruism was not their real concern, of course. A penniless disaffected gang member could easily turn informer, particularly when such a large booty was at stake. Blackstone resentfully agreed and Rourke helped the men with the heavier tasks. Eventually they reached the foundation tier of stones and the cornerstone of the strongroom wall nearest the street. They had tunnelled through nine feet of bricks, rubble and foundation stones and, if Turner’s instructions were correct, this stone was their entrance point. When removed, one man would be able to crawl from the drain through the foundation walls and slide onto the strongroom floor. Suddenly the steady tattoo of the drums calling prisoners to church muster penetrated the drain, the hypnotic pull that only the foolhardy resisted. They lifted their heads. The tinkling of coins hitting the metal grating broke the spell, alarming all of the men until Blackstone and Farrell remembered that this was Dingle’s signal. They were safe to continue. And as the reverent of Sydney bowed their heads in solemn devotion, these irreverent robbers eagerly began to drag out the vault’s cornerstone.

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Chapter 6

A WEALTH BEYOND IMAGINING A wealth beyond imagining The plan to plunder the Bank of Australia was executed with a degree of cunning, contrivance and perseverance scarcely paralleled in the history of human villainy. Supreme Court Justice James Dowling

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lackstone poked his head through the cavity. Roped chests, bulging sacks: Turner’s treasure indeed. But he was too bulky to reach it. Farrell was the slightest of the men and would have to enter the strongroom alone. Farrell dropped to his knees then slithered through the narrow aperture. One of the men pushed a lantern after him. Those remaining in the drain could see light flickering around the vault then a hand pushed first one then a second box through the cavity. Farrell pulled himself back into the drain. The four men carried the boxes to the drain’s Sydney Cove exit where the light was brightest. They could see two locked tin boxes, each with a glossy japanned finish. They smashed them open. The boxes contained some small yellow canvas bags tied up with string. Fingers fumbling

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with excitement they tugged at the string then tipped the bags upside down. Silver coins—half-crowns and shillings—cascaded into their grasping hands. A large quantity of Bank of Australia notes of various denominations followed: £1, £2, £5, £10, £20 and £50. The robbers solemnly laid the notes on Blackstone’s yellow silk handkerchief. Sliding back into the vault Farrell groped around then pushed out two more tin boxes: a small white one and a brown japanned one larger than all the others. Again they carried them to the front of the drain and smashed them open. The large box contained papers and coverless books which Creighton examined. ‘These must be destroyed,’ he said of the coverless books. ‘The numbers of the banknotes might be listed in them.’ He took them over to a puddle of water and rubbed them to pieces. One box contained newly printed uncirculated notes. Recognising the danger of being caught with such incriminating spoils, they put them to one side. They piled the old notes from the same box onto Blackstone’s handkerchief, then Creighton and Rourke began grouping them by denomination. Blackstone and Farrell returned to the vault entrance and the lithe robber again shimmied through. He pushed out two bags, one very large and one small, both tied at the mouth with paper labels. Blackstone hefted the large bag and Farrell the small one and they shuffled back down the drain towards its well-lit entrance. As the robbers neared their accomplices, the background light revealed two silhouettes: one sitting on the ground, the other a short distance away squatting over a square object. A few steps closer and they could see that the square object was one of the lacquered tin boxes and that the squatting silhouette was Creighton in a partial state of undress. ‘You are a scoundrel,’ Blackstone blasted. ‘What does it signify?’ Creighton jeered. ‘It is as bad to take a brick out of the building as to do what I am doing.’ ‘I can see no utility in aggravating the offence by insult,’ retorted the surprisingly high-minded robber.

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Creighton looked at him, grabbed one of the new notes and taunted: ‘I will have the pleasure of making use of this.’ And then he threw the soiled note into the same box and dressed himself. Seething with anger Blackstone dumped the bags in front of Creighton. After reading the labels, the impudent robber reported that they contained Spanish dollars: the large bag 1150 and the smaller 250 coins. They left them tied up. Blackstone and Farrell returned to the vault. Farrell pushed out two small wooden chests branded B.A. Each about a foot long, they were nailed shut, covered in seals and bound with cord however their weight and the chink of metal revealed the presence of coins. Impatiently they broke them open expecting to find gold sovereigns. Instead they found more shillings and half-crowns. The men sat together until dark busily dividing the notes into five parcels. Blackstone and Farrell noticed that one was badly torn. ‘We had better burn it,’ Farrell said and pushed the note into the lamp’s flame. Then they discussed how best to carry out their booty. To protect the notes on their journey back to Thornton’s paddock, as they stooped to clear the ceiling and waded through puddles, they decided that each man would stuff a bundle of notes under his hat. Blackstone, Creighton and Rourke took one bundle apiece while Farrell grabbed Dingle’s as well as his own. He would hand it over when their ringleader arrived after dark carrying bags to stow the silver. But, worryingly, Dingle did not appear. An hour after dusk they decided to leave the drain. Then Farrell realised that he could fit only one parcel of notes under his hat. He remembered his extra pair of trousers, his insulation against the drain’s penetrating coldness. He stripped off one pair, placed the two parcels of notes inside a trouser leg and tied the trousers around his back. The men shuffled towards the exit in Thornton’s paddock, foolishly leaving in the drain the broken lantern and the head of the tin lamp they had taken to replace it, the two-foot long crowbar, the short crowbar which lay under some rubbish, the long iron gimlet and one jointer. They also left behind the newly printed notes, four tin boxes, the piece

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of calico sheeting, a small tin gill measure, one bottle of oil and two wooden boxes containing half-crowns and shillings. Scattered throughout were empty rum bottles. As their heads popped up from the drain entrance a light drizzle greeted them. In the distance they could hear the bells chiming for the evening church services. After climbing over the wall into Mr Underwood’s property near the bottom of Church Hill, they were relieved to see Dingle approaching carrying four bags crafted from blue striped ticking. ‘I see things are all right,’ he greeted them. ‘All is right,’ they agreed, ‘but why did you not come sooner?’ ‘I was getting my woman and apprentice away, Mary to her daughter and the boy to his mother,’ Dingle explained. ‘They will not be home tonight.’ ‘Go as fast as you can and you will find some boxes of silver in the drain,’ Blackstone told him. ‘Bring it away in the bags. We will take the rest of the money to your house.’ ‘I have locked the front door but left the back door unlocked for you,’ Dingle replied and continued towards the drain. The men hurried towards Dingle’s house, slipped in through the back door and deposited the money in his bedroom. Again they waited— half an hour and then another endless half an hour—until eventually Dingle returned and added his coin-filled bags to the other plunder. Their appetites whetted, Farrell, Creighton and Rourke wanted more. ‘We will go again to the drain and fetch more money,’ one suggested and the others enthusiastically agreed. ‘I will not go,’ Blackstone said firmly. ‘I will go home and wash myself and have a sleep before I go again. The people of the house where I live will find fault. I do not wish them to know that I am out late. You can come and call for me at any time in the night and I will go with you then.’ It was around 8 pm by this time. The men agreed to return to the drain later in the evening. They also decided that each man would take his own bundle of notes, which had not been equally divided, get the notes exchanged for currency and pool the proceeds.

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Blackstone grabbed his bundle, went home and bathed then set off for Thomas Woodward’s house on Bunker Hill.8 Nicknamed Long Bill because of his six-foot height, Woodward worked as a convict overseer in the Commissariat Office. He was also one of the many Sydney residents who made easy money selling liquor on the sly and living on the margins of the criminal world. But Woodward was not in. Blackstone returned home and only a few minutes later heard Dingle’s signal. He slipped outside to meet him. ‘Are you ready to go down to the vault again?’ the ringleader asked. ‘No,’ said Blackstone. ‘I am tired and want to go to sleep. I will have two or three hours of sleep until the people of the house are abed and then if you come and call me I will sneak out.’ ‘I will call about midnight,’ Dingle agreed and went away. Blackstone left the key in the door then lay down on a sofa under the window. When Dingle arrived in the early hours of the morning, he opened the door and shook Blackstone’s feet to awaken him. Blackstone pulled on his clothes and the two men rendezvoused with the others at the street corner. Although the rain had intensified, they barely noticed. Back down the hill they crept for one final snatch at the treasure. Farrell re-entered the strongroom and handed out seven boxes. Weighty and jingling with metal, they appeared to be filled with sterling coins. Farrell, Creighton and Rourke each carried two boxes; Blackstone, struggling with his injured hand, carried only the one box and was the last to climb out of the drain. It was around 2.30 am when the men finally left Thornton’s paddock and proceeded up Church Hill. The wily Dingle, unencumbered by anything but an umbrella, walked some distance ahead scouting the territory. Blackstone trailed the others. ‘Hullo. Who are you and where are you going?’ The sudden demand was directed at someone just a stone’s throw ahead of Blackstone. Startled, he paused. He heard Dingle respond. With the quick reflexes of one who had long inhabited society’s fringes, he reversed direction, scuttled around by the gaol wall and scooted home. He hid the box among a pile of stones on land belonging to ship carpenter

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Alexander Ikin which lay only a few yards from his own lodgings. He then slipped inside and with the ease of the exhausted and the amoral went to sleep.

Dingle had indeed been challenged. Constable Robert Melville was again on duty, although this time with a partner, John Quinn, and another patrolman. It was Quinn’s challenge Blackstone had heard. ‘I am going to get a dram,’ Dingle responded loudly without identifying himself. Alerted to the danger, Farrell, Rourke and Creighton darted across the yard and slipped behind the church. ‘It is strange that you are going from your house to knock up any publican at this time of the morning,’ said Melville, who lived in Dingle’s neighbourhood and recognised him. ‘It is a very out-of-the-way place from your house to go and look for a dram.’ ‘I got rather a little tipsy and lay down up there and fell asleep,’ the quick-thinking ringleader claimed, waving his hand towards the hill behind him. ‘I have just awaked and hardly know where I am going.’ It had been raining for some time and Melville reached out to touch Dingle’s clothes.‘It is strange then,’ he added sardonically,‘that you should be lying there and your clothes be quite dry and I be wet through.’ There was a momentary pause while the nonplussed robber attempted to think of a response. Melville turned to Quinn. ‘I know him and believe him to be an honest man.’ They allowed Dingle to pass.

Blackstone woke around 4.30 am on Monday 15 September, lit the forge fire and began to sharpen tools. Dingle appeared at the forge a short time later. ‘Why didn’t you come to my house?’ he demanded. ‘I heard the constable challenge you on the hill,’ Blackstone replied defensively. ‘I was afraid the constables had taken you and the others into custody so I was not willing to come.’

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‘I told them I had been merrymaking on The Rocks,’ Dingle smirked, ‘and they knew I was a free man and let me go. The others carried the money to my house and I have planted it safely. What did you do with your box of money?’ ‘I hid it,’ said Blackstone. ‘If in the course of the day you can sell the notes you have in your possession, bring the money and the box you secreted to my place tonight and we will divide the proceeds,’ Dingle told him. ‘I will go directly and fetch the woman and the boy home and put them on their guard. I will tell them what to say in case I am apprehended on suspicion.’ After Dingle left, Blackstone went indoors, took the notes from his hat and tied them up in his silk handkerchief. His landlord had awoken and, although it was only just dawn, Blackstone asked if he wanted to go out and have a drink. Seeney agreed. He saw Blackstone tucking away the bulging handkerchief but did not ask about its contents. It was a miserable Monday morning with ashen skies and an intermittent drizzle as the two men trudged through Sydney’s streets heading again to Thomas Woodward’s house. When they arrived, Blackstone asked for a drink and Woodward brought half a pint of rum. Blackstone then said quietly: ‘I want to have a little private conversation with you.’ He had known Woodward for nine years and believed him to be trustworthy. The two men went into another room. Pulling out his silk handkerchief and opening it, Blackstone said, ‘I have a quantity of notes to sell.’ Woodward looked at the notes. ‘These are good,’ he said and looked at Blackstone sharply. ‘How did you come by them?’ ‘I got them from the Bank of Australia,’ Blackstone replied and told him about the robbery. Woodward counted the notes: £1133, all in £1 and £2 notes. ‘I have every reason to believe that the memorandum of the numbers has been destroyed,’ Blackstone said. ‘You have no need to be under any apprehension in being detected with them.’ ‘I will have them,’ Woodward decided, and asked how much he wanted for them.

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‘I will leave it to your own generosity not to hurt yourself or me,’ said the trusting robber. ‘The notes are as good as sovereigns to you.’ ‘They are,’ the receiver agreed. ‘I will give you £1000 currency for them which will leave me with a profit of about £300.’9 Blackstone accepted the offer then asked when he should return for the money. ‘I am going to the lumber yard and do not want it now,’ he explained. ‘The night will do for me.’ ‘Come up at dinner time today and you shall have the money,’ Woodward told him. Blackstone agreed to return at midday and left the notes with Woodward then stepped back into the front room where Seeney was still drinking his rum. Blackstone joined him for a glass then, with his muster looming, left Woodward’s. As he descended the steps he saw Mrs Ann Houseley sweeping her neighbouring doorstep. ‘Bill,’ she said, ‘I have not seen you for some time.’ Looking closely at the injured, sleep-deprived blacksmith, she added with concern, ‘You look very bad!’ She invited him into her home for a moment, but he declined. From Woodward’s, Blackstone went to his regular muster at the Hyde Park racecourse. He saw robber George Farrell and robbery architect Thomas Turner talking together near St James’ Church. As it turned out, there was no muster that morning so Blackstone headed down Phillip Street towards the lumber yard. Farrell followed and overtook him. ‘What were you talking to Turner about?’ Blackstone demanded. ‘I gave him some notes to make things quiet,’ Farrell explained. Companionably they proceeded to a tavern at the corner of Phillip Street where they enjoyed another drink. Blackstone then left Farrell and continued towards the lumber yard to commence work for the day . . . And waited for the news to break.

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PART III

FEAR Crimes form in our small community a considerable portion of the food of our conversational circles. There is frequently so little else to talk about that a bushranger affair or adroit robbery serves as well as a city procession or lord-mayor’s show to eject the demon of ennui. Peter Cunningham, Two Years in New South Wales

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Chapter 7

OUTRAGE Outrage A considerable sensation was excited in town by the intelligence that a large robbery had been committed in the strongroom of the Bank of Australia. Sydney Gazette, 17 September 1828

P

eter Gardner thrived on routine. A teller for the Bank of Australia, he served at the counter six days a week, dealing with customers and processing their transactions. At day’s end he calculated the daily cash balance, locked the notes in his cashbox and carried it down to the bank’s strongroom, where he tucked it near the vault’s door. It was easier to retrieve it from the same location each morning than to juggle a light and the cash box at the same time. Gardner followed his usual afternoon routine on Saturday 13 September. Around 3 or 4 pm he placed the cash box with its £12 000 in notes in the strongroom and pocketed the box’s key. He then handed the strongroom key to the bank’s managing director, Mr Macvitie. Macvitie and several of the other officers worked for another six or seven hours, tallying the balances, jotting the amounts in the ledgers and perusing, processing and packaging any remaining documents. When

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Macvitie locked the strongroom door that Saturday evening he left over £16 000 in notes and coins stashed in the room. On the following Monday at twenty to ten, Peter Gardner began his morning routine. With the familiarity of repetition the teller clumped down the dark stairs, ran his hands over the strongroom door to find the keyhole, jabbed in the key and turned it, pushed open the heavy door and groped around to find his cash box. Nothing. He groped some more. Still nothing. Annoyed, Gardner stuck his head around the door and called out to the managing director’s nephew, John Wallace: ‘What has become of my box?’ He told Wallace to bring a light. As the light bobbed down the stairs, the shadows receded from the vault’s entrance. The spot where Gardner normally left his cash box was bare. Gradually, the light illuminated the cavernous vault. Instead of neatly positioned sacks and boxes, Wallace and Gardner could see only a few disarranged boxes and a hole in the wall. The two men gaped, then Wallace rushed over and pushed the light through the cavity. He could see the drain’s brick wall on the other side but he was too broad to squeeze through. He bounded up the stairs, yelled out the shocking news to his uncle, screamed at a messenger to alert the police, raced out to the yard where he found an opening into the drain, and dropped onto the drain floor. Scattered around him was the evidence of a well-planned and time-consuming robbery—bricks and building rubble, unusual tools, empty bank boxes, sacks and lots of liquor bottles.

The police rushed to the crime scene, astonished at the news of the robbery and the size of the haul: approximately £14 000. Such a huge sum of money: the equivalent of £1—an artisan’s weekly wage—for every man, woman and child in Sydney! As they inspected the vault and examined the drain, they puzzled over the crime. How had the thieves pulled off such an astounding operation?

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The editor of the Sydney Gazette speculated: We have seen the strongroom of the Bank of Australia and the aperture through which the thieves entered and we could arrive at no other conclusion than that someone connected in laying the stone work was concerned in the plot. It was a most remarkable fact that the cornerstone of the room level with the floor was taken out whereas if a stranger had been employed he might as well have picked two or three feet above or below. We are further satisfied that the outside stone was peculiarly marked at the time the strongroom was built, for the robbery must have been planned at the very origin of the Institution itself.

Managing Director Macvitie immediately convened a meeting of the bank directors. They barrelled in, some stunned, others irate. Such a huge sum of money: it could destroy their precious bank and beggar them. After bellowing at each other and blaming everyone else for their woes, they calmed enough to be productive. Suggestions were offered and considered. Naturally these included improvements to the stable door: a new, more secure building and a vault not only casemated but ‘bomb proof’. But the treasure needed to be recovered. A reward was the first priority. Soon afterwards they heard the vendors hollering the news: ‘One hundred pound reward! The Bank of Australia’s directors are offering a reward of one hundred pounds for information leading to the discovery and conviction of the robbers!’ The directors also decided to print handbills describing the robbery and cautioning the public against accepting old Bank of Australia notes, to dispatch messengers to circulate the handbills and pin them up in conspicuous locations, to send expresses to Liverpool, Parramatta, Windsor and other populous districts, and to insert advertisements in all the newspapers. They agreed to personally visit all the shops and businesses in town to inform the proprietors of the robbery and to countersign any banknotes they might hold. What else? Recall their old banknotes and exchange them for new ones, they decided, and insist that anyone exchanging notes provide

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details about their acquisition. As the notes contained clues recognisable only to bank staff indicating their approximate date of printing or circulation, this strategy should deter the robbers, frighten off potential receivers, and trap anyone rash enough to front up to the bank with stolen notes. Furthermore, a large proportion of the stolen notes were of high denominations: £5, £10, £20, £50. Only the more affluent would be likely to hold such denominations, the £20 note alone being worth more than many Sydney residents earned in a year. The robbers and receivers should be identifiable almost at a glance. But these cunning plans relied upon community cooperation. The bank directors failed to understand that they represented the ‘exclusives’ to the colonial community and that the arrogance of their self-appointed clique, their disdain for the emancipated convicts and small settlers, and their often harsh treatment—both as magistrates and employers—of the convict masses had bred widespread contempt for their class and for many of their persons. Moreover, in their years away from the industrial turbulence of England and the sectarian violence of Ireland, many had forgotten the unifying power of anger and resentment. And despite their years in a settlement housing those who had already shown their willingness to defy the law and their ‘betters’, the directors had failed to identify a nascent peculiarity of the colonial psyche—a delight in undermining those who dared to rise above the crowd. While this egalitarian spirit had not progressed to the head-lopping phase, it did extend to sticking out a timely foot. Recovering from this crisis would not prove as easy as they had hoped.

While the bank’s offer of a £100 reward sparked interest in the ignorant and the desperate, the robbers sniffed in disdain. With £14 000 in their clutches, who could blame them? So the Governor added another incentive. ‘An absolute pardon!’ the news vendors yelled. ‘The Governor is offering a pardon to the person providing information leading to the discovery and conviction of the robbers!’

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Such a reward could only entice serving convicts, not free residents. The community spurned the offer. The bank directors upped the ante. ‘A free passage to England!’ the vendors roared. As the news spread throughout Sydney, crowds converged on the bank—some to ogle, others to have their notes countersigned or exchanged. Thomas Macvitie spent Monday night superintending the men striking the new notes, determined to have them ready for issuing the following morning. The frenzied activity around the bank during the day, the lights and pounding machinery during the night and the looks of doom haunting the faces of the bank directors soon confirmed the rumours sweeping across Sydney. For those who missed the gossip and the news bills, the newspapers broadcast the story. Surprisingly, the reports revealed that the robbers had missed some lucrative spoils: The thieves went so coolly to work and were so very choice in their selection that they would have naught to do with any other than safe and easily negotiable bills or hard cash. They opened and rummaged every chest in the place, carrying off all the old notes of the Bank as well as various notes for discount which they could best lay hands on, neglecting the new. They opened some cases but finding nothing in them save copper coin, one containing sovereigns to the amount of £2000 escaped the general fate. Every stage of the robbery was conducted with the utmost silence and deliberation—and the thieves did not depart without leaving behind a something as a memento of their visit in the way of deposit!

Hard on the heels of the news reports, politics followed. The conservative Sydney Gazette, the government’s pseudo-mouthpiece, praised the reward and proclaimed that the robbers would soon be captured. But the liberal Australian, ever averse to toadying to the government and the exclusives, derided the miserly offering:

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If the Bank means to induce a discovery of the thieves or a recovery of the cash by means of a reward in money, let it throw out a rich bait—one that is worth nibbling at—not a paltry £100. This will never catch the fraternity who have had the luck to share amongst them £14 000. Double, treble, four, nay five times £100 will scarce be temptation enough.

The Australian suggested that the government had a glorious opportunity to show a spirit of liberality by offering a greater incentive. It also praised the Bank of New South Wales’ willingness to continue accepting Bank of Australia notes and to ignore for the moment the £5000 owed them, allowing the beleaguered bank’s credit to remain unshaken. ‘We are not a little amused with the account furnished by one of our contemporaries,’ gibed the Sydney Gazette. We are told with a great deal of bombast indeed that ‘the credit of the Bank of Australia still continues unshaken!’ This sounds mighty well to those who are unacquainted with the real state of the facts but when the public are informed that only £750 in British silver and one or two thousand dollars belonging to Mr Macvitie constituted all the hard cash taken, it cannot be very surprising that the credit of the Bank should continue. For although some thousands of pounds in notes were abstracted, yet from the circumstance of those notes being certain of recognition the moment they are presented to the Bank, the Institution cannot lose a fraction by the plunder of such useless paper.

A shot of venom followed: ‘We are sure that the Bank of New South Wales no more exults over the misfortune that has happened to the Bank of Australia than that such a production was ever sanctioned or approved by one of the directors of the Bank of New South Wales.’ The tattlers had just been handed a delicious piece of gossip to salivate over. Was the robbery indeed at the instigation of a Bank of New South Wales director as the Gazette intimated?

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The liberal Monitor waded in, declaring magnanimously that despite its founders’ political views the Bank of Australia was a national concern so the robbery must be considered a national loss. Nevertheless the editor was unable to resist a snarl at his political enemies: ‘If the Bank of Australia had been popular, most people would have thrown obstacles in the way of the stolen notes getting into circulation. But the people are not really sorry at the loss the bank has sustained as they consider its pecuniary loss to be the people’s political gain.’ For the edification of those who might have missed the political tensions gripping the colony—but in truth for the directors themselves— the Monitor’s editor explained that the community blamed the bank’s founders for the failure of their recent parliamentary petition requesting political representation, trial by jury and freedom of the press. A final and ominous swipe followed: If it had happened at a time when the colony was not on the eve of a general bankruptcy, we should have found some consolation in the reflection that however governments or parties may by force of intrigue carry on their measures against the people, a day will come when the latter will have an opportunity of showing their power in their turn.

The day had already come. Rather than bringing in their notes for exchange, many residents were defying the bank directors’ decrees and blithely continuing to circulate them. Not only were their recovery strategies stumbling, the bank and its directors had become the target of a string of ‘petty’ jokes. Attempting to stifle them, the Sydney Gazette described a £20 000 robbery earlier that year at a British bank and concluded: ‘It proves that occurrences of a similar nature to the Bank of Australia robbery take place in parts of the world where, everything considered, there would be less reason to suppose they would be liable to happen.’ The editor had evidently forgotten that Australia’s penal settlements housed British criminals, and that transportation did not rid Britain of all of its lawbreakers—only those clumsy enough to be caught.

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Meanwhile, the authorities scrabbled around trying to deal with their own predicament. Governor Darling’s mandate had been to reintroduce terror into the concept of penal servitude and he was conscientiously fulfilling his responsibilities.‘Every one, by an honest and decorous course of life, may avoid being sent to a penal settlement,’ he had proclaimed. ‘If a man voluntarily plunges into vice and indulges in evil propensities, he relinquishes every claim to indulgence and must submit to the punishment due to his crimes.’ But the cheeky bank robbers had mocked Darling’s authority, his government and the principles underlying banishment. Penal servitude was for punishment not profiteering. The robbers must be caught.

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Chapter 8

NABBED Nabbed Every expectation is entertained of ultimately securing the perpetrators of so outrageous an exploit. Sydney Gazette, 17 September 1828

ho could have done it?’ the Police Superintendent demanded of the constables, requesting details of any unusual activity over the previous weekend and the names of possible perpetrators. Constable Robert Melville reported meeting James Dingle in the early hours of Monday morning on Church Hill not far from the bank. His superiors issued a warrant for Dingle’s arrest. Melville then mentioned Dingle’s attempted bribery after he took John Byrne into custody on the Saturday evening. The unfortunate Byrne, already in the watch-house for his involvement in the street fight and sentenced to be returned to the Hyde Park Barracks, also found himself remanded for the robbery. While the constables speculated about the ‘very bad men’ of Sydney, one of these blackguards was desperately trying to convert his portion of the booty into cash. Blackstone returned to Thomas Woodward’s at midday expecting to be handed a bundle of currency. Instead he faced an importunate demand.

‘

W

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‘Can you get me some more notes? I cannot give you as much as I told you this morning as there were so many marked I was forced to burn some of them,’ Woodward announced. ‘I cannot get you any more until you have paid me for the rest,’ Blackstone grumbled. Woodward attempted to pacify him. ‘Come back this evening and I will give you the money.’ Then to Blackstone’s alarm he added: ‘A man named Dingle has already been taken up for the robbery.’ As Blackstone left Woodward’s, worrying about his money and Dingle’s arrest, he was unaware that he faced more serious problems. Muster clerk James John Wood had smelt freedom and was doggedly following its scent.

James John Wood was no ordinary prisoner of the Crown. He was one of the ‘specials’: those bred to glory who had fallen spectacularly from grace. The son of a Church of England clergyman, he had been working as a linen draper when convicted in 1824 of ‘privately stealing’ and sentenced to death. Reprieved to life transportation, he was sent to New South Wales where he faced better prospects than most—the smattering of well-educated convicts were generally snatched up by the government for clerical duties. Wood was appointed to the choice position of muster clerk in the office of the Principal Superintendent of Convicts. His master, the Principal Superintendent himself, believed in treating his staff well and rewarding the deserving and Wood blossomed under such leadership. The shame and degradation of his conviction, incarceration and banishment had served their intended purpose and he soon raised his sights to the opportunities colonial society provided for the industrious and the obsequious. The chestnut-haired, pale-faced clergyman’s son hankered after his lost social status, past comforts and a new pair of leather boots. The opportunity to strut his superiority over his fellow British outcasts no doubt contributed to his decision to acquire such a conspicuous fashion

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item. His 26th birthday loomed: perhaps the boots were a present funded by his concerned father or were to be purchased from his own earnings on the side. But on Monday 15 September, as Wood began his day’s duties in the Principal Superintendent’s office, he was irritated. His boots were not finished and he had been unable to determine when they would be. Earlier that month Wood had employed a leather worker to cut and stitch two boot legs, and he had then arranged with James Dingle’s lodger, bootmaker John Byrne, to complete them. But Byrne had disappeared. When they made their arrangements two days previously, Byrne had agreed to finish them the following day, the Sunday, if they were delivered to his lodgings that evening. However, when Wood hammered on his door that Saturday night, Dingle answered and reported that the bootmaker was not home. He was still out an hour later. After waiting for some time, Wood handed over his precious half-made boots and departed. Wood thought he would hear an apology or explanation when Dingle arrived at his back door mid-morning on the Sunday. Instead, Dingle made a surprising request, asking for Wood’s assistance in his capacity as a muster clerk: ‘Could you excuse William Blackstone from today’s church muster without the Principal Superintendent’s knowledge? He is lying drunk at my home. I will make it right if you do so.’ As he spoke, the brazen Dingle uncurled his fingers to reveal a couple of Spanish dollars clenched in his fist. ‘George Farrell also asked me to tell you that he has hurt his leg,’ Dingle continued, ‘and that he cannot come to the muster either. Can you excuse him as well?’ ‘I cannot do it,’ the clergyman’s son declared virtuously, or so he later claimed. ‘I do not choose to run the risk of getting myself into disgrace for anyone.’ Yet neither Blackstone nor Farrell attended the important church muster.

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Around seven that evening George Farrell himself appeared at Wood’s back door. ‘Did you report me?’ Farrell asked anxiously. ‘I hope you said nothing about me being absent.’ ‘I did,’ Wood claimed. ‘I have already reported it.’ Alarmed, Farrell pleaded, ‘Can it be made right?’ ‘It is no use talking to me,’ Wood said dismissively. Glancing down at Farrell’s leg he added: ‘Nothing at all appears the matter with your leg. You walk as well as usual.’ The following morning, as James John Wood filled in his ledgers and helped keep track of the thousands of other convicts in the penal settlement, he had no comprehension of the significance of the weekend’s events—until a messenger burst through the door broadcasting the news of the shocking bank robbery. After the pandemonium died down, the clerk recollected these curious incidents: missing men; missing money. As soon as he had an opportunity, he hurried over to Byrne’s and Farrell’s shoemaking workshop in the grounds of the Hyde Park Barracks. Approaching deputy overseer Edward Shortland, Wood asked if Byrne was around, explaining that the bootmaker had agreed to finish making his boots. ‘He is in the town watch-house for kicking up a disturbance in the street on Saturday night,’ Shortland told him. Glimpsing the ‘injured’ George Farrell pacing the floor and chewing at his fingernails, Wood shifted the conversation to the subject everyone was talking about. ‘What a pretty business this bank robbery is,’ he said. ‘Yes, it is indeed,’ the overseer replied, then added with a concern for the robbers’ wellbeing that Wood found surprising. ‘It will be a hanging matter if they are bowled out.’ As the two men discussed the robbery, Wood saw Farrell glance over at them then slink out of the room. As Wood left the workshop he saw Shortland and Farrell whispering together. Glancing back, he noticed them leaving the workshop. The craft clerk knew that he was on the right track. The hours passed and the robbers continued to elude detection. Wood soon heard of the rewards being offered for their conviction: £100, an absolute pardon and a passage to England. It was a seductive promise.

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In fact, it led to an epiphany: perhaps the ‘high road of truth and rectitude of conduct’ was not without its advantages after all. Wood contrived another visit to the shoemakers’ workshop and noticed that both Shortland and Farrell were wet and dishevelled. Then he had another curious conversation with the deputy overseer about the robbery. ‘There are a good many in it,’ Shortland fretted, ‘although only one is to be feared among them. That party has been nasty [informed] once before and if he is grabbed he will be sure to come it [inform], but I hope he will not.’ Although Shortland failed to name those involved, Wood knew that he had discovered a breach in the robbers’ defences.

Around 5 pm Blackstone returned to Thomas Woodward’s but the receiver was not at home. He waited restlessly for a couple of hours. ‘You look very uneasy,’ said Mrs Woodward, bringing him a drink. ‘I want to see Woodward very badly,’ Blackstone insisted. ‘You have no reason to be in any way uneasy,’ she soothed. ‘All is right.’ But Woodward didn’t come home and the troubled robber eventually withdrew to his lodgings. He returned again to Woodward’s the following morning and demanded, ‘Why did you keep me waiting all last night and never come home?’ Woodward placated him, adding: ‘Can’t you get me some more notes? I have a mark who would take the whole of them.’ ‘I do not wish to have anything more to do with it,’ Blackstone replied angrily. ‘I can get no more and want the money for what I have brought!’ ‘Come up at dinner time and I should have the money,’ Woodward told him. Blackstone had little choice but to leave, undoubtedly cursing his own gullibility—he should have known better than to trust another felon. He spent some hours at the lumber yard then returned to Woodward’s around midday.

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The receiver was eating his dinner and jumped up when his visitor walked in the door. ‘Blackstone, you are come after the money.’ ‘I am,’ he agreed. ‘I am just going down to the bank with the last £270,’ Woodward claimed. ‘If you come at four o’clock you shall have the money without fail.’ Woodward grabbed his hat and strode out the door. Blackstone hurried after him, determined to see where the artful receiver was going. He kept a careful distance as Woodward headed in the bank’s direction, doffed his hat to the powerful and the prosperous and nodded agreeably to the aspiring. When Blackstone reached the Blue Posts public house within sight of the bank he ducked into the doorway. From that vantage point he watched Woodward walk up the Bank of Australia’s front steps and through its porticoed entrance. Convinced that the receiver was at last telling the truth and would hand over the money later that afternoon, Blackstone returned home.

Muster clerk James John Wood decided to return to the shoemakers’ workshop to see if he could extract any further information from Shortland. He walked in the door that same Tuesday morning and said to the overseer, ‘I shall go to Dingle’s and get my boot leg.’ ‘Damn the boot leg!’ Shortland exploded. ‘Let it go to hell. Don’t go near the place. Dingle is in the watch-house on suspicion of the bank concern and there is a hell of a down [worry and negativity] on his house.’ In his distress Shortland foolishly kept talking. ‘Byrne has been at work at the bank concern which has been in hand about a fortnight and would have been in it if he had not been confined on Saturday evening. Some of the other shoemakers in the shop are connected with the business. But the only man to be feared is Blackstone,’ he reported anxiously. ‘He has once before been nasty and has been at Moreton Bay and sure as ever he is grabbed he will come all he knows. He is the man

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that made the picklock fakements in the rough state and I suffered George Farrell to prepare, file them and get them ready here in the store. If the concern is brought to light Farrell will be hanged as dead as a robin. There are too many in it. That’s the worst of it for it will be a hanging job for all hands except the one who comes it.’ Slipping out soon afterwards, the gleeful muster clerk walked back to his office weighing up his options. He donned a righteous mask then approached the Principal Superintendent of Convicts and reported Blackstone’s and Farrell’s absences from the church muster, no doubt managing to gloss over his failure to previously report these infractions. He then slipped in a reference to his own suspicions.

Around 3 pm, shortly after seeing Thomas Woodward walk into the Bank of Australia, Blackstone heard a knock at his door. His overseer from the lumber yard was standing on the doorstep with unwelcome news. In his willingness to miss the church muster Blackstone had stretched the elastic of his freedom too far and was being snapped back into line. His indulgence of living outside the barracks had just been cancelled. But the constables also suspected Blackstone of an involvement in the robbery. Indeed Chief Constable Jilks’ suspicions had focused on the skilled blacksmith as soon as he saw the tools left in the drain. ‘He can make anything,’ Jilks said with a trace of admiration before he continued wryly: ‘He was the likeliest man to be applied to and to join in a job of this kind.’ The villainous blacksmith was soon transferred to the police’s custody for confinement and examination. George Farrell was also whisked away to the barracks, and the robbery’s architect was the next to be nabbed. The Australian reported: ‘A man named Thomas Turner, an overseer of Government stonemasons, was observed on Monday or Tuesday with a number of notes in his possession which he was endeavouring to change. The circumstance excited suspicion

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in an observer who gave information and the man Turner was apprehended.’

Early on the Wednesday morning, before the newspapers broadcast Turner’s arrest, James John Wood returned to the shoemakers’ shop and broke the news. ‘Thomas Turner has told all he knows about it and he has gone with the constables to get the money,’ he informed Shortland. ‘Has he, by God?’ Shortland cried. His head drooped and a tear ran down his face. ‘The rest are dead men but Turner is out of it now.’ And then he offered one more name to this eager Judas—his own. ‘You remember seeing me come in on Monday as wet as a drowned rat?’ Shortland asked Wood, who could indeed remember Farrell and the overseer leaving the workshop around midday and their drenched state when he returned a couple of hours later. ‘Well, I had been across the racecourse into the bush and had helped move the plant.’ Wood left the shoemakers’ workshop shortly afterwards, pondering how best he could use his knowledge. The Sydney Gazette revealed his decision: On Wednesday morning a letter was found thrust under the Post Office door addressed to the Directors of the Bank of Australia wherein the writer named several individuals in the neighbourhood of Darling Harbour whom he alleges were concerned in the robbery. He also stated where the instruments used in effecting the entry were manufactured. The Chief Constable acting upon the information, vague and suspicious as it was, made a strict search in the places pointed out and apprehended some of the parties named. The writer of this anonymous communication also stated that he had preserved a copy of the letter in order that he might prove himself the author of the information in case it produced the expected result.

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The Gazette’s editor thought it an underhanded strategy, adding: ‘Little faith is to be placed in a statement made in such a manner, besides which there is some reason to suspect that it has been done merely for the purpose of diverting the attention of the police from the real parties, whoever they may be, by setting them on a wrong scent.’ But his conclusion, that it was a diversionary tactic, couldn’t have been further from the truth.

While James John Wood was hunting the robbers, the bank’s attempts to limit the circulation of the stolen notes had placed a stranglehold over the robbers’ ability to fence the plunder. Each had agreed to find a receiver who would exchange their notes for currency, however this created another set of problems. Those greedy enough to snatch at the notes and attempt to exchange them soon found themselves in trouble. What was worse, each of the receivers knew enough to be dangerous. Some of the receivers tried to limit their own risks. Thomas Woodward, who prided himself on his craftiness, reasoned that a freeborn woman had a better chance of successfully exchanging stolen notes so he handed a bundle of Blackstone’s notes to his wife Elizabeth10 and sent her off to the bank. Evidently his claim to Blackstone that he was going to get the last £270 was just a well-acted ruse. Approaching teller Peter Gardner, Elizabeth asked, ‘Can I exchange a quantity of notes?’ She explained that she was carrying £30 or £40, mainly in £1 notes. Gardner asked how she had acquired the notes and Elizabeth offered an explanation and a timeframe. But as he flicked through the notes he realised she was lying—some had been printed after the date she mentioned. He informed the managing director, who called the constables and ordered Elizabeth’s apprehension. The constables seized Thomas Woodward soon afterwards, yet despite his complicity the slippery receiver was discharged within a day. His wife was examined by the magistrates several times over the following week yet she failed to disclose anything. She was eventually released on bail.

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By the end of the week, the newspapers were proclaiming that twenty people had been examined by the police and a number taken before the Bench of Magistrates. They intimated that stonemason Thomas Turner had disclosed the robbers’ identities, and they also reported that the bank had recouped most of the booty. ‘All the abstracted bank bills have been recovered—£600 to £700 in cash, it is understood, yet remaining due,’ announced the Australian. In truth, the press was still being fed misleading information. As the bank reeled from the deadly haemorrhage, the managing director’s public notices gradually disclosed the truth. Complaining bitterly about the continuing circulation of the bank’s old notes, Macvitie raised the reward to 5 per cent of the amount recovered, an intimation of the real state of the recovery process and one supported by the bank’s eventual publication of hundreds of banknote numbers. Supporting the bank’s endeavours, the conservative Sydney Gazette, with a touch of spite, warned the robbers and the community: The robbers will not have got much by their depredation when it is seen how promptly the Bank Directors have discovered the exact number of every note that was taken away on the night of the robbery. If parties therefore have taken the old notes of the Bank, they deserve to be saddled with the loss as every legal precaution has been adopted to render all such notes a nullity and to lead to the detection of the thieves.

Despite these claims, teller Peter Gardner would later confess that the bank staff had been unable to identify most of the stolen notes. He also disclosed that the banknote numbers published in the newspapers were merely possibilities. The liberal press lobbied on the people’s behalf, revealing that the bank directors were refusing to exchange many notes even though they lacked proof that the notes were part of the spoils. To the community, this was not only further evidence of the exclusives’ highhandedness, it exposed their willingness to continue exploiting the masses by casting some of the burden of their own financial losses onto the less fortunate.

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In the meantime, while the authorities continued to haul in Sydney residents for examination, the clergyman’s son had his axe poised. On Monday 22 September, James John Wood signed an official statement implicating William Blackstone and shoemakers George Farrell, John Byrne, Edward Shortland and James Madden in the Bank of Australia robbery. Those not already in the lock-up joined the others behind bars. But the authorities soon realised that, in order to bring these men to trial, they needed more than just the hearsay evidence of one convict— a man who was, in essence, merely a passer-by. They needed a participant to turn informer: either one of the robbers themselves or someone caught with stolen banknotes in their grasp.

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PART IV

HOPE Whilst there are men, and respectable men too, who will take stolen notes, the Bank is ungenerously treated, the ends of public justice are defeated and the prosperity of the Colony retarded. Sydney Gazette, 10 October 1828

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Chapter 9

THE RIPPLES SPREAD The ripples spread None but a knave in heart could give tacit encouragement to such fraudulent transactions as strike at the very root and wellbeing of society. Australian, 19 November 1828

A

s Sydney’s citizens paraded into the Bank of Australia to exchange their old banknotes, scattered among their ranks were men and women clutching notes from the stolen booty. The innocent had received them inadvertently as part of their day-to-day financial transactions while the reckless were hoping to slip their illicitly acquired notes past the authorities without detection. These rambling lines of residents—British-born ‘sterling’ and colonialborn ‘currency’, the originally fettered and the free, the ragged and the a la mode, the callow and the senescent—reflected the broad community impact of the robbery. This was not just a heinous deed offering fodder for the press to be read with relish then gossiped about in the streets. Any residents, with two or more banknotes in their possession were likely to be holding at least one issued by the Bank of Australia and, as the bank directors had commanded them to exchange the notes or suffer the consequences, they had to decide for themselves what to do.

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While some savoured the directors’ plight and attempted to circumvent their decree, most chose the honourable—and safe—option of exchanging the notes. Of course, even here elitism prevailed although the line of demarcation represented wealth rather than social class. The wealthy had a bank director personally approach them to countersign their notes; the mob had to queue. Sixty-year-old Irish transportee Dennis McHue was among them. As he waited his turn, he could never have imagined—and almost certainly never discovered—that the events about to transpire would generate concern among the liberals, debate in the House of Commons and, eventually, the attention of the King. A stonemason, labourer and notorious receiver of stolen goods, McHue had served time in the secondary penal settlements before returning to Sydney in 1826, being reassigned to his wife and reverting to his wicked ways. He carried a £1 note when he walked into the Bank of Australia on 23 September and asked to have it exchanged. When questioned, he claimed to have acquired it around six months previously. After he swore an affidavit to that effect, the teller checked the bank’s records and discovered that the note had been issued only three months previously. McHue was shown the evidence. ‘I should have told you a different story,’ he said hastily. ‘I found the note amongst some clothes belonging to my wife since she came out of the hospital.’ McHue was arrested and taken before the Bench of Magistrates where the Principal Superintendent of Police and a Bank of Australia director were presiding. ‘Guilty of wilful and corrupt perjury in a matter under investigation!’ they announced, basing their judgment on McHue’s contradictory statements while answering questions at the bank. The magistrates sentenced him to three years in a penal settlement and transferred him to the Phoenix prison hulk to await orders for his transportation. The Phoenix was originally a convict transport which had foundered shortly after entering Sydney Harbour in 1824, and had later been

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purchased by the government to solve the problem of overcrowding in Sydney Gaol. While it also housed feeble government convicts and witnesses brought to Sydney to testify in criminal cases, its main function was as a holding pen for the worst male offenders, those awaiting transportation to a secondary penal settlement. When Chief Justice Forbes and his entourage visited the Phoenix two months later,11 McHue handed them a petition.‘I am wrongfully confined on board the hulk,’ he protested, ‘awaiting transportation to a penal settlement for swearing to having had a £1 Bank of Australia note in my possession longer than I could have had it. I was sentenced by two magistrates who are directors of that bank.’ He explained that he had not intended to commit perjury but had been charged and convicted when the bank directors discovered that the note had been issued ‘five months’ rather than six months previously. Chief Justice Forbes was concerned. Were the Bank of Australia directors—many of whom were magistrates—breaching the law in their zeal to punish anyone connected with the robbery? The court supplied McHue with legal representation and his barrister brought a writ of habeas corpus claiming that the old man had been illegally confined, that his conviction was void because his ‘perjury’ had been committed in the bank’s offices and therefore lacked the necessary legal proof, and that the case against him represented a conflict of interest as one of the convicting magistrates was a Bank of Australia director. The AttorneyGeneral had little choice but to agree and ordered McHue’s immediate discharge. Governor Darling and the bank directors were aghast. Punishing those caught with stolen notes was their only effective strategy for warning the community against conspiring with the robbers or profiting from the robbery. That McHue’s misrepresentations failed to prove that he had knowingly proffered bank robbery booty for exchange (the reprobate might have previously acquired the note through some other illegal transaction) was considered unimportant by these single-minded men. Indeed Darling had a reputation for ignoring due process within the legal system when he wanted to punish those suspected of criminality

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or of undermining his authority and, according to his own lights, the bank robbers and receivers were guilty of both transgressions. As McHue was rowed from the hulk across Sydney Harbour to the cove then climbed up to George Street and tramped back to the Hyde Park Barracks, he expected to be reassigned to his wife. Instead, the Principal Superintendent of Convicts locked him up. The chief constable and the bank’s managing director urged even harsher treatment: ‘McHue is strongly suspected of being privy to the bank robbery and it is desirable to keep him from any communication with his fellows.’ The superintendent obliged, separating McHue from the other prisoners and placing him in a solitary confinement cell in the upper level of the barracks. Governor Darling also acted promptly. Despite the Attorney-General’s admission that they lacked the evidence to uphold McHue’s conviction, Darling ordered his immediate relocation to the Moreton Bay penal settlement. When McHue sailed a few days later, Darling’s accompanying letter informed the commandant that the old man was not a transportee facing punishment but a prisoner in government service who had been sent to Moreton Bay to break his bad connexions and to curtail his illicit activities. The Governor would not learn for some time that in acting so dictatorially he had handed the liberals another martyr for their cause and ensured that the repercussions from the Bank of Australia robbery would play a role in his own political demise. The liberal Monitor was the first to raise questions about McHue’s treatment. After describing him as a ‘poor old Irishman’, one of the ‘quietest men’ in the colony, the newspaper upbraided the authorities: The Superintendent of Convicts for reasons best known to himself kept McHue in the hot putrid air of the barrack dungeon for six long tedious weeks without bringing any charge against him. How this gentleman could all the time breathe the fresh air of his own dwelling and enjoy his meals while poor McHue, above 60 years old, was confined in a dungeon, we know not. The man suddenly disappeared. An habeas corpus was moved but it could not be discovered where the poor wretch was gone to or what had become of him. It is conjectured he has been

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The Monitor’s editor was rebuked for his melodramatic misrepresentations and he printed a snide retraction. But publication stamped these accusations with the hallmark of validity. The original newspaper report joined other documents carried to England by a colonial liberal to serve as ammunition in a venomous political campaign against Governor Darling.12 The liberals of New South Wales had long been complaining that Darling was cruel, tyrannical and unsuited to governing a colony that was no longer just a large cage for crooks. While the colony’s residents were taking tentative steps towards political freedom, the autocratic Darling was trying to push them back into the cells. Demands for Darling’s recall had regularly appeared in the in-tray of the Secretary of State for the Colonies and kept the New South Wales Governor firmly in the sights of Britain’s Radical parliamentarians and liberal press. Britain was facing a watershed in the years after the robbery. The death of George IV in 1830 and the demise soon afterwards of the conservative Tories’ lengthy reign saw the curtain fall on the broader Regency period. The Tories’ successors, the more liberal Whigs, recognised that Britain desperately needed social and political reform and drafted the divisive Reform Bill which eventually passed into law in 1832. It legislated wider suffrage for the nation thereby undermining the landed classes’ control over Parliament and also over positions of power and prestige in the British Empire. The handful of Radical parliamentarians led by Joseph Hume also thrust their weight behind the Reform Bill. Among other concerns, they had long loathed the system of nepotism (known as patronage) which determined most political, judicial and executive appointments, Governor Darling’s included. Their strident complaints about the unsuitability of so many of these appointees—‘chinless wonders’ they called them—had regularly been brushed aside by the powermongers who thrived on the

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patronage system. So two years after the robbery, when the Radicals received papers providing apparent evidence of Darling’s flagrant abuses of his power and position, they used them to ambush him in Parliament. Prior to reaching the Radicals, however, creative embellishments had been added to the paperwork describing McHue’s mistreatment by Governor Darling in the aftermath of the robbery. McHue had left funds to support his wife, the papers claimed, yet Darling refused to release them and the ‘poor old woman’ had died of starvation on Sydney’s streets. McHue had reportedly also died in Moreton Bay. Shocked, the House of Commons agreed to present McHue’s case to the King, who demanded that Governor Darling account for his actions. In truth, McHue was still alive and had himself refused permission for his wife to receive an allowance, declaring that she was the cause of all his troubles and unworthy of any support from his hard-earned money. The Principal Superintendent of Convicts confirmed that Ann McHue’s life had been a continued course of the ‘lowest and most disgusting debauchery’ with numerous incarcerations for prostitution and drunkenness. Parliament lost interest. But in the intervening year, before the truth reached Britain regarding McHue’s case and some of the other claims made against Darling, the ferocity of the attack created such a nasty political atmosphere that it contributed to the Colonial Office’s concerns about the Governor and they decided to recall him. Although later knighted, Darling never again served the British government. The colonial liberals had little genuine interest in McHue’s difficulties and after his case had served their political ends, they quickly forgot about him. When he petitioned for his release four years after the robbery, the authorities realised that they had no grounds for continuing to detain him at Moreton Bay. Nevertheless, instead of returning him to Sydney as he requested, they relocated him to Port Macquarie where he remained in government service until 1838. That £1 note, whether part of the Bank of Australia booty or not, cost him a decade out of his life, three times as long as his original sentence and more time, in fact, than suffered

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by others who would be legally convicted of receiving stolen Bank of Australia notes.

Meanwhile, in the days following the robbery, the authorities’ net again swept dangerously close to William Blackstone. His landlord Thomas Seeney was picked up on 24 September, allegedly for having forged the tools used in the robbery. Perhaps the police were hoping to frighten him into informing on Blackstone. If so, they didn’t succeed. Lacking the necessary evidence to charge Seeney, they released him a couple of days later. A tip-off on the 25th led police to a dwelling in Darling Harbour where a large part of the booty was reportedly secreted. But a thorough search failed to uncover any of the coins or notes. ‘The police are still on the alert in endeavouring to discover the perpetrators of the late robbery at the Bank,’ reported the Sydney Gazette on the 26th. ‘Nine individuals are in custody but none of the examinations have as yet been made public.’ Another two men picked up on the 26th were eventually set free while protests from a third indicated that the authorities were becoming desperate in their hunt for notes, evidence, conspirators and, by this time, anyone else they could cajole or dragoon into turning informant. ‘I was apprehended a few days ago,’ an irate Richard Kelly complained in a public advertisement, ‘on suspicion of some concern about Bank of Australia notes but what I know not. I was hand-cuffed in the public streets and marched along to the watch-house like a common felon.’ As it turned out, no further action was taken against the colonial-born resident. The authorities’ attention had swung to his brother James. Twenty-three-year-old James Kelly had already spent time in Sydney Gaol a year before as a result of an incident he later described as an ‘unfortunate affair’. A giant in comparison to many of the povertystunted transportees, he was six feet one-and-a-quarter inches with a mop of dark brown hair, a complexion burnt to a dark hue by a lifetime

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farming in the harsh Australian sunlight, blue eyes and the curious congenital malformation of contracted top joints on the little finger of each hand. Evidently considered a formidable foe, he had been provoked into a ‘pugilistic combat’ by a man named John Parker who then had the misfortune to die during the fight. Kelly was lucky to escape a conviction at the ensuing manslaughter trial. Perhaps such a fortuitous outcome contributed to James Kelly’s cockiness. Shortly after his brother was marched to the police office, Kelly sauntered into the Bank of Australia and up to teller Peter Gardner. He pulled a bundle of notes out of his pocket and tossed them onto the counter. ‘I have a parcel of your old notes,’ he declared. ‘I wish to have them exchanged.’ Gardner picked up the notes and counted them—£209. As he jotted down the details he asked: ‘Have you heard of the bank robbery?’ When Kelly acknowledged that he had, Gardner told him that he would need to account for his possession of the notes and sign an affidavit. ‘I have no objection to doing so,’ Kelly replied, and explained that the notes were his father’s and that most had been in his father’s possession for some time. When asked to be more specific, he disclosed that his father had acquired them prior to 1 July. Both Gardner and the managing director confirmed that Kelly knew enough about his father’s affairs to be able to sign the affidavit, and that he understood the consequences if he lied under oath. When the legalities were completed, Gardner mentioned that the notes had to remain at the bank to be entered into the bank’s books. ‘I hope you won’t change any of them,’ Kelly urged with concern. To remove any grounds for suspicion, Gardner made him sit down and write his name on each of the notes. The teller was carefully monitoring the evidence. ‘The moment I opened the notes,’ he later reported, ‘I recognised some of them as being among those stolen from the strongroom.’ Some were peculiarly marked, some signed by a clerk who had only recently commenced working at the bank, and some issued only a few days before the robbery. James Kelly was arrested.

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Despite pressure from the authorities, Kelly stubbornly maintained his innocence throughout his examination, incarceration and trial two months later. Legal representation, however, didn’t help him; he was convicted and sentenced to seven years’ transportation. Petitions from his father, testimonials from some Sydney worthies and accolades from the Moreton Bay commandant led to his release with a pardon in 1832. When he sailed back to Sydney, he left old Dennis McHue still in service there.

The quest for suspects, notes and coins continued. On 27 September a constable swooped on a house at Brickfield Hill. ‘He apprehended three men,’ reported the Sydney Gazette, ‘who had been offering for sale £5 and £10 notes at 10 shillings each!’ Two of the men were discharged the following day. Their companion John Morwood was not so lucky. Morwood was one of those souls fortune rarely smiled upon. He had been sentenced to seven years’ transportation in 1818 when only fourteen years of age and the flaxen-haired, hazel-eyed little convict, only four feet, nine inches when he arrived in Sydney two years later, undoubtedly suffered immeasurably at the hands of his fellow inmates during his years of incarceration. After absconding from the Emu Plains Government Farm in 1823, he received a two-year sentence of colonial transportation to Port Macquarie, where shoemaker John Byrne was already stationed and future bank robbers John Creighton, William Blackstone and James Dingle would soon arrive. The boy had grown to a healthy five foot seven by the time he returned to Sydney late in 1825 and was issued with his precious certificate of freedom. Unfortunately he lost it. Wishing to relocate to Tasmania in 1827, Morwood applied for a new certificate. The Principal Superintendent of Convicts was absent so the Colonial Secretary produced a memorandum listing the required details and had it countersigned by a clerk in the Convicts’ Office. A year later when Morwood was asked to produce his certificate of freedom, he handed over the memorandum.‘The document he produced relative to his freedom was of so suspicious a character,’

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wrote Hobart’s assistant police magistrate, ‘as to warrant his detention until an answer might be received from Sydney.’ Confined in gaol under suspicion of being a runaway, Morwood eventually asked to be forwarded to Sydney so he could prove his claim to freedom. Arriving on the day of the bank robbery, he was initially lodged in Sydney Gaol then released a couple of days later after his claim was verified. Soon afterwards Morwood allegedly took possession of four of the stolen notes with a combined value of £11. While he and his companions had evidently sold all the larger denominational notes they were peddling for a pittance, Morwood was unable to jettison the smaller notes before the constables grabbed him. Committed to stand trial, he was transferred to Sydney Gaol to await the commencement of the next Criminal Session. Morwood was an ideal candidate to turn informer. Without the funds to employ legal counsel or the contacts to serve as defence or character witnesses, he would have no chance of an acquittal when he came up against the bank’s team of skilled lawyers. The authorities coaxed and threatened but Morwood resisted the temptation. It was an unfortunate decision. Transported to the Moreton Bay penal settlement for seven years, he was unable to withstand its rigours and died there a few years later.

In the meantime, another constable had made an unexpected discovery. A Rocks publican mentioned having seen loose mortar in a public privy near his skilling13 so the constable went into his own bedroom, which was adjacent to the skilling, and looked up to see where the mortar might have originated. He spotted a roll of papers sticking out from under the rafter. Retrieving and unrolling them, he discovered Bank of Australia notes—£140 in total. At the police office a short time later he saw James Lee being questioned. Lee’s face was familiar. ‘I think I recollect seeing him near the privy where I found the notes,’ the constable reported, ‘but I cannot swear positively.’ Carpenter James Lee was another reckless ‘currency lad’. Visitors to New South Wales in the 1820s generally praised these colonial-born lads

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and lasses for their honesty, sobriety and law-abiding natures while lambasting the attitudes and behaviour of their convict parents. But easy money can tempt the lazy and the greedy whatever their background and the abundant spoils from the Bank of Australia robbery were an enticement indeed. Late in September, Lee dropped in to the debtors’ section of Sydney Gaol to visit builder James Gough, one of the many colonial residents suffering the effects of the recent economic depression. The builder had been locked up for a £70 debt, a sum larger than most artisans would earn in a year. ‘I have something of importance to communicate to you,’ Lee murmured to Gough after the two had exchanged greetings. ‘I have a number of stolen notes of the Bank of Australia. Can you do anything with them?’ ‘I cannot do anything with them,’ Gough said regretfully. Yet as they continued talking, avarice tempted the debt-ridden builder into reconsidering his options. Although he couldn’t risk using the stolen notes to buy his way out of gaol, he could perhaps pass them on to his creditors. He told Lee to bring the notes to the gaol, adding that in return he would provide a share of whatever he received for them. Natural curiosity then prompted him to inquire about the robbers. ‘The only one who has done any good is Jack the Shingler—John Creighton,’ Lee reported. Although the young carpenter did not reveal his source, the notes were undoubtedly part of Creighton’s stash. Sydney was only a small town and both he and Creighton followed the same trade. The two men agreed that Gough should send his fourteen-year-old son to Lee’s house for the handover. The boy brought back to the gaol £96 worth of old Bank of Australia notes which Gough counted in front of his son and a fellow debtor, Elijah Cheetham. He then checked the notes’ numbers against those published in the newspapers and was relieved to discover they were not listed. When James Lee returned to the gaol the following day, he complained that he needed money and asked for some cash. Gough sent him on his way with two £1 Bank of New South Wales notes, promising him £5 in

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total.‘I will return tomorrow bringing more notes,’ Lee told him. Glancing around, he grabbed a carpenter’s plough. ‘This will serve as an excuse for my repeated visits. Caution is necessary as I have been twice stopped and searched by the constables about the robbery.’ Backwards and forwards the carpenter went, one day bringing £110 and a complaint that the notes found in the privy had foiled his plans to bring more, the next day demanding the return of £20. ‘The whole of the notes are planted under a savage dog,’ he explained, ‘and I cannot get at them during the daytime.’ When he later brought another £50, Gough borrowed two new £10 notes from another gaol inmate and fluttered them in front of him. ‘If you bring me the whole quantity of notes, you can have these two £10 notes,’ he coaxed. Lee remained silent. ‘How much do you have?’ Gough asked. ‘About £2000,’ the lad admitted. Gough inquired if it was all in notes. ‘There are dollars somewhere in the water at Cockle Bay [Darling Harbour], breast high,’ Lee replied. He considered his options for a moment then agreed to deliver the remaining notes. Yet even Lee must have realised that £20 was a poor rate of return— only 1 per cent in fact—for the whole haul. Despite receiving only £2 in return for handing over £236 in stolen notes Lee never reappeared. James Gough was released from Sydney Gaol early in October, his debt having mysteriously been paid. ‘I do not know who satisfied these debts for me,’ he later claimed, ‘but I believe Captain Bunn did.’ Former sea captain and current Bank of Australia director, George Bunn, had been appointed lead robbery investigator by the bank’s managing director. In 1821 Bunn had sailed the fastest ever voyage from England to Tasmania, until his convict transport was becalmed at the mouth of the Derwent River. During the following years he successfully turned his hand to a variety of commercial activities. He was clever, enterprising and tenacious, the qualities needed to outwit the cunning robbers, and he had a plan. As it transpired, James Lee’s precautions had not fooled the gaol officials. Suspecting him of an involvement with the robbers, the authorities

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advised the gaolers to monitor his visits and mentioned Gough and Lee’s names to the Bank of Australia directors. Soon afterwards Captain Bunn visited Gough in gaol and offered a tantalising inducement. ‘I described to him all I knew,’ Gough later recounted, ‘that James Lee told me he had found the notes and knew them to be part of the stolen notes.’ But Gough did not tell Bunn the full story—that he had already acquired some of the notes. ‘I told him I could get possession of them,’ he admitted. ‘Captain Bunn offered to get me out of gaol if I thought I could discover the perpetrators of the robbery. I promised to give him what information I could.’ Soon after his release Gough received a bundle of banknotes from Captain Bunn. The money was to serve as the bait in Bunn’s clever plan: he wanted Gough to entrap the robbers. Frustrated at the community’s lack of interest in the rewards and willingness to continue accepting and circulating old Bank of Australia notes, the directors decided to use Gough as a stool pigeon. Not only was he to purchase Lee’s stolen notes and to try to elicit further information about the robbers, he was to pass on these invalid Bank of Australia notes to anyone else attempting to fence stolen notes. When these notes reappeared at the bank they would, if everything went to plan, provide a paper trail leading back to the robbers. But when Lee failed to return, Gough handed over the stolen notes. Soon afterwards the police arrested the foolhardy youth. Meanwhile the bank’s entrapment plans faced another hiccup. One of the drawbacks of living in a penal settlement was the preponderance of thieves in the neighbourhood.

At 5 pm on 9 October a young colonial-born couple, carpenter James Martin and his wife Susannah, called at James Gough’s house in Cambridge Street. Gough’s wife opened the door.14 ‘Is Gough at home,’ James Martin asked, ‘or has he left a sum of money for me?’

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Prior to leaving home a short time earlier, Gough had indeed left £25 in new Bank of Australia notes for the young carpenter, although he had provided strict instructions for his wife to follow before she handed them over. Mrs Gough ushered the couple into a bedroom where a dressing case perched on a table. Opening the case, she tempted them with the sight of the notes then refused to hand any over until James Martin signed a receipt. ‘I will give a receipt presently,’ Martin agreed, then glanced with concern at his wife. As Mrs Gough firmly closed the lid of the dressing case and placed a milk jug on top, the heavily pregnant Susannah Martin slumped onto a seat next to the table. Gough’s street-smart son James— the same boy who had carried James Lee’s stolen notes to the gaol—noticed Susannah surreptitiously removing the milk jug. He decided to stow the dressing case more securely. Unnoticed by Mrs Gough, he lifted it from the table and slid it under the bed’s counterpane. A short time later Susannah stood up, waddled over to the bed and leant against it for a few minutes. She then slipped out of the house and headed towards the backyard privy. Eleven-year-old Mary Gough and another girl offered to accompany her. ‘Go back,’ Susannah said. ‘I do not want you with me.’ A few minutes later she hurried back into the house impatient to be gone. After the Martins departed, Mrs Gough realised that the dressing case was missing. ‘Mother, it’s all right,’ the boy soothed while his sister Mary triumphantly pulled back the bed’s counterpane. But the dressing case was gone. Mrs Gough immediately dispatched a messenger to the police and sent young James after the couple. Surprisingly the Martins returned with the boy. ‘You stole the money!’ Mrs Gough accused Susannah Martin. ‘The children are the only ones who saw where the money was put,’ she angrily retorted. The furious Mrs Gough repeated her accusation and boldly told them that the constables were coming. The heavily pregnant woman lashed out, knocking Mrs Gough down, punching her and tearing out

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some of her hair. Then the couple fled before the constables arrived. Mrs Gough later discovered the dressing case stuffed down the privy. The notes, of course, were missing. The Martins had assumed that stealing stolen notes was a harmless gamble and were startled to learn that the police had been called. They too were apprehended and joined the other miscreants in Sydney Gaol.

While the bank robbery investigators conspired to trap the robbers and continued to dangle the rewards in front of those soon to face trial, a butterfly fluttered into the Bank of Australia’s net. She was the comely Mrs Sarah Payne, the sister-in-law of wealthy emancipist James Underwood, the owner of the Bank of Australia building. The brief details noted by the colonial authorities—brown hair, hazel eyes and a fair ruddy complexion—fail to capture any sense of Sarah’s beauty or the charms that ran in her family. Although she and her younger sister Elizabeth had arrived as transportees in 1815, both married well: Sarah to wealthy merchant, brewer and pastoralist John Payne, in 1824, and the younger Elizabeth to the much older, twice widowed and very wealthy James Underwood a year later. The Paynes settled in George Street, a few hundred yards from the Bank of Australia building. Early in November, Sarah sent her cook to the bank to exchange an old £1 Bank of Australia note; her husband’s business difficulties and her own recent lengthy illness had left them short of cash. But teller Peter Gardner refused to exchange the old note, telling the cook that Sarah had to personally present it and account for her possession. Sarah stormed into the bank a short time later. ‘I think it a very hard case that I cannot get a single note changed,’ she exclaimed, glaring at Gardner. ‘Your case is the very reverse of being hard,’ Gardner reproached her, reminding her that she and her husband had continued to circulate old Bank of Australia notes after he had personally asked them not to do so. Nevertheless, he agreed to exchange the note if she would swear to

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a lengthy possession, and he then agreed to exchange a bundle of other notes she professed to have, after examining them of course, if she brought them straight down. Around 2.30 pm Sarah returned to the bank. Her face appeared flushed, Gardner noticed, and she was perspiring. ‘Here is a parcel of your notes,’ she told him, ‘some of which I have had in my possession for three or four years.’ Gardner took the notes and flicked through them. ‘What is the amount?’ he asked as he looked up at her. ‘Three hundred pounds,’ she said, wiping her forehead with a handkerchief. Gardner began counting the notes. Sarah sat down on a seat near his counter. He kept glancing at her, noting her profuse sweating and evident agitation. ‘There are more than you stated,’ he said. ‘Oh, I am so very nervous today,’ she said, ‘and I have a quantity more at home and I don’t know exactly the amount I have brought.’ ‘You have brought £320 worth,’ he said and inquired about the other notes she had mentioned. ‘I think I have about £100 all in ones,’ she said. As Gardner bundled the notes together, he explained that she would need to sign all the notes and escorted her into the managing director’s office. As she scribbled her initials, Gardner noticed that her initial agitation had eased and that her complexion had regained its normal pale colouring. He started questioning her, asking how long she had held the notes and from whom she had received them. ‘Oh, it does not suit me to tell you that,’ she answered flippantly. ‘If you knew the situation I was placed in, you would not ask me such a question.’ Nevertheless, she then revealed that she had often received money from people unknown to her husband and had held many of the notes for three or four years. Yet Gardner recollected that during his visit to her home six weeks previously Sarah had declared that she had no Bank of Australia notes of her own and her husband only a handful. He informed her that she

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would need to provide more detailed information about her acquisition of the notes. ‘I have been told I had no occasion to answer a single question,’ she said, startled. ‘Who told you that?’ ‘Mr James Underwood,’ she replied. ‘What?’ Gardner asked with surprise. ‘Does Mr Underwood know that you have these notes?’ ‘Oh no,’ she declared. ‘He does not know. It was in conversation I heard him say so.’ Gardner then disclosed that she would also need to sign an affidavit. ‘I have been told there is no occasion to make an affidavit and that all those who have done so in these cases have been quite laughed at,’ she exclaimed. ‘Nobody cares or feels anything about the bank being robbed. In fact all persons I have heard talk upon the subject are rather pleased at the bank being robbed than otherwise.’ Gardner was astonished. ‘Is the bank disliked?’ he asked. ‘On what grounds are people pleased at the bank being robbed? If a man is robbed, his neighbour in general does not rejoice at his being robbed. If my neighbour had been robbed, instead of lending assistance to get rid of the property he had been robbed of, I would render him all the assistance to protect his property.’ ‘I cannot tell the reason or account for it,’ she replied dismissively. ‘But it is the fact and the feeling does exist. I would prefer taking the advice of a friend previous to making an affidavit and I will come again tomorrow morning.’ She stalked off. Gardner, who had been examining the notes more closely, called out, ‘There is rather a singular feature in your notes. They appear to have been in a wet place.’ ‘Oh, I keep my notes where everybody can’t get at them,’ she tossed back at him. Sarah Payne reappeared two days later and demanded the return of £100 of her notes, admitting that she no longer needed to exchange the remainder as she had already circulated them. Gardner soundly rebuked

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her then steered her into Macvitie’s office, where the managing director talked to her about making an affidavit. ‘I have taken the advice of a friend and I decline making an affidavit,’ the imperious ex-convict announced. Macvitie warned that he would have to call a meeting of the board of directors to hear her explanation. ‘I want £100 and I decline waiting until a board is assembled,’ she replied haughtily. ‘I will write a note when it is convenient for me to attend.’ Then she flounced out of the bank. When the board of directors convened that evening, Gardner reported that Sarah Payne’s stockpile included some of the torn and damaged notes he had been storing in a special section of his cash box ready for destruction. Sarah was taken into custody and joined the others already in the lock-up. The inducements to turn informer were soon directed towards this attractive woman who for many years had enjoyed a life of ease and luxury. She would not live so comfortably if she was convicted, Captain Bunn warned her, painting a picture of ironed and bleeding ankles, of ragged clothes and inedible rations, of the heat and the mosquitoes and the diseases at Moreton Bay. The rewards suddenly seemed very tempting.

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Chapter 10

RETRIBUTION Retribution Be careful what you wish for. Anonymous

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n 18 November 1828 the final Court of Criminal Session for the year began. The procession of malefactors entering the Supreme Court building in King Street included those facing charges connected with the bank robbery. Some, ironed and chained, were marched there from Sydney Gaol. Others, out on bail, hovered nearby waiting for their cases to be called. Family and friends jammed into the courtroom joining those eager for the entertainment. The first case connected with the robbery, although the community did not know it, was that of the dressing case thieves, James and Susannah Martin, who faced Chief Justice Forbes on 21 November. The prosecution’s witnesses included Mrs Gough and the two children, however James Gough himself was not called to testify. Chief Justice Forbes later alluded to his surprise and concern at Gough’s non-appearance although admitting that he had known more was at stake than just the theft of a dressing case and sundry notes. Indeed, the court was never informed that the notes were invalid and were part of a crafty plan to entrap the Bank of

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Australia robbers. Such a revelation would have destroyed any chance of the plan succeeding. The jury eventually acquitted James Martin but found Susannah guilty. Forbes deferred sentencing her as she was about to give birth and his continued uneasiness about the propriety of her conviction led to further delays. Ten months later he wrote to the Governor to report the disappointing news: the entrapment operation had failed because the Bank of New South Wales had accepted the invalid banknotes without noting who brought them in. Under the circumstances, Forbes recommended pardoning Susannah Martin; the Governor complied. Clearly Sydney’s citizens were not alone in spurning the Bank of Australia’s pleas to be circumspect when accepting their notes.

Three days after Susannah Martin’s conviction the sting’s initial target, carpenter James Lee, faced Justice James Dowling. Lee’s was the first case directly connected with the bank robbery and spectators flocked to the courthouse. Five barristers strutted into the courtroom: three appointed by the prosecution and two serving the defendant. The newspaper reporters seated in the correspondents’ box avidly scribbled notes. Among the spectators was a concerned John Creighton, the source of Lee’s stolen banknotes. Would his name be mentioned? James Gough was the first to testify. He recounted his conversations with James Lee and described the note exchanges. He admitted that he had not told Captain Bunn he had already acquired some of the stolen notes when Bunn proposed his deal, but that he had agreed to participate anyway. Not surprisingly, he made no mention of the entrapment plan. The defence proposed that Gough had his own agenda, that with a large family to support and a hefty debt hanging over him the bank’s £100 reward had proved too enticing—James Lee was to be his sacrifice. Susannah Martin’s recently acquitted husband was then called to testify that Gough had tried to bribe him to speak out against James Lee. But the suggestion of Gough’s duplicity was undermined by James Martin’s

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reluctant admission that Gough’s family had testified against him at his own trial a few days previously. When Justice Dowling summed up the case for the jury he expressed reservations about Gough’s evidence, the prosecution’s primary witness, noting that it cast suspicion upon Gough’s own activities and honesty. The jury hadn’t the same reservations. After a short consultation they found James Lee guilty. Some months later he was transported to the Moreton Bay penal settlement where he served the full term of his sevenyear sentence. Meanwhile an alarmed John Creighton had hurried from the courtroom. Gough had indeed mentioned his name when recounting his conversations with James Lee. He had even intimated that Creighton was one of the robbers.

On 18 December 1828 Sarah Payne sashayed into the courtroom. Three lawyers represented her, including Sidney Stephen, who had served as counsel for most of the other receivers, and the talented William Charles Wentworth. With such powerful legal backing, she had dismissed all inducements to turn informer. Sarah’s legal team campaigned vigorously in her defence and her trial lasted from 11 am until nearly 2 am the following day. Although defendants were not permitted to testify in their own defence for fear of self-incrimination, Sarah Payne’s counsellors helped her craft a written defence. She protested that much of teller Peter Gardner’s testimony was untrue, that her flushed face when she arrived at the bank was a consequence of the warm day and fatigue caused by her recent illness, and that she had been putting aside money for her daughter without realising the problems it would create. Despite Sarah’s attractions and entreaties, the gentlemen of the jury were not swayed. ‘Guilty,’ they soon announced. However her charms compelled them to leave the gaol door ajar. ‘We recommend the prisoner to mercy on the ground of previous good conduct.’

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Judge Dowling chose to ignore the plea for mercy and verbally lashed her at the sentencing two weeks later: The Court deeply laments that a person in your decent and respectable condition of life should have suffered yourself to be betrayed into the commission of so serious an offence. Living in comfort, placed above the temptations of want, you suffered yourself to descend to a violation of the law without any one circumstance of palliation. The hungry and miserable outcast upon whom any sense of obligation to society is lost may be driven by circumstances from the paths of honesty, and towards such a person pity and compassion may be extended on account of immoral degradation. But what sympathy can be felt when no such palliating circumstances are to be found? The shameful and degraded situation in which you are now placed is a necessary and just consequence of the guilt into which you have been betrayed.

Then he sentenced her to seven years’ transportation. ‘At the conclusion of this judgment,’ reported the Sydney Gazette, ‘there was a general feeling of sympathy for the prisoner who is possessed of considerable personal attractions and has heretofore moved in a respectable sphere.’ Sarah Payne was forwarded to the Moreton Bay penal settlement where she bewitched the tyrant of Brisbane Town, forcing his superiors to admonish him for providing her with undue favours. Appeals for a remission of her sentence regularly appeared on the Governor’s desk and a few years later she was brought back to Sydney, discharged into the custody of her brother-in-law James Underwood, and pardoned. She never publicly disclosed the source of her stolen notes.

The Criminal Session ended on 6 January 1829 without any of the bank robbers facing trial. Despite James John Wood’s allegations against the five suspects—robbers William Blackstone and George Farrell as well as

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shoemakers John Byrne, Edward Shortland and James Madden—the Attorney-General knew that Wood’s evidence was not enough for a conviction. He would need another informer. Yet astonishingly no one but the clergyman’s son had squealed. Not the robbers themselves, who financially might have gained more from fingering their partners. Not the unfortunate receivers who had found themselves clutching fool’s gold and might have demanded immunity and sent the authorities sniffing in the right direction. Nor anyone else with a peripheral connection: Dingle’s apprentice, Blackstone’s landlord, or any other employer, employee, neighbour, friend or enemy who might have seen or overheard or guessed something. It was as if a conspiracy of silence had enveloped the community.

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PART V

ANGER One of the fellows is a great fool that he has not yet jumped at the absolute pardon offered by the Government. Sydney Gazette, 8 October 1828

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Chapter 11

AN UNEASY INTERLUDE An uneasy interlude A good fellow is one who never confesses a theft or gives evidence against an associate. Peter Cunningham, Two Years in New South Wales

A

s the receivers cowered before the Supreme Court judges, William Blackstone remained in custody: initially in the Hyde Park Barracks, then facing examination at the police office, perhaps once more in the barracks and finally in the Phoenix hulk. George Farrell and the shoemaker suspects John Byrne, Edward Shortland and James Madden soon joined him there. The decision to incarcerate these men in the hulk was prompted by a letter from robbery investigator Captain George Bunn. Using James John Wood’s information as his source, Bunn advised the Governor that the five men were all implicated in the robbery. ‘Blackstone made the tools,’ wrote Bunn, ‘and Blackstone, Farrell, Byrne and Madden were doubtless in the drain. Shortland was an accessory before and after the fact.’ Bunn asked the Governor to dispose of them so they would not be thrown again on the public. Governor Darling obliged. The five men

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were shipped across to the Phoenix on 23 October 1828—‘for trial’ according to the admission registers. Although first moored in Sydney Cove, the hulk had been towed to Lavender Bay on the northern side of the harbour by 1828. This new location allowed greater security and easier access to Goat Island, where the men toiled at building an arsenal. Shackled together in chain gangs they blasted the rock face, quarried the rubble, smashed rocks into smaller chunks, hauled them away and eventually began building the powder magazine, a task still to be completed when the Phoenix was abandoned a decade later. At night they returned to the hulk, where they swung in hammocks in eight-man cells. The deck, partly covered with an awning, provided mess room facilities and an exercise area. Nearby, the omnipresent flogging triangle grimly warned those who contemplated escape. Many were keen to do so. While government reports paid tribute to the hulk’s healthy environment—clean air and water, whitewashed walls, regularly swabbed decks and floors—the inmates suffered from the greed and cruelty of the officials: starved because of widespread pilfering of rations; flogged if they dared to complain. With a population larger than many colonial towns, the Phoenix was a hive of activity. Inmates who were blacksmiths, boatmen, carpenters, coopers, shipwrights and hospital attendants had essential skills and from their ranks the superintendent chose unpaid workers. Blackstone’s talents were appropriated for the hulk community rather than the chain gangs and he was responsible for bolting, mending and unlocking the prisoners’ irons as required. A few days after Blackstone’s incarceration, he received two visitors: his friend Thomas Seeney and the concerned overseer of the lumber yard blacksmiths. The desperate robber begged Seeney to repay a loan so he could purchase the items that made life bearable. Not surprisingly, Blackstone neither saw nor heard anything from his duplicitous fence, Thomas Woodward, so he decided to pursue his quest from inside the hulk. Pleas for assistance through his friend Seeney elicited a £1 note and eventually another £1 note and two £5 notes.

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Seeney would later admit: ‘I did not send Woodward’s money to Blackstone but I sent him provisions and tobacco and once I gave him two dollars.’ Blackstone also cajoled the boatswain’s mate into helping and he reported back that Woodward said: ‘I am afraid to send Blackstone any money, but I will send any kind of property that he might want.’ Three or four times he supplied the luxuries of tea, sugar and tobacco in order to silence their continued demands. Robbers Dingle and Creighton also visited Blackstone and Farrell in the hulk under the pretence of seeing another man, and they brought bread and clean linen in addition to the usual luxuries. Dingle had slipped out of the authorities’ clutches despite being the first locked up after the robbery. The wily ringleader had withstood the police’s interrogations for two or three weeks and, as a time-expired convict, he could not be held indefinitely. Creighton, another expiree, had also evaded long-term detention despite the implications in Gough’s evidence. As the new year dawned, tension gnawed at those locked in the hulk. Robbers Blackstone and Farrell stubbornly resisted any urge or enticement to point the finger at their partners. Suspects Byrne, Shortland and Madden stoically buttoned their lips. But each eyed the others, wondering if someone would cave. Meanwhile their scheming ringleader had a new plan in mind.

It was dusk on Friday 2 January 1829 as Jane New hovered in the doorway of the Shipwright Arms in Cambridge Street. An alluring convict who would soon become known as ‘the notorious Jane New’15, she was probably enjoying this evening of freedom. She was about to face trial in the Supreme Court and it might be her last. Out of the twilight a man approached her. ‘Would you step over to the opposite side of the street?’ he asked. ‘I have something most material to mention on the subject of your trial which is to be brought on tomorrow.’ Curious, Jane followed him.

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The man glanced around then murmured: ‘In the event of your being found guilty you will be transported to Moreton Bay. I have a great many notes which might be useful to you there as you might sell them to persons who would be returning by the same vessel. As your husband has plenty of money, you might request him to give you what you please.’ Jane was a canny woman. She must have known he was alluding to stolen Bank of Australia notes. Yet if she initially assumed he was merely a fence, one of the scavengers who fed off the crimes of others, the anger and frustration in his next words probably enlightened her: ‘I am determined I will do the damned bank and make them pay their notes which they could not refuse when brought from Moreton Bay.’ He then added: ‘In the event of your being convicted you will hear more. I will see you in gaol or going down and put you up to receiving as many notes as you choose to buy.’ He slipped away. Robbers Blackstone and Farrell were in the hulk and Creighton and Rourke were last-minute ring-ins. Jane’s visitor was likely James Dingle, the man with the most emotional energy invested in the robbery. He had also devised a clever scheme for circulating and exchanging the problematic notes. He wanted Jane to buy notes at a greatly discounted price, to carry them to the Moreton Bay penal settlement, and when she disembarked to surreptitiously sell them to time-expired convicts listed for the return journey to Sydney. He evidently believed that the authorities would readily exchange these prisoners’ notes without the usual examinations on the grounds that those hopping off the Moreton Bay ferry could neither have acted as robbers nor receivers. Jane considered her options. Reportedly the leader of a gang of thieves who preyed on Sydney’s shops, she must have recognised that this could prove a lucrative business opportunity indeed. In her present predicament, however, with her own trial looming and the noose dangling, she realised that the proposition offered her something more—an ace she could toss at the authorities if the verdict went against her. And it did. ‘Guilty!’ proclaimed the jurors a few days later. ‘Death recorded!’ announced the judge. Jane’s supporters immediately approached the bank directors and informed them of the scheme. They recovered

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some of the notes, foiled the plan and pleaded mercy for Jane. Her visitor, however, escaped detection.

But where was the remaining money? Jane New’s startling information raised the possibility that stolen notes had already been fenced through the returning Moreton Bay transportees. The Colonial Secretary sent a confidential letter to the commandant advising him of the problem and ordering that guards search all arriving prisoners, confiscate their money and forward it to Sydney to be deposited in the Bank of New South Wales. Similar letters were sent to the commandants of the Norfolk Island and Port Macquarie penal settlements. The Bank of Australia’s managing director also appealed to Hobart’s Principal Superintendent of Police for assistance. ‘There can be but very few of the old notes except stolen ones in Tasmania,’ Macvitie advised, and asked the superintendent to notify him if he discovered any. During these months, wads of stolen notes kept surfacing in odd places. For orphan James Bate one proved a windfall. The Sydney Gazette announced: An orphan and ragged looking boy about nine years of age, in the vicinity of Darling Harbour close to a well, fell in with a packet of these absent notes which were deposited beneath a stone. They were taken to the Bank and upon counting proved to be no less a sum than £2959!!! The little boy will receive £147 19s as his share of prize money.

Another bundle of £50 notes was found under a stone in the vicinity of Liverpool Street. ‘The Bank of Australia is in a fair way to recovering all its stolen notes,’ applauded the Sydney Gazette. In truth, the money recovered by the bank fell far short of the amount stolen.16 The coins, of course, were easier to fence than the notes although the thieves still required discretion in circulating them. Receiver James Lee, who had acquired his stash of notes from robber John Creighton,

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mentioned that some of the coins were hidden in water ‘breast high’ in Darling Harbour. Were they responsible for the tragedy that befell Creighton a short time later? The circumstances are uncertain: a boat rocking gently on a dark night, perhaps; sudden turbulence or a stumbling movement; an upended hull discovered the following day. There was no newspaper report, no inquest and no suggestion that a body had been recovered, merely a notation in the recent census return (taken in November 1828) that Creighton had drowned soon afterwards when a boat overturned. But had he truly drowned or had the discontented bolter managed one last successful escape? Or was there some truth to the rumours whispered from one person to another until nearly a century later, by then considered curiosities rather than incitements for the greedy, when they were reported in a newspaper. One rumour claimed that shortly after the robbery, night-fishermen had often seen a solitary rower gliding through the darkness towards the harbour foreshores—generally slipping into Little Sirius Cove (near today’s Taronga Zoo) although sometimes rowing towards one of the other little bays on the north shore—however the fishermen had never been quick enough to determine where he went. Another rumour suggested that one of the robbers had hidden a cache of the money and, when he refused to reveal its location, had been murdered by his partners. Creighton’s widow grieved for only a short time, marrying James Dingle in February 1829 and bestowing upon the ringleader a second slice of what was proving a tainted pie. Soon afterwards, one of the robbers had the sense to grab his profits and run. The elusive Valentine Rourke slipped out of Sydney Harbour in April 1829 destined for England’s industrial city of Liverpool, a hop across the Irish Sea from his motherland. Perhaps he travelled back to Ireland boasting of his successes in the colony or maybe he was prudent enough to hide his past and begin a new life away from his old thieving ground. Was his ship of departure deliberately chosen as a final jeer at the authorities? Its name was the Midas.

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With John Creighton’s death and Valentine Rourke’s departure, only three of the bank robbers remained in New South Wales. Two were locked up. Robbers Blackstone and Farrell, as well as suspects Byrne, Madden and Shortland, had endured the grim environment of the Phoenix hulk for six months without any charges being laid against them. The authorities, however, hadn’t forgotten about them. Late in March, Blackstone and Shortland were ordered to the police office for examination. Straddling the George Street ridge near its Market Street intersection, the Francis Greenway designed building had an elegance that belied its purpose. To the cagey, however, its domed roof and cupola rising above the skyline appeared to watch balefully over Sydney’s inhabitants. The internal arrangements were less salubrious. ‘Unsightly and incommodious,’ complained one visitor. It probably seemed like a palace to Blackstone and Shortland after their months in the hulk. They suffered their examinations—Farrell, also, early in April—and were returned to the hulk. No one had talked. Farrell had every reason for keeping quiet. His Irish sentence of transportation was about to expire and without new charges the authorities had no grounds for continuing to imprison him. Late in April, he was forwarded to the Hyde Park Barracks, issued with a certificate of freedom and released. Following Farrell’s liberation, Blackstone was the only member of the original team of bank robbers still imprisoned. He had been ‘nasty’ once before according to one report which, if true, must have elicited concern among the others. However Blackstone’s British conviction would also expire later that year so he had only a few more months to withstand the hardships. Moreover, a recent court ruling had emboldened him. The bank robbers’ paths were about to cross Jane New’s again, although in the courts on this occasion rather than on the streets. After

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the Supreme Court justices overturned Jane’s conviction on a legal technicality, Governor Darling complained that she was a notorious shoplifter who would likely continue her depredations on Sydney’s shops and refused to release her. Jane was still a serving convict and in a retaliatory response mirroring his treatment of the old reprobate Dennis McHue and the bank robbery suspects, Darling revoked her assignment to her husband and locked her in the Parramatta Female Factory. Her legal representatives moved the Supreme Court for a writ of habeas corpus demanding that the Governor account for her continued and, as they claimed, illegal confinement. In a ruling that ultimately pushed the colony to the brink of a constitutional crisis, the Supreme Court justices declared that the Governor had no power to revoke an assignment unless his intention was to improve a convict’s situation. Throwing five suspected bank robbers into the Phoenix hulk and refusing to release them could not be considered an improvement on their previous situations. Their own legal representatives moved the Supreme Court for a writ of habeas corpus and the court agreed to hear their case. On 1 May 1829 guards escorted William Blackstone and the three remaining suspects—John Byrne, James Madden and Edward Shortland— back across the harbour and along Sydney’s streets until they reached the Supreme Court building in King Street. This was Blackstone’s first appearance in the imposing brick courthouse and the irony must have struck him. For months he had feared being dragged before the court and convicted of committing one of the most celebrated crimes in Sydney’s history, a conviction that would undoubtedly send him to the gallows. Instead he was petitioning the court for his freedom on the grounds of illegal imprisonment. And the court actually agreed. With the Attorney-General’s consent, the judge ordered the prisoners’ discharge from the hulk and their delivery to the Hyde Park Barracks for disposal. Like Dennis McHue, the men left the Supreme Court savouring their imminent release. Like McHue, their taste of freedom lingered but a day.

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Angry at the ruling, the Principal Superintendent of Convicts wrote to the Governor: ‘As I feel the unalterable conviction in my mind that these men (particularly Byrne and Madden) were principals in that robbery and as large sums in cash and notes stolen on the occasion are as yet unrecovered, I deem it a duty I owe to justice and to the community at large to recommend that they may be removed for a time at least from Sydney.’ The autocratic Governor was again happy to oblige. He decreed that the men should be returned to the hulk ‘for security’ until orders for their disposal could be processed. There they remained.

Despite the authorities’ inability to indict any of the robbers, they refused to abandon their inquiries. ‘An investigation connected with the robbery of the Bank of Australia has been going on for some days past at the police office,’ reported the Sydney Gazette later that month. ‘Some important information, it is said, has been obtained from some prisoners on board the hulk.’ A week later the Sydney Gazette added: ‘Persons on whom suspicion could hardly have been supposed to light are, we understand on good authority, likely to be implicated. We cannot of course enter into particulars at present.’ Gradually, through the courts and the newspapers, part of the story unfolded. In September 1828, shortly after the robbery, Windsor resident William Colley was coming out of the Bank of New South Wales when he met baker Hugh Morrison. ‘Have you been to the bank?’ asked Morrison. After Colley admitted that he had, Morrison said knowingly: ‘They have given the other bank a clean sweep out!’ ‘I wish I had some of that sweep,’ the covetous Colley exclaimed. The bait dangled in front of him had caught his attention. ‘I can get you £100 for £25 currency,’ Morrison told him. ‘Call on me.’ When Colley visited Morrison a few days later, another man joined them—George Dudley alias Chapman alias Geordy the Tailor. Colley handed over the requested £25 and Dudley left for a short time then

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returned with another man and handed over a bundle of notes. The wary Colley demanded to count the notes and reached a tally of £114 or £115. ‘You have been so nice,’ Dudley taunted him, ‘you shall pay for the odd ones.’ Colley reluctantly handed over another £3. Over the following few weeks Colley used the notes in payment for goods and services. When the recipients eventually presented them to the bank and had to account for their possession, Colley’s name kept cropping up. By this time he was in gaol facing charges of stealing government building material, and after his conviction in April 1829 he joined the robbery suspects on the hulk. When the investigators questioned him about the bank notes, Colley decided that it was in his best interests to name his supplier. George Dudley, however, was not as cooperative. Soon afterwards he was indicted for receiving stolen notes, bound over for trial and admitted to gaol. He would later, unwittingly, draw the attention of the bank robbery investigators back to Blackstone.

Throughout the winter of 1829, Blackstone and the three shoemaker suspects remained locked in irons and confined on the hulk. Eventually, in August, the Phoenix’s superintendent received word that the men were to be sent to a distant settlement by the first opportunity. He reported back that Blackstone’s term of British servitude had almost ended and asked for instructions regarding his disposal. Receiving no response, the superintendent wrote again on 12 September, the day before the blacksmith’s sentence would expire.17 It was too late, of course, to send Blackstone anywhere. He was discharged from the hulk to the Hyde Park Barracks on 14 September, issued (no doubt grudgingly) with his certificate of freedom and released. The last of the incarcerated bank robbers had just been granted the gift of freedom. Only the innocent remained locked behind bars.

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Chapter 12

FREEDOM Freedom A good fellow is one who divides fairly with his companion whatever he thieves in partnership. Peter Cunningham, Two Years in New South Wales

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s the gates of the Hyde Park Barracks slammed behind William Blackstone, he was truly free for the first time in fourteen years. But he had suffered for a year because of his involvement in the bank robbery while enjoying few of its rewards and he was determined to recoup some of his profits. He visited his old friend Thomas Seeney and arranged to lodge with him again. Seeney sometimes worked for blacksmiths Daniel Morris and George Chambers and he organised for Blackstone’s immediate employment at their workshop in Harrington Street. At dusk the same day, Blackstone hunted down his elusive accomplice, Thomas Woodward. Initially Blackstone walked to Woodward’s house at Bunker Hill, however the receiver no longer resided there. ‘He had moved from the old house and he was living in a brick-built house with a verandah at the further end of Kent Street,’ Blackstone reported resentfully. ‘The new house was considerably better than the one he lived in before.’

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Blackstone waited for nearly an hour before his prey returned home. Woodward invited him to stay for supper and after the meal inquired: ‘Have you any money?’ ‘No, not a farthing,’ Blackstone said. Woodward reached into his pocket and pulled out four Spanish dollars which he handed to Blackstone along with a yellow silk handkerchief to tie around his bare neck. Woodward then mentioned having given Seeney £12 to supply Blackstone with necessities. ‘I never received any of the £12 from Seeney but the two dollars,’ Blackstone said, surprised, ‘nor has Seeney ever said a word to me about it. But what has £12 to do with the money you owe me?’ ‘Come to my house tomorrow and I will come to a settlement with you,’ Woodward told him. The frustrated robber was forced to leave yet again without receiving any of his money. He immediately returned to Seeney’s house and questioned him about Woodward’s claim. ‘I had been very ill and had converted the £12 to my own use except for the two dollars I brought you,’ Seeney apologised. But Blackstone was not appeased. By dinner time the following day he was seething. Blackstone had been betrayed by his closest friend and by the man he had entrusted with his share of the booty. To make matters worse, the other robbers were proving frustratingly elusive: Creighton dead, Rourke departed, Farrell locked up in Sydney Gaol for three months for being a ‘reputed thief ’, and Dingle away in the country. Returning to Woodward’s, Blackstone demanded that he account for all the stolen money. ‘I have been very unfortunate with the notes,’ Woodward whined. ‘I sold some to John Boreham and my wife got into trouble about the notes. She took 40-odd £1 notes to the bank and only received a part— £21. When I draw that out of the bank in the course of the next month, I will give you half.’ ‘Woodward, you forget what you said on the day I was taken up about going to the bank for the last £270,’ Blackstone exploded. ‘You also offered Seeney £200 sterling for me. I will go and fetch Seeney to your face and then we shall see how it is.’

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Blackstone rushed over to Seeney’s house and brought him back to Woodward’s. ‘I received the £12 from you,’ Seeney confirmed, ‘and you also offered me £200 sterling about four months after Blackstone had been in confinement but I refused to take charge of it for fear I should be robbed.’ ‘If you give me that sum now, I will forgive you the rest,’ Blackstone proposed. Some muttered threats followed. ‘But I have not got it now,’ Woodward objected, ‘and if you do not like to take the £10 or £11 which I expect to get from the bank in the next month you can go to hell and be buggered.’ ‘I will neither go to hell nor be buggered but I will make you repent for serving me in this way,’ the irate robber cursed. ‘You might do your best and worst,’ Woodward retorted rashly. As they left Woodward’s, Seeney said to Blackstone, ‘You are a great fool if you do not turn Woodward up. I will confirm all that now passed.’ But Blackstone was angry with Seeney and they quarrelled and parted on Church Hill. Blackstone took his bed to Daniel Morris’s house where he resided for a short time before moving into Agnes Gumby’s house, also in Harrington Street. Despite these setbacks Blackstone refused to give in. Others had profited from his share of the robbery proceeds while he alone had endured imprisonment. With a young shipwright in tow, he returned to Woodward’s a few days later and drew the receiver to one side. ‘I can get my passage home for £20 in a ship I am working for,’ he begged. ‘I will see John Boreham on the subject,’ stalled the receiver, mentioning the dealer who had purchased some of his stolen notes. While Blackstone argued with Woodward, his companion had been eyeing the shipwright’s tools scattered around Woodward’s property. ‘I would like some of the augers,’ he said to Blackstone, ‘but I have no money with me.’ ‘Take any quantity you want,’ Blackstone told him, while directing his remark at the receiver.‘There is a difference between me and Woodward over money matters and I will be answerable for them.’ Woodward consented and the shipwright took away some of the tools.

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True to character, Woodward failed to contact Blackstone. A fortnight later the increasingly concerned robber visited Woodward again and received the same response. It was just another placatory ploy. Woodward later refused to approach John Boreham about the money and Blackstone heard nothing further from him. Desperation induced Blackstone to approach Boreham himself. One Sunday morning, after dining with another blacksmith, Blackstone suggested that they walk down Brickfield Hill to Boreham’s. He mentioned that he was hoping to get money from the dealer and complained: ‘I have been poorly treated by Boreham, Seeney and Woodward.’ As his companion waited by Boreham’s fence, Blackstone found his quarry under the verandah. ‘Has anyone left some notes for me?’ Blackstone asked. ‘No,’ said Boreham. ‘Are you positive?’ Blackstone urged. ‘Woodward said he had left some notes.’ ‘I have nothing to do with anyone’s concerns but my own,’ Boreham responded belligerently. The gloves were off. ‘It would be more manly for you to give me £20 than for you and Woodward to send me backwards and forwards between you,’ Blackstone countered. But Boreham refused to help. ‘I shall never call again to trouble you any more,’ the angry robber tossed back at Boreham as he stormed off.

Shortly after leaving the hulk, Blackstone had left a message with Dingle’s mother-in-law asking the ringleader to come down from the country. Dingle had been the most fortunate of the remaining bank robbers. He had lingered in Sydney for a few months trying to convert the plunder into usable cash, well knowing that the police were eyeing those they suspected of an involvement in the robbery and would notice any remarkable change in circumstances. Early in 1829 he left Sydney

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and settled some 30 miles north-west in the fertile Hawkesbury River district. ‘It is a very pretty place,’ reported a contemporary traveller, ‘perched at the base of the gradually rising Blue Mountains which you see towering up in successive ridges, clothed from foot to summit in evergreen forest scenery.’ The Hawkesbury district supplied much of Sydney’s grain so farming land was a worthwhile investment if the shoemaker could acquire farming skills or invest in experienced employees. For the Irish, land ownership was a mark of success and the culmination of a lifelong dream as it promised security and financial stability, until they discovered that the reality in Australia—droughts and floods, hard work and debt— often failed to live up to their romantic expectations. Some weeks after Blackstone left the message, Dingle appeared at the window of Morris and Chambers’ workshop and beckoned to him. The blacksmith stepped outside and Dingle suggested that they drop in to the nearby Saracen’s Head. Finding an empty side room, they ordered drinks and began talking. ‘How did you dispose of the money,’ Blackstone asked, ‘and what has become of it?’ ‘I lost a good deal of it, and I was robbed on the Parramatta road of a good deal,’ Dingle hedged. ‘Those stories will not do for me,’ Blackstone said angrily. ‘I expect something for my efforts.’ ‘I will go up to the country and bring some down as soon as possible,’ Dingle quickly agreed. Surprisingly, Blackstone trusted him. ‘I expected Dingle to come with his promises from the country,’ he later reported. But he saw nothing more of the ringleader or his money.

In the meantime, Thomas Woodward had realised that toying with Blackstone might have dangerous consequences. He sent for Thomas Seeney and handed him a bundle, telling him to give it to his friend. Suspecting that the bundle contained stolen banknotes, Seeney stuffed

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it into his hat, wedged the hat firmly on his head, then hurried over to Morris and Chambers’ shop. ‘I received it from Woodward,’ he told Blackstone as he surreptitiously passed him the bundle. Blackstone noticed that it was wrapped in a handkerchief similar to his own, the one he had used to bundle up his own proceeds from the robbery before carrying them out of the drain. He slipped into his room and hastily unwrapped the bundle. It contained banknotes—lots of banknotes. He greedily riffled through them. And that’s when he noticed. They were all of high denominations, mainly £5, £10 and £20: more than £400 worth. But those he had given Woodward were all £1 and £2 notes. The greedy receiver was just playing games with him again—these high denominational notes would be extremely difficult to fence. And where had they come from? Woodward must have acted as a receiver for one of the other robbers. Grimly, Blackstone wrapped the notes in a piece of cloth cut from an old gown, carried the bundle down to the Market Wharf, planted it against a rock and lodged a stone over it. ‘I secreted these notes with the intention of bringing the whole forward when I found a good opportunity,’ he would later claim. ‘I never heard any more of these notes nor did I tell anyone where they were.’

For all his efforts in forging the tools, tunnelling into the vault, enduring the hulk’s privations and resisting the urge to betray his accomplices, Blackstone had gained nothing. Not even wisdom. On Sunday evening 15 November 1829, only two months after his release from the hulk, Blackstone, his employer George Chambers and a 49-year-old domestic servant William Wiltshire were enjoying ‘liberal potations’ at widow Amelia Tyrrell’s house in Essex Street.18 Around 9 pm Wiltshire and Blackstone separately said their goodbyes and departed. One of Mrs Tyrrell’s servants accompanied Wiltshire as he lumbered down Essex Street to George Street, towards the Bank of Australia which lay almost opposite the intersection. After they separated, the inebriated

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Wiltshire shuffled along George Street, passing Captain Bunn’s door as he neared his own. Suddenly, out of the darkness, a strange ruffian raced towards him. Dashing past, the man snatched at Wiltshire’s watch hanging from his pocket. The startled drunk grabbed for it and fought for possession. As the two men tussled over the watch they fell to the ground, wrestling and pummelling. Finally the attacker seized the watch, jumped up and attempted to flee. In one last desperate lunge Wiltshire grabbed his attacker’s shirt and hung on. With a loud rip the shirt tore in half leaving Wiltshire with some remnants and his disappearing attacker half-naked. Wiltshire chased after him, puffing up Essex Street until he lost sight of the man.

Sometime after Blackstone and Wiltshire had departed, Mrs Tyrrell’s daughter arrived home accompanied by Loany Goddard, a relative of the blacksmith’s landlady. As the child scampered through the door, Mrs Goddard asked: ‘Do you know who Bill Blackstone has been fighting with?’ ‘I do not know,’ Mrs Tyrrell said. ‘He has been gone some time.’ ‘Blackstone has just come home this moment with half a shirt on, one sleeve and part of the body,’ Mrs Goddard gossiped. ‘Mrs Gumby asked him with whom he had been fighting but he would not tell. He then went into another room and when he came back he had on a whole shirt.’ She left soon afterwards. Mrs Tyrrell sent George Chambers home and prepared for bed. A few minutes later the dog began barking and when she opened the door to investigate she saw William Wiltshire leaning against the gate. ‘I must come in,’ he entreated. ‘I have been robbed. I have half the shirt of the man who robbed me.’ ‘My little girl has just seen a man with only half a shirt on,’ Mrs Tyrrell exclaimed, assisting him inside and recounting Mrs Goddard’s story. ‘Let me fetch a constable.’ But Wiltshire resisted her offer.

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The determined widow refused to ignore the incident. Blackstone had not only committed a crime, his behaviour was an affront to his drinking companion and to her hospitality. She hurried up the hill to George Chambers’ place in Harrington Street and announced: ‘Mr Wiltshire has been robbed!’ After recounting the story and her suspicions, she begged him to accompany her to Blackstone’s lodgings a short distance away. There they found landlady Mrs Gumby, her relative Mrs Goddard, another lodger and Blackstone himself. ‘Blackstone, you have robbed the old cook of his watch,’ Mrs Tyrrell accused. ‘You first drink with him and then lie in wait and rob him.’ Blackstone laughed. ‘Mrs Goddard told me that you had been fighting,’ she continued angrily, ‘and came home with only half a shirt.’ ‘Go about your business,’ he replied disdainfully, ‘as I know nothing about it. See, I have my shirt on my back.’ Mrs Tyrrell looked at his dirty white shirt and recalled the clean white shirt he had been wearing only a short time previously. She returned home, told Wiltshire of her discoveries and urged him to report the incident. Early the following morning the defiantly sober Wiltshire fronted up to the police office and lodged his complaint. Around 9 am Constable Edward Flannaghan strode towards Mrs Gumby’s front door. The guilty blacksmith fled out the back. Feet pounding the dusty roads Blackstone raced down the hill and along busy George Street but the constable had sprinted after him. Young, fit and fuelled by hopes of a reward, he soon caught Blackstone and lodged him in the watch-house. Flannagan then returned to Mrs Gumby’s to search for the watch. He couldn’t find it— the watch had probably already been fenced. However, in the street nearby he found the torn white shirt. The foolhardy opportunist soon found himself behind the stone walls of Sydney’s dilapidated gaol. The charge was ‘highway-robbery’, the stolen goods valued at £4. It was another hanging offence.

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Blackstone sent for his friend Thomas Seeney. ‘Go to Woodward and beg him to employ counsel for me,’ he implored. The Supreme Court’s Criminal Session was about to commence and he had little time to waste. Seeney reported back that Woodward had agreed to help. Of course, Woodward was stalling yet again. The authorities were about to swat the annoying fly buzzing around him and he was determined to keep out of their way. But the short-sighted receiver had failed to see the danger: that the right inducement might transform this long-suffering robber from nuisance into nemesis. After six days without hearing from Woodward, Blackstone sent for his employer Daniel Morris and told him of his involvement in the robbery, then asked for his help: ‘Woodward has a deal of money belonging to me and I think it a hard case that he will not employ counsel for me. Will you approach him?’ Morris agreed to help and called upon Seeney for financial assistance and support in his approach. ‘I am a poor man,’ Seeney replied, ‘but will do what I can.’ True to form, Woodward was reluctant to help. ‘I received money from Blackstone but made no benefit by it,’ he grumbled and followed his usual delaying tactic by suggesting that they meet him at his house two hours later. Seeney returned alone to Woodward’s, however the receiver wasn’t there. ‘Did Woodward leave anything for me?’ he asked Mrs Woodward anxiously. She gave him a pitiful £2 and told him pointedly that the money had come from Woodward’s own pocket. Seeney and Morris then called upon barrister Thomas Deane Rowe, who agreed to represent Blackstone. Morris offered Woodward’s money as a downpayment and arranged to bring the remaining £3 the following morning. ‘Blackstone,’ said Morris upon his return to the gaol, ‘you worked like a man while you were with me and I will see you through this. I will put up the other money for counsel.’ Blackstone must have been surprised and grateful for this unexpected kindness from a man who had employed him for only a couple of months, particularly as his employer’s partner was a key witness for the prosecution. ‘Now if you

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get over this,’ Morris advised, ‘I will recommend you to go to Captain Bunn and get yourself righted.’ But greed still blinkered the surprisingly naive felon. He ignored the damning evidence against him, hoping to be released and to pursue his claim to some of the plunder. His friends continued to offer support, with Seeney bringing breakfast to the gaol on the day before his trial. On 24 November 1829 the fettered and chained highway-robber was marched along George Street—past the inviting aromas wafting from the open tavern doors, past the jocularly named ‘Cock and Hen Clubs’, past the gambling dens and cockfighting alleys, past the gangs of sullenfaced convicts garbed in their ‘canaries’, past the ‘red-backs’ who guarded them—and up to the Supreme Court again.

‘On the fifteenth day of November in the Year of Our Lord One thousand eight hundred and twenty-nine, William Blackstone feloniously did make an assault upon William Wiltshire and did put him in bodily fear and danger of his life and feloniously did steal, take and carry away one watch of the value of four pounds of the goods and chattels of William Wiltshire against the force of the statute and against the peace of God and of our Lord the King, his Crown and dignity,’ announced the Clerk of the Arraigns. ‘How do you plead?’ ‘Not guilty!’ declared Blackstone defiantly. It was the most serious charge he had faced since his Old Bailey conviction fourteen years before, but this time he had decided to leave his fate in the hands of the jury. One by one the prosecution’s witnesses testified against him: William Wiltshire, who by this time felt able to ‘swear positively’ to Blackstone’s involvement, Blackstone’s employer and drinking crony George Chambers, Amelia Tyrrell and her friend Loany Goddard, and lastly Constable Edward Flannaghan. The military jury took little time to pronounce him guilty.

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As Blackstone waited for the judge’s sentence, the irony no doubt struck him. Despite stealing £14 000 the law had freed him—even if only for a day—yet for stealing £4 he might be hanged. ‘Death recorded,’ announced the judge. It could have been worse. In ordering ‘death recorded’ rather than ‘death’ the judge had allowed him a reprieve rather than a one-way ticket to the gallows. Forwarded to the Phoenix hulk, Blackstone received word on 26 December 1829 that his sentence had been commuted to fourteen years’ transportation to Norfolk Island. He was to serve out his term in irons.

A few days after Blackstone’s trial, receiver George Dudley alias Chapman alias Geordy the Tailor faced the Supreme Court. In the six months since his apprehension, Dudley had maintained his silence regarding the source of the stolen notes he had sold to William Colley. Surprisingly, however, Dudley called William Blackstone as a defence witness. The prosecution’s primary witness, Colley himself, had mentioned that Dudley had an unidentified companion when he returned with the stolen notes. Blackstone disputed Colley’s truthfulness, testifying: ‘Colley once swore that I was the person who had accompanied Dudley.’ In fact Blackstone had been locked up at the time. Naturally this weak defence had little chance of undermining the evidence against Dudley and the jury declared him guilty. Six weeks later Blackstone, Dudley and Colley were all embarked on the Norfolk Island-bound Amity. The authorities would later express alarm at the decision to send these three men to the same settlement and suggested that Colley should instead be sent to Moreton Bay: ‘He must be withdrawn from the revenge of those at Norfolk Island—Dudley and Blackstone—against whom he was a principal witness in a prosecution arising out of the bank robbery.’ But Colley had already begged to be sent to Norfolk Island rather than Moreton Bay. While awaiting his own trial, another inmate had walked past him several times, drawn a clasp

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knife, shouted, ‘You bloody dog, I’ll take your life,’ and stabbed him in the head and side. Evidently Colley considered Dudley and Blackstone less dangerous than some of the other enemies he had acquired in his self-interested pursuits.19 Meanwhile, Blackstone’s role in Dudley’s defence had drawn the focus of the bank robbery investigators onto him again. The determined Captain Bunn climbed on board the Amity to offer Blackstone one last chance at a respite. ‘You stand very much in your own light if you did not discover [plan] the robbery,’ he told Blackstone. Bitter and revengeful, Blackstone vented his spleen. ‘Dingle and another man did,’ he said, and named those who had the booty. ‘I will take you ashore now if you will bring the matter home,’ Bunn urged. But the obdurate robber refused to accompany him. Ever-hopeful, he would later explain that Dingle and Woodward had promised him something either on board the vessel or in Norfolk Island.’ On 7 February 1830 the Amity sailed for the Norfolk Island penal settlement 920 miles north-east of Sydney with Blackstone on board.

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THE ISLAND OF MISERY The Island of Misery I deny that convicts should be treated as sick patients, morally sick, whose reformation is the only object and who are to be petted and flattered and beguiled into reformation. Another object of punishment is to be a terror to evil doers. Supreme Court Justice William Burton

f the wretches at Norfolk Island were fiends instead of men they could not be worse treated,’ wrote the Monitor’s editor to the Secretary of State for the Colonies. ‘There is no parallel to the cruelties practised on them.’ The Norfolk Island penal settlement was a recent addition to the government’s catalogue of punishments. The other secondary penal settlements had gradually become overcrowded, with settlers encroaching and convicts escaping, forcing the authorities to cast around for a new place to incarcerate the ‘incorrigibles’. This degenerate class had largely been spawned by the punishment system itself, although the authorities failed to recognise their own complicity. The scourgings and other abuses and privations inflicted upon prisoners like Blackstone, whose initial infractions were often little more than insubordination or petty criminality,

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so thoroughly brutalised them that those who refused to be cowed by such mistreatment spiralled into an endless cycle of serious crime and punishment. These men were seen as a menace and as an affront to a system that espoused such punishments as effective means of deterrence and reform. They required their own special version of hell—Norfolk Island. Abandoned as a settlement a decade previously, isolated and almost impossible to escape from, the island was considered ideal for penal purposes. But dumping such men onto a distant island under the rule of autocrats who had been ordered to make the settlement the ne plus ultra of convict degradation would perpetuate its own vicious cycle, particularly when those in charge had already exhibited their enjoyment of cruelty. Blackstone and his fellow Amity transportees would soon find out for themselves that the government had achieved its objective. They disembarked onto an island ruled by King Lash himself, the merciless Colonel James Morisset. Morisset was the most unsuitable choice to administer the settlement, warned the liberals when his appointment was announced, adding that Britain’s envoy, the conservative Commissioner John Thomas Bigge, had expressed concern at the furrowed backs of his Newcastle charges. But their misgivings were barely heard whispers among those clamouring for retribution against the most criminally defiant of the settlement’s large criminal population. Accordingly the name ‘Norfolk Island’ soon resonated with horror. Some, like the future Supreme Court Justice William Burton, suggested that the convicts themselves had made ‘a hell of that which might have been a heaven’, for Norfolk Island was a place of astonishing beauty: a tiny verdant jewel resting on an endless expanse of blueness, braced by black cliffs and glinting of hibiscus and jasmine, of succulent fruit trees and crystal streams. Soothed by such beauty and warmed by its balmy air, the sinful should have been lulled into a new appreciation of life and the opportunities for redemption, according to those like Burton who believed in the Romantic tradition and the healing power of nature.

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Yet the island’s welcoming embrace surely warned that ‘heaven’ might have a sinister side. Norfolk Island had no harbour so ships had to anchor at sea and endure the capriciousness of the elements. Visitors and prisoners alike were then loaded into old whalers and rowed towards a bar in the reef where surging cross-rips tossed them until they passed into the gentler waters of Sydney Bay fronting the main Kingston settlement. If the weather was inclement, ships had to sail around to Cascade Bay, where passengers clambered into a boat then jumped onto a wet slimy rock platform while the rowers reversed their oars to prevent the boat being pounded into the rocks. Then, when they reached Kingston, they were greeted by a hideous vision: a disfigured despot dressed like a military Beau Brummell who ranted that he ‘knew’ the prisoners and ‘would keep the scoundrels in order’. They had no need to witness the gangs of emaciated convicts dragging double or triple irons or the freshly stained earth in the flogging yard to realise that any vision of heaven was just an illusion. The prisoners soon withered under the cruelty of Morisset’s regime. While the island abounded with cattle and sheep and the military and free residents enjoyed fresh meat and copious quantities of cream, the prisoners’ daily rations comprised one pound of tough salted beef or pork and one pound of maize meal which they softened into dough and cooked. As forks and spoons were deliberately kept in short supply, their hands served as eating utensils. They had no assistance from draft animals or mechanisation in performing their assigned tasks. Simple hand tools were all the prisoners were allocated to meet the island’s building and agricultural needs: to hew stone blocks from the quarry, lop and split hardy pine trees, terrace hillsides, remove stumps, clear root-tangled soil and hoe weed-infested crops. If they failed to complete their allocated tasks for the day, they were flogged. Yet Morisset found uses for the lash beyond the merely punitive; the sadistic commandant began to use it indiscriminately as a preventative. Escaping from the island was virtually impossible as the prisoners knew. Moreover, one thousand yards away, on a well-positioned knoll,

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they could see the black mouths of the two huge eighteen-pound guns mounted in front of the fortress-like Government House. Gradually, they lost hope. Many had life sentences or, like Blackstone, an interminable fourteen years. They had no legal loopholes to save them. ‘Felons on Norfolk Island have forfeited all claim to protection of the law,’ wrote the mild Governor Brisbane when he reopened the penal settlement for the incorrigibles. Blackstone had been sent to the island during the reign of his successor, whose mandate had been to reintroduce terror into the penal settlements. Governor Darling was deaf to any cries of desperation. But violence begets violence and distorts the values bred by a healthy society. The prisoners soon devised their own solution. For those despairing of life in this hellhole, death was their only release. Yet their religion, for many a mere flicker in their temporal lives, glowed brightly when they considered their spiritual eternity, and their religion forbade suicide. These men had no desire to exchange a living hell for eternal damnation. Suicide, clearly, was not an option. But murder? Rationalising that they could express their remorse and appeal for forgiveness on the scaffold, they devised a solution to their misery. ‘Suicide pacts’ developed. The men drew straws. One would kill and ultimately hang; one would die, hopefully without much further suffering; the others would provide eyewitness testimony. As the island had no superior court, the killer and witnesses would enjoy a reprieve from the island’s torments while they travelled to Sydney for the trial. And, if they were lucky, they might manage to slip out of their irons, evade the guards and escape. Sometimes the prisoners had no need to choose a victim by lottery— a sadistic overseer or guard unwittingly marked himself as a target. The prisoners took a savage delight in revenging themselves upon these men, the sources of much of their misery and surrogates for the loathed but inaccessible commandant. Ruthless overseers were particularly despised as they were prisoners themselves promoted for ‘good’ conduct. Retaliating against these men warned others who enjoyed tormenting them of the fate awaiting the cruel.

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In the spring of 1830 Blackstone was incarcerated in the island’s gaol, a rickety hovel that lay on the southern side of the Kingston settlement. Whether he was being punished for some infraction or was merely a victim of Morisset’s tyranny is uncertain. One evening early in October, as the gaol inmates lay on their mats in the darkness, he called out to fellow prisoner Edward McGennis, ‘Will you sing a song?’ McGennis agreed and began to sing ‘The Battle of Vittoria’. He was halfway through the first verse when Blackstone heard another man stomping backwards and forwards. ‘What man is trying to hinder McGennis from singing?’ the annoyed blacksmith called out. ‘It’s me, Blackstone,’ James Murphy replied, a recent addition to the gaol gang. ‘He shall sing no song while I’m in the room.’ ‘I have not heard anything disrespectful said of McGennis whilst I was in the room,’ Blackstone rebuked him. ‘Hold your tongue, Blackstone,’ another inmate, John Wilson, cried. ‘He has done his endeavours to injure you and me and everyone in the room.’ Wilson then punctuated his accusation by shoving the singer, who stumbled and fell onto Blackstone’s mat. McGennis was a slight man and his power came from words not deeds. ‘I will have satisfaction if it is for seven years to come,’ he cursed Wilson. And he did, according to the story Blackstone would later tell Colonel Morisset. But was Blackstone telling the truth about this evening in Norfolk Island’s gaol or was it part of an elaborate attempt to save a friend from the gallows?

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A couple of weeks later, John Wilson was overheard talking to another gaol inmate, John Cook. ‘It’s a noble plan,’ Wilson said to Cook. ‘It’s the last push and the sooner it takes place the better. We shall surely get a chance either at overseers Gascoyne or Jackman. We’ll take the first opportunity we get.’ ‘Let us dispatch it as soon as possible or it will be spoilt like everything else,’ Cook replied. They both knew that an informer desperate to fill his quota and gain relief from his own tribulations could turn even an innocent conversation into a perfidious plot, and that those facing the resulting charges could themselves turn informer to alleviate the consequences. Penal settlements like Norfolk Island used the military principle of divide-and-conquer to great advantage, relying upon the testimony of informers to prevent the prisoners from banding together and planning uprisings or massacres. Turning ‘nasty’ was a desperate measure adopted in particular by the weaker or smaller prisoners like Edward McGennis, who was seated nearby. ‘Jack,’ McGennis said to Wilson, ‘what is on foot now?’ ‘Did you hear what we were talking about?’ Wilson probed, and McGennis admitted that he had. Wilson asked what he thought of the plan. ‘It is a very good one if you can succeed in it,’ McGennis said. ‘We want two or three more in it,’ Wilson told him. ‘Will you join us?’ ‘I will,’ said McGennis, although he later reported that self-preservation alone had prompted his declaration of support and that his intention had been to inform overseers Jackman and Gascoyne of the threat against them. ‘I will call two more that I think will readily consent to it,’ Wilson continued, then walked towards the other end of the room where William Bubb and James Murphy slept. He spoke for a moment then returned with them. ‘I have a question for you,’ Wilson said to Murphy. ‘It’s the last push and I hope you’ll agree to it.’ ‘I am very careless about my life,’ Murphy replied, ‘and I don’t care what it is as long as I get out of gaol.’

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‘We are going to settle with Gascoyne and Jackman, ’tis no matter which, or if we can’t get an opportunity at them we will settle the biggest nose in the room.’ Wilson then explained that two or three would participate in the murder and that the rest would serve as witnesses to make sure the murderers were acquitted. He added: ‘We will rush the craft going or coming, otherwise the hulk or when going to trial, and try to get away.’ ‘I will do any part, never fear,’ said Murphy. ‘Let it be done as soon as possible.’ The previously silent William Bubb piped up: ‘I will strain every nerve in my body to uphold the plan. Let us say no more about it but embrace the first opportunity.’ It was the little singer, McGennis himself, who later recounted the story of the murder plot. He claimed that John Wilson, the man he had reportedly cursed, then turned and said to him: ‘Well, McGennis, your heart is good; you are but weak but you are as good as the biggest.’ To the others, Wilson added: ‘There is no use all of us being in the murder. I will be an evidence and that will be just as good as if I were in the murder.’ The next day, McGennis reported to overseer Henry Gascoyne that Cook, Murphy, Wilson and another prisoner, Patrick Flannigan, had a knife and intended to take his or Jackman’s life. Gascoyne listened to the charge and warned Jackman. Sometimes the advantages of serving as an overseer, they realised, were seriously outweighed by the dangers.

After the evening bell rang at sundown on Monday 25 October 1830, the gaol gang finished their duties, lined up and began marching back to the gaol. Ordinarily they would only be carrying spades and pickaxes, however two of the prisoners were shouldering reaping hooks, issued that morning to cut the long grass around the drains they were clearing out. As the men trudged along, overseer Adam Oliver called out to

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Gascoyne, ‘Look what a disturbance there is in the gang. I must go and keep them in their ranks.’ Gascoyne cautioned: ‘Do not go among the men as I know from an informer that it is the intention of some of the gang to do us an injury.’ But the martinet declared that he must go. He marched into their ranks, marshalled the men, then began talking with prisoner Isaac Ward. It was unusual for an overseer to linger among the men and some of the prisoners looked over in surprise. The two men were talking about Port Macquarie penal settlement, where they had served together. As Ward turned towards the overseer to beg for a piece of tobacco, John Cook slammed a spade into the back of Oliver’s head. The overseer crashed face-first onto the ground, his head split open and his brains spilling out. Towering over him, Cook lifted his spade and whacked him again on the head. ‘Let us settle the tyrant,’ yelled James Murphy, racing over and swiping at Oliver with a reaping hook. ‘You bugger,’ he ranted. ‘I have settled you now.’ William Bubb rushed to join in, hitting Oliver with his own spade. Rooted to the ground through shock, Edward McGennis watched the horrifying attack. Then he raced towards the soldiers shrieking, ‘The gaol gang are committing murder!’ Overseer Gascoyne also screamed for assistance and his cries drew Cook’s and Murphy’s attention from the sprawled body. They swivelled to look at Gascoyne. Hefting spade and reaping hook, they advanced towards the hated overseer. Scuttling backwards, Gascoyne spotted a large stone, grabbed it and hurled it at them. Like a tattered knight raising his shield, Cook lifted his spade. The stone clanged into it leaving a large dent, then dropped away. The other gang members held up their spades. ‘Come on,’ they taunted Gascoyne. He turned and fled. In disgust Murphy threw his reaping hook after the terrified overseer. The gaol buzzed that night. ‘There will be a good mob go up as evidence for and against,’ exclaimed one inmate, ‘and the men will have a chance of getting away.’ Colonel Morisset had already launched an investigation and, after taking depositions, he concluded that John Cook, James Murphy and

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William Bubb had participated in the murder while John Wilson had served as an accessory before the fact. Wilson called upon William Blackstone and another prisoner, Lawrence Duggan, to testify that he and McGennis had argued that evening in the gaol, that McGennis had threatened revenge, and that the venomous informer had acted upon his threat by implicating Wilson in the murder. Both Blackstone and Duggan recounted the story of the night-time altercation, although Duggan claimed that there had been no singing that evening among the prisoners locked in the gaol. ‘It will appear from the depositions that the prisoners committed this outrage with a view to getting away,’ Colonel Morisset wrote to the Attorney-General in Sydney. ‘They are thinking of obtaining their liberty by rushing the vessel or the hulk or else absconding when going to or returning from trial. It is necessary that the greatest vigilance should be exerted for they are a most desperate set of villains.’

On 3 December 1830 the Lucy Ann sailed into Sydney Harbour carrying Blackstone and the other participants in the Adam Oliver murder trial. Heavily ironed and chained to the floor throughout the eight-day journey, they were guarded by wary soldiers who knew that a momentary lapse in vigilance was all these desperate men craved. No escape opportunity arose and the prisoners were admitted to the Phoenix hulk the following day. Their case came to trial a month later with Chief Justice Forbes presiding. He and the other court officers were appalled whenever a Norfolk Island case came before them. One Sydney barrister wrote: ‘The men looked less like human beings than the shadows of gnomes who had risen from the sepulchral abode. Their sunken glazed eyes, deadly pale faces, hollow fleshless cheeks and once manly limbs shrivelled and withered up as if by premature old age created horror among those in court.’ Forbes himself admitted that he would choose death over the life endured by those he sentenced to Norfolk Island.

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Edward McGennis was the prosecution’s first witness and he had a surprising tale to tell. He testified to having seen John Cook hit the overseer after he was lying dead on the ground but to nothing else, not even to the plans to murder the overseers which he alone had described in his lengthy deposition. ‘My Lord and Gentlemen of the Court,’ he then begged, ‘when my examination is over I wish to say something.’ ‘State what you have to say,’ the Chief Justice ordered. ‘My Lord, when this transaction took place I was in the gaol gang loaded with heavy irons and almost starved to death. A man named Gascoyne, one of the overseers who is here today as a witness, called me to one side and told me that if I did not implicate Wilson and Murphy as well as Cook he would have me up to court and get me flogged. So my Lord, as I was nearly at death’s door at the time, I was afraid to refuse. I thought it better to say nothing about it there but to wait till I came up to this court to expose the treachery and perjury of Gascoyne.’ Forbes asked: ‘Then you mean to say that what you swore against these men at Norfolk Island is false?’ ‘I do, my Lord, and I hope God will forgive me as I did it out of fear and intended to tell the truth when I came up here.’ When overseer Gascoyne testified soon afterwards he made no attempt to incriminate Wilson. The defence decided against calling either Blackstone or Duggan, perhaps because of the discrepancies in their statements. Chief Justice Forbes directed that Wilson should be acquitted as no evidence had been presented against him however the other three men were judged guilty and sentenced to be executed. ‘We committed the murder to terminate a life of misery,’ the dutifully remorseful James Murphy began, as he stood on the scaffold the following Monday morning, and continued at length describing the miseries endured by those on Norfolk Island. But when he mentioned starvation— the subject of vehement complaints from the prisoners in all the penal settlements and the cause of a recent prisoner rebellion—the alarmed sheriff ordered his silence and the three men continued their devotions in silence. The Monitor’s editor reported bitterly: ‘It is indeed more seemly

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that these fellows should be hanged quietly. It is not politic to let dying men reveal too much in the present happy times.’ Despite the speedy trial and execution, most of the witnesses remained in the hulk until September 1831. Character reports followed their departure: Isaac Ward ‘good’; Edward McGennis and Lawrence Duggan ‘very bad’ (and Duggan’s name would resound again in the annals of Norfolk Island history a few years later). Yet Blackstone—also labelled a ‘good’ character—did not join them when they returned to Norfolk Island. The authorities had different plans in mind.

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A BANG-UP FELLOW A bang-up fellow A clever fellow is a bang-up, bold, thorough-going knave, an able ‘actor of all work’. Peter Cunningham, Two Years in New South Wales

W

hile Blackstone endured his term on Norfolk Island and robbers Dingle and Farrell enjoyed the rewards of the robbery, the shoemaker suspects John Byrne, Edward Shortland and James Madden bore the brunt of Governor Darling’s wrath: 1828 . . . 1829 . . . 1830 . . . The years dragged by as they remained locked in the Phoenix hulk with little relief in sight. Madden’s Irish sentence would expire in February 1831; at worst he would be released then. But Byrne and Shortland were both lifers. Would their punishment ever end? Shortland and Madden were perhaps accessories after the fact and Byrne maybe an accessory before the fact. Nevertheless, the Governor’s decision to incarcerate these men and to keep them locked up despite the Supreme Court’s ruling against their illegal imprisonment reflected an abuse of power. Governor Darling’s actions had the support of the convict authorities and the magistrates who considered ‘suspicion’ or ‘repute’ to be rightful grounds for assignment revocation and punishment.

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When all the ranks of government conspired against them, the convicts were reminded that one law existed for the free and another for prisoners. Shortland decided to appeal against his imprisonment anyway. ‘I beg leave to point out to Your Excellency the extreme hardship of my case,’ he wrote to the Governor in July 1830, and described his two years locked in leg irons, living on gaol rations and serving time in the solitary cells. ‘My confinement was upon the evidence of only one individual,’ he complained, ‘a Prisoner of the Crown who in the hope of availing himself of favour from the authorities would not perhaps be guided entirely by truth.’ Having heard the contents of muster clerk James John Wood’s deposition (the recounted conversations and assertion that Shortland knew the robbers’ identities without informing the police), the beleaguered prisoner protested that the clergyman’s son had grossly misrepresented the truth. ‘I am aware of having expressed myself on one occasion to James John Wood respecting the robbery,’ he continued, ‘but merely to offer my individual and incidental opinion on the subject which will by no means bear the interpretation placed upon it by James Wood.’ Shortland swore that he had no knowledge of the perpetrators or any involvement in the robbery and begged Governor Darling to take into consideration the slight degree of evidence against him and the length of his confinement and to offer him relief from his hardships. Was Shortland telling the truth? According to Wood’s deposition, Shortland had told him that Farrell helped prepare the ‘picklock fakements’ at the shoemakers’ workshop. But the men had not broken into the bank using skeleton keys. Had the clergyman’s son gleaned some details of the robbery at the shoemakers’ workshop and fabricated the rest? Governor Darling had evidently forgotten about the robbery suspects confined in the Phoenix. ‘Who assigned Shortland to the hulk and upon what grounds?’ he asked. The response noted that Shortland had been implicated in the bank robbery and that the Acting Principal Superintendent of Convicts had ordered him to the hulk. ‘Inquire of Captain Bunn whether there is any ground for detaining this man longer,’ Darling instructed. The reply was curiously indirect: ‘Shortland is under

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orders for a distant settlement having been ordered on board the hulk with others on 2 May 1829 for security until otherwise disposed of.’ No doubt Darling was reminded, verbally, that these were his own orders and of his reasons for making such decisions. ‘Shortland is to remain in his present position until a vessel sails for King George Sound,’ he eventually decreed, dashing the prisoner’s hopes for an end to his suffering. As it turned out, the strategically situated King George Sound settlement on the south-western corner of the continent (now Albany in Western Australia) was wound down a year later and Shortland, a London house-burglar who had already spent time in the penal settlements of Tasmania and New South Wales, was not to add service on the western shores of the country to his punishment résumé. Instead, he and the two other suspects remained locked in the Phoenix hulk while ringleader James Dingle was free to continue his scheming.

Mid-afternoon on 28 September 1830, Constable Joseph Molesworth was plodding down King Street when he heard a voice calling to him from the nearby Cherry Tree public house. He looked over and saw a man beckoning. ‘Will you have a drink?’ James Dingle offered, and the constable accepted. ‘I think I can do something for you,’ Dingle then told him. Molesworth expressed his interest. Constables were always eager to capture runaways, bushrangers and other criminals as the substantial bounty supplemented their meagre incomes. ‘I know a man who is at large and if you will go with me I will point him out to you,’ Dingle confided. He led the way towards the bustling Market Wharf, where the calm waters of Darling Harbour lapped the end of Market Street and a forest of gently swaying masts represented the cutters and sloops and skiffs that ferried stores from the nearby markets to Parramatta or the Hawkesbury district. As they walked, Dingle mentioned the man was a Hawkesbury resident named Robert Marshall

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Johnson. Reaching the wharf, he gazed at the boats, pointed to a man sitting on the deck of one vessel, said ‘That is the man,’ and slipped away. The obliging constable ordered Johnson onto shore. ‘I have been informed that you are illegally at large,’ he accused the startled boat occupant. ‘I am a ticket-of-leave,’ Johnson vehemently declared. He reached into his pocket for his papers but came up empty-handed. ‘I have been robbed of my ticket and some other papers!’ he exclaimed. It didn’t take him long to determine what must have happened. ‘I think I know who gave you the information and the same man robbed me,’ he told the indifferent constable, who had heard it all before. Molesworth took him into custody, marched him back up the hill, and delivered him to the Hyde Park Barracks for examination. ‘After having some transactions this morning with James Dingle from the Hawkesbury,’ Johnson told his interrogators, ‘I was in company with Dingle and a dealer named John Dunn at Dunn’s house in Cockle Bay. I had in a little leather case in my pocket a ticket-of-leave, the transfer of a house I purchased from Dingle and some other papers. About an hour after I parted from them I discovered that the case and its contents had been abstracted from my pocket. I believe it was feloniously abstracted from me by either Dingle or Dunn.’ The authorities soon discovered that Johnson did indeed hold a valid ticket-of-leave. As they listened anew to his story, the full perfidy of Dingle’s actions came to light. Johnson told them that two months previously he had purchased Dingle’s house and land at Milkmaid Reach on the Hawkesbury River for £50, paying a deposit of £30. ‘But the receipt was with the transfer,’ Johnson explained. ‘It was stolen with my other papers.’ Johnson also mentioned that the stolen papers included another important receipt. The ringleader of the largest bank robbery in Australian history had been unable to meet a £6 14s 6d debt and had been locked in the debtor’s prison until Johnson paid the bill. ‘I took Dingle out of gaol myself,’ the outraged Johnson continued.‘I told him I had the receipt

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but did not show it to him.’ He had left his companions soon afterwards and had been alone until the constable apprehended him. Naturally Dingle and Dunn disputed Johnson’s charges, claiming that he was drunk and his recollections unreliable. ‘I was sober whilst in their company,’ Johnson angrily countered, having in the meantime enjoyed a tipple while lounging on the deck of his boat. For the ringleader of the celebrated Bank of Australia robbery, Dingle’s actions at this time were remarkable only for their stupidity. He had evidently intended to rip up any paperwork associated with the sale of his Hawkesbury property, enabling him to peddle it to an unsuspecting buyer. But by inveigling the constable into apprehending Johnson for being a runaway, a charge that could readily be disproved, he had minimised the timeframe during which the robbery must have occurred and as a corollary the number of possible suspects. On 30 September 1830 the magistrates committed Dingle and Dunn to stand trial at the Supreme Court on Johnson’s charges. Dingle was released on bail two weeks later until his trial was called. But the call never came. His past misdeeds were beginning to catch up with him.

When Robert Marshall Johnson left Sydney to return to the Hawkesbury he probably thought his troubles with Dingle were over. But Dingle’s henchman was not only free, he was in the neighbourhood. A month after Johnson had purchased Dingle’s house and land fronting the Hawkesbury River (and, according to Johnson, everything else on the property including empty casks and a dog), he had also purchased Dingle’s boat, which was lying at his wharf. On 9 October, while Dingle was locked in gaol on Johnson’s charges, his ‘servant’ George Farrell appeared at the wharf, hopped into the boat and prepared to sail away. ‘By what authority do you do so?’ the new owner demanded. ‘The boat was mine before it was Dingle’s,’ Farrell told him, ‘and I have a claim on the house, land, boat and everything upon the premises.

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I hold a mortgage upon them.’ He flipped open the purported mortgage document and flapped it in front of Johnson but evaded his attempts to read it. ‘Don’t take them,’ the irate owner warned Farrell. ‘If you do I will consider it a robbery.’ But Dingle’s faithful minion ignored him and sailed away. Johnson set off for Windsor where he reported the theft to the police. ‘I paid Dingle for the boat and appurtenances before Farrell took possession of it,’ he complained.‘I released James Dingle from gaol thinking I would return to Lower Portland Head with him in order to come to a final settlement of the purchases I had made.’ Then he recounted the story of Dingle’s duplicity. ‘Farrell was present when I purchased the boat and casks and dog from Dingle,’ Johnson concluded, ‘and never said a word about the mortgage he held upon them or the house and land.’ After the Police Magistrate issued a search warrant, Johnson and a constable set sail along the meandering Hawkesbury River, past dour cliffs, swampy mangroves and tended fields, carefully scanning the banks and pulling into each landing place to inquire after Farrell. They eventually found him and his conspicuous booty on a little bite of land only half a mile from Johnson’s house. The constable told Farrell that he was taking him into custody for the theft of Johnson’s property. The angry felon threatened, ‘We’ll see whose they are when we get to Windsor.’ After Johnson officially identified his belongings, fellow Hawkesbury dweller Thomas Scott corroborated his story, declaring that both he and Farrell had been present during most of the transactions and that Farrell had made no claim to Dingle’s property or possessions. On 1 November 1830, George Farrell was also committed to stand trial on Johnson’s charges and locked in Windsor Gaol.

Windsor’s gaoler, George Walpole, lived in hourly dread of a mass breakout by the inmates. Back in June he had written to Sydney’s High Sheriff complaining: ‘I received information of a premeditated escape

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of the felons by breaking through the back wall of their sleeping room and I applied to Lieutenant Bell for an additional sentry at night, which he complied with.’ But Walpole wanted the problem fixed and requested that the Engineer’s Department line the wall with boards. The sheriff forwarded Walpole’s letter to the Colonial Secretary asking for Governor Darling’s sanction. Nothing happened. In July the felons actually attempted to break through the wall, although without success. At last the authorities took action. Tenders were requested, a quote of £55 submitted and the expenditure approved, but again nothing happened. As new inmates joined the old hands in the gaol they soon learnt of this potential escape route. One recently admitted felon with tunnelling skills decided to undertake another tunnelling operation. Early in the morning of 7 January 1831, he slipped out of bed, crept over to the back wall of his sleeping quarters, quietly removed any concealment he had used to hide his preparations, broke through the wall, climbed out into the women’s yard and scaled the fence.

Between 3 and 4 am a sentry patrolling the grounds of Windsor Gaol ambled into the women’s yard, lifted his lantern and shone its light along the gaol wall. After the previous escape attempts, gaoler Walpole had ordered the guards to pay particular attention to this wall. A telltale cavity greeted him. He raced out of the women’s yard and alerted his commander, who woke the gaoler. Walpole examined the hole and placed a sentry on duty. He then ordered the guards to wake and muster the prisoners. Fortunately only one proved to be missing: George Farrell. Gaoler Walpole blasted the sheriff later that morning: ‘I beg to state that it is entirely owing to the room not being lined that I have so repeatedly applied for.’ Fingers were pointed at the Director of Public Works, who meekly explained that the work had been temporarily suspended because demands for the erection of a slaughterhouse had

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taken precedence. He was ordered to complete the work immediately. But Farrell, meanwhile, was long gone. Farrell’s escape from Windsor Gaol was possibly driven by his desire to evade the consequences of the boat-stealing felony. More likely, however, word had passed along the bush telegraph that, for Farrell as well, serious trouble was looming.

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Chapter 15

AN EAGERLY AWAITED RETURN An Eagerly Awaited Return A great scoundrel is one who will be base enough to acknowledge his crime or inform on his partner. Peter Cunningham, Two Years in New South Wales

W

hen Colonel Morisset took charge of the Norfolk Island penal settlement he ignored the Monitor’s exhortations: ‘Let his mind become imbued with magnanimity; let the biting scourge be inflicted seldom and then in merciful quantities.’ The cruelty of his regime had one advantage: it returned Blackstone to Sydney and within reach of Captain George Bunn, the lead investigator in the bank robbery case. Captain Bunn approached Blackstone shortly after his admission to the Phoenix hulk early in December 1830. He brought with him the proclamation detailing the rewards offered in the aftermath of the robbery and read it out to the robber. ‘I have heard it read many a time,’ Blackstone replied dismissively. The carrot having failed, Bunn wielded the stick: ‘Even if it is seven years, I shall have you prosecuted and hanged for it if I can prove that

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you are guilty.’ He laid out the alternatives: freedom and money, or Norfolk Island and the ever-present threat of the gallows. It was Blackstone’s moment of truth. For fifteen years he had chased the easy life, recklessly continuing to pursue a criminal path despite the harsh punishments he had regularly endured. By joining Dingle’s team of bank robbers, he had leapt at the biggest opportunity ever likely to be offered him. But what was the outcome? He had no money. He was locked in the hulk and would soon be returned to the savage Norfolk Island penal settlement. His accomplices had betrayed him as had the acquaintance he had entrusted with his spoils. And he was facing a determined member of the establishment who knew that he had participated in the bank robbery, who had previously extracted from him the names of the other perpetrators, who as a bank director had personally suffered from the crime, and who would happily shove him onto the scaffold if he had the chance. Blackstone caved. On 10 December 1830 William Blackstone signed a deposition describing his involvement in the Bank of Australia robbery and implicating James Dingle, George Farrell, Valentine Rourke and John Creighton as his accomplices and Thomas Woodward as a receiver of the stolen goods. A flurry of activity commenced as the delighted authorities began preparing warrants. The following day constables brought Dingle and Woodward to the police office, lodged them in the examination rooms and grilled them. Blackstone had told the police that Thomas Seeney could corroborate his claims, so they brought Seeney in as well. ‘I never was with Blackstone at Woodward’s house in my life,’ said the fair-weather friend. ‘I never received from Woodward or his wife any money or notes either for myself or any other person. I never did advise Blackstone to bring Woodward to justice at no time whatever. Blackstone never asked me to go to Woodward and ask him to get counsel. I never heard him mention the name of Woodward till now.’ The denials filled page after page of Seeney’s statement.

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The police pored over Blackstone’s deposition, attempting to find others to verify his claims. One by one these potential witnesses entered the police office, provided statements and left. Ann Houseley recollected Blackstone’s unhealthy appearance when he visited Woodward on the morning the robbery was discovered; Daniel Morris confirmed approaching Woodward for money to employ legal counsel; John Boreham admitted that Blackstone had appealed for money reportedly left with him by Woodward; and a myriad of others added to the volume of paperwork piling up on the authorities’ desks. On 15 December the constables brought Seeney back to the office. ‘I was before examined,’ Seeney’s new deposition began, ‘but what I then stated was not true. I was fearful of losing my ticket-of-leave. I will now state the whole truth.’ An offer of immunity had evidently jolted his memory and he confirmed Blackstone’s claims regarding the robber’s involvement with Thomas Woodward. The magistrates issued a warrant for Woodward’s arrest and he was taken into custody, committed to stand trial and lodged in Sydney Gaol. Woodward was not alone in having an unforgettable Christmas that year. On Christmas Eve, Dingle was also committed to stand trial on charges relating to the bank robbery, and locked up. The two men soon quarrelled. ‘If you had only come up to the mark with Blackstone,’ Dingle hissed at Woodward, ‘neither of us would have been here.’ ‘You had the best right to do so,’ the duplicitous receiver angrily retorted. Woodward was discharged to bail on 6 January 1831 and, ironically, two months later received his certificate of freedom from his fourteenyear British conviction. Dingle remained in gaol, his bail approval on Robert Marshall Johnson’s charges having been rescinded.

Rumours of Blackstone’s revelations spread across Sydney. On 7 January two hulk workers visited robbery architect Thomas Turner at the Hyde Park Barracks. ‘What charge is against you?’ they asked him.

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The forbidding Newgate Prison in the centre of London where William Blackstone was imprisoned before being tried next door at the Old Bailey. (‘West view of Newgate Prison’, 1815, George Shepherd. GUILDHALL LIBRARY, CITY OF LONDON)

Blackstone was one of the early inmates of the austere Hyde Park convict barracks. It was built on the newly cleared ridge on what was then the eastern outskirts of Sydney Town, now Macquarie Street. (‘The Barracks’, unsigned watercolour, 1820. MITCHELL LIBRARY)

On his numerous journeys into Sydney Cove, Blackstone would have been greeted with a similar view of the bustling town of Sydney. (‘North view of Sydney New South Wales, 1822’, Joseph Lycett. DIXSON GALLERIES, STATE LIBRARY OF NEW SOUTH WALES)

A surprisingly cosy view of the harsh Newcastle penal settlement during Blackstone’s servitude there. Convicts like Thomas Turner assisted in building a breakwater between the headland and Nobby’s Island, the oddly shaped landmark in the middle of the harbour. (‘Newcastle, New South Wales’, 1818, Joseph Lycett. NATIONAL LIBRARY OF AUSTRALIA)

The settlement at Moreton Bay, a few years after Blackstone returned to Sydney. (Moreton Bay, New South Wales, from Kangaroo Point, 1835, Henry William Boucher Bowerman. NATIONAL LIBRARY OF AUSTRALIA)

Twenty years on, the original Bank of Australia building (centre), Redman’s pub (left), and the narrow passageway through which the bank robbers crept appear little changed. (Illustration by Joseph Fowles, 1848.)

Sydney in 1833 showing St Philips Church (middle) and Charlotte Place heading east to George Street. The bank robbers turned the corner by the guards’ garrison then headed north until just before Essex Street (unnamed) met George Street as it veered east. The Bank of Australia in Underwood’s buildings was situated on the eastern side of George Street slightly south of that intersection, and the passageway between Underwood’s buildings and Redman’s pub is clearly visible. Perhaps the faint line heading east from Underwood’s buildings to the Tank Stream marked the route of the drain. The Hyde Park barracks is near the south-east corner of the map, Market Wharf and Darling Harbour (once Cockle Bay) on the south-west, and Millers Point on the north-west tip. The Phoenix hulk was anchored almost directly north of Millers Point in Lavender Bay (west of the northern ramp of the Harbour Bridge). (Map of Sydney Cove, 1836. MITCHELL LIBRARY)

George Street looking north from Charlotte Place (now Grosvenor Street). This view shows the military garrison (left), Sydney Gaol (centre—George Street had veered east by this point) and Underwood’s buildings (centre-right). The portico frames the entrance to the Bank of Australia and, slightly north, can be seen the roof and wall of Redman’s pub. (‘Vue de George’s Street’, 1833, Alexis Nicolas Noel. NATIONAL LIBRARY OF AUSTRALIA)

The Tank Stream discharged into Sydney Cove at the site of these mudflats lying immediately behind Underwood’s property. Perhaps the entrance to the drain used by the bank robbers to access the vault was behind the mound on the left. (John Skinner Prout, 1842. MITCHELL LIBRARY)

Kingston settlement (bottom) showing the gaol, blacksmith’s shop, commissariat office and the reef that sank the Friendship. (‘Plan of the Settlement and Garrison Farm’, Norfolk Island.)

An eagerly awaited return

‘I do not know,’ said Turner, alarmed. ‘We know there is a charge against you,’ they persisted, ‘as it is planned on board the hulk to fetch you in to tell how you came by the notes two years ago.’ They knew of his participation in the robbery, the two men told Turner, claiming that the plans had been hatched at Moreton Bay in their own house and in the presence of a free woman they knew. Then they kindly offered to help him out. ‘If you call upon us we could prove it and a great deal more as we are in possession of the whole of the robbery.’ Turner reported the visit to the chief constable and soon afterwards Captain Bunn dropped in to see him.‘He told me,’ the spelling-challenged stonemason later wrote to the Colonial Secretary, ‘that he had rote a letter to His Exelency wearin he told the Governor he had nothing against me but this man’s Blacksland’s evidence.’ Convinced that his revelation would not backfire on him, Turner repeated his story to the captain who asked him to try to discover his visitors’ names so they could be tracked down. ‘Witch I hope and trust,’ Turner continued, ‘will establish my innocence and I solemnly declare I never was guilty of one dishonest action in the fourteen years I have been in the colleny. I therefore humbly hope that you will be pleased to interced with his Exelency so as I may be restored to my situation again and your honor may relye I will never deviate from the path of rectitude nor no temptation shall cause me to ever.’ Captain Bunn had indeed written the letter Turner mentioned, reporting that in the course of his investigation he had been unable to confirm Thomas Turner’s involvement. ‘I have a moral conviction of his connection with the circulators of the notes and also of his participation with them in the produce of their schemes,’ he added dryly. ‘I have therefore ordered him to be returned to the Barracks to await His Excellency’s pleasure.’ Although Turner had been taken into custody soon after the robbery for attempting to exchange stolen notes, he was never committed to stand trial on robbery-related charges. He had evidently disposed of the stolen notes before the police grabbed him and, despite the newspapers’

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reports to the contrary, had kept quiet about his confederates. Yet even after Blackstone had exposed Turner’s complicity no further action was taken. Blackstone’s testimony alone would not be enough to convict the stonemason, and the authorities lacked any other substantiating evidence. ‘Any steps to be taken regarding Turner?’ asked a memorandum passing between the various government departments. ‘I am not aware of anything to be done,’ came the frustrated response. ‘He is, of course, returned to barracks.’ Captain Bunn sent another letter to the Governor at this time: ‘I beg to request that William Blackstone, a prisoner of the Crown on board the hulk, may be detained to give evidence in the cases now to be tried in connection with the robbery of the Bank of Australia.’ Permission was immediately granted and Blackstone’s status changed from that of a witness in the Norfolk Island murder case to an approver (informer) in the bank robbery case. He remained on the Phoenix hulk away from the Sydney Gaol inmates he had just implicated in a hanging offence.

Blackstone’s failure to incriminate the three shoemaker suspects John Byrne, Edward Shortland and James Madden left the authorities in a quandary. Captain Bunn wrote to the Governor: ‘From the statement of William Blackstone, John Byrne has had no act or part in the robbery and as his being captured in their company is satisfactorily accounted for I would beg to suggest that he be removed from his confinement in the hulk to the Hyde Park Barracks.’ Regarding the other suspects Bunn added: ‘Nothing has come out in the course of examination against Shortland and Madden and I have strong reasons to believe they also are innocent of the charge against them connected with the bank robbery and therefore beg to recommend them also to His Excellency’s consideration, having been on board the hulk nearly two years.’

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What a volte-face. It was Bunn’s own letter of recommendation two years previously that had tossed these three men into the hulk. But remorse did not compel him to ensure their future wellbeing. The Governor ordered the shoemakers’ discharge from the Phoenix and their removal to the Hyde Park Barracks. Carrying the faint praise ‘tolerable’, the three men were transferred soon afterwards. There they lingered, still without regaining the freedom they had enjoyed prior to James John Wood’s meddling.

Meanwhile the authorities faced a new set of problems. Their primary witness in the momentous bank robbery case seemed incapable of staying out of trouble. On 22 February 1831 the Phoenix’s superintendent told the boatswain’s mate to take Blackstone across the harbour to the government dockyard, where the able blacksmith was to repair the hulk’s ration cart. Located on the western shoreline of Sydney Cove, the dockyard was the heart of the colony’s ship-building operations and marine trades, the nerve centre of its link with the outside world, a clanging, thumping, roaring hubbub of noise and activity, and it was the closest Blackstone had experienced to freedom in a long time. The blacksmith and his minder failed to return for the midday meal. Boatswain George Lavender was ordered on shore to look for the two men and soon discovered that they had gone into town for a drink, had overindulged and that Blackstone had slipped away. Go to Seeney’s house, he was advised when he asked where Blackstone might have gone. The intoxicated Blackstone was indeed at Seeney’s, happily swigging his friend’s liquor. Mrs Seeney saw Lavender approach. ‘Here’s the boatswain,’ she called urgently to her husband, who raced to the door and tried to slam it shut. Lavender had already gained entry, having no doubt slipped his foot into the doorway. He ordered Blackstone out of the house and brandished the hated collar iron.

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The previously happy drunk turned violent and abusive. ‘Permit Blackstone to remain in my charge while I induce him to go along with you quietly,’ Seeney begged. Lavender reluctantly agreed. Instead Seeney helped Blackstone escape through the back door. Racing after the runaway, Lavender yelled at a passing constable to help him. Eventually they cornered the brawny blacksmith and advanced towards him, taunting him with the irons clutched in their fists. Blackstone enjoyed his own revenge. When Lavender ventured too close he punched him in the face. But the two men managed to collar him and they dragged him to the nearest watch-house, while the unsympathetic onlookers jeered and pelted him with whatever came to hand. When Lavender later recounted the afternoon’s dramas to his superiors, he reported Seeney’s involvement in Blackstone’s escape. The Bench of Magistrates condemned Seeney for his behaviour, cancelled his ticketof-leave and returned him to the Hyde Park Barracks. Although altruism had at last driven Seeney to help his friend, he had rashly picked a moment when the consequences were more damaging for himself than beneficial for Blackstone.

As it turned out, Blackstone’s defiance proved extremely foolish. The constable lodged him in the watch-house where the guards naturally searched him. To their surprise they discovered coining implements in his pockets: a die (casting mould), rings for a die, a bag containing metal, powdered glass, a melting or casting ladle and a lamp used for melting base metal. Blackstone faced the Bench of Magistrates the following day. The clerk read out his list of infractions: absconding from his work at the dockyard, drunkenness, violent behaviour and being in possession of counterfeiting tools. The magistrate sentenced him to be ‘thrice whipped by the infliction of 50 lashes each time’. The whipping possibly saved Blackstone’s life.

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When the Phoenix’s superintendent learnt about the counterfeiting tools, he conducted his own investigation. His men searched parts of the hulk including the carpenter’s shop where Blackstone had occasional access. Between the stanchions and the lining of the bulkhead, the searchers found a small ladle which had apparently been used for casting metal and a bag containing several pieces of Britannia metal, among them a recently stolen teapot. When the superintendent attempted to question the carpenter he slipped away, confirming suspicions of his involvement with Blackstone in making the counterfeit dies. The incorrigible robber had been unable to suppress his urge for riches even when locked up. Details of the ongoing investigation were sent to the Governor who eventually asked his legal officers if further action should be taken. The Crown Solicitor explained that the offence would be only a misdemeanour and the magistrates’ sentence proper if the implements were for counterfeiting foreign coins. If they were for counterfeiting British gold or silver coins, however, the offence would be high treason punishable by death and the magistrates’ sentence improper as they had no jurisdiction over such a crime. Blackstone’s conviction could therefore be quashed and an action taken against him in the Supreme Court. However as two months had passed and as Blackstone had already been whipped, the Crown Solicitor urged: ‘I do not think it would be advisable now to agitate the question by contending for the impropriety of the former proceedings.’ Which left, naturally, the Crown’s star witness available to testify in the much more important Bank of Australia trial. Out of curiosity, the Governor asked the sheriff which coin the die was intended to make. ‘Half-crowns,’ replied the sheriff, ‘and rings intended to make a die for a shilling.’ ‘Let these articles be destroyed,’ Governor Darling ordered.

Meanwhile Captain Bunn’s investigation continued to limp along. Dingle and Woodward had both been committed to stand trial, but Creighton

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was dead, Rourke long gone and Farrell—the knave who had actually climbed into the vault and hauled out the money—was on the run. He had evaded detection for more than two months after his escape from Windsor Gaol and unbeknown to the authorities had discovered the power of a pistol. In March 1831 word of Farrell’s location reached the police and they swooped on him. Boldly, he pulled out the pistol, took a firm hold, pointed it and fired at them. He missed. Surprisingly he faced no criminal charges over the incident, although his back undoubtedly bore testimony to the authorities’ wrath. On 18 March Farrell was brought before the Bench of Magistrates. Blackstone stood in the witness box. ‘I know the prisoner at the bar and have known him about three years,’ the informer began. ‘I was concerned in the Bank of Australia robbery and George Farrell was one of my accomplices.’ Then he described the events that followed. Farrell was committed for trial on charges of ‘feloniously entering the strongroom of the Bank of Australia and committing a robbery therein’, and joined Dingle in Sydney Gaol. As the two cursed Blackstone for betraying them and plotted how to escape the charges or their confinement, the authorities continued to question their prize informer and to gather evidence for the forthcoming trial.

Informers were the dross of colonial society: loathed by many of their peers, exploited by their superiors and never allowed to forget their sins. ‘Blackstone the approver’ the authorities called him. ‘Blackstone the great scoundrel,’ others spat. Their contempt revealed itself in insidious ways: stamping on his feet, bumping into him, knocking him over. Whether Blackstone suffered the fate of some other informers—to be muffled in blankets and beaten—is not known. But from the moment he ceased hovering at the crossroad and slunk down the informer’s path, vigilance must have become his own watchword. He had no wish to be stabbed like that other informer, the covetous William Colley.

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Blackstone was working in the dockyard when fellow convict Robert Pebble, alias Scratch Bob, sidled up to him. ‘I have known you a long time,’ Pebble said, ‘and I never knew you to do anything wrong nor knew that you would unless you were very much injured.’ Then the cajoling began. ‘I slept alongside Thomas Woodward in the barracks and hope you will be as favourable as you can with that man. You know you can have what money you want and if you choose you might go out of the country.’ The enraged informer blasted him: ‘I tried Woodward on all suits when I was free. He can blame no one but himself. I wish you never to mention such a thing again.’ Woodward had at last realised that the robbery proceeds would be better in Blackstone’s pocket than his own neck in a noose. But his envoy had failed. Blackstone had already signed depositions implicating Woodward and could not retract them or testify otherwise at the trial. The bitter robber knew that the money was worthless unless he managed to escape from the hulk, evade the constables and slip out of the country. If caught, his own admissions might be used against him. It was Woodward’s neck or his own. Bribery having failed, conspiracies surfaced. A friend sent a message to Blackstone: ‘Woodward now keeps “open house” for several persons who are to come forward against you. I caution you to take care of yourself.’ One of the hulk’s crewmen also warned Blackstone of the hated boatswain’s activities: ‘I have frequently seen Lavender shaking hands with Thomas Woodward as they meet casually in the street. They seem to be on the most friendly terms.’ Concerned at the news, the hulk’s superintendent wrote to the sheriff: ‘Lavender has received a subpoena to appear in Woodward’s behalf and his object is, perhaps, to invalidate Blackstone’s testimony.’ The superintendent’s worries increased when he learnt that the Phoenix’s recently released clerk Joseph Irving had boasted to Blackstone that he had been visiting Dingle and Farrell in the gaol.‘Blackstone fears,’ reported the superintendent, ‘that the purport of Irving’s visit was to acquaint Dingle and Farrell with the evidence Blackstone has given against them

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and with which Irving is acquainted by reason of his previous confidential situation in copying several of Blackstone’s statements.’ It was a worrying time for all, as Blackstone’s testimony was the pillar buttressing the prosecution’s case. Blackstone knew that if his account of the robbery was undermined, the case would collapse and the robbers would not be convicted. The proffered rewards would then be withdrawn and he would return to Norfolk Island bearing the weighty cross of being the informer for one of the most notorious crimes in colonial history—and an unsuccessful one at that. The legal officers knew that if the robbers were not convicted they would walk free, protected by ‘double jeopardy’ from ever again facing the consequences of stealing a fortune in a penal settlement. And the government would be humiliated. The convicts would rejoice at this slap at the penal system. The emancipists would gloat at the blow to the exclusives’ pride and dignity. The community would transform the story into a colonial legend, repeated to every new transportee who would smirk when the authorities exhorted them that good things come only to the sober, honest and industrious. So the legal team carefully prepared their case. On 16 May 1831 the Attorney-General signed indictments against George Farrell, James Dingle and Thomas Woodward and waited for the winter Criminal Session to begin.

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WRATH We heartily wish that those immediately or remotely or in any way criminally concerned in this strange robbery may speedily be recognised and brought to the bar of condign punishment; but ere the law can punish, the party prosecuting must first distinctly identify and also prove the accused party to be corpus delicti or in some way particeps criminis. Australian, 19 November 1828

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Chapter 16

THE DAY OF RECKONING The Day of Reckoning On the oath of Blackstone, one of the avowed accomplices in the extensive robbery of the Bank of Australia in 1828, the whole business was clearly laid open and excited extraordinary interest. Australian, 17 June 1831

T

he Supreme Court buzzed with excitement on Friday 10 June 1831 as Sydney’s residents jostled through its doors, eager to hear firsthand details of the most extraordinary crime in the colony’s 43-year history. Who had committed the robbery? How had they done it? Where was the money? Rumours had again circulated that William Blackstone was one of the perpetrators and would reveal all. Many nodded sagely, knowing his skills as a blacksmith, his history of criminality and his unreformed character. Shortly after 10 am the esteemed Justice James Dowling strode into the courtroom and sat down at the bench. Seven lawyers busied themselves in front of him. The Bank of Australia’s managing director, a staunch conservative, had armed himself with the best arsenal money could buy—courtroom kings William Charles Wentworth and Robert Wardell. Outside the courtroom these two men loudly and proudly vaunted the

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flag of liberalism and verbally savaged their conservative political enemies. Pragmatism, not surprisingly, had trampled over political alignments. Two additional seats cluttered the prosecutor’s section, one bearing the government’s representative, Crown Solicitor William Henry Moore, and the other barrister Thomas Deane Rowe—Blackstone’s counsel for his highway-robbery trial. Three barristers hunkered in the defence section. James Dingle was represented by Roger Therry, acclaimed as a distinguished and able barrister by contemporaries and historians alike. The shrewd Sidney Stephen, who had served most of the receivers three years previously, acted for George Farrell. William Foster, who would later prove an inspired choice, represented Thomas Woodward. A frisson of excitement swept through the spectators in the public gallery as the three prisoners shuffled into the courtroom, alone except for their guards. Their trial was the only case listed for the day as the array of witnesses indicated that it would take many hours. Calling the court to order, the clerk read out the lengthy indictment. It charged George Farrell with breaking and entering Thomas Macvitie’s dwelling house; the Attorney-General had chosen to use the simple ‘theft from a dwelling house’ statute as the bank’s managing director resided at his business premises.20 Of course, labelling the bank robbery a house theft had other advantages as well. Despite the legislative changes in the years since the bank robbery,‘theft from a dwelling house’ was still among the crimes punishable by death. A few years later, it wouldn’t be. The indictment also charged Farrell with stealing promissory notes and coins valued at a surprisingly large £18 160, as well as promissory note-paper (the paper on which the notes were printed) worth £30, and seven boxes and four canvas bags valued at seven shillings. The uncertainty as to the booty’s true value was evident in the roundness of the amounts claimed in the indictment: 100 promissory notes valued at £50 each, 200 at £20 each, 400 at £10 each, 400 at £5 each, 500 at £2 each and 1000 at £1 each, totalling £17 000. The indictment also mentioned 800 half-crowns (worth £100), 8000 shillings (£400), 12 000 sixpences (£300) and 1800 foreign silver dollars (£360). As the theft from a dwelling house

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of goods worth more than £5 was a hanging offence, it mattered little— to the law officers of the day—if Farrell was charged with stealing a few thousand pounds more than he had actually hauled from the vault. The indictment continued. James Dingle was charged only with aiding, abetting and assisting George Farrell: the wily ringleader had ensured his absence at the time of the actual robbery. Thomas Woodward was indicted for receiving promissory notes totalling £1700. The notes listed in his charge (ten valued at £50 each, twenty at £20 each, etc.) represented exactly one-tenth of the notes listed in Farrell’s charge, even though Blackstone claimed to have carried away only £1 and £2 notes to the value of £1133. Expediency was more important than accuracy. Dr Wardell began the case for the prosecution. ‘I call William Blackstone,’ he announced, ‘one of the accomplices in the robbery.’ Yet before Blackstone could step into the witness box, George Farrell’s barrister Sidney Stephen lurched to his feet and launched his attack. ‘I object to the competency of the witness for the prosecution,’ Stephen protested to Justice Dowling.‘He is still serving a sentence of transportation for a capital felony committed in this colony and for which sentence of death was recorded against him.’ The defence had just unleashed the most powerful weapon in their armoury: the law of ‘felony attaint’. Under British law, prisoners sentenced to death were ineligible to act as witnesses in future court proceedings as their felonious activities were deemed to have attainted them, to have disgraced or dishonoured them. Clearly they had no respect for the law, therefore the courts were forbidden from admitting their testimonies unless the King was willing to grant a pardon. Blackstone’s circumstances made his case even more problematic. Not only was he a convict attaint, having incurred a death sentence for highway-robbing William Wiltshire, he was a self-confessed bank robber and an accomplice in the crime being prosecuted. Yet instead of being locked up with the others, his testimony was the lynchpin of the prosecution’s case. What’s more, if the robbers were convicted he was to be rewarded for testifying: immunity from prosecution, a full pardon

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from his Norfolk Island sentence, a £100 payment and a free passage to England. Issues regarding convict attaint had surfaced every so often in the New South Wales law courts. Applying such a law in a community of convicts would seriously undermine the court’s ability to punish malefactors, so the Supreme Court had initially skirted the issue. When counsellors objected to the testimony of a British transportee on the grounds of attaint, the court insisted upon strict proof of any reputed death sentence then, craftily, refused to adjourn the proceedings for a year while such proof was obtained from Britain. However when death sentences like Blackstone’s had been imposed by the colonial courts, proof was readily available in the colonial records. This tossed the problem back into the court’s hands. Two years previously, in 1829, a case involving prisoners in a secondary penal settlement had forced the Supreme Court into making a ruling. They decided unanimously that the court’s uniform practice had been to admit such testimony from ‘necessity’. Necessity? Some considered it more a judicial shrug than a wellreasoned ruling. Faced with Blackstone’s particular circumstances, many considered it timely for the court to re-examine the question. As the objection rang through the air, the counsellors seated at their tables, the lawyers hovering around the courtroom and the pen-poised journalists waited. Would ‘felony attaint’ muzzle Blackstone and destroy the prosecution’s case forever or would it be dismissed as an irritating whimper? Judge Dowling promptly overruled the objection, quoting the ‘necessity’ ruling as his precedent. However Dingle’s counsel refused to allow British law to be so readily dismissed. Roger Therry asked: ‘Will you allow myself and my learned colleagues an opportunity of mooting the question once more in another stage of the proceedings should it be thought necessary?’ ‘Certainly, Mr Therry,’ replied Justice Dowling. ‘You may raise it as often as you please.’ Satisfied, the defence barristers acknowledged their willingness to proceed with the trial.

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‘I call William Blackstone,’ Dr Wardell repeated. As the spectators craned to see this other daring bank robber, Blackstone walked across the courtroom, entered the witness box, placed his right hand on the Bible and swore to tell the whole truth about the Bank of Australia robbery. ‘I know all the prisoners at the bar—George Farrell, James Dingle and Thomas Woodward,’ he began. ‘About the middle of August 1828 Dingle and Farrell came to the house where I was living near St Philip’s Church.’ Blackstone described Dingle and Farrell’s invitation to join them in robbing the Bank of Australia, Dingle’s revelation about the vault’s Achilles heel, the tools he had made, the days of tunnelling, Creighton’s inclusion in the operation—‘I understand he has since drowned’—the sudden appearance of Rourke, and the final day, Sunday 14 September 1828. ‘We went to work by turns and continued till the drums began to beat up for church. At that time we were taking out the last stone in the wall of the vault and some coppers were thrown down the drain grating by Dingle. After we had taken the cornerstone out we retired to the front of the drain and held a counsel whether it was better to take out the money then or leave it until night. We decided to take it out then. Farrell being the smallest went in as we had only removed one stone in the vault.’ Blackstone described Farrell’s trips into the vault, the bags and boxes he pushed out, their return to the well-lit front of the drain to examine the plunder and Blackstone’s unexpected discovery. ‘When I came to the corner of the drain,’ he said darkly, ‘I saw Creighton at the other end easing himself in one of the tin boxes!’ It was such an unexpected swoop—from high drama to farce—that laughter erupted from the startled spectators. Judge Dowling pounded the bench and ordered the court to be quiet. ‘I told him he was a scoundrel for doing so,’ the robber told the avid spectators. ‘But he took a new note—I think a £5—and said he would have the pleasure of using it.’ The courtroom exploded again. It was the ultimate insult the emancipists could offer the exclusives—the Bank of Australia’s ‘pure

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merinos’ who had flogged, exploited and lorded it over them while stymieing their efforts to regain personal and political freedom. With nudges and knowing looks, they sniggered in delight. Judge Dowling allowed them their moment of light relief before ordering Blackstone to continue. The robber described Farrell’s final trip into the vault, the wooden coin-filled chests he handed out and the gang’s decision to leave the drain when Dingle didn’t reappear. ‘We came out just as the bells were ringing for evening service. It was dark and when we had gotten over the wall into Mr Underwood’s new building we saw Dingle. He had brought four bags. We told him there was sterling silver in the drain and that he had better go and bring it away and we would take the other money to his house. When Dingle arrived he said he had emptied the money into the bags and brought it. I saw the bags—they were full. The other three men determined to go again to the drain and fetch more money but I said I would go home, wash myself and have a sleep before I went any more. ‘Dingle came about two o’clock. It was raining; it had begun to rain when we came out of the drain. We joined Creighton, Rourke and Farrell at the corner of the street and went into the drain by Thornton’s paddock and fetched out the boxes of sterling money. I did not see the contents but by the weight of the boxes and the jingling of the metal inside I have no doubt of its being sterling money. Dingle went out to see all clear and I was the last man in the drain following the others, being disabled in my arm. Dingle carried nothing but an umbrella, it being a rainy night. ‘When I came over the wall into the back street I heard the constables challenging someone near to where I was. Considering that the constables had taken Dingle and the other men, I then went back and round by the gaol. I had a box under my arm which I deposited among some stones near my own shop. I went home, laid down on my bed and went to sleep.’ But Blackstone’s testimony did not end there. He told of his encounters with Woodward and his increasingly desperate attempts to regain some of the money or some relief from his difficulties. Finally, after hours of

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testimony, he declared to the court: ‘On board the brig Amity was the first time I told anything about the robbery.’ Blackstone’s words trailed off and a stunned silence followed. In this courtroom theatre the audience had just tramped in the shoes of an audacious band of robbers, rippled their fingers through chests of glinting coins, tasted the bitterness of fear and desperation, and stumbled under the millstones of defeat and betrayal. No playwright could ever have delivered such an engrossing drama. As the audience slumped in exhausted amazement, Chief Constable Jilks carried over the crowbar, jointer, gimlet, lamp, tinderbox and piece of calico found scattered in the drain. Blackstone examined the items. ‘These are the things I made,’ he confirmed. ‘The top of the lantern belonged to Creighton and Farrell. The other things I made. We left all the things in the drain on that Sunday night.’

George Farrell’s barrister had little interest in Blackstone’s evidence. It was damning. To exonerate the feisty little robber he would need to destroy the informer’s credibility. When the prosecution signalled that they had completed their examination, Sidney Stephen stood up and asked about Blackstone’s Old Bailey conviction.21 ‘I arrived here in 1816 and was transported for being in company with a man who passed a bad £5 note,’ Blackstone told the court. ‘I was innocent and might have got out of it had I not pleaded guilty.’ To a man like Blackstone, for whom honesty was rarely the best policy, such a denial of guilt carried no lingering echo. He was oblivious to the fact that he had no hope of being believed, that such a declaration would undermine his previous claims to truthfulness. No doubt the shrewd Sidney Stephen had counselled enough transportees to know that they were always blameless and had hoped for such an automatic response. What about colonial transgressions? ‘I have been sent to the penal settlements and flogged since my arrival here but never for any robberies,’

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Blackstone replied defiantly, perhaps wondering if any members of the jury knew that robberies were indeed responsible for some of his colonial convictions. Which penal settlements? ‘I have been in all the penal settlements,’ the recidivist proclaimed with the insouciance of the unreformed. But as the names of the penal settlements hung in the air—Newcastle, Port Macquarie, Moreton Bay, Norfolk Island—even Blackstone glimpsed the image evoked for the judge and jury of an inexorable descent into wickedness. ‘I was drafted from Port Macquarie to Moreton Bay as a mechanic,’ he quickly told the judge. ‘I never took a stone or a brick.’ Justice Dowling was not fooled. He jotted in his notebook that Blackstone was a ‘very bad man’. Sidney Stephen continued to question him, asking why he was testifying. ‘I gave information to exonerate myself from the robbery,’ Blackstone admitted, ‘for I was told by Captain Bunn and the Principal Superintendent of Convicts that even in seven years to come I would be prosecuted and hanged if they could prove it against me.’ Neither the judge nor the jury had expected that altruism prompted his decision to turn informer, however his response again painted a picture of abject villainy. To a snide allusion to the rewards for testifying, Blackstone countered: ‘I have no expectation of getting out of the scrape and never asked for anything. There is a proclamation of a conditional pardon but this is not my expectation.’ Even the spectators were not fooled. Sidney Stephen then suggested that Blackstone was more than just a participant, that he had planned the robbery. The affronted felon earnestly told the faces watching him: ‘At the time of the robbery I had not been in Sydney more than six months and I did not know where the Bank of Australia stood until I was told by Farrell and Dingle.’ Criminals like Blackstone had little need for banks—except to rob them. Finally, to Sidney Stephen’s accusation that he was lying, Blackstone retorted angrily, ‘I have implicated no innocent man. I have told nothing but the truth!’ Roger Therry, the defence counsellor for the wily ringleader, took over the attack. He asked again about Blackstone’s British conviction

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and colonial transgressions. The self-proclaimed robber muttered an inventory of his criminality yet stubbornly repeated his claims to innocence. Therry had little need to remind the jury that Blackstone’s was no propitious track record for one being presented to the court as the wellspring of truthfulness. Therry then asked about Blackstone’s conversations with Captain Bunn and his decision to act as an informer. ‘I was afraid of being hanged by those who had the money,’ Blackstone explained. ‘They were in gaol at the time.’ Evidently it was a battle of wills as to who would tattle first and the resentful robber had succumbed. Woodward’s counsellor William Foster had little interest in the robbery itself, only in Blackstone’s references to his client as a receiver, however he had a trump card up his sleeve, one he hoped would seriously undermine the robber’s entire testimony. According to boatswain George Lavender, Foster told the court, Blackstone had admitted to having no involvement whatsoever in the robbery. ‘I know Lavender,’ the furious robber countered (a decided understatement considering that he had slugged the man), ‘but I never said to him that I know nothing of the bank robbery or indirectly declared in his presence that I know nothing about the robbery!’ It was the attack the prosecution had feared, but they quickly recognised that their concerns were unwarranted. Lavender’s attempt to destroy their case by undermining Blackstone’s testimony would have as little impact as a pinprick on a pair of leg irons. Yet the prosecutors must have winced as Blackstone continued, as they heard him intimating that Lavender had his own agenda. ‘I received 150 lashes for having a mould on my person which was put into my pocket while I was drunk,’ Blackstone declared indignantly, referring to the coining implements discovered after Lavender had collared him. ‘But I was innocent. Nobody ever saw me make it. I did not make it.’ Considering Blackstone’s association with the London coining community, his previous protestations of blamelessness and his history of criminal opportunism, this suggestion of a conspiracy against him was undoubtedly just another mindless claim of innocence. Nevertheless,

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it reminded those in the courtroom of the niggling question raised by his avowals of innocence regarding his British conviction: where did the lies end and the truth begin? After Foster completed his examination, the judge signalled Blackstone that his stint as the government’s golden boy had ended. He stepped from the witness box and the guards escorted him from the courtroom. Judge Dowling would later write with grudging admiration: ‘This man was notoriously an infamous and worthless wretch yet never in the course of my experience did I see a witness comport himself with so much consistency, accuracy and credibility. For six or seven hours he was in the witness box and stood the brunt of three successive most acute cross-examinations by the prisoners’ respective counsel. But he was unshaken in any part of his statement.’

‘I am one of the tellers of the Bank of Australia—the first,’ Peter Gardner reported proudly. He was also the first of the corroborating witnesses to step into the witness box. ‘It was my duty to take the cash balance at the end of each day’s business,’ he continued. ‘In the month of September 1828 I deposited my box in the strongroom underground on the evening of Saturday the thirteenth. It contained notes of the Bank of Australia— between £12 000 and £13 000 in whole—and silver and copper coins.’ Gardner chronicled his memories of the following Monday morning, carrying the wide-eyed courtroom spectators with him as he clumped down the bank’s stairs and discovered the ransacked vault. After listing the stolen items, he faced questions about the missing coins, the coppers in particular. ‘There was copper in my box,’ he repeated. ‘I know because there was more copper found in the drain than the amount I had left in the box—between eleven pence and one shilling more.’ The teller then related the bank’s efforts to frustrate the robbers and described the days that followed. ‘People came to the bank in crowds. I have no recollection of the prisoners, however a person calling herself Elizabeth Woodward came in and presented some notes—between £30

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and £40. They were mostly £1 notes. We did not pay them because we were not satisfied with her account.’ It was a compelling testimony. The defence barristers recognised that the judge and jury had just heard a credible witness provide independent verification of a number of important points Blackstone had covered. They poked at the teller, attempting to find weaknesses in the prosecution’s case. Roger Therry asked about the post-robbery publicity, intimating that someone unconnected with the robbers might have acquired detailed knowledge about the drain, the tunnelling tools and the procedures used to rob the bank. ‘An account of the robbery was published in the papers,’ Gardner acknowledged, ‘but from the newspapers I don’t think any person could concoct the story. I don’t think anybody that saw the drain could concoct the story either. Anyway, none but gentlemen of respectability were let down there,’ he added loftily. William Foster alluded to a possible inside job when he asked about the bank directors’ access to the vault. Gardener reported that although the strongroom belonged to the bank, Macvitie and the other directors sometimes kept their own money there. ‘Any director might go to the room,’ he admitted, ‘but Mr Macvitie might prevent them. At that time, the keys of the strongroom were left in the charge of Macvitie. Since then, one is sent out of the house.’

John Wallace, the nephew of the bank’s managing director, followed with his own account of that morning. He reported being the first into the drain and listed the implements he had found, mentioning that he handed them to Chief Constable Jilks soon afterwards. At his cue, the chief constable carried over the crowbar, gimlet and other implements and laid them before the witness, who declared to the court that these were the items he had found in the drain. Wallace then resumed his testimony. ‘At that time I did not miss the new notes which had not been issued. I afterwards found them scattered about in the drain. One note had been used for the purpose of wiping

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a human,’ he reported with disgust. ‘I found human excrement upon it and in one of the boxes.’ Creighton could never have imagined that his scatological deposits would become an important point of corroboration in a Supreme Court trial. ‘I also found a few shillings and some copper money lying near the aperture in the drain; the copper money was about a yard from the grating. There was no copper money to my knowledge in the strongroom. When I saw the copper money,’ Wallace added wryly, ‘I remarked that I had gained so much from the loss.’ Defense counsellor Roger Therry asked if Blackstone could have discovered these details without being part of the robbery. ‘Many persons saw the drain,’ Wallace admitted, ‘but I took the implements away after the first time. I should think that if a man had been in the drain and seen the things he might have made up a good story. But not having seen the implements or the place I should think it very difficult to make up a story of probability.’ William Foster inquired about the bank’s attempt to recall their notes and trap the robbers. ‘The bank published notices for parties to bring in all their notes and crowds came in consequence,’ Wallace reported. Some of the spectators nodded at their own recollections of the eager crowds. ‘If a person like the prisoner had brought anything like such a sum as £1000, I should think he would have been stopped,’ Wallace continued. Reminded, tactfully, that many of the richest men in the colony had arrived as persons like the prisoners, he conceded: ‘There were many humble individuals who presented large sums at the bank, much more humble in appearance than the prisoners at the bar.’ Foster agreed with him, adding: ‘I know that I presented a small sum at the bank on that occasion, and was questioned about it.’ ‘You were a suspicious-looking character, I suppose?’ the quick-witted Wentworth quipped. The audience tittered appreciatively.

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Ex-constable Robert Melville was the next to climb into the witness box. He mentioned stumbling upon Byrne’s fight on Saturday 14 September 1828 and Dingle’s attempted bribery. He recounted their conversation on Church Hill in the early hours of the following Monday morning and his scepticism about Dingle’s excuse that he had been drunk and had napped in a paddock. ‘It had been raining very hard before this,’ Melville told the court, painting a picture of that dismal night nearly three years earlier and the miserable life of a constable tramping his beat in foul weather. ‘I put my hand on his clothes and he was not wet. Had he been lying there he must have been as wet as me. I could not see if there was any mud on him but he appeared to me to be perfectly sober.’ Quizzed about Dingle’s movements, Melville elaborated: ‘He was coming down the Church Hill in the direction from his own home and turning round Mr Davis’ corner and it would not have taken him above three minutes to walk down to the bank.’ Could Dingle have heard or seen the constables coming? ‘We had no light,’ Melville recollected. ‘We were talking before we came up to him. There were three of us and our footsteps must have made some noise. In all probability, I think he might have heard us but he could not have changed his course.’ This was not the confirmation the prosecution required. Was he sure? ‘If Dingle had been on the watch and wished to have diverted our attention another way he might have changed his course,’ the compliant witness allowed. ‘Such a thing is frequently done.’

At last James John Wood was called to testify. The courtroom tensed as the clergyman’s son hastened to the witness box, swore on the Bible and informed the court that he was a clerk in the office of the Principal Superintendent of Convicts. Wood’s testimony was essential for a conviction and fortunately he was a more desirable witness than Blackstone. Although a convict (and in England an attainted one), he was clearly from the respectable ranks of society and bore a character reference from the Principal Superintendent of Convicts himself. Hely

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had written a month previously: ‘James John Wood has conducted himself in the most satisfactory manner and is indeed but too rare an instance in this colony of a steady perseverance in a course of sober industry and punctual attention in the discharge of his duty.’ ‘I know James Dingle and knew him in September 1828,’ Wood began. ‘I saw him on the day preceding the robbery being discovered. He came to my house in Clarence Street between eight and ten on the Sunday morning to ask if I could excuse William Blackstone from church muster without Mr Hely’s knowledge. Dingle held some money in his hand, either one or two dollars, which he offered to me as a bribe. I said I could not do it as I would not run the risk of getting myself into disgrace. He said Farrell had desired him to say that he had hurt his leg and could not come to church muster and Blackstone was lying drunk at his house. They did not come to church muster and I reported them accordingly. In the evening Farrell asked if I had reported him to Mr Hely. He appeared not to be lame but to walk as well as any man could do and assigned no reason for his absence.’ As his words hung in the air, the discerning judge, the patient jury, the stoical defence counsellors and the absorbed spectators all knew that Wood’s testimony was convincing. Not only had he corroborated many of Blackstone’s claims, he had linked the three robbers together on the day of the robbery, implicated them in a conspiracy against colonial regulations, and provided independent evidence confirming Blackstone and Farrell’s absence without cause from the important church muster. When cross-examined by Sidney Stephen, Wood admitted that he had actually reported the men’s absences on the day the robbery was discovered (although other evidence suggests that his disclosure was as late as the Tuesday after the robbery). Surprisingly, no one remarked that the coins found in the drain exposed his willingness to accept Dingle’s bribe. ‘It is always done,’ the clergyman’s son declared righteously in response to questions about reporting such absences. ‘It frequently occurs that men are absent and then if they can’t account for it, they are turned into barracks. None are absent without Mr Hely’s permission unless they have a good excuse. But these people sometimes run the risk.’

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His words must have pierced Blackstone and Farrell like a bayonet through the heart—and Dingle as well. It was a foolish risk, a decision he should never have made. Rushing the job had provided this artful clerk with potent ammunition which he continued to fire back at them with deadly accuracy. Indeed, Wood’s testimony provided the strongest corroborative evidence connecting Dingle with the robbers. That one error in judgment—Dingle’s own—might cost him his life.

Thomas Woodward had escaped the court’s attention after Blackstone’s testimony ended however his turn came when George Jilks marched to the stand. ‘I am chief constable of Sydney,’ Jilks announced importantly, and revealed that he had known Woodward for many years during the transportee’s lengthy service in the Commissariat Office under a number of different Deputy Commissary-Generals. ‘He has been trusted,’ Jilks continued. ‘I never knew anything against his character until this time. If I had known anything against him I should as a point of duty have acquainted his employers.’ This character reference was not what the prosecution required from Sydney’s chief constable. They asked about Woodward’s woman. ‘At the time of the bank robbery he lived with a woman that goes by the name of Elizabeth Woodward,’ Jilks quickly responded. ‘She was in custody soon after the robbery on a charge of offering bank notes for change which were supposed to be part of the notes stolen from the bank. There were several examinations of her before the magistrates. She was above a week in custody—several days at least—and then liberated on bail.’ Having received the indirect corroboration they required regarding Woodward’s likely involvement, the prosecutors directed Jilks’ attention to their primary witness.‘Blackstone has been before the police frequently,’ the chief constable informed the judge and jury. ‘He has been a very bad character.’ But did he think the approver was telling the truth? ‘I would believe any man on his oath unless I knew him to be perjured,’ Jilks claimed, then added: ‘I perfectly believe Blackstone’s history of the

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bank robbery. As soon as I saw the tools I guessed it was Blackstone and where they were made. He can make anything. There isn’t a person who knows him that does not know he is an excellent blacksmith. He was the likeliest man to be applied to and to join in a job of this kind.’ Jilks’ statement was a scathing indictment of an exceptionally skilled man who chose criminal pursuits over the potentially fruitful rewards of honest labour. It exposed the robbers’ folly in leaving behind such an incriminating trail of evidence. And it endorsed the beliefs of those who moaned that a settlement continually repopulated with criminals was incapable of rising above its vice-ridden origins. Asked about a likely collaboration between Blackstone and Woodward, Jilks told the court: ‘No respectable man would put himself in Blackstone’s power. I would not think such a man as Woodward would put himself in the power of Blackstone.’ Yet, by a strange paradox, the judge, jury, counsellors and spectators were assembled in that very courtroom hearing testimony about the Bank of Australia robbery principally because the villainous Blackstone had put himself in the ‘respectable’ Woodward’s power. Evidently the receiver was a man of masks. Did the chief constable think Blackstone was lying? ‘I would not think Blackstone is a man who is capable from spite or malice of getting up a false history,’ Jilks conceded with surprising charity. His testimony completed, Sydney’s chief constable strode from the courtroom while the Bank of Australia’s counsel announced that the prosecution rested its case.

The defence counsellors stirred. Therry and Foster glanced at Sidney Stephen. His client George Farrell was the first named in the indictment so Stephen had first stab at presenting a defence. He declined. Roger Therry announced: ‘I submit that there is no case against Dingle for aiding, abetting and assisting upon the evidence of Blackstone.’

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Judge Dowling acknowledged Therry’s submission, then turned to Woodward’s barrister. William Foster objected to the indictment’s description of the stolen notes and to the charge against Woodward of being an accessory. ‘If Woodward was an accessory,’ he declared, ‘then the court must first prove the principals guilty.’ Judge Dowling overruled both objections, adding that Woodward was being charged as an accessory to the crime not to the people who had perpetrated the crime.22 Roger Therry then announced: ‘The evidence is from an approver. There are no facts constituting the criminality.’ It was a valid submission. While penal settlement commandants regularly ordered floggings based upon statements from informers, the courts recognised the danger of relying too heavily on such testimony and demanded independent corroborative evidence. Crown Solicitor William Moore interceded, informing the court that he was holding the depositions taken before the magistrates on the prisoners’ committal. As the clerk of the court read them out, Judge Dowling jotted down his conclusions: that Blackstone’s statements were confirmed to some extent by Constable Melville’s testimony regarding both the fight and meeting Dingle on Church Hill, by Dingle’s account of his own activities when stopped by the constable, by Dingle’s attempt to bribe James John Wood, and by the bank employees’ references to the copper coins. He also noted that Blackstone’s description of the drain and the discarded implements tallied with those described by the other witnesses. Regarding Woodward, Judge Dowling added that the evidence was confirmed by Woodward’s woman getting into trouble over some notes. Curiously, he then observed that Thomas Seeney was an important witness yet he expressed no concern at Seeney’s absence from the witness list. He made no further notations regarding the evidence against Farrell. After the clerk finished reading the depositions, Judge Dowling asked: ‘Would the prisoners like to say anything to the jury in their defence?’ The barristers defending Farrell and Dingle declined. Their failure to call any character witnesses for the two robbers spoke volumes to the jury. Mr Foster, however, called four character witnesses for Woodward,

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including Deputy Commissary-General James Laidley and wealthy emancipist entrepreneur Samuel Terry. All declared that they had known Woodward for many years, had always considered him an honest man and were surprised to find him before the courts on such a charge. At 10.30 pm, over twelve hours after the trial commenced, Judge Dowling began to sum up the case. As the clock ticked over to Saturday morning, he counselled the jury that as Blackstone was an accomplice and an informer they should disbelieve his testimony altogether and treat him as no witness at all unless unimpeachable testimony confirmed the key elements of his story. The bleary-eyed spectators hadn’t long to wait before the jury returned a verdict. ‘Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!’

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Chapter 17

OBJECTION! Objection!

Although possessing natural vitality, is William Blackstone to be regarded in the eyes of the law as actually dead? Supreme Court Justice James Dowling

O

n 27 June 1831 George Farrell, James Dingle and Thomas Woodward shuffled back into the Supreme Court and up to the bar. It was sentencing day for the winter Criminal Session and tension gripped the courtroom. As the spectators pushed and elbowed trying to get a better view, they all knew the likely fate of the Bank of Australia robbers: a ‘black cap’ (the piece of black cloth donned by judges about to impose a death sentence). But the men themselves hadn’t given up hope. Their barristers would not let the hangman slip the knot without a fight. The three judges of the Supreme Court entered the courtroom: the sagacious Chief Justice Francis Forbes; Sidney Stephen’s father, John Stephen—beset with health issues and merely going through the motions; and James Dowling—keen and hard-working but less perspicacious than the Chief Justice. Seating themselves at the bench they motioned to the clerk of the court to begin the proceedings.

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George Farrell’s barrister, Sidney Stephen, was the first to address the court.‘I move in arrest of judgment,’ he announced firmly,‘on the ground that the principal evidence William Blackstone is incompetent, he being a convict attaint for an offence committed within the colony.’ The judges had expected the defence to raise the ‘convict attaint’ objection, and they listened closely as William Foster, Woodward’s counsellor, took up the baton. He argued that the ‘necessity’ precedent Judge Dowling had quoted when allowing Blackstone’s testimony related to the specific environment of a secondary penal settlement and its congregation of colonial transportees. ‘Where lies the danger of maintaining the principle in a case affecting the lives or liberty of free men?’ Foster demanded, adding that if the testimony of men like Blackstone was considered essential, the Constitution offered a solution.‘Let the Crown make him a competent witness by giving him a pardon.’ Foster was the first to admit that this solution carried its own set of dangers. ‘Suppose one or more persons out of malice or with a view to being relieved from their punishment were to prefer a charge against any individual and declare themselves ready to substantiate it on oath. The accused becomes the victim of a nefarious conspiracy.’ Of course, Foster’s example was not truly hypothetical. He was suggesting that the judges had already nurtured such undesirable behaviour by permitting Blackstone’s testimony. However, returning to the issue of pardoning such scoundrels, Foster added: ‘I trust your Honours will see the dreadful state of things to which such a decision might lead.’ The judges undoubtedly could. To provide pardons to those deemed unworthy of life for their own criminal activities in order to convict another of a criminal act would place an abhorrent power in the hands of the criminally inclined, particularly if such a ruling was extended to the penal settlements. Yet even if the courts wished to admit such testimony, Foster continued, the courts could not sanction it, only the legislature. ‘Your Honours sit here to declare what the laws are,’ Foster contended, ‘not to make new ones.’

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The three judges huddled together and whispered. The bored spectators munched on their peanuts and chattered. Eventually the clerk called the court to order. ‘We direct that the prisoners be remanded,’ the judges announced. The hangman’s grip had momentarily loosened. As the trio returned to the gaol, the law officers alerted the Bank of Australia’s barristers to the problem they were facing: that the ‘convict attaint’ appeal could undermine the verdict in the bank robbery trial and set the robbers free.

‘I have just been informed,’ the prosecution’s Dr Wardell announced to the court the following day, after Farrell, Dingle and Woodward were ushered back to the bar, ‘that several objections have been taken as to Blackstone’s competency. I thought the learned judge had overruled this point at the time of trial,’ he added with annoyance. ‘Either we must consider persons situated as Blackstone competent witnesses or we must adopt a principle that no crime can be taken cognisance of unless committed in the presence of free persons or of persons convicted in England.’ This was no solution either. It would lead to anarchy. After allowing that untenable thought to pervade the courtroom, Wardell concluded that the testimony of men like Blackstone had to be accepted for reasons of necessity. Naturally the defence barristers disagreed. As the two sides flung their arguments and counter-arguments at each other, the trio at the bar waited. To the barristers this verbal sparring was little more than an intellectual challenge; to the government officers, a tug-of-war between righteous guilt and legal innocence; to many of the spectators, more befuddling words. But to Farrell, Dingle and Woodward, this was a gladiatorial fight to the finish. Foster spoke once more. ‘The talent and ingenuity of the learned gentlemen opposed to me would, if their case were good, have furnished them with much stronger grounds for opposition than any

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addressed to the court this day.’ The Sydney Gazette’s editor evidently agreed with Foster’s caustic remark as he omitted the prosecution’s arguments from his lengthy report. ‘Therefore,’ Foster concluded, ‘I feel the more confirmed in my opinion that the testimony of this witness has been improperly received.’ The judges again huddled together and talked for some time. Justice Dowling would later remark that the judges appreciated the assistance provided by such an intelligent and independent bar and that both sides had argued the case with zeal, ability and learning. Eventually the judges announced: ‘We will consider the point and in the meantime direct the prisoners to be remanded and brought up on a future day.’

On 23 July 1831, six weeks after their trial, Farrell, Dingle and Woodward were conducted into the Supreme Court for the fourth time. The courtroom quietened as the spectators, lawyers and court officers watched them shuffling to the bar. The trio lifted their gazes towards the full bench of stern-eyed judges. Chief Justice Forbes was the first to address them. ‘Prisoners at the bar,’ he announced grimly, ‘you are placed there to receive the judgment of the court. From the notes of His Honour Mr Justice Dowling, it appears that your case underwent the most laborious consideration and with respect to the conclusion of the jury I have nothing to offer.’ But Forbes didn’t finish there. His statement continued as he focused on the object of the defence counsellors’ concerns.‘Originally a transported felon from the mother country, William Blackstone was not only convicted of a capital offence in this colony and received sentence of death but he is also a self-convicted accomplice in the very crimes with which he is charging the prisoners! Is cumulative crime nothing?’ Forbes challenged. ‘Is taint upon taint nothing?’ His engrossed audience continued to listen intently as Forbes expounded on the differences between men like Blackstone and ordinary transportees (like many of themselves). ‘The former stand doubly and

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trebly convicted: they are deeply stained with infamy by their conviction, they are removed from society by confinement or transportation, they are out of reach of the penal consequences of perjury. Is there no point where the law of England can come into operation, where the court must stop?’ the Chief Justice demanded. ‘If this witness’s testimony is admissible, I cannot discover any tangible distinction between this case and that of a felon brought from the gibbet itself to give evidence against the free inhabitants of this colony.’ Forbes spoke at length and called upon case law and the venerated Sir William Blackstone to substantiate his opinion that the law against attainted evidence was fundamental to English and European law, that such evidence should only be admitted in exceptional circumstances and that this case was not such an exception. And as hope surged through the trio at the bar, the colony’s Chief Justice—a man revered for his wise counsel—concluded: ‘I should be departing most unwarrantably from the law of England if I held Blackstone to be a competent witness.’ No doubt in preparing his opinion Forbes had reflected upon the irony that Sir William Blackstone’s legal wisdom might allow his felonious namesake’s accomplices to escape without punishment.

‘After many days, nay nights of painful deliberation,’ said Justice James Dowling, the next to offer his opinion, ‘His Honour Mr Justice Stephen and myself cannot shrink from the discharge of our duty. Disagreeable as it certainly is to us, we cannot defer to the opinion of the able and learned Chief Justice.’ As his words sank in, Dowling continued: ‘Our regret is the more poignant considering the serious consequences likely to follow our judgment as respects the fate of the prisoners at the bar.’ Dowling explained that in their opinion it was a mere rule of practice to disallow attainted evidence and that English legislation offered the colonial judges a wide discretion in moulding English laws to suit the colony’s unusual environment. He claimed that as Blackstone’s death sentence had been commuted to transportation he was in the same

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situation as a British transportee. He also derided any suggestion that a pardon might make Blackstone more credible: ‘A pardon might restore the man to testimonial vitality but he would still remain the same infamous and worthless villain; his moral turpitude and baseness would not be thereby purged.’ Finally, grandiloquently, Dowling sermonised that allowing Blackstone and other convict attaints to testify would send a message to the community. ‘Guilty and desperate men engaging with others in nefarious crimes will be taught that the mouths of their infamous companions will not be closed against them by such an objection and that the arm of justice is long and strong enough to reach them.’ But the three prisoners slumping at the bar were deaf to these admonitions. They cared nothing about legal precedents, about messages to the criminal community. By a two to one majority they had lost. Their counsellors were not yet willing to capitulate. Foster took the lead, the astute barrister having glimpsed the opportunity to bypass the colonial justices and their necessary legal flexibility by redirecting the issue to the British lawmaking purists.‘On account of the Bench’s division of opinion on this most important point, I apply to the court for permission to appeal to the King in Council against the decision,’ he demanded triumphantly. He then beseeched the judges to refrain from sentencing the prisoners in the intervening period. Momentarily disconcerted by these surprising requests and immediately comprehending the problems they would face if the British lawmakers overrode their ‘necessity’ ruling, the judges conferred again then posed further questions to the defence counsellors. Eventually Judge Dowling demanded the court’s attention and addressed the prisoners. ‘The novel application made by your learned counsel to suspend judgment until an appeal to the King in Council has been determined is wholly unsupported by any authority,’ he announced tartly. ‘Of your moral guilt, no reasonable person can entertain a shadow of doubt. However after consulting with my learned brethren I concur with them in thinking that, out of deference to the dissenting opinion of His Honour the Chief

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Justice and his conscientious doubts in a case of life and death, the most considerate step is to not pass sentence of death upon you George Farrell and James Dingle and award execution accordingly but to order judgment of “death to be recorded” only.’ For a moment, amazement silenced the courtroom. As the startled robbers gaped at each other, they realised that the Chief Justice’s dissenting opinion had just saved their lives. ‘With respect to you, Thomas Woodward,’ Judge Dowling continued after ordering the courtroom to be silent,‘all the judges concur in thinking that the aggravated circumstances of your case are such as compel them to award the extremest punishment authorised by law in the case of receivers of stolen goods: transportation to a penal settlement for the term of fourteen years.’

Blackstone was triumphant. He had retaliated against his accomplices for their betrayal yet by an astounding piece of good fortune he would not have their deaths on his conscience. Their conviction would grant him the beneficence of a grateful bank and a grudging government— indeed he would receive more from tattling than he had received from the robbery itself. He would also walk away from the hulk a free man while his accomplices were to take his place at the Isle of Misery. For six weeks the exultant informer and his resentful victims smouldered at each other as they crossed paths on the Phoenix hulk, waiting for their orders to be processed. On 1 September 1831 Blackstone was delivered to the Hyde Park Barracks, handed his pardon and set free. Presumably then or soon afterwards the bank directors also handed over the £100 reward and the free ‘passage to England’ passport. But Blackstone, in a decision reminiscent of his many previous errors of judgment, chose to remain in the colony.

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Blackstone was not alone in hoping to benefit from the robbers’ convictions. The importunate clergyman’s son raised his own hand. Immediately after the final judgment, James John Wood announced to the Bank of Australia directors and the Governor that he had a greater claim to the rewards. Blackstone’s evidence, he declared, was not sufficient to convict the robbers. Wood was correct. The Supreme Court could not convict on the basis of an informer’s testimony without independent corroborative evidence. Wood’s testimony did indeed confirm Dingle’s involvement with Blackstone and Farrell on the day of the robbery and neatly complemented and supplemented Blackstone’s claims. Without it, the court’s only testimonial evidence against the robbers was that Farrell had missed the church muster and that Dingle’s explanation was inadequate when the constable confronted him near the bank at an unseemly hour. Would this evidence alone have convicted them? Perhaps—as the only corroborative testimony against Woodward was that his woman had an inadequate explanation for being in possession of stolen notes. Of course, Seeney’s deposition backed up Blackstone’s statements against Woodward, but Seeney was not called to testify so the defence counsellors had no opportunity to cross-examine him. Evidently the standard of the corroborative evidence required for such a conviction was not high. Blackstone would have been delighted to hear that the bank directors rejected Wood’s claim to the greater entitlement. The directors did, however, concede that his information and testimony had played a vital role in convicting the robbers and granted him £25. After further appeals, including some from his father to the British authorities, Wood received a conditional pardon in 1833 and an absolute pardon in 1836. That pair of leather boots Wood had fancied not only tripped up a gang of bank robbers, they carried the self-serving clergyman’s son onto his path to freedom.

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Having dealt with the primary witnesses, the Governor focused upon the other men Blackstone and Wood had implicated. He asked the Principal Superintendent of Convicts to report on their whereabouts. Robber Valentine Rourke had departed for England two years previously, the superintendent revealed. He was to be pursued, the Governor decided, although not to the extent of setting police officers on his trail. Rourke’s details were forwarded to England along with newspaper reports of the bank robbers’ trial, however the elusive robber continued to elude detection. Blackstone’s fair-weather friend Thomas Seeney worked in the lumber yard, the report continued, although his ticket-of-leave had been cancelled and he was back in the barracks. ‘You will take an early opportunity,’ demanded the Governor, ‘of laying his name before the Land Board for assignment to a distant part of the colony.’ However Seeney proved fortunate, remaining in Sydney until he received his certificate of freedom late in 1832. Two others had already been assigned to distant parts. Edward Shortland was one of 160 convict servants employed by ex-British politician Thomas Potter Macqueen on his thriving Segenhoe Estate in the Hunter River district north of Sydney. Macqueen evidently found Shortland a worthwhile employee as he approved his ticket-of-leave application in 1837. Shortland received a conditional pardon in 1843 and remained in the district until his death in 1847. Bootmaker John Byrne had been assigned to the Australian Agricultural Company and was then in Hyde Park Barracks awaiting conveyance to Port Stephens, north of Newcastle. Backed by a hefty capital, the Australian Agricultural Company had been founded in 1824 to develop the agricultural, pastoral and mineral resources of Australia and had vast properties in the Port Stephens district. Byrne received a ticket-of-leave eight years later and eventually, after 32 years in the penal system, a conditional pardon. His decision to return to Sydney soon afterwards, however, proved rash: six months’ confinement in 1849 for having skeleton keys in his possession; another two years soon afterwards for attempted robbery. After receiving another ticket-of-leave late in 1851 the grey-

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haired 55-year-old with the common Irish name disappears into historical oblivion. Shoemaker suspect James Madden’s colonial sentence had expired early in 1831 so he was out of the authorities’ reach. Yet six months later he showed signs of wanting to revisit the penal system. He and two others allegedly committed a highway-robbery although, at his Supreme Court trial, the judge dismissed the charges and Madden walked away a free man. And robbery architect Thomas Turner? The skilled stonemason was a valuable commodity. Despite repeated petitions for a ticket-of-leave with recommendations from eminent community members, his pleas were ignored. With quiet resolution, the authorities punished him.

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PART VII

DESPAIR From Norfolk Island’s disastrous example, the nations of the world should take warning never to hoard together a band exclusively of the worst outcasts of society and allow them to live under a system from which the charities of life are excluded, and under which the lash, the dungeon and the scaffold are the only instruments used to reform and reclaim fallen men. Who can deny that under such a system not only is transportation worse than death but that the infliction of death itself is, in comparison, the extension and exercise of a mighty mercy? Sir Roger Therry, Reminiscences

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Chapter 18

DESPERATION Desperation

Many who might have been reclaimed by other and gentle means and reasoned into an abandonment of criminal courses were maddened by the severity of the lash into defiance of the law. Sir Roger Therry, Reminiscences

T

he news sped through the Phoenix hulk like a flame along a tinderdry fuse. Orders had just arrived that a shipload of convicts was to sail for Norfolk Island. ‘The Louisa will take 107 prisoners,’ reported the Sydney Gazette, ‘some of the most desperate characters that ever infested the country.’ Dingle, Farrell and Woodward were named along with Blackstone’s fellow Norfolk Island witnesses—the men who had testified in the Adam Oliver murder trial and some others who had witnessed another murderous attack. ‘These desperate characters from Norfolk Island are about to be transshipped from the hulk to the Louisa,’ wrote the Phoenix’s superintendent to the sheriff on 15 September 1831. ‘In all probability they may attempt something rather rash and as the hulk boats are small a great number of men cannot be taken to guard them.’ He asked that

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the Louisa anchor in the cove or near the hulk rather than at Pinchgut Island for greater security during the prisoner transshipment. The superintendent had cause for alarm. Only the day before, a group of Norfolk Island prisoners facing murder charges had cut through their irons and the cell gratings, but the alarm had sounded before they could flee. The sheriff advised the Governor that admission passes should be withheld until the prisoners had embarked on the Louisa and seconded the superintendent’s request for twenty pairs of heavy irons. The Governor sent two magistrates on board to investigate the situation then cautioned: ‘I think it highly expedient that no person whatever excepting a magistrate should be allowed to visit prisoners on board the hulk on any account and that no bread or other articles capable of containing a letter, note, file &c should be permitted to be sent to a person under any pretence whatever.’ He ordered the Deputy Commissary-General to immediately provide twenty pairs of heavy irons for the hulk’s use. When told that none were available, the Governor snapped: ‘Have them manufactured immediately!’ Despite the hardships and arduous work, the Phoenix’s inmates preferred servitude on the hulk to transportation to a secondary penal settlement. Living and working within sight of Sydney allowed visits from friends and loved ones, the gifts of food and other necessities and luxuries, and a sense of connection that was instantly severed when the transport left the harbour. Moreover, the Governor kept an absent eye on the hulk whereas in the distant penal settlements the often sadistic commandants ruled with despotic powers. In his weeks on board the hulk Farrell had heard all about life on Norfolk Island under King Lash. Such an existence horrified him and his seven cellmates. They began plotting. A man purporting to be Farrell’s brother regularly visited the hulk and assisted with their plans. On Monday morning, 19 September, after the hulk’s superintendent received orders for the prisoners’ immediate transfer to the Louisa, Farrell signalled that it was time. With the strength of desperation, the men hacked through their irons then through the iron grating covering their

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cell’s porthole. One by one they clambered out the porthole and plunged through the sewage-strewn muck into the deep waters of Sydney Harbour. George Farrell and Thomas Williams, a transportee equally well known to the police, surfaced. James Tansley and Charles Smith alias Sculthorpe followed. Both were escapees from Tasmania’s own version of a penal hell, the Macquarie Harbour settlement; Smith had been recaptured only four days previously. But before the fifth escapee could join them, the sentinels sounded the alarm. A corporal on duty grabbed his weapon and leant over the side. Seeing splashing bodies and thrashing arms, he fired one or two shots which plucked at the choppy water. The other guards scrambled into the hulk’s boats and began to search for them. Was Smith hit by one of the bullets? He sank instantly according to some reports. The other prisoners attempted to help him until another shot deterred them. They dived under the surface and desperately stroked towards the sanctuary of the dense bush lining the shore. The boats passed over them, the fresh breeze and foamy water hiding their movements. The hulk’s superintendent raced to his office and dashed off a letter to the sheriff. ‘Four prisoners have this instant escaped from the hulk. The boats are still in pursuit of them.’ After describing their escape, he attempted to exonerate himself: ‘I beg leave to refer to my former letter explaining that no precaution can keep the prisoners from getting possession of knives. Every vigilance has been exercised and no suspicion was even excited that it was possible to escape the cells, being every day carefully searched and every man searched before he is allowed to leave the deck for his cell.’ He reported that he was sending word to the police office and concluded: ‘From the assistance which may in all probability be obtained from the native blacks in tracing the runaways, the prisoners may be speedily apprehended.’ As the guards peered into the water and the boats continued to trawl backwards and forwards, the superintendent penned another report: ‘There is hardly a doubt but one of the men was shot while attempting to make the shore. Farrell was so sharply pursued by the boats as to

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abandon his clothes on the beach and escape perfectly naked. The clothing of the other men was left behind them in the cell.’ The superintendent strode down to Cell No. 6 to interrogate the remaining prisoners. The guards disclosed that all four men had cut through their irons and were about to escape. Indeed, one was halfway through the porthole when the corporal fired the first shot. He dragged himself back into the cell, lacerating his knee in his haste. Threats of the punishments they were facing led at least one of the would-be escapees to turn informer. He revealed that Farrell’s purported brother was waiting with a boat on the North Shore near Lane Cove and would row them to his residence where they would hide until they had acquired arms and ammunition. They would then slip out of Sydney to a country district and rob the settlers until they had enough plunder to buy their escape from the colony. The feisty bank robber was aspiring to becoming a bushranger. ‘When the desperate characters of the prisoners are borne in recollection, such an arrangement is extremely probable,’ the superintendent concluded his report to the sheriff. After conferring with the chief constable, the superintendent recommended watching Farrell’s accomplice’s woman so they could apprehend the escapees upon their arrival at the man’s property. ‘The constables must not occasion any suspicion that the escapees’ intentions have been discovered,’ he advised, ‘otherwise the plans will be reformed in order to provide against detection.’ The newspapers picked up the story. ‘Four prisoners destined for Norfolk Island, all men of very desperate character, escaped this morning from the hulk. It is not possible for a greater degree of vigilance to be exercised at any place than is observed on board the hulk but these runaways are accustomed to gaol breaking,’ reported the Sydney Gazette. ‘The Parramatta police are on the alert and the North Shore is literally scoured with the military and constables of Sydney.’ The Sydney Herald warned: ‘Their capture will not be effected without difficulty as they are men of the most determined character.’ The Governor agreed, and offered rewards for their apprehension. Smith already had

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£50 on his head from the Tasmanian government while Farrell’s escapades were also costing the community a great deal of money. James Tansley was the first to be caught, discovered the same day in Woodcutter’s Creek on Edward Wollstonecraft’s North Shore estate. ‘Perfectly naked!’ the press remarked salaciously. After Tansley’s return to the hulk the superintendent scribbled another letter to the sheriff, reporting, ‘The officers and several others are now scouring the bush in every direction in search of the remaining absentees.’ Thomas Williams was captured at daybreak the following morning in Sydney’s Sussex Street. Also naked, he offered a ‘stout resistance’ before being taken into custody. ‘He swam, it appears,’ remarked an astonished reporter, ‘from the North Shore to Jack the Miller’s Point in Cockle Bay.’ And of Smith? ‘He is supposed to have drowned,’ the superintendent reported after Tansley and Williams revealed that Smith had not reached the shore. ‘He was heard calling out for help but he perished.’ ‘A ruse this, very likely,’ the Australian responded derisively. Escapees Tansley and Williams were immediately transferred to the Louisa and shipped to Norfolk Island with Dingle and Woodward. But the determined little bank robber remained at large.

At midday on Tuesday 27 September, Chief Constable Jilks ordered police officers Small and Scutland into his office. He had received information, he informed these eager officers, regarding the whereabouts of hulk escapee George Farrell. The constables hastened to Darling Harbour, to the windmill described by the informant. Nearby they spotted Farrell in a boat moored to the shore. Keeping themselves hidden they watched him for a moment. Farrell was unaware of their presence as he stooped to bail out the trader. When it was seaworthy he would row out to a ship in the harbour, slip on board and stow away. He was desperate and, unbeknown to the constables, he was armed.

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As Farrell bent and bailed, the constables crept up from behind and grabbed him. Farrell had no chance to pull out the pistol they found concealed in his jacket. ‘I would have shot you if you had not surprised me,’ he snarled at them. The press believed him. ‘Farrell is a very daring character and would have in all probability committed great excesses had his career not been so speedily stopped. In fact, he was a terror to the police.’ Constable Scutland received a £10 reward for his endeavours and the Sydney Gazette crowed: ‘In this instance as in many others the efficiency and vigilance of the constabulary exceeds all praise; for although Farrell has, as he states, been zealously assisted by friends (no doubt receivers of the bank plunder), still the Argus-eyed guardians of Sydney have never been remiss. Out of the four prisoners who escaped three have now been taken and the fourth, Smith alias Sculthorpe, no doubt perished in attempting to gain the shore.’

Returned to the Phoenix, Farrell was flogged into submission and restrained with the new irons Governor Darling had ordered. But the tenacious gaol-breaker was only temporarily subdued. Early in December 1831 the hulk’s new superintendent received word from his predecessor (promoted to Principal Gaoler of Sydney Gaol) to watch the notorious robber closely: ‘A plan is in contemplation to supply Farrell with jaws and files for the purpose of effecting his escape from the hulk. They are to be or have been conveyed on board by one of the guard belonging to His Majesty’s 17th Regiment.’ Warned of Farrell’s gaol-breaking abilities, the superintendent ordered a strict search of the hulk but without success. He alerted the guards, advising them to watch for any strange incidents. On 6 December he received a curious report. ‘One of the fatigue party appointed to bring the guards’ dinner to the hulk went down to the middle deck where he was seen speaking to Farrell through the bars of his cell.’ When the

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superintendent questioned the soldier he denied having spoken to Farrell and claimed that curiosity alone had induced him to look into the cell. Having heard only that morning of another escape plan, the superintendent begged: ‘May I receive instructions for placing an additional pair of irons on each of them for their better security?’ Heavily ironed and locked in a cell, Farrell remained on the hulk until 21 December 1831, when orders were issued for his embarkation on the Norfolk Island-bound Isabella. ‘Care is to be taken that they are all properly ironed,’ ordered the Governor. Along with these cumbersome weights Farrell carried the label ‘bad character’ to his new home on Norfolk Island.

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Chapter 19

TAINT UPON TAINT Taint upon taint Such was Blackstone’s love of crime’s commission he could not abstain from it, though he risked more for the sake of committing crime than he could have gained by its successful perpetration. Sir Roger Therry, Reminiscences

W

hen Blackstone cast off the ropes binding him to his accomplices he knew that the consequences for them would likely be dire. Yet when the judges chose to punish them with transportation rather than sacrificing them on the altar of retribution, it was the ultimate happy ending. Blackstone had almost everything he could wish for: freedom, money and the opportunity to live life on his own terms. But he faced one more choice. He could grasp the hand of reformation tentatively held out to him. Or not . . .

George Morris had looked everywhere. An assigned servant at gunsmith James Nicholson’s shop in George Street, he was facing an annoyed customer demanding the return of his gun. Morris could find the repaired

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stock but not the lock which had been lying on a nearby bench. It wasn’t long before Morris, a convict himself, realised what must have happened. Morris tramped the streets, visiting all the gunsmiths in Sydney and even dropping in at the military barracks to inquire if anyone had fenced the gun-lock. No one had seen it. Meanwhile, armourer Sergeant Pattison of the 39th Regiment was talking to local resident John Smith when William Blackstone strolled into his workshop and announced that he had a gun-lock to sell. After Pattison expressed interest, Blackstone returned the following day accompanied by Smith and demanded five shillings for the proffered gun-lock, eventually accepting three shillings sixpence. Soon afterwards Pattison mentioned the purchase to another regimental armourer who told him of the inquiries. ‘If you have an opportunity,’ Pattison asked the armourer, ‘can you inform Mr Nicholson of my having purchased a gun-lock?’ Two days later Blackstone returned to the armoury and offered to sell Pattison another gun-lock but the sergeant refused to buy it, explaining that he had concerns about his previous purchase. ‘If you doubt my word, I will return you the money and take back the lock,’ Blackstone retorted with his usual effrontery. Pattison asked his name. ‘Taylor,’ said the blacksmith, then added as he left the armoury, ‘if you want to find me at any time Smith can tell you where I live.’ Soon afterwards George Morris arrived at the armoury with the gunstock. The stock and lock fitted together perfectly. ‘I am sure it is my master’s lock,’ Morris advised the sergeant and reimbursed him for the purchase price. Pattison marked the lock for identification purposes and Morris carried it back to the gun shop. His master notified the police. Taken into custody, Blackstone was committed to stand trial and locked up. His name sparked the authorities’ interest.‘William Blackstone, a smith by trade, was one of the principals in the burglary at the Bank of Australia and afterwards was admitted to give evidence on the part of the Crown against his accomplices,’ wrote the Crown Solicitor. ‘If he is the same person he ought not to be admitted to bail.’

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Two months later, in July 1832, Blackstone appeared before the Sydney Quarter Sessions. ‘Juror withdrawn,’ noted the court papers and his case was dismissed. Good fortune had again blessed the unrepentant thief. But it wouldn’t last.

At 1.30 am a few days before Christmas 1832, John Meredith of the British Standard Hotel in George Street and a companion, Conrad Knowles, were returning home from a party when Meredith noticed lights in the premises opposite his own. It was a warehouse belonging to Sydney merchant and Bank of Australia director Alexander Brodie Spark. ‘This is rather extraordinary,’ he said to his companion, adding that the warehouse was usually empty at night. They hurried into Meredith’s house, dimmed the lights and bounded up the stairs to a window overlooking Spark’s property. Peering out, they could see at least three people inside the warehouse. From their movements and the shadows cast on the wall, Meredith and Knowles realised that they were breaking open boxes and packages, selecting items of interest and depositing them near the front door. Soon afterwards one of the intruders came to a window and peeped out. Convinced that thieves were robbing Spark’s property, Meredith and Knowles crept out of the house and hurried through the dark streets to find the night patrol. After reporting their suspicions to three constables, they led them back to the warehouse. Meredith had already armed himself with a waddy and Knowles with an unloaded fowling piece (a gun for shooting birds), and the two crouched at Spark’s front stoop. Knowles put his ear to the door and could distinctly hear footsteps pacing the floor and goods being placed nearby. He heard a voice murmuring ‘Hush! Hush!’ and signalled to the others that the thieves were coming. A key turned cautiously in the lock. Knowles grabbed his fowling piece by the barrel. The door opened gently. Knowles drove the butt into the gap, slamming the door back, then lunged towards the opening. Two of the thieves burst through the doorway. One collided with Knowles,

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almost knocking him over. They scuffled and Knowles walloped him with his gun butt. The frantic thief kept thrusting forward until he slipped through the grasping hands of one of the constables. Meredith lashed out with his waddy, knocking the thief to the ground. Dazed, he stumbled to his feet and tried to escape again but the constables quickly shackled him. When they led him into the light they soon recognised this whiskered marauder with the dirty white jacket and black hat: the notorious William Blackstone. A constable grabbed at the other thief and managed to handcuff him before he escaped through the gate. He was fifteen-year-old colonialborn Thomas McGrath, one of Mr Spark’s apprentices. His master’s opinion of the youth had ‘hitherto stood very high’, the Currency Lad reported dryly. Knowles and the constables took the two prisoners across to Meredith’s house where they searched them. Blackstone was hiding seven skeleton keys, six prize medals, a bag of farthings and pence, and a number of loose Spanish dollars and British half-crowns and shillings. Later, under his chair, they found a length of silk Gros de Naples fabric Mr Spark had purchased only the previous day. Nearby, blood speckled the floor. ‘It must have been from the wound my waddy caused on Blackstone,’ the unrepentant Meredith observed. In the meantime, Meredith had returned to Spark’s warehouse, certain he had seen three thieves foraging through the merchandise. Property was scattered everywhere. A broken pistol case lay on the floor and two handsome six-barrelled pistols on a packing case. Stashed near the front door were satin shoes and a variety of silver spoons and housebreaking implements. Lying outside the storeroom was a jemmy, a smashed padlock and the door’s staples; while the outside door had apparently been opened with a key, the thieves had broken into the storeroom itself. After hunting through the storeroom and the rooms upstairs, Meredith began searching in the adjacent stable. Pushing aside some harnesses, he spotted a cowering youth: colonial-born tailor’s apprentice John Curran. A short distance from the harnesses, Meredith found a bag marked with Spark’s name and filled with coins reflecting the cosmopolitan

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nature of the colonial currency: French eagles, Portuguese, East Indian, Dutch, Spanish, Russian and Sicilian coins as well as the sterling coins of their mother country. ‘DARING BURGLARY,’ trumpeted the Sydney Gazette a day later. ‘A most deeply planned and atrocious burglary was detected in the very act of completion at an early hour yesterday.’ The Currency Lad naturally laid all the blame on the British-born transportee: ‘It appears that the notorious approver Blackstone was at the bottom of the scheme and seduced two poor ignorant lads to join him in the execution of his plans.’

Blackstone was in serious trouble. He had seen the scaffold squatting in the gaol-yard nearby, its stained wooden deck and crusty knotted rope bearing the final vestiges of the ill-fated. Was he to join them? He had already twice faced the courts for capital crimes and had eluded the hangman’s halter on both charges. He should have been hanged for his involvement in the bank robbery but had dodged that charge by implicating his accomplices. Good fortune was unlikely to favour him a fourth time. On Friday 1 February 1833, Blackstone again faced Chief Justice Forbes in the Supreme Court. He and the two other burglars were charged with breaking and entering a warehouse and stealing goods valued at £55. ‘How do you plead?’ asked the Clerk of Arraigns. ‘Guilty!’ Blackstone and Curran wisely declared. ‘Innocent,’ asserted the young McGrath. ‘We only are guilty and McGrath is innocent,’ Blackstone and Curran pleaded, showing a surprising concern for the youth’s wellbeing. Chief Justice Forbes directed that a plea of ‘not guilty’ should be recorded for all, as they were all charged under the same indictment, and the trial proceeded. There could be little doubt about the verdict. When the men returned three weeks later for sentencing, Chief Justice Forbes flayed them: ‘This case is too clear to admit of a doubt. It was

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an offence of an aggravated nature and yours was the worst character of that class of offences. The court thinks it their duty to the inhabitants of this colony to relieve them of persons who would conceive with such ingenuity and execute plans with such boldness.’ Focusing on the ringleader, Forbes announced: ‘The court therefore awards you, William Blackstone, whom it knows to be an old offender, the extreme penalty of the law which is that you should be transported to a penal settlement for the period of your natural life.’ Blackstone had yet again escaped the gallows. Good fortune had indeed favoured him. British humanitarians had long been horrified at the number of capital crimes listed in the statutes and had been pushing for legislative changes mandating punishments more fitting to the crimes. Stealing from a warehouse was among the crimes recently struck off the death list. Providentially, Alexander Brodie Spark did not reside in his business premises as ‘stealing from a dwelling house’ remained on the list; indeed, it appeared indelibly inked. The Attorney-General would gladly have scribbled his signature to such a charge against Blackstone, and Chief Justice Forbes would have fixed that well-known whiskered face with a resolute stare as he tugged on the black cap. Curran also received a life sentence, but the humanitarian Chief Justice sentenced McGrath to only seven years’ transportation. ‘The reason for this distinction,’ Forbes advised the spectators, ‘is that he is a youth and the court hopes that the lesson of the day would not be forgotten during his future life.’ On 8 March 1833 the man who could have had it all was shipped on board the Governor Phillip, sailing two days later to join the unforgiving Dingle, Farrell and Woodward on Norfolk Island.

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Chapter 20

SUPPLICATION Supplication Of all evils upon society, I know of none more to be deprecated than to be governed by unsuitable laws. Chief Justice Francis Forbes

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he three men convicted in the Bank of Australia trial had not slipped quietly into the night. The dissenting voice of the second most powerful man in New South Wales, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, had offered the prisoners a platform, and even from Norfolk Island they continued to rail bitterly against their conviction. They had powerful Sydney advocates, including Francis Stephen, the editor of the Australian; Francis was also the brother of Farrell’s defence barrister, Sidney Stephen, and the son of John Stephen, one of the two Supreme Court justices whose majority decision to accept Blackstone’s testimony had allowed the robbers’ convictions to stand. By late 1832 the ageing and ailing Justice Stephen had been ousted and his Supreme Court place taken by the conservative William Burton, who had previously officiated as a Supreme Court judge at the Cape of Good Hope. Burton’s attitude to colonial law differed from the remaining two justices, whose usual approach was to adapt British law to local

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circumstances wherever possible. Indeed Chief Justice Forbes’ unwillingness to accept Blackstone’s testimony, his declaration that the fundamental laws of England should be adhered to barring exceptional circumstances, had been surprisingly cautious considering that his own words had provided the ‘necessity’ precedent. It was Blackstone’s particular circumstances combined with his own liberal sympathies and concern for the rights of the accused (the civil libertarianism of a future era) that had pushed him into taking such an unusually conservative legal stance. As a result, when the Supreme Court’s composition changed, Forbes found himself uncomfortably aligned with the conservative Judge Burton, whose concern was not with the rights of the accused but with the rigid application of British law wherever possible. Dingle, Farrell and Woodward’s advocates soon realised that the time was right for an appeal. The liberal Australian agreed. ‘There can be no doubt that their conviction was contrary to the fundamental principles of British law,’ remonstrated the Australian in June 1833. ‘If the doctrine laid down by Mr Justice Burton be correct then these men have been suffering under an illegal sentence.’ Describing the issue as one of vital importance to the administration of criminal justice in the colony, the Australian reminded its readers of the perjury committed by an approver in a similar case and of Blackstone’s recent conviction on another serious charge and transportation to Norfolk Island for life. ‘What reliance,’ the editor warned, ‘can be placed on the oath of a man who is totally lost to every sense of degradation, to every moral feeling?’ Reporting that the three prisoners had recently petitioned the Governor for assistance, the Australian pleaded with the judges to intercede on behalf of justice and to swiftly re-examine the question in the courtroom. In the two years since the bank robbers’ trial, not only had the liberal Justice Stephen been replaced by the conservative Justice Burton, the conservative Governor Darling had been replaced by the liberal Sir Richard Bourke. Having no official knowledge of the case, Governor Bourke asked the Attorney-General why the judges had accepted Blackstone’s testimony and whether clemency could be extended. When the recently appointed Attorney-General explained that he also knew

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little about the case and that the associated paperwork was unavailable, the Governor forwarded the petition to the Supreme Court justices for their consideration. While the trio’s counsellors waited patiently for a response, the Australian’s editor remorselessly urged a resolution in their favour. ‘We cannot understand why this matter should remain so long in abeyance. It is not only an act of humanity but of justice. If the conviction be really illegal, why should these men be left to suffer the hardships and miseries of such a place as Norfolk Island?’

On 21 November 1833, as Judge Burton presided in the Supreme Court, a barrister objected to a witness’s evidence on the grounds of convict attaint. His words instantly stirred the lawyers, government officers and court reporters milling around the courthouse and in particular the trio’s counsellors. How would the conservative judge rule? ‘In my legal opinion,’ Burton proclaimed, ‘such testimony is inadmissible.’ Nonetheless, he admitted that he had a problem: he had to act upon the judges’ previous opinion until it was reversed either by competent authority or by legislative enactment. The Australian jumped in, linking Burton’s opinion to their concerns about the trio’s case: ‘Setting everything like humanity and compassion aside, we say that justice demands a speedy examination of their case. The laws should be as prompt to redress wrong as to punish guilt.’ By mid-January 1834 the trio’s advocates had still received no response to their appeal. ‘Months have elapsed,’ the Australian protested. ‘We know not on whom to charge the blame but, rest where it may, it is of no light nature. The question involves an important and fundamental principle in the administration of justice.’ Perhaps the Australian’s rebuke spurred the judges into examining the case. Their report, dated the following day, mentioned the change in composition of the court since the trial and that Justice Burton concurred with Chief Justice Forbes’ opinion that Blackstone’s evidence

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was inadmissible. ‘Thus the inconvenience has arisen,’ continued the judges’ report, ‘of the court being bound by a decision to which the majority of the court are now opposed.’ Would they overturn the verdict in the Bank of Australia robbery trial? ‘However that decision cannot with propriety be disturbed in the same court,’ the judges ruled. ‘No change of their sentence should take place.’ Although two of the three sitting judges believed that the testimony responsible for the trio’s convictions was inadmissible, they had dismissed the prisoners’ appeal on the grounds that they had been properly convicted. ‘Dingle, Farrell and Woodward are doomed to exile at Norfolk Island because, forsooth, it might offend one of the judges to have his solemn judgment reversed,’ the Australian reported with disgust. But the Australian was wrong. One of these intrepid prisoners had not waited around for the verdict.

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Chapter 21

WHERE SATAN NEVER SLEEPS Where Satan never sleeps Many a time I prayed that the heaviest curses that ever Almighty God let fall on blighted man might reach Commandant Morisset, for blood will have blood, and the blood of several of my fellow prisoners cried aloud and often to Heaven to let fall its vengeance on this wholesale Murderer and despicable White Savage. Prisoner Lawrence Frayne

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hile some of Norfolk Island’s blighted souls cursed at the fates and some sank into a morass of despair, others plotted. Desperation spawned another daring plan, one worthy of a participant in the audacious Bank of Australia robbery. The Norfolk Island settlement had a launch, the Samuel, which was used to unload cargo from ships visiting the island. Nine volunteer boatmen manned the craft, however in May 1833 five were either ill, imprisoned or ‘incompetent’ through seasickness. Others were summoned to replace them. ‘Why these particular men?’ Colonel Morisset would later angrily demand. ‘Few of the men on the island know how to use an oar,’ came the simple response.

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On 29 May the government vessels Isabella and Governor Phillip rocked gently at anchor nearly a mile off the main Kingston settlement while their crew helped offload cargo. The air was still and both vessels becalmed. Around 3 pm a small boat heading towards shore laden with cargo from the Governor Phillip crossed paths with the Samuel. The larger boat was bound for the Isabella, carried only a cask of water and had been hijacked by its convict crew. The prisoners from the small boat clambered into the Samuel, bringing with them all the oars except one, bags of maize and any other useful items they could find. Transferring the Samuel’s coxswain and his men into the small boat, the prisoners assured them that they had no desire to hurt anyone and left them to return to shore as best they could. Bellowing three triumphant cheers, the prisoners double-banked their oars and pulled away to the east. James Dingle was among them. Shocked, those on board the two government vessels watched the sixteen prisoners escape from the penal settlement. ‘They boldly pulled out to sea quite aware that neither of the vessels could pursue them until the wind arose!’ the crew reported. Yet not all of the fugitives had been voluntary. Three had been press-ganged into service, one as a sailmaker (the maize’s canvas bags were intended for sails) and the others as seamen. One had only three weeks left to serve. Commandant Morisset demanded assistance from the Isabella’s master: ‘As your vessel cannot possibly be unloaded for some days, I have to desire that you will cruise for them in that direction and use your utmost exertions to bring them in.’ Both government vessels sent their carpenters onshore so they could assist in building a new launch capable of offloading cargo. When the breeze picked up they headed after the escapees: the Isabella northwards towards Hunter’s Island (east of New Caledonia) and the Governor Phillip south-east to New Zealand. The Governor Phillip carried Morisset’s official report. He complained to Governor Bourke about the Principal Superintendent of Convicts’ extreme remissness in choosing these particular men for launch duty contrary to his express orders, although he admitted the difficulty of finding suitable men. ‘Inform Colonel Morisset,’ Governor Bourke would

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respond acerbically, ‘that I think he ought to have put a military guard in the launch with orders to fire upon the crew if they attempted to escape.’ After arriving at the Bay of Islands, the Governor Phillip’s commander handed Morisset’s report to the Sydney-bound Active and advised that he intended cruising up and down New Zealand looking for the escapees. He also mentioned that New Zealand’s British Resident had searchers hunting for any escapees at large in the area. The news reached Sydney in July 1833. ‘PIRATICAL SEIZURE OF A GOVERNMENT BOAT BY CONVICTS AT NORFOLK ISLAND,’ screamed the Australian, and described the impudent escape. After the Isabella anchored in Sydney Cove a short time later, the newspapers revealed that their efforts had been in vain, the Samuel had eluded its pursuers. In August 1833 Colonel Morisset advised that nothing further had been heard of the escapees. Had they found a haven? It seems unlikely. Although rumours later circulated of a sighting at the Society Islands (today’s Tahiti), the general consensus was that the report was unreliable. ‘It is supposed that the runaways must have perished,’ declared the Australian, ‘as the Isabella and Governor Phillip encountered severe gales for several days after the Samuel escaped.’ Ann Dingle, only 21 years of age, had almost certainly lost a second husband to the sea. The scheming ringleader of the Bank of Australia robbery James Dingle had participated in one bold endeavour too many.

The audacity of the Samuel’s seizure and the prisoners’ escape had a profound impact on the penal settlement. Not only had the escapees metaphorically (and no doubt literally) cocked a snook at their guards and everyone else in authority, they had exposed a weakness in the island’s defences. No longer did Commandant Morisset appear omnipotent or the guards so cockily confident. ‘Under the excitement among the prisoners caused by the escape, the island cannot be reported in a state of quietude,’ one official warned.

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Informers reported that 400 men had resolved to escape the same way. Colonel Morisset begged the Governor to increase the military detachment by at least one officer and a larger proportion of non-commissioned officers. And as the venom directed towards him became almost tangible, his health suffered and he retreated to his quarters.

George Farrell was among those desperate to escape. He had already proved himself an inveterate plotter and bolter, yet escaping from Norfolk Island was challenging even his own hard-won skills. His frustration at being left behind evidently contributed to his intransigence over the following few weeks. In the previous eighteen months Farrell had received only one documented punishment: seven days’ solitary confinement for disobedience of orders in July 1832. However, a month after Dingle’s escape, Farrell’s disobedience locked him in irons for fourteen days. Nine days after his release he was accused of the same charge and thrown into the gaol gang for three months. Was this second incident further evidence of his frustration or had he deliberately provoked the guards or overseers? Because Farrell had again been plotting. Although originally Dingle’s henchman, Farrell’s involvement in the bank robbery had propelled him to the top of the villains’ honour roll of valiant misdeeds. For most of these men, criminal activity was their only achievement and celebrating vice positioned them within the rogues’ social hierarchy. Of course, vaunting their wickedness also served as a protest against the establishment and its determination to crush them. Now with the bank robbery’s ringleader gone and Blackstone’s reputation besmirched by his role as an informer, Farrell was left alone to wear the glory. His daring escapes and confrontations with the police had added to his aura. So when Farrell plotted, others listened. ‘I’ve had conversations with some men outside,’ Farrell said to a few of the gaol gang inmates after he was locked up in July 1833, ‘and they seem inclined to get their liberty provided the gaol gang will assist them.’

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The gaol gang members needed little convincing. ‘If anything is going on let us know as we are ready at any time to do anything for our liberty. We have been in the gaol gang for a long time and are tired of our lives.’ The gaol gang’s willingness to join an uprising was communicated to the ringleaders outside. They calculated that 80 or 90 men from the different Norfolk Island settlements could be called upon to rise up and take over the island. ‘Let us know how things are to take place,’ they reported back. Taking over the island was one step in their plan. Sailing away was the next.

Norfolk Island gaol inmate John Knatchbull was lying on his mat when George Farrell dropped onto the mat beside him. Knatchbull was another ‘special’, a man who truly had been marked for glory although infamy would eventually carve him his place in the history books. A decade later he would become the most notorious murderer in colonial history— not because of his horrific crime, but because of his illustrious connections and previous infractions. Born into England’s squirarchy, Knatchbull was the son of a baronet and the brother of a conservative Member of Britain’s Parliament, and had himself served as a captain in the British Navy. Financial difficulties and a little pickpocketing incident had dispatched him to the colonies while forgery had later rerouted him to Norfolk Island; during the latter journey he had also been implicated in a plot to poison the crew. ‘You shall shortly hear something,’ Farrell muttered to Knatchbull, who asked what he meant. ‘Tell him,’ said Dominick McCoy, as he plopped down beside Farrell. ‘The men outside are all mad for their liberty,’ Farrell disclosed. ‘It is such a gift, especially since the Samuel went.’ ‘In what manner are they to obtain it?’ the prisoner inquired guardedly. ‘I have laid a plan,’ Farrell confided, ‘and have got some good men outside and there are some good men in the gaol gang that can be

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depended on. I have it arranged for the day the slops are to be issued when the commandant and all the officers in the settlement will be there. The time the guards come to relieve will be the time the men will rise.’ Farrell explained that the gaol gang would turn around and attack their guards and that some of other gangs would immediately attack the commandant, soldiers and orderlies. ‘Part of the settlement will be taken in five minutes,’ he told Knatchbull and continued at length: they would strike the irons from the iron gang and use them to hobble the soldiers; confine the soldiers in the gaol and underground cells and feed them on corn ‘as we have been fed’; lock the commandant in a cell and the overseers, officials and military on the chain; supplement their own stock of confiscated arms with pitchforks and brush hooks; station a group of prisoners in the bakehouse and blacksmiths’ shop ready to attack any party sent from the garrison; send men to Government House to try to secure any arms and ammunition including the two big guns; and take the commandant’s and officers’ families into custody if they had not escaped to the garrison. ‘This will help make the military in the garrison surrender,’ Farrell reasoned. ‘We will tell them that all the men want is their liberty and that no one will be hurt if they surrender. If they refuse they will be starved out.’ The irrepressible plotter had also devised some contingency plans. He told Knatchbull that if the military did not immediately give up their arms, the roof would be thrown down upon them, and that the commandant and officers were to be placed in front of the prisoners to prevent the military firing on them. ‘They will not shoot their officers,’ Farrell assured the ex-naval captain. Once they had taken the island, they would appoint a governing committee and lock up any untrustworthy men. They would commandeer the stores for their headquarters, bringing in all the sheep and cattle and offering the prisoners the delicacy of fresh meat. Tailors and shoemakers would make the blue jackets and shoes for the men who intended to leave the island, and they would finalise their other plans before any vessel arrived at the island. ‘When the first vessel comes,’ Farrell continued, ‘the commandant must be made to give up the private signals.’ This code advised the ship’s

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master that the island was under the authorities’ control. ‘If the commandant refuses, his wife and family are to be brought to him and he is to be threatened that they will be immediately put to death if he does not comply. This, no doubt, will have the desired effect,’ the determined conspirator added complacently. But again Farrell had a contingency plan. ‘In case the signals could not be understood, the commandant will be forced to write an order to the master of the vessel asking him to send the despatches on shore by the boat as he has no officer to send for them. The person going on board as the coxswain will state that all the officers went out in a party to Phillip Island, that the boat got upon the rocks near a blowhole and that they have not been heard of since.’ Men would be scattered around the island, some dressed as guards and others as prisoners, and they would take over the vessel when an opportunity arose. Farrell then explained the need for Knatchbull’s services. He was to sail the ship to New Zealand, where they would seize a suitable vessel, destroy any others to delay the news reaching Sydney and return to Norfolk Island to collect the trustworthy men as well as stores, arms and ammunition. Then they would sail to freedom. ‘What do you think of my plan?’ Farrell asked Knatchbull anxiously. ‘Will you consent to command the vessel?’ ‘I am suffering for what others proposed of a similar nature,’ Knatchbull said testily. ‘I do not wish to have anything to do with it. It is nonsense for men to be foolishly led away by such ideas.’ But Farrell would not be dissuaded.

The loophole in judicial practice that had fostered the suicide pacts was closed around this time. The authorities decided to convene a sitting of the Supreme Court at Norfolk Island to try those accused of murdering an official, and they sent Judge Dowling to the island. ‘I have no doubt that the chance of quitting the island by the condition of desperate crime

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being thus at an end,’ Governor Bourke observed with satisfaction, ‘it will less frequently be attempted.’ But for those enduring a lifetime of servitude on Norfolk Island, their dream of an interlude in Sydney—albeit on the prison hulk, in the courthouse or perhaps even on the scaffold—had just been shattered. Farrell was still a member of the gaol gang when the news reached them. He again approached Knatchbull. ‘We have more hope now. Most of these men are for life. I shall be out of the gaol just in time to arrange everything before the day. All I fear is that the judge’s vessel will not be away before the time. If the vessel is not away, it cannot be done.’ Soon afterwards the gaol gang’s numbers were bolstered by the admission of more recalcitrant prisoners. A group of plotters including Farrell, Dominick McCoy and Lawrence Frayne again joined Knatchbull on the mats. ‘Well, old boy, what do you think of it now?’ one asked. ‘You see, we have more help.’ ‘It is a very foolish thing and it will be getting a good many into trouble for nothing,’ Knatchbull retorted angrily. ‘I do not wish to hear any more about it.’ The conspirators sidled up to Knatchbull again on 1 October, the day before he left the gaol gang, and implored: ‘Do not be talking about things when you get out as you do not know the men.’ ‘I am not in the habit of making fresh acquaintances or talking to strangers,’ Knatchbull replied disdainfully. ‘He will say nothing,’ Farrell assured the others, then added to Knatchbull: ‘All the men outside that are in it have a password. I will tell it to you in case anyone speaks to you outside: “You carry a load”. The answer is: “Yes, but relief is at hand”.’ After Farrell left the gaol gang on 25 October he approached Knatchbull again: ‘What do you think of the fine speech the judge made the other Sunday? You see there is no chance for a long-sentenced man. The men in the gaol are mad for it. All will come off right, I hope.’ ‘It does not concern me,’ Knatchbull said dismissively. ‘I have only a short sentence and a good bit of that done.’

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Yet others would later report that although Knatchbull refused to participate in the mutiny he had agreed to command the vessel if they succeeded in seizing control. A date was set for the mutiny: 1 November 1833. But prisoner and habitual informant, Jeremiah Leary, squealed, implicating Farrell and a few dozen other men in a conspiracy to take over the island. The authorities did not believe him—Leary had cried ‘Wolf’ once too often. Nonetheless, just in case there was any truth in his claim, they threw Farrell and the others back into gaol as a warning. The prisoners had a simple solution: they postponed the date. Farrell was assigned to Knatchbull’s mess after his release. ‘We know the damned scoundrel who gave the information,’ he reported bitterly. ‘It was just as I had expected,’ Knatchbull retorted. ‘You should have taken my advice and had nothing to do with it.’ Knatchbull later remarked that Farrell and his fellow conspirators afterwards kept their distance, treating him with distinct coolness. Over the following few weeks a smouldering edginess gripped the settlement. The prisoners worked only half-heartedly. Groups of men whispered together and Farrell and McCoy were often seen among them. The guards and overseers feared dispersing them—men had been murdered for less. Informants offered lists of intended mutineers and prisoner after prisoner was thrown into gaol until it overflowed. The commandant wanted to flog confessions out of the men, but the compassionate garrison commander, explorer Charles Sturt, discouraged him. Nevertheless the military remained on the alert, even lying down to sleep with their arms beside them. Early in the new year the tension eased. The officials, guards and overseers noticed that the men were more cheerful and willing to work, and they relaxed their guard, thinking they had foiled the plan. In truth, the men were enjoying a momentary sense of control over their own destiny. They would take over the island or die in the process. ‘Be ready on Monday morning next,’ said a letter passed among the prisoners. Farrell and the other ringleaders busied themselves visiting some of the mess rooms and urging the prisoners to join them. ‘Captain

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Fyans,’ they warned of the ailing commandant’s likely successor, ‘will make a worse commandant for severity than the colonel.’ On Monday 13 January 1834 the hospital orderly bustled into the prisoner’s dormitory and called out for the ill and the infirm. As he lined them up and escorted them to the hospital, he probably wondered at the surprisingly large number and noticed that some of the men tried to hang around the hospital doorway and surreptitiously glance outside. Meanwhile, the respite gang waited behind the gaol, greasing and rubbing every component of their carts. As they dawdled for as long as possible, waiting for the guard to bring out the gaol gang, their overseers became impatient. They hustled the men along. With one last lingering look towards the gaol entrance, the prisoners abandoned their plan. They would afterwards discover that a shower of rain had delayed the guards’ arrival at the gaol. Even the elements were conspiring against them. As the day progressed, the prisoners clustered together, whispering and arguing. The ringleaders postponed the attack until the following Thursday when the respite gang would have another chance to grease their carts. But suddenly their plans changed. George Farrell was working at the lime kiln on Tuesday 14 January. Edging up to gaol gang member John Magennis, he whispered their new intentions. Magennis had a different suggestion. ‘If you delay it longer than Wednesday we will have no more to do with it but will commence something ourselves. It should be that day or never. If you do not come up to the mark on Wednesday morning, never show your faces in the limestone quarry again, or we will dash your bloody brains out!’ Farrell returned to his posting and muttered to another prisoner: ‘It is coming off tomorrow morning.’ That night, after the men were locked in their wards, they gathered around the ringleaders who ran through the plans. In the morning a group of men were to complain of ill health and be taken to the hospital; they would lead the new mutiny attempt. ‘John Magennis is the principal man in the gaol gang,’ one of the ringleaders told the press of ardent faces. ‘He said he would let the guards see on the day that he was a man not a dog as they thought he was and that the greater part of the gang

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would be ready at a moment’s warning.’ The excited chattering continued until 11 pm when the men settled down, anxious for the morning to start the attack. A gloomy rain-swept dawn greeted the conspirators on Wednesday 15 January 1834. When mustered in the prisoners’ barracks, 38 men complained of illness or disability, many of them mutineers. Prisoner John Higgins took charge and marched them to the hospital, then locked them in the examination room until the surgeon could attend to them. Hearing a knock on the hospital door, Higgins opened it. Prisoner James Bell was standing outside. Suddenly, he leapt on the orderly and overpowered him. Meanwhile, the other mutineers had tackled the hospital attendants, unlocked the door and rushed over to help. Prisoner Patrick Glenny grabbed Higgins, shook him and hissed: ‘If you open your mouth or draw a breath, I will cut your head off with an axe!’ Robert Douglas turned Higgins around and shoved him into a nearby room. As he regained his balance and turned around, Henry Drummond threatened: ‘I know what kind of a man you are and if you say one word, I will take your life!’ They pushed some of the genuinely sick in with him and locked the door. Lawrence Duggan, one of the witnesses who had travelled to Sydney with Blackstone for the Adam Oliver murder trial, planted himself outside the door to guard them. The mutineers hacked at their irons and knocked them off, then grabbed any potential weapons they could find—tools, surgical implements, even chair legs. James Bell donned the overseer’s blue jacket and hat, and the men dutifully lined up behind him. They marched out the hospital door, continuing towards the rear of the gaol as if heading to their light duties. When hidden by the gaol wall Bell signalled them to halt. The rattling of chains at the front of the gaol—surprisingly noisy on this occasion—signalled the gaol gang’s appearance. Peeping around the corner, Bell saw the emaciated gang lining up outside the gaol’s entrance not far from the ominous gallows. ‘Quick march!’ ordered the gaol guards. But the gang did not budge. Their relentless jangling continued.

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Down on the beach Lawrence Frayne was assisting the gaol wardsman to empty the urine from the night tubs. Suddenly he looked up at the respite gang and yelled, ‘Are you ready?’ ‘Go!’ Bell signalled the hospital gang. Whooping and shouting, they rushed around the corner of the gaol and hurled themselves at the soldiers’ backs. Startled, most of the soldiers were knocked down and overpowered before they had time to raise their guns or brandish their lengthy bayonets. Prisoner John Butler tried to wrench a musket from a soldier but the angry soldier tightened his grip, turned the musket and fired, wounding him. James Brady grabbed a piece of iron pipe and lashed out at a soldier, while four members of the gaol gang knocked down another, seized his musket and ran off. Robert Douglas grabbed a soldier’s gun. ‘Shoot the bugger, shoot him,’ yelled the prisoners. He snapped off two or three shots but the gun failed to fire. Thomas Freshwater tussled with a soldier but let him go when another soldier stabbed at him with his bayonet. The respite gang, sawyers and carpenters joined in the frenzied battle, throwing stones and sticks at the guard. But an officer and twelve halfdressed soldiers had already dashed from the barracks to reinforce the guard. Bellows of rage from the prisoners, frantic shouts from the soldiers, gunshot blasts, screams of pain: the cacophony confused the less resolute gaol gang members. Shocked at the sight of prisoners falling to the ground clutching their wounds, they turned and fled towards the blacksmiths’ workshop.

William Blackstone was working in the blacksmiths’ shop when the sound of musket shots startled him. Opening the door, he looked out. Near the gaol, he could see more than a dozen prisoners attacking the guard. Other prisoners were peering around the gaol wall or running along the beach. More shots were fired. He saw William Riley running with a bayonet in his hand, Buchannan Wilson struggling with a soldier, Hopping Tom racing down the beach and Thomas Freshwater

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bleeding from the mouth as he loped towards the hill. He saw Patrick Glenny and Henry Drummond chasing a soldier, Glenny striking him on the back of the neck and the soldier dropping to his knees. ‘Kill the bugger,’ Glenny shouted as the men shoved the soldier to the ground and kicked him. ‘He was a bloody dog over the gang,’ yelled Joseph Snell joining in the attack. He saw Drummond attacking another soldier, pulling out a knife and thrusting it at the soldier’s throat while trying to grab his musket, which was smashed in the tussle. He saw Dominick McCoy grabbing another soldier’s musket. Then a shot struck the workshop door next to him. Blackstone slammed the door and did not see young McCoy fall from what would prove to be fatal wounds. As Blackstone cowered inside, fists hammered on the blacksmiths’ door. A dozen members of the gaol gang demanded refuge. The blacksmiths’ overseer turned to his gang and pleaded: ‘Will you stand by me and protect me?’ The men agreed and the overseer offered refuge to the terrified gaol gang members. The Kingston insurrection was over in a matter of minutes. Some of the mutineers retreated to the gaol while others fled towards the Longridge settlement, where the men had also armed themselves. Crying, ‘Come on, my boys, follow me!’ the Longridge leader Walter Bourke had broken into the main tool chest and handed out pitchforks, hoes and axes. ‘Death or glory!’ his followers yelled as they knocked off their irons and raced down the road towards Flagstaff Hill. But instead of meeting a cheering band of mutineers, they faced Captain Foster Fyans, his angry half-dressed soldiers and the barrels of their long black guns. Fyans’ men had already fired upon the mutineers fleeing towards Longridge, with devastating consequences. His soldiers then turned their guns towards the Longridge men whose war cries straggled to a whimper. The prisoners fled. When the rebels were eventually captured, the enraged soldiers beat and kicked them and would have bayoneted them if Fyans had not stopped them. However, the hapless Dominick McCoy, with his numerous musket-ball and bayonet wounds, became the focus of their revenge.

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Fyans ordered that McCoy be dragged by his chains to the police office. When the doctor protested, the soldiers threatened to shoot him. Seven prisoners died and another fifty were wounded in a rebellion that, despite Farrell’s pride in the scheme, was ill-planned, poorly coordinated and had little chance of success.

That evening, after the barrack doors had slammed behind them, George Farrell sought out Knatchbull and complained, ‘If it had not been for the cowardly gaol gang, the island would have been our own now.’ He claimed credit for devising the attack from the hospital, declaring: ‘Was it not a good plan of mine about the hospital? I should have been up there myself only I expect my free pardon down in the next vessel.’ ‘How did you intend to have acted?’ Knatchbull inquired curiously. ‘Nearly as before stated,’ Farrell reported, mentioning a few new strategies. Knatchbull asked why they hadn’t told him of their more recent plans. ‘You did not seem to encourage the former plans,’ Farrell admitted, ‘and we looked upon you with a suspicious eye from having been in the police in Sydney.’ When Knatchbull questioned him about their strategy to escape from the island, the increasingly ruthless conspirator told him: ‘If we had succeeded we would have taken the first boat that came to the island. We would have placed you on board with another prisoner who understands navigation, to take the vessel wherever we ordered. If you did not obey, your brains were to be blown out.’

One hundred and thirty men were locked in gaol for their reported involvement in the Norfolk Island Mutiny and were immediately punished. One prisoner reported: ‘I remained in confinement for nearly four weeks often weighing in my own mind whether I would or would not give

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information. My reason for hesitating was that it was agreed among the ringleaders that the life of anyone giving information should sooner or later be taken.’ But Captain Fyans’ vengeance had become unbearable. He ordered Blackstone and the other blacksmiths to make new irons—double and even triple weight with jagged flesh-lacerating edges. He flogged the mutineers mercilessly. He tortured them by locking them to a chain and making them stand naked for hours with their arms up and fingers extended, allowing the soldiers to flog or stab them if they moved or betrayed any emotion. The mutineers knew that they would have to endure this persecution for months until their case came to trial. Their resolve weakened and some eventually signed statements naming those involved in the mutiny. Non-participants also provided their own recollections, Blackstone among them. The most notorious informer on Norfolk Island had not been one of the conspirators; even without Farrell’s scathing denunciations, he would have been considered untrustworthy by all. ‘I was at work in the blacksmiths’ shop at the settlement when I heard the report of two or three musket shots,’ Blackstone began and recounted his own experiences that morning. He quickly gained the approval of Major Joseph Anderson, a towering Scotsman with cold eyes and a bristling beard and moustache, who had replaced Morisset as commandant soon after the mutiny. George Farrell was among the 60 prisoners charged as accessories before the fact. Knatchbull was one of his accusers, having turned informer in return for his own freedom. As Farrell waited for the trial to commence he learnt that the appeal against his conviction for the Bank of Australia robbery had been rejected. He had failed to escape from his miserable existence through legal means; he had failed through rebellion; he had one more chance—death. Judge Burton was shocked at the mutineers’ appearance when he arrived on the island to preside over the trial. ‘They were grey, wizened and shrunken, their eyes dull and unseeing, the skin stretched taut on the cheeks, they spoke in whispers and were awful to behold.’

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Ultimately, Farrell was not among the men who faced trial for the Norfolk Island Mutiny. As he had dodged participating in the rebellion on the grounds that he was about to be pardoned, the only information against him came from the mouths of informers like Knatchbull. Without corroborating evidence the case against him and a number of others could not proceed. Burton dismissed their charges. Twenty-nine mutineers were eventually sentenced to death after their lengthy trial in July 1834. Yet in an unprecedented move Judge Burton reprieved them all until he could lay their case before the Executive Council and send a Catholic priest to Norfolk Island. He had been appalled by the mutineers’ evidence of the conditions they faced on Norfolk Island, the torment that had driven them to rebel. ‘Let a man’s heart be what it will when he comes here, his man’s heart is taken from him and he is given the heart of a beast,’ the recently blinded Robert Douglas had declared with calm dignity. Douglas’s words pierced Burton’s toughened soul as a resounding indictment of a system that degraded men to such an extent that they did indeed become little better than animals. Two months later the Roman Catholic Vicar-General of Australia, William Ullathorne, and an Anglican clergyman Reverend Stiles arrived at Norfolk Island. Father Ullathorne later wrote: ‘I visited the cells on the night of my arrival and my unexpected appearance came on them like a vision. I had to announce life to all but thirteen—to these death. Those who were to live wept bitterly whilst those doomed to die, without exception, dropped on their knees and with dry eyes thanked God they were to be delivered from such a place.’ James Bell, Walter Bourke, Robert Douglas, Henry Drummond, Patrick Glenny, Thomas Freshwater and Joseph Snell were among those executed on 22 and 23 September 1834 in front of the island’s entire prison population. The military hovered nearby with orders to open fire on the prisoners if any showed signs of resisting. No one moved. Ullathorne would never forget his experiences on Norfolk Island. A government-ordained system that so thoroughly debased human beings that they chose death over life, that led them to defile even the language

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itself—‘the well-disposed man was branded wicked whilst the leader in monstrous vice was styled virtuous’—had to be abolished. His voice soon joined those crying out against the whole convict transportation system.

While robbers Dingle and Farrell had endured their Norfolk Island servitude by plotting and the opportunistic Blackstone had improved his situation by informing, Thomas Woodward had quietly and efficiently worked at his agricultural duties. He was clever enough to know that with his background in Sydney’s Commissariat Office, he was an ideal candidate for one of the most desirable postings on the island—if he could keep his head down and his record unblemished. A few months after the mutiny he was assigned to the position of storeman in the Commissariat Stores lying near the rocky western shores of Sydney Bay. Soon afterwards, he too would show his worth. On Friday 15 May 1835 a lookout peering through a squall saw a vessel approaching and broadcast the news, a cry heard only every month or two on the remote island. Most visitors were government vessels bringing one more cargo of wickedness and wretchedness. This time it was the Tahiti-bound Friendship, carrying passengers and stores from Sydney. The colonial government had contracted the 89-ton two-masted schooner to call into Norfolk Island and land government stores destined for Woodward’s Commissariat Office. After exchanging the necessary security signals, the Friendship dropped anchor offshore. The vessel’s owners, Captain John Harrison and Mr Henry Bull, were rowed ashore and dined with Commandant Anderson. After a convivial evening the commandant advised them to return to their ship and to keep a close watch. ‘Should it blow hard,’ he cautioned, ‘you must slip from your moorings and stand out to sea until the weather moderates.’ At half-past eight the captain realised that the wind and swell were driving the Friendship towards shore. He ordered the crew to haul in the anchor and, miraculously, the schooner slipped through the narrow

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channel between Norfolk Island and the south-east-lying Nepean Island. The following morning the Friendship beat back up to the settlement and signalled the loss of its boat in the previous evening’s squall. The government coxswain and his men rowed out to the Friendship and assisted the crew to loop a chain cable through the starboard and larboard bows and make fast to a recently laid buoy. ‘Now, Captain Harrison,’ the coxswain said, ‘if your chain do not part you may ride forever.’ The assistant coxswain and a crew of prisoner volunteers battled the rough conditions late on the Saturday afternoon to row an old whaling boat to the Friendship as a replacement for its lost boat, and the boat crew remained on board the schooner overnight. The gusts had continued all day and when the wind veered from south-west to south-east Captain Harrison asked if he should remain attached to the buoy. ‘I was present when it was laid down,’ the assistant coxswain reassured him, ‘and the bows of our vessel would sooner be torn out than it would part from its moorings.’ Buffeted by the wind and the roiling swell, Captain Harrison decided that it was safer to remain attached to the buoy and ride out the gale than try to beat out to sea. The wind veered again to the south-west around 11 pm, bringing a heavier swell. Captain Harrison remained on deck until 5 am, when he left the chief officer in charge, went below and lay down. As he drifted off to sleep he heard the mate’s frightened cry, ‘The buoy is adrift! The boat is going on shore!’ Racing up to the deck Captain Harrison shouted for the crew to slip the anchor and raise the sails. But the wind was dead on the land, a heavy sea was rolling in and a lee tide had the schooner in its inexorable grip. The Friendship continued to drift towards shore. Recognising that miracles don’t happen twice, Harrison cried out: ‘Where shall I beach her to save the lives of those on board?’ Suddenly, a heavy swell smashed into the vessel carrying away the rudder. ‘Take to the rigging,’ Harrison screamed at those on deck.

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As dawn broke, Thomas Woodward, some other convicts with duties near the shore, and concerned officials hurried down to check on the Friendship’s status. They were relieved to see that the schooner remained moored to the buoy and had ridden out the night in safety—until they noticed its position. The buoy’s mooring chain had broken. The vessel was dragging the buoy and drifting towards a reef near the settlement’s landing place. It was too late for the Friendship to make sail to windward and slip away. They could see the outward surf curling around the vessel. ‘Nothing less than the loss of all hands when she strikes is possible,’ the shocked bystanders realised. The Friendship had one chance. It was high tide and the reef was a flat bed of rocks. If they were lucky, the sea might throw the vessel up onto the reef rather than slamming it against the rocky side. The crew close-reefed the fore and aft mainsail and with difficulty hoisted the staysail. This pushed the schooner onto its broadside so it would not draw as much water. And they prayed. The ocean sucked in its breath, reared its head and spat another curling breaker towards them. It surged beneath them, lifting them higher and higher, past the jagged teeth grinning malevolently from the side of the reef, past the reef’s spiky fringe. Woodward and the others on shore strained silently, helplessly, willing them up, up, up. As they watched, the breaker threw the schooner on top of the reef, stranding it precariously. Another huge breaker swept over the Friendship, completely burying the vessel and all on board. And another. The schooner settled broadside to the surf and although wave after wave continued to pummel it, all lacked the force to dislodge its position. The prisoners lining the beach watched first with horror, then with an awakening hope. Some of the prisoners, receivers Thomas Woodward and George Dudley among them, raced down the shoreline towards the reef. A few clambered onto the reef, trying to reach the stranded ship. But the surf swirled around it like a whirlpool. As each wave receded, however, it left a temporary calmness on the vessel’s lee side. Then one of the Friendship’s masts toppled, spanning part of the gap between the stranded ship and the rescuers. It reached out to the daring.

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As the schooner settled on the reef and the huge breakers crashed over it, the ship’s co-owner Henry Bull, who was among those clinging to the rigging, called out to Captain Harrison: ‘What shall I do to save my wife and children?’ ‘Keep them below,’ he snapped. From their vantage point they could see prisoners running along the beach attempting to launch a boat to assist them. It was a task only for the courageous, even in calm weather. The Norfolk Island coxswain had a marker, the Wolf Rock sitting some distance from shore, and he would watch it carefully while the oarsmen waited patiently. When a long wave boomed over the rock, he would judge the right moment then scream, ‘Row!’ Timed correctly, the boat would burst through the surf and into the smoother waters before the breaker hit the reef. But the sea was running so high they could not launch the boat safely. Their frustration and disappointment was evident to those on board. ‘Cut the foremast,’ Captain Harrison ordered, hoping that it would serve as a bridge across the reef to help carry the passengers and crew to safety. ‘Fasten a line to a hen coop,’ he yelled to the crew, and they heaved it overboard, but the coop tumbled onto the rocks and was dashed to pieces. They heaved a second hen coop overboard, desperation propelling it across the reef until it passed beyond the rocks and dropped into the protected waters of Sydney Bay. Prisoners dived into the water and grabbed the coop, carrying it back to shore. But they needed a long, strong rope. As they frantically looked around, Thomas Woodward and the Commissariat overseer remembered the hawser tucked away at the Commissariat Stores and they raced to find it, carrying it down to the shore and attaching it to the hen coop. Clambering onto the reef, they carried the coop as far as possible then signalled the Friendship’s crewmen to carefully haul it back on board and secure the hawser tightly.

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As the Friendship’s crew threw the hen coops over the side, the Norfolk Island prisoners who had remained on board the schooner went below. There they found women and children waist-deep in water screaming for assistance. One woman carried a baby in her arms. The Friendship’s crew had reportedly hesitated to bring them on deck for fear the waves breaking over the vessel would wash them overboard; others thought the crew seemed more concerned with their own safety. The prisoners brought the women and children on deck, holding them fast by the rigging. If a boat could not reach them, they would watch for a receding sea, jump into the water with them and swim towards shore. Or drown in the attempt. One prisoner had actually stripped himself and was preparing to tie two children to his back when another yelled that the whale boat was approaching. Realising that it would be impossible to launch the whale boat from the shore, the prisoners had quickly devised a new plan—to carry the boat over the reef. Dozens of eager arms, receiver George Dudley’s among them, picked up the boat and carried it across the reef, then launched it. Dudley was among the seven men who jumped into the boat and grabbed the hawser, pulling themselves and the whaler towards the schooner. The prisoners then formed a complete line from the Friendship back to the beach, each man holding on by the hawser. The women and children, and later the other passengers, crew and prisoners, dropped into the boat then were passed from man to man over the reef to the shore. The surf passed over their heads repeatedly. Owner Henry Bull rejoiced: ‘My little infant only four months old was twice washed out of the men’s arms but was again rescued.’ Everyone on board was saved and most of the cargo. ‘It is impossible to sufficiently express my admiration of the conduct of all the prisoners,’ Henry Bull praised, ‘who not only risked their own lives voluntarily to render us assistance but restored to us every article of property they found in the cabins.’

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Commandant Anderson officially added his approbation. ‘By the mercy of God and the extraordinary courage and exertions of a large body of prisoners who fearlessly hurried through the surf and every other danger to the wreck while others equally daring carried one of our boats bodily over the rocks and breakers to the spot and remained by her in the most perilous situation until, by the combined efforts of all, every one—43 in all—were rescued from an untimely grave. During the whole of these exertions, the humanity and cheerful consent of the convicts employed was most conspicuous and deserving all praise and my best thanks which I heartily gave them.’ Thomas Woodward’s and George Dudley’s names were among the 69 Captain Harrison sent to Governor Bourke in Sydney for commendation, with the added notation that both were among those particularly recommended for their extraordinary exertions. Major Anderson, however, did not bother noting the details of any of the hundreds of men who assisted in the rescue. For their efforts, two of the men recommended by Harrison had their life sentences commuted to fourteen years, while eight men received a two-year and three men a one-year sentence reduction. The remainder, including Thomas Woodward and George Dudley, were granted the privilege of being raised to the first class (the top class in the two-tiered good behaviour system). But Woodward and Dudley were already in the first class. Major Anderson, a sly and increasingly harsh commandant, was reluctant to reward the men, believing that this was not the government’s responsibility and that the Friendship’s owners should have personally done so. For those already in the first class he reported dismissively: ‘Nothing more can now be done for them beyond placing their names on record with a view to giving them benefit of such services when the commandant is enabled.’ Most of these incorrigibles had been sentenced to hard labour in irons for property crimes, offences that today would often merit only a short sentence. Yet when they risked their lives to save strangers and property, proving in the most incontrovertible way their own worth as human beings as well as the value they placed on others’ lives, they were

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rewarded at best with a slight reduction in lengthy and in many cases lifelong sentences, and at worst with a brief statement of gratitude. The system punished with stark brutality yet failed to reward with equivalent benevolence. Clearly even the liberal Governor Bourke, lambasted by the conservatives as the ‘convicts’ friend’, placed little value on a convict’s life. Nor could he see that such self-sacrificing behaviour was evidence of a redeeming humanity in these miscreants. It would take another few years and another few commandants before one man would truly understand these prisoners and value their lives. Yet although the Bank of Australia robbers and receivers would not serve under Norfolk Island’s future Commandant Alexander Maconochie, his actions would have an impact upon their lives and upon the whole system that had dispatched these British outcasts to this land of second chances.

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PART VIII

RESIGNATION Transportation destroys both soul and body, both master and man, both colonial character and, I may also say, national reputation. Alexander Maconochie

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Chapter 22

REPRIEVE Reprieve Some alteration in the system is absolutely indispensible. Molesworth Committee, 1838

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s Blackstone fettered the new Norfolk Island transportees, as Farrell at last abased himself to authority by obediently toiling at his duties, and as Woodward luxuriated in one of the easiest postings on the island, the winds of change were rattling the casements of a house in the southern penal settlement of Tasmania. Alexander Maconochie, the private secretary to the newly appointed Governor Sir John Franklin, hunched over a desk scratching away at a report that would mark the beginning of the end of convict transportation to Australia. Soon afterwards, Maconochie’s report and a brusque precis were forwarded to England, landing on the desk of the Under-Secretary of the Colonies, who passed the precis to Lord John Russell, Home Secretary in charge of the British penal system. It was the ammunition he needed. Inspired by an abiding belief that political leaders should protect and promote the civil and religious liberties of the people, Lord Russell had been a driving force behind the Reform Bill of 1832. He was also a critic of the transportation system, and had recently been appointed to the

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Parliamentary Select Committee on Transportation chaired by fellow anti-transportationist, Sir William Molesworth. Although the Molesworth Committee claimed that it would offer an objective viewpoint, its scales were heavily weighted towards abolition. The anti-transportationists saw the transportation system as just another form of the recently abolished slavery, with private individuals profiting and punishments unequal and uncertain. They preferred the concept of a penal penitentiary, devised half a century previously but recently receiving broader political and community support. Through religious instruction, profitable hard labour, treadmills, constant surveillance and long stretches of solitary confinement, this ‘humanitarian’ system would focus on punishing and reforming the mind rather than attacking the body, its proponents claimed. When implemented, however, it drove many of the inmates insane. Meanwhile, the Molesworth Committee chose their evidence carefully. Witnesses like Bishop Ullathorne, who had ministered to the men facing execution after the Norfolk Island Mutiny, aired their loathing of a system that debased prisoners and gaolers alike. Even John Macarthur’s son James, whose family’s wealth had partly been amassed from the toil of convict labour, claimed that convicts could be replaced by free immigrants. Some of the colonial gentry had realised that experienced, hardworking immigrants would generate more profits than inexperienced, intransigent convicts. And they would be less likely to get drunk, gamble and steal from their masters, neighbours and nearby banks. The Molesworth Committee eventually reported: ‘The transportation system is inefficient in deterring from crime and remarkably efficient in still further corrupting those who undergo the punishment.’ It was a just condemnation summing up the system’s failure to reform men like Blackstone, Dingle and Farrell or at least prevent their graduation to more serious criminality. Yet it also ignored the thousands of other transportees who had grasped the opportunities this second chance offered them and settled to a law-abiding existence. Despite such a judgment the committee, ultimately, did not recommend the abolition of transportation, merely its adaptation, and

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another thirty years were to pass before the last British prisoners clambered off a convict transport. New South Wales, however, was only to face another two years of transportation, offloading its final cargo of convicts in Sydney late in 1840. Even before the Molesworth Committee had presented their report, the winds of change had also buffeted Sydney. In June 1838 the Legislative Council passed an Act for the conditional remission of the sentences of Norfolk Island and Moreton Bay transportees. The intention was to reduce the number of men at these settlements and eventually abandon Norfolk Island as a penal settlement. The legislation authorised Governor Bourke’s replacement, Major Sir George Gipps, to bring back Norfolk Island convicts, commute their sentences as he saw fit—generally to three years—and assign them to hard labour on the roads or on public works. Receiver George Dudley was among the first contingent of Norfolk Island prisoners to benefit from the new legislation, leaving the island early in 1839. His fellow Friendship rescuer, Thomas Woodward, soon followed. Woodward had been appointed overseer of the Commissariat Stores in 1836, a natural promotion considering his position prior to his colonial conviction. He carried accolades from Norfolk Island’s Deputy Commissary-General when he sailed from Norfolk Island late in April 1839 on the same vessel as the recalled Commandant Anderson. Upon his arrival in Sydney, Woodward petitioned to have the remainder of his sentence rescinded because of his long and faithful service in the Commissariat, his exertions regarding the Friendship, and his good character. Governor Gipps insisted that Woodward serve another eighteen months. Despite his enviable posting, Woodward’s years on Norfolk Island had sapped him. The stout, ruddy-faced, brown-haired, hazel-eyed giant had become a shorter, thinner, greyer shadow of his former self. Shortly before Commandant Anderson departed Norfolk Island, he appealed for a reduction in Blackstone’s sentence. ‘Blackstone having served six years on the island with good conduct,’ he wrote to the Governor in April 1839, ‘I recommend that his life sentence may be commuted agreeable to the regulations to seven years from this date.’

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Blackstone had gained Anderson’s approval by describing his recollections of the mutiny and had managed to remain in the Machiavellian commandant’s good graces for the remainder of his administration. Anderson’s replacement, Major Thomas Bunbury, received the Governor’s sanction for Blackstone’s commuted sentence soon after taking command of the Norfolk Island settlement. Bunbury initiated a more humane treatment of the convicts, however he and his regiment were recalled six months later after some soldiers mutinied. When Bunbury’s vessel sailed for Sydney in September 1839, Blackstone was also on board. The most troublesome of the bank robbers, George Farrell, continued to serve under Bunbury’s replacement, Thomas Ryan. Apart from the humane Alexander Maconochie, Ryan was probably the most enlightened of the Norfolk Island commandants. Even so, Maconochie was shocked when he arrived in Norfolk Island a few months later. ‘The most formidable sight I ever beheld was the sea of faces upheld to me when I walked ashore,’ he exclaimed. ‘I found the Island a turbulent brutal Hell.’ But Farrell had also left Norfolk Island prior to Maconochie’s arrival, having been shipped to Sydney soon after Blackstone.

As government vessels carrying these Norfolk Island prisoners crossed the Pacific Ocean, swept through the Heads and glided along Sydney Harbour, the men tentatively came to accept that they had not been completely abandoned. Alexander Maconochie had passionately argued: ‘The convicts have their claims on us also, claims only the more sacred because they are helpless in our hands. We condemn them for our own advantage. We have no right to cast them away altogether.’ His words had at last penetrated the ears of some of those capable of inducing change. Nevertheless the penal settlements had not yet relinquished their grasp on the Bank of Australia robbers and receivers. After Lord Russell ordered Governor Gipps to cease transporting the doubly convicted to Norfolk Island (this settlement was to be reserved

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for newly arrived transportees), Gipps required a new repository for the incorrigibles. He quickly dismissed Russell’s suggestion to settle them on Goat Island, explaining that the thought of desperate reoffenders labouring at a powder magazine only a short hop from Sydney generated alarm among the colonists. Tasmania’s Governor refused to accept the prisoners so Gipps decided upon Cockatoo Island, a small island lying at the mouth of the Parramatta River a short distance from Sydney. He saw significant benefits in locating a penal settlement on an island surrounded by deep water and hungry man-eating sharks yet still under the government’s eye.

After the Norfolk Island prisoners climbed onto Sydney’s shore, looked around at the colourful, noisy, women-filled streets and breathed in the pungent odours of food, alcohol and freedom, they were marched to Sydney Gaol and locked up. Receiver George Dudley was among the first group of Norfolk Island prisoners forwarded to Cockatoo Island. Chained and under a military escort, they arrived on the rocky, waterless, snake-abundant island in February 1839, erected tents and set to work establishing a settlement. Later that year Dudley successfully petitioned to have his sentence reduced as a reward for his Friendship exertions. Woodward was also forwarded to Cockatoo Island where he served out his term and was released late in 1840. Blackstone and Farrell were separately examined at the Hyde Park Barracks, informed that their sentences had been commuted to three years in irons, dispatched to the Woolloomooloo Stockade (Darlinghurst Gaol) and soon afterwards transferred to Cockatoo Island. All of these early inmates erected buildings for military personnel and their own accommodation, quarried stone for public works including Sydney Cove’s sea wall, and constructed a stone wharf on the southern side of the island. Later they dug silos by hand from the island’s solid rock. These bottle-shaped constructions—the largest 21 feet wide and 23 feet deep— were intended for storing grain surpluses. Initially they enjoyed visits

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from the neighbourhood snakes as the men toiled in the claustrophobic atmosphere.

Word of Blackstone’s return to Sydney took a year to reach the desk of the Australian’s editor, although the robber had been incarcerated in the nearby gaol for some of that time. ‘His Excellency Sir George Gipps faithfully promised that he would consider with the greatest attention the police history of every convict before he consented to the commutation of any sentence,’ the Australian protested. We have been told that the most notorious and infamous scoundrel, William Blackstone, celebrated for the part he took in the robbery of the Bank of Australia, a vagabond who has been twice sentenced to death for capital offences and who was sent to Norfolk Island with a recommendation from the Judges of the Supreme Court that he should never be returned, has had his sentence commuted. He is now on Cockatoo Island, from whence in a few months he will be again set free to commit his predatory depredations upon the inhabitants of Sydney. We only ask, can such things be?

Alarmed, the Principal Superintendent of Convicts demanded details. The Colonial Secretary replied that Blackstone’s return to New South Wales had been recommended by the Norfolk Island commandant and approved by the Chief Justice (a position now filled by the bank robbers’ trial judge, James Dowling himself). ‘No blame therefore can fall on any officer of this Government on account of his being allowed the privileges of the Act,’ the relieved Colonial Secretary explained, ‘but His Excellency Governor Gipps requests that you will take care how he is disposed of when his commuted sentence at Cockatoo may expire.’

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Chapter 23

STAINED BY INFAMY Stained by infamy

After a second and third conviction, the prisoner becomes so lost to a sense of shame, so inured to habits of crime, so reckless and disregardful of the punishment he has undergone, that he readily yields to any temptation that presents itself and his after-life continues an uninterrupted career of crime. Sir Roger Therry, Reminiscences

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hile the liberal press vilified Blackstone, they ignored the other notorious and infamous scoundrel, his bank robbery accomplice George Farrell. Both men regained their liberty late in 1842, however after walking out of the police office and gazing upon a vista of new opportunities they soon discovered that Sydney had changed in their decade of penal servitude. Shiploads of chained convicts no longer slunk into harbour. Respectable free settlers burst from the steerage of countless immigrant ships, eagerly monopolising any jobs that might once have been offered to daring bank robbers and hardened Norfolk Island emancipists. At the same time, an aura of gloom hung over the colony as it slumped under the burden of another economic depression.

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So Farrell slipped down to Melbourne, an infant settlement near the country’s southern coastline. A visitor to the district described Melbourne as a busy town chirruping on the banks of the timber-laden Yarra Yarra River with houses, stores and inns, a schoolhouse, barrack and gaol and numerous opportunities for the enterprising. For Farrell the town also offered a unique quality Sydney lacked: anonymity. As it turned out, Australia was a smaller country than Farrell might have hoped. Roger Therry and Sidney Stephen, Dingle and Farrell’s former counsellors in the bank robbery trial, were both in Melbourne. Therry would later write: ‘Farrell was the first prisoner I defended as counsel in 1831 for an audacious burglary and was the first prisoner I afterwards tried, when Resident Judge of Port Phillip in 1845, for a burglary quite as audacious.’

Around 6.30 pm on Saturday 6 September 1845, Robert White and his wife carefully secured their windows, stepped outside and locked the door of their house in Buchannan’s Lane off Bourke Street in the Eastern Hill district. The local community had been twittering about the recent spate of house robberies so they were taking every precaution. An open back door greeted their return half an hour later. Trepidation slowed their footsteps as they ventured inside. Robert White lit a lamp and the couple looked around. Broken boxes were scattered across the floor and numerous items were missing: money, blankets, clothes, Mrs White’s wedding dress, a package of raisins and a double-barrelled gun and its ammunition. ‘The house had been gutted of everything portable!’ the Port Phillip Herald exclaimed.‘From the manner in which the robbery was committed there can be no doubt that Mr White and his wife had been watched and that the premises must have been well-known to the burglars.’

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Chief Constable Sugden was determined to catch the robbers terrorising the neighbourhood. Around noon the following day, he received word that some men were lurking near Mr Ryrie’s empty property. After gathering reinforcements, he hastened to the property where his constables intercepted three men trying to slip away. They proved to be local residents George Farrell, Joseph Gavigan and Joseph Rice. The threesome’s bluster failed to sway the chief constable; he had heard rumours of their illicit activities and he ordered their arrest. Even after the constables searching Ryrie’s property could find nothing suspicious, Sugden refused to release them. They were lodged in the town watch-house while he continued his investigation. Later that afternoon a young lad bounded across Ryrie’s paddock chasing a pair of rabbits. They shot under the house and the boy scooted after them, poking sticks down rabbit holes to scare them out. In one of the holes he spotted a double-barrelled gun. As he reached down to grab it he changed his mind, wriggled out from under the house and raced off to tell Ryrie’s manager of his discovery. The annoyed chief constable ordered his men to search the building again. This time they discovered some of the Whites’ stolen property wrapped in a blanket and concealed in a small closet. Melbourne’s criminal fraternity were keeping the police and the courts busy that month. Sugden also arrested another group of men, charging them with possessing goods stolen from a warehouse. The men offered a surprising defence: ‘We purchased them from the man George Farrell.’ Evidently the unreformed robber had not returned to shoemaking as his primary source of income. The constables searched each of the receivers’ houses and in James Browne’s discovered an opened bag of raisins, a calico-wrapped bundle of Mrs White’s clothing and, buried in the garden, a rag-wrapped bunch of skeleton keys.

-

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‘During the last six weeks the town has been infested with a gang of burglarious robbers,’ the Crown Prosecutor told Judge Roger Therry and Melbourne’s Supreme Court jury on 16 September 1845. Glaring at Farrell, Gavigan and Rice as they stood in the dock, he continued: ‘These three prisoners are among those who have been committing wholesale robberies. The ease with which they are enabled to perpetrate them comes as no surprise when we look at these keys,’ and he held up the two large bundles of skeleton keys. ‘It would be utterly impossible that the houses or property of the inhabitants could be protected if such men are allowed to escape justice,’ he urged the court. After the prosecution’s main witnesses testified, receiver James Browne’s ten-year-old son George took the stand. ‘That big fellow over there is Rice,’ he told the court. ‘I saw those three men there in the dock’—and he pointed to the men—‘at my father’s house on Sunday 7th September at ten or eleven o’clock. They brought some plums [raisins] and my father gave some to me, and they put the remainder into the carpet bag which was in my father’s house.’ Asked about the prisoners’ other activities, the boy said: ‘I saw the gun down at Ryrie’s paddock at about twelve o’clock. Farrell had a gun in his hand. I saw it before they went into the empty house in the paddock and he brought it out again. I saw a bundle wrapped up in a blanket with one of them—I forget which.’ Suddenly a voice erupted from the dock. Prisoner Joseph Gavigan shouted that the child had been coached in his testimony. ‘Mr Sugden did not teach me what to say,’ the boy indignantly denied. ‘I saw the three of you together. I saw ye in the paddock first. Ye called to my father’s house about eleven o’clock. I was on the hill when I saw ye.’ Gavigan exclaimed in disgust: ‘He has been teached what he says so I shan’t ask him any more questions.’ The irrepressible boy turned to Farrell: ‘I did not see how ye got the bundles. I lost sight of ye after ye left my father’s house and saw ye a quarter of an hour after. Ye went into one of the houses—the farthest towards the Travellers Rest.’

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Prisoner Joseph Rice demanded to know if anyone else had seen them. ‘A boy named Aylmer was with me at the time,’ the child retorted. ‘Your Honour,’ Rice called out, ‘we want a fair trial. It is necessary that the other boy should be sent for.’ ‘Your Honour, a greater piece of villainy than that boy’s testimony never was produced,’ an irate Farrell thundered. ‘He’d swear anything,’ Gavigan cried. Judge Therry banged his gavel and ordered the prisoners to be quiet. When the pandemonium eased, he asked the prosecution to call the next witness. The Travellers Rest publican, the appropriately named James Beveridge, took the stand and reported that he had served the prisoners that Saturday evening. ‘They were dressed in blue shirts and, I believe, cabbage tree hats,’ he declared, then quickly corrected himself. ‘I think Gavigan wore a blue cap.’ Two boys confirmed that in the light of a chimney fire near Buchannan’s Lane they had seen the men passing as they headed in the direction of Eastern Hill. Two wore cabbage tree hats and one a blue cloth cap, and two carried bundles. The prisoners offered no testimony in their own defence and Judge Therry summed up for the jury. The verdict came as no surprise to the spectators. But as guards escorted the prisoners from the dock, Gavigan yelled bitterly: ‘All I can say is that I got anything but a fair trial!’

Fortunately for Farrell and his cronies, a radical overhaul of the criminal statutes during the previous decade had removed house-breaking and ‘stealing from a dwelling house’ from the list of crimes punishable by death. Accordingly, Judge Therry sentenced the three men to fifteen years’ transportation to Tasmania. When the police attempted to document Farrell’s history prior to shipping him south, he mentioned only that he had arrived in Sydney on board the Countess of Harcourt in 1822 with a seven-year sentence. The Melbourne superintendent suspected a more complicated life story, speculating that Farrell was perhaps an escaped Tasmanian prisoner. ‘He will give no further account of himself,’ the

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superintendent advised his Sydney counterpart, ‘however he has the marks of punishment on his back.’ Although now a prisoner within the Tasmanian penal system, Farrell was returned to Norfolk Island soon after his arrival in Hobart, responsibility for the Norfolk Island penal settlement having been transferred from New South Wales to Tasmania in 1844. Unfortunately, the only enlightened Norfolk Island commandant during its history as a penal settlement was long gone. Despite applauding Alexander Maconochie’s efforts with the recognition that they had fostered a decline in crimes of violence and a growth in humane and kindly feelings among the prisoners, the Secretary of State for the Colonies had recalled him two years previously and replaced him with a strict disciplinarian, Joseph Childs. Overnight, Norfolk Island had reverted to a place of convict degradation rather than reformation. Two months after his arrival, Farrell’s list of transgressions began: neglect of work—admonished; insolence—25 lashes; misconduct— admonished; misconduct—fourteen days in chains; misconduct—one month in chains; misconduct—three months in chains. Then he momentarily redeemed himself. Farrell had already proved an able swimmer when he escaped from Sydney’s Phoenix hulk in 1831, and in a moment of selflessness he used his skill to help another. He saved Senior Assistant Superintendent Walker from drowning. Farrell’s efforts were rewarded with a four-month remittance of his sentence, however the inventory of his infractions continued to grow. The system had fuelled an inner rage that Farrell was no longer capable of controlling. Like a large proportion of Britain’s and Australia’s criminal fraternities, Farrell was originally a petty thief and was almost certainly reformable. It was the sheer size of the booty in the Bank of Australia’s vault and his friendship with James Dingle that had motivated his participation in the robbery and might readily have enticed even the previously lawabiding. If he had served out his years of punishment under Commandant Maconochie, his own future and those of his subsequent victims might

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have been different. Indeed his indomitable spirit might have spurred him to success in some honest endeavour. But the authorities cared little about those actually caught up in the system. It was not the individual that mattered—just the message. Maconochie’s system coddled the inmates, or so many believed, while the hard-line commandants terrorised them. Which message would best deter criminality in both the habitual and potential criminal and those being punished? Yet the efficacy of this message in actually deterring criminality could not be proved and, ultimately, in the smoke-andmirrors of politics, it was not proof that counted but perception and political survival. Despite the handful of humanitarian voices crying out for understanding and change, the system remained largely unchanged. Men like Farrell found themselves locked in a cage only partly of their own making and hurtling into the abyss. In October 1850 Farrell was ordered onto another boat, sent back to Tasmania and assigned to various masters. But after nearly three decades in the convict system, he was totally unsuited to such assignment. Moreover he was a slight shoemaker not a strapping agricultural labourer. Farrell adopted his previous strategy for evading undesirable situations: he bolted. Twelve months’ hard labour was his punishment.‘Recommend that particular care may be taken of him’, noted his conduct record. Passed from one master to another, he was evidently considered more trouble than he was worth. His Tasmanian conduct record ends on 3 May 1853 with the weary notation ‘Absconded’. The feisty gaol-breaker had at last successfully eluded his gaolers. By late 1853 Farrell was back in Sydney having solved the anonymity problem by adopting an alias—George Riddell.23 He would later claim that he had arrived free on the Henry in 1851, was a groom and was six or seven years younger than his actual age. His girth had expanded and his hair was brown-black rather than light brown, however he had retained his fresh complexion and his criminal inclinations. Around dusk on 22 December 1853, Farrell rode up to the door of John Madden’s inn on the South Head Road. ‘I have been recommended to the house,’ said Farrell, ‘and wish for lodgings.’ Informed that the inn

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had no stabling, he left to find accommodation for his horse and returned the following morning. Although shown to a room upstairs he soon slipped downstairs and departed. Surprised and then alarmed, Mrs Madden went upstairs and looked around. The money in a nearby drawer was gone. Despite years of exposure to triumphant stories of illicit successes and the penal settlements’ specialised education in the criminal arts, Farrell had failed to absorb one of the simplest rules of survival: a rapid retreat from the vicinity of the crime. He was apprehended the same day in a nearby public house with some of the Maddens’ money in his pocket, a loaded pistol tucked into his clothing and the inevitable dram in his hand. Farrell faced Sydney’s Supreme Court on 6 February 1854. Chief Justice Alfred Stephen, Sidney Stephen’s brother, was presiding. Ironically, fate again led Judge Roger Therry onto Farrell’s path at that time. Therry later wrote: ‘A few years before I left Sydney I saw Farrell in the Supreme Court—a miserable old man—under trial again for a felony. In each instance he was convicted.’ Justice Stephen sentenced Farrell to ten years’ hard labour, and he was returned to Cockatoo Island. By this time, the inmates were constructing the Fitzroy Dock, having already blasted out 1.5 million cubic feet of rock using electricity-fired gunpowder charges. However the little robber was even more unsuited to such hard physical labour and he worked at various times as a servant and a shedman. Perhaps age had mellowed him or perhaps the shocking conditions on Cockatoo Island had finally cowed him, as he had only one recorded infraction during his years there. While he might have been cowed, he definitely wasn’t crushed, however: he was ordered to a solitary confinement cell for abusing the hated cookhouse overseer. Twenty years previously the Molesworth Committee had recommended that convicts punished abroad should be compelled to leave the settlement soon after their sentence expired and that the government should help them do so. In June 1859, Farrell was released from Cockatoo Island and handed a ticket-of-leave for the district of

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Brisbane, Queensland. The irrepressible pistol-toting bolter disappears from the records thereafter.

The most infamous of the Bank of Australia robbers stepped out of Sydney’s police office on 24 September 1842, a free man. Aged in his mid-40s, Blackstone was showing signs of time’s passage—a broader girth and greying hair. His blacksmithing skills had been honed during his decades of penal servitude so he was more readily employable than Farrell. Whether his quarter century in the penal system had subdued or reformed him, however, was still open to conjecture. Perhaps those responsible for processing his certificate of freedom were speculating about his future or the proceeds of the robbery rather than monitoring procedures. The Principal Superintendent of Convicts would later complain to the Hyde Park Barracks magistrate of an undisclosed irregularity in the discharging procedures. Fortunately, the press did not learn the ominous news that, despite Governor Gipps’ orders, particular care had not been taken even before Blackstone’s release. Was it coincidence or malevolence that led Blackstone to Alexander Brodie Spark’s yard a mere two months later? It was almost a decade to the day since the notorious robber and his two young accomplices had raided the warehouse of this Bank of Australia director, the crime that had returned him to Norfolk Island. But Blackstone was not one to reflect on the quirks of fate. As he foraged among the items in Spark’s yard, a man named Patrick McGrath watched him. McGrath saw Blackstone lift a bundle of rod iron, heft it onto his shoulders and trudge off. The weight of the iron forced the mighty blacksmith to hobble and he paused to rest for a moment in Brown Bear Lane, a block north of the Bank of Australia. ‘You are a thief !’ McGrath accused, having followed Blackstone from Spark’s yard. ‘You stole that iron!’

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Blackstone indignantly denied the charge. McGrath angrily repeated his accusation. The two men glared at each other. ‘Take it back then,’ Blackstone eventually told his accuser. He dumped the iron on the ground and, as McGrath later reported, ‘coolly walked away to his own house!’ After stowing the iron safely McGrath approached a constable who arrested Blackstone and locked him up. At the Police Bench the following day Blackstone offered no defence, and he pleaded guilty at his Sydney Quarter Sessions trial in February 1843. He was sentenced to two years in an iron gang and forwarded to the Woolloomooloo Stockade. Blackstone’s recidivism led Sir Roger Therry and his peers to condemn him as one of the ineradicably depraved, those with such an ‘incorrigible proneness to lead a guilty life as to baffle all efforts, gentle or severe, to work a reformation in them.’ But no gentle efforts had been made to reform Blackstone. Quite the opposite. He was just a young petty conman when the British judicial system first laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, just a ‘bad character’ when the colonial system first booted him to the secondary penal settlements and a runaway when they booted him back again. There can be little doubt that the injustices and brutal excesses of the judicial and penal systems shunted him onto the path of serious criminality. Of course, Blackstone didn’t do himself any favours. Unlike many transportees, he had the skills to succeed in the world of the lawabiding and could have flourished if he’d had any business sense, but after a few years in the penal settlements it was as if he could no longer control his impulsive and self-destructive criminality. Yet in this particular instance, perhaps Blackstone’s continued criminality was triggered by circumstances beyond his control. The economic depression of the early 1840s presented difficulties for these newly released Norfolk Island prisoners and the summer of 1842–43 was its trough. With few sources of financial relief for the unemployed, crime naturally escalated. The Norfolk Island emancipists, already considered unsavoury characters by the community, were the least employable of those desperate for work and the most likely to resort to criminal activity in order to survive. While the community blamed them

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for the upsurge in crime, the unfortunate timing had in fact fostered a situation where most had little other choice. Or perhaps Blackstone was simply incapable of surviving any longer outside the system. After his release in February 1845 he lasted only a month on the streets before being hauled before the Police Bench on another larceny charge and sentenced to another two years in the Woolloomooloo Stockade’s ironed gang. Yet within the system he was evidently well-behaved. In September 1846, only eighteen months through his sentence, the remainder was remitted for good conduct.

Peter Flanagan was desperate for the services of a skilled blacksmith. He possibly advertised in the Sydney newspapers or obtained Blackstone’s name through a personal recommendation. The two men reached an agreement, with Flanagan advancing Blackstone a portion of his future wages and paying for his passage from Sydney. Considering Blackstone’s blemished history, it seems surprising that he ever reached Flanagan’s residence—Drayton in the Darling Downs. Now absorbed into Queensland’s inland city of Toowoomba, Drayton’s grasslands rumbled from the hooves of the cattle and sheep first driven into the district in the early 1840s. Bullock wagons carrying supplies from Moreton Bay and returning wool-laden to the port crossed tracks at a gully where a small trading and service settlement eventually developed into the township of Drayton. Blackstone became a part of this village community—but not for long. Perhaps Blackstone found Flanagan a dictatorial master, regular employment onerous or the environment unappealing. Instead of serving out his contract, he decamped. ‘The public are hereby cautioned against hiring William Blackstone,’ Flanagan advertised in the Moreton Bay Courier, ‘he having absconded from my employment on 30 November 1847 being under an agreement to serve me twelve months as a blacksmith.’

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The Cambooya Bench also issued a warrant for the runaway’s arrest. Under the Masters and Servants legislation intended to reduce the economic inconvenience of a free-labour force which neglected or refused to work, Blackstone faced imprisonment and forfeiture of pay for his infraction. But breaking the law had long lost any terrors for him. Sydney had lured Blackstone back, however his days were numbered and he gradually lost any ability to function on his own. Whether years of excessive rum consumption had rotted his liver, psychological torments had addled his brain, or punishment and privation had destroyed his constitution, he was approved for admission to the Asylum of the Benevolent Society of New South Wales, situated in George Street near the current Central Railway Station. The Benevolent Society had long been mothering Sydney’s aged, ill and indigent, many of them ex-transportees. ‘Whether deserving or not from previous character,’ the Benevolent Society had advised a few years earlier, ‘these persons have strong and irresistible claims upon charitable aid. And yet to whom could they have applied had this Institution not existed? And what would have prevented our streets from swarming with beggars or our doors from being daily assailed with their noisy importunity?’ Punch offered a solution. The delightfully irreverent yet perspicacious magazine had recently directed its own attention towards the subject of impecunious crooks. ‘It has long been a reproach to roguery that it never prospers,’ Punch observed, ‘a fact which is owing to the improvidence which generally accompanies want of principle.’ Arguing that organisation was as essential as honour among thieves, Punch suggested that a Stealings Bank be established on the same principle as a Savings Bank to allow criminals to save for their declining years. It would accept yards of ribbon and bits of tape, even rags and bones; indeed, plunder of any kind could be deposited during its opening hours—10 pm to 4 am—and would be converted into a fair equivalent in cash. ‘No distinction,’ added Punch’s barbed pen, ‘would be made between common thieves, sharpers and pickpockets, and peculators in government or other official situations.’

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Of course, the trusting Blackstone had long ago discovered that, not only was there no organisation offering a secure and profitable return for the proceeds from his depredations, there was no honour among thieves. The bells tolled when Blackstone died on 17 March 1850 but only because it was St Patrick’s Day. His demise was a final ironic bow to his Irish accomplices, although none were nearby to toast him or to curse him. William Blackstone—skilled blacksmith, fearless robber and, for a brief moment, the nabob he aspired to become—was buried two days later at Camperdown Cemetery in a pauper’s grave.

‘Who can tell what a convict’s fate might be?’ the Molesworth Committee had asked in 1838. ‘He might be a domestic servant, well fed, well clothed and well treated by a kind and indulgent master. He might be fortunate in obtaining a ticket-of-leave or a conditional pardon and finish his career by accumulating considerable wealth. Or he may be a wretched praedial slave of some harsh master compelled by the lash to work until driven to desperation he takes to the bush and is shot down like a beast of prey; or for some small offence he is sent to work in chains or to a penal settlement where having suffered till he can endure no more, he commits murder in order that he might die. Between these extremes of comfort and misery there are innumerable gradations of good and evil in which the lot of a convict may be cast.’ While the humanitarian members of the Molesworth Committee despaired for the wretched slaves, most of the establishment were aghast at the thought of transportees becoming rich. Not only was it alarming enough when emancipated convicts became rich by honest means. But when serving prisoners became rich by dishonest means? To make matters worse, the Bank of Australia robbery—the most daring and successful of all these dishonest endeavours—had piled humiliation onto consternation. This embarrassment of robbers had targeted the treasure vault of the colonial nobility. They had accessed

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the vault through a sewage drain—poetic justice, some thought, as the crime was committed by those considered the dregs of British society. They had eluded detection for some years. And much of their booty had slipped back into circulation. In fact, in its passage from one set of hands to another, the proceeds of the robbery had effectively redistributed some of the exclusives’ wealth to the poorer classes. No wonder the community conspired to protect the robbers. Not only had the residents of New South Wales delighted in the crime and, to some extent, profited from it, they had no wish to send the perpetrators to the gallows. But if the law had been different, if the judicial system had not decreed that death was the punishment for such a crime, the outcome might also have been different. Ironically, while the savagery of the system spawned much of the colony’s criminality, the savagery of the system no doubt hindered the authorities’ ability to speedily detect and punish the perpetrators of this outrageous crime. While society wishes its members, criminal or otherwise, to aspire to righteousness, sometimes the most righteous prove with the benefit of hindsight to have been mired in wickedness or cruelty. And in a curious inversion, like the criminal vernacular of the transportation era, the wicked often acquire their own nobility. Perhaps it is apt to paraphrase colonial traveller Peter Cunningham: that there are those in any society who are venerated because of the amount and adroitness of their villainies. The infamous Bank of Australia robbers, William Blackstone, James Dingle and George Farrell, were indeed prolific, at times adroit and unrepentantly villainous. Yet in their cheeky disregard for the rules that constrain the respectable, their defiance of a government determined to control and subdue them, and their unwillingness to meekly tip their caps at their betters, lie the traces of the larrikin spirit that would, in many eyes, come to embody the Australian ethos.

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EPILOGUE

T

he Bank of Australia gradually recovered to enjoy the booming economy of the 1830s, then spectacularly crashed fifteen years after the robbery. Financial mismanagement by its directors (‘knaves and fools,’ ranted one shareholder), the economic depression of the early 1840s and too many eggs nesting with a recently bankrupted firm of merchants precipitated its demise. When its doors closed in 1843, the bank’s public liabilities were negligible however its debts to the other banks were enormous—and its shareholders would have to cover the liability. In a desperate bid to protect bank and shareholder assets, one of the directors offered a unique suggestion: a public lottery with the bank’s foreclosed estates as the prizes. Eventually conducted without legal sanction, the lottery offered over 11 000 tickets at £4 each with an equivalent number of similarly valued prizes. Nine prizes were of considerable value, the largest around £6000. The doors of the City Theatre in Market Street burst open at 8 am on New Year’s Day 1849 and ticket-holders eagerly jostled through. They saw a stage tastefully decked out in flowers and evergreens, and lining

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the walls were plans of some of the most valuable properties. Impatiently they waited for the draw which would commence two hours later and continue for three days. ‘Who can ever forget the rows upon rows of anxious purchasers of tickets, male and female, daily and all day long crowded in the pit and boxes of the City Theatre?’ recounted a Sydney Morning Herald correspondent. ‘Who can ever forget the eager looks, the patient and sustained listening to the announcements of the ticket numbers, the hard breathing, the excitement amongst the shoes whenever something considered a prize was drawn and the almost audible groans as a FitzRoy [something contemptible] fell to them . . .’ And so the Bank of Australia expired in a blaze of publicity almost eclipsing that following its plundering two decades earlier. As it turned out, many of the prizes were land allotments in distant parts of the country: small, poorly subdivided, frequently unmarked and virtually unidentifiable. They proved as worthless as many of the plundered bank notes. The Bank of Australia directors and shareholders had—no doubt unintentionally—taken their revenge on a community which had nearly beggared them some years earlier by conspiring to circulate the stolen notes and shield the robbers. Although the Bank of Australia, its unfortunate shareholders and its intrepid robbers are long gone, thoughts of the treasure still lure those who dream of riches, as they have done for nearly two centuries. In the years after the robbery, rumours of the solitary rower and of the murdered robber sparked many a hunt by those seduced by the image of lost treasure buried in Little Sirius Cove, of casks of glittering coins begging to be dug up. Even today, the website of Treasure Enterprises of Australia reports: ‘Somewhere near the water’s edge in one of the small bays of the North Shore in Sydney lies buried several boxes containing a large quantity of Spanish dollars and Georgian silver coins which were transported from the Bank of Australia in George Street. These were part of the proceeds from a robbery that occurred on 14 September 1828. According to historical records, these have never been recovered.’

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But were these rumours merely a decoy, an attempt to nudge treasure hunters in the wrong direction while the robbers dug up the coins and spent them? Maybe the coins remain where they were originally buried— in water ‘breast high’ rather than in one of the bays on Sydney’s north shore. Or perhaps, one day, someone strolling along the shoreline of one of these little bays will stumble on an old rotten wooden box, or notice a shimmer in the sand . . .

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THE VALUE OF THE BANK OF AUSTRALIA PLUNDER

T

he Bank of Australia heist was the largest documented bank robbery inAustralian history.Any equivocation in its status arises for two reasons: the unknown and never-to-be-known value of the haul from Sydney’s Chinatown robbery in 1988 (between $2 million and $20 million,depending upon the value of the items stored in the safety deposit boxes), and the difficulty in accurately determining the value of £14 000 in today’s dollars. Historical currency conversions are complicated. One website (www.measuringworth.com) offers pound sterling conversions for the 175-year period from 1830 to 2005 and provides five different computations. After multiplying the end results by 2.5 to convert the sum into current Australian dollars, the relative worth of £14 000 in Britain in 1830 would in 2005 approximate: Retail Price Index: GDP deflator: Wages: Per capita GDP: GDP:

$2.4 million $3 million $26 million $35 million $89 million

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While the Retail Price Index is customarily used in historical currency conversions, this is not an accurate guide to the value of the Bank of Australia booty. The Retail Price Index is calculated using representative staple items in the ordinary shopper’s basket, however the robbers’ use of the money to purchase such a ‘basket of goodies’ is of little importance; of greater importance is the fact that the men stole the money instead of earning it. Therefore the most accurate guide to the value of the robbery proceeds is the wages conversion. Of course, wages in England in 1830 did not mirror those in Australia in 1828, nor has economic development in the two countries proceeded apace, so these figures can merely serve as a tentative guide. The only comparable Australian website (www.thornblake.com.au)* offers Retail Price Index conversions for the period from 1850 to 2001. Using these figures, £14 000 converts to $1.26 million. However this conversion reveals the inadequacy of the Retail Price Index in estimating the true value of the Bank of Australia spoils. A large proportion of Sydneysiders have properties valued over $1.26 million; in fact, many would be worth double, treble or even quadruple that amount. By contrast, in 1827 William Charles Wentworth purchased Vaucluse House and its encompassing 105 acres for £1500, approximately one-tenth of the value of the robber’s loot. Although the Australian historical conversion calculator provides only Retail Price Index figures, we can use the different British computations to estimate a tentative wages conversion. Dividing the British wages figure ($26 million) by the British Retail Price Index figure ($2.4 million) produces a multiplier of 10.8. Using this multiplier, we can convert the Australian Retail Price Index calculation ($1.26 million) to a loose wages estimate of $13.6 million. Interestingly, if we take the ballpark figures of $50 000 for the average wage in Australia today and £50 for the average wage in New South *

This website can no longer be accessed however the ‘Australian Bureau of Statistics— Year Book 2002: CPI—Long-term price series’ offers a guide to similar conversions (http://www.yprl.vic.gov.au/cdroms/yearbook2002/cd/wed00004/wed00489.htm)

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Wales in 1828, the £14 000 Bank of Australia haul converts to a figure of $14 million. However the Bank of Australia robbery occurred almost 180 years ago and the Australian Retail Price Index covers only 151 years of that period. Moreover, £50 per annum is on the high side for the average wage in 1828 (which is difficult to accurately determine anyway because of the hidden cost of ‘free’ convict labour), and $50 000 today is less than the average wage. Therefore a loose approximation for the value of the plunder in today’s dollars would be nearer $20 million, making it the largest bank robbery in Australian history. This figure is unlikely to be an overestimate but could be a serious underestimate. William Rubinstein uses Gross Domestic Product to calculate historical wealth in The All-Time Australian 200 Rich List (Allen & Unwin, 2004). He estimates that £14 000 as a proportion of the GDP of New South Wales in 1828 would, in today’s financial environment, be worth nearly $6 billion.

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ENDNOTES Endnotes

1 It has not proved possible to determine William Blackstone’s family background. These details are drawn from information he provided to the colonial authorities. 2 A whitesmith worked in tinned or galvanised iron, or white iron; a founder either melted metal and poured it into a mould or served as a foreman directing the operation of an iron blast furnace. 3 A muster was the equivalent of a roll-call. 4 A.M. Blackstone was Blackstone’s wife Ann Maria Harrison and the date no doubt is that of their marriage. In 1816 she received permission to travel to New South Wales to join her husband but she never arrived. 5 ‘Off the store’ essentially meant to go off government rationing. In Turner’s case, he hoped to be assigned to his wife, enabling him to acquire work and generate an income to support his family. 6 The Colonial Secretary was the Governor’s right-hand man (part Deputy Prime Minister, part personal assistant) and most appeals to the Governor went through the Colonial Secretary’s Office. 7 New South Wales had no money supply in its early years; instead, goods were bartered and rum became a form of currency. The British government sent out Spanish dollars in 1792 and Governor King purchased additional supplies in 1803, while convict ships and other vessels traded British and foreign coins which were readily absorbed into the colony’s currency. In 1812 Governor Macquarie purchased a large shipment of Spanish dollars to overcome the currency shortage and had a machine punch out another coin from the centre. The ‘holey-dollar’ and the ‘dump’ each went into circulation having been stamped ‘New South Wales 1813’

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8 9 10

11 12

13 14 15 16

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18

19 20

21

to prevent exportation. In the mid-1820s, Britain ordered a changeover from the predominantly Spanish-dollar currency (although pound sterling had remained the unit of account) to a sterling currency and standard, without making enough sterling coins available to meet the demand. When a rapid outflow of dollars followed, the colony faced a financial crisis. References to ‘dollars’ are references to these Spanish coins. An old name applied to The Rocks’ ridge, it had fallen into disuse by the mid1830s according to an official map of the area. This reflected the exchange rate difference between ‘sterling’ and ‘currency’—the latter a mix of Spanish dollars and coins from other countries. Elizabeth Watson lived as Woodward’s wife although he had a British wife (Ann Stretton or Woodward) who was herself convicted in Britain and had arrived on the Harmony transport the year before. The Chief Justice visited the hulk and the prisons on the first day of each Criminal Session to hear any complaints from the inmates. For detailed information about the campaign against Governor Ralph Darling see An Irresistible Temptation: the true story of Jane New and a colonial scandal, by Carol Baxter (Allen & Unwin, 2006). The man who carried the documents to England was John Stephen Jnr, the male protagonist in the story. A skilling or skeeling was an outbuilding attached to another building in the manner of a lean-to. Gough was a widower with a large family and had a housekeeper, Mary Allen, who lived as his wife and was called Mrs Gough. For Jane’s full story see An Irresistible Temptation: the true story of Jane New and a colonial scandal, by Carol Baxter (Allen & Unwin, 2006). Surviving records do not detail the amount recovered nor is it possible to determine as the Bank of Australia did not know the numbers of most of the stolen notes. Many of these notes were ultimately exchanged for new notes without the bank’s knowledge, according to the bank’s own statements. As was customary, colonial records list Blackstone’s conviction as occurring on 13 September 1815, the first day of the Old Bailey Criminal Session, rather than his actual date of conviction, which was a day later. The records actually refer to ‘Essex Lane’ however as the lane that later bore that name was then known as ‘Brown Bear Lane’, it seems likely that the witnesses were actually referring to Essex Street. Colley’s choice was apparently unwise, as he does not appear to have survived his term on Norfolk Island. Legally, the term ‘bank robbery’ is a misnomer, as ‘robbery’ implies physical contact between thief and victim. Accordingly, no ‘bank robbery’ statute existed under which the thieves could be indicted. The questions asked by the counsellors, judge and jury were not included in Judge Dowling’s transcription or in newspaper reports of the trial so their tenor was determined from the answers.

280

Endnotes 22 The surviving indictment makes no mention of Woodward as an ‘accessory’ only as a receiver, however C.H. Currey in Sir Francis Forbes declares that ‘Woodward was charged as a receiver of a part of the stolen property and therefore as an accessory after the fact’. The label ‘accessory’ would haunt Woodward in later years when he attempted to appeal for a reduction of his sentence. 23 As Farrell was born in Belfast yet convicted in Dublin, and as his left arm had long borne a tattoo G.R., it is possible that Farrell was an alias adopted when he left Armagh for Dublin and that Riddell was his true surname.

281

ANNOTATED TIMELINES

Annotated Timelines

Sources Abbreviations AOT Archives Office, Hobart, Tasmania, Australia BEA Bank of England Archives, London, England LDS Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints ML Mitchell Library, Sydney, NSW, Australia QLD State Library of Queensland, Australia RBDM Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages, Sydney, NSW, Australia SRNSW State Records of New South Wales, Sydney and Kingswood, NSW, Australia TNA National Archives, Kew, London, England

Bank of Australia robbery 14 Sep 1828 15 Sep 1828

Bank of Australia robbed1 Rewards offered for information leading to conviction of perpetrators; old notes withdrawn and new notes issued2

1 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88]; Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–84] & Vol. 55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e; Sun 5 Mar 1912 in Newspaper Cuttings Vol. 25 pp.147–8 [ML ref: Q991/N] 2 Monitor 27 Sep 1828 p.1343b

282

Annotated timelines 16–30 Sep 1828 Police reports of those remanded upon suspicion of an involvement include John Byrne, Thomas Turner, James Dingle, James Madden, William Blackstone, Thomas Woodward, Dennis McHue, Thomas Seeney and John Morwood (see timeline for each), and Samuel Harrison, Elizabeth Farrell, Elizabeth Woodward / Watson, John Mongan, Henry Clark, Henry Mowatt, Richard Kelly, Robert Lovell, John Shipman, Owen Cronan, John Hart, Michael Stowe and Thomas Whitfield3 16 Sep 1828 Thomas Turner under suspicion4 17 Sep 1828 Sydney Gazette and Australian report the robbery5 17 Sep 1828 Letter found under post office door naming individuals allegedly involved in robbery6 19–20 Sep 1828 Further newspaper reports7 22 Sep 1828 James John Wood’s statement of his discovery of the robbers’ identities8 22 Sep 1828 From this day onwards those holding Bank of Australia notes required to account for them9 22 Sep 1828 Reference to Bank of Australia robbery and to British robbery10 23 Sep 1828 Notice that reward raised to 5 per cent of amount of notes or coins recovered11 24 Sep 1828 Dennis McHue brought before police and charged with perjury12 25 Sep 1828 Dwelling in Darling Harbour searched13 26 Sep 1828 Reports regarding those in custody over Bank of Australia robbery14 26 Sep 1828 Richard Kelly taken into custody over Bank of Australia notes (see James Kelly’s timeline)15 27 Sep 1828 Apprehended John Morwood, Owen Cronan and John Hart who had been offering notes for 10s each16 30 Sep 1828 James Lee (see timeline) reportedly received stolen Bank of Australia notes17 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

13 14 15 16 17

Police Reports of Prisoners 16–30 Sep 1828 [SRNSW ref: X821 pp.89–111; Reel 660] Australian 19 Sep 1828 p.3d; Sydney Gazette 19 Sep 1828 p.2e Sydney Gazette 17 Sep 1828 p.2e; Australian 17 Sep 1828 p.4b Sydney Gazette 19 Sep 1828 p.2e Sydney Gazette 19 Sep 1828 pp.2c&e; Australian 19 Sep 1828 p.3d; Monitor 20 Sep 1828 p.1332 Statement: James Wood, 22 Sep 1828 [ML ref: A1269 pp.825–9; Reel CY 1399] Monitor 18 Oct 1828 p.1367b Sydney Gazette 22 Sep 1828 p.2e Monitor 18 Oct 1828 p.1367b Sydney Gazette 26 Sep 1828 p.2e; Statement of Dennis McHue, 23 Sep 1828 in HRA I/15 p.840; Police Reports of Prisoners 24 Sep 1828: Dennis McHue [SRNSW ref: X821 p.101 No.19; Reel 660]; Sydney Gazette 26 Sep 1828 p.2e; Deposition by W.H. Mackenzie, 24 Sep 1828 in HRA I/15 p.839; Deposition by Peter Gardner, 23 & 24 Sep 1828 in HRA I/15 p.840; Deposition by Captain George Bunn, 24 Sep 1828 in HRA I/15 p.840 Sydney Gazette 29 Sep 1828 p.2d Sydney Gazette 26 Sep 1828 p.2e; Australian 26 Sep 1828 p.2d Police Reports of Prisoners 27 Sep 1828: Richard Kelly [SRNSW ref: X821 p.107 No.7; Reel 660] Sydney Gazette 1 Oct 1828 p.3b; Australian 3 Oct 1828 p.3a; Police Reports of Prisoners 29 Sep 1828: John Mowood [SRNSW ref: X821 p.109; No.9 Reel 660] Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 11: James Lees [SRNSW ref: 2/3194 pp.14–37]; Supreme Court— Information: James Lees [SRNSW ref: SC T28A 28/175 No.14]

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Constable Smith discovers stolen notes in skilling18 James Kelly (see timeline) reportedly received stolen Bank of Australia notes19 7 Oct 1828 Richard Kelly complains about treatment regarding Bank of Australia notes20 7 Oct 1828 Captain Bunn reports that Edward Shortland, George Farrell, John Byrne, James Madden and William Blackstone implicated in robbery (see timeline for each)21 8 Oct 1828 Bank of Australia reports numbers of stolen notes determined22 10–18 Oct 1828 Reports about those continuing to receive Bank of Australia notes and Bank of Australia refusing to honour old notes23 22 Oct 1828 Shortland, Farrell, Byrne, Madden and Blackstone ordered to the hulk if not already incarcerated there24 23 Oct 1828 Shortland, Farrell, Byrne, Madden and Blackstone admitted to hulk25 Oct 1828 Plan to entrap robbers using fake Bank of Australia notes26 19 Nov 1828 Further complaints about Bank of Australia refusing to honour old notes27 21 Nov 1828 Susannah and James Martin tried in Supreme Court by Chief Justice Forbes; James acquitted; Susannah convicted (see timeline for Susannah Martin)28 24 Nov 1828 James Lee tried for receiving stolen Bank of Australia notes; guilty29 Sep / Oct 1828 1 Oct 1828

18 Judge Dowling’s Notebook—ibid; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: R. v. Lees examined 8 January 2006 [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1827–28/html/ r_v_Lees__1828.htm] 19 Supreme Court—Information: James Kelly, 1828 [SRNSW ref: SC T28B 28/216 No.55] 20 Monitor 18 Oct 1828 p.1367a 21 Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959] 22 Sydney Gazette 8 Oct 1828 p.2d 23 Sydney Gazette 10 Oct 1828 p.2b; Australian 17 Oct 1828 p.2d; Monitor 18 Oct 1828 p.1367b 24 Memorandum to Principal Supt of Police & Sheriff attached to letter: Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Shortland, Farrell, Byrne, Madden & Blackstone, 22 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.31 No.28/64; Reel 1062] 25 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: Edward Shortland, George Farrell, John Byrne, James Madden & William Blackstone, 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.69 Nos.1630–4; Reel 819] 26 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 11: James Lees [SRNSW ref: 2/3194 pp.14–37]; Australian 25 Nov 1828 p.3b-c; Sydney Gazette 26 Nov 1828 p.2e-f; also Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: R. v. Lees examined 8 January 2006 [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1827–28/ html/r_v_Lees__1828.htm]; Chief Justice’s Letterbook: Forbes to Darling, 2 Oct 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6651 pp.245–6]; also [SRNSW ref: 4/2048 File 29/7897] 27 Australian 19 Nov 1828 p.2c-d 28 Return of crime & punishment 1828: James & Susannah Martin [ML ref: A1204 p.431; Reel CY537]; Supreme Court—Information: James & Susannah Martin, 1830 [SRNSW ref: SC T28A 28/172 Case No.11]; Sydney Gazette 24 Nov 1828 p.3a; Australian 25 Nov 1828 p.3a-b 29 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 11: James Lees [SRNSW ref: 2/3194 pp.14–37]; Return of crime & punishment 1828: James Lee [ML ref: A1204 p.433; Reel CY537]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Lee 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 L 1828–10–11; Reel 851]; Australian 25 Nov 1828 p.3b-c; Sydney Gazette 26 Nov 1828 p.2e-f; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: R. v. Lees examined 8 January 2006 [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1827–28/html/ r_v_Lees__1828.htm]

284

Annotated timelines 9 Dec 1828 17 Dec 1828 18 Dec 1828 2 Jan 1829 6 Jan 1829 16 Jan 1829 24 Jan 1829 5 Feb 1829 10 Feb 1829 14 Feb 1829 2 Mar 1829 5 Mar 1829 9 Mar 1829

John Morwood tried for receiving stolen Bank of Australia notes; guilty30 James Kelly tried for receiving stolen Bank of Australia notes; guilty31 Sarah Payne tried for receiving stolen Bank of Australia notes; guilty; admitted to bail32 Jane New offered money-laundering proposition33 John Morwood, James Lee, James Kelly, Sarah Payne all sentenced— 7 years’ transportation34 Letter to Colonial Secretary regarding Jane New’s revelation re moneylaundering scheme35 Orphan discovers £2959 in Bank of Australia notes in vicinity of Darling Harbour36 Some £50 Bank of Australia notes discovered under stone in Liverpool Street37 Actions against Bank of Australia for recovery of notes claimed to have been stolen38 Bank of Australia managing director requests assistance from Principal Superintendent of Police in Hobart regarding stolen notes39 Legal action by James Kelly to recover Bank of Australia notes claimed to have been stolen40 Report on Kelly’s legal suit41 Report on Dennis McHue’s case42

30 Supreme Court—Information: Rex vs Morwood [SRNSW ref: SC T28B 28/204 No.43]; Return of crime & punishment 1828: John Morwood [ML ref: A1204 p.439; Reel CY537]; Sydney Gazette 10 Dec 1828 p.2e; Australian 12 Dec 1828 p.5e; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Morwood 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1828–09–30; Reel 851] 31 Return of crime & punishment 1828: James Kelly [ML ref: A1204 p.441; Reel CY537]; Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 12: Rex vs James Kelly [SRNSW ref: 2/3195 pp.126–58]; Australian 19 Dec 1828 p.3b; Monitor 22 Dec 1828 p.1440b-d; Sydney Gazette, 19 Dec 1828 p.2e-f; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Kelly 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 K 1828–12–17 (p.207); Reel 851]; also Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: R. v. Kelly (No.2), examined 6 April 2006 [http: //www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1827–28/html/r_v_kelly_no_2__1828.htm] 32 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 12: Sarah Payne [SRNSW ref: 2/3195 pp.159–64] & Vol. 13 [SRNSW ref: 2/3196 pp.1–50]; Information and Sarah Payne’s statement to jury [SRNSW ref: SC T28B 28/217 No.56]; Return of crime & punishment 1828: Sarah Payne [ML ref: A1204 p.441; Reel CY537]; Sydney Gazette 22 Dec 1828 p.3a; Australian 19 Dec 1828 p.3b 33 Memorandum: John Stephen Jnr, 3 Jan 1829 [AOT ref: CSO 1/185/4448, pp.335–6; Reel Z1795]; Petition: Jane New [SRNSW ref: 4/2023 File 29/2007 (unnumbered)] 34 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 14: Sarah Payne &c [SRNSW ref: 2/3197 pp.96–8]; Sydney Gazette 8 Jan 1829 p.2d; Australian 9 Jan 1829 p.2e 35 Macvitie to Colonial Secretary, 16 Jan 1829 In-letter [ML ref: Dixson Library—Add. 180 No.29/457] 36 Sydney Gazette 24 Jan 1829 p.2d; Chief Justice Francis Forbes’ Letterbook: Macvitie to Chief Justice, 22 Jan 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6651 p.208] 37 Sydney Gazette 5 Feb 1829 p.2d 38 Sydney Gazette 10 Feb 1829 p.2d 39 Macvitie to Principal Supt of Police, Hobart, 14 Feb 1829 [ML ref: Dixson Library—Add. 668] 40 Sydney Gazette 5 Mar 1829 p.3a 41 ibid 42 Monitor 9 Mar 1829 p.1524d

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14 Mar 1829

Details for Shortland, Farrell, Byrne, Madden and Blackstone, currently on hulk, suspected of involvement in Bank of Australia robbery43 25 Apr 1829 Supreme Court orders superintendent of hulk to bring Blackstone, Farrell, Byrne, Madden, Shortland and Alexander Sutherland before court to determine why detained44 1 May 1829 Byrne, Madden, Blackstone and Shortland to be sent from Phoenix hulk to Hyde Park Barracks45 2 May 1829 Byrne, Madden, Blackstone and Shortland in Hyde Park Barracks to be sent on board Phoenix hulk for security until instructions provided for disposal46 2 May 1829 Order to sheriff to send Shortland, Byrne, Madden and Blackstone to hulk from Hyde Park Barracks47 23 May 1829 Investigation continuing—information obtained from prisoners on hulk48 28 May 1829 New information about Bank of Australia robbery49 18 Aug 1829 Memorandum of destinations for Shortland, Byrne, Madden and Blackstone—to distant settlement50 10 Dec 1830 William Blackstone’s statement against Dingle, Farrell and Woodward51 11 Dec 1830 Dingle and Woodward brought in on warrant for examination52 11 Dec 1830 William Blackstone’s further statement53 11 Dec 1830 Thomas Seeney’s statement54 13/27 Dec 1830 Other statements confirming Blackstone’s claims55 15 Dec 1830 Thomas Seeney’s second statement56

43 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 14 Mar 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 enclosure with 28/7959] 44 Supreme Court—Ex parte William Blackstone &c, 1829 [SRNSW ref: SC T29B 29/364] 45 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 1 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246] 46 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 p.280 No.29/342; Reel 1043]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Byrne, Madden, Blackstone & Shortland, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.131 No.29/206; Reel 1062] 47 ibid 48 Sydney Gazette 23 May 1829 p.2e 49 Sydney Gazette 28 May 1829 p.2e 50 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 18 Aug 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.200 No.29/309; Reel 1062] 51 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 10 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 52 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Reference to warrant for Dingle & Woodward, 11 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 53 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 11 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 54 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Thomas Seeney’s statement, 11 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 55 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 56 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Thomas Seeney’s statement, 15 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88]

286

Annotated timelines James John Wood’s statement57 Request to Moreton Bay commandant for information from prisoners regarding Bank of Australia robbery58 3 Jan 1831 Report by George Bunn stating Blackstone exonerated Turner, Byrne, Madden and Shortland59 11 Jan 1831 Request that William Blackstone be detained to give evidence against the bank robbers60 12 Jan 1831 Byrne, Shortland and Madden ordered to be released after Blackstone’s exonerating information61 14 Jan 1831 Byrne, Shortland and Madden discharged from Phoenix hulk to Hyde Park Barracks62 18 Mar 1831 Blackstone’s statement to the court against George Farrell who is then committed for trial63 Mar–May 1831 Blackstone expresses concerns about conspiracies, etc.64 10 Jun 1831 Trial of Dingle, Farrell and Woodward—guilty65 23 Jul 1831 Opinion of judges regarding Blackstone’s competency as a witness66 Aug 1831 Requests and responses regarding others concerned in the robbery67 7 Jun 1833 Report in circulation that Dingle, Farrell and Woodward have been pardoned. Had signed petition that conviction contrary to law68 17 Dec 1830 18 Dec 1830

57 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: James Wood’s statement, 17 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 58 Moreton Bay: Letters from Colonial Secretary to Commandant, 18 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 p.207 No.30/24; Reel 749] 59 Bunn to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2095 File 31/324 No.31/316] 60 Bunn to Colonial Secretary, 11 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2095 File 31/324 No.31/324] 61 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 12 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3670 p.147; Reel 2649] 62 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Madden [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.9; Reel 819] 63 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 18 Mar 1831 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 64 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 29 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 65 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–84] & Vol.55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e; Sun 5 Mar 1912 in Newspaper Cuttings Vol. 25 pp.147–8 [ML ref: Q991/N]; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/ scnsw/Cases1831–32/html/r_v_farrell_dingle_woodwa.htm]; Executive Council—Appendix to Minutes 1831–2: Enclosure SSS to Minute 42/1831—Report of Cases tried before Justice Dowling in June/ July 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/1441 pp.94–8] 66 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 56: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3239 pp.82–98 & 134–57]; Decisions of the Superior Courts—ibid 67 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 13 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.306; Reel 2650] 68 Australian 7 Jun 1833 p.2e

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10 Aug 1833 12–31 Aug 1833 27 Sep 1833 1–22 Nov 1833 20 Jan 1834 21 Jan 1834 20 Feb 1834 7 Mar 1834 1838–39 1843–49

Petition of Dingle, Farrell and Woodward, received 10 Aug 183369 Correspondence regarding petition70 Case of Dingle, Farrell and Woodward awaiting judges’ report71 Further newspaper reports on case72 Dingle, Farrell and Woodward still languishing on Norfolk Island73 Judges’ report74 Memorandum on back of petition—judges are of opinion that properly convicted75 Notification of unsuccessful petition76 Governor Gipps’ references to the Act allowing the release of the Norfolk Island prisoners77 Collapse of the Bank of Australia78

William Blackstone General c. 1796

Description79; biography80 Born London81

69 Colonial Secretary—Petition: James Dingle, George Farrell & Thomas Woodward 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/2200 File 33/5204 No.33/5204] 70 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Attorney-General, 12 Aug 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/2200 File 33/5204 No.33/237]; Attorney-General to Chief Clerk of Supreme Court, 24 Aug 1833 [ML ref: A165 pp.345–6; Reel CY 887]; Supreme Court to Attorney-General, 26 Aug 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/2200 File 33/5204 enclosure with No.33/5635]; Attorney-General to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 27 Aug 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/2200 File 33/5204 No.33/5635]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Judges of Supreme Court, 31 Aug 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/2200 File 33/5204 (unnumbered)]; Chief Justice Francis Forbes Letterbook: Colonial Secretary to Chief Justice, 31 Aug 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/6651 p.365] 71 Australian 27 Sep 1833 p.3b 72 Australian 1 Nov 1833 p.2c; 18 Nov 1833 p.2c; 22 Nov 1833 p.2e 73 Australian 20 Jan 1834 p.2c 74 Forbes & Burton to Governor Bourke, 21 Jan 1834 [SRNSW ref: 4/2200 File 33/5204 (unnumbered)]; Chief Justice Francis Forbes Letterbook: Chief Justice to Governor, 31 Jan 1834 [SRNSW ref: 4/6651 pp.365–6] 75 Colonial Secretary—Petition: James Dingle, George Farrell & Thomas Woodward 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/2200 File 33/5204 No.33/5204] 76 Colonial Secretary to Captain Fyans, Acting Commandant, Norfolk Island, 7 Mar 1834 [SRNSW ref: 4/3822 No.34/5 pp.235–6 Pt.11]; Australian 7 Mar 1834 p.2c-d 77 Gipps to Glenelg, 26 Jan 1839 in HRA I/19 p.775 78 Truth 22 Feb 1820 in Newspaper Cuttings Vol. 92 [ML ref: Q991.1/N; Reel FM4/7955]; Butlin Foundations of the Australian Monetary System, pp.345–54; Holder Bank of New South Wales: A History pp.120–1 79 Convict Indents—Mariner 1816: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/4005 p.207; Fiche 636]; Certificate of Freedom: William Blackstone 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4299 No.29/0904; Reel 985]; Register of Colonial Pardons: William Blackstone 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4493 pp.330–1; Reel 771]; Phoenix Hulk Description Book: William Blackstone 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/6280 No.33/31; Reel 821]; Sydney Gaol Description Book: William Blackstone 1842 [SRNSW ref: 4/6302 1842 No.1769; Reel 857] & 1845 [SRNSW ref: 4/6302 1845 No.239; Reel 857] 80 Therry Reminiscences pp.203–5 81 Convict Indents—Mariner 1816: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/4005 p.207; Fiche 636]; Certificate of Freedom: William Blackstone 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4299 No.29/0904; Reel 985]

288

Annotated timelines pre-1815 Whitesmith and founder residing London82 13/14 Sep 1815 Old Bailey Criminal Sessions: tried for forging and coining; allowed to ‘plead to the lesser charge’; sentenced to 14 years’ transportation83 11 Jan 1816 Transferred to Justitia hulk84 6 May 1816 Transferred to Mariner transport85 11 Oct 1816 Arrived Sydney per transport Mariner86 16 Oct 1816 Disembarked from the Mariner87 25 Sep 1818 For bad character, tried by Mr Wentworth; sentenced to 1 year’s transportation88 2 Oct 1818 Forwarded to Newcastle per Lady Nelson89 Oct 1819 Presumably returned to Sydney, 1-year sentence having expired 8 Jan 1820 Absconded prisoner90 19/20 Jan 1820 Runaway. Tried by Mr Wentworth; sentenced to 1 year’s transportation91 2 Feb 1820 Forwarded to Newcastle per Princess Charlotte92 Mar 1820 Punished at Newcastle93 Jan 1821 Presumably returned to Sydney, 1-year sentence having expired 6 Jul 1821 For robbery, tried Sydney Bench, sentenced to 2 years at Port Macquarie; admitted to Sydney Gaol94 26 Jul 1821 Forwarded to Newcastle per Mermaid 95 May 1822 Punished at Newcastle—50 lashes for stealing and burning palings96 Sep 1822 In government employ at Newcastle97 82 Convict Indents—ibid 83 Convict Indents—ibid; The Proceedings of the Old Bailey: William Blackstone 13 Sep 1815 [http: //www.oldbaileyonline.org/html_units/1810s/t18150913–13.html]; Newgate Calendar—Middlesex Session commencing 13 Sep 1815 No.139: Arraignments, Verdicts & Judgments [TNA ref: HO 77/22]; Minutes of Committee for Lawsuits–William Blackstone & John Wilson [BEA ref: MS/315] 84 Index to Justitia hulk [TNA ref: HO 9/5 No.1209; ML PRO Reel 4880]; Justitia Hulk Register [TNA ref: HO 9/4 p.13 No.1209; ML PRO Reel 4880] 85 Justitia Hulk Register—ibid; Haslam Narrative 86 Convict Indents—Mariner 1816: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/4005 p.207; Fiche 636] 87 Haslam Narrative 88 Gaoler’s return: Prisoners to Newcastle per Lady Nelson, 2 Oct 1818: William Blaxtone [SRNSW ref: 4/3499 p.93; Reel 6006]; Certificate of Freedom [SRNSW ref: 4/4299 No.29/0904; Reel 985] 89 Gaoler’s return—ibid 90 Sydney Gazette 8 Jan 1820 p.1b 91 Gaoler’s return: Prisoners to Newcastle per Princess Charlotte, 2 Feb 1820: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/3501 p.225; Reel 6007]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6360 1820–1-20; Reel 850]; Certificate of Freedom [SRNSW ref: 4/4299 No.29/0904; Reel 985] 92 Gaoler’s return—ibid 93 Colonial Secretary: Prisoners punished at Newcastle—Mar 1820: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/1718 pp.101–2; Reel 6023] 94 Gaoler’s return: Prisoners to Newcastle per Mermaid—Jul 1821: William Blaxtone [SRNSW ref: 4/3504 p.170; Reel 6008]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6360 1821–7-06; Reel 850]; Certificate of Freedom [SRNSW ref: 4/4299 No.29/0904; Reel 985] 95 Gaoler’s return—ibid 96 Colonial Secretary: Prisoners punished at Newcastle—May 1822: William Blaxlone [SRNSW ref: 4/1718 p.149; Reel 6023] 97 Baxter, General Muster 1822: William Blackstone—Entry No.A01587

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BREAKING THE BANK

Permission to marry at Parramatta98 Tried Parramatta, sentenced to 3 years’ transportation99 Forwarded to Port Macquarie per Amity100 In government employ at Newcastle (sic)101 Transferred from Port Macquarie to Moreton Bay102 Blacksmith at Moreton Bay103 Discharged from Moreton Bay104 Returned to Sydney from Moreton Bay per Governor Phillip and discharged to Phoenix hulk105 12 Feb 1828 Discharged from Phoenix hulk to Hyde Park Barracks106 Aug–Sep 1828 Involved in Bank of Australia robbery107 18–30 Sep 1828 Remanded for involvement in Bank of Australia robbery108 7 Oct 1828 Implicated in robbery109 22 Oct 1828 Ordered to the hulk110 23 Oct 1828 Admitted to hulk111 7 Dec 1824 8 Jan 1825 19 Feb 1825 Oct 1825 Late 1825 1825–26 28 Jan 1828 9 Feb 1828

98 Colonial Secretary: Permission to marry—Dec 1824: William Blaxon [SRNSW ref: 4/3513 p.64; Reel 6014] 99 Prisoners to Port Macquarie per Amity—Feb 1825: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.502–3; Reel 6019]; Port Macquarie—List of convicts at settlement 1822–25: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.81; Reel 824] 100 Prisoners to Port Macquarie per Amity—ibid 101 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: William Blackstone—Entry No.12208. (NB. This muster is a compilation of three musters and the entry for William Blackstone was probably extracted from an earlier muster) 102 Nominal return of Crown Prisoners at Moreton Bay, 24 Mar 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/1917.1] quoted in Steele, Brisbane Town in the Convict Days, pp.51&54; Captain Bishop to Colonial Secretary, 14 Mar 1826 quoted in same, p.57 103 Quarterly return of public labour and expenditure of materials, 25 Dec 1825 to 24 Mar 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/1917.1] quoted in Steele, Brisbane Town in the Convict Days, pp.51&54 104 Moreton Bay—Register of Monthly Returns: William Blackstone [ML ref: FM4/17 p.2 No.743] 105 Moreton Bay—Register of Monthly Returns—ibid; Port Macquarie—List of convicts at settlement 1822–25: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.81; Reel 824]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: Wm Blackstone 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.40 No.924; Reel 819] 106 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 9 Feb 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3666 p.124 No.28/115; Reel 1042]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.37 No.846; Reel 822] 107 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–84] & Vol. 55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e; Sun 5 Mar 1912 in Newspaper Cuttings Vol. 25 pp.147–8 [ML ref: Q991/N] 108 Police Reports of Prisoners 16–30 Sep 1828: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: X821 p.91 No.25, pp. 93–101 (No.6 on each), pp.103 & 105 (No.5 on each), p.107 No.6, 109 (Blackstone missing), p.111 No.4; Reel 660] 109 Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959] 110 Memorandum to Principal Supt of Police & Sheriff attached to letter: Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 22 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.31 No.28/64; Reel 1062] 111 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: William Blackstone 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.69 No.1634; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Occurrence Book: 23 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6278]

290

Annotated timelines Nov 1828 14 Mar 1829 24 Mar 1829 4 Apr 1829 11 Apr 1829 25 Apr 1829 1 May 1829 2 May 1829 4 Jul 1829 4 Aug 1829 18 Aug 1829 19 Aug 1829 12 Sep 1829 12 Sep 1829 14 Sep 1829 14 Sep 1829

In Phoenix hulk112 Details provided for robbery suspects currently on hulk113 Blackstone and Shortland: hulk to police114 Admitted to Sydney Gaol115 Sydney Gaol to hulk116 Supreme Court orders superintendent of Phoenix hulk to bring suspected bank robbers for habeas corpus hearing117 Blackstone, Byrne, Madden and Shortland discharged by Supreme Court and in Hyde Park Barracks118 In Hyde Park Barracks; to be sent on board Phoenix hulk for security until instructions for disposal119 Hulk to police120 Memorandum regarding Blackstone’s transportation conviction121 To be sent to distant settlement122 Letter from superintendent of Phoenix hulk re expiration of Blackstone’s sentence123 Requesting instructions for disposal as sentence about to expire124 Instructions re Blackstone125 Hulk to Hyde Park Barracks126 Certificate of freedom127

112 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. William Blackstone—Entry No.B1331 113 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 14 Mar 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 enclosure with 28/7959] 114 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.76 No.1889; Reel 822] 115 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 B 1829–04–04 (p.17); Reel 851] 116 ibid; Phoenix Hulk Occurrence Book: 11 Apr 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6278] 117 Supreme Court—Ex parte William Blackstone &c, 1829 [SRNSW ref: SC T29B 29/364] 118 Supreme Court—ibid; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 1 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.78 No.1942; Reel 822] 119 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 p.280 No.29/342; Reel 1043]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.131 No.29/206; Reel 1062] 120 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.82 No.2030; Reel 822] 121 David Murray to Sheriff Macquoid, 12 Sep 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246 enclosure with No.29/7246] 122 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 18 Aug 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.200 No.29/309; Reel 1062]; Memorandum attached to letter: Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 1 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246] 123 David Murray to Sheriff Macquoid, 12 Sep 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246] 124 ibid; Sheriff to Colonial Secretary, 12 Sep 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246 No.29/7246] 125 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 12 Sep 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.200 No.29/309; Reel 1062]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 12 Sep 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3669 p.53 No.29/835; Reel 1044] 126 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.94 No.2388; Reel 822] 127 Certificate of Freedom: William Blackstone 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4299 No.29/0904; Reel 985]

291

BREAKING THE BANK

15 Nov 1829 16 Nov 1829 24 Nov 1829 2 Dec 1829 26 Dec 1829 3 Feb 1830 6 Feb 1830 29 Apr 1830 3 May 1830 25 Oct 1830 16 Nov 1830 25 Nov 1830 3 Dec 1830 4 Dec 1830

Commits highway robbery128 Depositions signed; committed to Sydney Gaol129 Tried at Supreme Court—death recorded; sent to hulk130 Forbes to Darling re Blackstone’s conviction131 Sentence commuted to 14 years’ transportation to Norfolk Island132 Ordered to Norfolk Island per Amity133 Hulk to Norfolk Island per Amity134 Reference to Blackstone in request for indulgence for Colley for having testified against George Dudley135 Reference to Blackstone in paperwork associated with approver William Colley136 Murder of Adam Oliver on Norfolk Island; Blackstone provided statement137 Blackstone to be sent to Sydney as witness in Adam Oliver murder trial138 Sailed from Norfolk Island for Sydney per Lucy Ann139 Arrived in Sydney per Lucy Ann140 Admitted to Phoenix hulk141

128 Supreme Court—Rex vs Blackstone, 1829 [SRNSW ref: T141 No.63]; Executive Council: Appendices to Minutes: 1829–1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/1440 pp.18–19 Enclosure XX to Minute 47/1829] 129 Supreme Court—ibid; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 B 1829–11–16 (p.29); Reel 851] 130 Supreme Court—Rex vs Blackstone, 1829 [SRNSW ref: T29B No.16]; & Return of Criminal Convictions 1829–1834 [SRNSW ref: X732A November 1829 No.16]; Executive Council: Appendices to Minutes: 1829–1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/1440 pp.18–19 Enclosure XX to Minute 47/1829]; Australian 27 Nov 1829 p.4a; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 B 1829–11–16 (p.29); Reel 851]; & Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: William Blackstone 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.106 No.2627; Reel 819] 131 Executive Council: Appendices to Minutes: 1829–1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/1440 pp.18–19 Enclosure XX to Minute 47/1829] 132 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re William Blackstone, 26 Dec 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.275 No.29/315; Reel 1062]; Certificate of Freedom [SRNSW ref: 4/4299 No.29/0904; Reel 985] 133 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 3 Feb 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3669 p.307 No.30/81; Reel 1044] 134 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 6 Feb 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 pp.299–300 No.30/24; Reel 1062]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.104 No.2688; Reel 822] 135 Colonial Secretary Correspondence File: William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/2073 No.30/3372] 136 Colonial Secretary to Norfolk Island, 3 May 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3821 No.30/10 p.167; Reel 764] 137 Supreme Court—Rex vs Cook, Murphy, Bubb & Wilson: Information [SRNSW ref: SC T32 31/16 No.45] 138 Supreme Court—Rex vs Cook, Murphy, Bubb & Wilson: List of Prisoners of the Crown proceeding to Sydney as witnesses, 16 Nov 1830 [SRNSW ref: SC T32 31/16 No.45] 139 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.11 No.34; Reel 819]; Nicholson, Shipping Lists p.57 140 ibid 141 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book—ibid; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: William Blackstone 1 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283; Reel 822]

292

Annotated timelines William Blackstone’s statement against Dingle, Farrell and Woodward142 References to Blackstone as approver in case of James Dingle143 Reference to Blackstone as approver in case of James Dingle144 Report by Captain Bunn stating Blackstone exonerated Turner, Byrne, Madden and Shortland145 7 Jan 1831 Adam Oliver murder trial; Cook, Bubb and Murphy executed on 12 Jan 1831146 11/12 Jan 1831 Request that Blackstone be detained on hulk to give evidence against bank robbers147 12 Jan 1831 Approving Blackstone’s detention on hulk148 22 Feb 1831 Blackstone absent and drunk; lodged in watch-house149 23 Feb 1831 Sentenced by Court of Magistracy at Hyde Park Barracks to be whipped150 25 Feb 1831 Reporting discovery of materials for forging coins151 18 Mar 1831 Blackstone’s statement against George Farrell152 23 Apr 1831 Attorney-General says no further action against Blackstone for coining153 12–18 May 1831 Further correspondence regarding coining charge—not sufficient grounds for putting to trial154 29 May 1831 Blackstone expresses concern about hulk inmates155

10/11 Dec 1830 15 Dec 1830 24 Dec 1830 3 Jan 1831

142 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 143 Bench of Magistrates, Sydney—Punishment Book 1830–31: James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/463 1830–12–15 No.46 1⁄2; Reel 2648] 144 Bench of Magistrates, Sydney—Punishment Book 1830–31: James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/463 1830–12–24 No.77 1⁄2; Reel 2648] 145 Bunn to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2095 File 31/324 No.31/316] 146 Supreme Court—Rex vs Cook, Murphy, Bubb & Wilson [SRNSW ref: SC T32 31/16 No.45]; Sydney Monitor, 12 Jan 1831 p.3a-c; Sydney Gazette 8 Jan 1831 p.3b-c 147 Bunn to Colonial Secretary, 11 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2095 File 31/324 No.31/324]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 12 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3670 p.147 No.31/32; Reel 2649] 148 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Byrne, Madden & Shortland, 12 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.16 No.31/12; Reel 1062] 149 Supt Phoenix hulk to Sheriff, 23 Feb 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2107 File 31/3587 enclosure with No.31/1452]; Deposition: George Lavender, 23 Feb 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2100 File 31/1557 No.31/1393] 150 Supt Phoenix hulk to Sheriff, 23 Feb 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2107 File 31/3587 No.31/1452]; Magistrate C. Wilson to Colonial Secretary, 24 Feb 1831 [SRNSW ref: 2/670 pp.36–7; Reel 2650] 151 Sheriff to Colonial Secretary, 25 Feb 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2107 File 31/3587 No.31/1452] 152 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 18 Mar 1831 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88]; Bench of Magistrates, Sydney: Punishment Book 1830–31 [SRNSW ref: 4/463 1831–03–18 No.77; Reel 2648] 153 Attorney-General to Colonial Secretary, 23 Apr 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2107 File 31/3587 No.31/2951] 154 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re William Blackstone, 12 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.86 No.31/86; Reel 1062]; Sheriff to Colonial Secretary, 16 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2107 File 31/3587 No.31/3587]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re William Blackstone, 18 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.88 No.31/89; Reel 1062] 155 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 29 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88]

293

BREAKING THE BANK

Witness in trial of Dingle, Farrell and Woodward156 Opinion of judges regarding Blackstone’s competency as a witness157 Memorial from directors of Bank of Australia to Governor Darling re Blackstone’s pardon158 12–22 Aug 1831 Pardon prepared159 22 Aug 1831 Pardon signed160 29 Aug 1831 Transmitting pardon; sheriff requested to discharge him to Hyde Park Barracks161 1 Sep 1831 Hulk to Hyde Park Barracks162 20 Apr 1832 Stole James Nicholson’s gun-lock163 23 May 1832 Depositions signed in gun-lock theft164 19 Jul 1832 Tried Sydney Quarter Session on Nicholson’s charge—dismissed165 21 Dec 1832 Burglary by Blackstone, Currant and McGrath166 1 Feb 1833 Tried in Supreme Court—all found guilty167 23 Feb 1833 Sentenced—Blackstone death recorded; from Sydney Gaol to hulk168

10 Jun 1831 23 Jul 1831 26 Jul 1831

156 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–84] & Vol.55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e; Sun 5 Mar 1912 in Newspaper Cuttings Vol. 25 pp.147–8 [ML ref: Q991/N]; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/ scnsw/Cases1831–32/html/r_v_farrell_dingle_woodwa.htm] 157 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 56: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3239 pp.82–98 & 134–57]; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1831–32/html/r_v_farrell_dingle_woodwa.htm] 158 Petition—Bank of Australia directors, 26 Jul 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2112 File 31/5778 No.31/5779] 159 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 12 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 pp.300–1 No.31/738; Reel 2650] & [ML ref: A1269 p.833 No.31/738; Reel CY 1399]; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 15 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2112 File 31/5778 No.31/6381] 160 Register of Colonial Pardons: William Blackstone 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4493 pp.330–1; Reel 771] 161 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 29 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.375 No.31/808; Reel 2650]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re William Blackstone, 29 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.181 No.31/170; Reel 1062] 162 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.11 No.34; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: William Blackstone 1 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283; Reel 822]; Supt of Phoenix hulk to Supt of Hyde Park Barracks, 1 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6275 p.172; Reel 822] 163 Sydney Quarter Sessions: William Blackstone, Jul 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/8455 No.20] 164 ibid 165 ibid 166 Supreme Court—Rex vs Blackstone, 1833 [SRNSW ref: T155 No.49]; Sydney Gazette 22 Dec 1832 p.2e; Sydney Monitor 22 Dec 1832 p.2f; Sydney Herald 24 Dec 1832 p.3b; Currency Lad 22 Dec 1832 p.3a 167 Supreme Court—Rex vs Blackstone &c [SRNSW ref: T155 No.49]; Return of Criminal Convictions 1829–1834 [SRNSW ref: X732A February 1833 No.4]; A return of Prisoners tried and sentenced by the Supreme Court between 1 and 23 Feb 1833 [SRNSW ref: X729; Reel 2389]; Sydney Herald 4 Feb 1833 p.2c; Currency Lad 2 Feb 1833 p.3d; Sydney Monitor 2 Feb 1833 p.3d 168 A return of Prisoners tried and sentenced by the Supreme Court between 1 and 23 Feb 1833 [SRNSW ref: X729; Reel 2389]; Sydney Herald 25 Feb 1833 p.2e; Sydney Gazette 28 Feb 1833 p.3e; Certificate of Freedom [SRNSW ref: 4/4299 No.29/0904; Reel 985]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/4539 No.33/31; Reel 819]

294

Annotated timelines 8 Mar 1833 10 Mar 1833 15 Jan 1834 Jul 1834 10 Apr 1839 16 May 1839 18 Sep 1839 Sep 1839 30 Sep 1839 1839–40 25 Feb 1840 1 Dec 1840 12 Dec 1840 24 Sep 1842 1 Oct 1842 5 Dec 1842 6 Dec 1842

Ordered to embark on Governor Phillip169 Hulk to Governor Phillip for transportation to Norfolk Island170 Norfolk Island Mutiny—Blackstone acted as informant171 Acted as approver in Norfolk Island Mutiny trials172 Request for reduction of Blackstone’s sentence for good conduct173 Approval for reduction of Blackstone’s sentence174 Admitted to Sydney Gaol after return from Norfolk Island on Governor Phillip175 Sent to Hyde Park Barracks for examination176 Sent to Woolloomooloo Stockade177 In ironed gang at Woolloomooloo178 Discharged from Woolloomooloo to Cockatoo Island179 Angry report re Blackstone’s reduced sentence and return to NSW180 At Cockatoo Island; response by Colonial Secretary to Principal Superintendent of Convicts about Blackstone’s return to NSW181 Certificate of freedom182 Complaint of irregularity regarding Blackstone’s release183 Brought before Police Bench for larceny and remanded until the following day184 Committed for trial and admitted to Sydney Gaol (Sydney Morning

169 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re William Blackstone, 8 Mar 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/3898 p.257 No.33/66; Reel 1063] 170 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book [SRNSW ref: 4/4539 No.33/31; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Transportation Entrance Book [SRNSW ref: 4/6445 No.31; Reel 820]; Phoenix hulk—weekly transcripts of transportation books [SRNSW ref: 4/4534 p.57 33/31; Reel 821] 171 Norfolk Island Mutiny Papers—Depositions: William Blackstone, 14 Feb 1834 [SRNSW ref: 2/8291 pp.229–30; Reel 2720]; & William Blackstone, 7 May 1834 [SRNSW ref: 2/8291 pp.369–70; Reel 2720] 172 Crown Solicitor to Colonial Secretary, 30 Aug 1834 [SRNSW ref: 4/2245 No.30/6236; Reel 2199] 173 Norfolk Island to Colonial Secretary, 10 Apr 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 No.39/5056] 174 Colonial Secretary to Norfolk Island, 16 May 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/3823 p.75 No.39/37; Reel 766] 175 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/6439 No.2506; Reel 853] & [SRNSW ref: X843 No.2506; Reel 1864]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 19 Sep 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/3687 pp.203–4 No.39/729; Reel 1052] 176 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: X843 No.2506; Reel 1864] 177 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/6439 No.2506; Reel 853] 178 A Correct Statement of the Iron’d Gang at Woolloomooloo: Number of Men in Irons from Norfolk Island 1839 (received 30 Sep 1839)—William Blaxton [SRNSW ref: 4/6271 No.7; Reel 708] 179 A Correct Statement—ibid 180 Australian 1 Dec 1840 p.3a 181 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 12 Dec 1840 [SRNSW ref: 4/3688 pp.419–20 No.40/733; Reel 1052] 182 Certificate of Freedom: William Blackstone 1842 [SRNSW ref: 4/4377 No.42/1675; Reel 1012] 183 Hyde Park Barrack Court to Principal Supt of Convicts, 1 Oct 1842 [SRNSW ref: 2/670 1 Oct 1842; Reel 2650] 184 Sydney Quarter Sessions 1842–3: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 5/2919 Section 1 No.45]; Sydney Morning Herald 6 Dec 1842 p.2e

295

BREAKING THE BANK

4 Feb 1843 4 Feb 1845 5 Mar 1845 28 Apr 1845 Sep 1846 Jan 1848 17 Mar 1850 19 Mar 1850

Herald incorrectly refers to his case as that of stealing shoemakers’ tools and accosting a constable)185 Pleaded guilty at Sydney Quarter Sessions; sentenced to iron gang for 2 years; sent to Woolloomooloo Stockade186 Discharged from iron gang at Woolloomooloo Stockade187 Admitted to Sydney Gaol from the police office for trial188 Tried and sentenced to an iron gang; sent to Woolloomooloo Stockade189 Discharged to Hyde Park Barracks190 Absconded from property of Peter Flanagan, Drayton191 Died at Asylum of Benevolent Society192 Buried Camperdown Cemetery193

John Byrne General c. 1796 pre-1815 Jun 1815

Description194 Born Dublin195 Shoemaker / bootmaker in Dublin196 Convicted Dublin city for burglary and robbery; probably sentenced to death; transported for life197

185 Sydney Morning Herald 7 Dec 1842 p.2f; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6440 1842 No.1769; Reel 854] 186 Sydney Quarter Sessions 1842–3: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 5/2919 Section 1 No.45]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6440 1842 No.1769; Reel 854]; Certificate of Freedom [SRNSW ref: 4/4377 No.42/1675; Reel 1012]; Ledger of the Iron’d Gang stationed at Woolloomooloo Stockade: William Blackstone 4 Feb 1843 [SRNSW ref: 4/6273; Reel 708] 187 Ledger of the Iron’d Gang—ibid 188 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6441 1845 No.239; Reel 854] 189 Index to Quarter Sessions, Criminal Cases 1839–49: William Blaxland [SRNSW ref: 5/2991]; Returns of Persons tried and convicted in Courts of Quarter Sessions: William Blaxland [SRNSW ref: X50 1845–04–28; Reel 684]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: 4/6441 1845 No.239; Reel 854]; Ledger of the Iron’d Gang stationed at Woolloomooloo Stockade: William Blackstone 28 Apr 1845 [SRNSW ref: 4/6273; Reel 708]; Certificate of Freedom: William Blackstone 1842 [SRNSW ref: 4/4377 No.42/1675; Reel 1012] 190 Ledger of the Iron’d Gang—ibid 191 Moreton Bay Courier 8 Jan 1848 p.1b 192 Registers of Baptisms, Marriages and Burials: William Blackstone [SRNSW ref: Vol. 36 No.556; Reel 5011] 193 ibid 194 Convict Indent—Guildford 1816: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: 4/4005 p.162; Fiche 636]; Conditional Pardon: John Byrne 1847 [SRNSW ref: 4/4450 pp.465–6 No.47/233; Reel 783]; Darlinghurst Gaol Description Book: John Byrne 1850 [SRNSW ref: 4/6304 1850 No.255; Reel 858]; Register of Ticketsof-leave: John Byrne 1851 [SRNSW ref: 4/4227 No.51/60; Reel 891] 195 ibid 196 ibid 197 Convict Indent—ibid; Musters & Papers—Guildford 1816: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: 2/8261 pp.393–403; Reel 2422]; Conditional Pardon: John Byrne 1847 [SRNSW ref: 4/4450 pp.465–6 No.47/233; Reel 783]; Register of Tickets-of-leave: John Byrne 1851 [SRNSW ref: 4/4227 No.51/60; Reel 891]

296

Annotated timelines Arrived Sydney per Guildford198 Prisoners disembarked and forwarded to Windsor for distribution199 Convicted by J. Mileham Esq; sentence—3 years’ transportation200 Prisoners sent to Newcastle per Lady Nelson201 Presumably returned to Sydney202 Convicted Sydney Bench of Magistrates; sentenced to 1 year’s transportation203 29 Mar 1821 Prisoners forwarded to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta204 c. Mar 1822 Presumably returned to Sydney205 Sep 1822 Cook, Prisoners’ Barracks (Hyde Park Barracks), Sydney206 10 Feb 1823 Admitted to Sydney Gaol for examination; discharged soon afterwards207 30 Apr 1823 Admitted to Sydney Gaol; strong suspicion robbery; sent to Port Macquarie for remainder of original sentence208 14 May 1823 Prisoners forwarded to Port Macquarie per Sally 209 By mid-1825 Returned to Sydney, his colonial sentence apparently commuted to 3 years210 20 Aug 1825 Admitted to Phoenix hulk211 6 Sep 1825 Runaway from hulk212 1 Oct 1825 Retaken and returned to hulk213 Oct 1825 On board the hulk, Sydney214 14 Nov 1826 To be forwarded to Hyde Park Barracks and perhaps assigned to Chief Justice Forbes215 16–30 Sep 1828 Remanded for involvement in Bank of Australia robbery216

11 Apr 1816 15 Apr 1816 23 Apr 1817 3 May 1817 c. May 1820 19 Mar 1821

198 ibid 199 Prisoners from Guildford forwarded for distribution: John Byrnes [SRNSW ref: 4/3494 p.465 No.44; Reel 6004] 200 Prisoners to Newcastle per Lady Nelson May 1817: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: 4/3496 p.132; Reel 6005] 201 ibid 202 ibid 203 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Burne 1821 [SRNSW ref: 4/6360 1821–03–19; Reel 850]; Prisoners to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta Mar 1821: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: 4/3503 p.197; Reel 6007] 204 Prisoners to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta—ibid 205 ibid 206 Baxter, General Muster 1822: John Byrne—Entry No.A03031 207 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Byrne—Feb 1823 [SRNSW ref: 4/6428 1823–02–10 (p.19); Reel 850] 208 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Byrne—Apr 1823 [SRNSW ref: 4/6428 1823–04–30 (p.21); Reel 850] 209 Prisoners to Port Macquarie per Sally May 1823: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.44, 404–5; Reel 6019] 210 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: John Byrne 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.1 No.17; Reel 819] 211 ibid 212 ibid; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.1 No.1; Reel 822] 213 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books—ibid 214 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: John Byrne—Entry No.14379 215 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 14 Nov 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/3665 p.65; Reel 1041] 216 Police Reports of Prisoners 15–30 Sep 1828: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: X821 p.87 No.24, p.89 No.2, & No.3 on pp.91–111; Reel 660]

297

BREAKING THE BANK

7 Oct 1828 22 Oct 1828 23 Oct 1828 Nov 1828 14 Mar 1829 25 Apr 1829 1 May 1829 2 May 1829 18 Aug 1829 3 Jan 1831 12 Jan 1831 14 Jan 1831 6 Aug 1831 10 Aug 1831

Implicated in robbery217 Ordered to the Phoenix hulk218 Admitted to hulk219 Phoenix hulk, Sydney220 Details provided for robbery suspects currently on hulk221 Supreme Court orders superintendent of Phoenix hulk to bring suspected bank robbers to court to determine why detained222 Blackstone, Byrne, Madden and Shortland discharged by Supreme Court and in Hyde Park Barracks223 In Hyde Park Barracks; sent on board Phoenix hulk for security until instructions for disposal224 Memorandum of destinations for robbery suspects—to distant settlement225 Captain Bunn states that Blackstone exonerated Turner, Byrne, Madden and Shortland226 To be forwarded to Hyde Park Barracks after Blackstone’s exonerating information227 Discharged from hulk to Hyde Park Barracks228 Request for details of suspects exonerated by Blackstone229 Details provided for suspects implicated and exonerated by Blackstone230

217 Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959] 218 Memorandum to Principal Supt of Police & Sheriff attached to letter: Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 22 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.31 No.28/64; Reel 1062] 219 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: John Byrne 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.69 No.1632; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Occurrence Book: 23 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6278] 220 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. John Byrne—Entry No.B3703 221 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 14 Mar 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 enclosure with 28/7959] 222 Supreme Court—Ex parte William Blackstone &c, 1829 [SRNSW ref: SC T29B 29/364] 223 ibid; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 1 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: John Byrne 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.9 No.16; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.78 No.1941; Reel 822] 224 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 p.280 No.29/342; Reel 1043]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.131 No.29/206; Reel 1062]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: John Byrne 14 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283; Reel 822] 225 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 18 Aug 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.200 No.29/309; Reel 1062]; Memorandum—Sheriff 18 Aug 1829: attached to letter: Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 1 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246] 226 Bunn to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2095 File 31/324 No.31/316] 227 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 12 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3670 p.147 No.31/32; Reel 2649]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 12 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.16 No.31/12; Reel 1062] 228 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: John Byrne 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.9 No.16; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: John Byrne 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283 1831–01–14; Reel 822] 229 Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 6 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.273 No.31/716; Reel 2650] 230 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 (No.31/561) [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192]

298

Annotated timelines 13 Aug 1831 12 Dec 1839 20 Mar 1847 10 Apr 1847 5 Jan 1849 5 Jul 1849 18 Feb 1850 10 Sep 1850 1 Nov 1851 9 Dec 1851

Re situations of suspects implicated and exonerated by Blackstone231 Ticket-of-leave232 Ticket-of-leave cancelled for being absent from district233 Conditional pardon234 Admitted to Darlinghurst Gaol for 6 months’ confinement235 Discharged from Darlinghurst Gaol236 Convicted by police office, Sydney, and admitted to Sydney Gaol237 Forwarded to Cockatoo Island238 On Cockatoo Island list239 Ticket-of-leave240

William Colley General Occupation c. 1793–97 8 Mar 1817 22 Nov 1817 Sep 1822 Sep / Oct 1825

Description241 Weaver and groom242 Born Doncaster, Yorkshire, England243 Tried York Assizes244 Arrived Sydney per Larkins245 Mr Howe’s clearing party, Liverpool246 Mr Redman’s clearing party, Windsor247

231 Memorandum attached to letter: Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 13 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.306 No.31/743; Reel 2650] 232 Register of Tickets-of-leave: John Byrne 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/4135 No.39/2393; Reel 935]; Returns of prisoners who have received Tickets-of-leave: John Byrne 1839 [ML ref: A1222 p.671 No.2153; Reel CY1222] 233 Register of Tickets-of-leave—ibid 234 Conditional Pardon: John Byrne 1847 [SRNSW ref: 4/4450 pp.465–6 No.47/233; Reel 783] 235 Darlinghurst Gaol Entrance Book: John Byrne 1849 [SRNSW ref: 6/6441 1849 No.24; Reel 854]; Bench of Magistrates, Sydney—Alphabetical charge book: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: 2/2176 B 1849–01–05; Reel 2648]; Sydney Morning Herald 6 Jan 1849 p.2e 236 Darlinghurst Gaol Entrance Book: John Byrne 1849 [SRNSW ref: 6/6441 1849 No.24; Reel 854] 237 Bench of Magistrates, Sydney—Alphabetical charge book: John Byrne [SRNSW ref: 2/2176 B 1850–02–16; Reel 2648]; Darlinghurst Gaol Entrance Book: John Byrne 1850 [SRNSW ref: 5/1891 1850 No.255; Reel 2336]; Darlinghurst Gaol Description Book: John Byrne 1850 [SRNSW ref: 4/6304 1850 No.255; Reel 858]; Register of Tickets-of-leave: John Byrne 1851 [SRNSW ref: 4/4227 No.51/60; Reel 891] 238 Darlinghurst Gaol Entrance Book: John Byrne 1850 [SRNSW ref: 5/1891 1850 No.255; Reel 2336] 239 Register of Tickets-of-leave: John Byrne 1851 [SRNSW ref: 4/4227 No.51/60; Reel 891] 240 ibid 241 Convict Indents—Larkins 1817: William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/4005 p.391; Fiche 638]; Register of Tickets-of-leave: William Colley 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/4063 No.27/69; Reel 909] 242 ibid 243 ibid 244 ibid 245 Convict Indents—Larkins 1817: William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/4005 p.391; Fiche 638] 246 Baxter, General Muster 1822: Entry A04291 247 Baxter, General Muster List 1823/4/5: Entry 17185

299

BREAKING THE BANK

5 Mar 1827 21 Mar 1827 May 1828 Sep 1828 Oct–Nov 1828 28 Nov 1828 29 Nov 1828 29 Dec 1828 2 Apr 1829 4 Apr 1829 23 Nov 1829 3 Feb 1830 6 Feb 1830 29 Apr 1830 3 May 1830 25 Oct 1830

248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256

257 258 259 260 261 262 263

Overseer of Windsor Town Gang—includes petition and mentions relationship with Sarah Newman248 Ticket-of-leave249 Overseer of Windsor Town Gang250 Received stolen notes from Bank of Australia robbery251 Refers to criminality and recommends that ticket-of-leave be cancelled252 Ticket-of-leave cancelled253 Committed from General Sessions, Sydney, for trial for theft and admitted to Sydney Gaol254 Attacked by hulk inmate255 Tried at Supreme Court; guilty256 Sentenced to 7 years’ transportation and forwarded from Sydney Gaol to Phoenix hulk257 Testified against receiver George Dudley258 Request for particulars before transportation to Norfolk Island259 To Norfolk Island per Amity 260 Request for indulgence for Colley for having testified against George Dudley261 Proposed to be forwarded to Moreton Bay to protect him from revenge of Bank of Australia receiver262 Questions about stolen trousers in Colley’s possession at Norfolk Island263

Police Office, Windsor to Colonial Secretary, 5 Mar 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/1924 File 27/2392] Register of Tickets-of-leave: William Colley 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/4063 No.27/69; Reel 909] Sydney Gazette 4 Apr 1829 p.3 Supreme Court—The King vs George Dudley als Chapman, 1829 [SRNSW ref: SC T29 B No.13]; Sydney Gazette 24 Nov 1829 p.2e & 1 Dec 1829 p.2f; Monitor 28 Nov 1829 p.3c-d Colonial Secretary Correspondence: re William Colley, Oct–Nov 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/2001 File 28/9289]; also [SRNSW ref: 4/1997 File 28/8461] Register of Tickets-of-leave: William Colley 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/4063 No.27/69; Reel 909] Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 C 1828–11–29 Reel 851] Supreme Court—Rex vs Peter Riley [SRNSW ref: T29 No.30a] Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol.16: Rex vs William Colley, 2 Apr 1829 [SRNSW ref: 2/3199 pp.152–end of book]; Supreme Court—Rex vs Colley & Johnson [SRNSW ref: SC T29 No.29/51 & CP T139 No.47]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 C 1828–11–29 Reel 851]; Sydney Gazette 4 Apr 1829 p.3 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 C 1828–11–29 Reel 851]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 No.2086; Reel 819] Supreme Court: The King vs George Dudley als Chapman, 1829 [SRNSW ref: SC T29 B No.13]; Sydney Gazette 24 Nov 1829 p.2e & 1 Dec 1829 p.2f; Monitor 28 Nov 1829 p.3c-d Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 3 Feb 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3669 p.307 No.30/81; Reel 1044] Phoenix Hulk Discharge Book: William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 No.2693; Reel 822] Colonial Secretary Correspondence File: William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/2073 No.30/3372] Moreton Bay: Letters from Colonial Secretary to Commandant, 3 May 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 p.175 No.30/9; Reel 749]; also [SRNSW ref: 4/3821 No.30/10 p.167; Reel 764] Colonial Secretary to Norfolk Island, 25 Oct 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3821 No.30/21 p.198; Reel 764]

300

Annotated timelines

John Creighton alias Wilford / Welford General c. 1798 pre-1819 Mar 1819

25 Aug 1819 Sep 1822 Nov 1823 11 Nov 1823 13 Nov 1823 25 Nov 1823 Jul–Sep 1824 30 Oct 1824 10 Dec 1824 11 Jan 1825 Oct 1825 6 Jun 1826 9 Nov 1826

Description264 Born Dublin265 Slater and plasterer in Dublin266 Tried Dublin city (with Nicholas Collins alias Michael Woods, and Michael Mullen) for ‘felony of tea &c’; sentenced to 7 years’ transportation267 Arrived Sydney per Bencoolen268 In Sydney269 Carpenter and plasterer270 Admitted to Sydney Gaol for stowing away on an American ship271 Convicted Sydney Bench; sentence: remainder of original sentence; to Port Macquarie272 Forwarded to Port Macquarie per Lady Nelson273 Escaped from Port Macquarie274 To be issued with slop clothing275 Runaway from Port Macquarie; sentenced to Macquarie Harbour, Tasmania276 Forwarded to Newcastle per Sally 277 In government employ at Newcastle278 Married Ann Tool at Christ Church, Newcastle (no known children)279 Certificate of freedom280

264 Convict Indent—Bencoolen 1819: John Wilford als Creighton [SRNSW ref: 4/4006 p.347; Fiche 641]; Certificate of Freedom [SRNSW ref: 4/4424 No.023/5811; Reel 602] 265 ibid 266 ibid 267 ibid; Musters & Papers—Bencoolen 1819 [SRNSW ref: 2/8244 p.6; Reel 2417] 268 Convict Indent—ibid 269 Baxter, General Muster 1822: John Wilford—Entry No.A22619 270 Prisoners to Port Macquarie per Lady Nelson [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.91; Reel 6019] 271 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Woolford [SRNSW ref: 4/6428 W 1823–11–13; Reel 850] 272 Prisoners to Port Macquarie per Lady Nelson [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.91, 450–1; Reel 6019]; Port Macquarie—List of convicts at settlement 1822–5: John Creighton [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.55; Reel 824]; Certificate of Freedom: John Wilford or Creighton 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/4424 No.023/5811; Reel 602] 273 Prisoners to Port Macquarie per Lady Nelson [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.91, 450–1; Reel 6019]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Woolford [SRNSW ref: 4/6428 W 1823–11–13; Reel 850] 274 Prisoners to Port Macquarie per Lady Nelson [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp. 450–1; Reel 6019] 275 Colonial Secretary: To be issued with slop clothing—Oct 1824: John Woolford [SRNSW ref: 4/3512 p.641; Reel 6013] 276 Colonial Secretary: Runaway from Port Macquarie; sentenced to Macquarie Harbour, VDL—Dec 1824: John Creighton [SRNSW ref: 4/6671 p.103; Reel 6023] 277 Colonial Secretary: Runaway from Port Macquarie; sent to Newcastle per Sally—Jan 1825: John Woolford [SRNSW ref: 4/3513 p.229; Reel 6014] 278 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: John Wilford—Entry No.45377 279 Marriage: John Wilford Creighton & Ann Tool [SRNSW ref: Vol.44 No.541; Reel 5015] 280 Certificate of Freedom: John Wilford or Creighton 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/4424 No.023/5811; Reel 602]

301

BREAKING THE BANK

Sep 1828 Sep 1828 Nov 1828 1828/29 27 Feb 1829

Had George Farrell lodging with him281 Participated in Bank of Australia robbery282 Carpenter, Kent St, Sydney283 Drowned when boat overturned284 His widow married James Dingle285

James Dingle General 1800 pre-1819 Oct 1819 19 Sep 1820 10 Nov 1821 23 Jan 1822 23 Jan 1822 6 Feb 1822 Sep 1822 31 Aug 1824

Description286 Born Dublin County287 Shoemaker in Dublin County288 Tried Dublin County; crime: cow stealing; sentenced to 7 years’ transportation289 Arrived Sydney per Dorothy290 Government servant to Abraham Hutchinson; absconded291 Admitted to Sydney Gaol292 Tried before Bench of Magistrates for stealing from dwelling house; sentenced to serve out remainder of original sentence in penal settlement293 Prisoners transported to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta294 In government employ at Newcastle295 Stolen property in his possession—14 days’ hard labour in gaol gang in irons296

281 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192] 282 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88]; Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–184] & Vol.55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e 283 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. John Creighton & wife—Entry No.C2895–6 284 ibid; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192] 285 St Mary’s RC, Sydney—Marriage: James Dingle & Ann Credon [ML ref: SAG Reel 6 f.38] 286 Convict Indents—Dorothy 1820: James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/4007 p.196; Fiche 644]; Certificate of Freedom: James Dingle 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/4424 No.041/5886; Reel 602]; Phoenix Hulk Description Book: James Dingle 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6279 No.31/250; Reel 821]; Sydney Gaol Description Book: James Dingle 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6298 No.31/53; Reel 855] 287 Convict Indents—ibid; Phoenix Hulk Description Book—ibid 288 Convict Indents—ibid 289 ibid; Muster and Papers: Dorothy 1820 [SRNSW ref: 2/8255 p.176; Reel 2420] 290 ibid 291 Sydney Gazette 10 Nov 1821 292 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Dingle 1822 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 1822/01/23; Reel 850] 293 Gaoler’s return, 6 Feb 1822 [SRNSW ref: 4/3504A p.403; Reel 6008]; Certificate of Freedom: James Dingle 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/4424 No.041/5886; Reel 602] 294 Gaoler’s return—ibid 295 Baxter, General Muster 1822: James Dingle—Entry No.A05826 296 Newcastle punishment book: James Dingle [ML ref: MSS 2482/4 Index D 1824 Aug 31 & Case p.59; Reel CY367]

302

Annotated timelines Released from punishment297 Convicted by Wallis Plains Bench of having stolen property in his possession; sentenced to Port Macquarie for remainder of sentence298 23 Feb 1825 Forwarded to Port Macquarie per Amity and arrived there299 Oct 1825 In government employ at Port Macquarie300 21/22 Dec 1826 Discharged from Port Macquarie per HM schooner Alligator; arrived Sydney; ordered to be forwarded to Hyde Park Barracks301 23 Dec 1826 Certificate of freedom302 Aug–Sep 1828 Participant in Bank of Australia robbery303 16–30 Sep 1828 Remanded by police for involvement in Bank of Australia robbery304 Nov 1828 Shoemaker, Kent Street, Sydney305 27 Feb 1829 Marriage to Ann Credon306 c. Jul 1830 Robert Marshall Johnson bought Hawkesbury house from Dingle307 28/29 Sep 1830 Depositions of R.M. Johnson and others re theft308 30 Sep 1830 Admitted to Sydney Gaol for stealing309 26 Oct 1830 Deposition in Rex vs George Farrell—also involves James Dingle310 11 Nov 1830 James Dingle approved for bail311 16 Nov 1830 Criminal Court to bail312 14 Sep 1824 21 Dec 1824

297 ibid 298 ibid; Port Macquarie—List of convicts in settlement 1822–1825: James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.83; Reel 824] 299 Colonial Secretary: Prisoners to Port Macquarie per Amity—Feb 1825: James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.506–7; Reel 6019]; Port Macquarie—List of convicts in settlement 1822–1825: James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.83; Reel 824] 300 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: James Dingle—Entry No.18612 301 Port Macquarie—List of convicts in settlement 1822–1825: James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.83; Reel 824]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 22 Dec 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/3665 p.142; Reel 1041] 302 Certificate of Freedom: James Dingle 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/4424 No.041/5886; Reel 602]; Sydney Gazette 4 Jan 1827 p.1c 303 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–84] & Vol.55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e; Sun 5 Mar 1912 in Newspaper Cuttings Vol. 25 pp.147–8 [ML ref: Q991/N] 304 Police Reports of Prisoners 16–30 Sep 1828: James Dingle [SRNSW ref: X821 p.89 No.8, & No.2 on pp.91–111; Reel 660] 305 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. James Dingle—Entry No.D1002 306 St Mary’s RC, Sydney—Marriage: James Dingle & Ann Credon [ML ref: SAG Reel 6 f.38] 307 Windsor Police Office to Crown Solicitor, 21 Mar 1831 [SRNSW ref: SC T148 No.134] 308 Depositions: Rex vs Dingle & Dunn [SRNSW ref: SC T148 No.134] 309 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Dingle 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 D 1830/09/30 (p.101); Reel 851]; Bench of Magistrates, Sydney—Punishment Book 1830–31: James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/463 30 Sep 1830 No.134; Reel 2648] 310 Quarter Session: Rex vs Farrell, 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/8485 No.12] 311 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Court House chambers, 11 Nov 1830 [SRNSW ref: T32 No.47] 312 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Dingle 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 D 1830/09/30 (p.101); Reel 851]

303

BREAKING THE BANK

10 Dec 1830 11 Dec 1830 15 Dec 1830 24 Dec 1830 16 May 1831 29 May 1831 10 Jun 1831 23 Jul 1831 24 Jul 1831 4 Aug 1831 14 Sep 1831 19 Sep 1831

William Blackstone’s statement against Dingle, Farrell and Woodward313 Dingle and Woodward brought in on warrant for examination314 Faces the Bench of Magistrates315 Faces the Bench of Magistrates and admitted to Sydney Gaol316 Indictment for Dingle, Farrell and Woodward prepared317 Blackstone expresses concerns that informers passing information to Dingle and Farrell318 Trial of Dingle, Farrell and Woodward—guilty; admitted to Sydney Gaol319 Opinion of judges regarding Blackstone’s competency as a witness320 From Sydney Gaol to hulk321 To be forwarded to Norfolk Island (with Farrell and Woodward) pursuant to sentences322 To proceed to Norfolk Island by the Louisa323 To be immediately embarked on Louisa for Norfolk Island324

313 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 10 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 314 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Reference to warrant for Dingle & Woodward, 11 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 315 Bench of Magistrates, Sydney: Punishment Book 1830–31—James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/463 1830–12–15 No.461⁄2; Reel 2648] 316 Bench of Magistrates, Sydney: Punishment Book 1830–31—James Dingle [SRNSW ref: 4/463 1830–12–24 No.771⁄2; Reel 2648]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Dingle 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/6432 1830–12–24 (p.143); Reel 851] & [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 D 1830/12/24 (p.103); Reel 851] & [SRNSW ref: 4/6433 p.53; Reel 851] 317 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Indictment, 16 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: T32 No.47] 318 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 29 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 319 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–84] & Vol.55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e; Sun 5 Mar 1912 in Newspaper Cuttings Vol. 25 pp.147–8 [ML ref: Q991/N]; Return of Criminal Convictions 1829–1834: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: X732A May Session 1831 No.45]; Return of Prisoners tried and sentenced by the Supreme Court at Sydney between 17 May and 30 Jun 1831: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: X729; Reel 2389]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Dingle 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/6432 1830–12–24 (p.143); Reel 851]; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/ scnsw/Cases1831–32/html/r_v_farrell_dingle_woodwa.htm] 320 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 56: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3239 pp.82–98 & 134–57]; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1831–32/html/r_v_farrell_dingle_woodwa.htm] 321 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Dingle 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4539 No.31/250; Reel 819] 322 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Farrell, Dingle & Woodward 4 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 pp.158–9 No.31/148; Reel 1062] 323 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 14 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.435 No.31/868; Reel 2650] 324 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Dingle & Woodward, 19 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 pp.201–3 No.31/190; Reel 1062]

304

Annotated timelines 20 Sep 1831 29 May 1833

Discharged from hulk to Louisa for Norfolk Island325 Escaped from Norfolk Island in Samuel 326

George Dudley General Occupation c. 1800 7 Jul 1819 4 Apr 1820 17 Aug 1826 26 Oct 1826 5 Nov 1827 16 Jun 1829 1 Oct 1829 23 Nov 1829 28 Nov 1829

Description327 Tailor328 Born Canterbury, Kent329; parents Andrew Parker, publican, and Maria Dudley330 Tried Old Bailey for pickpocketing; sentenced to 7 years’ transportation331 Arrived Sydney per Coromandel332 Certificate of freedom333 Certificate of freedom to replace mutilated certificate334 Certificate of freedom to replace mutilated certificate335 Admitted to Sydney Gaol336 To Criminal Court for trial for Tendry’s robbery—acquitted337 To Criminal Court for trial for receiving Bank of Australia notes— guilty338 Sentenced to 14 years’ transportation and forwarded to hulk339

325 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Dingle 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4539 No.31/250; Reel 819]; Phoenix hulk—weekly transcripts of transportation books: James Dingle 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4534 31/250; Reel 821]; Australian 23 Sep 1831 p.3e 326 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 1 Aug 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/3678 p.270 No.33/564; Reel 1047]; Colonial Secretary to Norfolk Island Commandant Morisset, 3 Sep 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/3822 No.33/13 p.192 Pt.3]; Australian 5 Jul 1833 p.2d & 22 Jul 1833 p.2b-c; Sydney Gazette 4 Jul 1833 p.2e, 20 Jul 1833 p.2f & 23 Jul 1833 p.2c-d; Sydney Monitor, 6 Jul 1833 p.3b; Papers of Rev T Sharpe [ML ref: A1502 pp.28–9; Reel CY820] 327 Convict Indents—Coromandel 1820: George Dudley [SRNSW ref: 4/4007 p.115; Fiche 644]; Certificate of Freedom: George Dudley 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/4291 No.27/1007; Reel 982] 328 Convict Indents—ibid 329 ibid 330 Information from descendants Elaine Searle and Peter Strauss 331 The Proceedings of the Old Bailey—George Dudley 1819 [http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/html_units/ 1810s/t18190707–11.html]; Convict Indents—Coromandel 1820: George Dudley [SRNSW ref: 4/4007 p.115; Fiche 644]; Certificate of Freedom: George Dudley 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/4291 No.27/1007; Reel 982] 332 Convict Indents—ibid; Certificate of Freedom—ibid 333 Certificate of Freedom: George Dudley 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/4424 No.089/5606; Reel 602] 334 Certificate of Freedom: George Dudley 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/4424 No.041/5762; Reel 602] 335 Certificate of Freedom: George Dudley 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/4291 No.27/1007; Reel 982] 336 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Dudley [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 D 1829–06–15; Reel 851] 337 ibid 338 ibid; Supreme Court—The King vs George Dudley als Chapman, 1829 [SRNSW ref: SC T29 B No.13]; Sydney Gazette 24 Nov 1829 p.2e & 1 Dec 1829 p.2f; Monitor 28 Nov 1829 p.3c-d 339 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book—ibid; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book—George Dudley als Chapman [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 No.2632; Reel 819]

305

BREAKING THE BANK

3 Feb 1830 6 Feb 1830 29 Apr 1830 3 May 1830 17 May 1835 30 Sep 1835 5 Jan 1836 12 Feb 1839 21 Feb 1839 23 Feb 1839 10 Sep 1839 28 Sep 1839 7 Nov 1839 1840–1861 13 Jul 1858 25 May 1868

Request for particulars before transportation to Norfolk Island340 To Norfolk Island per Amity 341 Request for indulgence for Colley for having testified against George Dudley342 Concern that Dudley and his informer William Colley both sent to Norfolk Island343 Helped save the lives of those on the wrecked Friendship344 Reference to letter by Colonial Secretary ordering indulgences for those assisting with Friendship345 Norfolk Island commandant’s orders regarding indulgences for those assisting with Friendship346 From Norfolk Island; admitted to Sydney Gaol; examined at Hyde Park Barracks347 Examination; to Cockatoo Island348 Report on the first batch of commuted Norfolk Island prisoners sent to Cockatoo Island349 Petition from Cockatoo Island prisoners regarding indulgences for helping with shipwrecked Friendship350 Regarding petition for indulgences re shipwrecked Friendship351 Approved to have one-quarter of sentence at Cockatoo Island remitted352 Had 13 children with Mary Lynch353 Married Mary Lynch at Presbyterian Church, Pitt Street, Sydney354 Died at Strawberry Hills, Sydney355

340 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 3 Feb 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3669 p.307 No.30/81; Reel 1044] 341 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Book: George Dudley als Chapman [SRNSW ref: 4/6294 No.2632; Reel 819] 342 Colonial Secretary Correspondence File—William Colley [SRNSW ref: 4/2073 File 30/3372 No.30/3372] 343 Colonial Secretary to Norfolk Island, 3 May 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3821 No.30/10 p.167; Reel 764] 344 Harrison & Bull to Colonial Secretary, 27 Aug 1835 [SRNSW ref: 4/2288 No.35/7002] 345 Norfolk Island Commandant to Principal Supt of Convicts, 28 Sep 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/11242 No.39/11242] 346 Norfolk Island Commandant’s orders, 5 Jan 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/11242 No.39/11242] 347 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Dudley [SRNSW ref: 4/6438 1839–02–12 No.382; Reel 853] 348 ibid 349 Sydney Gazette 23 Feb 1839; Jeremy Cockatoo Island p.1 350 Petition from Cockatoo Island names, 10 Sep 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/11242 Enclosure with No.39/11242] 351 Norfolk Island Commandant to Principal Supt of Convicts, 28 Sep 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/11242 No.39/11242] 352 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 7 Nov 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/3687 pp.288–9 No.39/847; Reel 1052] 353 Information supplied by descendants Elaine Searle and Peter Strauss 354 Information from Marriage Certificate [RBDM ref: 1858/00550] supplied by descendants Elaine Searle and Peter Strauss 355 Information from Death Certificate [RBDM ref: 1868/02015] supplied by descendants Elaine Searle and Peter Strauss

306

Annotated timelines

George Farrell General Occupation c. 1804 pre-1822 10 Apr 1822 21 Dec 1822 26 Dec 1822 21 May 1823 4 Aug 1824 Oct 1825 17 May 1826 11 Jul 1826 24 Aug 1826

Description356; biography357 Servant in Dublin city358; shoemaker 1828359 Born Armagh360 Servant in Dublin city361 Tried Dublin city for stealing a watch; sentence 7 years’ transportation362 Arrived Sydney per Countess of Harcourt363 Forwarded to Bathurst for distribution364 On list of convicts employed by William Lawson from Apr 1823365 Returned to government366 Government servant to Matthew Hyland, Parramatta367 Ordered by the Sydney Bench to the treadmill for 7 days for being out after hours368 Admitted to Sydney Gaol for robbery—to work in irons for 3 months369 Discharged from Sydney Gaol to Parramatta370

356 Irish Warrants—Countess of Harcourt 1822: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: X30 Lists 1 & 2 No.115; Reel 2749]; Convict Indents—Countess of Harcourt 1822: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4008 p.240; Fiche 649]; Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984]; Phoenix Hulk Description Book: George Farrell 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6279 No.31/251; Reel 821]; Sydney Gaol Description Book: George Farrell 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6298 No.31/786; Reel 855]; Darlinghurst Gaol Description Book: George Riddle 1853 [SRNSW ref: 4/6305 No.2374; Reel 858] 357 Therry Reminiscences pp.203–5 358 Convict Indents—Countess of Harcourt 1822: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4008 p.240; Fiche 649]; Irish Warrants—Countess of Harcourt: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: X30 Lists 1 & 2 No.115; Reel 2749] 359 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: George Farrell 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.69 No.1631; Reel 819]; Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984] 360 Convict Indents—Countess of Harcourt 1822: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4008 p.240; Fiche 649]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/6439 No.3081; Reel 853] 361 Convict Indents—Countess of Harcourt 1822: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4008 p.240; Fiche 649]; Irish Warrants—Countess of Harcourt: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: X30 Lists 1 & 2 No.115; Reel 2749] 362 Convict Indents—Countess of Harcourt 1822: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4008 p.240; Fiche 649]; Irish Warrants—Countess of Harcourt: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: X30 Lists 1 & 2 No.115; Reel 2749]; Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984]. NB. ‘A list of all mutineers committed for trial at Norfolk Island 10 Jul 1834’ notes George Farrell’s crime as ‘forgery’ [SRNSW ref: 5/1159 No.25; Reel 600; Photocopy at COD 262B p.216] 363 Convict Indents—Countess of Harcourt 1822: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4008 p.240; Fiche 649] 364 Colonial Secretary: Convicts landed from Countess of Harcourt 1822: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/3507 p.117 No.85; Reel 6010] 365 Colonial Secretary: Convicts employed by William Lawson from Apr 1823: George Farral [SRNSW ref: 4/1771 p.313b; Reel 6058] 366 Colonial Secretary: Convicts employed by William Lawson from Apr 1823 to Aug 1824: George Farral [SRNSW ref: 4/1782 p.51c; Reel 6062] 367 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: George Farrell—Entry No.20494 368 Conduct Record for George Farrell [AOT ref: CON 39/2 p.206] 369 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 F 11–7-1826 (p.99); Reel 851]; Australian 12 Jul 1826 370 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book—ibid; Conduct Record for George Farrell [AOT ref: CON 39/2 p.206]

307

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30 Apr 1827 Sep 1828 7 Oct 1828 22 Oct 1828 23 Oct 1828 Nov 1828 14 Mar 1829 4 Apr 1829 20 Apr 1829 12 Sep 1829 11 Dec 1829 26 Oct 1830 10 Dec 1830 7 Jan 1831 c. 18 Mar 1831

371 372 373 374

375 376 377 378 379

380 381 382 383 384

385

Deprived of indulgence of sleeping outside the barracks for drunk and disorderly behaviour371 Lodging with John Creighton in Kent Street, Sydney372 Implicated in Bank of Australia robbery373 Ordered to the Phoenix hulk374 Admitted to hulk375 In Phoenix hulk, Sydney376 Details provided for robbery suspects currently on hulk377 Forwarded from Phoenix hulk to police and returned378 Delivered to Hyde Park Barracks; certificate of freedom prepared379 Sydney Gaol—reputed thief; labour 3 months380 Discharged from Sydney Gaol381 Deposition in Rex vs George Farrell382 William Blackstone’s statement against Dingle, Farrell and Woodward383 Farrell escapes from Windsor Gaol384 Farrell recaptured385

Conduct Record—ibid Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192] Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959] Memorandum to Principal Supt of Police & Sheriff attached to letter: Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 22 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.31 No.28/64; Reel 1062] Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: George Farrell 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.69 No.1631; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Occurrence Book: 23 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6278] Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. George Farrell—Entry No.F0070 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 14 Mar 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 enclosure with 28/7959] Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.77 No.1891; Reel 822]; Phoenix Hulk Occurrence Book: 4 Apr 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6278] Memorandum attached to Ex parte William Blackstone &c [SRNSW ref: SC T29B No.29/364]; Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984]; Convict Indents—Countess of Harcourt 1822: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4008 p.240; Fiche 649]; Sydney Gazette 5 May 1829 p.1d Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 F 1829–09–12 (p.111); Reel 851] ibid Quarter Session: Rex vs Farrell, 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/8485 No.12] Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 10 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88 pp.2–10] Windsor Gaoler to Sheriff’s Office, 7 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2136 File 32/1607 No.32/284]; Sheriff’s Office to Colonial Secretary, 8 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2136 File 32/1607 No.32/1607]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 17 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 pp.17–18 No.31/13; Reel 1062] Police Reports of Prisoners tried, Sydney: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: X823 p.81 No.2]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6433 No.786; Reel 851] & Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6432 1831–03–18 (p.193); Reel 851]; Sydney Herald 26 Sep 1831 p.4a

308

Annotated timelines 18 Mar 1831 21 Mar 1831

16 May 1831 29 May 1831 10 Jun 1831 23 Jul 1831 24 Jul 1831 4 Aug 1831 14 Sep 1831

Blackstone’s statement against George Farrell, who is then committed for trial and admitted to Sydney Gaol386 Letter from Windsor requesting that if Farrell be acquitted on bank robbery charges he be forwarded to Windsor to face charges of stealing a boat387 Indictment for Dingle, Farrell and Woodward388 Blackstone expresses concern that word of his involvement as informer is passing to Dingle and Farrell389 Trial of Dingle, Farrell and Woodward—guilty; admitted to Sydney Gaol390 Opinion of judges regarding Blackstone’s competency as a witness391 Forwarded from Sydney Gaol to hulk392 Dingle, Farrell and Woodward to be forwarded to Norfolk Island pursuant to sentences393 To proceed to Norfolk Island by the Louisa394

386 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 18 Mar 1831 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88]; Police Reports of Prisoners tried, Sydney: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: X823 p.81 No.2]; Bench of Magistrates, Sydney: Punishment Book 1830–31 [SRNSW ref: 4/463 1831–03–18 No.77; Reel 2648]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell 1831[SRNSW ref: 4/6433 No.786; Reel 851] & Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6432 1831–03–18 (p.193); Reel 851] 387 Windsor Police Office to Crown Solicitor, 21 Mar 1831 [SRNSW ref: SC T148 No.134] 388 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Indictment, 16 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: T32 No.47] 389 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 29 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 390 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–84] & Vol.55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e; Sun 5 Mar 1912 in Newspaper Cuttings Vol. 25 pp.147–8 [ML ref: Q991/N]; Return of Criminal Convictions 1829–1834: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: X732A May Session 1831 No.45]; Return of Prisoners tried and sentenced by the Supreme Court at Sydney between 17 May and 30 Jun 1831: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: X729; Reel 2389]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6432 1831–03–18 (p.193); Reel 851]; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/ scnsw/Cases1831–32/html/r_v_farrell_dingle_woodwa.htm] 391 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 56: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3239 pp.82–98 & 134–57]; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1831–32/html/r_v_farrell_dingle_woodwa.htm] 392 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: George Farrell 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4539 No.31/251; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: George Farrell 21 Dec 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283; Reel 822] 393 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Farrell, Dingle & Woodward 4 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 pp.158–9 No.31/148; Reel 1062] 394 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 14 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.435 No.31/868; Reel 2650]; Sydney Gazette 22 Sep 1831 p.2f

309

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19 Sep 1831 19 Sep 1831 27 Sep 1831 7 Dec 1831 21 Dec 1831 1833–34 15 Jan 1834 10 Jul 1834 21 Nov 1839

Ordered to be immediately embarked on Louisa for Norfolk Island395 Escaped from hulk (and problems with hulk escapees at that time)396 Reporting Farrell’s apprehension397 Reporting another attempted escape398 Order for immediate embarkation on Isabella; transfer from hulk399 Illegal conviction—see Bank of Australia timeline Norfolk Island Mutiny—George Farrell accessory before the fact400 Tried for Norfolk Island Mutiny but not among those convicted401 Arrived from Norfolk Island on Governor Phillip to serve commuted sentence of 3 years; in Sydney Gaol awaiting instructions for disposal402

395 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Dingle, Farrell & Woodward, 19 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 pp.201–3 No.31/190; Reel 1062] 396 Supt of Phoenix hulk to High Sheriff, 19 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6275 pp.174–6; Reel 822]; Phoenix hulk—weekly transcripts of transportation books: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4534 No.31/251; Reel 821]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: George Farrell 19 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283; Reel 822]; Sheriff to Colonial Secretary, 19 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6655 p.72; Reel 835]; Sheriff to Colonial Secretary, 19, 20, 22 & 29 Sep & 8 Oct 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6655 pp.72, 73, 74, 79, 88–9; Reel 835]; Supt of Phoenix hulk to Sheriff, 19 & 28 Sep 1831, & 8 Oct 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6275 p.176; Reel 822]; Sydney Gazette 20 Sep 1831 p.2f, 22 Sep 1831 p.2f, & 29 Sep 1831 p.3a; Sydney Herald 26 Sep 1831 p.4a; Australian 23 Sep 1831 pp.3b & 3c; Sydney Monitor 24 Sep 1831; Colonial Secretary Correspondence Files [SRNSW ref: 4/2116 No.31/7279] & [SRNSW ref: 4/2118 No.31/7733]; also Sheriff to Colonial Secretary, 14 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6655 p.69; Reel 835]; Sheriff to Colonial Secretary, 15 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6655 pp.67–8; Reel 835]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 16 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.196 No.31/187; Reel 1062] & [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 pp.199–200 No.31/189; Reel 1062]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 20 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.199 No.31/189; Reel 1062]; Sydney Monitor 17 Sep 1831 p.4a 397 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 23 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.209 No.31/193; Reel 1062]; Sheriff to Colonial Secretary, 27 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6655 p.78; Reel 835]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 5 Oct 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.222 No.31/206; Reel 1062]; Australian 30 Sep 1831 p.3d; Sydney Herald, 3 Oct 1831 p.4a 398 Supt of Phoenix hulk to Sheriff, 7 Dec 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6275 pp.189–90; Reel 822] 399 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re George Farrell, 21 Dec 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.281 No.31/269; Reel 1062]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: George Farrell 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4539 No.31/251; Reel 819]; Phoenix hulk—weekly transcripts of transportation books: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4534 31/251; Reel 821]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: George Farrell 21 Dec 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283; Reel 822]; Sydney Gazette 20 Dec 1831 p.2f 400 Norfolk Island Petitions 1832–5: Mutiny 15 Jan 1834—accessories before the fact: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/2245; Reel 2199]; Norfolk Island Mutiny Papers—Depositions: John Fitch alias Knatchbull, 18 Feb 1834 [SRNSW ref: 2/8291 pp.109–17; Reel 2720]; John Fitch alias Knatchbull, 23 Feb 1834 [SRNSW ref: 2/8291 pp.463–8; Reel 2720]; John Jackson, 15 Feb 1834 [SRNSW ref: 2/8291 pp.101–8; Reel 2720]; Richard Wilks, 15 Feb 1834 [SRNSW ref: 2/8291 pp.119–24; Reel 2720]; History of Norfolk Island c1774–c1852 [ML ref: MS Q247; CY880] 401 A list of all mutineers committed for trial at Norfolk Island 10 Jul 1834 [SRNSW ref: 5/1159 No.25; Reel 600; Photocopy at COD 262B p.216]; Return of prisoners tried and sentenced 10–23 July 1834 [SRNSW ref: X48; Reel 767] 402 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 22 Nov 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/3687 pp.310–11 No.39/872; Reel 1052]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: X843 No.3081; Reel 1864]; Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984]

310

Annotated timelines 30 Nov 1839 6 Jan 1840 30 Nov 1842 1 Dec 1842 July–Sep 1844 7 Sep 1845 9 Sep 1845 11 Sep 1845 16 Sep 1845 22 Sep 1845 25 Sep 1845 21 Oct 1845 1 Nov 1845 10 Nov 1845 29 Dec 1845 8 Feb 1846 23 Oct 1850

Sent to Woolloomooloo Stockade403 Discharged to Cockatoo Island404 Notice—presumably re expiry of sentence405 Received a pass(?)406 One of a gang committing wholesale burglaries in Melbourne407 Jointly committed dwelling house burglary408 Appearance at Mayor’s Court409 Mentioned as having sold goods stolen from Joseph Raleigh’s Eastern Hill warehouse410 Convicted of housebreaking at Melbourne411 Sentenced to 15 years’ transportation to Tasmania412 Requesting details for George Farrell413 Providing details for George Farrell414 Assignment list of prisoners sent to Tasmania415 Requesting Farrell’s details so they could be sent to Tasmania416 Arrived Tasmania417 Arrived at Norfolk Island418 Returned to Tasmania419

403 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: George Farrell 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/6439 No.3081; Reel 853]; A Correct Statement of the Iron’d Gang at Woolloomooloo: Number of Men in Irons from Norfolk Island 1839 (received 30 Nov 1839)—George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/6271; Reel 708] 404 ibid 405 Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984] 406 ibid 407 Geelong Advertiser 20 Sep 1845 p.2d 408 ibid; Port Phillip Patriot 9 Sep 1845 p.3a; Port Phillip Herald 9 Sep 1845 p.2e 409 Port Phillip Herald 9 Sep 1845 p.2e & 11 Sep 1845 p.3a 410 Port Phillip Herald 11 Sep 1845 p.3a; Standard and Port Phillip Gazetteer 17 Sep 1845 p.3b 411 Port Phillip: Returns of Prisoners tried and convicted at Supreme Court, 1841–51 [SRNSW ref: X46; Reel 828]; Melbourne Supt’s Office to Colonial Secretary, 25 Sep 1845 [SRNSW ref: 4/2704 File 45/7114 No.45/4277]; Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984]; Standard and Port Phillip Gazetteer 17 Sep 1845 p.3b; Geelong Advertiser 20 Sep 1845 p.2d; Port Phillip Herald 18 Sep 1845 p.2d-e 412 Port Phillip: Returns of Prisoners tried and convicted at Supreme Court, 1841–51 [SRNSW ref: X46; Reel 828]; Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984]; Melbourne Courier 24 Sep 1845 p.3a; Standard and Port Phillip Gazetteer 24 Sep 1845 p.3b 413 Superintendent’s Office, Melbourne, to Colonial Secretary, 25 Sep 1845 [SRNSW ref: 4/2704 No.45/7114] 414 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 21 Oct 1845 [SRNSW ref: 4/2681 No.45/7648] 415 Assignment list of prisoners transported from Melbourne to Van Diemen’s Land, Colonial Secretary’s Office, Sydney, 1 Nov 1845—George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/4523 p.236 No.6; Reel 901] 416 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 10 Nov 1845 [SRNSW ref: 4/3692 p.17 No.45/329; Reel 1054] 417 Conduct Record for George Farrell [AOT ref: CON 39/2 p.206] 418 ibid 419 ibid

311

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1850–53 3 May 1853 22 Dec 1853 23 Dec 1853 6 Feb 1854 Feb 1854 15 Feb 1854 11 Sep 1854 18 Nov 1854 24 Jun 1856 11 Feb 1857 25 Jan 1858 12 Mar 1858 Jan 1859 Jun 1859 28/30 Jun 1859

420 421 422 423 424

425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435

Servitude in Tasmania420 Absconded from Tasmania421 Stealing from the dwelling house of John Madden422 Admitted to Darlinghurst Gaol from police office423 Tried at Supreme Court; found guilty and remanded424 Sentenced to 10 years’ hard labour—to be sent to Cockatoo Island or Newcastle breakwater425 Sent to Cockatoo Island426 Appointed servant at Cockatoo Island427 Dismissed as servant428 Appointed shedman at Cockatoo Island429 Sentenced to 7 days in cells for abusing overseer430 Requests ticket-of-leave431 Rejected432 Requests ticket-of-leave; rejected433 Requests ticket-of-leave434 Discharged from Cockatoo Island; issued with ticket-of-leave—George Farrell or Riddle—for district of Brisbane435

ibid ibid; Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984] Illustrated Sydney News 11 Feb 1854 p.146c; Empire 7 Feb 1854 p.4a Darlinghurst Gaol Entrance Book: George Riddle 1853 [SRNSW ref: 5/1892 Year 1853 No.2374; Reel 2336] Supreme Court Return of Convictions—February 1854: George Farrell [SRNSW ref: X845–9]; Illustrated Sydney News 11 Feb 1854 p.146c; Empire 7 Feb 1854 p.4a; Bells Life in Sydney 11 Feb 1854 p.2g; Register of Tickets-of-leave: George Farrell 1859 [SRNSW ref: 4/4233 No.59/55; Reel 893]; Certificate of Freedom: George Farrell 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/4297 No.29/0380; Reel 984] Supreme Court Return of Convictions—February 1854 [SRNSW ref: X845–9]; Register of Ticketsof-leave: George Farrell 1859 [SRNSW ref: 4/4233 No.59/55; Reel 893] Darlinghurst Gaol Entrance Book: George Riddle 1853 [SRNSW ref: 5/1892 Year 1853 No.2374; Reel 2336] Cockatoo Island—Transportation Register (Colonial): George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/6573 p.106; Reel 607] ibid ibid ibid Return of Colonial Prisoners requesting indulgences, Cockatoo Island, 25 Jan 1858 [SRNSW ref: 4/3376 File 58/581 No.58/7] Convict Classification Board—Memorandum, 12 Mar 1858 [SRNSW ref: 4/4518 p.262 No.58/21; Reel 688] Return of Colonial Prisoners requesting indulgences, Cockatoo Island, Jan 1859 [SRNSW ref: 4/3398 File 59/512] Return of Colonial Prisoners requesting indulgences, Cockatoo Island, Jun 1859 [SRNSW ref: 4/3404 File 59/2452] Register of Tickets-of-leave: George Farrell 1859 [SRNSW ref: 4/4233 No.59/55; Reel 893]; Cockatoo Island—Transportation Register (Colonial): George Farrell [SRNSW ref: 4/6573 p.106; Reel 607]

312

Annotated timelines

James Kelly General Occupation c. 1805 Sep 1822 Dec 1823 Sep 1824 May 1824 Oct 1825 Nov 1825

10 Jul 1827 14 Jul 1827 17 Jul 1827 25 Jul 1827

Description436 Landholder 1822 and 1825437; carpenter 1829 438 Born NSW to James Kelly per Royal Admiral 1792 and wife Mary Langan per Britannia 1796439 Landholder, Windsor district440 Memorial re land grant; approved for grant of 300 acres in any part of country already surveyed441 Memorial on his behalf by his father James for allotment in Newcastle442 Tender to purchase H.M. colonial sloop Mars 443 Landholder Wilberforce444 Certificate of Occupation for land in District of Alnwick, County of Northumberland; to be victualled from Sydney Stores for 6 months445 Involved in fisticuffs with John Parker, who died446 Admitted to Sydney Gaol after Windsor court remanded him to Criminal Court for trial447 Appeals for bail448 Discharged to bail449

436 Register of Colonial Pardons: James Kelly [SRNSW ref: 4/4493 pp.341–2; Reel 771] 437 Baxter, General Muster 1822: James Kelly—Entry No.A11905; Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: James Kelly—Entry No.27948 438 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Kelly 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.76 No.1829; Reel 819] 439 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. Kelly family—Entry No.K0437–9; Baxter, Convicts to NSW 1788–1812: James Kelly Royal Admiral 1792 Entry 15006, and Mary Langan Britannia 1797 Entry 16142; Baxter General Muster 1814: Mary Langan—Entry No.1689 440 Baxter, General Muster 1822: James Kelly—Entry No.A11905 441 Memorial, 15 Dec 1823 [SRNSW ref: 4/1835A No.169 p.103; Fiche 3066]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to James & Richard Kelly, 30 Oct 1823 [SRNSW ref: 4/3509 p.498; Reel 6011]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to James Kelly Snr, 18 Dec 1823 [SRNSW ref: 4/3509 p.722; Reel 6011] 442 Memorial by James Kelly Snr, Sep 1824 [SRNSW ref: 4/1838A No.526 p.121; Fiche 3095]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to James Kelly Snr of Portland Head, 24 Sep 1824 [SRNSW ref: 4/3512 p.463; Reel 6013] 443 Tender to purchase H.M. Colonial sloop Mars, 13 May 1824 [SRNSW ref: 4/1779 p.82; Reel 6061]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to James Kelly Jnr, Sydney, 1 Jun 1824 [SRNSW ref: 4/3511 p.339; Reel 6013] 444 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: James Kelly—Entry No.27948 445 Certificate of Occupation for land in District of Alnwick, County of Northumberland, 2 Nov 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/1842B p.817; Fiche 3139]; To be victualled from Sydney Stores for six months, 4 Nov 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/3515 p.530; Reel 6015]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to DCG Wemyss, 11 Nov 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/3515 p.587; Reel 6015] 446 Supreme Court—Information: James Kelly, 1827 [SRNSW ref: SC T24A 27/79 No.464] 447 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Kelly 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 K 1827–07–14 (p.197); Reel 851] & [SRNSW ref: 4/6429 1827–07–14 (p.139); Reel 850] 448 Supreme Court—Information: James Kelly, 1827 [SRNSW ref: SC T24A 27/79 No.464] 449 ibid; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Kelly 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 K 1827–07–14 (p.197); Reel 851]

313

BREAKING THE BANK

7 Aug 1827 10 Aug 1827 26 Sep 1828 1 Oct 1828 7 Oct 1828 Nov 1828 13 Dec 1828 17 Dec 1828 6 Jan 1829 17 Jan 1829 10 Feb 1829 2 Mar 1829 4 Jun 1829 5 Jun 1829 6 Jun 1829

Signs affidavit requesting presence of brother Richard Kelly as witness450 Supreme Court trial for manslaughter—found not guilty451 Brother Richard Kelly taken into custody regarding Bank of Australia notes452 Received stolen promissory notes453 Brother Richard Kelly complains of being taken into custody regarding stolen notes454 Farming with parents at Swan Reach, Wallis Plains455 Information signed regarding ‘receiving stolen notes’ charges456 Tried for receiving stolen Bank of Australia notes, found guilty and admitted to Sydney Gaol457 Sentenced to 7 years’ transportation; discharged from Sydney Gaol and admitted to Phoenix hulk458 To be transported to Moreton Bay459 Mentions James Kelly’s pending action against Bank of Australia for recovery of notes claimed stolen460 Action to recover stolen notes461 Requesting particulars preceding transportation462 Orders received for transportation to Moreton Bay463 To be embarked tomorrow on Mary Elizabeth for Moreton Bay464

450 Supreme Court—ibid 451 ibid; Sydney Gazette 13 Aug 1827 p.3b; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Kelly, examined 5 April 2007 [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1827–28/ html/r_v_kelly__1827.htm] 452 Police Reports of Prisoners 27 Sep 1828: Richard Kelly [SRNSW ref: X821 p.107 No.7; Reel 660] 453 Supreme Court—Information: James Kelly, 1828 [SRNSW ref: SC T28B 28/216 No.55] 454 Monitor 18 Oct 1828 p.1367a 455 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. James Kelly—Entry No.K0438 456 Supreme Court—Information: James Kelly, 1827 [SRNSW ref: SC T28B 28/216 No.55] 457 Return of crime & punishment 1828: James Kelly [ML ref: A1204 p.441; Reel CY537]; Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 12: Rex vs James Kelly [SRNSW ref: 2/3195 pp.126–58]; Australian 19 Dec 1828 p.3b; Monitor 22 Dec 1828 p.1440b-d; Sydney Gazette, 19 Dec 1828 p.2e-f; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Kelly 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 K 1828–12–17 (p.207); Reel 851]; also Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Kelly (No.2), examined 6 April 2006 [http: //www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1827–28/html/r_v_kelly_no_2__1828.htm] 458 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 14: James Kelly [SRNSW ref: 2/3197 p.96]; Sydney Gazette 8 Jan 1829 p.2d; Australian 9 Jan 1829 p.2e; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Kelly 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 K 1828–12–17 (p.207); Reel 851]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Kelly 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.76 No.1829; Reel 819] 459 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 17 Jan 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.62 No.29/19; Reel 1062] 460 Sydney Gazette 10 Feb 1829 p.2d 461 Sydney Gazette 5 Mar 1829 p.3a 462 Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 4 Jun 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 p.341 No.29/456; Reel 1043] 463 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 5 Jun 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 p.348 No.29/469; Reel 1043] 464 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 6 Jun 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.148 No.29/231; Reel 1062]; List of Convicts transported to Moreton Bay: James Kelly [SRNSW ref: 4/3794; Reel 749]

314

Annotated timelines Discharged from hulk to travel to Moreton Bay per Mary Elizabeth465 Arrived Moreton Bay466 Action against Thomas Macvitie over banknotes467 Constable in Stones Gang, Moreton Bay468 Subpoena for appearance of Kelly in Stephen Smith’s murder trial— King vs Smith & Haines469 29 Mar 1830 Arrived from Moreton Bay per Lucy Ann; admitted to hulk470 24 Apr 1830 Witnesses to be embarked on Isabella for Moreton Bay471 25 Apr 1830 Discharged from hulk to Isabella for Moreton Bay472 Feb 1831 Admitted to first class at Moreton Bay473 8 Jun 1831 Colonial Secretary complains that he should not have been admitted to first class as he had not been in settlement for 2 years474 20 Aug 1831 Petition by James Kelly Snr for son’s release475 30/31 Dec 1831 Colonial Secretary asks Moreton Bay commandant to return Kelly to Sydney if conduct merits indulgence of a pardon476 14 Feb 1832 Arrives from Moreton Bay per Governor Phillip; admitted to hulk477 16 Feb 1832 To be forwarded to Hyde Park Barracks478 17 Feb 1832 From Phoenix hulk to Hyde Park Barracks479 29 Feb 1832 Request for particulars so pardon can be prepared480 9 Apr 1832 Colonial conditional pardon signed481 May 1832 Petition from Kelly regarding punt482 7 Jun 1829 15 Jun 1829 23 Dec 1829 Feb 1830 16 Feb 1830

465 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: James Kelly [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.80 No.1996; Reel 822] 466 Moreton Bay—Register of Monthly Returns: James Kelly [ML ref: Reel FM4/17 Arrived 15 Jun 1829 No.10] 467 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 29: Kelly vs McVitie [SRNSW ref: 4/3212 p.77] 468 Attorney-General to Colonial Secretary, 16 Feb 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/2081 No.30/1247] 469 ibid; Colonial Secretary to Commandant, Moreton Bay, 16 Feb 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 No.30/3 p.168 Pt 5; Reel 749] 470 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Kelly 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.115 No.2847; Reel 819] 471 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re James Kelly, 24 Apr 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 pp.331–2 No.30/691; Reel 1062] 472 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: James Kelly [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.109 No.2810; Reel 822] 473 Colonial Secretary to Commandant, Moreton Bay: Re James Kelly, 8 Jun 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 No.31/5 p.232 Pt 12; Reel 749] 474 ibid 475 Petition: James Kelly Snr, 20 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2118 No.31/8202] 476 Colonial Secretary to Commandant, Moreton Bay: Re James Kelly, 30 Dec 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 No.31/16 p.270 Pt 19; Reel 749]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 31 Dec 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3672 p.322 No.31/1251; Reel 1044] 477 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Kelly 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.95 No.541; Reel 819] 478 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re James Kelly, 16 Feb 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 pp.335+ No.32/39; Reel 1062] 479 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Kelly 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.95 No.541; Reel 819] 480 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 29 Feb 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/3672 p.534 No.32/177; Reel 1044] 481 Register of Colonial Pardons: James Kelly [SRNSW ref: 4/4493 pp.341–2; Reel 771]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 26 Apr 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/3674 p.239 No.32/368; Reel 1045] 482 Petition: James Kelly, May 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/2127 No.32/5276]

315

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James Lee Carpenter483 Born in colony to Thomas and Amy Lee (Thomas Lee per Canada 1801; Amy Staples per Glatton 1803)484 29 Mar 1807 Baptised St Philip’s, Sydney485 Oct 1825 Apprentice to Wm Cox Esq Windsor (date possibly incorrect)486 Early 1825 Assigned as an apprentice to builder James Gough (perhaps late in 1824)487 Late 1826 Absconded from Gough’s service488 22/23 Feb 1827 Wm Puckeridge, Edward Holmes, James Lee and Richard Sneyd indicted for murder of Patrick McCooey at Sydney; admitted to Sydney Gaol489 16 Mar 1827 Tried at Criminal Court; Lee and Sneyd not guilty—discharged from gaol; other two sentenced to hang but reprieved490 30 Sep 1828 Received promissory notes491 11 Oct 1828 Admitted to Sydney Gaol from General Sessions, Sydney492 24 Nov 1828 James Lee tried for receiving stolen Bank of Australia notes—found guilty493 6 Jan 1829 Sentenced to 7 years’ transportation; discharged from Sydney Gaol and admitted to Phoenix hulk494 17 Jan 1829 To be transported to Moreton Bay495 Occupation 23 Nov 1806

483 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Lee 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.76 No.1828; Reel 819] 484 Baptism: James Lee [SRNSW ref: Vol.4 No.985; Reel 5002] & [SRNSW ref: Vol.1 No.1703; Reel 5001]; Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: James Lee—Entry No.29390; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book—ibid 485 Baptism—ibid 486 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: James Lee—Entry No.29390 487 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 11: James Lees [SRNSW ref: 2/3194 pp.14–37] 488 ibid 489 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Lee 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 L 1827–02–23; Reel 851]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Lee 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/6429 1827–02–22; Reel 850]; Sydney Gazette 17 Mar 1827 p.3f 490 Sydney Gazette—ibid & 20 Mar 1827 p.2a; Monitor 23 Mar 1827 p.354 c2; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Lee 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 L 1827–02–23; Reel 851]; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Puckeridge, Holmes, Sneid and Lee, examined 15 June 2006 [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1827–28/html/r_v_puckeridge__holmes__sneid_.htm] 491 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 11: James Lees [SRNSW ref: 2/3194 pp.14–37]; Supreme Court— Information: James Lee [SRNSW ref: SC T28A 28/175 No.14] 492 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Lee 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 L 1828–10–11; Reel 851] 493 ibid; Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 11: James Lees [SRNSW ref: 2/3194 pp.14–37]; Return of crime & punishment 1828: James Lee [ML ref: A1204 p.433; Reel CY537]; Australian 25 Nov 1828 p.3bc; Sydney Gazette 26 Nov 1828 p.2e-f; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Lees examined 8 January 2006 [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/Cases1827–28/ html/r_v_Lees__1828.htm] 494 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 14: James Lee [SRNSW ref: 2/3197 p.96]; Sydney Gazette 8 Jan 1829 p.2d; Australian 9 Jan 1829 p.2e; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Lee 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 L 1828–10–11; Reel 851]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Lee 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.76 No.1828; Reel 819] 495 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 17 Jan 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.62 No.29/19; Reel 1062]

316

Annotated timelines 4 Jun 1829 5 Jun 1829 6 Jun 1829 7 Jun 1829 15 Jun 1829 16 Apr 1830 4 Jan 1836 20 Jan 1836 3 Feb 1836 Feb–Mar 1836

Requesting particulars preceding transportation496 Orders received for transportation to Moreton Bay497 To be embarked tomorrow on Mary Elizabeth for Moreton Bay498 Forwarded from hulk to Mary Elizabeth for transportation to Moreton Bay499 Arrived at Moreton Bay500 2 years added to sentence for robbing the Commissariat Stores at Moreton Bay501 Permitted by Moreton Bay commandant to return to Sydney by private schooner Richmond—sentence reportedly expired502 Arrived in Sydney per Richmond 503 Report that owner of Richmond wished to be paid for passage; approval later authorised504 Memorandum regarding actual date of sentence expiry due to additional 2-year colonial conviction505

James Madden General c. 1805/06 pre-1824

Description506 Born Dublin507 Cordwainer / shoemaker in Dublin508

496 Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 4 Jun 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 p.341 No.29/456; Reel 1043] 497 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 5 Jun 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 p.348 No.29/469; Reel 1043] 498 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 6 Jun 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.148 No.29/231; Reel 1062]; List of Convicts transported to Moreton Bay: James Lee [SRNSW ref: 4/3794; Reel 749] 499 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: James Lee [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.80 No.1995; Reel 822] 500 Moreton Bay—Register of Monthly Returns: James Lee [ML ref: Reel FM4/17 Arrived 15 Jun 1829 No.9] 501 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 5 Feb 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/2325.4 File 36/1172 No.36/1172] 502 Commandant Moreton Bay to Colonial Secretary, 4 Jan 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/2325.4 File 36/1172 No.36/700]; Principal Supt of Convict to Colonial Secretary, 5 Feb 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/2325.4 File 36/1172 No.36/1172] 503 Nicholson Shipping Lists, p.142 504 Commissariat Office to Colonial Secretary, 3 Feb 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/2325.4 File 36/1172 No.36/1033] 505 Memoranda attached to letter: Commandant Moreton Bay to Colonial Secretary, 4 Jan 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/2325.4 File 36/1172 No.36/700]; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 5 Feb 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/2325.4 File 36/1172 No.36/1172] 506 Convict Indent—Ann & Amelia 1825: James Madden [SRNSW ref: 4/4009A p.140; Fiche 654]; Sydney Gazette 1 Jul 1826 p.4c; Certificate of Freedom: James Madden 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4304 No.31/0103; Reel 987] 507 Convict Indent—ibid; Certificate of Freedom: James Madden 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4304 No.31/0103; Reel 987] 508 ibid

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25 Feb 1824

Tried Dublin city for felony of ‘pillarines’; sentenced to 7 years’ transportation509 2 Jan 1825 Arrived per Ann & Amelia510 1 Jul 1826 Reported to have absconded from Hyde Park Barracks511 12 Aug 1826 Absentee from Hyde Park Barracks for 5 weeks; to work in irons 2 months512 24 Aug 1826 Discharged to Parramatta513 18–30 Sep 1828 Remanded for involvement in Bank of Australia robbery514 7 Oct 1828 Implicated in robbery515 22 Oct 1828 Ordered to the Phoenix hulk516 23 Oct 1828 Admitted to hulk517 Nov 1828 Phoenix hulk, Sydney518 14 Mar 1829 Details provided for robbery suspects currently on hulk519 25 Apr 1829 Supreme Court orders superintendent of Phoenix hulk to bring suspected bank robbers to court to determine why detained520 1 May 1829 Blackstone, Byrne, Madden and Shortland discharged by Supreme Court and in Hyde Park Barracks521 2 May 1829 In Hyde Park Barracks; to be sent on board Phoenix hulk (with Shortland, Byrne and Madden) for security until instructions for disposal522 18 Aug 1829 Robbery suspects to be sent to distant settlement523

509 Irish Warrants—Ann & Amelia [SRNSW ref: X30 No.70; Reel 2749]; Convict Indent—Ann & Amelia 1825: James Madden [SRNSW ref: 4/4009A p.140; Fiche 654] 510 Convict Indent—ibid 511 Sydney Gazette 1 Jul 1826 p.4c 512 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Madden 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/6429 1826–08–12 (p.75); Reel 850] & [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1826–08–12 (p.237); Reel 851]; Sydney Gazette 1 Jul 1826 p.4c 513 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Madden 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1826–08–12 (p.237); Reel 851] 514 Police Reports of Prisoners 18–30 Sep 1828: James Madden [SRNSW ref: X821 pp.91–111; Reel 660] 515 Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959] 516 Memorandum to Principal Supt of Police & Sheriff attached to letter: Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 22 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.31 No.28/64; Reel 1062] 517 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Madden 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.69 No.1633; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Occurrence Book: 23 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6278] 518 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. James Madden—Entry No.M1359 519 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 14 Mar 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 enclosure with 28/7959] 520 Supreme Court—Ex parte William Blackstone &c, 1829 [SRNSW ref: SC T29B 29/364] 521 ibid; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: James Madden [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.78 No.1943; Reel 822]; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 1 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246] 522 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 p.280 No.29/342; Reel 1043]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.131 No.29/206; Reel 1062]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: James Madden 14 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283; Reel 822]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Madden [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.9 No.17; Reel 819] 523 Memorandum—Sheriff 18 Aug 1829: attached to letter: Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 1 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 18 Aug 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.200 No.29/309; Reel 1062]

318

Annotated timelines 3 Jan 1831 12 Jan 1831 14 Jan 1831 28 Feb 1831 16 Sep 1831 17 Sep 1831 1 Nov 1831

Captain Bunn states that Blackstone exonerated Turner, Byrne, Madden and Shortland524 Ordered to be released from hulk and forwarded to Hyde Park Barracks after Blackstone’s exonerating information525 Forwarded from hulk to Hyde Park Barracks526 Certificate of freedom527 Committed highway robbery on Charles Hemsley528 Admitted to Sydney Gaol529 For trial—discharged on proclamation530

Susannah Martin (nee Lake) Born NSW531 Married James Martin at St Philip’s, Sydney532 Birth and baptism of daughter Mary533 Stealing from a dwelling house534 Wife of James Martin; living with family of father-in-law, Arthur Martin535 21 Nov 1828 Susannah and James Martin tried in Supreme Court by Chief Justice Forbes—James acquitted; Susannah convicted536 21/22 Nov 1828 Admitted to Sydney Gaol; concerns about her advanced state of pregnancy537 1829 Sentenced to 7 years’ transportation538

c. 1809 11 Jul 1825 15 Mar 1827 9 Oct 1828 Nov 1828

524 Bunn to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2095 File 31/324 No.31/316] 525 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 12 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3670 p.147 No.31/32; Reel 2649]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 12 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.16 No.31/12; Reel 1062] 526 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: James Madden [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.9 No.17; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: James Madden 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283 1831–01–14; Reel 822] 527 Certificate of Freedom: James Madden 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4304 No.31/0103; Reel 987] 528 Supreme Court—Depositions: Rex vs Lynch, Madden & Kelly [SRNSW ref: SC T 150 No.68]; Sydney Herald 7 Nov 1831 Supp. p.1d 529 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: James Madden 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6432 1831–09–17 (p.293); Reel 851] 530 ibid; Supreme Court—Depositions: Rex vs Lynch, Madden & Kelly [SRNSW ref: CP T150 No.68] & Information [SRNSW ref: SC T33 31/160 No.1]; Sydney Herald 7 Nov 1831 Supp. p.1d 531 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. Susannah Martin—Entry No.M1922 532 Marriage: James Martin & Susannah Lake 1825 [SRNSW ref: Vol.8 No.410; Reel 5002] 533 Baptism: Mary Martin 1827 [SNRSW ref: Vol.11 No.121; Reel 5003] 534 Supreme Court—Information: James & Susannah Martin, 1830 [SRNSW ref: SC T28A 28/172 Case No.11] 535 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. Martin family—Entry No.M1918–1923 536 Return of crime & punishment 1828: James & Susannah Martin [ML ref: A1204 p.431; Reel CY537]; Supreme Court—Information: James & Susannah Martin, 1830 [SRNSW ref: SC T28A 28/172 Case No.11]; Sydney Gazette 24 Nov 1828 p.3a; Australian 25 Nov 1828 p.3a-b 537 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Susan Martin 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1828–11–22; Reel 851]; Asst Surgeon Gibson to Governor Sydney Gaol, 21 Nov 1828 [SRNSW ref: SC T28A 28/172 Case No.11] 538 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book—ibid

319

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2 Oct 1829 17 Oct 1829 28 Oct 1829

Chief Justice Forbes recommends that Governor Darling pardon her539 Governor orders remission of sentence540 Sentence commuted and discharged from gaol541

Dennis McHue c. 1777 Mar 1809 2 Jul 1811 5 Jul 1811 Nov 1814 1817 1 Dec 1817 25 Jan 1818 31 Jan 1818 20 Feb 1819 8 Sep 1821 16 Feb 1822

18 Feb 1822

Born Ireland542 Tried Meath, Ireland, for forgery; sentenced to death; reprieved to life transportation543 Arrived Sydney per Providence544 Sick convict on board Providence; to be admitted to General Hospital545 Brickmaker (in gang), Sydney546 Employed building South Head Tower; petition for mitigation of sentence547 Re permission to marry Ann McNamara at Parramatta548 Married Ann Macnamara at St John’s, Parramatta (no known children)549 Obtained ticket-of-leave550 Paid from the Police Fund for lime for use of government551 Stonemason. On list of all persons victualled from H.M. Magazines552 Tried and convicted by Sydney Bench of Magistrates for receiving stolen property; to be transported to Port Macquarie for the remainder of his sentence553 Petition to remain in Sydney and settle his affairs554

539 Chief Justice’s Letterbook: Forbes to Darling, 2 Oct 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6651 pp.245–6]; also [SRNSW ref: 4/2048 File 29/7897] 540 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Susanna Martin, 17 Oct 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.232 No.29/154; Reel 1062] 541 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Susan Martin 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1828–11–22; Reel 851] 542 Baxter, Convicts to NSW 1788–1812: Dennis McHue—Entry No.23274 543 ibid; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book 1825–31: Dennis McHugh [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.66 No.1558; Reel 819] 544 Baxter, Convicts to NSW 1788–1812: Dennis McHue—Entry No.23274 545 Colonial Secretary: Sick convict to be admitted to General Hospital, 5 Jul 1811 [SRNSW ref: 4/3491 pp.33–4; Reel 6002] 546 Baxter, General Muster 1814: Denis McCae—Entry No.5681 547 Petition for mitigation of sentence: Denis McHugh, 1817 [SRNSW ref: 4/1852 p.224; Fiche 3179] 548 Re permission to marry, 1 Dec 1817 [SRNSW ref: 4/3497 p.180; Reel 6005] 549 Marriage: Dennis McHugh & Ann Macnamara 1818 [SRNSW ref: Vol.3 No.2128; Reel 5002] 550 Memorandum attached to letter: Police Office, Port Macquarie, to Colonial Secretary, 12 Jan 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2467.4 No.39/1518] 551 Paid from the Police Fund for lime for use of government, 20 Feb 1819 [SRNSW ref: SZ1044 p.9; Reel 6038] 552 On list of person victualled from H.M. Magazines, 8 Sep 1821 [SRNSW ref: 4/5781 p.72; Reel 6016] 553 Sydney Gazette 22 Feb 1822 quoted in HRA I/15 p.849; Memorandum by Principal Supt of Convicts Hely, 20 Dec 1830 in HRA I/15 pp.848–50 554 Petition by Dennis McHugh, 18 Feb 1822 [SRNSW ref: 4/1817 p.1; Reel 6069]

320

Annotated timelines 1822

Sentenced to Port Macquarie; petition for mitigation of his sentence by his wife Ann555 20 Mar 1822 On list of prisoners transported to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta556 Sep 1822 In government employ at Newcastle557 25 Sep 1823 On list of convicts removed from Newcastle to Port Macquarie per Elizabeth Henrietta558 Oct 1825 No entry for Dennis McHue; but Mary McNamara (per Wanstead 1815) wife to Dennis McCue, Newcastle559 4 Aug 1826 Returned from Port Macquarie560 8 Nov 1826 Assigned to his wife561 27 Jun 1827 Withdrawn from his wife for harbouring Crown prisoners at a late hour562 23 Sep 1828 Presented Bank of Australia note; signed statement563 23/24 Sep 1828 Deposition signed by W.H. Mackenzie and Peter Gardner564 24 Sep 1828 Brought before police; convicted by Bench of Magistrates of perjury and sentenced to a penal settlement for 3 years; admitted to Sydney Gaol565 1 Oct 1828 Admitted to Phoenix hulk566; Ann McHugh admitted to Sydney Gaol (tried by General Sessions, Sydney—drunken prostitute; sentenced to 3 months in third class of Female Factory; sent to Factory on 2 Oct567 Nov 1828 In Phoenix hulk, Sydney568 15 Nov 1828 Prepared petition to Supreme Court judges569 555 Petition by Ann McHugh, 1822 [SRNSW ref: 4/1808 pp.405–8; Reel 6067] 556 On list of prisoners transported to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta, 20 Mar 1822 [SRNSW ref: 4/3505 p.44; Reel 6009] 557 Baxter, General Muster 1822: Dennis McKew—Entry No.A13836 558 On list of convicts removed from Newcastle to Port Macquarie per Elizabeth Henrietta, 25 Sep 1823 [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.426–7; Reel 6019] 559 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: Mary McNamara—Entry No.31600 560 Memorandum attached to letter: Police Office, Port Macquarie to Colonial Secretary, 12 Jan 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2467.4 No.39/1518] 561 ibid 562 ibid 563 Statement of Dennis McHugh, 23 Sep 1828 in HRA I/15 p.840; Police Reports of Prisoners 24 Sep 1828: Dennis McHue [SRNSW ref: X821 p. 101 No.19; Reel 660]; Sydney Gazette 26 Sep 1828 p.2e 564 Deposition by W.H. Mackenzie, 24 Sep 1828 in HRA I/15 p.839; Deposition by Peter Gardner, 23 & 24 Sep 1828 in HRA I/15 p.840; Deposition by Captain George Bunn, 24 Sep 1828 in HRA I/15 p.840 565 Judgment against Dennis McHugh, 24 Sep 1828 in HRA I/15 p.840; Police Reports of Prisoners 24 Sep 1828: Dennis McHue [SRNSW ref: X821 p.101 No.19; Reel 660]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Dennis McHugh [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1828–09–24; Reel 851]; Sydney Gazette 26 Sep 1828 p.2e 566 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book 1825–31: Dennis McHugh [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.66 No.1558; Reel 819]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Dennis McHugh [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1828–09–24; Reel 851] 567 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Ann McHugh [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1828–10–01; Reel 851] 568 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. Dennis McHugh—Entry No.M0816 569 Petition: Dennis McHue, 15 Nov 1828 in Statement of the Case of Denis McHue [ML ref: A2146 pp.346–53; Reel CY1011]

321

BREAKING THE BANK

17 Nov 1828 26 Dec 1828 3 Jan 1829 4 Jan 1829 5 Jan 1829 9 Jan 1829 9 Mar 1829 May 1830 9 Jul 1830 22 Dec 1830 1 Jan 1831 7 Feb 1831 15 Jul 1831 Jul 1832

Presented petition to Supreme Court judges570 Correspondence began relating to McHue’s financial situation571 Hulk to Supreme Court for habeas corpus motion; ordered to be discharged from hulk572 Confined in Hyde Park Barracks573 Confined in cells of Hyde Park Barracks574 Discharged to Phoenix hulk and forwarded per City of Edinburgh to Moreton Bay575 Report by Monitor on Dennis McHue’s case and ensuing libel charge576 Reportedly still alive at Moreton Bay577 Resolution by House of Commons to submit McHue’s case to the King578 Forwarding to Colonial Office documents relating to McHue’s case579 Explanation regarding McHue’s transfer to Moreton Bay580 Request for details as to whether McHue alive or dead581 Documents regarding McHue’s case tabled in House of Commons582 Petitions for removal from Moreton Bay as his 3-year sentence would have expired by this time583

570 Statement of the Case of Denis McHue [ML ref: A2146 pp.346–53; Reel CY1011] 571 John Stephen Jnr to Hely, 26 Dec 1828 in HRA I/15 pp.843–4; Hely to McLeay, 26 Dec 1828 in HRA I/15 p.843; McLeay to Baxter, 26 Feb 1828 in HRA I/15 p.843; Baxter to McLeay, 20 Jun 1828 in HRA I/15 p.844 572 Minutes of Proceedings in the Supreme Court on 3 January 1829 in the matter of Dennis McHue, signed James Dowling, 21 Dec 1830 in HRA I/15 pp.841–2; Order by Attorney-General Baxter re McHue’s discharge, 3 Jan 1829 in HRA I/15 p.842; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: Dennis McHugh [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.62 No.1526; Reel 822] 573 Baxter to McLeay, 6 Jan 1829 in HRA I/15 p.850; Hely to McLeay, 21 Dec 1830 in HRA I/15 pp.844–5; Statement of John Weston, 1 Sep 1829 in HRA I/15 pp.845–6; Statement of Principal Supt of Convicts Hely, 1 Sep 1829 in HRA I/15 pp.846–7 574 Statement of John Weston, 1 Sep 1829 in HRA I/15 pp.845–6; Statement of Principal Supt of Convicts Hely, 1 Sep 1829 in HRA I/15 pp.846–7; Baxter to McLeay, 6 Jan 1829 in HRA I/15 p.850 575 McLeay to Commandant, Moreton Bay, 9 Jan 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 p.121 No.29/2; Reel 749] & in HRA I/15 p.848; McLeay to Hely, 9 Jan 1829 in HRA I/15 p.847; Statement of Principal Supt of Convicts Hely, 1 Sep 1829 in HRA I/15 pp.846–7 576 Monitor 9 Mar 1829 p.1524d & 24 Mar 1829; Baxter to McLeay, 18 Jun 1829 [ML ref: A2146 p.352; Reel CY1011]; Affidavit by F.A. Hely in HRA I/15 pp.846–7; Reference to libel conviction in Statement of the Case of Denis McHue [ML ref: A2146 pp.346–53; Reel CY1011] 577 Certificate by Colonial Secretary McLeay, 21 Dec 1830 in HRA I/15 p.848 578 Resolution by House of Commons, 9 Jul 1830 in HRA I/15 pp.590–1 579 Darling to Murray, 22 Dec 1830 in HRA I/15 pp.837–9; Darling to Murray, 1 Jan 1831 in HRA I/ 16 pp.2–3; see HRA I/15 pp.837–63 580 Darling to Murray, 1 Jan 1831 in HRA I/16 pp.2–3 581 Colonial Secretary to Commandant, Moreton Bay: Re Dennis McHugh, 7 Feb 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 No.31/1 p.215 Pt 15; Reel 749] 582 Statement of the Case of Denis McHue [ML ref: A2146 pp.346–53; Reel CY1011] 583 Petition—Dennis McHugh, Jul 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/2185 File 33/3297 No.32/5358]

322

Annotated timelines Jan 1833 9 Jul 1833 Sep 1838 Jan 1839 Additional

Just arrived from Moreton Bay; in Phoenix hulk; petition to visit Sydney in custody to assist with financial concerns584 Recently arrived from Port Macquarie in charge of prisoners585 Granted a ticket-of-leave for the Port Macquarie district586 Permission granted for his ticket-of-leave to be changed to the Liverpool district587 See other Colonial Secretary Correspondence Files588

John Morwood General c. 1804 pre-1818 27 Oct 1818 26 Sep 1820 Sep 1822 5 May 1823 2 Aug 1823 6 Aug 1823

Description589 Born Manchester590 Dyer591 Tried Lancaster Quarter Sessions held at Manchester for robbery— 7 years’ transportation592 Arrived per Shipley593 Muster—no entry located Runaway from Emu Plains lately apprehended in Richmond594 Convicted Windsor for absconding; sentenced to 2 years’ transportation595 Admitted to Sydney Gaol596

584 Petition—Dennis McHugh, Jan 1833 in letter: Sheriff to Colonial Secretary, 29 Jan 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/2211 No.33/901]; Response: Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 5 Feb 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/3898 p.226 No.33/41; Reel 1063] 585 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Denis McHue, 9 Jul 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/3898 p.360 No.33/154; Reel 1063] 586 Police Office, Port Macquarie, to Colonial Secretary, 24 Oct 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/2439.2 No.39/812]; Police Office, Port Macquarie, to Colonial Secretary, 12 Jan 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2467.4 No.39/1518] 587 Police Office, Port Macquarie, to Colonial Secretary, 12 Jan 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2467.4 No.39/1518] 588 Dennis McHue—Colonial Secretary Correspondence Files—see [SRNSW ref: 4/2185 File 33/3297]; [SRNSW ref: 4/2186 File 33/5402]; [SRNSW ref: 4/2375.2 No.37/1367] 589 Convict Indent—Shipley 1820: John Moorwood [SRNSW ref: 4/4007 p.237; Fiche 645]; Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 22 May 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/3665 p.348 No.432; Reel 1041] 590 Convict Indent—ibid 591 ibid 592 ibid; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book 1825–31: John Moorwood, 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.65 No.1524; Reel 819] 593 Convict Indent—Shipley 1820: John Moorwood [SRNSW ref: 4/4007 p.237; Fiche 645] 594 Colonial Secretary to Emu Plains Superintendent, 5 May 1823 [SRNSW ref: 4/3508 p.247; Reel 6010] 595 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Morewood [SRNSW ref: 4/6428 1823–08–06 (p.149); Reel 850]; Colonial Secretary: List of prisoners transported to Port Macquarie per Sally [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.64, 416–7; Reel 6019]; Port Macquarie—List of convicts in settlement 1822–5: John Moorwood [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.38; Reel 824] 596 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book—ibid; Port Macquarie—List of convicts in settlement 1822–5: John Moorwood [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.38; Reel 824]

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Prisoners transported to Port Macquarie per Sally597 Discharged from Sydney Gaol to Sally for transportation to Port Macquarie598 12 Sep 1825 Discharged from Port Macquarie for return to Sydney, colonial sentence having expired599 27 Oct 1825 British sentence expired (certificate of freedom not found)600 Oct 1825 In government employ; assigned to Mr Hassall, Bathurst (date probably incorrect)601 22 May 1827 Application to leave Sydney for Port Dalrymple on Admiral Cockburn approved602 23 Aug 1828 Reporting that Morwood wishes to be returned to Sydney for investigation rather than remaining in Hobart Gaol603 30 Aug 1828 Ordered to Bengal Merchant for return to Sydney to face investigation604 2 Sep 1828 Received on board Bengal Merchant at Hobart605 15 Sep 1828 Arrived from Tasmania per Bengal Merchant and admitted to Phoenix hulk606 16 Sep 1828 Admitted to Sydney Gaol from General Session, Sydney, as a suspected runaway607 17 Sep 1828 Discharged from hulk to police; discharged from police608 20 Sep 1828 Reportedly received stolen promissory notes609 29–30 Sep 1828 Remanded for involvement in Bank of Australia robbery610 18 Aug 1823 21 Aug 1823

597 Colonial Secretary: List of prisoners transported to Port Macquarie per Sally [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.64, 416–7; Reel 6019] 598 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Morewood [SRNSW ref: 4/6428 1823–08–06 (p.149); Reel 850] 599 Port Macquarie—List of convicts in settlement 1822–5: John Moorwood [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.38; Reel 824]; Colonial Secretary: List of prisoners transported to Port Macquarie per Sally [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.64, 416–7; Reel 6019] 600 Convict Indent—Shipley 1820: John Moorwood [SRNSW ref: 4/4007 p.237; Fiche 645] 601 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: John Morwood—Entry No.33389 602 Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 22 May 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/3665 p.348 No.432; Reel 1041] 603 Police Office, Hobart, to Colonial Secretary, Hobart, 23 Aug 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1992 File 28/7338] 604 Colonial Secretary, Van Diemen’s Land, to Colonial Secretary, Sydney, 30 Aug 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1992 File 28/7338 No.28/7336] 605 Surgeon Supt Bengal Merchant to Colonial Secretary, 14 Sep 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1992 File 28/7338 No.28/7310] 606 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 15 Sep 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.25 No.28/52; Reel 1062]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book 1825–31: John Moorwood, 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.65 No.1524; Reel 819] 607 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Norwood 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 N 1828–09–16; Reel 851] 608 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: John Moorwood [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.57 No.1238; Reel 822]; Police Reports of Prisoners 18 Sep 1828: John Morwood [SRNSW ref: X821 p.91 No.11; Reel 660] 609 Supreme Court—Information: John Morwood, 1828 [SRNSW ref: SC T28B 28/204 No.43] 610 Police Reports of Prisoners 29–30 Sep 1828 [SRNSW ref: X821 pp.109 & 111 No.9; Reel 660]

324

Annotated timelines 30 Sep 1828 Nov 1828 9 Dec 1828 6 Jan 1829 16 Aug 1829 27 Aug 1832

Admitted to Sydney Gaol611 Census—no entry located Tried at Supreme Court before Chief Justice Forbes—found guilty612 Sentenced to 7 years’ transportation; discharged from Sydney Gaol to Phoenix hulk613 Discharged from Phoenix hulk to Waterloo for Moreton Bay614 Died in hospital at Moreton Bay615

Sarah Payne nee Shurwell General Occupation c. 1796 21 Oct 1814

18 Jun 1815 Sep 1822 25 Aug 1824 Oct 1825

Description616 UK—milliner 617 Born Oxfordshire618 Convicted Reading Borough, Berkshire, England, with mother Sarah Shurwell Snr (aged 51) and sister Elizabeth (aged 16)—received 7-year sentences619 Arrived per Northampton620 Wife of licensed victualler, William Leverton, Sydney621 Married John Payne by special licence622 Wife of John Payne, victualler, Sydney623

611 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Morwood 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1828–09–30; Reel 851] 612 Information—Rex vs Morwood [SRNSW ref: SC T28B 28/204 No.43]; Return of crime & punishment 1828: John Morwood [ML ref: A1204 p.439; Reel CY537]; Sydney Gazette 10 Dec 1828 p.2e; Australian 12 Dec 1828 p.5e; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Morwood 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1828–09–30; Reel 851] 613 Return of crime & punishment 1828: John Morwood [ML ref: A1204 p.439; Reel CY537]; Sydney Gazette 8 Jan 1829 p.2d; Australian 9 Jan 1829 p.2e; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: John Morwood 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6430 M 1828–09–30; Reel 851]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: John Morewood, 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.76 No.1830; Reel 819] 614 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: John Morewood [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.90 No.2273; Reel 822] 615 Moreton Bay—Register of Monthly Returns: John Morwood [ML ref: Reel FM4/17 p.50 No.1867]; Monthly Returns for Moreton Bay: John Morwood [ML ref: FM4/18 p.74 No.2] 616 Register of Colonial Pardons: Sarah Payne 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/4493 pp.436–7; Reel 771] 617 ibid 618 Convict Indent—Northampton 1815: Shurwell family [SRNSW ref: 4/4005 p.59; Fiche 635]; Register of Colonial Pardons: Sarah Payne 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/4493 pp.436–7; Reel 771] 619 ibid 620 Convict Indent—ibid; Female convicts on board the Northampton 1815 [SRNSW ref: 4/1732 pp.157, 162; Reel 6045] 621 Baxter, General Muster 1822: Sarah Sherwell—Entry No.A19045; William Leverton—Entry No.A12822 622 Marriage: John Payne & Sarah Sherwill 1824 [SRNSW ref: Vol.3 No.3400; Reel 5002]; Affidavits of John Payne and Sarah Sherwell, 24 Aug 1824 [SRNSW ref: 2/8305 pp.71–4; Reel 6028] 623 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: Sarah Shearwell—Entry No.39891; John Payne—Entry No.35800

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Nov 1828 2 Nov 1828 13 Dec 1828 18 Dec 1828 6 Jan 1829 14 Jan 1829 15 Jan 1829 16 Jan 1829 5 May 1829 18 Jun 1829 19 Jun 1830 14 May 1831 9 Oct 1832 3 Dec 1832

624 625 626 627

628

629

630 631 632 633 634 635 636 637

Wife of John Payne, merchant and brewer in George St, Sydney624 Reportedly received stolen promissory notes625 Indictment signed626 Tried at Supreme Court and found guilty; admitted to bail627 Sentenced and admitted to Sydney Gaol628 Requesting particulars for Sarah Payne who is to proceed tomorrow to Moreton Bay629 To be embarked tomorrow on board Mary Elizabeth for Moreton Bay630 Discharged from Sydney Gaol and forwarded to Moreton Bay631 Her money to be paid into savings account632 Regarding letters from John Hillas and his wife, apparently for goods for Sarah Payne; they are to be sacked633 Requisition of articles for Sarah Payne approved by commandant; Colonial Secretary rebukes him634 Petition requesting remission of sentence to be rejected635 Permission granted for remission of colonial sentence636 Arrived from Moreton Bay per Governor Phillip; to be discharged to Mr James Underwood’s custody637

Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. Sarah Payne—Entry No.P0385; John Payne—Entry No.P0384 Supreme Court—Information: Sarah Payne, 1828 [SRNSW ref: SC T28B 28/217 No.56] ibid Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 12: Sarah Payne [SRNSW ref: 2/3195 pp.159–64] & Vol. 13 [SRNSW ref: 2/3196 pp.1–50]; Information and Sarah Payne’s statement to jury [SRNSW ref: SC T28B 28/217 No.56]; Return of crime & punishment 1828: Sarah Payne [ML ref: A1204 p.441; Reel CY537]; Sydney Gazette 22 Dec 1828 p.3a; Australian 19 Dec 1828 p.3b Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 14: Sarah Payne [SRNSW ref: 2/3197 pp.96–8]; Sydney Gazette 8 Jan 1829 p.2d; Australian 9 Jan 1829 p.2e; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Sarah Payne 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 P 1829–01–06; Reel 851] Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 14 Jan 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 pp.79–80 No.29/23; Reel 1043]; List of Convicts transported to Moreton Bay: Sarah Sharwell the younger now Payne [SRNSW ref: 4/3794; Reel 749] Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Sarah Payne, 15 Jan 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.58 No.29/14; Reel 1062] Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Sarah Payne 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 P 1829–01–06; Reel 851] Colonial Secretary to Commandant, Moreton Bay, 5 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 No.29/17 p.136 Pt 3; Reel 749] Colonial Secretary to Commandant, Moreton Bay, 18 Jun 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 p.144 No.29/23; Reel 749] Colonial Secretary to Commandant, Moreton Bay, 19 Jun 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 No.30/12 p.178 Pt 5; Reel 749] Colonial Secretary to Commandant, Moreton Bay, 14 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3794 No.31/4 p.223; Reel 749] Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 9 Oct 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/3675 pp.341–2 No.32/882; Reel 1045] Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Sarah Payne, 3 Dec 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/3898 p.131 No.32/314; Reel 1063]

326

Annotated timelines 5 Mar 1833 11 Mar 1833

Allowed access to money in savings account638 Colonial pardon signed639

Valentine Rourke General c. 1800 pre-1817 Oct 1817 19 Sep 1820 29 Sep 1820 Sep 1822 22 Dec 1822 7 Oct 1824 Oct 1825 Sep 1828 Nov 1828 1 Apr 1829 18 Jul 1831

Description640 Born Dublin641 Shoemaker and weaver in Dublin642 Tried Dublin city for stealing a basket etc.; sentence 7 years’ transportation643 Arrived per Dorothy 644 Disembarked and forwarded to Emu Plains for distribution645 General muster—no entry listed Discharged from Emu Plains establishment646 Certificate of freedom647 Labourer in Sydney648 Participated in Bank of Australia robbery649 Census—no entry located Cleared out for Liverpool on the brig Midas650 Personal details sent to England651

638 Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 5 Mar 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/3676 p.357 No.33/181; Reel 1046] 639 Register of Colonial Pardons: Sarah Payne [SRNSW ref: 4/4493 pp.436–7; Reel 771]; Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 20 Apr 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/3676 pp.540–2 No.33/338; Reel 1046] 640 Convict Indent—Dorothy 1820: Valentine Rourke [SRNSW ref: 4/4007 p.196; Fiche 644]; Certificate of Freedom: Valentine Rourke 1824 [SRNSW ref: 4/4423 No.004/2829; Reel 601] 641 ibid 642 ibid 643 Convict Indent—Dorothy 1820: Valentine Rourke [SRNSW ref: 4/4007 p.196; Fiche 644]; Certificate of Freedom: Valentine Rourke 1824 [SRNSW ref: 4/4423 No.004/2829; Reel 601]; Muster and Papers— Dorothy 1820: Valentine Rourke [SRNSW ref: 2/8255 p.176; Reel 2420] 644 ibid 645 Colonial Secretary: Convicts disembarked from Dorothy—Valentine Rourke [SRNSW ref: 4/3502 p.293; Reel 6007] 646 Colonial Secretary: Convicts discharged from Emu Plains establishment—Valentine Rourke [SRNSW ref: 2/8283 p.127; Reel 6028] 647 Certificate of Freedom: Valentine Rourke 1824 [SRNSW ref: 4/4423 No.004/2829; Reel 601]; Sydney Gazette 14 Oct 1824 p.1 648 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5:Valentine Rourke—Entry No.38749 649 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88]; Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–84] & Vol. 55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp.2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e 650 Return of Persons who have been Prisoners of the Crown that have cleared out at the office of the Principal Supt of Convicts: Valentine Rourke [ML ref: A1206 p.541 No.26; Reel CY539]; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 18 Jun 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2109 No.31/4617] 651 Memorandum dated 4 Jul 1831 attached to letter: Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 18 Jun 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2109 No.31/4617]

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Thomas Seeney General c. 1798 pre-1818 9 Sep 1818 26 Jun 1819 Sep 1822 Oct 1825 6 Apr 1826 4 Dec 1826 25–27 Sep 1828 Nov 1828 11 Dec 1830 15 Dec 1830 22 Feb 1831 24 Feb 1831 3 Mar 1831

Description652 Born London653 Blacksmith, London654 Tried Old Bailey, London, for coining; 14 years’ transportation655 Arrived Sydney per Baring656 Government blacksmith, Sydney657 In government employ at Liverpool658 Ticket-of-leave659 Permission to marry Elizabeth Prentice (aged 18; born in colony)660 Remanded for involvement in Bank of Australia robbery661 Blacksmith in Sydney with family (colonial-born wife Elizabeth; son William aged 1)662 Thomas Seeney’s statement663 Thomas Seeney’s second statement664 Harbours William Blackstone665 Court of Magistrates, Hyde Park Barracks, reports details of Seeney’s conduct666 Ticket-of-leave to be suspended for improperly harbouring William Blackstone667

652 Convict Indent—Baring 1819: Thomas Seeney [SRNSW ref: 4/4006 p.316; Fiche 639]; Register of Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Seeney 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/4060 No.98/2234; Fiche 754]; Certificate of Freedom: Thomas Seeney 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/4313 No.32/0936; Reel 989] 653 Convict Indent—ibid 654 ibid 655 ibid; The Proceedings of the Old Bailey: Thomas Seeney 9 Sep 1818 [http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/ html_units/1810s/t18180909–46.html] 656 Convict Indent—ibid 657 Baxter, General Muster 1822: Thomas Seaney—Entry No.A18813 658 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: Thomas Seaney—Entry No.39555 659 Register of Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Seeney 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/4060 No.98/2234; Fiche 754]; Register of Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Seeney 1826 [ML ref: A1198 p.354; Reel CY523]; Sydney Gazette 12 Apr 1826 p.1c 660 Permission to marry: Thomas Ceeney & Elizabeth Prentice, 4 Dec 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/1910 No.26/8149] 661 Police Reports of Prisoners 25–27 Sep 1828 [SRNSW ref: X821 p. 103 No.22, p.105 No.9, p.107 No.5; Reel 660] 662 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. Thomas Ceeney & family—Entry No.C0794–6 663 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Thomas Seeney’s statement, 11 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 664 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Thomas Seeney’s statement, 14 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 665 Deposition: George Lavender, 23 Feb 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2100 File 31/1557 No.31/1393] 666 Court of Magistrates, Hyde Park Barracks, to Colonial Secretary, 24 Feb 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2100 File 31/1557 No.31/1393] & [SRNSW ref: 2/670 pp.36–7; Reel 2650] 667 Court of Magistrates, Hyde Park Barracks, to Colonial Secretary, 3 Mar 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2100 File 31/1557 No.31/1557] & [SRNSW ref: 2/671 p.37; Reel 2650]

328

Annotated timelines 28 Apr 1831 6 Aug 1831 10 Aug 1831 13 Aug 1831 15 Oct 1832

Ticket-of-leave cancelled for harbouring a runaway; to Hyde Park Barracks668 Request for details of those ‘more or less’ connected with robbery but exonerated by Blackstone669 Details provided for the suspects670 To be assigned to a distant part of the colony671 Certificate of freedom672

Edward Shortland General c. 1787/88 pre-1816 18 Sep 1816 1 May 1818 11 Jun 1818 19 Jan 1821 15 Feb 1821 21 Feb 1821 Sep 1822

Description673 Born London674 Shoemaker in London675 Tried Middlesex Gaol Delivery for burglary; sentenced to death; commuted to life676 Arrived Sydney per Lady Castlereagh; sent on to Hobart Town677 Arrived Hobart per Lady Castlereagh678 Convicted Hobart Town Criminal Court; 7 years’ hard labour to Newcastle679 Admitted to Sydney Gaol680 Transported to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta for 7 years681 Muster—no obvious entry

668 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 28 Apr 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3670 p.421 No.31/329; Reel 2649] 669 Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 6 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.273 No.31/716; Reel 2650] 670 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 (No.31/561) [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192] 671 Memorandum attached to letter: Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 13 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.306 No.31/743; Reel 2650] 672 Certificate of Freedom: Thomas Seeney 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/4313 No.32/0936; Reel 989] 673 Convict Indent—Lady Castlereagh 1818: Edward Shortland [SRNSW ref: 4/4006 p.38; Fiche 639]; Conditional Pardon: Edward Shootland 1843 [SRNSW ref: 4/4445 No.44/295; Reel 781] 674 Convict Indent—ibid 675 ibid 676 ibid; The Proceedings of the Old Bailey: Edward Shortland 18 Sep 1816 [http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/ html_units/1810s/t18160918–13.html]; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: Edward Shortland 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.69 No.1630; Reel 819] 677 Convict Indent—ibid 678 Bateson Convict Ships p.356 679 Hobart Town Gazette 27 Jan 1821 p.2a; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Edward Shortland 1821 [SRNSW ref: 4/6360 1821–02–15; Reel 850]; Port Macquarie—List of convicts in settlement 1822–5: Edward Shortland [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.44; Reel 824] 680 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book—ibid 681 Prisoners to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta [SRNSW ref: 4/3503 p.141; Reel 6007]; Port Macquarie— List of convicts in settlement 1822–5: Edward Shortland [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.44; Reel 824]

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25 Sep 1823 Oct 1825 30 Jan 1828 31 Jan 1828 1 Feb 1828 2 Feb 1828 Sep 1828 7 Oct 1828 22 Oct 1828 23 Oct 1828 14 Mar 1829 24 Mar 1829 Mar / Apr 1829 25 Apr 1829 1 May 1829 2 May 1829

On list of convicts from Newcastle relocated to Port Macquarie682 In government employ at Port Macquarie683 Arrived in Sydney from Port Macquarie by colonial schooner Alligator684 Admitted to Phoenix hulk685 Ordered to be sent to Hyde Park Barracks for disposal686 Discharged from hulk to Hyde Park Barracks687 Deputy overseer of shoemakers’ workshop in Hyde Park Barracks688 Implicated in Bank of Australia robbery689 Ordered to the Phoenix hulk690 Admitted to hulk691 Details provided for robbery suspects currently on hulk692 Discharged from hulk to police with Blackstone693 Returned to hulk—date uncertain (perhaps the same day as discharge)694 Supreme Court orders superintendent of Phoenix hulk to bring suspected bank robbers to court to determine why detained695 Blackstone, Byrne, Madden and Shortland discharged by Supreme Court and in Hyde Park Barracks696 In Hyde Park Barracks; to be sent on board Phoenix hulk (with Shortland, Byrne and Madden) for security until instructions for disposal697

682 Prisoners from Newcastle to Port Macquarie per Elizabeth Henrietta [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 pp.428–9; Reel 6019] 683 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: Edward Shortland—Entry No.40082 684 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 1 Feb 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3666 p.116; Reel 1042] 685 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: Edward Shortland 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.39 No.903; Reel 819] 686 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 1 Feb 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3666 p.116 No.28/101; Reel 1042]; Port Macquarie—List of convicts in settlement 1822–5: Edward Shortland [SRNSW ref: 4/3864 p.44; Reel 824] 687 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: Edward Shortland [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.35 No.770; Reel 822] 688 Petition: Edward Shortland, 16 Jul 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/2078 No.30/5445 enclosure] 689 Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959] 690 Memorandum to Principal Supt of Police & Sheriff attached to letter: Bunn to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 7 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 No.28/7959]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 22 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.31 No.28/64; Reel 1062] 691 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: Edward Shortland 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6281 p.69 No.1630; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Occurrence Book: 23 Oct 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/6278] 692 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 14 Mar 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/1994 enclosure with 28/7959] 693 Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: Edward Shortland [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.76 No.1890; Reel 822] 694 Supreme Court—Ex parte William Blackstone &c, 1829 [SRNSW ref: SC T29B 29/364] 695 ibid 696 ibid; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: Edward Shortland [SRNSW ref: 4/6285 p.78 No.1940; Reel 822]; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 1 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246] 697 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3668 p.280 No.29/342; Reel 1043]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 2 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.131 No.29/206; Reel 1062]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: Edward Shortland 14 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283; Reel 822]

330

Annotated timelines 18 Aug 1829 16 Jul 1830 19 Jul 1830 2 Aug 1830 3 Jan 1831 12 Jan 1831 14 Jan 1831 6 Aug 1831 10 Aug 1831 13 Aug 1831 Oct 1836 23 Feb 1837 17 Jan 1840 Jun 1843 1 Jul 1843 25 Jun 1844

Memorandum of destinations for robbery suspects—to distant settlement698 Petition re confinement on hulk699 Forwarding Edward Shortland’s petition to Governor Darling700 Shortland to be sent to King George’s Sound701 Captain Bunn states that Blackstone exonerated Turner, Byrne, Madden and Shortland702 To be forwarded to Hyde Park Barracks after Blackstone’s exonerating information703 Discharged from hulk to Hyde Park Barracks704 Request for details of suspects exonerated by Blackstone705 Details provided for suspects implicated and exonerated by Blackstone706 Re situations of suspects implicated and exonerated by Blackstone707 Dungog Bench recommended ticket-of-leave708 Ticket-of-leave for Invermein district709 Ticket-of-leave renewed710 Conditional pardon approved by Sir George Gipps711 Conditional pardon signed by Sir George Gipps712 Queen’s approval for conditional pardon gazetted713

698 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 18 Aug 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.200 No.29/309; Reel 1062]; Memorandum—Sheriff 18 Aug 1829: attached to letter: Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 1 May 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/2046 File 29/7246] 699 Petition: Edward Shortland, 16 Jul 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/2078 No.30/5445 enclosure] 700 Sheriff’s Office to Colonial Secretary, 19 Jul 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/2078 No.30/5445] 701 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Edward Shortland, 2 Aug 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/3896 p.395 No.30/141; Reel 1062] 702 Bunn to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2095 File 31/324 No.31/316] 703 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 12 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3670 p.147 No.31/32; Reel 2649]; Colonial Secretary to Sheriff, 12 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 p.16 No.31/12; Reel 1062] 704 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: Edward Shortland 1829 [SRNSW ref: 4/6282 p.9 No.15; Reel 819]; Phoenix Hulk Discharge Books: Edward Shortland 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6283 1831–01–14; Reel 822] 705 Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 6 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.273 No.31/716; Reel 2650] 706 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 (No.31/561) [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192] 707 Memorandum attached to letter: Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary’s Office, 10 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2113 No.31/6192]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 13 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.306 No.31/743; Reel 2650] 708 Register of Tickets-of-leave: Edward Shortland 1837 [SRNSW ref: 4/4110 No.37/305; Reel 926] 709 ibid 710 Register of Tickets-of-leave: Edward Shortland 1840 [SRNSW ref: 4/4135 No.40/31; Reel 935] 711 ibid; Conditional Pardons approved: Edward Shortland [ML ref: A1293 p.154 No.88; Reel CY1829] 712 Conditional Pardon: Edward Shootland 1843 [SRNSW ref: 4/4445 No.44/295; Reel 781] 713 Conditional Pardons approved: Edward Shortland [ML ref: A1293 p.154 No.88; Reel CY1829]

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Thomas Turner General c. 1797 pre-1815 26 Jul 1815 22 Jul 1816 31 Jan 1818 12 Jun 1820 15 Sep 1820 29 Nov 1820 1822 Sep 1822 May / Jun 1823 19 Mar 1824 Jun 1825

Description714 Born London; son of John Ternouth (in 1828 employed at City Stoneyard, Worship Street, Finsbury Square, London)715 Stonemason in London716 Convicted Surrey, England; sentenced to death; transported for life717 Arrived per Atlas718 Transferred from stonemason’s gang to South Head (lighthouse)719 Married widow Ann Mulvany at Sydney720 On list of prisoners transported to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta for 1 year721 Convict under sentence to Newcastle to be returned, his services required in Sydney722 Employed on Macquarie Tower at South Head and at new church. Petitions for mitigation of sentence723 Government stonemason in Sydney724 Petitions for mitigation of his sentence by Turner and his wife725 Completed arches of tower and windows at South Head Lighthouse; petition for mitigation of sentence726 Order on the Colonial Treasurer for repairs of stonework done at wall of Sydney Cove727

714 Convict Indent—Atlas (3) 1816: Thomas Turner [SRNSW ref: 4/4005 p.184; Fiche 636]; Butts of Tickets-of-Leave: Thomas Turner 1827 [SRNSW ref: 4/4063 No.27/265; Reel 909]; Butts of Ticketsof-leave: Thomas Turner 1835 [SRNSW ref: 4/4099 No.35/612; Reel 923]; Register of Convicts recommended for Conditional Pardons: Thomas Turner [SRNSW ref: 4/4478 p.83; Reel 771]; Conditional Pardon: Thomas Turner 1837 [SRNSW ref: 4/4436 p.285 No.39/155; Reel 777]; Absolute Pardon: Thomas Turner 1842 [SRNSW ref: 4/4488 pp.303–4 No.43/14; Reel 800] 715 Convict Indent—ibid; Petition from John Ternouth, 11 Jun 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/2000 No.28/9186] 716 Convict Indent—ibid 717 ibid 718 ibid 719 Transferred from stonemason’s gang to South Head, 31 Jan 1818 [SRNSW ref: 4/1741 p.224; Reel 6047] 720 Permission to marry Ann Mulvany at Sydney: Thomas Fernouth, 1/6 May 1820 [SRNSW ref: 4/3502 p.18; Reel 6007]; Marriage [SRNSW ref: Vol. 8 No.95; Reel 5002] 721 Prisoners transported to Newcastle per Elizabeth Henrietta: Thomas Turner, 15 Sep 1820 [SRNSW ref: 4/3502 p.262; Reel 6007] 722 Convict under sentence to Newcastle to be returned to Sydney: Thomas Turner, 29 Nov 1820 [SRNSW ref: 4/3502 p.456; Reel 6007] 723 Petition for mitigation of sentence: Thomas Turner, 1822 [SRNSW ref: 4/1868 p.26; Fiche 3228] 724 Baxter, General Muster 1822: Thomas Turner—Entry No.A21434 725 Petitions for mitigation of sentences: Thomas & Ann Turner, 1823 [SRNSW ref: 4/1870 pp.84–6; Fiche 3236] 726 Petition for mitigation of sentence: Thomas Ternouth, 19 Mar 1824 [SRNSW ref: 4/1872 p.109; Fiche 3243] 727 Order on the Colonial Treasurer for repairs of stonework: Thomas Turner, 7 Jun 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/6037 p.29; Reel 6070]; Re Treasury Order: Thomas Turner, 16 Jun 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/1784 p.161; Reel 6063]

332

Annotated timelines Reference to colonial convictions of his wife Ann728 Complaint by Principal Superintendent of Convicts about Turner’s conduct729 28 Apr 1827 Ticket-of-leave730 11 Jun 1828 Petition from father John Ternouth for freedom731 28 Aug 1828 Found in public house drinking with prisoners of the Crown at a late hour; ticket-of-leave cancelled732 16–30 Sep 1828 Remanded for involvement in Bank of Australia robbery733 Nov 1828 In Hyde Park Barracks, Sydney734 3 Nov 1828 Petition for restoration of ticket-of-leave; unsuccessful735 Aug 1829 Appointed sub-inspector of out gangs, Department of Public Works736 1 Sep 1830 Petition for restoration of ticket-of-leave; unsuccessful737 3 Jan 1831 Captain Bunn states that Blackstone exonerated Turner738 7 Jan 1831 Petition from Thomas Turner739 1831 When gangs broken up, sent out as contractor to government740 19 Sep 1834 Petition for ticket-of-leave741 15 Nov 1834 In employ of Mr W.H. Moore; approval granted for ticket-of-leave outside Sydney742 21 Aug 1835 Ticket-of-leave for district from Berrima changed to Sydney while in Colonial Secretary McLeay’s employ743 15 Dec 1825 31 Mar 1826

728 Re convictions of his wife Anne: Thomas Turner, 15 Dec 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/1783 pp.131–2; Reel 6062] 729 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 31 Mar 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/1886 No.26/1729] 730 Register of Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Turner 1835 [SRNSW ref: 4/4099 No.35/612; Reel 923]; Ticketsof-leave: Thomas Turner 1827 [ML ref: A1201 p.134; Reel CY534] 731 Petition: John Ternouth, 11 Jun 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/2000 File 28/9186 No.28/9186] 732 Police Office to Colonial Secretary, 1 Sep 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1991 No.28/6985]; Police Reports of Prisoners, 1 Sep 1828: Thomas Turner [SRNSW ref: X821 p.65 No.7; Reel 660]; Petition: Thomas Turner, 3 Nov 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/2000 File 28/9186 No.28/9079]; Register of Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Turner 1835 [SRNSW ref: 4/4099 No.35/612; Reel 923] 733 Police Reports of Prisoners 18–30 Sep 1828 [SRNSW ref: X821 No.1 on pp.91–111; Reel 660] 734 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. Thomas Turner—Entry No.T1329 735 Petition: Thomas Turner, 3 Nov 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/2000 File 28/9186 No.28/9079]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 3 Nov 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3667 pp.456–7 No.30/927; Reel 1043]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 13 Nov 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/3666 p.502 No.28/850; Reel 1042] 736 Recommendation of Director of Public Works attached to Petition: Thomas Turner, 19 Sep 1834 [SRNSW ref: 4/2247 No.34/7182] 737 Petition: Thomas Turner, 1 Sep 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/2084 No.30/7856] 738 Bunn to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jan 1831, & attached memorandum [SRNSW ref: 4/2095 File 31/324 No.31/316] 739 Bunn to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jan 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2095 File 31/324 enclosure with No.31/316] 740 Petition: Thomas Turner, 19 Sep 1834 [SRNSW ref: 4/2247 No.34/7182] 741 ibid 742 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 15 Nov 1834 [SRNSW ref: 4/3680 pp.251–6 No.34/613; Reel 1048]; Butts of Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Turner 1835 [SRNSW ref: 4/4099 No.35/612; Reel 923] 743 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 21 Aug 1835 [SRNSW ref: 4/3681 p.236; Reel 1049]; Butts of Tickets-of-leave—ibid

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20 Nov 1837 1 Jul 1842

Conditional pardon744 Absolute pardon745

James John Wood Description746 Born Dartmouth, England, to Reverend Henry and Ann Wood747 Baptised St Petrox Parish, Dartmouth, England748 Linen draper749 Tried Sussex Assizes / Special Sessions held at Lewes for privately stealing; sentenced to death; commuted to life transportation750 1825 Recommendation by Sir Robert Peel that James John Wood should sojourn abroad751 3 Jan 1826 Arrived Marquis of Hastings752 c. Jan 1826 Assigned to Principal Superintendent of Convicts’ Office753 12–17 Sep 1828 Makes discoveries regarding bank robbers754 22 Sep 1828 Signs statement of his discovery of the robbers’ identities; later confirmed by Captain Rossi755 Nov 1828 Hyde Park Barracks, Sydney756 19 Apr 1830 Married Charlotte Brown at St James, Sydney757 16 Jul 1830 Mentioned in Edward Shortland’s petition re confinement on hulk758 General 18 Sep 1802 17 Jan 1804 pre-1824 21 Dec 1824

744 Register of Convicts recommended for Conditional Pardons: Thomas Turner [SRNSW ref: 4/4478 p.83; Reel 771]; Conditional Pardon: Thomas Turner 1837 [SRNSW ref: 4/4436 p.285 No.39/155; Reel 777]; Butts of Conditional Pardons: Thomas Turner 1837 [SRNSW ref: 4/4481 p.6 No.37/3434; Reel 774] 745 List of persons recommended home for Absolute Pardons: Thomas Turner [ML ref: A1290 p.429; Reel CY1827]; Register of Absolute Pardons: Thomas Turner [SRNSW ref: 4/4488 pp.303–4 No.43/14; Reel 800] 746 Convict Indent—Marquis of Hastings 1826: James Wood [SRNSW ref: 4/4009A f.266; Fiche 657]; Conditional Pardon: John James Wood 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/4432 p.329 No.164; Reel 775]; Absolute Pardon: John James Wood 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/4488 p.101; Reel 800] 747 Baptism: James John Wood, St Petrox Parish, Dartmouth, Devonshire England 17 Jan 1804 [LDS ref: Reel 0917191]; Convict Indent—Marquis of Hastings 1826: James Wood [SRNSW ref: 4/4009A f.266; Fiche 657]; Conditional Pardon: John James Wood 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/4432 p.329 No.164; Reel 775] 748 Baptism—ibid 749 Convict Indent—Marquis of Hastings 1826: James Wood [SRNSW ref: 4/4009A f.266; Fiche 657] 750 ibid; Conditional Pardon: John James Wood 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/4432 p.329 No.164; Reel 775]; Absolute Pardon: John James Wood 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/4488 p.101; Reel 800] 751 Rev Henry Wood to Goderich, 4 Mar 1832 [ML ref: A1269 p.837; Reel CY 1399] 752 Convict Indent—Marquis of Hastings 1826: James Wood [SRNSW ref: 4/4009A f.266; Fiche 657]; Assignment List—Marquis of Hastings 1826 [SRNSW ref: 2/8269 pp.155–85; Reel 2425] 753 Convict Indent—ibid 754 Statement: James Wood, 22 Sep 1828 [ML ref: A1269 pp.825–9; Reel CY 1399] 755 ibid; Statement: F.N. Rossi, 23 Jun 1831 [ML ref: A1269 p.829; Reel CY 1399] 756 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. James Wood—Entry No.W2392 757 Marriage: John James Wood to Charlotte Brown 1830 [SRNSW ref: Vol.14 No.169; Reel 5003] 758 Petition: Edward Shortland, 16 Jul 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/2078 No.30/5445 enclosure]

334

Annotated timelines 17 Dec 1830 26 Mar 1831 21 May 1831 Jul 1831

Jul 1831

Aug 1831 Sep 1831– Jan 1832 10 Nov 1831 4 Mar 1832 Sep 1832 6 Feb 1833 11 Mar 1834

Signs another statement regarding bank robbery759 Birth of son Henry James Wood; baptised 1 May 1831, St James, Sydney760 Recommendation from Principal Superintendent of Convicts for payment of gratuity; approved761 Petition to Bank of Australia for part of reward; includes testimonials from Perry, Hely, Deas Thomson, Bowman, Laidley, Langa, Rossi, Macquoid, Dowling762 Petition to Governor Darling for absolute pardon; includes testimonials from Perry, Manning, Hely, Deas Thomson, Bowman, Laidley, Langa, Rossi, Macquoid, Dowling, McLeay763 Correspondence associated with petition to Governor; conduct deserves consideration but not a pardon764 Correspondence regarding assigned servants in lieu of rejected petition765 Bank of Australia reported having paid him £25 reward766 Letter from Rev Henry Wood to Viscount Goderich767 Report on Wood’s conduct for consideration regarding pardon768 Conditional pardon granted769 Conditional pardon approved by Britain and registered in Sydney770

759 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: James Wood’s statement, 17 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88 pp.32–3] 760 Baptism: Henry James Wood 1831 [SRNSW ref: Vol. 15 No.426; Reel 5003] 761 Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 21 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2107 No.31/3740]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 10 Jun 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 pp.82–3 No.31/521; Reel 2650] 762 Petition to Bank of Australia directors: James Wood, Jul 1831 [ML ref: A1269 pp.805–13; Reel CY 1399] 763 Petition to Governor Darling: James Wood, 18 Jul 1831 [ML ref: A1269 pp.815–23; Reel CY 1399] 764 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 12 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 pp.300–1 No.31/738; Reel 2650] & [ML ref: A1269 p.833 No.31/738; Reel CY 1399]; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 19 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2114 File 31/6470 No.31/6470] & [ML ref: A1269 p.835; Reel CY 1399]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 26 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.369 No.31/801; Reel 2650] 765 Wood to Hely, 15 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/2119 No.31/8428]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 22 Nov 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3672 p.156 No.31/1095; Reel 1044]; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 19 Jan 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/2132.1 File 32/594 No.32/594]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 19 Jan 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/3672 p.375 No.32/49; Reel 1044]; Principal Supt of Convicts to Colonial Secretary, 23 Jan 1832: re James Wood [SRNSW ref: 4/2132.1 File 32/594 No.32/724]; Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 26 Jan 1832 [SRNSW ref: 4/3672 p.412 No.32/76; Reel 1044] 766 Petition: James Wood, 18 Jul 1831[ML ref: A1269 p.813; Reel CY 1399] 767 Rev Henry Wood to Goderich, 4 Mar 1832 [ML ref: A1269 p.837; Reel CY 1399] 768 Principal Supt of Convicts to Private Secretary Richard Bourke, 10 Sep 1832 [ML ref: A1269 p.841; Reel CY 1399] 769 Convict Indent—Marquis of Hastings 1826: James Wood [SRNSW ref: 4/4009A f.266; Fiche 657]; Hay to Bourke, 12 Apr 1833 [ML ref: A1269 p.803; Reel CY 1399]; Conditional Pardon: John James Wood 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/4432 p.329 No.164; Reel 775] 770 Conditional Pardon: John James Wood 1833 [SRNSW ref: 4/4432 p.329 No.164; Reel 775]

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17 Jun 1834 8 Sep 1836 23 May 1838

Birth of son Olive Land Wood; baptised 5 Jul 1834 St Philip’s, Sydney771 Absolute pardon signed by Governor Bourke772 Absolute pardon approved by Britain and registered in Sydney773

Thomas Woodward General c. 1794 pre-1817 26 Mar 1817 24 Dec 1818 1819 8 Sep 1821 Sep 1822 22 Apr 1823 3 Mar 1825 Oct 1825 Oct 1826 27 Sep 1827 Jun / Jul 1828

Description774 Born Leicestershire (native of Bawen[?])775 Framework knitter in Leicestershire776 Convicted Leicester Assizes; death sentence commuted to 14 years777 Arrived in Sydney per Hadlow778 Assigned to Commissariat Stores779 Store assistant. On list of all persons victualled from H.M. Magazines780 Employed Commissariat, Sydney781 Overseer in Commissariat Stores, Sydney782 Obtains ticket-of-leave783 Employed in H.M. Stores, Sydney784 Petition requesting remuneration for services in Commissariat Stores; recommended by Deputy Commissary Wemyss785 Arrival of wife, Ann Stretton or Woodward per Harmony786 Reporting Woodward’s failure to acknowledge wife and his explanation787

771 Baptism: Olive Land Wood 1834 [SRNSW ref: Vol. 18 No.275; Reel 5004] 772 Convict Indent—Marquis of Hastings 1826: James Wood [SRNSW ref: 4/4009A f.266; Fiche 657]; Absolute Pardon: John James Wood 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/4488 p.101; Reel 800] 773 Absolute Pardon—ibid 774 Convict Indent—Hadlow 1818: Thomas Woodward [SRNSW ref: 4/4006 p.186; Fiche 640]; Register of Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Woodward 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/4060 No.113/1587; Fiche 753]; Sydney Gaol Description Book: Thomas Woodward 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6298 No.31/46; Reel 855] & [SRNSW ref: 4/6298 No.31/1403; Reel 855]; Certificate of Freedom: Thomas Woodward 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4304 No.31/0221; Reel 987]; Phoenix Hulk Description Book: Thomas Woodward 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6279 No.31/252; Reel 821] 775 Convict Indent—ibid; Certificate of Freedom—ibid; Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: Thomas Woodward [SRNSW ref: 4/4539 No.31/252; Reel 819] 776 Convict Indent—ibid 777 Leicester Journal 4 Apr 1817 p.2c; Leicester Chronicle 5 Apr 1817 p.2e; Convict Indent—ibid 778 Convict Indent—ibid 779 Petition: Thomas Woodward, Jul 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.39/8093] 780 List of persons victualled from H.M. Stores, 8 Sep 1821 [SRNSW ref: 4/5781 p.65; Reel 6016] 781 Baxter, General Muster 1822: Thomas Woodward—Entry No.A23258 782 Remuneration for duties, 22 Apr 1823 [SRNSW ref: SRNSW ref: 4/1771 p.229h; Reel 6058] 783 Register of Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Woodward 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/4060 No.113/1587; Fiche 753]; Sydney Gazette 10 Mar 1825 p.1; Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Woodward 1825 [ML ref: A1196 p.346; Reel CY512] 784 Baxter, General Muster 1823/4/5: Thomas Woodward—Entry No.46445 785 Wemyss to Colonial Secretary, 12 Oct 1826 [SRNSW ref: 4/1904 No.26/6557] 786 Convict Indent—Harmony 1827: Ann Woodward [SRNSW ref: 4/4012 p.230; Fiche 666]; Statement: Thomas Woodward, 11 Jul 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1983 File.28/4934 enclosure with No.28/4934] 787 Dumaresq to Colonial Secretary, 21 Jun 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1983 File.28/4934 No.28/4934]; Police Office to Colonial Secretary, 11 Jul 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1983 File.28/4934No.28/5461]

336

Annotated timelines 18 Jul 1828 Ticket-of-leave cancelled for refusing to acknowledge wife788 18–30 Sep 1828 Elizabeth Woodward / Watson remanded for involvement in Bank of Australia robbery789 18–30 Sep 1828 Thomas Woodward remanded for involvement in Bank of Australia robbery790 Nov 1828 Hyde Park Barracks, Sydney791 10 Dec 1830 William Blackstone signed statement implicating Woodward792 11 Dec 1830 Woodward brought in on warrant for examination793 15 Dec 1830 Admitted to Sydney Gaol for receiving stolen notes794 6 Jan 1831 Released on bail795 28 Mar 1831 Certificate of freedom796 16 May 1831 Indictment for Dingle, Farrell and Woodward797 29 May 1831 Blackstone expresses concerns about conspiracies against him involving Woodward798 10 Jun 1831 Trial of Dingle, Farrell and Woodward—guilty; admitted to Sydney Gaol799 23 Jul 1831 Opinion of judges regarding Blackstone’s competency as a witness800 788 Colonial Secretary to Principal Supt of Convicts, 18 Jul 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1983 File.28/4934No.28/510]; Police Office to Colonial Secretary, 23 Jul 1828 [SRNSW ref: 4/1983 File.28/4934No.28/5802]; Register of Tickets-of-leave: Thomas Woodward 1825 [SRNSW ref: 4/4060 No.113/1587; Fiche 753]; Sydney Gazette 28 Jul 1828 p.2a 789 Police Reports of Prisoners 18–26 Sep 1828: Elizabeth Woodward als Watson [SRNSW ref: X821 pp.91–105; Reel 660] 790 Police Reports of Prisoners 18 Sep 1828: Thomas Woodward [SRNSW ref: X821 p.91 No.27; Reel 660] 791 Sainty & Johnson, Census 1828. Thomas Woodward—Entry No.W2426 792 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 10 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 793 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Reference to warrant for Dingle & Woodward, 11 Dec 1830 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 794 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Thomas Woodward 1830 [SRNSW ref: 4/6431 W 1830–12–15 (p.399); Reel 851] & [SRNSW ref: 4/6432 1830–12–15 (p.141); Reel 851] & [SRNSW ref: 4/6433 No.46; Reel 851] 795 ibid 796 Certificate of Freedom: Thomas Woodward 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4304 No.31/0221; Reel 987] 797 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: Indictment, 16 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: T32 No.47] 798 Supreme Court—Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward: William Blackstone’s statement, 29 May 1831 [SRNSW ref: T149 No.31/88] 799 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 54: Rex vs Dingle, Farrell & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3237 pp.155–84] & Vol. 55 [SRNSW ref: 2/3238 pp.1–55]; Sydney Herald 13 Jun 1831 p.3b; Australian 17 Jun 1831 pp. 2–3; Sydney Monitor 18 Jun 1831 pp. 2–3; Sydney Gazette 14 Jun 1831 p.2e; Sun 5 Mar 1912 in Newspaper Cuttings Vol. 25 pp. 147–8 [ML ref: Q991/N]; Return of Criminal Convictions 1829–1834: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: X732A May Session 1831 No.45]; Return of Prisoners tried and sentenced by the Supreme Court at Sydney between 17 May and 30 Jun 1831: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: X729; Reel 2389]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Thomas Woodward 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6433 No.1403; Reel 851]; Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899: Rex vs Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [http://www.law.mq.edu.au/scnsw/ Cases1831–32/html/r_v_farrell_dingle_woodwa.htm] 800 Judge Dowling’s Notebook, Vol. 56: Farrell, Dingle & Woodward [SRNSW ref: 2/3239 pp.82–98 & 134–57]; Decisions of the Superior Courts—ibid

337

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23/24 Jul 1831 4 Aug 1831 14 Sep 1831 19 Sep 1831 20 Sep 1831 1833–34 c. Apr 1834 Dec 1834 17 May 1835 17 May 1835 Feb 1836 Jul / Sep 1838

Discharged from Sydney Gaol to Phoenix hulk801 To be forwarded to Norfolk Island pursuant to sentence802 To proceed to Norfolk Island by the Louisa803 To be immediately embarked on Louisa for Norfolk Island804 Discharged from hulk to Louisa for Norfolk Island805 Illegal convictions for Dingle, Farrell and Woodward—see Bank of Australia timeline Appointed to Commissariat Stores806 Received petition from Woodward807 Schooner Friendship wrecked at Norfolk Island808 Among convicts who helped save crew and passengers809 Appointed overseer of Commissariat Stores810 Petition for remission of sentence; recommended by Deputy Commissary-General Miller for a gratuity; responses811

801 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: Thomas Woodward [SRNSW ref: 4/4539 No.31/252; Reel 819]; Phoenix hulk—weekly transcripts of transportation books: Thomas Woodward 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4534 31/252; Reel 821]; Phoenix Hulk Description Book: Thomas Woodward 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/6279 No.31/252; Reel 821] 802 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Farrell, Dingle & Woodward, 4 Aug 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 pp.158–9 No.31/148; Reel 1062] 803 Colonial Secretary’s Office to Principal Supt of Convicts, 14 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3671 p.435 No.31/868; Reel 2650] 804 Colonial Secretary to Sheriff: Re Dingle & Woodward, 19 Sep 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/3897 pp.201–3 No.31/190; Reel 1062] 805 Phoenix Hulk Entrance Book: Thomas Woodward [SRNSW ref: 4/4539 No.31/252; Reel 819]; Phoenix hulk—weekly transcripts of transportation books: Thomas Woodward 1831 [SRNSW ref: 4/4534 31/252; Reel 821] 806 Petition: Thomas Woodward, Jul 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.39/8093] 807 Petition: Thomas Woodward, 1834 [SRNSW ref: 4/2245 No.34/9274; Reel 2199] 808 Sydney Herald 17 Aug 1835 p.3b; Australian 18 Aug 1835 p.3a; Colonist 20 Aug 1835 p.269c-d; Major Anderson to Colonial Secretary, 16 Jul 1835 [SRNSW ref: 4/2288 No.35/6075]; Colonial Secretary to Commandant Norfolk Island, 4 Sep 1835 [SRNSW ref: 4/3822 pp.399–401 Pt.27]; Papers of Rev T Sharpe [ML ref: A1502 pp.33–5; Reel CY820]; History of Norfolk Island c1774-c1852 [ML ref: MS Q247; CY880]; Bourke to Glenelg, 13 Aug 1836 in HRA 1/18 p.496; Glenelg to Bourke, 26 Mar 1837 in HRA 1/18 pp.713–4; Bateson Australian Shipwrecks, p.111 809 Harrison & Bull to Colonial Secretary, 27 Aug 1835 [SRNSW ref: 4/2288 No.35/7002]; Norfolk Island Commandant to Principal Supt of Convicts, 28 Sep 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/11242 No.39/11242]; Commandant’s Orders, 5 Jan 1836 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.39/5271]; Petition: Thomas Woodward, May 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.39/6369]; DCG Miller to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jun 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.39/6369]; Memorandum attached to Letter: DCG Miller to Colonial Secretary, 19 Jul 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.39/8060] 810 Petition: Thomas Woodward, Jul 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.39/8093]; Petition: Thomas Woodward, May 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.39/6369] 811 Petition: Thomas Woodward, Jul 1838 with DCG Miller to Colonial Secretary, 3 Aug 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.39/8093]; Colonial Secretary to Norfolk Island, 9 Aug 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/3823 p.22 No.38/22; Reel 766]; Commandant, Norfolk Island, to Colonial Secretary, 27 Aug 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.38/10017]; Commissariat Officer, Norfolk Island, to Commissariat Office, Sydney, 4 Sep 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.38/12670]

338

Annotated timelines Nov / Dec 1838 2 May 1839 23 May 1839 May / Jun 1839 24 Jun 1839 18/19 Jul 1839 3 Aug 1839

Refers to decision not to pay annuity but to grant remission of sentence812 Returned from Norfolk Island and admitted to Sydney Gaol813 Request for extract of order regarding indulgence re assistance with Friendship wreck814 Petition for remission of sentence and associated paperwork815 To serve 18 months at Cockatoo Island from date of arrival there816 Statement of service of Thomas Woodward817 Governor Gipps will not change view of case818

812 DCG Miller to Colonial Secretary, 29 Nov 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.38/12670]; Colonial Secretary to Norfolk Island, 13 Dec 1838 [SRNSW ref: 4/3824 p.42 No.38/53; Reel 766] 813 Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Thomas Woodward 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/6438 No.1010; Reel 853]; Sydney Gaol Description Book: Thomas Woodward 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/6301 No.1010; Reel 856]; Sydney Gaol Entrance Book: Thomas Woodward 1839 [SRNSW ref: X843 No.1010; Reel 1864] 814 Woodward to Commandant Bunbury, 23 May 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.39/5271] 815 Petition: Thomas Woodward, May 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.39/6369]; Woodward to Commandant Bunbury, 23 Apr 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 With No.39/5271]; DCG Miller to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jun 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.39/6369] 816 Memorandum to Letter: DCG Miller to Colonial Secretary, 19 Jul 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.39/8060]; Memorandum attached to letter: DCG Miller to Colonial Secretary, 3 Jun 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.39/6369] 817 DCG Miller to Colonial Secretary, 19 Jul 1839 & attached memorandum [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.39/8060] 818 Memorandum to Letter: DCG Miller to Colonial Secretary, 19 Jul 1839 [SRNSW ref: 4/2462 File 39/8060 No.39/8060]

339

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Currey, C.H. Sir Francis Forbes: The First Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of New South Wales, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1968 Davies, Noel Convict Nobby’s: the story of the convict construction of Macquarie’s Pier, Newcastle, 1996 Decisions of the Superior Courts of New South Wales, 1788–1899, published by the Division of Law, Macquarie University—examined January 2007 [http://www.law.mq.edu] Delaney, John W. Newcastle: the first twenty years—the Irish rebellion and the settlement of Newcastle, 1804 (narrated by J.W. Delaney), Stockton, 2004 Dixon, Hepworth The London Prisons, 1850 reprinted by Garland Publishing Inc, New York & London, 1985 Docherty, J.C. Newcastle: The Making of an Australian city, Hale & Iremonger, Sydney, 1983 Dowse, T. Recollections of Old Times with the social history of New South Wales and Queensland period of fifty years viz 1827 to the year 1878 in three chapters [provided by Dr Wayne Johnson] Earnshaw, Beverley The Larrikins of Lavender Bay: The Story of the Phoenix Hulk, North Shore Historical Society, Sydney, 1996 Eccleshall, R. & Walker, G. (eds.) Biographical Dictionary of British Prime Ministers, Routledge, London, 1998 Ellis, M.H. Lachlan Macquarie, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1947 Emsley, Clive Crime and Society in England 1750–1900, Longman, Essex, 1987 Evans, L & Nicholls, P. (eds) Convicts and Colonial Society, Macmillan, Melbourne, 1984 Finnane, Mark Punishment in Australian Society, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1997 Fitzgerald, M., McLennan, G. & Pawson, J. Crime and Society: Readings in History and Theory, Routledge and Kegan Paul in conjunction with The Open University Press, London, 1981 Fitzgerald, Ross From the Dreaming to 1915: A History of Queensland, University of Queensland Press, 1982 Fletcher, Brian Colonial Australia before 1850, Nelson, Melbourne, 1976 Fletcher, Brian Ralph Darling: A Governor Maligned, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1984 Flynn, Michael, The Second Fleet: Britain’s Grim Convict Armada of 1790, Library of Australian History, Sydney, 1993 Forbes, Lady Sydney Society in Crown Colony Days, 1914 [ML ref: Q991/F] Ford, David Nash Royal Berkshire History—Sir William Blackstone [http://www.berkshirehistory.com/bios/wblackstone.html] Fowles, Joseph Sydney in 1848, Ure Smith, Sydney, 1973 Fraser, Rebecca, A People’s History of Britain, Pimlico, London, 2003 Frayne, Lawrence A Convict’s Narrative [ML ref: MSS 681/2 ff.668+; Reel CY 1084] French, M. & Waterson, D. The Darling Downs: A Pictorial History 1850–1950, Darling Downs Institute Press, Toowoomba, 1982 Fry, P & F.S. A History of Ireland, Routledge, London, 1988 Geeves, P & Emanuel, C. Philip Geeves’ Sydney, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1981

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Kercher, Bruce ‘Perish or Prosper: The Law and Convict Transportation in the British Empire, 1700–1850’ in Law and History Review, Fall 2003, Vol. 21 No. 3 King, Hazel Richard Bourke, Oxford University Press, London, 1971 Low, Donald A. The Regency Underworld, Sutton, England, 1999 Low, Donald A. Thieves Kitchen: The Regency Underworld, J.M. Dent & Sons, London, 1982 Maxwell-Stewart, H. and Duffield, I. ‘Skin Deep Devotions: Religious Tattoos and Convict Transportation to Australia’ in Written on the body: the Tatto in European and American History, Reaktion Books, London, 2000 Mayhew, H. & Binny, J. The Criminal Prisons of London and Scenes of Prison Life, Charles Griffin & Co., London, 1862 McGowen, Randall ‘The Bank of England and the Policing of Forgery, 1797–1821’ in Past and Present, No. 186 (Feb 2005), pp. 81–116 [http://past.oxfordjournals.org/cgi/rprint/186/1/81] McGowen, Randall ‘Managing the Gallows: The Bank of England and the Death Penalty, 1797–1821’ in Law and History Review, Vol. 25, No. 2 (Summer 2007) [http://www.historycooperative.org/journals/lhr/25.2/mcgowen.html] Moore, R.J. & Ostwald, M.J. (eds) Hidden Newcastle: Urban Memories and Architectural Imaginaries, Gadfly Media, Sydney, 2007 Moorhouse, Geoffrey Sydney, Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1999 Morton, J. & Lobez, S. Gangland Australia, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 2007 Murphy, Theresa The Old Bailey: Eight centuries of Crime, Cruelty and Corruption, Mainstream Publishing, Edinburgh, 1999 Newcastle NSW Australia, examined May 2006 [http://www.ncc.nsw.gov.au/services/culture/library/research/localstudies/newhist.cfm] Nicholas, Stephen (ed.) Convict Workers: Reinterpreting Australia’s past, Cambridge University Press, Sydney, 1988 Nicholson, Ian Shipping Arrivals and Departures, Sydney 1826–40, Roebuck, Canberra, 1988 O’Brien, Eris The Foundation of Australia (1786–1800): A Study of English Criminal Practice and Penal Colonisation in the Eighteenth Century, London, Sheed & Ward, 1937 O’Farrell, Patrick The Irish in Australia: 1788 to the present, University of New South Wales Press, Sydney 2000 O’Keefe, Mamie Convicts at Moreton Bay 1824–1859, Royal Historical Society of Queensland, 2001 O’Keefe, Mamie ‘The Convict Element in Pre-Separation Queensland’ in Settlement of the Colony of Queensland, Seminar by John Oxley Library, Library Board of Queensland, 1978 Park, Ruth The Companion Guide to Sydney, Collins, Sydney, 1973 Punch, or the London Charivari, 1845, p. 68 Rees, Sian The Floating Brothel: The extraordinary journey of the Lady Julian and its cargo of female convicts bound for Botany Bay, Hodder, Sydney, 2001 Richardson, J London and its people: a social history from medieval times to the present day, Barrie & Jenkins, London, 1995

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345

INDEX Active (ship) 230 Albany (WA) see King George Sound Amity (brig) 147–8, 150, 187 Anderson, Joseph (Commandant) 242, 244, 249, 255–6 Armstrong, Mary (Mrs) 66, 71, 74 Australian Agricultural Company 207 Aylmer (boy) 263 Bank of Australia construction 38–9, 40 crash of 273–4 founding 39–40, 46 plan to rob the bank 34, 40, 57–8 plan to circulate stolen notes 130 plan to entrap the robbers 113, 119–20 police investigation 87, 97, 107, 109, 110, 135 political sniping re 39–40, 83–5 receivers arrested and tried 101–23 recovery strategies 81–3, 96 rewards granted 205–6 rewards offered 81–4 robbery 1–2, 58–64, 66–74 robbery discovered 80 robbery investigator appointed 112 timeline 282–8 trial of bank robbers 181–98 value of haul 2, 80 Wood’s discoveries 89–91, 92–4, 122 Bank of England 9, 11–12 Bank of New South Wales 39–40, 84 Bate, James 131 Bell, James 238–9, 243 Bell (Lt.) 166 Benevolent Asylum 270 Beveridge, James 263 Bigge, John Thomas (Commissioner) 28, 150 Bishop, Peter (Commandant) Blackstone, A.M. 25 Blackstone, William applies to marry 47–8 arrested for bank robbery 93 Benevolent Asylum 271 Cockatoo Island 257–8 coining charges (NSW) 174–5 conviction 1815 (uttering) 11–13, 187 conviction 1818 (bad character) 28–9 conviction 1820 (runaway) 42 conviction 1821 (robbery) 42

conviction 1822 (stealing & burning palings) 42–3 conviction 1825 (unknown) 48 conviction 1829 (highway robbery) 143–7 conviction 1831 (coining) 174–5 convicted 1833 (warehouse theft) 220–3, 225 conviction 1843 (theft) 267–8 conviction 1845 (larceny) 269 death 271 employment in Drayton (Qld) 269 employs receiver 72, 74–5, 87–8 flogged 33 habeas corpus hearing 134 implicated in robbery 92–3, 97, 122, 127 implicates robbers in robbery 148, 169 incarceration in Hyde Park Barracks 32 Incarceration in Justitia hulk, London 14–15 Incarceration in Newgate, London 10–11, 14, 25 Incarceration in Norfolk Island 149–57 Incarcerated in Phoenix hulk 127–8, 133, 136 Moreton Bay penal settlement 51–3, 188 Newcastle penal settlement 29–34, 42, 47, 188 Norfolk Island penal settlement 147–60, 188, 223, 239–40, 253, 267 Norfolk Island Mutiny 239–40 Port Macquarie penal settlement 48–9, 109, 188 origins in London 6–8, 18, 35–6 recruited for bank robbery 41, 57–8 remission of Norfolk Island sentence 255–6 robs Bank of Australia 58–74 robs William Wiltshire 143–4 tattoos 25–6 testifies at bank robbery trial 181–90 theft of gunlock 219–20 timeline 288–96 transportation per Mariner 16–23, 25 uttering (UK) 8, 10 Blackstone, William (Sir) 6, 7, 11, 203 Blue Posts (pub) Boreham, John 138–40, 170 Bourke, Richard (Sir, Governor) 225–6, 229–30, 249, 255

346

Index Bourke, Walter 240, 243 Brady, James 239 Brisbane 267; see also Moreton Bay Brisbane, Thomas (Sir, Governor) 36, 37, 43, 48, 49, 51, 52, 152 British Standard Hotel 220 Browne, Charlotte 334 Browne, George 262–3 Browne, James 261–2 Bubb, William 154–8, 293 Bull, Henry 244, 247–8 Bunbury, Thomas (Commandant) 256 Bunn, George 112–13, 118, 120, 127, 143, 146, 147, 161, 168–9, 171–3, 175, 188–9 Burton, William (Justice) 150, 224–6, 242–3 Butler, John 239 Byrne, John ix, 45–6, 47, 49, 53, 65–6, 87, 89, 90, 92, 97, 109, 123, 127, 129, 133, 134–5, 160, 172, 193, 207–8, 296–9 Cape of Good Hope 224 Carroll, John 66, 71, 74 Chambers, George 137, 141–4, 146 Cheetham, Elijah 111 Cherry Tree (pub) 162 Childs, Joseph (Commandant) 264 Chili (American ship) 50 City Theatre 273–4 Clark, Henry 283 Cockatoo Island 257–8, 266 coining see forgery Colley, William ix, 135–6, 147–8, 176, 299–300 Collins, Nicholas 301 Cook, John 154–8, 293 convict attaint 183–4, 200–3 counterfeiting see forgery Cox, William 316 Credon, Ann see Tool, Ann Creighton, Ann (Mrs) see Tool, Ann Creighton, John ix, 49–51, 53, 62–73, 109, 111, 120–1, 129, 130, 131–2, 133, 138, 169, 175, 185–7, 192, 301–2 Cronan, Owen 283 Cunningham, Peter 272 Curran, John 221–3, 294 Darling Downs see Drayton Darling, Ralph (Governor) 49, 52, 53, 86, 103–4, 105–6, 127, 134, 152, 160–2, 166, 175, 216, 225 Darlinghurst Gaol 257 Davis, Mr 193 Dingle, Ann (Mrs) see Tool, Ann Dingle, James ix, x,

attempt to bribe muster clerk 64–5, 89, 194, 197 appeal against bank robbery conviction 225–7 arrested for bank robbery 87, 88, 92 charged re bank robbery 170, 178 conviction (cow stealing) in 1819 46 conviction (robbery) in 1822 46 escapes from Norfolk Island 228–30 implicates Robert Marshall Johnson as runaway 162–4 implicated in robbery 92, 148, 169–70 Newcastle penal settlement 46 Norfolk Island penal settlement 211, 215 origins in Dublin 46 plans bank robbery 57 Port Macquarie penal settlement 46, 48, 109 robs Bank of Australia 58–74 sentence for robbing bank 199–205 timeline 302–5 transportation per Dorothy 46 tried for bank robbery 182–8 Dorothy (transport) 46 Douglas, Robert 238–9, 243 Dowling, James (Justice) 120–1, 181, 183–6, 188, 190, 197, 199–205, 234, 258 Drayton (Qld) 267 Drummond, Henry 238, 240, 243 Dudley, George ix, 135–6, 147–8, 246, 248–9, 255, 257, 305–6 Dudley, Maria 305 Dudley, Mary (Mrs) 306 Duggan, Lawrence 157, 158–9, 238 Dunn, John 163–4 Emu Plains 109 Farrell, Elizabeth 283 Farrell, George absent from muster 89–90 appeal against bank robbery conviction 225–7, 242 arrested for bank robbery 93 certificate of freedom 133 charged re bank robbery 176, 178 Cockatoo Island 257, 266–7 conviction (watch stealing) in 1822 47 conviction (robbery) in 1826 47 conviction (reputed thief) in 1829 138 escapes from Phoenix hulk 212–17 escapes from Windsor Gaol 166–7, 176 implicated in robbery 92–3, 97, 122, 127, 169 incarcerated in Phoenix hulk 127–8, 133 Melbourne 259–63

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Norfolk Island Mutiny 231–44 Norfolk Island penal settlement 211, 215, 217, 231–44, 253, 264 origins in Ireland 46–7 plans bank robbery 57 remission of Norfolk Island sentence 256 robs Bank of Australia 58–73 sentence for robbing bank 199–205 steals Robert Marshall Johnson’s boat 164–5 Tasmanian penal system 263–5 timeline 307–2 transportation (per Countess of Harcourt) 47, 263 tried for bank robbery 182–8 felony attaint see convict attaint Flanagan, Peter 269, 296 Flannaghan, Edward 144, 146 Flannigan, Patrick 155 flogging 33–4 Forbes, Amelia Sophia (Lady) 23 Forbes, Francis (Sir) 23, 103, 119–20, 157–8, 199, 202–4, 222–3, 225–6, 297 forgery (coining/counterfeiting/uttering) 8–11, 12, 54, 174–5 Foster, William 182, 189–92, 196–7, 200–2, 204 Franklin, Benjamin 13 Franklin, John (Sir, Governor) 253 Frayne, Lawrence 235, 239 Freshwater, Thomas 239, 243 Friendship (ship), wreck of 244–9, 255 Fyans , Foster 237, 240, 242 Gardner, Peter 79–80, 95, 96, 108, 115–18, 121, 190–1 Gascoyne, Henry 154–6, 158 Gavigan, Joseph 261–3 Gipps, George (Sir, Governor) 255–8, 267 Glenny, Patrick 238, 240, 243 Goat Island (NSW) 128, 257 Goddard, Loany (Mrs) 143–4, 146 Gough, James 111–13, 119, 120–1, 316 Gough, James Jnr 114, 119 Gough, Mary Jnr 114, 119 Gough, Mary (Mrs) 113–15, 119 Governor Phillip (ship) 223, 229–30 Greenway, Francis 31, 36–7, 133 Gumby, Agnes 139, 143–4 Hanlan, Ann 48 Harrison, A.M. 26 Harrison, John 244–7, 249 Harrison, 283 Hart, John 283 Haslam, John (Dr) 15–20, 22–3

Hassall (Mr) 324 Hawkesbury district see Windsor Heard, Mary 10, 17 Hely, F.A. 193–4 Henry (ship) 265 Higgins, John 238 Hillas, John 326 Hobart (Tas.) 110, 264 Holmes, Edward 316 Houseley, Ann (Mrs) 75, 170 Howe (Mr) 299 Howe, Robert 63 Hume, Joseph 105 Hunter River district 207 Hunter’s Island 229 Hutchinson, Abraham 302 Hyde Park 38, 75 Hyde Park Barracks 31–2, 47, 49, 53, 87, 90, 104, 133, 134, 136–7, 163, 170–4, 205, 207, 257, 267 Hyland, Matthew 307 Ikin, Alexander 73 Irish transportees 43–7 Irving, Joseph 177–8 Isabella (ship) 217, 229–30 Jackman (Overseer) 154–5 Jilks, George 93, 187, 191, 195–6, 215 Johnson, Robert Marshall 162–5, 170, 303 Justitia (hulk) 14–15 Keep Within Compass (pub) 59 Kelly, James ix, 107–9, 313–15 Kelly, Richard 107–8, 283, 314 King George Sound 162 Knatchbull, John 232–6, 241–3 Knowles, Conrad 220–1 Lady Nelson (brig) 29 Laidley, James 198 Lake, Susannah see Martin, Susannah Lane Cove (NSW) 214 Langan, Mary 313 Lavender Bay (NSW) 128 Lavender, George 173–4, 177, 189 Lawson, William 307 Leary, Jeremiah 236 Lee, Amy (Mrs) Lee, James x, 110–13, 120–1, 131, 316–17 Lee, Thomas 316 Leverton, William 325 Little Sirius Cove 132, 274 Liverpool (NSW) 81 Logan, Patrick (Commandant) 52–3, 122 Louisa (ship) 211–12 Lovell, Robert 283 Lucy Ann (ship) 157

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Index Lumber Yard 27 Lynch, Mary 306 Macarthur, James 254 Macarthur, John 2, 39–40, 254 Maconochie, Alexander (Commandant) 250, 253, 256, 264–5 Macquarie Harbour (Tas.) 51, 213 Macquarie, Lachlan (Governor) 23, 27, 28, 30, 31, 36, 48 Macqueen, Thomas Potter 207 Macvitie, Thomas 39–40, 46, 79–81, 83, 84, 118, 131, 182,191 Madden, James x, 47, 53, 97, 123, 127, 129, 133, 134–5, 160, 172, 208, 317–19 Madden, John 265–6 Madden (Mrs) 266 Magennis, John 237–8 Mariner (transport) 15–16, 18–23, 25, 28 Martin, Arthur 319 Martin, James x, 113–15, 119–20, 319 Martin, Susannah (Mrs) x, 113–15, 119–20, 319–20 McLeay, Alexander 333 McCooey, Patrick 316 McCoy, Dominick 232, 236, 240–1 McGennis, Edward 153–9 McGrath, Patrick 267–8 McGrath, Thomas 221–3, 294 McHue, Ann (Mrs) 102, 106, 320–1 McHue, Dennis x, 102–6, 109, 134, 320–3 McNamara, Ann see McHue, Ann (Mrs) Melbourne 260, 263 Melville, Robert 65–6, 73, 87 , 193, 197 Meredith, John 220–1 Midas (brig) 132 Miller’s Point (NSW) 215 Molesworth Committee 253–5, 266, 271 Molesworth, Joseph 162–3 Molesworth, William (Sir) 254 Mongan, John 283 Moore, William Henry 197, 333 Moreton Bay 51–3, 104, 106, 109, 110, 118, 121, 122, 130–1, 147, 171, 255, 269 Morris, Daniel 137, 139, 141–2, 145–6, 170 Morris, George 218–19 Morriset, James (Commandant) 30–1, 32–4, 150–1, 153, 156, 168, 212, 228–31, 242 Morrison, Hugh 135 Morwood, John x, 109–10, 323–5 Mowatt, Henry 283 Mullen, Michael 301 Mulvany, Ann (Mrs) see Turner, Ann (Mrs)

Murphy, James 153–6, 158, 293 Nepean Island 245 Newcastle (NSW) 27, 29–32, 34, 36, 42, 46, 47, 48, 51, 150, 207 Newgate, London 10–11, 14, 25 Newman, Sarah 300 New, Jane 129–31, 133–4 New Zealand 50, 229–30, 234 Nicholson, James 218–19, 294 Norfolk Island 51, 131, 147–8, 149–59, 168–9, 172, 178, 184, 211–12, 214–15, 217, 223, 226–8, 231–44, 253, 254, 255–6, 264, 267, 268 Norfolk Island Mutiny 231–44, 254 Old Bailey, London 11–13, 66, 187 Oliver, Adam 155–8, 211, 238, 293 Parker, Andrew 305 Parker, John 108, 313 Parramatta (NSW) 27, 47, 81, 162, 214 Parramatta Female Factory 134 Pattison (Sgt), 219 Payne, John x, 115, 325–6 Payne, Sarah (Mrs) x, 115–18, 121–2, 325–7 Pebble, Robert 177 Phoenix (hulk) 102–3, 104, 127–8, 133, 134, 135, 136, 147, 157, 160–2, 168, 173, 175, 205, 211–14, 216, 264 Pinchgut Island (NSW) 212 Port Macquarie (NSW) 46, 48–9, 50–1, 52, 109, 131, 156 Port Stephens (NSW) 207 Prentice, Elizabeth see Seeney, Elizabeth (Mrs) Puckeridge, William 316 Quinn, John 73 Raleigh, Joseph 311 Redman, John 59, 60, 64, 66 Redman (Mr) 299 remission of sentences of Norfolk Island and Moreton Bay prisoners 255 Retribution (hulk) 15 Rice, Joseph 261–3 Riddell, George see Farrell, George Riley, William 239 Rourke, Valentine x, 46, 53, 67–73, 130, 132, 133, 138, 169, 176, 185, 207, 327 Rowe, Thomas Dean 145, 182 Russell, John (Lord) 253, 256–7 Ryrie (Mr) 261 Ryan, Thomas (Commandant) 256 Samuel (launch) 228–30, 232 Saracen’s Head (pub) 141 Scott, Thomas 165

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Sculthorpe, Charles see Smith alias Sculthorpe, Charles Scutland (Constable) 215–16 Seeney, Elizabeth (Mrs) 173, 328 Seeney, Thomas ix, x, 53–4, 74–5, 107, 128–9, 137, 138–42, 145–6, 169–70, 173–4, 197, 206–7, 328–9 Seeney, William 328 Segenhoe Estate 207 Shipman, John 283 Shortland, Edward x, 90–2, 94, 97, 123, 127, 129, 133, 134, 160–2, 172, 207, 329–31 Shurwell, Elizabeth see Underwood, Elizabeth (Mrs) Shurwell, Sarah see Payne, Sarah (Mrs) Small (Constable) 215 Smith alias Sculthorpe, Charles 213–16 Smith, John 219 Smith, Stephen 315 Snell, Joseph 240, 243 Sneyd, Richard 316 Society Islands 230, 244 Spark, Alexander Brodie 220–1, 223, 267 Staples, Amy 316 Stephen, Alfred 266 Stephen, Francis 224 Stephen, John 199, 203, 224 Stephen, Sidney 121, 182–3, 187–8, 194, 196, 199–200, 224, 260, 266 Stiles (Rev) 243 Stowe, Michael 283 Stretton, Ann see Woodward, Ann (Mrs) Sturt, Charles 236 Sugden (Chief Constable) 261–2 Surrey (transport) 23 Sutherland, Alexander 286 Sydney Gaol 107, 110, 111–12, 115, 119, 172, 176, 257 Tahiti see Society Islands Tank Stream 27, 38 Tansley, James 213–15 Ternouth, John 332–3 Ternouth, Thomas see Turner, Thomas Terry, Samuel 198 Therry, Roger 182, 184, 188–9, 191–2, 196–7, 260, 262–3, 266, 268 Thornton, Samuel 61–2, 63, 64, 70, 72, 186 Tool, Ann 51, 132, 230, 301–2 Tool, Mrs 140 Toowoomba see Drayton Traveller’s Rest (pub) 262–3 Turner, Ann (Mrs) 37, 332–3 Turner, Thomas x, 34–9, 40–2, 50, 58, 60, 67, 68, 75, 93–4, 95, 170–2, 208, 332–4

Tyrrell, Amelia 142–4, 146 Ullathorne, William (Vicar-General) 243, 254 Underwood, Elizabeth (Mrs) 115 Underwood, James 38, 61, 71, 115, 117, 122, 186, 326 Union (pub) 61 uttering see forgery Vaux, James Hardy 14 Vinegar Hill insurrection 29 Walker (Asst Supt) 264 Wallace, John 80, 191–2 Walpole, George 165–6 Ward, Isaac 156, 159 Wardell, Robert (Dr) 181, 183, 185, 201 Watson, Elizabeth see Woodward, Elizabeth (Mrs) Welford, John see Creighton, John Wentworth, D’Arcy (Dr) 28–9, 32 Wentworth, William Charles 39–40, 121, 181, 192 White (Mrs) 260–1 White, Robert 260–1 Whitfield, Thomas 283 Wilford, John see Creighton, John Williams, Thomas 213–15 Wilson, Buchannan 239 Wilson, John (England) 10–12 Wilson, John (Norfolk Island) 153–8 Wiltshire, William 142–4, 146, 183 Windsor (NSW) 81, 141, 162–5 Windsor Gaol 165–7 Wollstonecraft, Edward 215 Wood, Ann (Mrs) 334 Wood, Charlotte (Mrs) 334 Wood, Henry (Rev) 334–5 Wood, Henry James 334 Wood, James John x, 64, 66, 88–94, 95, 97, 122–3, 127, 161, 173, 193–5, 197, 206, 334–6 Wood, Olive Land 336 Woods, Michael 301 Woodward, Ann (Mrs) 336 Woodward, Elizabeth (Mrs) 91, 95, 138, 145, 190, 195, 197, 206, 337 Woodward, Thomas x, 72, 74, 87–8, 91–2, 93, 95, 128–9, 137–42, 145, 148, 169–70, 175, 177, 178, 182–3, 186, 195–206, 211, 215, 225–7, 244–9, 253, 255, 257, 336–8 Woolloomooloo Stockade 257, 268–9

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