The Life and Experiences of an Ex-Convict in Port Macquarie

by Woomera

I went down to the hut and brought up the "Royal George"—the big pot that we used to cook in, laid it at the door and sang out.

The overseer came out, and seeing the pot, asked, "What the devil did you bring that for?"

"That's the only pot I can find," I said, "except what we make our tea in, and I could not put oil in that." Then he gave me some oil in a bottle. He came down the next day to see if the oil had done me any good. I told him that it had, but it was a fowl that I had the night before that did me good, for I went about with my eyes open and knew where they roosted—in the castor oil bushes. I did not want oiling like a steam engine.

Rain now came, and we relinquished the drain-digging; I was then sent into the vegetable garden to work. I was there but a very short time when the milkman lost his billet, and I succeeded him in that position. This job did not suit me; all the other men were comfortable in huts, and I was stuck, out in the milk yard in all sorts of weather, knee-deep in muck, as well as being growled at by the other men if I did not let them take the milk. It was a bad job for a fellow if he were caught at anything like this, and at the very least it meant "50." I was in great dread, as I had to please the men by letting them take the milk, and I also had to please the master by preventing them. One morning I hit upon a plan to get out of this billet. It was raining very heavily this morning, and I was wet through. When I had finished milking I dipped my hands into the muck in the yard, and then into the milk, carried it up to the house, and gave it to the butler. He looked at me for a second, then at the milk, and said, "You d——, dirty brute! Whom do you think can drink that milk?" "Well, I can't help it," I said, "look at the yard, up to my knees in filth, and the boss won't give me time to clean it out." "Then you shall not milk any more," said the butler.

I was laughing up my sleeve to think how well I had done the business. They put another milkman on, but he soon went to the hospital with pains in his legs. A third man was put on, and after a few days he was recalled to help make bricks, so the old milkman was then engaged, and that ended the trouble.

One morning the signal bell pealed out, and all the men had to go up and see what they were wanted for. There was a terrific storm raging, and we were told that we had to cut wood for the dining-room and parlour fires, but not one would stand out in such weather to do the work. We went to the boss and told him that we would cut the firewood as soon as the storm was over. "How often am I out in the rain?" he said, "it won't melt you—you're not sugar." Turning to the overseer, he ordered us to be put on Government rations, and we were then the recipients of 7 lbs. of flour, 3½ lbs. of cornmeal, and 7 lbs. of meat—what the men used to call "staggering bob"—in the week. Saturday came—ration day—and I went up for my allowance as usual; but when it came to the donation of meat, I was shown a large piece of bone with a small piece of meat attached to it. "Is that what I am going to get?" I asked. "Yes," replied the overseer, "and if you don't like it, leave it!" I left it, declaring to myself to have some more of the fowls and turkeys out of the castor-oil bushes. Two nights passed; the third was showery, and very convenient for the job; it was also very dark. I armed myself with a bag, and proceeded up to where they used to roost. My bag was soon half-full of poultry, and some of them were cooked and eaten in double-quick time, for the others had onions out of the vegetable garden cooking while I was away. The remainder of the poultry, not eaten that night, was hidden in the swamp and eaten as required. It was very convenient to have the vegetable garden handy, and the gardener had just planted out a hundredweight of onions, but when he went to see how they were growing there were but very few left. This was the only way to cure hunger after a day's toil. One night about a week afterwards I went up to the castor-oil trees for another pair of fowls, and who should I see on the other side of the bushes but ——, the constable, helping himself to a fowl also. I did not have to wait long, for he soon got his, and then the coast was clear, so I got mine and departed. The constable was looked upon as a very honest fellow, but he was caught at last taking two sacks of flour and some other provisions, and 12 months in irons was his lot. At this time it took as much material to make a pair of trousers for him as would make two pairs for an ordinary man, and when his hair was cut and his whiskers shaven, he looked like a "mountain in a fog." But the hard boards and one blanket, with only a sleeper for a pillow, soon told on him, for in less than three months, after good doses of "hominy" and the pick, he became as thin as a whipping post, although he was fortunate enough to escape without a flogging. Some men had wonderful luck in this way; the greatest rogue generally got off the lightest.

About half-a-dozen men were assembled in the shoemaker's shop one day, and the conversation drifted on to persons who were living in a state of adultery. "Now we will count," said the shoemaker to the boys, "all the people about here who are living in a state of adultery." "And we will commence," said another, "with you and your mother. Let me see, how many more has she got besides you, Harry?" This was a hit for a start, and poor Harry walked out of the shop as if he had committed a murder. After this there was no more talk about people living on the cross.

Flour at this time was £10 per 200 lb. sack, and, as it was so scarce, Sir George Gipps, the Governor, recommended that those who had the supplying of provisions for the prisoners should grind rice and mix it with the flour. This course was adopted, but when it was baked the loaf resembled a brick outside and a piece of clay inside. The meat was horrible. This, however, could not be remedied, as there was no feed for the cattle; and as for mutton—when a sheep was skinned and dressed, if a candle were put inside of the carcase it would serve all the purposes of a lantern.

There was a screw loose at Lake Innes one morning; the store containing the provisions had been broken into and robbed. All the men's huts were searched—even the floors taken up—trying to get the slightest clue to the robbery. The police were busy as bees, but they could not get the least hint. The value of the stolen goods was estimated at £50, and they comprised a good assortment of the various household requisites. The Port Macquarie police were sent for, and the boss flung about first in one place and then in another. At last the bell rang, and all hands had to stand out before the "Lord of the Lake." It was a real field day—men strutting about as though in a field of battle. The boss offered sums of money to anyone who would tell who the robbers were, for he said that no rascal could do it single-handed. At last two suspects were picked out and sent to the lock-up, but they returned in a week, as no case could be got against them.