The imagination of the prisoners pictured an elysium beyond the mountains. A seductive rumour long prevailed, that in the interior a community of white persons were living in primitive innocence; but many years elapsed, ere the notion obtained the consistence of a story. In 1833, an account was circulated in England, that white people were found several days journey from the north coast of New Holland, in a village enclosed by a wall to defend them from the natives. They spoke in Dutch, and stated that their ancestors, among whom were twelve females, came from a distant land; that their vessel was broken; that they travelled far towards the rising sun; that many died by fatigue, and the rest settled on that spot—a beautiful valley, on the borders of a lake. A full description of their habits and customs was given in the Leeds Mercury, but which can have no interest to such as disbelieve their existence.[182]
The Young Lachlan, a vessel the property of Capt. Howard, was seized at the Derwent, by sixteen prisoners (1819). The sails were bent; the rudder was on board: she was freighted and provisioned for a voyage to Port Jackson. She lay outside the cove, and was to drop down the river on the morrow. The four seamen were surprised, and shut down below: the darkness of the night and a strong wind favored their escape; passing the battery, unseen by the guard. At daybreak the pilot boat, with, a party of the 48th regiment, gave chase: a sloop, the property of Mr. Birch, with another detachment, followed. The boat found the seamen on Bruné Island, but both vessels returned without any other success.
Arrived on the coast of Java, the robbers destroyed the vessel by fire. They then presented themselves to the authorities as shipwrecked mariners: their story was believed; but at length they were suspected of piracy, and imprisoned. Some of them confessed: all, except five, died at Batavia, to which place they were transmitted, and the survivors were conveyed to this colony by the St. Michael. The Young Lachlan not being on the high seas their offence was not piracy: they were therefore charged with stealing only. Their punishment was necessary, but who could forget their temptation?
One of the more common methods of elopement was to hide in the hold of a ship, often with the connivance of the sailors, until the vessel had cleared. Scarcely did a ship quit the coast during the first years of the colony, without discovering, mostly too soon for the culprits, their concealment. Sometimes, to stir them from their stowage, the vessel was fumigated. Ships calling at Van Diemen's Land often delivered up absconders, found after they had weighed anchor.
When secreted runaways were enabled to avoid detection until the ship had advanced far on her voyage, they were conveyed to England, and usually surrendered to the authorities. A soldier, on looking down the hatchway of the Dromedary, when returning to England (1820), saw a spectre walking the deck below, who requested a glass of water: the soldier alarmed, made known the vision; and after a search, a stranger was pulled out from among the planks with which the vessel was laden. Having said "we," repeatedly, in speaking of his condition, the presence of another was suspected, and further search discovered his companion.[183]
Morgan, a Welshman, who concealed himself, was more fortunate: having made a considerable sum by his labor, which he was desirous of carrying home unbroken, he concealed himself in the hold of a vessel, and after a few days appeared on deck. He was carried to London, and handed to the police, when he coolly thanked the captain for his passage! He had satisfied the law before he ventured on his voyage.[184]
The penalties on merchantmen conveying prisoners in a clandestine manner, were sufficiently severe. The most remarkable was the instance of the General Gates, an American vessel, which carried off ten prisoner mechanics, and one free man;—a double violation of the local laws. The Dromedary, store ship, was instantly sent in pursuit, and captured the vessel at New Zealand. An action for twelve thousand pounds was instituted by the Governor, and awarded by the court (1820). The judge, in his address, dwelt chiefly on the ingratitude of the defendant, who, "being permitted to partake in a valuable fishery, had abused the hospitality of the country, and had gone into low public-houses to entice away their best workmen!" This, indeed, was the chief grievance, and occasioned the rigour of the pursuit and capture—a stretch of power, it was deemed proper to compromise.
It was made lawful to arrest any persons suspected of being illegally at large, and to detain them until they "proved otherwise;" the onus of proof resting with the person apprehended: indemnity was provided for those who did anything in furtherance of the act. In defence of these powers it was alleged, that tenacity of the forms of British freedom was unsuited to a state of society, where of the adults more than one half were prisoners; and to distinguish them was impossible. The government maintained that free persons, arrested in bona fide error, were bound to regard their consequent sufferings as a tribute to the welfare of the country; but considering the ungentle spirit and ruthless instruments of convict government, it was necessary to check these prerogatives with a considerable responsibility.
The arrest of Mackay, a free man, at Swan River, indicated the danger of undefined powers, and the boundless arrogance of office. He was seized by the commander of a vessel and delivered to the Phœnix hulk, New South Wales, where, loaded with irons of unusual weight, his clothing branded, he was confined with prisoners destined for a penal settlement. Having been brought up by a writ from the judges, he was discharged, and retaken: again the court interfered, and the man—never known as a prisoner, against whom nothing but a general suspicion existed; who had been torn away from a distant colony, and exposed to the contemptuous treatment of those through whose hands he passed—owed his final liberation to the interference of an advocate, and the firmness of the judges. He obtained £200 damages, against which the government appealed, unsuccessfully, as excessive!
Absconding has been punished with various degrees of severity. By the first governors it was held a venial offence: before the law provided any specific penalty, it was usually flogging or a penal settlement. A capital respite was, however, sent to Port Macquarie: within three months he absconded, with several companions, and started to reach Timor: on his re-capture, he was executed without further trial (1823).[185]