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Australia

“…Transported to Such Places Beyond the Seas.”

Jan 7th, 2010
by Dorset Ancestors.
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A sign on the bridge over the River Frome at Lower Bockhampton serves notice that “anyone wilfully injuring the bridge will be guilty of felony and upon conviction liable to be Transported for Life.” People were transported for a lot less serious offences than that and many people sentenced to death for more serious crimes had their sentences commuted and were transported instead.

The idea of being rid of troublesome citizens by transporting them beyond the seas was around long before Britain commenced despatching its felons to Australia. In 1597 during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I an Act (39 Eliz C.4) was passed entitled “An Acte for Punyshment of Rogues, Vagabonds and Stray Beggars.” It allowed for people to “be banished out of this realm” and went on to say “shall be conveyed to such parts beyond the seas as shall be assigned by the Privy Council.” And for good measure declared if a “rogue so banished” returned to England without permission he would be hanged.

Law enforcement during the 17th and 18th centuries was an uncertain business. Anyone who thinks the present British government’s efforts to privatise the prison service are a new idea is mistaken: half the prisons in England were privately owned then. There was no police force. Employing Watchmen was, on the whole, a futile enterprise as most were open to accepting the offer of a small bribe to turn the other way and those given the job were often elderly and stood little chance of apprehending a fit young criminal.

Detection was also in the hands of the private sector. Thief takers – an early incarnation of the private detective – would seek out thieves and other criminals and bring them before a magistrate for a reward. Getting caught was not all bad news for the criminal: in many cases a criminal would come to an arrangement with his victim to repay him or do some work for him rather than face prosecution. This was not an unattractive option for the victim who, if he proceeded to prosecute, would have to pay all the costs involved. Nevertheless, large numbers of people were incarcerated in the country’s jails.

Using the 1597 Act, transportation of groups of criminals got under way in the early 17th century: Sir Thomas Dale, Marshal of Virginia, took 300 “disorderly persons” with him in 1611 and it was not long before he was asking for more convict labour, claiming 2000 were needed.

A new Act (4 Geo 1, C.11) was passed early in the 18th century which provided that minor offenders could be transported for 7 years to America while men on commuted capital sentences, that is having enjoyed the King’s mercy, might be sent for 14 years. The courts did not have a wide selection of punishments to hand down and were often faced with the choice of letting a criminal off or passing the death sentence.

The merits of transportation from the Government’s point of view were that it preserved the Royal Prerogative of Mercy – the felon was left alive; the felon was removed from the realm as effectively as if he had been hanged; It got rid of the prison as well as the prisoner and it provided a labour force to be used in the colonies.

From the middle of the 18th century Britain’s population increased dramatically. The population of London doubled between 1750 and 1770. Young men turned to thieving to make a living. For 60 years during the 18th century 30,000 people were sent to America; convicts were shipped off to face a life of slavery at the rate of about 500-600 a year and few if any returned. The King frequently used his royal prerogative and it was not at all unusual for a death sentence to be commuted. A cynic might think a corpse hanging from the gallows was a deterrent to others but the reprieved man was a long-term asset to be used to build the American colonies. This shameful traffic in humankind kept England’s jails from overflowing.

On August 25th 1768 Capt. Cook set sail from Plymouth and a little over a year later was off the coast of New Zealand where he proceeded to sail his ship Endeavour round both islands. On March 31st 1770 Capt. Cook and his crew were ready for the homeward voyage. On April 19th 1770 a new coastline was discovered and on August 21st 1770 Cook formally claimed Australia for King George III.
In London the new colony was not uppermost in the minds of the politicians who had their hands full trying to head off armed rebellion in America. It was this more taxing matter that was concentrating the mind of the British Prime Minister, the recently ennobled Frederick, Lord North. Matters in America came to a head with the Declaration of Independence on the 4th of July 1776. At a stroke the transportation of convicts to North America was brought to a full stop and very shortly Britain’s jails were at breaking point.

That year Lord North drew up legislation that was to become known as ‘The Hulks Act’ (16 Geo.111, C. 43.) Hulks, old troop transports, their rigging gone, were dotted along the Thames and some southern ports, and were to become home to convicts sentenced to be transported, until the government could find somewhere to send them. The number of convicts being held in this way was increasing by about a thousand annually.

As the situation worsened and the government realised that the door to North America was firmly closed to them a House of Commons Committee was set up in 1779 to decide what was to be done. Hope lingered in some of the more optimistic corners of government that something would turn up to resolve the American problem, but this was not to be. Lord North resigned in 1782 and briefly trod London’s corridors of power again as the Home and Colonial Secretary between March and December 1783.

His successor in that office, Lord Sydney, on appointment faced a clamour for action to be taken to deal with the problem of the terrible overcrowding in the prisons and on board the hulks; the situation was becoming more pressing with each passing day. A new Act (24 Geo.III.C.56) was drafted to allow transportation to places other than America and this entered into law in August 1784.

It was someone from outside of the administration, ironically American born, who in 1783 presented a commercial proposition to the government concerning Australia. At the time Lord North was in charge of Home and Colonial Affairs and he dismissed it.  James Matra, later hearing the government was urgently looking for somewhere to send the convicts, altered the slant of his proposal and re-submitted it to Lord Sydney. Serious consideration was given to transporting the convicts to a settlement on the south west coast of Africa and for a while Australia wasn’t a contender.

William Pitt the younger was now Prime Minister and he was under increasing political pressure especially from some independent members of parliament representing constituencies where some of the hulks were berthed. 

After further consideration the Botany Bay or Australian option was formally approved by the cabinet. The Admiralty was told of the decision on the 31st of August 1786 and instructed to commission the fleet: Captain Arthur Phillip was appointed “Governor of our territories called New South Wales” and received his commission from King George III on 12th October 1786.

The first fleet sailed from Portsmouth early on the 13th May 1787 and arrived at Botany Bay on 18th January 1788. Convicts continued to be transported to Australia for a further 70 years.

Those who survived the voyage were to face a harsh disciplinary regime, near starvation, and we know not what other horrors. There were men, women and children all enduring the same fate irrespective of whether they were guilty of a petty or serious crime. Their guards did not fare any better. The experience was a little easier for later arrivals. It is incredible that out of this hell has grown the great nation we know and respect today.

From Shaftesbury To a Place In Australia’s History

Jan 3rd, 2010
by Dorset Ancestors.
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In 1834 Elijah Upjohn was 11 years old, 4’10” in height, with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and of a fair complexion. Born on New Year’s day 1823 at Shaftesbury Holy Trinity he quickly learned from his father Henry a disregard for other people’s property.

Elijah had been caught stealing a pair of trousers and on 8th April 1834 he found himself before the Mayor, Mr R. Buckland and Mr. J.B. Chitty, Justices of the Peace for Shaftesbury, who sentenced him to three months imprisonment during which time he was to be whipped twice. His Dorchester Gaol record describes his conduct as disorderly. He was released on 7th July 1834.

Three years later he was again in trouble with the law and was sentenced to six weeks with hard labour for stealing rabbits. As was the case during his previous imprisonment his conduct while serving his punishment was said to be disorderly.

A year after that sees him back again in front of the Justices and this time the enforcers of law and order thought they had seen quite enough of this boy’s anti-social behaviour. He was now 16 years of age and this time he had been caught stealing shoes. In what may be seen as an early interpretation of the “three strikes and you’re out” rules his sentence was that he be transported beyond the seas for seven years.

In March 1839 the ship ‘Marquis of Hastings’ took on 100 prisoners at Woolwich and then sailed to Portsmouth to receive 140 more, amongst them Elijah Upjohn; he was never to return to England. The convict ship sailed from Portsmouth on the 17th March 1839 and reports say seven of the prisoners died during the voyage.

On arrival in Tasmania Elijah was transferred to Launceston where we believe he served out the rest of his 7-year sentence, he would have been freed in 1846. The next sighting we have of Elijah in Australia is in Geelong, near Melbourne. Why or how he ended up in Geelong we can only speculate but his brother Robert was there around this time and we also know his father had been transported to Australia and may also have been in that town. We know Elijah married there and had children but only two of his boys survived to manhood.

It was not long before he returned to his old ways; from 1864 to 1880 he was in and out of jail, each time for longer periods. He was put away for larceny in 1880 when the judge described him as a “rogue and vagabond.” His life to this point was very similar to that of many convicts transported overseas but a spur of the moment decision secured for Elijah Upjohn a place in Australia’s history books.

In Melbourne gaol a man was to be hanged. The executioner wasn’t available and the warden of the jail lined up the prisoners and asked for a volunteer to execute the man. Elijah Upjohn stepped forward for the job, probably assuming that with it would be some privileges; he could have had no idea how famous this decision was to make him.

Earlier in the morning of the 11th November 1880 he was just another prisoner, now he was preparing a man for his death and playing a part in the ceremony that these occasions become. An elderly, grey headed but fit-looking man, he did not look out of place in his new role as he proceeded along with the warden, the governor, priests attending and some local dignitaries to the cell of the man to be hanged. After being released Elijah Upjohn continued in his new career as a public hangman.

An expert contributor to an Australian radio program broadcast in July 2000 said “Elijah Upjohn would have to be probably the country’s most famous hangman” and goes on to suggest that he got this first hanging right but “the rest were pretty appalling. He was often drunk and he lost his nerve because people were harassing him and giving him such a bad time.” At one time things got so bad for him he was allowed to live in Pentridge Jail at Melbourne for his own safety. Apparently he had been arrested for drunkenness, indecent exposure, and carting nightsoil.

At the time of his death there was no mention of his wife or sons. He was found at Bourke by a constable, was sick and survived only two days. His death certificate dated 28th September 1885 reads: “Upjohn. Public Hangman. About 70 years of age.” Actually he would have been 62 years of age.

Elijah Upjohn had a tragic life. Yet nearly two hundred years after his birth in Shaftesbury, Dorset, newspaper and magazine articles, films and television documentaries, frequently recall his name.

The man he hanged on 11th November 1880 was Ned Kelly.

Robert Coward (1819-1905)

Dec 23rd, 2009
by Dorset Ancestors.
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Born at Stourpaine into the Dorset rural community in the early part of the 19th century it is unlikely that as he grew up Robert Coward expected a great deal out of life. He was illegitimate, his mother died when he was just 11 years of age, by which time he was probably already labouring on the land and he had little or no formal education.

Robert’s mother, Repentance Coward, herself illegitimate and the daughter of Hannah Coward, was baptised at Holy Trinity church at Stourpaine on the 24th July 1785 and was buried there on the 17th January 1830, when it was recorded that she was 47 years of age. She never married but had two sons; Job, baptised 12th February 1815, he died in infancy and was buried on the 27th May 1817; also Robert, who was baptised on the 16th May 1819.

After his mother’s death in 1830 Robert was probably taken in by another branch of the Coward family living in Stourpaine or by his father and it is likely throughout this period he offered himself for work as an agricultural labourer.

On November 9th 1842 Robert, then 23 years of age, married Ann Allen. She was also from a poor Stourpaine family: the 1851 census has Ann’s parents and three of her siblings listed as paupers’ inmates of the Blandford workhouse.

When pulling together a family history a marriage certificate (after 1837) will often provide the missing links: it will confirm the ages of a couple, who their fathers were and the witness details can reinforce or dismiss ideas you might have about your ancestors’ relationships.

That is the case here. The fact that the couple and all three witnesses signed the marriage certificate with their mark tells us they were illiterate and had not benefited from a formal education. We learn that Robert Coward knew his father was Henry Horlock. One of the witnesses was Charlotte Horlock so it is reasonable to conclude that Robert was on good terms with his father and family. Interestingly, perhaps out of respect for his mother’s memory, he never changed to his father’s name. His great and great great grandfathers were also named Robert.

Children were late coming to this relationship but after five years of marriage in 1847 Robert and Ann had a daughter who they named Rhoda. She was baptised on the 2nd of May in that year. Everything we know about Robert to this point and subsequently learn about his later life leads to the conclusion that he was at heart a decent family man.

Early in 1848 disaster struck this poor family when Robert was caught poaching. We know of nothing to suggest this enterprise was for any purpose other than to put food on the table for his family. He, however, on being apprehended by the keeper would have straight away known he was in serious trouble and likely to be facing six months in jail with hard labour at the very least. Perhaps, it was the thought of being separated from his wife and baby daughter that prompted him to make a fight of it and to try to escape the clutches of the keeper. Failing, he found himself arrested and held in jail until his trial at the Dorchester Assizes on 11th of March 1848. He was charged with poaching and beating a keeper.

Dorchester Crown Court had a long reputation for handing down rough justice. In the 17th century the notorious Judge Jefferies let it be known at the start of the hearings against men involved in the Monmouth Rebellion that he was minded to be lenient: 74 men went to the gallows. Robert would have known about the seven men from Tolpuddle, like him all agricultural labourers, who had been transported to Australia on trumped up charges that they had formed a Trade Union. Later in 1856 Martha Brown was sentenced to death for defending herself against an ogre of a husband. She was publicly hanged in front of a crowd numbering thousands.

Robert would have faced his court appearance with much trepidation and without a doubt he was greatly worried for his wife, who he knew even if he was treated leniently faced a long period of having to provide for herself and their child on her own.

“The sentence of the court upon you is, that you be transported beyond the seas for a term of 7 years.” For Robert this dreadful punishment the worst he may have expected meant that once transported he would never return to England and it was unlikely he would ever see his wife and daughter again. He was just 27 years of age and he must have felt that his life was over. He left London aboard the ‘Adelaide’ on 17th August 1849 arriving in Sydney on Christmas Eve 1849.

It was surprising, but reinforces what we say earlier about his good character, that he secured his Ticket of Leave on 30th December 1849. This was incredibly quick and confirms that he must have been a model prisoner in England while waiting to sail and continued to be so on the voyage and on arrival in Australia. This did not mean he had his freedom but he was probably allowed to work for wages and live virtually free: he would not have been allowed to leave Australia until his sentence had been completed and he would have from time to time to appear before a local Justice. He may have been restricted in other ways such as the area he could work and live in and he may have been subject to a curfew.

He must have been more than a little relieved to have survived the voyage and found that his life was not after all going to be quite as bad as he had every reason to have expected it to be. But imagine his joy on learning that his wife and daughter had secured passage as assisted immigrants. Ann and Rhoda arrived in Australia on the 14th August 1851. They were not long separated their first child born in Australia in 1853 was another daughter Sara Martha.

The government needed colonists to settle in Australia but few went out and the government turned to convicts who had completed their sentences; they were offered the essentials of free land, tools, seed and livestock. These incentives meant that many accepted the offer and became landowners and farmers.

Sentence served, against all the odds family united, Robert and Ann would have seized this opportunity with both hands. They stayed in Australia and produced a further 10 children, five sons and five daughters.  When he died Robert Coward’s estate was one thousand six hundred and twenty seven pounds. This couple had managed to turn adversity to opportunity and they both enjoyed a long life. Ann died on the 24th November 1900 aged 78 years and Robert died 22nd January 1905 aged 88 years. They were living and farming in Maitland, NSW where they are buried.

Rhoda thrived and on the 25th January 1868 married William Gulliver a son of Dorset who arrived in Australia around 1849 aged 5 years. Rhoda and William went on to have eleven children and some of their descendants now live in New Zealand.

Footnote: Robert Coward’s mother, Repentance, worked as a button maker.  Her mother, Hannah Coward, was the daughter of Robert and Mary Coward and was baptised at Stourpaine 11th of February 1759 and was buried in the parish on 16th of March 1794 – a short life of just 35 years. As far as we can tell Repentance was her only child.

We have found that Robert Coward had been in trouble previously. At the time of the 1841 census he was in jail at Dorchester. There were two other members of the Coward family there as well: William (25) and James (70.)

Footnote (2) It appears that Robert Coward had an older brother, Charles. His mother Repentance Coward had him baptised at Stourpaine on the 24th of February 1811. According to information supplied by Andrew Cooper who is a direct descendant of Charles Coward, it seems both brothers were involved in the 1848 affray.