BOLD JACK DONAHOO
In Dublin town I was brought up, in that city of great fame—
My decent friends and parents, they will tell to you the same.
It was for the sake of five hundred pounds I was sent across
the main,
For seven long years, in New South Wales, to wear a convict’s
chain.
Chorus
Then come, my hearties, we’ll roam the mountains high!
Together we will plunder, together we will die!
We’ll wander over mountains and we’ll gallop over
plains—
For we scorn to live in slavery, bound down in iron
chains.
I’d scarce been there twelve months or more upon the
Australian shore,
When I took to the highway, as I’d oft-times done before.
There was me and Jacky Underwood, and Webber and
Webster, too.
These were the true associates of bold Jack Donahoo.
Chorus: Then come, &c.
Now, Donahoo was taken, all for a notorious crime,
And sentenced to be hanged upon the gallows-tree so high.
But when they came to Sydney gaol, he left them in a stew,
And when they came to call the roll, they missed bold
Donahoo.
Chorus: Then come, &c.
As Donahoo made his escape, to the bush he went straight-
way.
The people they were all afraid to travel night or day—
For every week in the newspapers there was published some-thing
new
Concerning this dauntless hero, the bold Jack Donahoo!
Chorus: Then come, &c.
As Donahoo was cruising, one summer’s afternoon,
little was his notion his death was near so soon,
When a sergeant of the horse police discharged his car-a-bine,
And called aloud on Donahoo to fight or to resign.
Chorus: Then come, &c.
“Resign to you—you cowardly dogs! a thing I ne’er will do,
For I’ll fight this night with all my might,” cried bold Jack
Donahoo.
“I’d rather roam these hills and dales, like wolf or kangaroo,
Than work one hour for Government!” cried bold Jack
Donahoo.
Chorus: Then come, &c.
He fought six rounds with the horse police until the fatal
ball,
Which pierced his heart and made him start, caused Donahoo
to fall.
And as he closed his mournful eyes, he bade this world Adieu,
Saying, “Convicts all, both large and small, say prayers for
Donahoo!”
Chorus: Then come, &c.
THE WILD COLONIAL BOY
’Tis of a wild Colonial boy, Jack Doolan was his name,
Of poor but honest parents he was born in Castlemaine.
He was his father’s only hope, his mother’s only joy,
And dearly did his parents love the wild Colonial boy.
Chorus
Come, all my hearties, we’ll roam the mountains high,
Together we will plunder, together we will die.
We’ll wander over valleys, and gallop over plains,
And we’ll scorn to live in slavery, bound down with iron
chains.
He was scarcely sixteen years of age when he left his father’s
home,
And through Australia’s sunny clime a bushranger did roam.
He robbed those wealthy squatters, their stock he did
destroy,
And a terror to Australia was the wild Colonial boy.
Chorus: Come, all my hearties, &c.
In sixty-one this daring youth commenced his wild career,
With a heart that knew no danger, no foeman did he fear.
He stuck up the Beechworth mail coach, and robbed Judge
MacEvoy,
Who trembled, and gave up his gold to the wild Colonial boy.
Chorus: Come, all my hearties, &c.
He bade the Judge “Good morning,” and told him to beware,
That he’d never rob a hearty chap that acted on the square,
And never to rob a mother of her son and only joy,
Or else you may turn outlaw, like the wild Colonial boy.
Chorus: Come, all my hearties, &c.
One day as he was riding the mountain side along,
A-listening to the little birds, their pleasant laughing song,
Three mounted troopers rode along—Kelly, Davis, and
FitzRoy.
They thought that they would capture him—the wild
Colonial boy.
Chorus: Come, all my hearties, &c.
“Surrender now, Jack Doolan, you see there’s three to one.
Surrender now, Jack Doolan, you daring highwayman.”
He drew a pistol from his belt, and shook the little toy.
“I’ll fight, but not surrender,” said the wild Colonial boy.
Chorus: Come, all my hearties, &c.
He fired at Trooper Kelly, and brought him to the ground,
And in return from Davis received a mortal wound.
All shattered through the jaws he lay still firing at FitzRoy,
And that’s the way they captured him—the wild Colonial
boy.
Chorus: Come, all my hearties, &c.
It will be noticed that the same chorus is sung to both “The Wild Colonial Boy” and “Bold Jack Donahoo.” Several versions of both songs were sent in, but the same chorus was always made to do duty for both songs.
JOHN GILBERT (BUSHRANGER)
[He and his gang stuck up the township of Canowindra for two days in 1859.]
(Air: “Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.”)
John Gilbert was a bushranger of terrible renown,
For sticking lots of people up and shooting others down.
John Gilbert said unto his pals, “Although they make a
bobbery
About our tricks we have never done a tip-top thing in
robbery.
“We have all of us a fancy for experiments in pillage,
Yet never have we seized a town, or even sacked a village.”
John Gilbert said unto his mates—“Though partners we
have been
In all rascality, yet we no festal day have seen.”
John Gilbert said he thought he saw no obstacle to hinder a
Piratical descent upon the town of Canowindra.
So into Canowindra town rode Gilbert and his men,
And all the Canowindra folk subsided there and then.
The Canowindra populace cried, “Here’s a lot of strangers!!!”
But immediately recovered when they found they were
bushrangers.
And Johnny Gilbert said to them, “You need not be afraid.
We are only old companions whom bushrangers you have made.”
And Johnny Gilbert said, said he, “We’ll never hurt a hair
Of men who bravely recognise that we are just all there.”
The New South Welshmen said at once, not making any
fuss,
That Johnny Gilbert, after all, was “Just but one of us.”
So Johnny Gilbert took the town (including public houses),
And treated all the “cockatoos” and shouted for their
spouses.
And Miss O’Flanagan performed in manner quite gintailly
Upon the grand planner for the bushranger O’Meally.
And every stranger passing by they took, and when they got
him
They robbed him of his money and occasionally shot him.
And Johnny’s enigmatic feat admits of this solution,
That bushranging in New South Wales is a favoured
institution.
So Johnny Gilbert ne’er allows an anxious thought to fetch
him,
For well he knows the Government don’t really want to
ketch him.
And if such practices should be to New South Welshmen dear,
With not the least demurring word ought we to interfere.