

## Black Sheep

### and

## Gold Diggers

by Barry Allan

Copyright 2012 Barry Allan

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thankyou for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com where they can also find other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Author's Note

This book spans a period of nearly 100 years and is mostly fact, taken from police and convict records, birth death and marriage records, newspaper reports, historical documents, and other published and un-published works. However the details of some incidents are my 'best guess' assumptions based upon historical references.

I have used dialogue in some parts to bring the characters to life. While much of it is invented, some is taken from police witness statements. The major events are all true, and where dates are given they are from official records. The spelling of surnames varied throughout the records, Venvill may have started as Venvil, but finished up as Venville. Vurlow probably started as either Virlot or Virlod, and Allen became Allan along the way.

My thanks are due to the other family researchers who shared their information to make this story as complete as possible. Richard C Vurlow, along with Marilyn Hackett, John Allan, Pamela Shaw, Helen Lang and June Howard, all contributed key information at various times. Diane Baptie located Joseph Allen's records in Scotland, and Bronwyn Blair provided additional information about James Grant and Tullochgorum. The cover photograph is that property in 2008.

Special thanks to well-known Blackwood Historian Margot Hitchcock, co-author of 'Aspects of Early Blackwood', who researched her own extensive archives, as well as Victorian Government records, in response to my many questions.

This book was originally published in print in 2008, but has sold out. Publishing it on line allows more people to read it, and allows easier updating if new information is discovered.

Barry Allan

2012

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part_One_Richard Venvill

Part_Two_Joseph Allen

Part_Three_Their Connection

Epilogue

# Prologue

Elizabeth Allan looked at the passing countryside without really seeing it. She was very familiar with this road, but she wasn't in any frame of mind to enjoy the scenery on this particular trip. The bus she was riding in would stop at several towns during the 60 mile journey from Melbourne to Ballarat, towns such as Melton, Bacchus Marsh, Ballan and Mount Egerton to name a few. She had passed through all of them many times over the years, but this trip in 1924 would be her last.

All these towns owed their beginnings to the discovery of gold at Buninyong near Ballarat in 1851. At that time, they provided resting places for men heading to the diggings. Men travelled mostly on foot in those early days of Australian settlement, since horses were in short supply, and the cost of buying and maintaining one was beyond the reach of the average working man. In contrast, prospecting for gold cost little more than the price of a pick and shovel, and promised great rewards. The introduction of expensive Miner's Licences took some of the gloss off the venture though, leading to public dissent, and in one case, outright rebellion. Despite the enormous quantity of gold won from mines at Ballarat, Bendigo, Castlemaine and many other places, the sheer numbers of prospectors working the diggings meant that only a very small percentage of those men actually found enough gold to become rich.

This highway was tarred now, but for most of the many trips that Elizabeth had made between Mt Egerton and Melbourne in the last 60 years, it had been not much more than a dirt track. The density of traffic had not increased much over the years, and may even be less now than it was during the gold rush years. Elizabeth's partner Bill Allan was with her on the bus as he had been many times before, but this time it was different. They were going to tell her mother Susan Vurlow, who was still living at Mt Egerton, that Elizabeth had been diagnosed with cancer, and had perhaps a year to live.

The diagnosis had come as a shock to Elizabeth and Bill, since both had thought that his lung congestion would kill him first. Bill had spent most of his adult life working in mines and quarries, and the dust that had accumulated in his lungs was gradually suffocating him. He had left the quarry when his illness became apparent, and he and Elizabeth moved to the Melbourne suburb of Footscray just before the outbreak of World War One.

Elizabeth's younger days had been somewhat clouded by scandal. She had borne several children out of wedlock, and then was married and widowed before finally settling down with Bill. He had been married before too, and had five children, but his wife and one child had died. Elizabeth and Bill then lived together and had five more children. She was now known as Elizabeth Allan, and some of the children she had with Bill were now also using his name, after being registered as illegitimate at birth. Bill and Elizabeth never legally married each other, although for convenience they allowed people to assume they had. Now here they were, both of them with fatal illnesses, Elizabeth with cervical cancer and Bill's congested lungs deteriorating and slowly killing him.

Elizabeth knew she would go first, and had already gone through the phases of denial, anger, and acceptance. She was 62, so she'd had a reasonable turn at life, although her maternal grandfather Richard Venvill had lived to 86. His eldest daughter Susan Vurlow, Elizabeth's mother, was still healthy at the age of 84, despite having given birth to nine children, of whom Elizabeth was the eldest. Elizabeth herself had had 8 children, in addition to looking after Bill's four, all of them grown up now, and she wondered how long she may have lived without this cancer.

After the bus passed through Bacchus Marsh, Elizabeth watched as she always did when travelling on this road, for the tree that marked her birthplace. Her mother had pointed it out to her years ago, and she liked to see that it was still there each time she passed by. The tree hadn't been planted to mark her birth, it just happened to be growing at the place where the bullock wagon stopped, as Susan went into labour on their way to the hospital in 1862. Elizabeth was born in drizzling rain soon after, on a canvas tarpaulin under the wagon.

The tree was still there, much bigger now than the first time she had seen it, and it was comforting to see that something of what she remembered as the good old days remained. There were no bullock wagons now, at least on the main roads. They were still used in the bush to haul logs to sawmills, or in any situation that was too rough for horses. Bullock teams were preferred over horses, because they were much stronger, tougher, required less feed and maintenance, and almost no load was too heavy, nor terrain too rough for a good team. Furthermore, at the end of their working life, they could be sold for meat. Their only disadvantage was that they always travelled at the same slow walk. Cars were becoming more common now, cutting the travel time from Melbourne to Ballarat from a full day by horse and cart, to just a couple of hours.

Before he died, Elizabeth's grandfather Richard Venvill had entrusted her with a secret that he had never told anyone else. It was a shameful story in that Victorian era, but he felt that he had to show her that even when the future looked bleak, it was always possible to succeed. Everyone knew he had been one of the earliest settlers in Victoria in 1837, and people always assumed that he had come directly from England, but that wasn't so. He told her that he had been in some trouble in Gloucestershire in 1830 and was transported to Tasmania as a convict, but was pardoned before he finished his seven year sentence.

Elizabeth didn't feel embarrassed by Richard's past, but she was aware that if this story became general knowledge, it would be a source of rumour and gossip about her family. There was already enough of that about her own misdeeds as a young woman, and so she had never told anyone of it. The prevailing family story, that Richard had come from Gloucestershire to be the Overseer for well-respected Squatter John Wallace, at Ballark near Mt Egerton, would do.

Bill's father Joseph had also been less than a Saint, as Bill had told Elizabeth many years after they started living together. Joseph Allen was known as one of the men who discovered gold at Blackwood just north of Mt Egerton, but there was much more to his story too. No one knew he had been a convict, and few people remembered that, years later, he was arrested for threatening to kill his wife. When Joseph died, the community knew him as an upstanding pioneer of the Blackwood district. Now, only a few of his children knew his real history. Bill was one of them.

No, there were too many black sheep in this family, and Elizabeth intended to have as many die with her as possible. There was no need to embarrass her family by telling anyone. Her children, step children and grandchildren wouldn't want to know that they were descended from such socially unacceptable people.

# Part One - Richard Venvill

Back to Contents

# Chapter 1

It was mid-afternoon on Saturday the 27th of November 1830 as the mob of around 60 men, armed with pitchforks, shovels and sledgehammers crowded around the front of the barn. Facing the mob were twelve other men, also armed with shovels and pitchforks. They were hopelessly outnumbered, but were determined to defend the barn against this attack.

'Open that barn Mister Preator, we don't want to damage it. We only want to be rid of those machines that keep us in poverty.' The Captain of the mob shouted to the owner of this farm.

'Yes,' called another man, 'we don't want to hurt you but we aren't leaving until those machines are destroyed.'

James Preator had known this was going to happen one day. He had hoped the authorities would quell the uprising before it spread to Gloucestershire, but as more men joined the rampaging mobs it was clear that his turn would come. He actually understood and sympathised with these men, but there was nothing he could do to ease their hardship and still run his farm.

The seeds of this uprising were sown a generation before this, and the problem had festered until 1830, when yet another in a succession of poor harvests provided the final straw. Farm labourers were at the very bottom of the employment scale, earning only about 1 shilling and 6 pence a day, and they didn't work every day during the year. Their meagre incomes were affected by variations in harvests as weather affected farm yields.

For many generations, farm owners had provided housing for their labourers, and even their families at times, on the farm properties, and the cost of this accommodation was factored into their wages. The system had worked satisfactorily until the last years of the 18th century, when changes occurred that disadvantaged the labourers.

Farmers were subject to several taxes, but two were significant in setting the stage for discontent. One was the Poor Tax, paid by all landowners based on their property valuation, levied to support unemployed and homeless people in their parish. The other was a 'tithe' paid to the parish church providing the income for the Rector or Curate. When tithing started in around 800AD, it was intended to be one tenth of the produce of a farm, and tithe barns were built to store the produce until it was required by the Church. That system proved unwieldy, due to the physical difficulty of clergymen collecting and selling the produce. Over time, the tithe began to be paid in cash at an agreed rate. That rate didn't fluctuate accurately in line with good and bad harvests, so farmers were often paying in cash, the equivalent of much more than ten percent of the year's crop production. In bad years, this put pressure on their ability to pay their labourers, and they looked for any cost savings they could find.

The farmers reasoned that if the clergy reduced their tithes, labourers could be employed at a reasonable wage, thus reducing the need for handouts from the Church. However, asking the clergy to reduce their tithe was met with flat refusal, even though it was clear to everyone that the Church was accumulating great wealth. They did distribute some of that wealth to the poor and unemployed, and in doing so, maintained considerable power and influence over their communities. The clergy were not about to give up their privileged position, despite the hardships suffered by their parishioners.

One of the first savings that farmers made was simply not offering the traditional housing and conditions to new employees. From about 1790, they started progressively removing the housing benefit and labourers had to find and pay for their own accommodation in nearby villages. It was a cause of discontent among the labourers because there was no commensurate increase in wages to help pay for this extra living cost. As all the older workers either died off or left for some reason, their employment conditions disappeared with them. So, labouring families found that as their sons grew old enough to work, they would only be employed under lesser conditions than their fathers had been given, and their living costs were higher. Thus, even employed men dropped below the poverty line, and became dependent on the parish for survival.

Families rarely moved more than a few miles from their birth place in their lifetime, due to the 'Law of Settlement Act' of 1602. It allowed a parish to reject new arrivals unless they were able to work, and to produce proof that their home parish would take them back, and therefore provide for them if they became destitute. That effectively stopped the poorest men looking for work outside their own parish. High unemployment also meant that new people entering a parish put further pressure on the people already working there, and they were often discouraged from staying by the parishioners themselves.

The changes really started to bite in 1795 when a misguided decision by a meeting of Berkshire Magistrates, attempting to assist the labourers, set the scene for increasing unrest. They decided that, rather than fixing wages to the price of bread as was generally accepted as fair, they simply chose to supplement low wages from parish funds. The effect of the decision was the opposite of what was intended. Farmers could now reduce their wage payments even further and have the parish clergy, to whom they were already contributing anyway, make up the difference. The other effect was that labourers would be paid a minimum wage by the parish even if they didn't work at all. The distinction between paupers and the working poor disappeared. The decision was never made a law, but was adopted widely in England.

The problems of low wages and high unemployment were compounded in 1815 when soldiers returning from the Napoleonic war flooded the labour market, putting more downward pressure on wages. Concurrently, throughout England, the general population was increasing, and new steam-powered labour-saving machinery was being introduced, though it was not yet having much effect in rural areas.

Steam ploughing had been tried, by setting up an engine on the edge of a field and dragging a multi-shared plough across it by long cable. It worked, but the irregular shape of fields, the difficulty of frequently moving the engine, and its high capital cost made the system cumbersome and expensive, and was unattractive to farm owners.

The farming industry proved not to be immune from mechanisation though, and soon, new machines appeared that would have a devastating effect on farm labour. One in particular was the horse driven threshing machine. Traditionally, threshing was done in a box-like structure, rocked by several men as another two loaded the grain stalks into the top. The grains were shaken loose and were collected as they fell out of the bottom. The new machine used a system of gears and shafts to drive a rotating arm inside the box that knocked the grains off the stalks much quicker than the manual method. It was powered by a horse tethered to a large wheel, usually outside the barn. The horse simply walked in a circle rotating the wheel, which in turn drove gears and a long shaft that connected them to the box inside the barn. The horse worked long hours for nothing but feed, and only the men loading the stalks into the machine and collecting the grain from the bottom were needed to operate the whole process. This had the effect of reducing workers from six to two, and with unemployment rising, those two had to work for less money.

New jobs were being created for the manufacture of steam engines and related machinery, but they were skilled occupations beyond the reach of traditional labourers, and discontent grew in rural areas. The weather didn't help either. In 1827 and 1828, harvests were down due to poor weather, and that was followed by the worst winter on record in 1829/30. The combination of low wages, poor harvests, high food prices, and cold weather led to the simmering discontent among farm workers exploding in 1830.

The discontent was universal, but the ensuing riots were predominantly confined to southern English counties where farm labourers were concentrated more densely, and could more easily form mobs to create trouble. The trouble would last only a short time though, as the Government, at first slow to see the problem developing, eventually took harsh action to bring it under control. Nevertheless, those few months changed the lives of hundreds of men, and probably an equal number of women who were themselves either directly involved, or whose men-folk never returned to their former role as the family breadwinner.

In March of 1830, some landowners in Kent had received letters threatening consequences unless they increased farm labourers' wages. They were asking for a minimum of 2 shillings and 3 pence per day, a roughly 50% increase. The letters were typically short and to the point, simply saying that unless the farmers broke up their own machines, the workers would do it for them. The farmers took no notice of the letters, and soon there were several reports of farm equipment and haystacks being burned. During the following months, the trouble spread as more letters were sent to landowners, signed by a Captain Swing. This turned out to be a name invented to unite the workers across the country, and was probably derived from the swinging arm on the most hated threshing machine. The first threshing machine had been destroyed in Kent in August.

Soon, the unrest gathered momentum as more arson attacks were reported, and the workers' anger wasn't restricted solely to farm equipment. In Hampshire, workhouses were attacked by mobs of men, and in Sussex, an Overseer was assaulted. In Buckinghamshire several paper mills were attacked, while a woollen mill in Berkshire and sawmills in Norfolk had machinery smashed and some buildings set alight. There were also instances of mobs demanding food and beer in return for not damaging property. The mobs numbered anything up to 100 men each, and not all the men were farm labourers. There were blacksmiths, papermakers and other miscellaneous trades recorded among them as well. Even some tradesmen who would later be paid to repair the machines were seen in the mobs smashing them. The Government had sent troops to many areas, which had the effect of dampening the outbreaks there, but they would just spring up somewhere else.

It was illegal under the Riot Act of 1714 for any group of more than 12 people to gather.

'...unlawfully, riotously, and tumultuously together, to the disturbance of the public peace..'.

Any such group was required to disperse within 20 minutes of the Riot Act being publicly read to them. The reading had to be authorised by an official such as a Justice of the Peace, Sheriff, or town Mayor, and had to contain specific wording.

'Our Sovereign Lord the King, chargeth and commandeth all persons being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves, and peaceably to depart to their habitations, or to their lawful business, upon the pains contained in the act made in the first year of King George, for preventing tumults and riotous assemblies. God Save the King'.

The maximum penalty for failing to disperse was death, but the omission of any of the specific words from the reading was an effective defence for anyone arrested under the Act.

As the riots spread, notices were issued calling upon men to be ready to defend the peace against the rioters. The Sheriff of Berkshire issued this public notice:

'Whereas,

Notice has been given to me, by ten of His Majesty's Justices of the Peace, acting in and for the said County, that Information upon Oath has been laid before them, that divers serious riots and disturbances have lately taken place within this County, and that there is just cause to believe that further riots are intended; and the said Justices having called upon me to take such measures as the law requires for the preservation of the peace of the said County,-- Now I do hereby, by virtue of my Office, call upon all Knights, Gentlemen, Yeomen, Husbandmen, Labourers, Tradesmen, Servants and Apprentices and all other male persons above the age of fifteen years, and able to travel, to be in readiness to aid and assist me in the preservation of the Kings peace within the said County, upon pain of imprisonment.

Hereof fail not at your Peril.'

Many farmers could see the veracity of the labourers' complaints, and even agreed in principle with the riots. Some even smashed their own machines. Others tried to negotiate with the mobs, by offering additional wages if the mobs could convince the clergy to reduce their tithes. Several clergymen were confronted and threatened by mobs of men who were usually bought off with an immediate gift of money or beer, to go away and leave them alone.

The unrest reached Gloucestershire in November 1830, and this county became one of the most active in its opposition to mechanisation. There were fewer reports of arson here than in other counties, but mobs of angry men gathered to decide what action they were going to take in their parishes. They elected leaders they called Captains, and singled out farms for their particular attention.

On this Saturday afternoon, the mob was at James Preator's farm in the parish of Eastleach-Martin in Gloucestershire, just a couple of miles from the Oxfordshire border. This year's harvest had been poor, and winter work would be non-existent for most of these men. Earlier today, the mob had already smashed machines at two other farms in the area, with small groups of four or five men within the mob taking turns at swinging the sledgehammers at each farm.

# Chapter 2

In this mob at Preator's farm was 20 year-old Richard Venvill, who was born just a few miles from here at Great Rissington. Also here was Richard's closest friend Tom Smith who was married to Richard's cousin Rachael. At 28, Tom was older and more worldly than Richard, and had already had a run-in with the law back in 1819 when he was charged with stealing a bag containing eight pounds in coins from a mill in Eastleach Martin. He was found not guilty, but that would not be Tom's last appearance in court by any means. When they were approached by other men to join a mob in the neighbouring parish, Tom didn't hesitate, and Richard followed. The day's rampaging culminating at James Preator's farm.

Preator realised that he and his few men could not beat this mob in a fight, so he tried to reason with them. Raising his voice to be heard above the babble, he said,

'You men must know that you cannot succeed with this violence. The Government has already sent troops to the counties where men like you have caused damage, and many have already been arrested. Leave now and there will be no need to report this to the police.'

The mob's simmering anger was inflamed by this implied threat.

'Burn the barn', shouted someone.

'No, just break the door down and get the machines.' called someone else.

Preator knew he was losing the confrontation. He looked at the men more closely, and recognised Tom near the front of the crowd.

'Tom Smith, you have been in trouble already. You will get a long sentence for this.'

Someone threw a rock at the barn door and that was the trigger the crowd needed. They surged forward, pushing Preator and his men aside. Pulling the doors open, they saw the hated threshing machines, and Tom took the first swing at one of them. Richard joined in with Ben Trimbell, Henry Eldridge and Robbie Miles, and they soon reduced the metal and wood machines to scrap.

Preator and his men stood helplessly by as the crowd milled about for several minutes, and then left the barn without damaging anything else. Preator's men knew some of the men in the crowd though, and noted their names for the police report that would follow.

Satisfied with their day's work, the mob dispersed and went back to their homes in the surrounding parishes. Richard went to Tom's rented cottage, and celebrated their achievement with Rachael. Their euphoria would not last long though. Preator reported the matter, as did the other farmers similarly attacked, and gave names of the rioters to the police. Richard and Tom were arrested two days later, and along with many others from their mob, were taken 30 miles to the Gloucester gaol.

There, Richard was inducted into the British Penal system. In an effort to spare his family embarrassment, he deliberately mispronounced his name when he was arrested, and was recorded under the name of Richard Venwell. He later again mispronounced it, and so it was spelled differently in the Register of Prisoners in the County Gaol where his physical description was also recorded.

Name: Richard Benwell

Age: 21

Description: Very dark hair, eyebrows and eyes; long face, short chin, small mouth, long nose, brown complexion; moles on face, neck, arms, chest and back; scars on fingers. Read but not write.

Height: 5' 9''

Occupation: Labourer.

Cause of Commitment:

Assembling riotously with others and then breaking and destroying several threshing machines belonging to James Preator and others.

The prisoner numbers increased over the following days as more arrests were made, and the cells were crowded for weeks as Richard and the others spent Christmas of 1830 in custody awaiting trial.

The riots were at first considered just local disturbances by the Government, who left action to local authorities. But as the trouble spread, it became obvious that this was a serious affront to law and order, and was suspected by some politicians to be part of a plot to overthrow the Government. It had to be dealt with quickly and decisively. Special courts were convened to cope with the large numbers of rioters arrested, and mass trials were conducted. The Gloucester sessions started on the 4th of January.

Richard, Tom and the others in their group appeared at the Epiphany Sessions presided over by The Reverend Dr. Cook on Friday the 7th of January 1831. Also appearing there were men from other parishes who had all committed similar offences, in a well-organized event. All the mobs had been careful not to do any damage to anything but the machines, although some peripheral damage did occur, and a few fires were reported in barns and hay stacks.

After the trials, the details were recorded by the Gloucester Journal newspaper on the 15th of January 1831, when it reported on the court sessions.

'General Quarter Sessions

The Sessions for this county did not terminate 'till middle day on Wednesday last, when the laborious duties of the Bench were at length brought to a conclusion.... Before the Sessions finished the number of prisoners in the calendar was swelled to the amount of 183...'

The report continued:

'Sentences of the Machine Breakers and Rioters

At ten o'clock on Saturday morning, the Magistrates attended in considerable numbers at the Grand Jury Room, to deliberate upon the sentences of those persons who had been convicted of machine breaking and rioting, and after nearly three hours' consideration, they came into the Crown Court, which was much crowded. The prisoners were then brought up successively, classed for the most part in the divisions in which they had been tried, and were sentenced as we have stated below, the Chairman Dr. Cooke making such remarks as were applicable to their particular cases.

In pronouncing judgment the Chairman adverted to the necessity for the Court, acting with firmness and vigour, in these times of great danger, in which the prisoners and others who had been guilty of similar crimes, had been induced to pursue a course of conduct inconsistent with peace and good order, and the other advantages which made England great and happy. The object of the men by whom labourers had been incited to destroy property, was not to benefit them or the country, but to produce anarchy and confusion. To so great an extent had persons been excited by these men, that a criminal had confessed, that to them he attributed the crime for which he was about to suffer death. The Court had looked firmly at the cases of the prisoners and numerous as the members of it were, had deliberated upon them with great attention, and were determined to perform their duty without shrinking. Great bodies of men must not be permitted to assemble, and by their violent acts injure their country and themselves. The use of the threshing machines increased the quantity, and therefore diminished the price of corn. By the destruction of those machines, the price of bread was raised.... But the pretences of the prisoners who were husbandry-labourers were false. They were false as regard their real interests, for it could not be their interest to raise the price of bread. They were false as regarded their present situation, for he had received statements of the wages of all who had been before the court, and tho' he did not deny that there had been some distress, he did deny that their grievances had been so great as had been represented.

The chairman animadverted upon the different offences which the prisoners had committed. A distinction had been made between those who had acted as leaders, or who had been convicted of more than one offence, and the other criminals. Among the leaders was a woman, the only female prisoner, who had, by violent language and by every means in her power, been active in stimulating her companions to acts of outrage, and even personally assisted with a large sledgehammer.....'

This was Elizabeth Parker aged 22, one of the few women involved in these riots, who was sentenced to seven years. She was reprieved, but committed another unrelated crime, and was transported anyway.

Sentences in this group of 183 men ranged from 14 years to good behaviour bonds, and four men were acquitted. In other counties, several were hanged and others were given life sentences. In total, throughout England 1,976 men were tried, and a surprising number were acquitted. The final result was:

Sentenced to death: 252

(of those, 233 were commuted to transportation for life.)

Transported: 505

Imprisoned for short terms: 644

Whipped: 1

Fined: 7

Acquitted: 800

Richard and his brother-in-law were unlucky enough to be each sentenced to seven years, which meant automatic transportation.

After the trial was over, Preator submitted a claim to the Government for the reward of 50 pounds, offered for the identification of each rioter, payable if they were convicted. In his application he noted that Smith, Venwell, Trimbell, Eldridge and Miles had all been convicted, and suggested that the reward should be disbursed among he and his men who had helped apprehend them, so that Preator himself should receive 150 pounds, his son 20 pounds, and the remaining 80 pounds to be split between the other ten men.

# Chapter 3

Within days, families of the men sentenced to transportation began petitioning the Government for their release, or at least a review of the sentences, since the families' futures without their breadwinners were bleak. These petitions would eventually have an effect, but too late for many of the rioters and their families to resume their former lives.

After being sentenced, Richard was returned to the Gloucester gaol until a transport ship became available. Due to the large numbers of rioters across the country, three ships would be needed. To ease the burden on the Gloucester gaol, thirteen rioters were sent to the hulk York on Saturday the 22nd of January 1831. The York was anchored off Gosport near Portsmouth on the south coast. Another thirteen were transferred on the 26th. Richard and Tom were in this second group. Rioters from other counties arrived at the same time, to await their turn to be transported.

The York had been a warship, but was now stripped of masts and rigging, with its gun-ports open for ventilation below decks, but barred to prevent escape. Additional superstructure had been built on the top deck to house the guards, and to provide an administration office. It was anchored well away from shore to discourage anyone from jumping overboard. It housed up to 500 men in squalid conditions, their only relief being regular trips to shore to work on government projects, for which they were paid one penny for each shilling's worth of work done. Most of that money was kept until they were released, but some was given to the men to allow them to buy extra food or tobacco. Richard was appalled at his new home, and hoped that he would be out of it soon. Even a convict transport ship would have to be better than this.

The penal system had reached a high level of efficiency in processing large numbers of prisoners over many years, and the first ship was ready immediately. The Eliza was a 538 ton transport built in India in 1806, and had made a convict voyage before. On this voyage she was under the command of Captain John Groves, while Surgeon Superintendent William Anderson was responsible for the health and welfare of the prisoners.

Richard and Tom spent only one day on the hulk before they boarded the Eliza. The rest of the convicts were loaded quickly, and within a week, the Eliza was ready to sail with 224 rioters on board. They were told that their destination was the island of Van Diemen's Land, where nearly all convicts were now taken. Norfolk Island was reserved for the worst criminals, and Sydney, as the seat of Colonial Government for New South Wales was trying to reduce the proportion of felons in its population by accepting fewer convict ships. Nevertheless the second ship, Eleanor, was sent there, sailing just a week after the Eliza, and the third ship, the Proteus sailed for Van Diemen's Land two months later.

The Eliza sailed from Portsmouth on Sunday the 6th of February 1831. In addition to the convicts, she carried 45 crewmembers, and 38 Royal marines commanded by Captain Moore to guard the prisoners. These rioters were regarded as being less criminal than regular convicts, and their treatment on the ships was better because of that. They were generally regarded as honest hardworking types who were just fighting for a fair wage. They were not chained for most of the voyage, and in return they caused no trouble on board. The Eliza arrived in Hobart on the afternoon of Sunday the 29th of May 1831 after a voyage of 112 days, with all of the convicts in good condition.

Ships arriving at Hobart were required to anchor offshore until they could be inspected by the Colonial Surgeon to see that no contagious diseases were being brought to the colony. Following that clearance, the convicts were interviewed by the Muster Master to determine the skills that they possessed that would be useful to the colony. Skilled labour was in short supply, as were administrative and organisational skills. Convicts with a good education and no behavioural problems often went to work for the Government, but most were assigned to free settlers on the land to grow crops to sustain the growing population, or to raise sheep. The original colony at Botany Bay in 1788 had nearly starved before the second fleet arrived with food needed to keep them going until they learned how to farm the new land.

When Richard's turn came to be interviewed, he was asked about his previous employment. He had already decided that farm labouring wasn't a desirable occupation, but since he wasn't qualified or experienced in any other line of work, he simply elevated himself to ploughman. That was a more skilled farm job that paid an extra few pence a day back in Gloucestershire, so perhaps it might lead to better treatment here. Apparently, many other farm workers had the same thought, and the muster list showed 145 ploughmen and just 21 labourers, with other miscellaneous trades such as carpenters and blacksmiths making up the rest.

During the interview process, a Convict Conduct sheet was raised, upon which the details of any future crimes or misdeeds that the prisoner may commit, along with the punishments awarded, would be recorded. Richard again attempted to confuse the system by giving a different name, and his west country accent was hard to understand anyway, and so he was recorded this time as Vennell. The authorities later checked his records, and added one of the previous names as well.

Name: Vennell/Venwell

Trade: Ploughman

Height without shoes: 5'10"

Age: 22

Complexion: Swarthy

Hair: Dark Brown

Whiskers: None

Forehead: Perpendicular

Eyebrows: Black, arched

Eyes: Brown

Nose: Medium Small, Straight

Mouth: Small

Chin: Medium Small

Remarks: R. Veins right arm below elbow

ditto left arm below elbow

Once all convicts were off the ship, all the unused stores were landed. Items such as spare clothing, bedding, leg irons and rivets, even bedpans and two spitting pots were taken into the inventory of the Hobart Ordnance Stores. The Eliza was then discharged from Government service, and was free to find a cargo to take back to England. The Marines were sent on to Sydney on the merchant ship Renown.

The assignment system was in force in Van Diemen's Land, whereby suitably well-behaved convicts were assigned to farmers, graziers, clergy or other officials to provide labour for them. The prisoners were subsidised by the Government, so it was cheap labour, intended to speed up the process of developing the new land. Prisoners who behaved badly remained in gaol, and the incorrigible ones were sent to the new maximum security prison at Port Arthur. It had just been completed to replace the earlier one at Macquarie Harbour. The convicts from there were to be transferred to Port Arthur over the course of a year. The transfer was going well until, as the last few were leaving they managed to take over a ship, and escaped to Chile. Most convicts behaved well enough though, and relatively few of them spent much time in cells after arriving in Hobart. In fact three days after her arrival, 192 of the Eliza's convicts had already been assigned.

Richard was told he was to go to the convict station in the Fingal Valley in the northeast of the island. He had only the vaguest idea of the shape of Van Diemen's Land, and no idea of its size. On Monday morning he was loaded aboard a dray with ten other convicts, all wearing leg irons, and accompanied by two troopers on horseback, they set out on the 150 mile trip from Hobart via Richmond, Oatlands and Ross. After three hours they reached the settlement of Richmond where a small gaol was being extended, and a new residence was being constructed for the local Commandant, all by convict labour. Building materials being used were local timber, bricks from Hobart and sandstone brought from quarries miles away by teams of convicts. Richard passed dozens of convict work gangs toiling on the roads and buildings, and wondered what he was going to have to do when he reached his final destination.

After a break and some food, Richard's group continued on, across the very substantial stone bridge built over the Coal River ten years earlier, by a previous generation of convicts. They slowly followed the track over low hills, where at times the convicts had to walk behind the wagon as the horses struggled up the slopes, then re-boarded for the faster run down the other side. Another six hours saw them at Oatlands where they stayed for the night. It was similar to Richmond, with convict gangs working on the buildings, roads and bridges in that area. The weather had been cold but sunny through the day, and Richard wasn't too unhappy. They were fed reasonably well and didn't have to do anything much except walk a few miles here and there to ease the load on the horses.

Early next morning it was cold and grey with a light drizzle as they set off again to another, larger convict station at Ross, which they reached by mid-morning, after travelling over less hilly country. They were heading north in a valley between two substantial looking mountain ranges about five miles away on either side. This valley provided a natural corridor for a road to the north, and as Richard would find later, it continued all the way to Launceston near the north coast of the island. There was less walking for the prisoners today, but that wasn't a good thing because the wagon lurched and bumped uncomfortably over the dirt road for hour after hour. The weather cleared during the day, and the temperature rose a few degrees. They passed flocks of sheep, and some cultivated land along the way, where free settlers had taken up Government land grants and were building their flocks, as well as growing wheat in this fertile valley.

After just a short break at Ross, with the weather now clear and sunny they continued on. A couple of hours later they turned off the road they had been following, and headed east along a narrower and less travelled road towards the mountain range that had been parallelling their track all day. Richard wondered if he was going to have to walk over the mountains, but as they continued, another valley appeared through a gap in the range. This valley was much narrower than the one they had been following, being less than a mile wide in places, and up to two miles in others. The mountains on the south side were particularly rugged, with granite cliffs standing out in places among the trees that covered the rest of the steep slopes. The north side was less rugged, and the mountains were not as high as those on the south.

The sun was low in the western sky behind them and its rays streamed down the valley ahead of the wagon, lighting up the landscape ahead. Richard could see familiar looking trees of various colours that were out of place in this country, and must have been planted by the earliest settlers. They travelled 20 miles along this valley and again passed sheep and homesteads along the way, as well as convict gangs working on the road, until finally reaching the convict station.

This station had been established only a few years earlier and housed several hundred convicts who were employed primarily on building roads. Security here was somewhat lax, and convicts had often been found wandering around the countryside unsupervised. Occasionally some of them were caught breaking into remote buildings to steal whatever they thought was valuable to them. That was punished by the lash, and repeat offenders found themselves on a one way trip to the new Port Arthur prison. All convict stations had to be as self-sufficient as possible, and so at this station there were 25 acres of land under cultivation to grow vegetables.

When Richard's group arrived they were processed, and he was told he would be a ploughman working on the station farm. He was fed with all the other convicts and locked up for he night, feeling relieved that he would be working at something he understood. The next morning the routine muster parade and prisoner count was made before the convicts set out on their assigned tasks. Richard was called out and told to wait, as a man who clearly wasn't a guard filled out some papers with the Station Commandant. When that was completed, Richard was informed that he was now assigned to a local sheep property, and that this man would be taking him there.

They boarded the man's light wagon and travelled just a few miles back the way Richard had come yesterday, and turned north off the road towards a group of buildings that he could see, about 500 yards away. The buildings were at the foot of the range of wooded hills where the Esk River ran along the northern side of the generally flat and open land in the Fingal valley. Richard's new boss had already told him that he was the Overseer at this property, which was owned by Mr. James Grant Esq, and was called Tullochgorum.

# Chapter 4

James Grant was about 55 years old, a land owner from Nairn in Scotland, who had come to Van Diemen's Land in 1821 with his wife Caroline. He carried a letter of introduction to the Governor, and was granted 2000 acres in the Fingal Valley in 1824. He had since added to his holdings here, and also bought a large house at Battery Point in Hobart. He was now a prominent and influential sheep farmer owning this 14,000 acre property he called Tullochgorum. It was 20 miles inland from Falmouth on the northeast coast, and only five miles from the Fingal convict station. A mountain range cut his property off from the coast, so this was a remote area only accessible from Hobart by 150 miles of dirt track, or from Launceston by 70 miles of similar track.

All the roads were being progressively improved by convict labour, but it was a slow process. Fresh vegetables had to be grown on Grant's property too, and always looking to reduce costs, he was reliant on cheap labour from the nearby convict station. As an original settler in the area, he had first choice of the best farm workers from the station as they came up for assignment. There were other well-known property owners in the Fingal valley such as Cowie and von Steiglitz who also used the cheap labour offered by the Government.

Grant was often away from the property, and it was then run by his Overseer, who soon saw that Richard was a good and reliable worker, and entrusted him with increasing responsibilities as time went on. Within two years Richard was considered knowledgeable enough to be consulted on matters affecting the crops, and even met Grant himself a few times. Communication between the two men was difficult though, because Grant had gone deaf a few years earlier, and used sign language. Richard could read, but not write very well, so there was no idle conversation between them.

During his years at Tullochgorum, Richard was able to accompany Grant to Hobart and Launceston at various times, to help him with purchases for the property. Because of the isolation and minimum security, Richard enjoyed considerable freedom to work as he liked, and he worked diligently without getting into any trouble. In addition to his primary work there, he was also required to work with the sheep and help with shearing when the crops didn't need attention, and as a result he became an experienced all round farm hand.

Grant's nephew, John Wallace, had come from Nairn to Fingal in about 1828, but missed out on the free land, the supply of which had already been exhausted. Without enough money to buy good land Wallace started a Post Office at his house at the little settlement of Fingal, in 1831. It was one of the first Post Offices in Van Diemen's Land. At that time, the settlement was just starting and its purpose was to provide some infrastructure for the surrounding properties. Wallace spent a lot of time at Tullochgorum and got to know Richard well. They were both the same age and often worked together, as Wallace himself learned all about raising sheep. During those times Richard told Wallace about his part in the riots, and how he came to be a convict. Wallace knew about the riots of course, and the reasons behind them. Not being independently wealthy, Wallace wasn't as socially aloof as Grant, and the two men gradually became friends.

A seven year convict was required to work satisfactorily for an employer for four years before being eligible for a Ticket of Leave. That Ticket enabled him to find his own employment, or work for himself if he wanted to, and to own property. Richard was granted his Ticket of Leave on the 4th of June 1835, exactly four years after starting work with Grant. He was then able to leave, but he was happy at Tullochgorum and decided to stay on, at least for a while, as he considered his long term plans.

Grant spent long periods at his Hobart house throughout each year, as he was actively lobbying the Government for a pass to be cut over the range to Falmouth so that he could send his wool out by sea. It was regarded as a low priority by the Authorities, and nothing had happened so far. There was already a track that a man on horseback could follow, but it wasn't good enough for wagons carrying wool. The road over the pass was eventually made by convict labour a few years later, joining Tullochgorum and Fingal via St Mary's to the coast. By the time it was started though, Richard was gone.

Back in England the riots had long subsided and some, at least, of the labourers' concerns had been addressed. The Government, with the wisdom of hindsight, could then see that the riots had been founded on real concerns, and were not part of some larger conspiracy to overthrow it. The many petitions from the families of convicted rioters were also having an effect, and by 1835, Absolute Pardons began to be issued. Richard knew his Pardon was coming after reading about the British Government's change of heart in the newspapers that found their way to Fingal, reporting months old news from overseas. Six months later he was given his Pardon document, Number 360, dated the 3rd of February 1836. He would need to keep it with him for some years to prove he was free.

Richard now had to decide what he would do next. He had chosen to stay with Grant after he received his Ticket of Leave, when he could have left to work for anyone else. Now as a free man he could leave Van Diemen's Land altogether if he wanted to. Some fellow rioters he had heard, were going to pay their passage back to their wives and families in England. Others applied to have their wives brought to Australia at Government expense. Those applications were not successful, but some who could afford it, paid the wives passage themselves. Still others, even married men, decided it wasn't worth going back, and they would stay in Australia to start a new life. Richard wanted to talk to Grant about it, but the sign language he had picked up over the years still wasn't enough to discuss complex matters.

Grant had been thinking about Richard's future himself. As a free man he would have to be paid full wages, and Grant wasn't about to incur more expense. There was an unlimited supply of cheap labour just down the road so he would simply select another convict. Richard started to worry about what he would do if he had to leave Tullochgorum. He knew his friend Wallace had gone away a few weeks ago, but didn't know where. He would wait until Wallace got back and talk to him about it. Wallace was better at sign language and would be able to translate for Grant.

A few days later Wallace arrived back at the property, and was met by Grant. They both went into the house, and after a while, Wallace came out and invited Richard inside to talk to them both. He was invited to sit down in the living room, which was a courtesy that had never been extended before. Without any preliminaries, Wallace spoke.

'Richard, Mister Grant tells me that he won't be able to keep you on here now that you're free.' Richard's spirits sank, but Wallace went on. 'As I've mentioned to you before, I've wanted to get into the wool industry for some time myself, and now I'm about to do so. As you know, there isn't any spare land here in Tasmania, so I've been looking at the mainland around Port Philip Bay. There are already some men over there with their flocks, and the whole area looks very suitable for running sheep.'

Richard had heard that men like David Stead and James Cowie who were friends of Grant's, and had visited Tullochgorum many times, had taken their sheep across Bass Strait and had taken up land somewhere around the Bay area. They had no legal right to it and were known as Squatters. Grant didn't intend moving at his age, and with his hearing problem. He had had his turn at pioneering new country in the Fingal Valley, and didn't intend starting again somewhere else. Wallace continued;

'I've made arrangements to buy some of Mister Grant's sheep to start my own flock, and I intend to take them to Port Philip.'

Richard wondered how he fitted in to this arrangement, but Wallace was still talking.

'I need someone who can help me set up a property, supervise the shepherds and run the place in my absence. Now that you are free, how would you like to come with me, and build a property from nothing in a new land?'

Richard was surprised by this offer, and hesitated a moment. Wallace saw his indecision and went on.

'I'm offering you the job of Overseer,' he said, so that there was no misunderstanding.

An Overseer was the property owner's right hand man. He was responsible for everything on the property, and ran the entire operation whenever the owner was away. Richard had watched Grant's own Overseer, and knew the sort of things that he had to do. Squatters spent a considerable time away from their properties arranging wool sales and meeting other Squatters to discuss grazing, and often, political matters that might affect their prosperity.

Wallace continued, 'I've been across to Port Philip to look around, and spoken to Mister Stead who has already taken his flock over there. The Hentys have been in the Portland District for a couple of years now, but I'm looking towards an area closer to Port Philip. The country there is very different to this, but it looks suitable for sheep. It will be hard work for a while, but I understand that Mister Batman's Port Philip Association will be starting a settlement there soon, and that will give us some facilities for importing building material and other such necessities.'

Richard's mind was racing, trying to anticipate the problems he would have to overcome, and comparing those with the risk of staying in Van Diemen's Land and perhaps never getting as good an offer again. Wallace and Grant were looking expectantly at him, so he made a decision.

'Thank you John, I'd be happy to accept your offer.'

Wallace beamed and held out his hand. Richard shook it, and marvelled at the change that freedom was bringing already. No one had offered to shake his hand since he helped smash Preator's threshing machine over five years before.

The Henty brothers were from a well-off family who owned their own ship, and they had moved across Bass Strait to Portland Bay in 1834. Reports from them indicated that the land there was excellent for running sheep. Wallace had also been told about the suitability of the mainland by David Stead soon after the Hentys went to Portland. Others had also explored the area, and the general quality of the land was well known to these men. On the basis of their reports, and after looking around himself, Wallace had decided to take his flock to an area on the western side of Port Philip Bay, where the country was flat and open. The plain was punctuated by an isolated group of hills called the You Yangs, whose highest point was called Station Peak. It was named by Lieutenant John Murray of the Lady Nelson who discovered and named Port Philip in March of 1802 just a few weeks before Matthew Flinders also found it without knowing Murray had already been there. The 1000 foot hill would be renamed Flinders Peak many years later. To the east of the hills there was a permanent stream called the Little River flowing from the north into Port Philip Bay. Wallace needed a good worker who knew how to look after sheep, wasn't afraid of living rough, and could grow enough vegetables to sustain himself and the shepherds for some years until civilization caught up. He knew Richard, and was aware of his capabilities, so he was an obvious choice.

Richard spent the next several weeks talking to Grant's Overseer and discussing how to set up a sheep run, and began assembling the basics that they would need to take with them. They could expect to be able to buy supplies in Launceston, and Grant offered some tools along with the sheep that would begin Wallace's flock. By June of 1836, Wallace, Richard and a couple of hired shepherds were ready to start driving the flock overland to Launceston where they would board a ship to cross Bass Strait.

Tom Smith wasn't so fortunate. He had been charged with several minor offences during his assignment period, and although he was pardoned for his part in the riots, he wasn't released with the others. When he was eventually released, he remained in Tasmania and within a short time was arrested for stealing cattle. He was still in gaol there in 1848. Meanwhile, his wife Rachael back in Gloucestershire, had given up waiting for him, and took up with another man. She had four more children before she died in 1855.

# Chapter 5

In 1836 the Port Philip District was still part of New South Wales, and was originally intended to start as a convict settlement too, but in 1803 Colonel David Collins had been unable to find enough fresh water to sustain his new penal colony on the southern shore of Port Philip Bay. Within the year, he moved it to Van Diemen's Land and established Hobart, where he was appointed Lieutenant-Governor. Another convict settlement was started on the mainland at Westernport Bay in 1826, but was closed two years later, and no further settlement was attempted until 1835, when John Batman looked around the area and decided that the northern end of the bay was suitable for a town.

The land surrounding the bay had been thoroughly explored in 1803 when Surveyor General Charles Grimes and botanist James Fleming took a small team of men and walked around the entire coast of the bay. Their ship followed them just off shore so they went back aboard at regular intervals for proper meals. They started at Collins' abandoned settlement on the south shore and walked up the east coast. They reached the northernmost extremity of the bay and explored the land along the Freshwater River, which was later renamed the Yarra Yarra, then shortened to Yarra, and noted the suitability of the land there for a settlement. Following the Maribyrnong River north from its junction with the Yarra, Fleming noted that the whole area looked suitable for pasture, and that estimate continued to the north for as far as they could see. That place was later named Flemington. They proceeded down the western shores of the bay crossing the Werribee and Little Rivers, around Corio Bay and across the Barwon River, then met up with their ship again at Indented Head on the western side of the entrance to the bay. Their detailed reports were taken back to Sydney, and although Grimes was less than enthusiastic about the area, Fleming's report said:

'The most eligible place for a settlement I have seen is on the Freshwater River....'

So when John Batman stood beside the Yarra in 1835 and declared that:

'This will be the place for a village...,' he was 32 years late.

Batman headed a group of Van Diemen's Land businessmen and settlers known as the Port Philip Association, whose objective was to open the Port Philip area for settlement. It is likely that they already knew of Grimes' and Fleming's reports. During a trip to look at the new country, Batman made a treaty with the local aborigines to purchase land along the Yarra River, then returned to Hobart to prepare his group to settle the area. He applied to Governor Bourke in Sydney to formalise his settlement, and went ahead with his preparations. Another group led by John Fawkner was doing the same thing, and were further advanced in their preparations, so they arrived on the Yarra first. When Batman and his group arrived, there was the prospect of a minor war breaking out between the two groups. Batman thought he owned the land and Fawkner claimed it was his because he arrived first. In the end, Batman's deal with the aborigines was declared illegal, and he had no claim to the land. The two groups then had no option but to amalgamate, and build the settlement together, since there was plenty of room for everyone. The settlers named their new town Bearbrass.

As news of the new colony spread, more settlers and Squatters kept arriving, both by sea and overland from Sydney, and many of them continued out into the surrounding country to establish their sheep runs on the open plains to the north and west of the new settlement. Shipping between Port Philip, Sydney and Hobart increased quickly as merchants delivered supplies of food and building materials, and the town grew surprisingly quickly. The early settlers carried axes or tomahawks as a matter of routine, and many carried guns as well. Alcohol was always high on the list of necessities for new settlers, and that fuelled some fights, as well as the haphazard firing of guns at all hours of the day and night. Many people brought dogs with them, and they soon created a population explosion of their own.

Squatters were just recovering from their unsavory reputation that had started in New South Wales 30 years earlier when men, usually ex-convicts, occupied any vacant land they thought suitable for their needs, and therefore had no title to it. In England, a witness before a House of Commons Committee of 1815 said:

'These persons are almost invariably the instigators and promoters of crime, receivers of stolen property, illegal vendors of spirits, and harbourers of runaways, bushrangers, and vagrants.'

It was soon apparent though, that the wool produced by many of these men was important to the economy, so they came to be officially tolerated. As free settlers arrived in New South Wales and did the same thing, accusations of links to criminal activity were harder to sustain, and squatting became more acceptable, though still technically illegal.

When the new colonial Surveyor General, Major Thomas Mitchell, explored 'Australia Felix' during his expedition from Sydney in 1836, he found many people already living in the area from Mt Macedon to Portland. On his way back to Sydney, Mitchell bypassed the area at the northern end of Port Philip Bay where he would have found the Batman-Fawkner group flourishing. In May of 1836, there were 177 people, 26,000 sheep, plus cattle and horses in the 250 square kilometers around their settlement. Mitchell was knighted for his discoveries, but the real explorers like Grimes, Fleming, the Hentys, Stead, Cowie, von Steiglitz and other unnamed pioneers all over the country had been years ahead of the men usually credited in the history books.

In late 1836, the summer was warm and the days clear with mostly blue skies. Richard supervised the loading of Wallace's small flock on to a ship at Launceston, and crossed Bass Strait to a natural landing place on the western extremity of Port Philip Bay that had been pointed out to him by David Stead. There were already a few huts there, as settlers spread out around the Bay. Richard and his four shepherds drove the 1000 sheep 10 miles north, past Station Peak until they reached the Little River area. The land looked well suited for sheep and so they started to set up a permanent camp.

In Sydney, Governor Sir Richard Bourke had previously received the application from John Batman to establish the settlement on the Yarra, based on Batman's treaty with the aboriginals. Batman had no authority to make a treaty, and his application was refused. When Bourke heard that the settlement had gone ahead and was rapidly expanding, he had no option but to make it official. He sent Captain William Lonsdale of the Kings Own Regiment as Commandant and Police Magistrate, along with a group of surveyors to make a preliminary assessment of the area. Surveyor Robert Russell reported back to Bourke on the general layout of the area, even noting at that early stage, that the Yarra River was subject to frequent flooding, and that its course near the mouth would need to be straightened and dredged to accommodate shipping. Bourke then decided to visit the settlement to see it for himself.

In late February of 1837, Governor Bourke took surveyor Robert Hoddle with him and sailed to Port Philip in the ship Rattlesnake. On the 1st of March they entered Port Philip Bay, and on the advice of the Rattlesnake's captain confirmed the need, and selected the site, for the future Point Lonsdale lighthouse and pilot station, then sailed north to Hobson's Bay at the mouth of the Yarra River. Bourke identified the site for another town on the western shore of Hobson's Bay to be called William's Town, after the reigning monarch King William IV. He suggested that it would be a better place for the main settlement, but Lonsdale later pointed out that the lack of fresh water there would restrict its growth. They left the Rattlesnake and rowed up the Yarra to the settlement, landing at a wharf already constructed by the settlers. They met Batman and Fawkner, and had a preliminary look around on horseback. There were now more than 200 settlers, and 30,000 sheep in the area.

Bourke directed Hoddle to prepare a town plan, and two days later a street grid measuring about one mile by a half, was drawn up. After some disagreement between Hoddle and Bourke, the width of main streets was set at 99 feet rather than the 66 feet that Bourke wanted. The streets intersected at right angles making each city block a square measuring approximately 220 by 220 yards. Hoddle had to compromise on narrower laneways running east-west that subdivided the city blocks, and were intended to provide rear access to the major buildings that would one day be erected. Bourke named the streets after his wife Elizabeth, himself, the royal family, surveyors Hoddle and Russell, Colonel Collins, and other notable people. Not surprisingly, he thought the town's name of Bearbrass could be improved upon, and so he named it Melbourne after the British Prime Minister. Bourke then assembled a party to accompany him for a couple of weeks to look at the surrounding country.

They travelled on horseback with their supplies in a dray, west to Stead and Cowie's group of huts on Corio Bay, which Bourke named Geelong. They briefly looked along the Barwon River, then rode north towards Mt Macedon. On the 15th of March their dray broke down near the Little River a few miles from Wallace's camp.

One of Wallace's shepherds reported to Richard that a party was crossing their land a few miles away, but he hadn't approached them to find out who they were. Since no surveys had been carried out, the Squatters' legal hold on the land was uncertain, and they had to be aware of new people approaching who might claim the same area.

Richard decided he had better have a look, so he rode out along the river bank until he came across the party working on the dray, with several horses tethered nearby. His approach was seen, and several men met him. Richard noticed that one man wore a uniform that he didn't recognise, and another was too well dressed to be an ordinary traveller. Richard dismounted to introduce himself.

'Good day there, I'm Richard Venvill, the Overseer here on Mister Wallace's property.' He waited for a response, and the man in the uniform spoke.

'How do you do Mister Venvill. I'm Captain King of His Majesty's Ship Rattlesnake.' He paused and indicated the well-dressed man. 'May I introduce Governor Bourke, of Sydney.'

Richard couldn't disguise his surprise. The Governor of New South Wales! He had heard his name mentioned, but never expected to see him. Bourke stepped forward and held out his hand. Once again, Richard marvelled at the change in his circumstances in a few short months. Bourke asked about Wallace, and Richard explained that he was away in Hobart for a few weeks. Bourke asked about the run, but without Wallace there to tell Bourke about their future plans and expectations regarding surveys, Richard was out of his depth in the conversation. Bourke seemed to lose interest quickly, and went back to see how the dray repairs were going. After a brief word to one of the other men, Richard saw that no one else seemed eager to talk to him, and he realised that there were still limits to his social status. He mounted his horse and rode back to his camp.

Bourke's party continued on to Mt Macedon, and climbed to the top where they confirmed the observations previously made by Mitchell. Along the way, Bourke noted that most of the land was good sheep country, and they passed through several properties. He returned to Melbourne, and a few days later followed the Yarra upstream to look at the country on either side. He noted the rapids that separated the salt water from the fresh, and that there were plenty of fish to be seen in the clear water. He wrote in his journal that:

'It is perhaps the finest river I have seen in New South Wales.'

On the 29th of March, Bourke left Melbourne and returned to Sydney. Hoddle and Lonsdale then completed the layout of the city, setting out more roads and allotment sizes. Lonsdale had brought some constables with him to start a police force, and two more were sent from Hobart. John Fawkner soon started the first public library, and began publishing a newspaper that he called The Melbourne Advertiser.

The main streets were named Elizabeth and Great Collins and that intersection became the centre of town. It was known as Great Collins to distinguish it from the lane running parallel to it called Little Collins Street. The earliest settlers had called a hill just to the north of the town Burial Hill after young Willie Goodman was buried there in May of 1836, and since it was then well away from any dwellings, it became the first cemetery. Following the town survey, a flagstaff was erected next to the cemetery, and was used to signal the settlers of ships approaching up the bay. The hill was then renamed Flagstaff Hill. Another hill on the western side of Spencer Street near the river was called Batman's Hill. John Batman built his house at its base fronting Spencer Street. The hill was later quarried away, and much of it used to fill in a nearby swamp.

By now there were at least ten other Squatters in the area between Melbourne, Mt Macedon and Geelong, some already settled, and others still looking for the most suitable land. Squatters like Stead, Cowie, von Steiglitz, Clarke and Sams were setting out their runs. After a winter at their first camp it became apparent to Wallace that the wet weather and cold winds made the place less suitable than it had appeared, and he started looking for a better location. He would have to move further north to find a suitable place not already claimed.

In April of 1838, Richard and Wallace drove their flock past the western side of Mt Anakie and stopped near Mt Doran where the land was reasonably flat and well grassed with only isolated clumps of trees scattered across the plain, and several creeks running through it. Wallace decided this was a more suitable place, and told Richard to set up a camp. Further north the land became hilly and wooded, but there was more open land to the northeast between the East and West Moorabool Rivers. Another Squatter named George Egerton, with his Overseer George Gordon, was setting up his own camp in that area, and the two runs adjoined each other, though their camps were about six miles apart. Wallace called his property Ballark, and Egerton named his run, Bungal.

Egerton was an enigmatic man. He was convicted in 1830 of stealing an iron pot, sentenced to seven years, and arrived in Van Diemen's Land on the 12th of August 1830, aboard the convict transport Manlius. This ship would become notorious on another voyage to Melbourne twelve years later. On the 15th of April 1837, immediately upon finishing his seven year sentence, Egerton sailed from Launceston to Port Fairy with William Dibble. A year later, he arrived at Bungal with thousands of sheep. Egerton also took up leases at Lake Albacutya well inland, and at Indented Head near Geelong. How he managed to gather enough money to do all this within a few months of finishing a seven year sentence, is a mystery. Dibble always remained in the background, but perhaps he was the real owner and supplied the money, leaving Egerton to do the hard work.

Immediately north of Bungal were wooded hills, one of which came to be known as Mount Egerton. A smaller isolated hill to the southeast would later be called Mount Wallace. Since there were no fences around the properties, the sheep had to be watched at all times, and pens were built to hold them at night.

A priority was the construction of some living accommodation for Wallace and his employees. At first, they built rough huts with logs until they could have sawn timber brought in. Then they built a large shearing shed, and another to store the wool. Vegetables were almost impossible to import, so Richard cleared and fenced off several acres close to the huts to begin growing crops. During the next year, Wallace spent considerable time in Melbourne and Hobart, arranging to sell his wool, buying building materials, and keeping in touch with political events that might affect Squatters' tenuous hold on their land. Richard was left to run the property from day to day.

Governor Bourke's term finished and he was replaced by Sir George Gipps, who also looked at the question of what to do about Squatters occupying land outside the boundaries of the official settlements. Later, in 1840 he wrote that he:

'...may as well attempt to confine an Arab within a circle traced on sand, as to confine the graziers or wool-growers of New South Wales within any bounds that can possibly be assigned to them.'

# Chapter 6

The construction of Melbourne was gathering pace now, and hotels and shops were being built to service the growing population. The only crossing of the Yarra was a mile to the east of the town, where a punt was established just below the rapids. The water above the rapids was fresh, and was the only source of water for the town. The road to the river was called Punt Road. The Yarra wasn't deep enough to allow sea-going ships to enter, so in 1839 Wilbraham Liardet built a pier near the river mouth to enable them to land cargo and to load wool, which was the only export from the settlement. The area around the pier consisted of swamp, low scrub, and sand dunes, and was called Sandridge. It was on the south side of the river, and so there was no road access to the settlement other than via the punt, which was further upstream from the town. Wharves were built along the Yarra at the end of Elizabeth and Queen Streets, where cargo was stockpiled and then transported to and from the Sandridge pier by small work boats called lighters. Liardet then built a pub at Sandridge to serve the sailors, and to take advantage of the general increase in the population of the area.

Geelong's few huts, where Richard had landed Wallace's flock, had grown into a small town with its own jetty, and in later years many immigrant ships would go directly there. Williamstown was growing on the western shore of Hobson's Bay, and its citizens tried hard to make it the major settlement as Bourke had suggested, so that it would be the centre of administration. They built much more substantial and expensive buildings that made the area somewhat exclusive, and built jetties to rival those of Sandridge. Their efforts were ultimately doomed though, because as Lonsdale had predicted, there wasn't enough fresh water close by to sustain a large population. Travel between Williamstown and Melbourne was quickest by Mr. McLean's ferry that ran a mile and a half across Hobson's Bay between the Williamstown and Sandridge piers, and passengers at each end raised smoke to advise that they were waiting. Fares were very expensive though, five shillings for one person, or two shillings per person if two or more. Labourers were being paid about two shillings a day at the time.

Melbourne's streets had been cleared of trees, but many stumps remained to impede the passage of wagons and pedestrians, and their surface remained dirt for the next 20 years. That dirt turned to mud during the frequent wet weather, and often became impassable to all but the bullock teams that trundled along hauling heavy loads, on their slow but relentless passage through all obstacles. Drainage and sanitation in the town was basic at best, with all manner of industrial and domestic waste being allowed to run down open drains into the Yarra.

Convicts who managed to escape from Van Diemen's Land sometimes turned up in Melbourne, and Magistrate Lonsdale considered them an undesirable blight on the otherwise free population. It was the task of the two Hobart constables to arrest such escapees. The men appointed were former prison warders and were reputed to be able to recognise any convict. This very soon proved not to be the case and they were encouraged to resign.

A police station was built in Bourke Street and within a few months, a second police station was established at Geelong. By August of 1838, the Police Force consisted of a Chief Constable, 17 constables and one scourger. Due to insufficient gaol cells being available, most minor offenders were sentenced to the lash. The scourger, who was always an ex-convict or Ticket of Leave man, was employed at one shilling and sixpence a day plus rations, to administer the punishment. For many years there was at least one such man attached to every police station.

John Batman died from syphilis in May of 1839, and later that year Charles LaTrobe was appointed Superintendent. Under his capable guidance, Melbourne continued to grow as a free settlement. By 1840, the area around Port Philip was very busy, with ships carrying new immigrants arriving regularly, mostly from England and Scotland. Passengers were ferried ashore at Sandridge, where they could buy a ticket on a lighter to Queen's wharf if they could afford it. Alternatively, a horse drawn coach was slightly cheaper, travelling about three miles overland past the settlement, across the Yarra on the punt, and a mile back to the town. Settlers were spreading out over the area from Port Philip Heads to Mt Macedon, and enterprising people were setting up coach services between Melbourne and outlying towns, including Geelong, where the Geelong Advertiser newspaper was beginning publication.

At times, Richard Venvill went to Melbourne to buy supplies and farming equipment for Ballark, staying a few days at a time. Women were in very short supply in the town, being outnumbered three to one by men, and were mostly already married. Richard had thought about getting married at some time, but the chances of finding a wife here were very slim. Nevertheless, he kept watching for eligible women. During one of these trips in August, he looked at some ewes at Harry Atkinson's sale yards, then went on to inspect some dairy cows prior to an auction at the premises of Bear and Son's Cattle Market, with a view to buying one for Ballark. A young girl there caught his eye, and he watched her for several minutes. She was employed to milk the cows, and Richard immediately thought she would be an asset on the remote property.

She stood by as he inspected a cow, and he asked her, 'Is this one a good milker lass?'

'Oh yes sir, they are all good', she replied. She didn't really know, since most of them had only arrived by ship a few days ago, but thought that her employer would expect her to say that.

'You've been milking them for a while then have you?' he asked.

'Yes sir, I've been here for over a month now, since ever I've been in this town.'

'Where did you come from before?'

'From Hampshire sir. My father has a farm at Michelmersh. I came here with my older brother William on the Andromache, and I hope the rest of my family will come later on.'

Richard looked at her carefully. She was young, but with a farm background, she might be useful milking and helping with the vegetable garden. He decided to introduce himself, and offer her a job.

'My name is Richard Venvill, what's yours?'

'Eliza Brown sir.'

'And how old are you?'

'Seventeen and a half sir.'

'How would you like to work on a farm again? I'm the Overseer for Mister Wallace at Ballark, and we need someone to help with the veggie garden, and milk this cow.'

Eliza looked interested, and asked, 'Where is Ballark sir? Will I be able to receive letters there?'

'It's about 30 miles from Melbourne, and we run 3000 sheep now, with a couple of acres of vegetables. And yes, we collect mail every week or two from the Post Office here, so you will be able to write to your family if you want to. Letters usually take about four months to get to England, and another four back, so a week or two waiting won't make much difference. I will pay you more than the standard rate. How much do you earn now?'

'I'm paid a shilling a day here Mister Venvill.'

Richard saw that she was uncertain about accepting his offer, but he was determined to take her with him.

'We can do better than that. I'll pay you an extra three pence a day and include board and lodging as well. I'm bidding on this cow this afternoon and going back to Ballark tomorrow, so if you want the job, be ready then.'

Eliza had already found that opportunities were limited here, and a good job offer on a farm, even one so far away, needed to be taken seriously, and a 25% increase in wages was enough to remove any remaining doubts.

'Thank you sir, I will be ready.'

It was sheer luck that Richard came across Eliza so soon after her arrival, before she was snapped up by someone else. Her brother William was a bricklayer and had also found work in Melbourne. He was paid five shillings a day. Although he would lose some contact with his younger sister if she went with Richard, he knew that girls just had to take any chance to improve their situation as it arose.

Richard was 30 years old, and Eliza was only 17, but in the isolation at Ballark it wasn't long before they became more than friends, and very soon they decided to formalise their relationship. They were married just three months later, on the 13th of October 1840, in St James Church on Flagstaff Hill. Richard never mentioned to her that he had been a convict, since it wasn't necessary for anyone to know, and since Wallace wouldn't tell anyone, his real origins were never known to anyone in the family. Eliza immediately became pregnant, and their first daughter, Susan, was born on the 24th of August 1841, when Eliza was 18 years old. This baby would be followed by a new one about every second year for the next 30 years.

By the early 1840s the world economy was running down and a recession began. Banks had no money to lend and the price of wool fell. Squatters could only maintain their incomes by selling their sheep for meat, or boiling them down for tallow. The short term economic viability of the colony looked uncertain, but immigrant ships still arrived at the rate of about one each week. Ballark was well established now, with the main homestead, stables, sheds and stockyards, the Venvill house and several additional houses being built for the employees, some of whom were married. There were about 12 adults and several young children living there. The place was starting to take on the appearance of a small town.

In February of 1842, an immigrant ship arrived off Williamstown which justified the policy of not allowing ships to berth before being medically cleared. This was the former convict ship the Manlius, now carrying free immigrants from Greenock in Scotland, and it carried a plague that had killed some 25% of its passengers. The survivors were then quarantined ashore for a further three months. When finally cleared they found that they were still treated as contagious by frightened settlers, and many had difficulty finding work. The Manlius was then always referred to as the Plague Ship.

During these early years, shepherds sometimes reported that they had found gold nuggets here and there, but no one was interested. Early geological surveys had also noted areas likely to bear various minerals including gold, and those reports were sent back to London. At that time though, there was no interest in mining the new land. Squatters were only interested in wool, and distractions that took men away from their proper employment, minding sheep, were discouraged.

By 1844, John Wallace had married 16 year-old Elizabeth Smith, a girl 19 years younger than himself. She had arrived in Melbourne in February 1842 aboard the Manlius, surviving the horrors of the plague and quarantine, and now they had their first son, Donald. He would later grow up with the Venvill children, almost as part of the family. Most of Wallace's subsequent children died before the age of 20.

By the end of 1844 the entire bay had been sounded, marine navigation buoys and beacons had been laid to mark shipping channels, and tenders were called to dredge the river at Queen's wharf. Both the Union Bank and the Port Philip Savings Bank were established, several more newspapers began publishing and there were over 1000 buildings in the town area. At Ballark, Eliza had given birth to George who was by now nearly two years old. He was followed by Maria in 1845, Charlotte in 1847, and Sarah in 1849.

A good education for boys, and especially the eldest in a family was considered essential, and family sacrifices were often made to pay for it. When young George Venville (the spelling had changed by then) was old enough to start school he was enrolled in a boarding school at Buninyong where the fees were 50 shillings a quarter. That fee amounted to about 20% of Richard's income. Two of Egerton's sons were also boarders at the same school, and Wallace's son Don was a day student.

# Chapter 7

As part of a campaign waged by Melburnians to gain self-government, a Separation Enquiry was convened early in 1846, and the Mayor of Melbourne J. F. Palmer made a detailed submission. Among other things, it noted that the Port Philip District's total population was between 25,000 and 30,000 people, and its financial status as at December 1845 was in large surplus, but little of that was being returned to the colony from Sydney.

Ordinary revenues, sale of Crown Lands: 95,942 pounds

Expenditures including Public Works: 40,969 pounds

Surplus: 54,973 pounds

Imports: 248,286 pounds

Exports (mostly wool): 463,604 pounds

Surplus: 215,318 pounds

The push for 'Separation of Port Philip from the Middle District' was widely used in advertising as merchants offered to provide:

'...a demonstration of the absolute necessity of uniting... to throw off the dependency on the adjoining colonies, for the necessities of life.'

It would take another five years for self-government to be approved.

In 1849, Eliza's letters to her family in Hampshire telling them of the virtues of life in Australia, had some effect when one of her younger brothers, Thomas, arrived. He was then about 24 years old, and came on the Andromache, the same ship as Eliza had, nine years before. At that time wages for most tradesmen ranged from 50 to 80 pounds per year, with carpenters and masons among the highest paid. Wages were halved if board and lodging was included. Labourers at the bottom of the men's scale received a daily rate of between 3 and 4 shillings.

The weather all over southern Australia had been hot throughout the summer of 1850-51, with many days above 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and strong hot northerly winds blowing. Eliza was pregnant yet again, and felt the heat badly. Around Melbourne the vegetation had died off and the bush was drier than anyone had seen it. On Thursday the 6th of February 1851 the fires started, burning everything across the Port Philip and Western Districts. The smoke from these fires was seen in Tasmania. Few people had experience in fighting bushfires and it was a disaster for Squatters. Their pastures and a significant proportion of livestock were destroyed, although the dearth of fences allowed many sheep to escape the flames, and they had to be found and rounded up later. Ballark and Bungal were both severely affected and all hands spent days fighting the flames and trying to save their animals and buildings.

People in Melbourne were less affected by the fires, and were just settling down again when news was received that gold had been discovered at Lewis Ponds Creek, west of Sydney. It had actually been noticed there as far back as 1823, but it was officially denied by the Colonial Government, and there was little interest in gold anyway, so nothing came of it at that time. However, when everyone heard of the California gold rush of 1849, and of the wealth that could be made, interest in gold increased. Searching began in earnest throughout New South Wales, spurred on by the promise of rewards as the Government saw a way of improving its finances. The whole of New South Wales had been suffering a progressive reduction in funding from the British Government, and had to find ways to raise its own revenue.

When this new discovery near Bathurst was announced, people came from all over New South Wales. Then as the word spread, they came from around the world, including California, to try their luck. In Melbourne, most young men who could leave their jobs did so. Shopkeepers sold out, and property in Collins Street could be bought at prices that hadn't been seen in Melbourne for 10 years. A Bathurst newspaper reported that:

'A complete mental madness appears to have seized almost every member of the community. There has been a universal rush to the diggings.'

The reason for their enthusiasm was that an ounce of gold was worth between 60 and 80 shillings, while average labouring wages were three shillings and sixpence a day. So an ounce of gold was worth a month's wages. Richard Venville was being well paid, now receiving close to 80 pounds per year, and the goldfield was too far away to tempt him, so he stayed at Ballark with Wallace. Then gold was discovered just a few months later at Clunes only 30 miles away, and a few days after that, at Mt Buninyong just 10 miles northwest of Ballark. This gold had first been found years earlier too, but following the Bathurst rush, there was renewed interest, and a reward was offered by the Government for discoveries in the Port Philip District. Another field at Sandhurst was announced a month later, and it was reported that gold nuggets could be found there just by walking around and kicking the dirt. That triggered the biggest gold rush in Australia's history. In the first weeks at Sandhurst, an area measuring 24 feet square produced a hundred pounds weight of gold in just a few days, and any claim that didn't produce at least a pound of gold per hundred pounds of dirt was considered not worth digging.

As this news reached the rest of the world, people arrived in their thousands. The population of Victoria in 1851 was 77,000, but within 12 months it had doubled, and it doubled again the following year. The track from Melbourne to the Buninyong field passed through Egerton's run, and traffic increased every day as more men joined the rush. New towns grew at the gold fields, and at places along the roads to those fields, centered on the hotels that were built as convenient stopping places for prospectors. Ballarat sprang up near Mt Buninyong, and Bacchus Marsh, Ballan, and Mt Egerton started as wayside resting places for diggers. Sandhurst became Bendigo, and on that road, Diggers Rest, Gisborne, and Kyneton served the same purpose for that field. The Geelong to Ballarat road passed Ballark, and like all the others it was just a rough unmade track that became a quagmire in places during winter rains. It was as busy as the Melbourne to Ballarat road, since many immigrant ships were arriving at Geelong rather than trying to get into the overcrowded port at Sandridge, where ships were now arriving at the rate of about 20 a week. Many of them were left stranded there as their crews deserted to join the gold rush.

In 1851 self-government was granted, and Victoria became a State. The influx of new people coming to Melbourne and joining the rushes pushed the price of meat and wool to record highs. Squatters found their incomes skyrocketing and were far happier with gold discoveries than they had been before. The increased prices allowed Wallace to pay the Venvilles enough to keep them from joining the rush.

Prospectors looked everywhere for new gold fields, and soon there were discoveries north and east of Melbourne as well. In 1852, some gold was even found at Mt Egerton, and a rush started, but died out quickly as diggers realised that most of the gold there was deep underground, and beyond their reach. So most of them rushed off to more lucrative fields, but the foundations of the town were laid.

In 1852, Eliza's parents, James and Eliza Brown, with their children Henry, Charles, George, Miriam, Susan and Betsy, finally emigrated from Hampshire. They arrived at Portland aboard the Priam and settled at Foxhow about 40 miles southwest of Ballark, and in following years, Eliza was able to see them from time to time.

Then in 1853, Wallace heard through his political contacts that the new Victorian Government was reviewing all aspects of its administration, and intended to Legislate to reduce the size of the huge runs that early Squatters had claimed. All land would be surveyed, and some re-allocated for agriculture, or reserved for conservation. Any land left available would be sold off at auction. Bungal was currently 18,000 acres or about 28 square miles, and Ballark was about half that size. Wallace saw that he could lose much of his property under the scheme, and attempted to circumvent this by dividing his property into Ballark Number One, and Ballark Number Two. He hoped to keep the two smaller runs in the family for his sons. George Egerton would probably have done the same, but his sudden death left his property unprotected.

In 1854, Egerton, like all the Squatters, was increasing his livestock numbers to take advantage of the inflated prices for meat and wool. He was inspecting a new bullock that had just arrived on his property, when the bull threw up its head and a horn penetrated Egerton's brain, through his eye. He died immediately. Egerton's wife Bridget asked Wallace to look after Bungal for a few months and went to stay with her family at Geelong, but left their eldest son Frank aged about 10, with Wallace and his family. Within a few months, Wallace was notified that Bridget had died too. Frank was left orphaned, and too young to run the property, so Wallace continued running it, intending to keep it viable until Frank was old enough to take over. That meant leaving Richard and Eliza now with six children, since John had been born in 1851, with the responsibility for managing Ballark.

Soon after Egerton's death, as Richard was working hard and Eliza was pregnant with their seventh child, they heard rumours that gold had been discovered on the Laradoc River near Mount Blackwood, 25 miles north of Ballark. The rumours were confirmed a few weeks later in January of 1855, and another major rush started to that area. Richard had seen some of that area over the years as he had explored the countryside, and wondered how anyone could work in such steep and rugged country. Once again, he had no desire to leave Ballark to live in the primitive conditions on a goldfield.

As it happened, the Nicholson Land Act wasn't passed until 1860, and it then restricted the Squatters to owning just 640 acres or one square mile of land, while being allowed to lease some more. They were able to buy back some additional land at auction, and most did so. However, the Squatters soon found ways to circumvent the limitations and bought back more land than was intended. When it was seen that this Act didn't work as expected, another review was done and the more effective Duffy Land Act followed in 1862. Ballark survived the surveys mostly intact, but Bungal was subdivided, and much of it was sold off. Once they had legal tenure, the term 'Squatter' gradually disappeared, to be replaced by the more acceptable term, 'Grazier'.

After that, Frank Egerton realised he had lost most of his inheritance. He had been brought up with the Wallace and Venville families since he was 10 years old and now at 18 decided to go out and make his own way in the world. He and Wallace's eldest son Don rode away to Queensland, eventually arriving at Emerald, where Frank stayed. One hundred years later, a descendent of his, Sir Jack Egerton became active in politics and was president of the Queensland ALP State Executive. Don Wallace returned to Ballark, later taking it over when his father died. He became a member of the Victorian Parliament, and a racehorse owner and breeder. His horses won all of the big races including the Melbourne Cup. In 1890, he owned Carbine, one of Australia's most famous racehorses.

The stress and hard work during the years from 1851 to 1854 precluded Eliza from further pregnancies, but when that period passed, it all started again. James was born early in 1855, and David in late 1856. In 1858, Eliza's youngest sister Betsy Brown who had arrived with her parents in 1852, married Henry Lingenberg, and that wedding was held at Ballark. Susan, the eldest Venville child was now 18, a year older than her aunty Betsy. Eliza continued having babies and Liebenner was born in 1859.

# Chapter 8

In February of 1861, Richard was aged 50 and Eliza just turned 38, with nine children and another due soon. They had been living at Ballark for 20 years. Gold was still being found and quartz reefs were being mined all around them, at places like Steiglitz, Morrison's, Dolly's Creek and Stoney Rise. However, the easy gold was gone, and Dolly's Creek was described by the Mining Registrar as a poor man's diggings, providing at best, just good wages. Water for alluvial washing there was dependent on a twelve mile long water race from above the Lal Lal falls, and in the end it was the Chinese miners who came in after most others had gone, who were able to extract the last specks of gold.

Susan Venville (now spelling her name as Sussana) was soon to be married, to a Swiss immigrant named Alexander Verlot, who had only recently arrived in Australia as the gold rush ended. He became a miner in the Mt Egerton area, working for some of the many companies sinking shafts there to get at the gold that the early prospectors couldn't reach. The spelling of his name was soon corrupted to the phonetic Vurlow, and he married Susan Venville in January of 1861. The marriage was registered in the parish of Kerrit Bareet, which encompassed a large area including the towns of Gordon, Morrison's, Mt Egerton and Ballark. Alec and Susan Vurlow would then move around the local area for a few years, following the gold mining work as mines opened and closed. In that same year, 1861, one of Susan's younger brothers, James Venville aged six, died at Ballark, and another new baby, Calak, was born there.

In November 1861, a special horse race was staged in Melbourne at the Flemington track, where races had been held since 1841. The prize was 170 pounds and a gold watch, so it attracted all the best horses around. It was won by a horse named Archer that had been walked to the track from its home stables in Nowra 500 miles away. Archer won again the following year, when the prize trophy was changed to a gold cup, and the tradition of the Melbourne Cup was started.

Sport was already a significant part of the Melbourne scene, with the first Australian Rules football match being played in 1858. Its purpose was to keep cricket players fit during the winter. The early games were notable for the lack of formal rules, the playing field being nearly half a mile long, teams of up to 40 a side, a round ball, and no fixed time limit to the game. One of the first games, between Melbourne Grammar and Scotch College, was played over three weekends, and resulted in a draw, one goal each. Goal umpires kept score and they were so far apart that they had to use flags to signal a goal to the umpire at the far end. As the game developed, rules were defined and an oval ball was used, but there was an outcry when the first overhead catch was allowed as a mark. Letters to the editor of the Argus newspaper protested that allowing overhead marking would unfairly limit the inclusion of short men in the teams.

In 1862, Susan Vurlow was having some difficulty with her first pregnancy, and was advised by the Mt Egerton doctor to go to Melbourne for the birth. The Melbourne hospital was the best in Australia, as were most facilities built there as a result of the gold rush. Alec and Susan set out by coach, but when they arrived at Ballan, they were told that the road was impassable between Ballan and Bacchus Marsh after the recent rain. From Bacchus Marsh to Melbourne it was still open, so all they had to do was to reach Bacchus Marsh somehow. A local teamster offered to take them on his bullock wagon, which would have no trouble slogging through the mud. It would be a slow trip, but with all the local inns full of stranded travellers and nowhere else to stay, Susan wanted to keep going.

After hours of slow travelling, they were nearing Bacchus Marsh when the jolting wagon induced Susan into early labour. The teamster steered the bullock team to some dry ground near a small tree, and Alec spread a canvas ground sheet under the wagon. Two hours later, rain was still drizzling as Elizabeth Vurlow was born, luckily without the complications that had been feared. After resting a while, they went on to Bacchus Marsh and saw the local doctor to register the birth, and three days later they were back home at Morrisons. The Vurlow name would become well known in that district, where Alec and Susan would eventually have nine children, many of whom also stayed in the surrounding region all their lives.

In 1863, after those two young men rode off from Ballark, Eliza Venville then aged 39, gave birth to twins, William and Alexander, so now there were 11 surviving children ranging from Susan at age 22 and married, through George 20, Maria 18, Charlotte 16, Sarah 14, John 12, David 7, Liebenner 4, Calak 2, and now the twins. Three years later, in 1866 little William died from illness caused by water contamination. It was a lesson to the family and they took better precautions against that happening again.

By July of 1868, Mt Egerton was a thriving little town of around one thousand people, with several quartz mining companies working, a number of hotels, a bank, a school, two churches and a doctor, but no police. Bushrangers were active throughout the goldfields, and reports of both robberies and arrests were appearing regularly in the newspapers. Harry Power was the most wanted of them at the time, and he had recently been seen just 20 miles away at Blackwood. Power had roamed for years over a wide area from Kyneton and Blackwood to Bairnsdale in the east, and remained at large until 1869. During that time he became a mentor to the young Ned Kelly.

The nearby town of Gordon had started as a gold mining town, but the gold soon ran out and the town didn't develop as expected. Nevertheless, a police station and Mining Warden's office had already been established, so they were left there to service the surrounding area including Mt Egerton where Alec and Susan Vurlow had now settled with their five children. Elizabeth was aged nearly 7, Charlotte just turned 5, Emma 3, Alexander 2, and John who was born in February, now 6 months old. Sanitation in Mt Egerton was, like all remote towns, very basic and as it transpired here, deadly.

There was nearly always a shortage of drinking water in the town, and people caught rainwater in barrels, and many dug wells. When a barrel filled up, they emptied it into a well so that it could fill up again. The town's poor sanitation eventually contaminated the water in the wells, and many people became sick. Susan Vurlow was careful with the water for her children, since her young brother William had died two years before. However, despite her best efforts, both Emma and Alexander fell ill together, and they both died around the same time in August. The loss of the children was devastating, and increased the Vurlow family's dependence on the church for comfort, so when a new minister arrived early in 1869, Alec and Susan became socially involved, and often had the clergyman to their house for meals.

The new Church of England minister was Andrew Scott, a lay preacher who was born in Ireland, and had come to Australia via New Zealand. He was appointed to the Bacchus Marsh Church of Holy Trinity in July of 1868, and then to Mt. Egerton in March of 1869. During that period, he also conducted regular services at Blackwood and Greendale. His past was always murky and at one time, he represented himself to be a surveyor and engineer as well as a minister. When he arrived at Mt Egerton he was again vague about his past employment, and often complained that he was short of money. As a result, he was frequently fed by his parishioners, most often the Vurlows. Some people regarded him with suspicion though, believing he was just freeloading off the community. Nevertheless, the Vurlow family along with all the Church of England people in the town, went to Reverend Scott's services each Sunday.

Scott boarded with a man named John Morgan, a hard-nosed cynic who made Scott pay his accommodation in advance. Scott asked the Church for an advance on his wages but it was refused, and he had difficulty paying his board. Scott now befriended Ludwig Bruun, the manager of the local branch of the London Chartered Bank, and James Simpson, the schoolmaster. The trio often talked over a drink at night, and Bruun and Simpson found Scott to be a pleasant and intelligent fellow, despite his repeated complaining about a lack of money.

Late on the night of the 8th of May 1869, Bruun walked home after a session with Scott and Simpson, and arrived at the door to his room at the back of the main bank building. As he put his key into the lock he felt something pressed into his back.

'I have a pistol here, so keep quiet, and open the door.'

Bruun recognised the voice. 'Andrew? What are you doing?'

The gun jabbed harder into his back. 'Don't look round, just open the door.'

Bruun opened the door, and was pushed inside. The masked man then said, 'Light the lamp and open the safe.'

The bank manager did as he was told, and the gunman filled a bag with cash and some gold nuggets.

'Alright, now bring that lantern, lock the door and come with me.' The bandit pushed Bruun in front of him all the way down the deserted street to the school, where he tied Bruun to a chair, but left one hand free.

'Here, take this paper and pencil and write what I tell you.'

Bruun started to protest, but the sight of the gun aimed at his head caused him to have second thoughts. The robber started to dictate a note:

'I hereby certify that L.W. Bruun has done everything in his favour to withstand our intrusion and the taking away of the money which was done with firearms.'

Then he tied Bruun's free hand, picked up the pencil and signed the note, Captain Moonlite. He took the bag of money and disappeared into the night.

It took Bruun several minutes to struggle free, and he cautiously looked outside. Seeing no one, he ran to nearby Ralph Tanner's house, and woke him. Tanner drove Bruun to the nearest police station at Gordon about three miles away, to report the bank robbery.

When the residents woke next morning and heard about the robbery, it caused a sensation in the town. The robber had got away with nearly 1,000 pounds in cash and gold. Bruun was questioned about the note by police from Gordon and Ballan, and Simpson was interviewed too, since the school was involved. Despite Bruun accusing Scott, who was still in town and going about his business as though nothing had happened, few people believed that a minister of religion could do such a thing. Susan Vurlow was particularly affected. She knew all the people involved, and could not believe any of them could be guilty of this crime.

When he was questioned, Scott even suggested that Bruun and Simpson were both in it together. Bruun and Simpson were eventually charged with the robbery, mainly because the note was in Bruun's handwriting. Some people still suspected Scott though, and the Church even suspended his pay until the matter was cleared up. Scott was furious. He resigned, and left town. After several hearings and a trial Bruun and Simpson were cleared through lack of evidence, though by then both had lost their jobs.

Scott went to Sydney and posed as a Squatter, spending his money lavishly. He bought a schooner to sail to Fiji but paid with a worthless cheque, and was arrested the day before he sailed. He was gaoled at Maitland for eighteen months. By then there was an arrest warrant issued for him for the Mt Egerton robbery, and upon his release in 1872 Scott was returned to Victoria. He stood trial for the Mt Egerton robbery, during which he conducted his own defence, was found guilty and was sentenced to 10 years. After serving seven years in Pentridge he was released, and initially used his notoriety to make some money from public speaking, mostly about the brutality of the prison system. He was always watched by police, and soon realised he would have to make money some other way.

Within weeks he made approaches to Ned Kelly who was by then making a name for himself, to join his gang. Kelly rejected him, so Scott formed his own gang and continued on his own way. Captain Moonlite and his gang held up a family on a sheep station near Wagga in November of 1879 and over three days held about 30 hostages. During the resulting shootout with police, three people including a policeman were killed. Scott and several of his men were charged with murder and sentenced to death. Some of them were commuted to life imprisonment, but Scott was hanged in Sydney in January of 1880.

# Chapter 9

Eliza Venville had three more children after the twins were born in 1863. Mary was born in 1865, Frederick in 1867, and the last one who she named Eliza after herself in 1869, when she was 46 years old. That brought Richard and Eliza's total to 15 children born, with 13 still living. Their second child and eldest son George, was by then married to Maria Grantham and with Richard's help he set up a cabinet making business in Mt Egerton. He did well in that business and Venville's Joinery was a well-known landmark in the town for many years.

Life was relatively uneventful but prosperous for the family for the next ten years, with wool prices rising continuously, and graziers becoming some of the wealthiest people in the country. Nevertheless, during that time Richard decided he'd had enough of looking after sheep. John Wallace was spending more time at the property now, as his own family tragedies took their toll on his health. His wife Elizabeth had died in 1872 aged just 42, and his eldest son Don was the only one of his children who could take over the property. Don became more involved in its day to day running and by 1880, Richard at nearly 70 years old, saw that his time managing the property was ending after 40 years. He moved the family into Mt Egerton.

Alec and Susan Vurlow by now had another four children, Fred in 1870, George in 1872, and twins Sarah and William in 1874, bringing their total to nine, with seven still living. Of these, only two would outlive their mother.

Richard had always been fond of young Elizabeth, his first grandchild, from the time she was born under the wagon, and had spent a lot of time with her as she grew up. Now she was 19 years old, but wasn't married and seemed uninterested in being so. The average marrying age for girls had risen over the years from the common 16 years in the early part of the century to closer to 20 now, so there was plenty of time for her yet.

Dances were regularly held at Bacchus Marsh, Ballan, Blackwood and Mt Egerton, so young men and women travelled to which ever town was hosting the dance that week. It was the primary means of meeting members of the opposite sex. Elizabeth often went to these dances, and early on, met a young man about her own age named Bill Allan. He was from Blackwood, and the two of them met regularly at the dances over a few years. She let him know that she wasn't interested in any long term relationships, and that marriage was an old fashioned idea in this modern age. Children could be reared quite satisfactorily without a formal marriage.

Bill found her interesting and respected her opinions, but he had always expected to follow tradition and get married to have children, so nothing permanent came of their friendship. In 1880 Bill told her he was moving to Allendale near Creswick to work in the mines there, but might be able to get back to see her occasionally. As it happened they never lost touch, because Bill was soon married, and he and his new wife Alice moved to Gordon only a few miles from Mt Egerton, in 1882.

In 1883, Eliza Venville's health was failing. She had had 15 children, and like all the women pioneers, had worked hard all her life. Like many of them too, her life was cut short by the stress and strain of it all. She died in July at the age of 60, and was buried at Mt Egerton.

Richard's best friend John Wallace died in October aged 71, and was buried at Ballark where his wife and five of his children were already buried. Richard was aged 72 and was still in reasonably good health, and he continued living by himself, but not far from Susan. In his remaining years he occupied himself by keeping an eye on Elizabeth, and helping George in the joinery shop.

# Part Two - Joseph Allen

Back to Contents

# Chapter 1

The evening air was crisp in the Scottish city of Glasgow on Sunday the 13th of April 1841. Sixty-two year-old James Smith, a chemist in the outer suburb of Carntyne two miles east of Glasgow's city centre, decided that a short walk before going to bed would be just what he needed to help him sleep. He had been to church early in the morning, and then spent the rest of the day reading. It was dusk at 7.15pm as he left his house, and started down Carntyne Road intending to walk perhaps 200 yards, then around a block of workers cottages, and back home.

Glasgow was home to about 200,000 people, but the urban sprawl hadn't yet reached more than a mile or two east of the city centre, and there were vacant allotments between many of the clusters of buildings making up the working class suburbs in that area. These suburbs had started as separate villages but had grown together as houses and shops were built along the connecting roads. There were several major roads running east/west such as Duke Street and Gallowgate, which ran through these otherwise independent suburbs, all the way to the city centre. Major north/south roads like Barracks Road and Millerston Street crossed them, and formed rough squares within which suburbs were growing. The major roads were lined with shops, pubs, and the typical narrow-fronted two storey terrace houses that were standard architecture of the era. Carntyne Road branched off at a bend in Duke Street and continued east.

An iron foundry known as Wishaw's Iron Works occupied a large tract of land where Duke Street turned south and met Gallowgate, and Glasgow's main prison was located close to the city on Duke Street. A new railway connected Glasgow to the capital city of Edinburgh, and was being extended to other cities, but there was no local public transport in Carntyne and surrounding suburbs. This was a working class area, and local residents walked everywhere.

Smith started walking briskly, but at about halfway along his intended route, the cold air had its effect, and he found it necessary to relieve himself. He turned a corner from Carntyne Road into Colliers Row where he saw a hedge running parallel to the footpath, with an open field behind it, and decided that it provided sufficient cover for his needs. There were few people on the streets on Sunday evening, with the shops closed, pubs still full of drinkers making the most of the last couple of trading hours, and church services finished. He glanced around, and seeing no one nearby, stepped behind the bushes and unbuttoned his trousers.

Smith hadn't seen either the young lad watching him from the bedroom window of a house further along the street, nor the man who suddenly appeared from the gathering shadows beside him.

'What are you doing there?' said the stranger.

'You can see what I'm doing', said Smith, annoyed at the interruption. He began re-buttoning his pants.

The stranger suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Smith by the shirt and vest, saying, 'Come along with me.' He pushed the chemist further behind the hedge, and grabbed the chain of his pocket watch, pulling it hard. The chain was attached to a set of keys as well as the watch, and was fastened to Smith's vest, so it didn't give way, and Smith was pulled towards the man who then punched him hard on the side of the head. Smith collapsed onto the ground with a cry of pain. As he tried to get up, the man punched him again.

The thug again tried to rip the watch and chain from his vest, this time threatening Smith.

'I have a pistol here, and I'll shoot you if you don't give me that watch.'

With that, Smith feared for his life and began yelling.

'Murder! Murder!' he called at the top of his voice. The man again tore at the chain, and this time he pulled the keys off the chain. He turned and started to run across the open field as Smith struggled painfully to his feet.

Mathew Waddell was only ten years old, and had seen Smith pause at the hedge. He thought nothing of it until he heard the first cry. He saw Smith fall down, and saw the stranger punch him again. He possessed more than average courage for a youngster, and quickly ran out of the house and along the footpath to Smith's aid. He arrived in time to see the assailant running away.

'Get someone to follow that man, he's just robbed me.' said Smith, holding his jaw. As the boy ran to get help, Smith started to follow his attacker, westward towards the city. He searched for half an hour along Duke Street, walking as far as Parkhead. There were a few more people around now as the pubs started emptying, but Smith finally spotted the robber walking along the street as though nothing had happened.

Smith was determined to recover his keys, so went up to the man, who on closer inspection looked about 20 years old, and grabbed him.

'I have you now me lad.' he said, and a struggle commenced. Bystanders seeing the disturbance, and not knowing what was happening, separated the two men, and the stranger immediately ran off. Smith's trousers were torn and his ear was red and swollen from the earlier blows. When he explained to the gathering spectators what had happened, several men joined the hunt. Among them was Archie Galbraith, a tough looking ironworker.

Some time later, as the last daylight had faded and only the gas street lamps produced isolated pools of light at intervals along the road, Smith and Galbraith had decided to give up the chase when they sighted the attacker in a side street talking to several people. The man had apparently realised that the keys were worthless to him, so when he saw Smith with Galbraith, he walked up to them and offered Smith his keys back, but Galbraith grabbed the robber by the collar. The man took out a knife and slashed at Galbraith who let go. Then he threatened anyone who came close to him. Seeing no one willing to take him on, he ran off, leaving the keys behind.

Galbraith recovered from his initial fright at seeing the knife, and ran after the robber for nearly a quarter of a mile before catching up, and grabbing him again. As they struggled, the man drew the knife from his pocket, and threatened to stab Galbraith. Two other men appeared, apparently friends of the robber, and approached Galbraith threateningly. Seeing no one else around to help him, Galbraith let the man go. The man and his accomplices ran off into the darkness.

Smith reported the attack to the police the next morning, and they took statements from himself, Galbraith, young Mathew Waddell and several other witnesses who had intervened as the two men struggled in Duke Street. Some of them knew the attacker as Joseph Mulholland, a local journeyman weaver, who was known in the area as a ruffian, with a police history of minor offences from the age of 12. The police searched for days, visiting his father's home in Bluevale Street several times, but Mulholland was not found.

As for James Smith, he had been contemplating emigrating from economically depressed Scotland, and this attack was the last straw. Within a few months, he closed his chemist shop, packed up, and sailed to America, never to return.

# Chapter 2

Joseph Mulholland was the illegitimate son of Richard Allen and Margaret Mulholland. In 1819, they were living in Dunbar, a coastal town 20 miles east of Edinburgh. A ruined castle dating from about 1160 still stood on a rocky headland overlooking the natural harbour that had supported the town's busy fishing industry for generations. Dunbar had been the site of a major battle between Oliver Cromwell's troops and a Scottish army in 1650. Cromwell won, and Scotland came under his rule until the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1660.

Richard Allen arrived there in 1817, hoping to maintain his traditional occupation as a home-based handloom weaver, producing sailcloth for the fishing boats. Margaret Mulholland was the daughter of an Irish weaver who had originally come from Belfast to Scotland to look for work, and then moved to Dunbar for the same reason as Richard.

The weaving industries in England and Scotland were undergoing the same traumatic changes that were common to all industries in the early 19th century. For generations, textile mills had imported raw cotton from America, and employed people to spin it into thread. Weavers had picked up thread from the mill, wove it into cloth on their home-based looms, and returned the finished product to the mill at the end of the week. Manufacturing methods had been slowly improving over the years, and by 1800, water powered machinery was being used in those mills that were built next to rivers and streams, where water wheels could provide power to drive the looms. Nevertheless, the home-based weaver was still in the majority in most areas, and a prosperous future looked assured.

The steam engine had been invented centuries earlier, but was inefficient and unsuited for use in industry. When James Watt modified one in 1789 to improve the boiler and condense the used steam to recycle its water, the engine's efficiency jumped to useable levels. He held patents on his modifications though, which prevented others from copying his design. The result was that their use spread very slowly through the manufacturing industries until his patents ran out in 1800. Other manufacturers were then free to copy Watt's designs and steam power became the standard for all manufacturing industries. That was the beginning of what was possibly the greatest single social upheaval in history up to that time.

All industries were affected, the weaving industry more than most. Manufacturers could now build textile factories and control the entire process from raw cotton to finished cloth. Almost concurrently, the skill required to weave patterns into cloth was removed by the French invention of a loom that used punched cards. A pattern could be programmed into the punched card, and the machine would faithfully follow the pattern without any human intervention. The steam powered looms could now be operated by semi-skilled boys. The only skill required was to load the coloured cotton reels on to the correct spindles. One adult weaver could supervise up to seven boys, and each boy could turn out many times more cloth, with a consistent quality, than the best handloom weaver, and at a fraction of the cost. That sounded the death knell for home-based weavers. In Manchester, the centre of the industry in England, wages for skilled weavers fell from 20 shillings a week before 1820, to six shillings by 1825.

Scotland was slow to take on new technology, especially if it came from England, so the progress of the Industrial Revolution there was some 20 years behind England. When the Dunbar cotton mill opened in 1817, it was designed to operate under the old system, and there were high hopes among weavers that this mill might sustain their traditional way of life for many years. Fishing boats always needed new sails, and the canvas and linen turned out by the mill could be sold without any transportation costs, and so they would be competitive in price with cheaper products from the more modern mills in England. The fishing industry was the town's biggest employer, and the mill employed almost everyone else.

The population of Dunbar rose from 1,000 to 1,800 between 1817 and 1819, and continued to rise for several years as displaced weavers arrived with their families to try to continue the losing battle against the Industrial Revolution. Wages were still lower than they had been getting in the years before machinery, but far better than the six shillings a week now on offer in most areas. Weavers had to work long hours though, often starting before dawn, and finishing late at night to fill their weekly quota of finished cloth.

Life for all working families was hard, but there was still time for social activities in Dunbar, and dances were held regularly. Richard was unmarried and met Margaret, who was much younger than himself, at the festival held annually to celebrate the fishing industry. Irish and Scots people got along well together since they both disliked the English, who they saw with some justification, as oppressors. There was always a steady flow of people travelling back and forth between Belfast and Glasgow as a result of the many Irish-Scots intermarriages, and the earliest Scottish census showed that there were around 5000 people of Irish origin in Glasgow.

Richard and Margaret had no intention of getting married, but enjoyed casual sex until Margaret found she was pregnant. Margaret's father immediately demanded that Richard do the honorable thing and marry her, but Richard had other ideas, and left town. When Joseph was born in 1819, Margaret's family kept the birth quiet. It wasn't registered with the Parish church, and since it wasn't compulsory to register with the Government, they didn't do that either. Joseph was raised by his mother and her family.

When Joseph was just four years old, the effect of the manufacturing revolution hit Dunbar. The mill was never really profitable, unable to compete with the product from mechanised mills, and it finally closed in 1823. The demise of the mill saw the exodus of many families, some joining the growing emigration outflow to Australia in search of a better life, others moving to major centres in the hope of finding traditional work. The population of Dunbar dropped from its peak of 2700, to less than 2000 as weavers moved their families to larger cities.

Glasgow, 50 miles west of Dunbar, was then one of the last strongholds of home-based weaving. It was in a boom period as its population was increased by people displaced from agriculture, coming to the city to work in the new manufacturing industries. Weaving attracted men who didn't want to work in factories, and were satisfied with the part time work available from the relatively few home-based employers left in the country. Bluevale, Parkhead, and Camlachie were some of the industrial suburbs populated predominantly by people in the weaving industry. Many of these people owned looms and employed casual weavers for short periods, usually also providing their workers with accommodation. Consequently, there was always a floating population of unemployed young men, some actively looking for work, and others having recently left employment and seemingly intent on spending their earnings on alcohol at the local pubs. They had no fixed address, but ate and slept at friend's houses as needed.

Richard Allen had moved to Bluevale where he could get casual but regular work, and Margaret's family also moved to Glasgow, unknowingly going to the same area as Richard. Richard and Margaret occasionally saw each other, and Joseph began to know who his father was. Joseph was known as Mulholland when he went to school, where he was a disinterested student, who looked forward to getting out in the afternoons and roaming around the streets with his friends. He learned to read and write, and do basic arithmetic, and as he grew up, he expected that he would become a weaver, spending more time with his father, and learning the trade. Around 1830, when Joseph was about 12 years old, his mother and her parents decided to move back to Belfast from whence they'd come. Joseph was given the choice of going with them or staying with his father. He chose to stay in Glasgow where he had friends, but kept in touch with his mother with an occasional letter.

The spread of mechanisation was being felt all across the country by 1830, and in southern England, the combined effects of job losses to machinery, and poor harvests due to bad weather, caused farm labourers to be financially crippled. There were riots as farm workers and others fought for pay increases, resulting in many arrests and mass trials. Some rioters were executed, but several hundreds of others were transported to Van Diemen's Land as convicts. The lasting effect though, was in the living conditions of the ordinary people, who were forced to move to the cities to work in factories. They were compelled by lack of housing to cluster together in small rooms with poor light and ventilation and no sanitation, just to be near the factories. Those factories pumped out smoke and soot from the boilers that made the steam to power the machines that kept the people imprisoned in their miserable existence. Eventually of course, the situation would right itself as factory conditions improved and proper city housing caught up with demand, but that would take 100 years.

By 1840, weaving work, even in Glasgow, was becoming more difficult to find, and money was scarce. Richard had been busy earning a living for both himself and his son over the years, so Joseph had little supervision, and had spent a lot of time on the streets. That inevitably led to his falling in with homeless and unruly lads, and petty theft became a way of life. He spent less and less time with his father, who realised his son was becoming a criminal and did not encourage him to stay. By the time he was 18 years old, Joseph was known as a bad character. The proceeds from his thefts allowed him to visit his mother in Belfast, but he felt that Glasgow was his home, so he came back. Joseph had always been known by his mother's surname and he used it until his first serious brush with the law. From then on, he started using his father's name from time to time as well, as any confusion he could create within police records was all to the good.

Joseph had no real home, and either used his employer's accommodation, or stayed with friends on a casual basis between jobs. At 20 years old, he was 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighed a healthy 10 stone, which was about average for the time. His experience on the streets had taught him to fight, and he could handle men bigger than himself. It also taught him that it was much easier to win a fight if he landed the first punch, so his philosophy was, select a victim, and hit him hard before he knew what was happening.

# Chapter 3

After his attack on the chemist, Joseph went to stay with his father at Bluevale, but Richard didn't have much time for his disrespectful son, and told him to leave after just a few days. All the suburbs where he knew he could find accommodation with friends were within two square miles, and easily searched by police, so Joseph kept on the move to stay ahead of them. But when he heard that someone had identified him, he knew it would be just a matter of time before someone told the police where he was. He decided to leave Scotland until the search cooled off. His mother still lived in Belfast and knew nothing of his criminal activities, so he decided to stay with her for a year or two, and hope that by then his crime would be forgotten.

Joseph was able to disguise his personality sufficiently for the Belfast branch of the Mulholland family to accept him as poor Margaret's son, who was in need of a place to live. They took him in despite their own less than comfortable circumstances, and hoped he would find a job that would help with his keep. Joseph managed to maintain his cover for over a year before the Mulholland family realized that he was a freeloader, and a villain. He was encouraged to leave, but not wanting to go back to Glasgow too soon, he thought about other possibilities. Manchester was the biggest textile producer in the country, and he knew there must be work there for a weaver.

He arrived there with some optimism, but soon found that Scotsmen weren't regarded highly by the English, and as a result, work was more difficult to get than he expected. Nevertheless, he persevered for a few months before moving to Liverpool, where he did some casual work. But soon, a lack of money and his poverty-stricken living conditions forced him to reconsider the option of returning to Glasgow. It was dangerous, but if he stayed out of sight, he thought he might be safe from the police. He arrived back there in December of 1843, aged 24, broke, and poorly clothed, except for a very nice cloth cap with a leather peak that he had managed to separate from its unsuspecting owner just before he left Liverpool.

He went back to his old neighbourhood in the eastern industrial suburbs, and to the home of a former employer, Wellington Eden. He had worked for Eden from time to time, and Eden knew of Joseph's reputation, but he'd had no trouble from him in the past. When Joseph came to see him, Eden rehired him and allowed him to board there as well. Joseph ran into several of his old friends on the streets, who admired his new cap, but he remained out of trouble, so the police didn't hear that he was back in town.

Joseph worked for a few weeks over Christmas, and into January 1844, but found his financial recovery painfully slow, and thought it could be improved if he had some property to sell. Since he had none of his own, he would have to take it from someone else. It was risky, but he'd got away with most of his past crimes, so it was a chance worth taking. He just needed to wait for a suitable opportunity, and he hoped it wouldn't be too long coming. The weather was cold and miserable, and Joe needed warm clothes.

Late in the morning of Saturday the 13th of January 1844, Joe set out to go to a local pub owned by Elizabeth French in Main Street Camlachie about 300 yards from Eden's house. Leaving Eden's dwelling and walking in drizzling rain along Main Street towards the pub, Joe ran into his mate Angus McNab. They had been at school together and been involved in some schemes in the years since. Both of them were always on the lookout for opportunities to purloin property that they could sell.

'Angus, I'm going to the pub for a while. Do you want to come and have a drink? '

'Aye Joe, a drink will settle the dust.'

They spent most of the afternoon drinking and talking to friends in the pub, and were just thinking about leaving when Jim McCocker introduced them to a man, younger than themselves, named Peter Buchanan. He had recently come to Glasgow, and was staying with Jim while he looked for work as a blacksmith. He had spent the day drinking and he was now quite drunk. Joe thought this fellow looked rather well dressed, and took an immediate liking to his coat in particular.

McCocker said, 'We're just on our way home. I think he needs to sleep it off.'

Joe wasn't about to let Buchanan out of his sight. 'What about you all coming back to my place for a feed?'

McNab knew what was going through Joe's mind, and readily agreed, but McCocker hesitated.

'My wife will be expecting us. I'd better go and tell her we'll be late, and I'll come around later.'

'Right Jimmy, we'll look after young Pete here.' said McNab cheerily.

'Can I buy you a drink Peter?' asked Joe in his friendliest manner.

'Nah, I'd better go and lay down.' Buchanan held onto the bar to steady himself.

Joe wasn't going to be put off. 'Have a drink, then I'll take you to my place and we'll get a bite to eat there.'

Without waiting for an answer, Joe ordered a whisky for Buchanan, but not for himself or McNab.

Outside, it had stopped raining, and they supported the nearly comatose Buchanan, as they walked him to Eden's house. They entered the tiny yard from the laneway that ran behind the row of houses, and went through the back door to Joe's room. They laid Buchanan on the floor where he immediately fell into a drunken sleep.

'I'm having that coat.' said Joe, as he and McNab looked at the young man.

'Hold on Joe, if you do him in here, he'll cop us.'

'Aye, he might. Alright, I'll take him out before daylight and leave him on the road somewhere. He won't know who took his coat, and probably won't remember us either.'

They had a few more drinks and McNab went home. Buchanan was still sound asleep. Joe went to bed a bit later, with the intention of waking early and getting Buchanan out of the house before dawn, taking the coat, and dumping him on a back street.

During the night however, Buchanan woke up feeling cold and found his way to the Eden's living room where a fire was still smoldering. He laid down in front of the hearth and went back to sleep.

Eden's wife in the upstairs bedroom had heard a noise and got up to investigate. She crept downstairs and found a strange man asleep on her living room floor. She went back and woke her husband. He looked at the stranger, and turning to his wife, said, 'He must have come with Joe. He looks well enough dressed though, so we might as well leave him there until morning.'

They both went back to bed, but when they came down again in the morning the man was gone. Thinking no more of it, they went about their usual Sunday activities. Later that day the young man returned to the house and knocked at the door. Eden answered the knock.

'I'm looking for the man who brought me here last night.' said Buchanan. 'I've been robbed and I think it must have been him that did it.'

Eden thought that was likely too, but said nothing. He noted that the man wore an old jacket now, rather than the one he had on when laying near the fire. In fact, this one looked very much like one that Joe normally wore. 'Joe isn't here now, but you might find him at the pub,' he told the young man, who still looked drunk. Buchanan wandered off.

Late that afternoon Joe arrived back home, and Eden told him about the young fellow being robbed and asking about him. Joe was wearing a new jacket just like the one Buchanan had slept in, and Joe could see suspicion written on Eden's face.

'I'll go and look for him,' said Joe, without having any intention of doing so. 'Time to disappear for a while', he thought to himself. He went to his room, and tossed his few possessions into a bag, then left without saying any more to anyone.

Joe stayed out of sight for the next three months, moving from house to house, staying with friends only long enough to eat a few meals, and moving on. There didn't seem to be any police activity searching for him, so he gradually went back to his old habits, and even ventured back to the local pubs from time to time.

On Monday the 8th of April, Joe went to Smellie's pub in Bluevale at about 7.30pm and had a few drinks with Jim McDonald, Robbie Storrey, Tommy McComb, Rob Cameron, and Johnny Mungal. On leaving there at around 9pm, he went to look for a place to sleep, and called upon Jim Johnson with whom he'd stayed in the past. Johnson wasn't at home but his wife knew Joe, so she let him in. He asked for a bed for the night, but since her husband wasn't coming home that night, she refused to let him stay. Joe angrily told her what he thought of her refusing him a bed, and left. A few minutes later, she noticed that two weaver's brushes belonging to her husband were missing from the kitchen. She went to her neighbour's house and told Alec Henderson that Mulholland had stolen the brushes. Henderson's friend Tommy Shearer was there too. They both knew Mulholland, and knew he was a petty thief. Between them, they decided to look for Mulholland and get the brushes back.

At that moment, Joe was walking along Duke Street just 200 yards away. Robert Reid was a 46-year-old railway contractor, new in town, and had been to the Union Bank that day to withdraw some money. Walking home along Barrack Street he'd run into George Johnstone and they went to a pub in Duke Street where they stayed for several hours. Upon leaving at 9pm, Reid intended going to Wishaw's Iron Works to check on the progress of some work they were doing for him. It was dark as he walked down the middle of the road with his hands in his pockets. He wasn't sure which direction to take, and stopped momentarily, when he saw a man walking towards him.

Joe had noticed the well-dressed man who appeared lost. He liked this sort of easy target. He walked up to the man who seemed uncertain of which way to go. Reid asked him, 'Which way is it to Wishaw's Iron Works?'

'I can tell you that, look here', said Joe, stepping closer to the man, and without warning punching him hard in the face. Reid fell to the ground, and as he tried to get up, Joe hit him several times. Reid was lying on the ground holding his bleeding face as Joe reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet. For good measure, he also took the man's silk handkerchief and hat. He put the hat on over his own cap, and ran off without a second thought. Reid struggled to his feet and called for help.

Margaret Walker heard the call from her bedroom, and came to her front door to see what was happening. She saw Reid holding his swollen and bleeding face, and offered him some water. He told her what had happened, and Mrs. Walker asked her servant to go and search for Reid's hat. She returned soon after without finding it. Two men passing by also came to his aid, and took him to the nearest police station to report the assault and robbery.

An hour later, and a few hundred yards away, Henderson and Shearer spotted Joe standing near a lamp post and walked towards him. Joe didn't know they were looking for the brushes, and they didn't know about the assault on Reid. As they got closer, Joe sensed they were after him, and swung a punch at Shearer that missed. Henderson tried to grab Joe, and knocked his hat off in the process. Joe ran away as fast as he could go. They knew they couldn't catch him, so Henderson picked up the hat, finding Joe's cap inside it, and they started towards the police station to report the theft of the brushes. On the way, they met Constables Grant and Stewart who had just come from their station to look for Reid's assailant. Shearer described their thief, and the Constables immediately made the connection. The four men headed in the direction that Joe had run, and soon found him in a dead end street talking to two men and a woman. They cornered Joe and arrested him without any further trouble.

At the Police station, Robert Reid had related the story of the assault upon himself, and was still going over the details with Constables Horn and Leckie when Joe was brought in, followed by Henderson and Shearer carrying the cap and hat. Joe wasn't about to co-operate though, and gave his name as Joe Wilson. This was an attempt at bravado as well as to confuse the police. Wilson was a well-known name in Glasgow. Back in 1820, James Wilson, a weaver by trade, led a revolt against the Government, and was hanged and then beheaded for treason. He was regarded as something of a hero by workers generally, and by weavers in particular. Anyone related to him was given some respect. However, too many people knew Joe, and it wasn't long before his real name became known. He was searched by Constable Grant and found to have bank notes of the type stolen from Reid. Reid also identified the hat that Henderson had knocked off Joe's head as his own.

Joe was questioned in detail next morning, and stated that he was 24 years old, was a native of Dunbar, and was a weaver by trade. He gave no address, saying he lived wherever he could get work. He said he wasn't in Duke Street the night before, but may have been in Gallowgate. He denied assaulting Reid, and despite being shown the hat, handkerchief and bank notes that had been described by Reid, as well as blood on his own trousers, continued to deny everything. Doctor Robert MacGregor was summoned to examine the injuries to Reid and pronounced that they were caused by blows or falls. He examined Joe and noted the blood on his trousers and hand, but found no injuries to explain it.

Joe was recorded in the police files with his father's surname and his mother's name as an alias. A check of police records located the assault charge from 1841, and the report of the theft of Buchanan's coat. When he was questioned about these incidents, Joe denied having anything to do with James Smith or Peter Buchanan. The police suspected otherwise, but since Smith had gone to America, no further action could be taken on that charge. Nevertheless, the police were confident they had the right man in relation to the later incidents, and Joseph Allen, alias Mulholland, was charged with three counts of assault and robbery. He was denied bail, and kept in custody to await an appearance in the High Court of Justiciary at its Spring Sittings in Glasgow. He was locked up on the 12th of April 1844 in the Duke Street gaol, only a mile from the scene of most of his crimes, to await his trial.

# Chapter 4

The High Court of Justiciary was based in Scotland's capital, Edinburgh, but Judges travelled to all major centres throughout Scotland on a regular circuit, to conduct trials. The Scottish legal system required that all witnesses be interviewed and their evidence recorded in Precognitions. Those Precognitions were reviewed before the court sat. For the three charges against Joe, a total of 34 victim and witness Precognitions were taken, amounting to over 120 pages of neatly written testimony. Joseph's statement was written out by Peter Peterson, a clerk of the court, and witnessed by David Wyllie and William Hart, since Joseph claimed he couldn't read or write. The interrogation was carried out by Henry Glassford Bell Esquire, the 'Advocate Sheriff Substitute' of Lanarkshire.

When Joseph appeared at the Glasgow Spring Sittings on Monday the 6th of May 1844, he knew he had no hope of being acquitted. Too many people knew him and his reputation, and the police case was airtight. The trial lasted all day with witnesses giving evidence in accordance with their previous statements. At the end, the guilty verdict came as no surprise, and the sentence of 10 years was in line with normal penalties at the time.

In the past, this sentence meant automatic transportation to a distant penal colony, but growing opposition by both prison reformers and colonists to this form of punishment, meant that Joe might not be transported, but serve his time in a Scottish gaol instead.

There had been eight prisons in Glasgow and the surrounding area in earlier days, but by 1840, all but two were closed. These were 'North' Prison at Duke Street, known as 'Bridgewall' and 'South' Prison at Glasgow Green, known as 'Burgh'. Joe was taken back to Bridgewall prison to await the Authorities' decision on where he would spend his sentence.

Bridgewall had a reputation of being one of the hardest prisons in the United Kingdom. Rumours persisted for years of prisoners being chained by their wrists to eyebolts high on the walls of their cells so they couldn't sit down for days at a time. In 1840, some experiments had been done on the diet of the prison's inmates, to find the least expensive meals that would keep them alive. For the experiments, four groups of between 10 and 20 men were selected for comparison, and fed various diets for several months.

Breakfast for members of one group was eight ounces of oatmeal made into porridge, with a pint of buttermilk, and for dinner, three pounds of boiled potatoes with salt. For supper, five ounces of oatmeal porridge, with a half-pint of buttermilk. At the end of two months they were all in good health, each person had gained four pounds in weight, and they liked the diet. The cost of meals, including the cooking, was two-pence three-farthings per man per day.

A second group was fed solely on boiled potatoes and salt. Each had two pounds for breakfast, three pounds for dinner, and one pound for supper. They gained three and a half pounds each, and they declared that they preferred this fare to the ordinary diet of the prison.

The third group was fed on the same allowance of porridge and milk for breakfast, and the same supper as group one. But for dinner they had soup, containing two pounds of potatoes to each, and a quarter of a pound of meat. At the end of two months they had lost one and a quarter pounds in weight each, and they all disliked this diet. The daily cost was just under four pence per man.

Group four had the same breakfast and supper, with one pound of potatoes for dinner, and half a pound of meat. They preserved good health but decreased in weight, and preferred the ordinary diet of the prison. The cost was just under five pence.

In some cases perhaps, the previous habits and tastes of the prisoners may have had some influence on their enjoyment of the meals or otherwise, but it seemed to prison officials that six pounds of potatoes daily was a better and cheaper diet than the smaller quantities of soup or meat. So when Joe started his 10 year sentence, that was his daily ration.

Joe found life hard in prison, being so regimented and different from his previously unsupervised life. As a result, he was uncooperative with the warders, and his bad conduct led to periods of detention. Warders treated him differently to other prisoners, and made his life as unpleasant as they could. In his idle moments, he thought about his future, and wondered when he was going to be sent to a transport ship. He was well aware of the convict transport system, but not of the procedures that governed its operation. Once he was sentenced by the court, his future was solely in the hands of the prison authorities who would decide where he would serve his sentence. He expected that he would be sent to Van Diemen's Land since it was about the only colony left that still took convicts.

There was a steady stream of new prisoners being sent away after staying just a few weeks at Bridgewall, and Joe saw them come and go without knowing what was happening to them, but assuming they were going to transport ships. Many stayed only a few weeks before being sent on, but Joe was always left behind. After he had been there for four months, and occasionally heard the warders talking amongst themselves about his bad behaviour, Joe concluded that he might never get out of this place unless he conformed to their rules, and so he made an effort to hide his true nature and appear compliant.

The change in his conduct was noted, and put down to a breaking of his spirit. That was what the system was designed to do, and following a period of observation, Joe was returned to the mainstream of the prison population. In November, he and three other Glasgow boys who had only recently arrived at Bridgewall, were dispatched to London. The prisoners were told they were going to Pentonville prison near London, and they assumed they would soon be put on a ship. But the system wasn't finished with them just yet.

# Chapter 5

When Pentonville prison opened in 1842, the Home Secretary, Sir James Graham, wrote to the Board of Commissioners to ensure that the purpose of the new prison was clearly understood. His letter said in part:

'.....I wish to admit no prisoner into Pentonville who is not sentenced to transportation, and who is not doomed to be transported; for the convict on whom such discipline might produce the most salutary effect would, when liberated and thrown back on society in this country, be still branded as a criminal, and have but an indifferent chance of a livelihood from the profitable exercise of honest industry. I propose, therefore, that no prisoner shall be admitted into Pentonville without the knowledge that it is the portal to the penal colony, and without the certainty that he bids adieu to his connections in England, and that he must henceforth look forward to a life of labour in another hemisphere....

Eighteen months of the discipline, appear to me to be ample for its full application. In that time the real character will be developed, instruction will be imparted, new habits will be formed, a better frame of mind will have been moulded, or else the heart will have been hardened, and the case be desperate. The period of imprisonment at Pentonville, therefore, will be strictly limited to eighteen months...'

This represented the beginning of a new policy in the transportation of at least some convicts to Australia. Prisoners were to be assessed and those who were considered to be reformed would be transported, but given conditional pardons upon arrival at their final destination. The ones who were not favourably assessed would be sent to other gaols or to the hulks, to serve out their time. Since these men were to be free upon their arrival, it was expected that a free settlement such as Melbourne would have no objection to receiving them.

This policy was calculated to appease the growing opposition to transportation by all colonists, by having these men arrive as 'free' men, while still emptying the home country gaols. The condition of the pardon was that the recipient remain in the colony for the duration of his sentence, and comply with some reporting conditions. In all other matters, he was essentially free, but remained 'Exiled' from his homeland. They were in fact called Exiles in official correspondence.

Pentonville prison had individual cells for 1000 inmates. It was designed in a new style that was believed to provide better security of prisoners, and to better manage rehabilitation. The layout of the complex was much like a half wheel, with a central administration block, and four wings or spokes radiating from it. Each wing was three floors high, with an atrium from ground floor to arched roof, like an arcade, with landings running along each side on each floor level, and one 'bridge' across the void on each level. The entire complex was surrounded by a high brick wall, with guard turrets at regular intervals. Grounds within the outer walls were gravelled, and no grass or shrubbery was to be seen. Within the walled and gravelled area between the wings, were circular individually walled exercise yards, and near the front gate, two long brick paths in an oval shape, also used for exercise.

Small barred windows along the external walls of each wing denoted the position of each individual cell. Inside, the rows of cells on each of the three levels, opened onto the railed landings that ran the length of the wings on each side. Warders at the hub could see the lines of cell doors in all four wings without having to move far. Prisoners could be easily watched, and their conduct assessed for punishment or removal to other prisons. Warm air was ducted throughout the complex, and a basement floor housed the furnaces, as well as the kitchen, bakery and punishment cells.

Joe arrived at Pentonville on Wednesday the 20th of November 1844 with the three other Glasgow boys, and underwent the induction process. George Hutchison was convicted on the 7th of October, while brothers Danny and Billy McDonald had been convicted of theft on the 8th. Those three had spent only a few weeks at Bridgewall so Joe, with more gaol time, was looked upon as a leader in their group, even though George was older, and bigger, having worked as a laborer all his life. They had decided to stick together and hold out against the English penal administration, but they didn't know about Pentonville's 'Separate' system for handling convicts.

In the Separate system, prisoners were isolated from each other at nearly all times. The prisoners were classed during their assessment period, so that the newest arrivals were completely isolated. Meals were brought to their cells, and they worked at their trades there as well. Exercise was taken in the circular walled yards, and arranged so that no two prisoners occupied the same space at the same time. Their only sight of other prisoners was during rostered cleaning duties.

As they advanced through the system, they might see other prisoners in exercise yards, but were not permitted to communicate by any means. To prevent even a wink being exchanged, the prisoners wore masks during exercise. At the highest level, prisoners wore a distinguishing badge, and were allowed to 'associate' with others during work periods. Punishments for rule infractions were scaled by degree of seriousness. For the lowest level of misdemeanour, it was a loss of privileges, then for more serious cases, a reduction of status to a lower level. That punishment was regarded as severe by most prisoners, but some considered themselves tougher than that, so for the worst cases, solitary confinement in the 'dark cells' with a bread and water diet was the end result. In there, prisoners on long punishment were given a proper meal every fourth day.

Part of the assessment process was the training of prisoners in various trades, which could be useful to the colonies. A man's skill and desire to do well formed part of his assessment. The trades of weaver, mat maker, tailor, and shoemaker were the most taught, though a few bakers and carpenters were trained and used in the running and maintenance of the prison. Weavers used heavy looms, so they were allocated cells on the ground floors, shoemakers above them, and tailors on the top floors. Because the prisoners needed tools for their work, warders were particularly careful to account for all items that could be used as weapons either for assault on themselves, or for escape.

Scottish prisoners were particularly disliked and carefully watched, and a chief warder, when interviewed by a journalist about the behaviour of prisoners in general, was reported as saying:

'Some of them are very difficult to deal with, I can assure you, sir. The Glasgow boys in the prison are perhaps the worst class of all. I can hardly say what is the reason of their being so bad. I don't think it is the lax discipline of the Glasgow prison; but the race, ye see, is half Scotch and half Irish, and that is a very bad mixture, to my mind.'

Joseph's induction to Pentonville started with a full strip search to ensure he carried nothing of any kind, including locks of hair from wife or other loved ones, which were common keepsakes among inmates. A wash, medical check, and issue of his grey prison uniform completed the first part of the process. Next, they were told by the Chief Warder that during their time at Pentonville, they would be known only by their prison number, and that they could expect to remain here for 18 months before any decision was made on whether they would be transported or sent to the hulks to finish their sentences. During that time, they would be taught a trade, and if their rehabilitation was successful, they would be transported to a colony.

The prisoners' records had accompanied them from Glasgow, and Joe's trade as a weaver was noted. He was allocated a ground floor cell. Danny McDonald had been a sawyer and asked to be trained as a carpenter. Billy was a tailor, and stayed in that trade. Hutchison had been a labourer in a colliery, and asked to be trained as a weaver. The training would be carried out in his cell by an 'associated man', that is, a prisoner who was a trained weaver, and in the top class of prisoners.

The Glasgow boys were marched off to their cells and didn't see each other, or anyone else except an occasional warder, for many months. Joe was taken to his cell, and looked around at the place where he would spend the next 18 months. The cell measured 13 feet long by seven feet wide, and the arched ceiling was nine feet high at the centre. A glazed and barred window in the outside wall admitted light, but kept out the weather. The walls were of stone 18 inches thick, which effectively soundproofed Joe from his neighbours. A stone toilet bowl and a copper wash basin with tap occupied one side wall. On each side wall were iron rings, set into the stone, from which Joe's hammock would be slung each night. During the day, it was folded neatly and stored with blankets on a shelf just inside the door. A small vent in the floor allowed warm air from the basement furnace to rise through the cell, and escape through another vent above the cell door. The door was of solid timber with iron hasp and hinges, and was equipped with a hatch through which a warder could observe the occupant, and deliver meals. Next to the door inside the cell was a spring-operated mechanical linkage to a small bell and metal flag on the outside. If Joe needed something, pulling the handle rang the bell and caused the flag to drop, so the warder on duty could respond. Since Joe was a weaver, his cell was also equipped with a hand loom and stool that took up most of the floor space, leaving him with less free space than other trades' cells. A gas light hung from the ceiling above the loom, and printed and framed prison regulations were hung on one of the walls.

The gaol was run with military precision, with bells signalling the beginning and end of the various tasks throughout the day. First bell was at 6am when all cells were unlocked and prisoners swept and scrubbed their cells. Those rostered for extra cleaning duties also cleaned all the ironwork on the landings and bridges, and the floors in the main gallery. The interior of the prison was said to be as clean as any hospital. After cleaning was completed, prisoners returned to their cells and were issued with their work materials for the day. They worked until 7am when the breakfast bell rang. Breakfast consisted of three quarters of a pint of cocoa sweetened with molasses, and was delivered to each cell.

Between 8 and 9am, all prisoners attended Chapel, conducted in isolated booths so that no prisoner could see any other, followed by an exercise period. For the lowest class of prisoner, exercise was conducted individually in the walled enclosures between the wings. The higher level prisoners' exercise was done in groups. The brick path in the shape of an oval was used, and a rope was laid on the ground around the full circumference. The rope was knotted at 10 foot intervals, so that the masked prisoners stationed themselves at each knot, picked up the rope then walked briskly around the oval path, maintaining the fixed distance between them.

After an hour of exercise, prisoners returned to their cells and worked until the dinner bell rang at 12 noon. During this time, the aroma of baking bread and roasting cocoa beans drifted through the prison. All food was prepared in the prison, from raw ingredients wherever possible, and the quality of the food was reported to be at least equal to anything available to middle class families outside. There just wasn't enough of it for most prisoners' satisfaction.

Dinner consisted of four ounces of beef or mutton, half a pint of soup made from the left over boiled stock water from the day before, thickened with added vegetables and coarse cuts of meat. A pound of potatoes and five ounces of bread completed the ration. The food was prepared in the kitchen where it was weighed out and put into individual tin cans partitioned to segregate soup from potatoes from bread etc. As each batch was ready, it was raised by a dumb-waiter system to each floor. Warders wheeled the tins along the line of cells on serving trolleys and pushed one through the small trapdoor in each cell door. The entire prison population could be served in just 12 minutes. After dinner, prisoners worked through until 5.30pm when supper was delivered. It consisted of a pint of gruel and five ounces of bread.

Without any opportunity to implement any sort of scheme, Joe simply adjusted his thought processes to cope with the mind numbing routine. He didn't know it, but there were some 50 Scottish prisoners incarcerated during his time there, and half of them were from Glasgow. In March of 1845 after Joe had been there four months, a small number of prisoners were called out and marched off out of the prison. He found out some time later that they were sent to a transport ship to be taken to a penal colony. This happened again in January 1846, and Joseph wondered if his time would come, and he might get out of here.

The only excitement he saw in that time occurred the day that a Glasgow boy under punishment in the dark cells refused to come out at the end of his time, and threatened to kill anyone who came near him. It created quite a stir among the warders who were trying to come up with a scheme to get him out. The cramped conditions in the cell prevented more than one warder at a time from trying to overpower the prisoner. Eventually they burnt cayenne pepper and blew the smoke into the cell. He stood it for quite a while before being forced out.

Joe progressed through the system, eventually gaining the badge that denoted an 'associated man', and was used as a weaving instructor for new arrivals. The assessment process became less stringent over time, and the level of performance and behaviour deemed acceptable for transportation as an Exile was watered down, so even Glasgow boys could qualify. Joe had almost lost track of time when his number came up, and one morning in May of 1846, after being there just the required 18 months, he found himself standing in a squad of some 50, men lined up in three ranks in the main gallery of the prison, looking at the prison Governor who was about to speak to them.

'You men have been assessed as being suitable for the next phase of your sentence. You will be taken from here to a ship that will transport you to New South Wales, where you will be Pardoned, and allowed to work as free men within the colony for the remainder of your original sentence.'

Joseph could hardly believe his ears. Freedom! He'd thought of this day now and then, but it had seemed so far off that he had tried to put it out of his mind. He had heard nothing of the Exile scheme, but now it seemed his sentence was finished. He didn't know anything about New South Wales either, but the thought of getting out of these walls and seeing trees and grass again after two years of nothing but grey concrete, was enough to excite his imagination.

The Governor continued: 'You will be awarded a Conditional Pardon, and all of you have a chance to start a new life. If you use the skills we have taught you here for honest work, should be able to make something of yourselves. Your conduct on the ship will be observed and if found wanting, will be reported to the Colonial Governor. He may revoke your Pardon and you will spend the rest of your sentence in a colonial prison under much worse circumstances than the benevolent conditions you have experienced here.'

Joe wasn't so sure of that description of his confinement here, but was excited to see what the new land might offer. The Governor finished his speech and the men were marched out to waiting prison omnibuses. As they climbed in, Joe saw Billy, Danny, and George. They still could not talk to each other, but seeing them gave Joe some comfort that he wasn't going to be the only Glasgow boy on this ship.

# Chapter 6

The ship that was contracted to transport these men was the Maitland. She was a square rigged barque displacing 648 tons, measuring 125 feet at the waterline, and built of teak in Calcutta in 1810, for the East India trade. In 1837 she had been re-rigged and fitted out to carry passengers, and in 1838 had carried 205 adults and 111 children as free immigrants to Sydney. The voyage was something of a disaster, with 35 people dying of dysentery and typhus during the trip. The ship was quarantined for several weeks after arriving, before the unfortunate passengers could disembark. Following that trip, it was decided that she would be used best as a convict transport, and was one of the biggest ships used for that purpose. She made a trip to Sydney in 1840 and then to Norfolk Island in 1843, carrying convicts. Now, in April of 1846, she was tied up at the Naval dockyard at Deptford in the centre of London, undergoing final fit-out and checks before being cleared to embark her third load of convicts. Her Captain was John Grey, and a retired Navy doctor, John Robertson, was appointed Surgeon Superintendent.

The early days of convict transportation aboard chartered civilian ships had been marked with high mortality rates among prisoners. This was due to the Government's policy of paying for the number of convicts embarked at the beginning of the voyage, rather than the number successfully delivered to the colonies. Ship owners had no incentive to look after their human cargo, and instructed their Captains that anyone who died on the trip was to be dumped overboard, and their unused rations sold in the colony to increase profits. Once this became known to the Government, its solution was to appoint doctors, usually Navy men, to be responsible for the organisation, health and safety of the convicts. There was a clear separation of authority from the Captain, who was only responsible for the safe operation of the ship.

Doctor Robertson's appointment commenced on the 13th of April when he boarded the ship at Deptford, and directed the preparation of bedding and accommodation for the prisoners. There was a lot of activity in the dockyard at the time, as a new steam-powered frigate was to be launched by the daughter of the dockyard commander, Captain Hill, on the 25th. The ceremony was attended by politicians and senior Naval officers. After that launch, Captain Hill inspected the Maitland, and deemed her ready for sea. She was towed down river to Woolwich and moored to a buoy in the river, ready to board passengers. On the 1st of May, 30 soldiers of the 65th Regiment commanded by Lieutenant Trafford embarked to guard the prisoners on the voyage. They would eventually be deployed to New Zealand, so it was in effect, a one way trip for them. Accompanying them was Mr. J Paul the Quartermaster of that Regiment, who brought his wife and four children. Several of the soldiers were married, and were permitted to take their wives as well.

Joseph's group of 50 prisoners from Pentonville arrived by steamer on the 25th of May, and was followed at intervals by similar groups. Some 35 juveniles were brought from Millbank General Penitentiary, and by the 4th of June, there were 229 male prisoners aboard. Their ages were almost entirely between 18 and 30. Younger felons would have gone to the boy's prison at Parkhouse, while it was generally thought that older men would be of less long term benefit to the colonies, and were not considered for this Exile scheme.

The sailing plan for this trip included a stopover at the Isle of Wight to take on 70 boys from Parkhouse prison, who would be embarked at Cowes, bringing the total number of Exiles to about 300. The final provisioning of the Maitland would be done at Spithead off Portsmouth from where she would depart, initially for Hobart, and after disembarking some passengers, would continue to Port Philip where the convicts would be pardoned as they went ashore.

The Maitland was typical of the ships used for transporting convicts, and had four decks. The quarterdeck was at the stern, from which the ship was steered and navigated, and below which was the captain's and officers' cabins and mess. The main deck was cluttered with masts, hatches and capstans, with the crew quarters and galley in the focsul at the bow. The convicts' daily exercise consisted of walking briskly, three abreast, around the deck to the beat of a drum. At all times that there were prisoners on the main deck, a platoon of soldiers stood by on the focsul with fixed bayonets ready to immediately quell any uprising.

Below the main deck, the upper deck would house the soldiers and their wives, and the small cabins at the stern would be occupied by the other passengers and the Surgeon. His sick bay was at the bow. Below that, the lower or prison deck would hold 300 convicts. The space between the prison deck and the keel held food, water and ship's stores of spare timber, chain and rope. The prison deck was divided into wards by iron bars. There was less than 6 feet of headroom between decks, and ventilation was provided to the convict deck by small vent pipes fitted with rotatable canvas air scoops called windsails, and also by hatches in the ship's sides that could be opened to scoop air into the prison deck. Hammock space allocated for each convict was 6 x 2 feet, and when they were all slung at night, there was very little room to move.

Shipboard routine commenced immediately the first prisoners came aboard, so that it would be well established by the time they sailed. The prisoners were divided into messes of ten men each, with one of the more responsible men in each mess being appointed its Captain or Superintendent. He had special responsibilities and some power to direct the prisoners in his mess. Each mess also rostered men in turn to pick up rations and to clean the prison deck. Convict routine was fairly uniform aboard the transports, but could be varied by the Surgeons to allow for different circumstances or ship's facilities. In general though, the rules governing conduct were promulgated as follows:

1. Prisoners are strictly prohibited from speaking with the Crew or Guards except in the discharge of duties directed by the Surgeon Superintendent.

2. The Surgeon Superintendent will select from the general body of men, such persons as he may deem fit and will appoint them to assist in carrying on the discipline which he may think proper to direct. To these men, when appointed, the Surgeon Superintendent expects the same prompt obedience as to himself.

3. Convicts are required promptly to obey all orders which from time to time be issued by the Surgeon Superintendent or the Religious Instructor, whether issued from them personally, or those whom they may place in authority.

4. Convicts will be admitted on deck at such times and under such regulations as the Surgeon Superintendent may direct.

5. The Lower deck to be kept clean and dry, no water to be spilt, the water kegs to be properly secured and no person to wash anything below.

6. No prisoner is on any account to exchange or sell his clothes or any other article belonging to him.

7. No prisoner is allowed in any mode, to gamble for his provisions or for any of his property.

8. No one is allowed to keep any clothes or other description of property which he may find, but is to give it up immediately to the Surgeon Superintendent for the purpose of it being returned to their proper owners.

9. It shall be the duty of the Superintendents to preserve order and good behaviour among the men in their departments of the ship over which they may be stationed, and in particular to prevent all quarrelling, fighting, swearing, the use of profane and obscene language and the singing of immoral songs and to see them all in their proper berths by 8 p.m. and after 8.30 p.m. no singing, speaking, or noise of any kind will be permitted.

10. One man from each two consecutive messes to attend with the Principal Superintendent the weighing and issuing of provisions.

11. It is expected that every person will conduct himself in a quiet, orderly and respectful manner. The Surgeon Superintendent will keep a record of the names of all defaulters for the purpose of being reported to the Governor on the arrival in the colony, and that their future comfort very much depends on the report he shall have to make concerning them.

Joseph Allen came aboard with the others in his group, and was allocated to a ward, and a mess. Danny, Billy and George managed to stay near him, so they all finished up in the same mess. Joe didn't volunteer for any duties such as Mess Captain because he saw no value in standing out from the crowd, where he may be unable to take advantage of any profitable situation that might arise. He had no idea how such a situation might occur, but rules 6, 7 and 8 were of interest to him. The fact that such rules existed indicated that those activities might be possible. His conduct would have to be bad for the authorities to bother with revoking his Pardon, so being caught once or twice for minor infringements shouldn't matter. If he was in a position of trust and was caught though, it would look worse.

Doctor Robertson's clinical duties had commenced on the 15th of May, when he started treating minor illnesses among the crew, and some of the soldiers. His very first patient was seaman Thomas Gulliver aged 20, who had bronchitis. Gulliver was a somewhat delicate looking man, and not the sort that could easily tolerate the hard work of a seaman. He was given treatment and light duty for nearly two weeks, and appeared cured, so he went back to full duty.

Summer came early that year, and as the ship was loading, the daytime temperatures were in the mid to high 70s, and there was some heat stress on the crowded prison deck. Health among the Exiles wasn't all it could be either. Several boarded with serious illnesses that would become apparent later. One of the first prisoners treated was 24 year-old George Landon from Buckinghamshire, who reported sick with phthisis on the 26th and was treated with medicines for two weeks before being declared fit.

After casting off from the Woolwich buoy on the 7th of June, the Maitland was towed some way down river where she anchored to await the morning high tide. The next day, the wind was unfavourable, and after several hours of slow progress she dropped anchor again to await better conditions. At 2.30am on the 9th, the wind changed, and she weighed anchor and set sail for Spithead, the sheltered anchorage between Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight.

When the Maitland left Woolwich for the short run to the Isle of Wight, 32 year-old Octavius Clark was coughing severely and feeling very sick. He reported to Doctor Robertson who diagnosed phthisis, and kept him isolated in the sick bay. The Doctor noted in his Medical Journal that this man had been treated for some months while he was aboard the hulk Justitia, and was now being transported by Special Order from the Secretary of State. He was surprised that Clark had been selected for this voyage while he was in this condition, and doubted that he could withstand the trip. Doctor Robertson decided that he would send Clark to hospital when they arrived at Spithead.

# Chapter 7

The Doctor's workload increased as soon as they set sail, when a wave of diarrhoea swept through the ship. Robertson isolated the cause to bad oatmeal that had been affected by the unusually hot weather. The temperature was still near 80 degrees, and in the first four days he treated over 80 prisoners. Then as they settled in, and with the oatmeal removed from their diet, the numbers of sick reduced to six or seven minor illnesses reported each day.

Among those men there were two new serious illnesses that Robertson thought might need hospital treatment, and Octavius Clark's condition also deteriorated. Clark was a former Naval Officer, who had apparently disgraced the uniform in some way, and attracted special attention from the Government, resulting in the special transportation order. Robertson, a fellow ex-officer naturally gave him maximum attention. The Maitland anchored off Spithead on the 12th of June, and as soon as they had reached calm waters, Clark's condition improved. The Doctor thought that Clark might successfully make the voyage after all. He also reported the bad oatmeal to the Naval Commander at Portsmouth.

The ship was moved a few miles to Cowes where 70 boys from Parkhouse came aboard on the 24th, all of them aged between 13 and 17 years. They were segregated from the adult prisoners, although most of those were not much older than the boys. The lads seemed reasonably fit and well, though they looked under-weight, and Doctor Robertson expected no trouble with their health. After they boarded, the ship immediately returned to Spithead to be topped up with water and provisions.

On the 25th, Captain Wilcox of the Royal Navy, and two other officers, inspected the bad oatmeal and ordered that most of it be replaced. Two days later, provisioning was completed, and at that time John Hampton, the newly appointed 'Colonial Comptroller General of Convicts', embarked with his wife and son. He would take up his post upon landing at Hobart. Doctor Robertson had to decide now if any convicts were unfit to sail, and ordered the two new serious cases, John Jeffries and Henry Lewis, to the hospital ship Briton, moored off Gosport. Octavius Clark was looking better so he kept him on board. After all, these men were to be pardoned when they reached Port Philip, whereas, if he returned them to hospital they would finish up back in prison for some time. It was better for them to stay aboard if possible.

The Maitland's sailing orders arrived on the morning of Monday the 29th of June and Captain Grey wasted no time getting under way. The ship was under full sail by mid afternoon. The daily routine was fully implemented now, and everyone on the ship knew where they had to be at any given time. The routine varied only slightly from one day to the next.

Cooks arose at 4am, went on deck to the for'ard galley and started breakfast. At 5am everyone else was up, taking down and stowing hammocks, and filling wash tubs. Bedding would then be aired on deck, weather permitting. At 6am, the first half of the prisoners were given 30 minutes to wash, under the supervision of their appointed mess captains, followed by the second half from 6.30 to 7am. The daily water and biscuit rations were distributed, and at 7.30 all prisoners went below while the ship's crew scrubbed the main deck and water closets.

Breakfast lasted from 8 to 8.30am, followed by one designated man from each mess allowed on deck to wash utensils. At 9am all prisoners were brought on deck while rostered men cleaned the prison deck. During this period Doctor Robertson conducted his sick parade, then inspected the prison deck.

At 9.30 Reverend Symons conducted morning prayers, then half of the prisoners remained on deck as school lessons were given by appointed prisoners. At 11.30, lessons ended in preparation for dinner at 12 noon, when an allowance of lime juice was issued. Following utensil cleaning and deck sweeping, the second half of the prisoners had their school period on deck during the afternoon.

At 4pm hammocks were un-stowed and beds made up, then at 5pm, supper, followed by washing up, and prayers at 6pm. The night watch was assembled at 7pm, and all prisoners were in their beds by 8pm. Lights were extinguished at 8.30pm, and no talking or noise of any kind was allowed during the night. The only variation was that Divine Service replaced school periods each Sunday.

The Maitland cleared Lands End on the 31st of June, and began the long southerly leg of the voyage that would take them around the Cape of Good Hope and into the Southern Indian Ocean. The next day, they were only just out of sight of land when one of the younger prisoners from Millbank, Henry Wilson aged 16, who had been seasick from the time they sailed, suffered an asphyxia attack on the prison deck. Doctor Robertson was nearby when the attack started, and later recorded the event in his report.

On the morning of the 1st of July he complained to his mates that he suffered pains in the region of the stomach and immediately afterwards was seen to fall in front of his mess in a state of syncopsis. Being in the hospital at the time I was almost instantly on the spot where I found the patient apparently lifeless in which state he remained 20 minutes. But all our efforts could not restore animation.

Wilson was buried at sea, wrapped in a weighted canvas bag.

Octavius Clark had relapsed into serious illness soon after leaving Spithead, and was kept in the sickbay. He was treated with every means at the Doctor's disposal, and despite being miserably sick, he was holding on. An issue of Port wine each day was his preferred medicine, and it looked as though he might hold on if the wine held out, all the way to Port Philip.

On the 6th of July, George Landon again went to Doctor Robertson with a recurrence of his breathing difficulties, and was put into the sick bay with Clark. On the 10th, seaman Gulliver also suffered a recurrence of his bronchitis and was admitted. The doctor had his hands full dealing with the daily parade of minor illnesses as well as the three seriously ill men in the sick bay. Despite treatment, both Landon and Gulliver died within hours of each other on Sunday the 19th of July. The burial service was conducted during Divine Service, and Joe and the others were on deck for the occasion. Here they were, just three weeks into the voyage, and three men had already died.

Joe had no idea how long the voyage would take. Rumours were going around that it would take anywhere from a month to a year. The wind wasn't much more than a breeze most of the time, and the ship hardly seemed to be moving. Joe wondered how many more would die before they saw land again.

The Maitland was not a fast ship, and after a month at sea she was 250 nautical miles off the coast of Sierra Leone, West Africa, having covered only 3,150 nautical miles at an average speed of just 4.4 knots. At the end of August they had travelled another 2,500nm at 3.5 knots, and were 300 nautical miles east of Tristan da Cunha off the southern tip of Africa, less than halfway to their destination. By the end of September they were 400 nautical miles northwest of Kerguelen Island, still averaging only 4 knots, and with 3,600 nautical miles still to go. The wind increased during the next month, and they covered 3,000 miles at 7 knots.

Clark had taken up much of the doctor's time from the moment he came on board, and he died when the Maitland was just 1500 nautical miles from Hobart. Robertson recorded in his report:

'This poor man......suffered....a general decay of nature and a broken spirit......His disease increased and his strength gradually failed as the voyage advanced, until the 14th of October when he expired in the usual way from phthisis and exhausted nature after being 137 days under treatment.'

The Maitland reached Hobart 13 days later, after sailing 12,500 nautical miles in 121 days at an average speed of 4.3 knots, equivalent to a fast walking pace. Joe had settled into the voyage, and from the beginning like everyone else, just tolerated endless routine. He didn't bother trying any schemes and he was now just looking forward to getting off the ship. The sight of Hobart had brought home the reality of the boredom they all suffered, and everyone was eager to get ashore.

The trip was uneventful as far as weather and other significant occurrences were concerned, and apart from the four deaths, all from pre-existing illnesses, Robertson was pleased with the result. Upon their arrival at Hobart, he recorded the voyage in his report in just a few lines.

'During the voyage to Australia, the steady disciplines of the ship and prisoners was never in the least interrupted, and on the 27th of October the 'Maitland' arrived at Sullivan's Cove in a very healthsome condition and without having called at any intermediate harbour.'

He further noted:

'The Exiles generally had greatly improved in spirits and strength of body on the voyage. They were all weighed on leaving England, and again at Hobart Town where they were found to have gained on average the following:

Pentonville Exiles, 193, 8 lbs

Parkhurst Juveniles, 70, 12 lbs

Millbank Juveniles, 31, 7 lbs.'

He attributed their general good health to the rigid procedures for cleaning of the ship, airing of bedding and the daily issue of chloride of lime.

The Maitland anchored offshore in accordance with standard procedures until the Colonial Surgeon could determine that there were no contagious diseases that could be brought ashore. Comptroller General Hampton and his family landed as soon as the ship was cleared, and three ill convicts were sent to the hospital in Hobart. The next day Hampton returned with Tasmania's Governor, Sir John Eardly-Wilmot, to inspect the state of the ship. It was one of Eardly-Wilmot's last duties as Governor. He had already received notice that he was to be replaced following allegations of maladministration of the colony and his own questionable personal conduct. Three months later, he died suddenly. Hampton himself would have a turbulent career, being charged with contempt of the Tasmanian Parliament in 1855. He left Australia, but was eventually exonerated, and was appointed Governor of Western Australia in 1862, where he again caused trouble by meddling in the administration of convicts there.

Once all formalities were completed, the soldiers and their dependents disembarked. Most of the unused provisions were also unloaded, but the convicts remained on board throughout. The Maitland again set sail on the 31st of October for its final destination, Port Philip, without any guards. After six days of light winds and agonisingly slow progress, being so near the end of such a long voyage, the crew finally sighted Port Philip heads on the 7th of November but, after taking on the pilot, had to heave to and wait for favourable winds and a high tide to get safely through The Rip. This notoriously difficult entry to Port Philip Bay was due to the massive volume of water that had to flow in and out of the bay with every tide, through a gap only a few feet deep and a mile wide.

The Maitland eventually arrived in Hobson's Bay and anchored off Williamstown on Monday the 9th of November 1846, ending the long voyage for the convicts. Joe had been on board for five and a half months.

# Chapter 8

The new convict transportation policy became known in Melbourne when the first batch of 21 Exiles arrived aboard the Royal George in November 1844. Port Philip was expanding rapidly and needed more labour to keep up with the increasing production from the sheep stations, and the service industries being established to support them. Those Squatters and businessmen who would directly benefit from the system were strongly in favour of taking these Exiles, but the average settler was not. They saw it as a way of foisting convicts onto an otherwise free settlement.

By 1845 the population of Melbourne had reached about 6000, and was growing steadily. Commercial land in Collins Street was selling for up to 2000 pounds a block. Residential blocks close to town were valued at the rate of 300 pounds per acre, though not many were a full acre. Rural land within 10 miles of the town was valued at 3 pounds per acre. The average labourer's wage was about 30 pounds per year. Those settlers who could not afford to buy land in the city or the nearby suburbs of North Melbourne, Fitzroy and Collingwood, and that was a sizeable number, were permitted to set up tents on the south side of the Yarra on a grassy rise called Emerald Hill.

The arrival of convicts who would be given a Pardon as soon as they landed, was a surprise to the free settlers, and was seen as contaminating the population. Lieutenant-Governor LaTrobe was not pleased about receiving these Exiles either, seeing the pardons as just a way of getting convicts into his settlement through the back door. When the Royal George, carrying only 21 Exiles, dropped anchor in Port Philip Bay in 1844 it triggered public debate that went on for years. That first batch of Exiles was escorted from England by a great advocate and supporter of this system, a Squatter named William Yaldwyn, who would move north some ten years later, and take up Taroom station, upon which the central Queensland town of Taroom would be founded in 1856.

The Royal George's arrival was the subject of an editorial in the Port Philip Patriot newspaper that led the anti-Exile crusade.

'Revival of Transportation

It will scarcely be believed - and yet such is the fact - that transportation to New South Wales is revived, and that Australia Felix, hitherto uncontaminated, save from its contiguity to the penal settlement, is the chosen field for this new experiment in convict colonization.

The 'Royal George' which arrived on Saturday last brought us a bunch of seven-years men from the New Model Prison, Pentonville, who, after two years durance in that establishment, have been forwarded here at the expense of the British Government, and are, it seems, to be landed among us under the guise of immigrants of the first water! There is some understanding between the Government and the convicts that the latter are not to return to Britain until after the expiry of five years, but beyond this agreement which, we presume, is upon honour, there is not the slightest restraint upon these worthies, nor the slightest distinction drawn between honest men who have come here to work their way in the world, and these 'True patriots all, for let it be understood - They left their country for their country's good'.

In another editorial the same paper said that this method of convict transportation was:

'...without its discipline, with all its evils and none of its benefits. We should duck the scoundrels if they attempt to set foot in a country of free men, and send them back as they came to the greater scoundrels who dared to send them hither.'

A rival newspaper, the Gazette, was more approving of the scheme, and conducted a war of words with the Patriot, who kept up its campaign over succeeding years. The ships kept coming, and in March of 1846, the newly established Melbourne Courier newspaper reported on a public meeting held by the Geelong Immigration Society to discuss the conduct of the Exiles that had arrived up to that time. It reported that the meeting was somewhat inconclusive but certainly did not come out in favour of receiving more Exiles as the Gazette had predicted it would. The Courier's report under the headline, 'The Penton-Villains', said in part:

'...the meeting did not give the unqualified approval of the villainous scheme for converting this free province into a receptacle for British felons which the Gazette, in the exuberance of its sycophancy, anticipated, nor have they given, lax as it is, such an answer as will justify the British Government in making Australia Felix the scene of their future experiments in convict discipline.'

This then, was the climate of public opinion as the Maitland arrived and deposited a further 291 of these mostly unwelcome newcomers upon the town. Nevertheless, despite the negative press, the Maitland's arrival was eagerly awaited by most Squatters and business people, and the day she dropped anchor several of them went aboard, eager to hire workers for their businesses. They selected suitable men, but since the official pardons had not been received on board, the Exiles were not allowed ashore.

The next day, the ship was again bustling with people, and the Lieutenant-Governor arrived to look at the Maitland and its Exiles. LaTrobe held up the hiring process while he inspected the prison deck, hospital, and the Exiles themselves. He wasn't happy with all these criminals arriving in his colony, but allowed the Pardons to be issued, and the process resumed.

With the paperwork in order, the ship was teeming with people hiring, being hired, and getting ashore. Some men didn't wait to be hired and went ashore to find their own jobs. It was soon obvious to Joe that his trade qualification as a weaver was not going to count for much here, since no one grew cotton, or spun thread and they certainly didn't weave cloth. It was all imported. The other three Glasgow boys decided not to wait to be hired and left the ship as soon as they were allowed. Joe never saw them again.

Joe was hired by Charles Williamson of wholesale and retail drapers, Williamson and Lowe, under a contract of employment for one year, with wages of 20 pounds a year or about one shilling and sixpence a day. It wasn't as much as some other Exiles such as carpenters, tailors and shoemakers were offered. Some of them were in greater demand and were paid much more. The Exiles in general though, were paid about half the rate of the free labourers, since they were unproven and somewhat distrusted. That opinion was expressed by one Squatter who said:

'.......I may also add that I have had many other old prisoners in my service, and in general found them to be very good servants - the Pentonvilles being the worst without exception.'

But for the moment Joe was happy just having the freedom to move around after the years of discipline in the gaols and months of close confinement on the ship. Within two days all the Exiles had disembarked from the Maitland. The last two off were sick men who were taken to the Melbourne hospital, and Doctor Robertson's work was done.

# Chapter 9

After he disembarked from the Maitland at Williamstown, Joe was taken by road to Melbourne by his new employer. The road was rough but well-travelled, as Williamstown had become more of a residential suburb than a centre of commerce, and Melbourne was now the central business district. Williamstown residents had to travel six miles by road, at first heading north, some way through unpopulated bush, then east, roughly following the northern banks of the Yarra, and crossing the Maribyrnong River near the racetrack at Flemington, then intercepting Sydney road and arriving in Melbourne from the north.

There, Joe found a busy town of some 8,000 people with many pubs, where life was very different, and at first appearance, somewhat more fun than it had been in Scotland. The town had expanded rapidly in its first ten years, and now had two Banks, six newspapers, many general stores, bookshops, some of which also sold musical instruments, chemists, doctors, lawyers, auctioneers and real estate agents, as well as the race track, a fire station and two theatres. The Melbourne Hospital was well established, but relied on donations and fund raising to a large extent to cover its operating costs. The weather was pleasant, with rainfall less frequent than in Glasgow, and it was warm, being summertime in this southern hemisphere. The flies were annoying though, clinging on and seeming to ignore cursory waves of the hand to dislodge them. Many found their way into eyes, nose and ears and caused continual aggravation. Joe also noticed a smell in the air that seemed to come and go as the wind changed, and he identified it as a mix of new cut timber, and rotten garbage. The first night he was there, Joe found that the flies were replaced by hoards of mosquitoes whose search for blood was only discouraged by the smoke from burning dung that emanated from nearly every household.

But these inconveniences aside, he had a job that would do for now, and new clothes. He also saw the first un-married woman he'd seen since going to gaol. Women were in short supply in the colonies, and Melbourne was no exception. There were just over 4,000 men but less than 2,000 women there in 1841, and most of those were married. The ratio hadn't changed in the five years since then, and competition for the attention of any newly arrived single woman was fierce. The prostitutes working in the Spring Street brothels were making a lot of money.

At the time Joe arrived, the world economy was emerging from a recession, but Banks still had little money to lend and the price of wool was still down. Squatters had only maintained their viability through the recession by selling their sheep for meat, or boiling them down for tallow. The future economic prosperity of the settlement looked uncertain, but it didn't stop the civic leaders from lobbying for separation from New South Wales. Their major complaint was that Governor Gipps, who had replaced Bourke in 1837, decreed that land could be procured only by public auction, and he further set the minimum price at 300 pounds per acre. Similar land in Sydney was sold at the rate of 38 pounds per acre. There were only three auctions per year for crown land, and the high price and low supply was seen as unfairly restricting the settlement's development. An inquiry into the ability of the settlement to be self-sufficient had been held in 1845, but so far nothing had come of the resulting report.

It wasn't long before Joe realised that he was being poorly paid compared to other men. Even dairymaids were paid more. He wondered if there might be something better available, so one Sunday he took the opportunity to walk around the town to see what the place had to offer. He started at the centre of town at the Great Collins and Elizabeth Street intersection, intending to walk around the outside of the surveyed business district. He already knew that the General Post Office occupied one corner of the intersection, and in a prominent position opposite, stood the large department store of Harris and Marks, whose shop front displayed the signage:

'London Mart, The Greatest Depot in the Southern Hemisphere. Unrivalled in the British Colonies. Importers of Manchester and Scotch Goods.'

They sold drapery, silk mercery, laces, shawls, stays, bonnets and French millinery. They also stocked men's suits, coats trousers and riding apparel. Joe walked over and looked at some of the prices of clothing displayed in the window.

'Splendid striped summer dresses, 6 shillings and sixpence each,

Ladies worked corner handkerchiefs, 9 shillings and sixpence a box of one dozen,

Baby's long robes from 18 shillings to 80 shillings each,

Ladies Tuscan bonnets 8 shillings and sixpence each,'

and the note,

'Goods packed free of expense.'

Prices for men's clothing were not displayed, but it looked as though a pair of trousers would cost about a week's wages, so Joe moved on. Further along the street was D&S Benjamin's Discount House, offering imported clothing and blankets at discount prices, their advertisements claiming:

'...these goods having been purchased at home for cash, we are able to offer them very low.'

Jackson & Bissell's hardware and ironmongery store stocked carpentry and garden tools, as well as cutlery, while Rutherford, Haskell & Cleave's coach, saddle and harness factory occupied the corner of Elizabeth and Little Collins Streets.

There were many hotels of varying standards close by, smaller ones tucked away in the laneways, and many being run by Irishmen. The 'Rose Thistle and Shamrock Inn' in Collins Street and the 'Donnybrook Inn' in Flinders Lane were typical of them. The buildings that Joe could see were mostly timber, but there were several brick buildings up to two stories high, and others under construction, that were gradually replacing the original rough trimmed log cabins built by the first settlers ten years earlier. There were few people about as Joe walked east along Collins Street, avoiding the deeper holes in the dirt road where wagons had been bogged at some time and been dug out. Work parties were employed to fill in such holes, but frequent rain made the surfaces soft and muddy for much of the year, and the continuous traffic of wagons and horses made it an impossible job.

Livestock was prohibited from running loose in the main streets, and severe penalties applied for allowing them to do so. The Melbourne Times newspaper reported that:

Respected townsman Mr. J.M. Chisholm was fined 12 pounds 10 shillings plus costs for allowing a flock of sheep to stray in the public streets, although it was clearly proved that it was not owing to any neglect on either his own part or that of his servant, but in consequence of some evil disposed person having opened the yard, thereby allowing the sheep to escape. The Bench could not avoid imposing the fine, the lowest which could be inflicted...

Joe passed the Melbourne Courier's printing office, several legal firms, and doctors' premises, as he crossed Swanston and then Russell Streets, and followed Collins Street for another 400 yards up the slope towards the edge of the surveyed town limits. Near the top of the rise he saw a crowd of people gathered in their best Sunday clothes, and as he neared, saw the first church he'd so far seen. It was the best constructed building in town, and the sign near the front door informed citizens that it was the Presbyterian Church of Scotland, currently under the care of the Reverend Irving Hetherington. Joe heard some familiar accents among the people chatting in the street, but he had no interest in church, so he continued on.

At the top of the rise was a T intersection where Collins met Spring Street which marked the eastern edge of the town. On Joe's right, Spring Street ran down the slope towards Flinders Street at the riverbank. Another road followed that bank for a mile upstream to the punt. Instead of following that road, Joe turned left and followed Spring Street to the northern end of the town, along the way passing several brothels and a women's gaol, and seeing new cottages being built at East Melbourne and Newton. The road was very rough in places where bullock teams had chopped up the surface when it was wet, and the hoof prints and wheel ruts were still plainly visible in the dried mud. There were still some tree stumps on the road that had yet to be dug out by the road gangs, but people accepted that in a new settlement, that was the way things were.

At the north-eastern corner of the town, Joe turned left along Latrobe Street and again crossed Russell Street, and noted the Melbourne gaol and Court house on his right. He didn't pause to look any closer, and continued down the gentle slope past the police paddock, across Swanston Street and on for another 600 yards, crossing the top end of Elizabeth Street. That street continued north and became Sydney Road, which continued on through Brunswick to the town of Kilmore, and then roughly followed the route of explorers Hume and Hovell all the way to Sydney.

Continuing up another rise to Flagstaff Hill, he passed the cemetery at the end of Queen Street, and came to the cleared area at the top end of William Street, with its huge flagpole and watch-tower manned by ex-seamen with their telescopes. From here they could see the next semaphore station in the string set up at intervals along the shore of the bay, all the way to the heads. As a ship entered the bay, signal flags were raised to alert the next station, which in turn passed the signal on. The frequency of coastal shipping between Sydney, Melbourne and Hobart was now increasing markedly, averaging five or six arrivals each week, in addition to the less frequent freighters and passenger ships from international ports. Mail and news from abroad was eagerly awaited, and the people of Melbourne knew very quickly when a new ship came through The Rip, 35 miles away.

From here Joe had a good view over Melbourne, and noted that the area bounded by the roads he had just walked was quite densely built upon, mostly dwelling houses and boarding houses, but also some larger brick buildings. There were some open areas where the owners hadn't yet erected either house or business premises, but they were surprisingly few given the young age of the town.

Surrounding the flagstaff was an acre of cleared ground that was already being cultivated as a garden, with flowering bushes, attended to by the congregation of the adjacent St James church, one of the first churches in the colony. This place was also crowded with people, and some horses and buggies, and Joe didn't stop long. Following Latrobe Street down the western side of Flagstaff Hill, he turned into Spencer Street and followed the road south towards the river again. After passing Batman's Hill on his right, he came to Flinders Street that ran along the north bank of the Yarra. Here, Joe looked along the river bank to the west and found the source of the smell he had noticed when he first arrived.

The town's abattoirs were situated on the river bank only a few hundred yards from the town centre. Next to it was a boiling down works consisting of iron roofs set on poles with no walls, covering wood-fired boilers and vats of molten fat. The surrounds were littered with wood heaps for the boilers, whose chimneys spewed grey smoke into the air, piles of sheep skins waiting to be treated, and heaps of bones. The runoff from both facilities went straight into the river, already polluting Governor Bourke's 'finest river in New South Wales'. The complex was an eyesore and generated a most objectionable odour. Entrails and rotting carcasses littered the river bank, and new settlers arriving at Queen's wharf by lighter from Sandridge had to pass this mess. It was a breeding ground for flies, and it wasn't a good first impression for the new settlers, most of them now coming straight from England. The packs of marauding dogs that roamed the streets of Melbourne were always assured of a feed in this area, but only at night. During the daytime stray dogs ran the risk of being shot if they were seen foraging through rubbish for food.

Across the river Joe could see a green grassy slope just a few hundred yards away, and from this distance it looked quite a pleasant place. Even the few tents and ramshackle huts he could see didn't detract too much from its appearance. Its name of Emerald Hill seemed a fitting description. Turning left, he walked along Flinders Street past the Immigrant Depot where new arrivals were accommodated until they could arrange their own housing, even if it was just a tent on Emerald Hill. At the end of Queen Street the Government's Queen's wharf, and the commercially run Coles' wharf were stockpiled with timber and wool waiting to be loaded aboard the berthed lighters, to go to Sandridge.

Joe continued along Flinders Street to look at the timber trestle bridge over the Yarra. It was completed in 1841 after nearly a year of construction, and ran diagonally across the river, connecting Swanston Street on the town side with Sandridge Road that ran two miles to Liardet's Sandridge pier. It was built there rather than at Elizabeth Street because it was easier for the contractor. Traders in Elizabeth Street weren't happy because Swanston Street traders then benefited from the passing traffic, and they knew it would eventually become the main street. The bridge provided an alternate method of transporting goods between Hobson's Bay and the town, and would eventually make most of the lighters plying the river, obsolete. Sandridge could now expand and become a warehouse district, stockpiling goods for road or sea transport. Sandridge Road was always called City Road by the Sandridge people, and that name eventually became the official one. The bridge also gave Emerald Hill's tent people easy access to the town, and nearly put the punt out of business, but since it was a toll bridge, many people still used the punt. The punt survived many more years by transporting livestock which wasn't allowed through the town centre.

Joe enjoyed his walk, and at various times had seen the patrolling foot police following their regular beats around the city streets. It occurred to him that they had a good job, and wondered how he could possibly join them. It seemed logical that his past criminal history would count against him becoming a policeman, but he didn't understand the prevailing conditions in a new colony such as this, and the difficulty the Administrator was having in finding suitable men to staff his police force. Far from being disqualified from becoming a policeman, Joe's background as a criminal almost assured him of being selected.

# Chapter 10

Police services in England had started over 200 years earlier with local community-based amateurs, who were rostered by their parish to serve as constables for a year at a time. If they saw a crime being committed they raised a 'Hue and Cry' to summon help, and it was an offence for other citizens not to respond. They were often paid a bonus for solving crimes. It wasn't a good job though, so wealthier men would pay someone else to take their turn, and in practice, policing was always done by the lower social classes.

In London, by the end of the 18th century, Magistrates in the Bow Street Court employed men to serve writs and execute arrest warrants. They came to be known as the Bow Street Runners. Over time, through their frequent dealings with criminals, they were able to gather intelligence that helped to solve crimes, and from that came the concept of the plain clothes investigator.

More recently, Sir Robert Peel's organisation of the London police into a military style hierarchy, properly trained and funded by Government had changed the nature of the police force. Peel's concept wasn't universally accepted at first, but within a few years 'Bobbie's' men gained the trust of the citizens, and by 1825, the foundation of modern policing was established. The Bow Street Runners were disbanded in 1830, and at that time there was no plan to replace them with any investigative group.

In Melbourne, policing had proceeded along the British lines, albeit with some morally questionable recruits, and despite a high turnover of men, it maintained reasonable law and order. By 1844, the Port Philip district had several independent police forces each doing its own work with little interaction with any of the others. In the town centre were the Melbourne Foot police, while Hobson's Bay was the domain of the Water police who were stationed at Williamstown. Further a-field were the Mounted police, and the Border Patrol. Each group was run by a Magistrate and a Superintendent.

Apart from the military uniforms of the mounted police, there were never enough uniforms to go around, and in the early days, a foot policeman simply wore ordinary clothes with a badge and a wide leather belt holding a truncheon and a whistle, to denote his position as a constable. His duties required him to patrol the streets on foot, intervening in disputes and locking up drunks. Later, foot police were issued with a long-tailed coat with brass buttons to the waist, and displaying the officer's police number on the high collar. The leather belt was worn on the outside. A stovepipe hat was issued for day wear, and a cloth cap with a leather peak was worn at night, and a lantern was carried.

The majority of foot police were ex-convicts, and the Border Patrol rank and file was made up of soldiers who had been court martialled, and were serving their sentence in this role, so were not paid for their work. As a result of their somewhat doubtful qualities, the general population didn't hold police in high regard, seeing them as a necessary evil, only needed to clean up the drunks and other riff-raff that sullied their town. There were many instances of assault and robbery as well as horse and cattle stealing, and an occasional murder, but those offenders were generally easily caught and dealt with swiftly by the Courts.

Several Chief Constables had come and gone in the settlement's short history, and William Sugden was appointed in 1844. Within a year or two this proved to be a significant milestone in the development of policing in the colony. The prevalence of ex-convicts in town, as well as occasional escapees sneaking in from Van Diemen's Land, worried Lieutenant-Governor LaTrobe. He was concerned that, having such a concentration of criminals in the town, organised crime might develop. Chief Constable Sugden thought about the problem, and received approval to create a new force of police under a sergeant, to infiltrate any organised groups and determine their real motives. The new force could not use serving constables since they would be known to too many people, and would be unlikely to gain entry to any criminal gangs. Sugden's view was that recently released or pardoned ex-convicts would best recognise criminals because, he said,

'They are better acquainted with their style and character than any immigrants would be.'

A criminal background became the basic qualification for the new force.

A review of recently arrived Exiles was made, and those that could be found in the city area were invited to apply. Joe saw this as the opportunity he was hoping for. Just walk around the streets talking to people, and if a suspect organisation emerged, attend meetings and see what they were up to. Another duty that would occupy much of his time was to be present at the arrival of immigrant ships and observe the passengers as they disembarked, to pick potential criminals. Easy work, and he would be able to move around the streets when and where he wanted. So Joe applied, and was one of four men selected. Sugden called the new group the Detective Force. It was the first such specialist group in the world. The pay was much better than Joe had been getting too. Williams and Lowe paid him one shilling and sixpence a day, and now he would get three shillings, plus a four pence clothing allowance. It was still only equivalent to labourers' wages, but a 100% increase was welcome.

Even Joe was aware of the irony of his situation. One of Glasgow's more serious street criminals, who was sentenced to 10 years hard labour, and who had been pardoned after only two and a half years, was now one of the first full time detectives in the history of policing. It didn't matter to Joe whether this indicated incompetence on behalf of the British legal system, or the desperation of colonial administrators to make their system work. He would coast along and enjoy whatever benefits this position might bring.

As the new force settled into its role, the Chief Constable issued a memo to his officers giving them examples of the sort of people they should watch for:

'....persons living beyond their means, or having dissipated reckless habits, bankrupts, embezzlers, ex-convicts, oyster sellers and fish hawkers...'

The existence of the new force soon became known to the newspapers. They criticised the concept, and it wasn't long before Joe realised that his position as a detective was even less respected by the general population than that of the uniformed branches. Since they worked in plain clothes and their job was to gather intelligence from unsuspecting people, detectives were regarded as spies. It was considered an underhanded and un-British way of catching criminals, but since Joe had been considered an outcast by most people from the moment he stepped off the ship, he never cared much what anyone else thought about him. He went about his business quite happily.

Apart from the regular immigrant ships, five more Exile ships arrived between May 1847 and February 1849, bringing another 1200 'free' men. After this, LaTrobe decided that enough was enough, and the three additional Exile ships that arrived in 1849 were not allowed to land. They had no option but to go on to Sydney where they were equally not wanted, though allowed to disembark their prisoners. Once LaTrobe's stand was known in London, no more Exiles were sent to Melbourne.

During his time working as a detective, Joe investigated livestock thefts, armed robberies and the occasional murder. He also attended the arrival of many ships, and many people. Among them was the Tregilgus family from Hobart. John 'Handspike Jack' Tregilgus, and his wife Kezia, formerly Sophia Grantham, were known criminals. She had served seven years for larceny, and they had both been arrested in Hobart for stealing Government clothing. Tregilgus owned a schooner and was contracted to deliver stores to convict stations along the east coast of Van Diemen's Land. They supplemented their income by selling off some of their cargoes until they were caught. They were listed as people to be watched. Joe noted that they had two young children, and doubted that they would have time to get up to much mischief. He was right about that, and a few years later, after their son died, the Tregilguses left Victoria and moved on to central Queensland where they founded the towns of Taroom in 1856, and then Rolleston in 1860.

In addition to the ships carrying free immigrants and Exiles, there were other ships that arrived fairly regularly in the late 1840s, and were met by a large proportion of the male population. These ships carried young single Irish girls who were orphaned during the potato famine, and were sent to Australia to give them a new start in life. The imbalance between the numbers of men and women in the growing colony meant that these girls were eagerly awaited by the sex-starved men of Melbourne.

# Chapter 11

When Joe left Belfast for Manchester back in 1843, the potato harvest in most of Ireland was the worst it had been for years. The following year the weather was bad, and the crop developed blight that reduced that year's harvest even further, and began a cycle of unemployment, poverty and starvation for the working classes. By 1845 people were unable to pay rents, and were evicted from their English owned farms. Most of the food that was harvested was exported to England leaving the Irish people in a hopeless situation. Many adults died leaving thousands of children either orphaned or with just a mother who could not support them. Big landowners had to pay taxes according to the number of tenants sub-letting their land, even if those tenants could not pay their rent. Most simply had to evict their farmers to minimise their tax. Workhouses were built to house destitute people, but families were broken up, and so even children who had living parents were effectively orphaned.

County Kilkenny was affected like most others, and workhouses were built at Waterford and other nearby towns. In 1848, sixteen year old Bridget Sullivan and her eighteen year old sister Catherine found themselves alone and working for one of the landowners in the parish of Mourcom. Their parents James and Mary had been forced to go to a workhouse, but left the girls in employment hoping it would provide a better chance for their future. Typhoid and dysentery in the workhouses caused even more deaths than starvation, and soon, the girls were left orphaned. The crisis continued, and the landowners found it was cheaper to pay the fare for their employees to emigrate, than to pay the taxes to keep them. The majority of emigrants went to America, but the shortage of women in Australia was seen as an opportunity for girls to start a better life, so ships were chartered to transport orphaned girls to Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide.

In March of 1849, Biddy and Cate were told they were to be sent to Melbourne along with many other girls around the same age. They were taken to Plymouth and boarded the ship New Liverpool. When everyone was aboard there were some 250 girls aged between 14 and 21. They set sail for Melbourne on the 25th of April and arrived safely on the 9th of August. The ship anchored in Hobson's Bay among the many ships loading or unloading trade goods or bringing free immigrants to the growing town. There was an average of three ships arriving from overseas each week, each staying two or three weeks while loading or unloading. At the same time, steamers made regular trips to Geelong, Launceston, Hobart and Sydney, so the port was quite busy.

The girls were not taken off the ship immediately because there was a shortage of accommodation for them ashore. About 55 of them were moved to a smaller ship, the Raven, and were taken to Portland to be hired by settlers in that area. The rest went ashore over the following week as they were hired, or as space became available in the Immigrant Barracks near the corner of Flinders and William Streets. It was too long to wait for Ann Carney. She had been feeling ill, but didn't tell anyone in time, and died suddenly on the 16th of August while still on the ship.

Over the next few days most of the girls were placed with employers in or near Melbourne. John Fawkner, one of the founders of Melbourne hired two of them to work for him at Moonee Ponds. The economic recession of the mid 40s was over, and business was getting back to normal. Even the major bushfire that burned many dwellings on the outskirts of Melbourne in February had not left a lasting scar on the settlement. Biddy and Cate had no idea how they would make a living, but both were old enough to be married, and that was the best option they could hope for. Many Irish girls had found prostitution their only choice, and that became a stereotype, so all the girls were now looked upon in that way, and in many cases their treatment suffered because of it.

Cate was hired as a servant by William Belcher, an Auctioneer with business premises in Little Bourke Street, but who lived a mile east of town at Richmond. She was paid just over one pound per month which was much less than the current rate for living-in female domestic servants of between 16 and 19 pounds per year. Biddy was worse off. She was hired by Moses Kavanagh who ran the Donnybrook Inn in Flinders Lane in the centre of town. She cleaned the rooms and the bar, washed glasses and generally did whatever Kavanagh told her. She was paid less than one pound a month, but had a roof over her head and enough food to eat, so it was already better than life in Kilkenny, and there was a prospect that it could improve in time.

Joseph Allen was nearly 30 years old and had now served several years in the detective force. He often drank at the Donnybrook, since he felt an affinity with the Irish, and it had become his preferred pub. The new Irish lass he saw working there in June of 1849 looked very attractive to him, and he made it his business to speak to her as often as possible. He told her his family were from Belfast, so they got along well. Biddy suspected he must have been an ex-convict because that was still a topic of debate about police among the citizenry. The issue of criminals being landed on their shores and given pardons, only to be hired as agent provocateurs in the guise of police detectives was still being kept alive by the newspapers. Biddy didn't raise the question with him though, and just enjoyed his company whenever possible. She found him to be pleasant until he had a few drinks, after which the old Glasgow boy emerged, and he became loud and sometimes aggressive.

Their relationship developed until, by December, Joe had asked Biddy to marry him. Life was tough for Irish girls in the town, and for single ones in particular, so when an offer of marriage was made, she readily accepted. They were married on the 12th of February 1850, by Reverend Irving Heatherington, in the Presbyterian Church of Scotland in Collins Street, and Biddy's sister Catherine came to the wedding. They rented a house at Richmond close to Catherine, and began what they both presumed would be a long and happy marriage. Joe was somewhat overbearing in nature, and expected Biddy to be on hand to satisfy his needs at any time. She had no alternative, but it wasn't that much of a problem, so she acquiesced, and looked after him in all ways. Both of them continued working as before, but almost immediately, Biddy became pregnant.

Their first child, Richard, was born on the 27th of December 1850, luckily in mid-morning, which saved them some money. Medical fees charged by the doctors in the town were scaled into three categories according to the patient's ability to pay. A home visit to attend a birth from 7am to 9 pm cost either one, three or five guineas. That rate doubled between 9 pm and 7 am. The day rates roughly equated to a week's wages for the people in each category. For ordinary illnesses the rates were 3 shillings, 5 shillings or 10 shillings and sixpence. If the doctor travelled more than a mile, an additional 3, 5 or 7 shillings was charged for each mile. There were 28 registered doctors in Melbourne at the time.

Biddy was unable to work after the birth, but Joseph was earning a steady wage, so they were doing as well as any working family in the town. They endured the summer heatwave and the major fires that swept through the countryside in February of 1851, and were tempted to join the gold rush to Bathurst a few months later. But they decided not to go, since 500 miles was a long way to travel, and baby Richard was only two months old. Joe's steady income was important for their financial security. Joe was more tempted to join the rush to Ballarat and Bendigo a few months later, as they were only 60 miles away, but Biddy pointed out that their circumstances hadn't improved, and they still needed his steady income.

As the gold rush got under way, the number of ships arriving in Hobson's Bay increased from three a week to three a day, some bringing up to 200 immigrants each, others carrying food that was now in short supply, or mining equipment and building supplies. The effect of the rapid population increase and the resulting shortage of everything, was that inflation spiralled upwards at an alarming rate. It cost more to transport goods from Hobson's Bay to Queen's Wharf than it did to get them from England to Australia. Immigrants usually found they could not afford the fare when they went ashore at Sandridge and had to walk miles along City Road to the town. Once there, they found no accommodation available, and had to camp out.

The formerly pristine slopes of Emerald Hill were now crowded with thousands of tents and more thousands of people all hoping that they could somehow get to the goldfields. The tent settlement grew steadily and became known as Canvas Town. It eventually consisted of shops, doctors' treatment rooms, dentists, and living accommodation, all in tents, although a few wooden shacks were knocked together. The waste runoff from there ran down the hastily dug open drains to join the filth from the abattoirs in the Yarra River. Land prices were out of control, and a block in Collins Street that had been for sale for as little 450 pounds after its owner left for Bathurst in 1851, was sold for 40,000 pounds in 1854.

The economic storm had a serious effect on Joe and Biddy, and they were now in some financial distress. Most of Melbourne's police had resigned or just deserted to go to the diggings, and Joe thought that with his seniority and experience, perhaps a promotion might be possible to improve their situation. But now his past was about to catch up with him.

The Melbourne Foot Police had been reduced from 55 to just five men, as members left for the goldfields. The Chief of the Melbourne police Evelyn Sturt who had taken on the job in 1849, resigned over the lack of resources he was left with to do his job. As a stop-gap measure, police from other services were seconded until new recruiting built up the numbers again. Joe was removed from the detective force and started pounding a beat around the city streets. It was harder work, having to break up fights and manhandle drunks, and at 32, Joe knew that he was past his prime fighting age. He'd also mellowed somewhat since having a son, and punching people now held less attraction for him.

The citizens' petitions for separation from New South Wales now bore fruit. Victoria was allowed to set up its own Government, which immediately commenced a series of reviews of most aspects of administration of the new State. A review of policing was carried out, during which it was decided that a convict record was no longer the best qualification for new recruits, and Joe saw any future he may have had in the police force evaporate. He could stay on if he wanted to, but he would never be more than a foot constable. A new force of Goldfields Police was set up to support the Gold Commission that was established to administer the goldfields, but it involved a lot of horse riding and camping out. Joe wasn't good at either of those activities, so he wasn't interested in joining them.

He and Biddy started giving thought to what else he could do. Becoming a gold prospector was a very insecure occupation, living conditions on the goldfields were primitive, and the new Government had introduced a similar miner's licence to that started in New South Wales. In September 1851 a licence cost three pounds a month, levied on every man at the goldfield, digger or not. Shopkeepers and hoteliers had to pay it, and additional fees as well. The licence was designed to discourage men from deserting their normal jobs, which would paralyse ordinary commerce. The licence fee didn't dissuade many men, who went to the diggings anyway, and then complained about having to pay it. It was enough to deter Joe though, since Biddy was pregnant again, and they decided to stay in Melbourne.

Joe continued as a foot constable while they waited to see what opportunities might eventuate in the future. Their second child, Margaret was born in January of 1852, and then James was born 18 months later. While Biddy was preoccupied with the new baby, Margaret developed a fever during teething and died in February of 1854. Joe didn't even think about the fact that his 10 year sentence was now finished and he was no longer an Exile, since he had no intention of returning to Scotland, and Biddy certainly wasn't going back to Ireland.

Superintendent Freeman had arrived from London early in 1854, in charge of a detachment of fifty trained men from the London police service. He was tasked with reforming the Melbourne police along semi-military lines. He expected it to be difficult, and he was correct. His chief difficulty lay in the quality of the serving police, many of them being ex-convicts and not given to accepting such discipline. The physical nature of policing, as well as the frequent opportunities that arose during the course of their work, caused many police to drink on the job. Joe, already a regular drinker, readily succumbed to the temptation. It was exacerbated by the stress of his daughter's death in February, and by the middle of 1854, his drinking had become known to his superiors. Under the new Administration it was unacceptable, so he became one of the many constables dismissed from the police force throughout the year. This was a severe financial setback for Joe and his family, and was the cause of some tension between Joe and Biddy.

A building boom was starting as a result of the population explosion, which was paid for by the wealth created by gold, so there was plenty of labouring work to be had around town. It was hard work, and while still relatively poorly paid, wages had increased substantially in the boom time. Joe had no choice anyway, so he started working as a labourer on building sites, but kept an eye out for something better to come along.

Things weren't going well for Joe either at home or at work, and very soon he discovered that he could make better money working with the teamsters hauling timber from the bush. They transported logs cut by sawyers in the hills north of Bacchus Marsh and took them to nearby sawmills. It meant that he would have to leave Biddy behind for a while, until he could work out whether to stay with the teamsters, and move house to Ballan or Bacchus Marsh, or come up with a different plan altogether. He wasn't concerned about leaving Biddy, since they hadn't been getting along very well since Margaret's death, and because of Joe's increased drinking.

By August Joe was living alone in a tent at Ballan East. Biddy still had Cate living nearby so she wasn't completely alone, and Joe managed to get home now and then with some money for her and the kids. He still had no particular desire to prospect for gold, but there was a widely held view that there was gold in the hills north of Ballan, so as he helped the teamsters drive their bullocks through the forest, Joe would have a quick look in the water each time he crossed a creek, just in case.

In mid 1854 dissent over the miner's licence had escalated, and Lieutenant-Governor Latrobe could see real trouble coming, so he intended to reduce the fee. He was prevented from doing that and resigned. The new Lieutenant-Governor, Hotham, inherited the problem but Victorian Government finances were in a desperate state, and he wanted to make sure that all revenue was collected. Among other things, he ordered an increase in the frequency of licence checks by the Gold Commissioners. A standard fine of five pounds was the penalty for failing to produce a licence on demand. These 'digger hunts' were implemented zealously by many Commissioners and their police, to the extent that many miners were being checked every day, sometimes more than once. Police were disliked anyway, and this harassment inflamed the miners' hatred of them. Police sometimes took advantage of their power over the miners, and many clashes occurred that the miners couldn't win.

This was adding insult to injury, and in December of 1854 a group of the most militant miners at Ballarat refused to pay the fee, and incited miners from surrounding areas to join them. They conducted meetings of up to 2,000 miners, and later, to demonstrate their determination they held a mass burning of licences. Then they built a timber stockade near the Eureka mine. Hotham saw that this civil unrest could escalate into a revolution, and since he could not meet the miners' demands, he had no option but to do whatever it took to uphold law and order. He dispatched some 400 troops to surround the stockade where about 150 poorly armed miners were defending a couple of acres of ground. Hotham hoped the miners would see that they were hopelessly outnumbered and give up, but they didn't. In the ensuing battle on the morning of Sunday the 3rd of December 1854, about 30 miners and 7 soldiers were killed. The rebellion was quashed, but it did have an effect later. The Gold Commission was scrapped, the Commissioners being replaced with Mining Wardens, and later, the licence fee was reduced to a nominal one pound per year.

Melbourne was booming now, and new buildings were going up everywhere. New suburbs were being developed, and most of them were declared separate towns, each with its own Mayor and town council. This resulted in the construction of architecturally impressive looking Town Hall buildings in the suburbs that were still in use by Melbourne's Councils more than 150 years later. Australia's first railway was under construction between Flinders Street and Sandridge, and the line crossed the Yarra River near the wharves, necessitating a new bridge. It then ran parallel to City Road to the Sandridge pier. William Kelly, a writer critical of the cost of this project that was being undertaken by a private company later wrote:

'This line is only two miles long over a dead level, without a single engineering difficulty of any description, save the bridge over the Yarra; yet under these favourable circumstances, and getting the whole of the land as a gift from Government, it cost the tidy sum of 180,000 pounds, or 90,000 pounds per mile for laying a double line of rails on the surface of a bowling green.'

Australia's first telegraph line already connected Melbourne with Geelong and Williamstown, and smoke was no longer needed to summon the ferry. The timber bridge across the Yarra that Joe had first seen in 1846 was now inadequate to handle the increased traffic, and work was well under way to build a more permanent brick and stone replacement for it. This new one crossed the river at right angles joining Swanston Street to St Kilda Road, and would be called Princes Bridge.

# Chapter 12

Joe missed a lot of the news building up to the miner's revolt, because he was working in the bush for much of that time. He was the offsider to a bullock team driver contracted to carry logs. He was still inexperienced at bush work, and it was harder work than he thought, but the money was good. Timber was in demand, and that pushed up prices right through the supply chain back to the sawyers who cut the trees. They worked in the hills north of Bacchus Marsh towards Mount Blackwood and the Laradoc River that ran through a deep gorge in the hills. There were already rough tracks worn through the bush by the teamsters, and Joe quickly became familiar with the country. When Joe first saw the Laradoc he was surprised that it was even called a river. In this area it was a narrow creek at the bottom of a very steep gully, and there wasn't much water flowing through it.

The owner of this team was Harry Athorn who owned two bullock teams, as well as the Travellers Rest hotel at East Ballan. Harry had built the hotel a year earlier to cater for the steady stream of traffic to and from Ballarat. Joe camped out near the pub among several other workers' tents, all of them trying to save money. Joe and his mates drank at the pub when they weren't in the bush, and that was when he caught up on what was happening in the outside world. He saw all types of people going to and from the diggings at Ballarat and nearby places, and saw local Squatters or their Overseers in the pub from time to time. They leased the grazing land throughout the area, and Ballan was on von Steiglitz's run. Bungal, Ballark, and Bungeeltap were all runs within a few miles of the pub. There wasn't much interaction between those people and Joe's lot though. The social gap was already established between the Squatter class and the common workers.

One day in October, Joe was at the Travellers Rest when a man named Ted Hill arrived, and in the course of the conversation between Hill and Athorn, Hill let it be known that he wanted to prospect for gold along the Laradoc River. He claimed that the area had been identified geologically as a likely place for gold to be found. Joe was reasonably familiar with the country around there, and knew it was extremely rugged and heavily wooded. He wasn't surprised when Athorn told Hill that some gold had been found there in 1851, but it wasn't a rich area, and the difficulty of working it outweighed the gains. Hill was adamant though, and he and his mate Isaac Povey set off to begin their search.

A few days later Joe was helping Harry Hider to drive a bullock team along a rough track through the thick bush near the Laradoc, hauling an empty jinker to a sawyer's camp. Hider was a mate of Athorn's and ran the bullock teams for him while Athorn ran the pub. Hider decided to stop for a break and to water the bullocks at a small clearing near a creek.

'It's about lunchtime Joe, we'll stop here. Un-hitch these beasts and let them drink, but keep an eye on them. If they wander off we might never find them.' Hider said, as he cleared an area to light a fire. 'We'll have a cuppa and be at the sawyer's camp in another hour.'

'Right Harry,' replied Joe. He was starting to get the hang of this bush stuff now, camp fires, boiling a billy, pitching tents. It was a rugged way to live, but no nagging women or kids to bother you, and there was a sort of camaraderie among these men that set them apart from city people. Joe un-yoked the beasts from their jinker to let them drink, and remembering Hill's insistence that there must be gold around here, had a look in the water to see if he could see any. Nothing was visible.

'Do you think that bloke Hill knew what he was talking about Harry?' He asked Hider as they sat down near the fire to wait for the water to boil.

'Ah, he's a city bloke, he wouldn't know. There's gold here, but not enough to be worthwhile. We found a few specks in the water last year, but look at this country. The hills are so steep that it would be nearly impossible to work it.'

Joe wasn't convinced. He'd seen some pretty steep hills in the Scottish highlands that men not only lived on, but ran sheep as well. 'That gold must come from somewhere Harry, do you think there would be more of it further up the river.'

'Maybe. This river floods every year, so I suppose it could be carried down from well upstream somewhere. Tell you what, after I finish my tea, I'll go and have a look up there', Harry pointed upstream, 'while you watch the beasts, then when I come back you can have a look down that way.' He pointed in the opposite direction. 'If we strike it rich, we'll split the profits', he laughed.

Joe watched Harry push through the scrub beside the creek, and after 20 yards he was out of sight. Joe put out the fire, packed up their gear, and waited a while, then looked at the water in front of the clearing. He could see a shallow gravelly patch visible just a few yards further downstream. Joe looked around, and saw the bullocks contentedly chewing the coarse grass among the bushes under the trees. He would be able to see them from the gravelly patch, so he took off his boots and waded through the shallows to see what he could find. He scooped up a handful of gravel and let the water run through his fingers. He held his hand up to get a better look. Was that shiny speck gold? He'd never actually seen gold before so he wasn't sure what it should look like in its natural state. He took some more scoops and examined the gravel closely but there wasn't any more. It looked as though Athorn and Hider might be right. There wasn't enough to be worth the effort.

Just then there was a shout from behind him and Joe looked around to see Hider standing in the clearing.

'Where the hell are the bullocks?' Hider yelled at him. Joe's heart fluttered. He ran through the water back to the clearing, as Hider yelled at him again. 'I told you to watch them you bloody idiot. Now get your arse out there and round them up.'

Joe looked around and saw a beast about 20 yards away in the bush, and dashed in after it. It took fright, and ran off, crashing through the scrub, and within a few seconds was out of sight. They both looked for the bullocks for an hour, but each time they got close to one it ran away. Hider maintained a continuous stream of abuse, and Joe knew his time as a teamster was limited.

'Athorn will have our balls when he finds out those beasts got away.' Hider swore again. Then he realised it was all Joe's fault, so only Joe's balls were on the line. 'You're buggered you dumb Scotchman.'

A few years ago Joe would have waited for Hider to turn his back and then laid him out in the best traditions of the Glasgow street-fighters. But he was less aggressive now, and decided that Hider and Athorn could shove their job, and he would move on.

After hearing Hider's story about Joe's incompetence, Athorn sacked Joe on the spot. That left him unemployed and 40 miles from Melbourne, with a reputation for being an idiot, and not to be trusted. He got an odd job or two over the next week, but it looked as though he would have to go back to Melbourne. Meanwhile Athorn and Hider set out to find the bullocks. On their third trip, on Sunday the 14th of November 1854, so far having found none of them, they stopped for lunch on the banks of the Laradoc about six miles upstream from the small mountain that was originally named Mount Solomon by John Batman. Its name was changed to the imaginative 'Clark's Big Hill' a year later, and finally now to Mount Blackwood.

As he filled the billy to boil some water, Athorn clearly saw gold in the gravel on the bottom. He scooped it up and had a handful of gold nuggets. There was a lot of it here, and he and Hider collected as much as they could easily pick up. This was a significant amount of gold, so they packed up and headed for home to get some tools. On the way they blazed the trees so they could find the spot again, and to complete a good day, they ran into and caught two of their missing bullocks.

Once back at the Travellers Rest, Athorn gathered some trusted friends and told them of the find, and that it looked as though Hill was right. They formed a group to seriously prospect the river and share the profits. Joe wasn't considered worthy of being included in the group, but he heard about the discovery, and was able to guess the part of the river they were talking about. Athorn sent his group out immediately and intended to follow with additional provisions. While he was preparing, Ted Hill returned, having not got far into the bush before his offsider became worried about getting lost. Hill wasted a lot of time trying to convince him to go on, but finally decided to return to Ballan and find someone who knew the country.

Hill asked Athorn whether anyone was available to guide him. Athorn wasn't about to tell Hill that he had found gold, but didn't want to arouse Hill's suspicions by refusing to help. Athorn suggested that Joe and a couple of other men that he considered expendable might like to help Hill. With any luck, he thought to himself, they'd all get lost. He directed Hill to Joe's tent behind the hotel.

Joe saw Hill as he left the hotel and approached his tent.

'How did you get on up there Mister Hill. Did you find anything?' Joe asked.

'No we didn't get far, and didn't do any real prospecting. I need someone who knows the country to come with me. Harry suggested you might like to help.'

Athorn didn't know that Joe knew about his strike, and Joe saw an opportunity here to square up with Athorn for sacking him, and maybe make some money as well. He looked at Hill, and said,

'I think I can show you where to find gold, I've been working up there and I've seen some myself. I can take you there if you pay for my provisions.'

Hill was immediately interested. 'I've got a dray load of tools and equipment. Can we get that up there?' he asked.

'It will be heavy going, but there are some bullock tracks that go most of the way, then we'll have to cut through the bush.' replied Joe.

He intended guiding Hill to a spot upstream from where he reckoned Athorn's group was working, but didn't mention them to Hill.

They set out with two other men, Angus and Tom, whom Hill recruited to help, and four days later they reached the river. Even before setting up camp, they scooped out some gravel from the riverbed and immediately saw specks of gold.

Hill was ecstatic. 'I knew it!' he exclaimed. 'Set up a camp here and we'll do some serious prospecting,' he said.

As it happened, they didn't find much more in the next few days, and Joe started thinking there must be better areas. He told Hill he'd take one of the other men and go back to Ballan for more supplies. Hill was happy with that, so Joe and Angus headed off, but as soon as they were out of sight, Joe suggested they look for some more gold on the way. There were many creeks running down the gullies into the river from the steep surrounding hills, and Joe selected one at random on the north side of the main river. The two men pushed through the scrub along the water's edge until they saw a gravelly patch.

'Let's have a look here.' said Joe. They scooped out some handfuls of gravel, and each one showed specks of gold. Joe dug further and came up with a small nugget the size of a pea. 'Look at this, Angus. There's gold here alright. We'll go back to Ballan and get some gear, and start our own claim.'

Angus was happy with that idea, and both agreed to keep it secret. It meant abandoning Hill, but they decided they didn't owe him anything, since they'd brought him to the river as agreed. They headed back to Ballan as fast as they could, recruited a couple more friends, and pooled their money to buy some tools and supplies, then packed up their tents and trekked back to the gully. They set up their camp and soon turned up lots of tiny nuggets in the water. One of Joe's mates dug in the bank beside the creek and found gold there as well. This was looking like a major discovery.

Meanwhile in Athorn's team, George Jackson had also found a large amount of gold in a gully there, and within a week, even Hill had struck it rich. Joe's and Athorn's teams were content to accumulate as much gold as they could before the inevitable rush started, but Hill still didn't know about the other groups, and wanted to claim a reward that he thought the Government had offered, so he went back to Ballan and made his discovery public. There was no reward on offer at the time, but Hill lobbied for years until the Government finally recognised him as the discoverer and paid him 300 pounds in 1863. His announcement triggered the rush anyway, and within days other men started arriving on the river, and claims were set out. A Mining Warden was dispatched to the area to administer the licences, along with a police constable to maintain order, and a Magistrate followed soon after.

Hill's strike was called Ballan Flat, and since Hill had provided directions to his strike, that was where the newcomers went first. It wasn't long before they spread out along the river, and linked up with Joe's and then Athorn's teams. Joe's gully was named Nuggetty, while the Athorn group called theirs Jackson's gully. The beginnings of a settlement quickly followed as business people, knowing of the easy money to be made by simply carting goods to the field for the miners to buy at inflated prices, set up their shops and pubs in tents. Many chose the hill on the south side of the river above Ballan Flat and that became known as Red Hill. Further down the river, above Jackson's gully the settlement on the same side was called Golden Point. The Laradoc River was renamed the Lerderderg, and the entire area was then generally known as Mount Blackwood or more often just Blackwood, despite being miles upstream from the actual mountain.

Alluvial gold occurs when water erodes an exposed reef, and gold particles are swept downstream. It collects where the water flow slows, usually at bends in the river. Gold was usually found first at these bends, and the place was often referred to as Golden Point. That name was used at many goldfields around Victoria. Experienced miners worked upstream from the first strike, to be nearer to the mother lode, which offered the prospect of larger pieces of gold. Alluvial gold also occurs in areas away from rivers where ancient floods had carried it, or where rivers used to flow but had dried up over the millennia. Miners liked alluvial gold because it was already separated from the rock and after washing from the silt, didn't require further processing.

Joe soon realised he would have to bring Biddy and the children to Blackwood, since he wouldn't be getting back to Melbourne very often now. Biddy had been pretty much on her own for nearly six months, so when Joe arranged for her to move to Blackwood she was happy enough to go. Her opinion soon changed when she arrived and saw the primitive living conditions though. Her new home was a tent among the trees on the upper slopes of Nuggetty gully. This gully ran north from the river, almost opposite Red Hill, and was about a mile long, gradually rising from the river junction into the surrounding hills where the Nuggetty creek originated.

The new settlements of Red Hill and Golden Point were carved out of the bush on the south side of the river. Trees were cut down and the tracks that wound through the stumps became rough roads. As traders set up their tents to start their businesses on the south side, it was soon apparent that Biddy and the children would be better off moving there. Red Hill was the closest to Nuggetty, so that was where Joe set up the tent for Biddy. The whole area by now resembled a war zone with trees felled haphazardly and undergrowth cleared, tents set up randomly all over the place, and not a straight piece of roadway to be seen. An official survey was needed to bring some order to the place, but that would be months away yet.

Biddy was soon pregnant again and Joseph was born later that year. Biddy supplied the information for the birth, and the registrar spelled the surname as Allan, and all the children's surnames were spelled that way from then on. By the time he died, even Joe's was spelled that way by many people.

# Chapter 13

Within three months of Hill's announcement, around 2,000 people, mostly men, were setting up camps and building sluicing equipment along the river, working virtually shoulder to shoulder for miles along both banks, and along the creeks that flowed into it. The river itself was little more than a creek most of the time, but after heavy rain in the upper catchment, it became a raging torrent, sweeping everything before it as the water rushed through the narrow gullies. The temperature here was much colder than it was in Melbourne for most of the year, and it always seemed wet. But then it became much hotter in summer, and was prone to bushfires. Altogether, with the precipitous river banks, and extremes of temperature, rainfall, fires and floods, this was the most difficult goldfield that had yet been found. In fact the correspondent from the Melbourne Argus newspaper wrote:

'Mount Blackwood beats all other diggings for mountains, ravines and breakneck precipices. Some of the roads are awful to ascend, and would almost frighten a highlander.'

Cobb and Co. started a regular coach run to Blackwood as they did to all the major diggings, and the first coaches ran through Sunbury and Gisborne, then branched west through the Black Forest direct to the diggings. This was the quickest route despite the track through the Black Forest being very rough. The fare was four pounds though, and that was more than many were prepared to pay, so they travelled via the Ballarat road to Bacchus Marsh, then turned north to the diggings. Once off the well-used Ballarat road it became just a rough track that climbed into the thickly wooded hills. The temperature was cold in the Melbourne winter, and it dropped another 10 degrees as soon as they entered the hills.

In May, the first reported serious crime occurred when George Pitts, an American Negro was killed by Jim Maher, an Irishman later suspected of being an escaped convict. The cause of the dispute wasn't known, but he disabled Pitts by kicking him in the groin and then in the stomach, and while he was writhing on the ground, pushed him down a mine shaft. Maher immediately left the diggings and Pitts was dead when his body was found. The police issued a description of the wanted man and a 50 pound reward was offered for his capture.

Despite this crime, Blackwood was reputed to be a quiet place, but accidents still happened from time to time. That same month, a severe storm brought down trees on several camps. Six American miners had erected a rough hut at Yankee Range, and were asleep during the night when a tree crashed through the roof killing two of the men. The survivors later found large amounts of gold in Yankee gully.

By July of 1855 there were 12,000 diggers in the Blackwood area, and many timber buildings were being erected. The police station and courthouse were already finished, and hotels and shops were close behind. Food was plentiful, being carted in from Ballan and Bacchus Marsh, and prices were high but still reasonable for a gold field. A four pound loaf of bread cost three shillings and sixpence, more than a day's pay for a police constable, while beef was ten pence a pound, mutton, eight pence, tea and coffee three shillings and sixpence, sugar one shilling, and flour 10 pounds per bag.

The diggers had spread out over the entire area, and worked the creeks in the gullies on either side of the river. Names were given to distinguish these gullies such as Nuggetty, Jackson's, Yankee, Whipstick, Split Tree, Dead Horse and the ubiquitous All Nations. The gold already found in the area indicated that this would be a rich field. Nuggets up to 20 pounds weight had been found, and there was plenty of alluvial gold in the river and creeks. Even more gold was seen in the bedrock on the creek banks, but the diggers had no means of extracting it.

Gold from all the fields was sent back to Melbourne under armed escort to deter robberies on the bush tracks. The Gold Escort was yet another branch of police formed in Victoria, and the Government provided this escort service at a cost to the miners of 1 shilling an ounce. However it came with several conditions that the miners found unacceptable, and many of them chose not to use it. Under the Government escort scheme, the first condition was that no guarantee was made that the gold would be safely delivered to the mint. Secondly, to be paid, the miner had to bring his receipt to the mint, identify himself and describe his particular shipment. Receipts could be lost or stolen and the owner then had all sorts of trouble getting his money. If he couldn't meet the conditions, the gold was forfeited to the Government. As a result, many miners sold their gold at the diggings to private companies who then took it to Melbourne. The Melbourne and Mount Alexander Escort Company was formed as early as 1852, and guaranteed the miners against loss. Ironically, of all the Gold Escort hold ups that occurred throughout the boom, none were successful against the Government escorts.

The most famous holdup was that of the McIvor Escort in July of 1853. While there were two soldiers in the party, it was a private enterprise under the command of a civilian named Robert Warner. He had charged diggers two shillings and sixpence per ounce to transport their gold to Melbourne. They were ambushed, and the robbers got away with over 2,000 ounces of gold and some 700 pounds in cash. Warner was the only man in the Escort to escape being shot. It wasn't clear how many robbers were involved, and many men were arrested during the massive police hunt that followed. In the end, one suspect committed suicide while being transported to Melbourne, and three others were tried, found guilty and hanged in October. Most of the gold was not recovered though, and it was rumoured that it was taken to South America where the ship was taken over, robbed and sunk. The robbers were said to have got ashore, but soon contracted diseases and died. What happened to the gold isn't known.

At this early stage the Government hadn't yet organised a gold escort for Blackwood, and miners had to take their own gold to Bacchus Marsh or Kyneton, running the risk of being waylaid and robbed. Bushranger 'Captain Melville' and his gang were active in the Black Forest area.

Gold was even taken all the way to Adelaide as the South Australian Government wanted some of the financial gain from these rushes. More than 10,000 men had left Adelaide to go to Victoria because there was no payable gold in South Australia. That left South Australia with a serious labour shortage, and an economic problem. It was solved when the Police Commissioner Alexander Tolmer suggested that those South Australian men be encouraged to send their gold back to Adelaide rather than to Melbourne. He organised a special escort for that purpose, and some 18 shipments of Victorian gold, containing up to 6,000 ounces in each one, finished up in the South Australian coffers.

There was a ritual in the goldfields in Australia that had begun from the first time a dispute arose over a claim. Claims had to be continuously worked, or they were considered abandoned and could be taken over by someone else. A claim left unattended for more than one day was at risk of being jumped. Diggers kept a loaded gun close by at all times to deter claim jumpers or thieves, and they advertised this fact around sunset, by firing the gun and reloading with fresh powder each day. Men worked in pairs or larger groups whenever possible, so that one of them was always in attendance, to prevent any such trouble. Blackwood was already considered a family man's diggings and there was far less bad behaviour here than at other places.

Another couple who went to Blackwood in the rush was Joseph and Julia Antony. He was a seaman, originally from Oporto Portugal, who arrived in Melbourne on the Northumberland. When it dropped anchor in Hobson's Bay in 1850, he left the ship and lived at Collingwood, first working as a labourer. He was naturalised in March of 1854 and married Julia Farrell, who was an Irish famine orphan, in November 1854. They were attracted to the potential riches at Blackwood, and travelled there early in 1855 despite Julia being pregnant. They arrived just after another major storm swept through the area, shredding some tents, bringing down trees on others, and killing 16 people. They hardly had time to buy their mining licence, register their claim, have their camp set up and find a few ounces of gold before Julia went into labour. Theresa Antony was born in a tent on the 13th of August 1855.

In September, as the township was being officially surveyed, rain started falling, making the steep slopes slippery and almost impossible to climb up and down to the river. Life was hard for everyone, especially Biddy, living in a tent with four children, where everything got wet when it rained, and there was no way to dry it even when the rain stopped for a while. In fact, the rain continued almost without a break for a month, and keeping the children dry and healthy was her top priority.

Joe wasn't having it any easier either. He and his team had expended a huge effort cutting timber and setting up a sluicing box beside the river. The early gold that could be easily picked up was all gone now and it took a lot of effort and patience to systematically wash the dirt they dug from their shafts. They had found that the gold deposit in their gully varied from two feet to 30 feet down and required a lot of digging, but they were still doing well. The Stobie brothers had set up a large operation further along the gully and built a dam and water race on Nuggetty Creek to supply their diggings. The weather was cold and rain seemed continuous, but they carried on, along with the other 13,000 men, and a couple of women working the area. There was plenty of water in the rivers and creeks now, so they didn't have to use the races and dams to divert and store water as had been necessary when the river had been at its lowest earlier in the year.

One afternoon following heavy rain all day, a sound like thunder rumbled through the valleys. Most miners knew immediately what it meant. They dropped everything and headed up the steep banks as fast as they could climb on the wet slopes. Joe called to his team to get out, and they started climbing as well. The sound became louder, and suddenly a wall of water appeared, racing down the river and pushing all sorts of debris before it. There were tree trunks, branches and the remains of mining equipment bearing down on them. They managed to get high enough up the slope to avoid the water, but it spread out into their gully and inundated all their shafts and gear. They had to watch helplessly as their sluicing box and tools joined the mass of debris sweeping past. This had happened before, and many miners who had witnessed it then thought it was an isolated occurrence. Now they knew it could happen at any time, and all the work they had done had to be done again. Many decided this field was too hard, and there were mutterings about heading north to the Castlemaine diggings where life was much easier.

Many men with the required knowledge of engineering, and the substantial capital needed, had already started sinking shafts on high ground well away from the river to find the veins of ore that had originally supplied the alluvial gold. Following the floods, it was apparent that sluicing the river and creeks was always going to be a risky business, and so, despite the Blackwood area being one of the richest goldfields in Victoria, ordinary prospectors and puddlers started leaving for easier diggings.

Joseph Antony had found enough gold to comfortably pay their bills, but that was at the cost of enormous amounts of effort. He and Julia found life very hard, between the extremes of temperature, the incessant rain, occasional storms, impossible slopes and a young baby, and decided to leave. In March of 1856 they packed up and joined the general exodus of miners leaving the diggings. Within a few weeks, the population dropped from its peak of 13,000 to just 3,000, and there were still people packing up. Joe Allen's team was doing well, and he and Biddy decided to stay, since he liked the hills and the cooler weather, after coming from Scotland to Melbourne's flat land and altogether too warm weather. Joe continued his patient work, still finding enough gold to make it very worthwhile, and started building a proper house at Red Hill.

Joseph and Julia Antony took their daughter Theresa and went on to Castlemaine for a couple of years, then tried some other diggings, all with little success, before moving back to Melbourne, where Joseph again worked as a labourer, this time at the coal storage bunkers at Sandridge. By then it had been renamed Port Melbourne. The Allen and Antony families never met at Blackwood, but 90 years later, 1,000 miles away, and without any knowledge of their ancestors, Theresa Antony's grand-daughter would marry Joseph Allen's great grandson.

# Chapter 14

The weather at the Blackwood diggings dictated that work was only worthwhile for eight months of the year. Winter was cold and wet, so the alluvial miners working the gullies took four months off in the middle of each year. Joe's team of six men in Nuggetty Gully extracted several thousand ounces of gold over the first few years, which earned each of them around 400 pounds per year. This was ten times Joe's police salary, and if it continued, Joe and Biddy would be set for life.

Within a few years though, the alluvial gold was nearly all gone, and like everywhere else, quartz mining had become the major activity at Blackwood. Dozens of small companies, and several big ones, were digging to find the veins that must run through the hills. Jim Simmons had been one of the first to strike a major vein a few miles west of Red Hill, in 1855. That vein, called Simmons Reef, was worked by many companies over the years and was one of the best in the Blackwood area. Further north, Barry's Reef was even more profitable, and the Sultan Mining Company, among others, won large amounts of gold from it. The dozens of small hotels that had been hastily built to serve the large population had now consolidated into fewer but more permanent establishments, and other businesses were stabilising from the frantic expansion mode they had experienced in the early days, to an orderly support infrastructure for the mining companies. An influx of Chinese people now occurred, settling at Golden Point, where they built their Joss House and gambling den. They painstakingly re-sifted the areas abandoned by the earlier diggers, and were finding considerable quantities of missed gold.

Nuggetty Gully had been one of the richest areas in the first couple of years, but it too ran out. Although Joe had made a lot of money in a short time, it wasn't enough to enable him to leave and live the rest of his life in luxury somewhere else. But he could live comfortably at Blackwood for many years, without having to work too hard, so that is what he decided to do.

By 1858 the population of Blackwood was down to just 900, and had split into four distinct settlements. Golden Point had been the centre of the operation, with Red Hill nearby, while Simmons Reef to the west, and Barry's Reef to the north, had grown into separate towns around the quartz mining companies' underground operations. Joe and Biddy lived at Red Hill, and continued to raise their children. A school had been built soon after the rush started, and at least two churches were established. Hotels proliferated, and some of them were substantial buildings with entertainment rooms. For the residents, everyday life at Blackwood was much the same as in any isolated area.

Another murder occurred one night in April of 1858 as a miner named Henry Merrifield was taking his hard won gold to Bacchus Marsh. He was walking along the road when two men approached him and demanded his gold. He resisted and they bashed him to death, took the gold, then carted the body down to a creek bank, built a pyre and burned it beyond recognition. Unbeknown to the assailants, the crime was witnessed by a man who had been walking home from Drury's hotel after drinking a bit too much. He had fallen asleep in the bushes beside the road, but was woken by the noise of the assault. He later thought he had dreamed the event and said nothing to anyone, but when the remains of the body were found he reported his story to the police and the murderers were eventually caught. The witness's name was Allen.

In December of 1859 Joe was 40 years old, Biddy was 26 and eldest son Richard had his 9th birthday. With Margaret being deceased, the younger children were James aged 6, Joseph 4, and Mary Ann was 2. Joe and Biddy's sixth child, William, was born two months later, in February of 1860.

In Melbourne, the signalmen on Flagstaff Hill had been an integral part of the communications system for over 20 years. However, they could see the end of their jobs looming as an undersea telegraph line now connected Melbourne with Launceston, and then continued overland to Hobart, allowing Morse coded messages to be sent between them. The lines would soon connect all major cities in the country. Shipping movements were now known days and weeks in advance. The improved roads and the railway line to Sandridge also spelled the beginning of the end of the lightermen plying the river between Queen's Wharf and the Sandridge pier. Job redundancies were already a fact of life.

At the same time, a group of men were preparing to set out on the last great expedition to the interior of the country. Robert Burke had been the Police Superintendent at Castlemaine, and was chosen by the Exploration Committee of the Royal Society of Victoria from over 600 applicants, to lead this expedition. His appointment was not unanimous, but he had some influential friends who procured this position for him. The expedition was intended to finally discover what lay in the centre of the continent, but also to show New South Wales that the new State of Victoria was at least its equal in the areas of science and exploration. Second in command was George Landells whose main qualification was in handling camels. Third in command was William Wills, a surveyor, and possibly the only competent officer in the party.

This was a massive expedition of 19 men, with 27 camels, 23 horses and six drays, piled high with so much equipment, that experienced bushmen who saw them leave Melbourne's Royal Park just shook their heads in dismay. A crowd of 15,000 people saw them off on a cold wet day in August of 1860, with bands playing and flags flying. But doubts about the expedition increased when, after the first day's travel, three drays had broken down, and they had only just reached Essendon three miles away.

The route Burke chose was first through Kyneton and Castlemaine to Bendigo, then to Swan Hill, but after many days travel and slow progress, the expedition camped near Kyneton, a few miles from Blackwood. Along with many other people in the area, Joe and Biddy took the children to see this historic expedition, and were equally unimpressed with its composition. The camels were almost uncontrollable, and more trouble than they were worth, being unable to walk on muddy or stony ground. Some equipment already found to be useless, was being sold off. It was rumoured that Burke refused to part with the specially made box containing his top hat, which if true, seemed to sum up his competence to lead this mission.

Joe wasn't much of a bushman, but he'd been around long enough to seriously doubt that these men had any idea about what they were doing. Furthermore, the new railway line was due to reach Kyneton in a few months, and the whole expedition could have covered the 50 miles from Melbourne in just a couple of hours by train. Joe decided that a steady job and a few drinks in the pub each day was a better way of spending his time than battling the harsh weather, bad tempered camels, and trekking across a wilderness that other men had already mostly covered anyway. He packed Biddy and the kids into their light wagon and drove back to Blackwood. The expedition of course, turned out to be a disaster. Landells was sacked after a few weeks, making Wills second in command, and months later, Burke and Wills both perished along with several of their men.

Doctor Edward Plews arrived at Blackwood in 1861 and took up his position as Coroner, Deputy Registrar of Births and Deaths, and Vaccinator of the district. He had attended a farewell dinner for Bourke as that ill-fated expedition passed through Castlemaine the year before. He wasn't at Blackwood long before he was called upon to perform his first inquests, into the deaths of a man and a woman. There were still people coming and going through Blackwood, some of them staying a while to try their luck. They lived in tents scattered throughout the area, picking over old claims. These unfortunates were both killed when yet another storm brought a tree crashing down through their tent in Nuggetty Gully. When she heard about it Biddy shivered. She had lived in a tent there through many storms.

# Chapter 15

Between 1860 and 1866, Joe and Biddy Allen had another three children at Blackwood. So by July of 1866 they had seven boys, Richard now aged 15, James 13, Joseph 10, William 6, Edward 5, George 3 and Duncan six months. Mary Ann aged 8 was the only girl, since Margaret had died in 1854. When Richard Allen left school, he wasn't old enough to work in the underground mines, so after working at some casual jobs he found a permanent job in 1867 at the Red Hill bakery owned by Ephraim Baber.

The bakery was in Main Street that ran east/west, roughly parallel with and just above the river at that point. Main Street intersected with Martin Street, which from there ran south up the hill, and connected with the roads to Ballan and Bacchus Marsh. The old Southern Cross Hotel, built in the earliest days of the gold rush had recently changed hands, and was now called the Bank Hotel. It was situated at the intersection of Martin and Main Streets near several other hotels. Along Main Street past the bakery was Beart's butcher shop. Up the hill, and beyond the houses lining Martin Street, at the Simmons Reef Road intersection nearly half a mile away, was the Red Hill police station and paddock.

Richard's work naturally involved early morning starts so that fresh bread was ready when the rest of the population awoke hours later. Baber offered him accommodation in a room attached to the rear of the bake house. That way he was able to roll out of bed and be immediately at work. He had to light the oven using the firewood he'd cut the day before, and have it hot enough to bake by the time the dough was ready. Richard would have to share the room with another of Baber's employees, baker Bill Ward, who had worked for Baber for two years. They both had their meals in the kitchen of Baber's house next door to the bakery.

There was a reduction in Richard's pay to cover his accommodation and meals, but he was happy with the arrangement, and he now saw much less of his parents. Joe and Biddy had become hard to live with lately, always seeming to argue about everything, and it was putting a strain on the whole family. This job was something of a relief from that atmosphere, and Richard was content with learning to be a baker.

His roommate Ward was a quiet sort, who kept to himself and didn't talk much to Richard. So even after sleeping in the same room for six months, Richard knew nothing about him. On Wednesday the 29th of May 1867, Richard overheard Baber telling Ward that he was sacked and that Ward should leave by Monday. The conversation seemed cordial, but Ward was upset about it, and pleaded to stay. Baber was insistent though, and eventually he heard Ward agree to vacate the room. Richard wondered if Baber would hire someone else, or would he now have the room to himself. Baber's only other employee was a young girl who served in the shop during normal business hours. On the following Friday Richard noticed Ward looking unhappy and remarked about it to the girl, who had noticed the same thing. Neither of them said anything to Ward so as not to upset him any more.

On Sunday, Richard went to his parents' house as he did each week for his midday dinner. It was the only time he saw them now, and that seemed to suit them as well. Baber was expecting Ward to be at his house for dinner as usual, but Ward didn't appear. Baber sent one of his young sons to the bakery to call Ward, but there was no answer. Baber assumed that Ward had gone out and didn't give it any more thought. That evening Ward hadn't come for tea either, and it was just on dark when Richard knocked on Baber's door. Baber answered the knock.

'What is it Dick? You should be on your way to church now shouldn't you?'

'Yes Mister Baber, but I just went to my room to change into my church clothes and can't get in. Do you know where Mister Ward is?'

'No I don't. In fact I haven't seen him all day. He might have gone to Barry's Reef to visit his friends there. He's leaving town tomorrow, so might have gone to let them know. If he's locked the door, just get in through the window, and I'll get the key off him when he comes back.'

'Alright', said Richard. He walked back to the bakery and went around to the back where he knew an ill-fitting window in his room was always slightly askew. In the darkness, he felt along the sill until he found the small gap and managed to get his fingers in far enough to pull the window open.

Richard pulled himself up over the sill and half fell into the darkened room. He knew there was a candle and some matches on a cupboard on the far wall, and felt his way across the room. He banged his shin on something hard, and stumbled forward, running face first into something soft that moved aside as he pushed it. There shouldn't have been anything in the way unless Ward had moved the furniture. He reached out towards the wall and found the matches on the cupboard where he expected them to be.

He struck a match and the glare momentarily blinded him, but turning to see what he had tripped over, he was confronted with the grotesque sight of Ward suspended by a rope around his neck, hanging from the rafter. Below his dangling feet was the fruit crate that Richard had stumbled over. Ward's face was black and contorted, his eyes bulging in the flickering match light, and he was obviously dead. Richard let out an involuntary yell, dropped the match and propelled himself through the window, hardly touching the sides as he went. He ran to Baber's door and banged furiously. Baber appeared again, slightly annoyed at this din, but before he could say anything Richard breathlessly blurted out,

'Mister Ward's hanged himself in our room.'

'My God!' exclaimed Baber. He thought for a moment then said, 'Alright, run to the police station and tell them.'

The police station was a half a mile away up the hill on Martin Street and as Richard ran off, Baber considered what to do. He wasn't keen on going to the bakery alone in the dark, so he went next door to butcher Sam Beart's house.

'Sam, Bill Ward's hung himself in the bakery.' he said as Beart answered his knock.

'Jeez.' said Sam, 'Did you cut him down?'

'No I haven't been in there yet. Young Dick found him and told me.'

Beart picked up one of his butcher's knives, and a lantern.

'Come on then, we'll have to get him down.'

They walked quickly to the bakery, and finding the door still locked, they went around the back and found the window was wide open. Baber held the lantern and Beart climbed in. Taking the lantern Beart looked at the suspended body. He put the lantern on a table and took the weight of the body, then with one slash of his knife, cut the rope. Ward's body fell down and Beart laid it on the bunk. Then he unlocked the door to let Baber in.

They loosened the rope from around Ward's neck, and felt for a pulse. They had just decided that he was dead, when a horseman galloped up outside. Mounted Constable McBride strode through the door, and looked at the scene that young Dick had reported to him. He proceeded to check Ward's pulse, and feeling none, took out his notebook to begin recording the scene. Meanwhile Richard had been sent on from the police station to rouse the doctor, and soon both the doctor and Senior Constable Woods arrived. The doctor pronounced Ward dead, and the police investigation commenced.

They took statements that night from Richard, Baber and Beart, and since there were no discrepancies in their versions, the undertaker was called to remove the body. Blackwood didn't have a purpose-built mortuary, and in any town where there was none, hotel keepers were required by law to keep a special room available to store a body until the Coroner could arrive to hold an inquest. Coroners often had to travel long distances, or were delayed for some reason, and bodies sometimes remained in the room, often a basement, at the hotel for days, with obvious results. Ward's body was taken to Mr. Barker's Bank Hotel in the main street. Richard wanted to go home to his parent's house that night, but Baber pointed out that Monday morning was the busiest time of the week, and Richard was needed bright and early. He allowed Richard to sleep in his kitchen that night, but if he wanted to keep his job, he'd have to stay in the bakery from then on.

Doctor Rae was summoned from Bacchus Marsh to perform the inquest which was held at the hotel the next day, Monday the 3rd of June 1867. All the witnesses and the police gave evidence, but it was a straightforward case, and the Coroner's verdict was:

'Suicide by hanging during a fit of insanity.'

That wrapped up the matter for everyone except Richard, who had many a sleepless night as he lay in that room, replaying the vision of Ward's distorted face with its bulging eyes staring sightlessly at him.

# Chapter 16

The Allen house at Red Hill was typical of those being built at the time. It was constructed of weatherboards with a corrugated iron roof. The three steps up to the front door led to an enclosed verandah that spanned the full frontage of the house. The older children slept here. A passageway from the front verandah divided the house down the middle, with a bedroom on each side, and led to the full width kitchen and eating area at the back. Outside the back door was the laundry and bathroom adjoining the kitchen, and beside that, the water tank, wood heap and further away, the dunny. There was a fireplace in the kitchen, and between that and the wood stove, the house was reasonably warm in the cold winters. It was a full time job for Biddy to wash the children's clothes and get them dry, cook meals and generally keep the place tidy. Joe was supposed to cut the wood for the stove, but as the boys had grown up they did that job most times, and Joe did less and less around the house, preferring to spend his time at the nearest hotel.

Biddy had decided after Duncan was born that she wouldn't have any more children. The boys were a handful and she was getting tired. She was only 34 years old, but she'd had a hard life. From the time she was old enough to remember, she had worked continuously, almost starved, had nine children, suffered the death of one of them, and lived in poverty and primitive conditions for much of the time. She thought she needed a rest. Joe still went to the pub regularly and often came home drunk, expecting sex to be available whenever he wanted it. She rejected his advances as often as she dared, and hoped that he would see reason. But Joe was as insistent as always, and after a gap of nearly three years Biddy fell pregnant again early in 1869. Richard was 18 and had moved away, Joseph and James had finished school and now worked at labouring jobs, but still lived at home. Mary Ann was eleven, and gave her mother some help after school, while Billy was a tear-away nine year old who was always getting into trouble. Eddie, George and Duncan looked like following Billy's example and being hard to handle as they got older.

When a little girl was born in 1869, they named her Margaret again, hoping this time she would survive. But Biddy suffered depression, and found that raising Margaret while still looking after the boys was too much for her. She became depressed and withdrawn, and refused all Joe's advances. He too became angry, and the tension between them built up over the following months.

The company Joe worked for was having its own difficulties. It had spent lavishly on new equipment, but the amount of gold they were recovering wasn't meeting costs. A drought from 1865 to 1867 meant there wasn't enough water to operate the crushers, and many small cooperative miners closed down. Others were able to keep working, but stockpiled their ore so that prices rose through lack of supply. They assumed there would be good returns when the drought broke. When the drought finally did break the massive increase in gold output pushed prices down. In December of 1866, 1,333 ounces of gold were taken in one shipment to the Kyneton railway station for transport to Melbourne. Four major Public Companies had invested heavily in this strategy, and two of them failed, and had to lay off workers. Joe's boss had hinted to him that they may have to lay off some workers too. The possibility of losing his job at a time when none of the other companies were hiring, added to Joe's anxiety, and he drank even more.

Eventually the family tension boiled over in October of 1870 when Joe arrived home late from the pub, drunk again. Young Joseph was out with his mates, and Jimmy was chopping wood out the back. Billy and Mary Ann were about to go to bed, and the younger children were already in bed.

'Is my supper ready Bridget?' he demanded.

She noted his use of her proper name, and knew that a confrontation was coming.

'It was ready two hours ago. There's a pot of stew on the stove. Get it yourself.'

He mumbled something, then spooned a generous helping onto a plate and sat down at the table.

'This is cold!' he snarled.

'Well the stove went out because you didn't cut any wood yesterday, and the boys haven't been here to do it.' she snarled back.

'You're not crippled, you could've cut some yourself. Have I got to do everything around here?' he shouted at her.

Just then young Jimmy came in with some wood he'd been cutting.

'Here Mum, do you want me to stoke the stove up?'

'No leave it, I want to talk to your father.'

Jimmy could see another argument coming, so went to the front verandah where Billy and Mary Ann were listening to the raised voices.

Biddy was in no mood to back down from this argument, and was going to make her point to Joe.

'You have just got lazier and lazier around here, if it wasn't for the boys helping me nothing would get done. I've half a mind not to feed you at all.'

Joe's anger reached new heights. 'I work hard all day, and have to come home and listen to you whining every night. It's no wonder I spend time at the pub.' he yelled.

Biddy's Irish temper exploded. 'You miserable bastard. If you like the pub so much, pack up your things and go and live there.' she screamed.

Joe snapped. He leaped out of his chair and grabbed Biddy by the throat with both hands. She kicked and punched him, and he loosened his grip just enough for her to scream. The children heard it, and Jimmy raced down the passageway to see Joe choking his mother.

'Let her go,' he yelled. But Joe was in no frame of mind to stop. The Glasgow boy's streak of viciousness had resurfaced after its many years lying dormant.

Biddy's face was turning blue as Jimmy picked up the nearest cooking pot and hit Joe on the head. The blow wasn't all that hard, but it brought him to his senses, and he let Biddy go, whereupon she fell to the floor gasping for air. Joe looked at her and at Jimmy who was still holding the pan, ready to strike again if his father turned on him. But Joe just rubbed the lump on his head, muttered 'Bastards', and went to the bedroom. Jimmy helped his mother on to a chair and brought her a mug of water. They could hear Joe rummaging around in the bedroom, and soon he re-appeared with a bundle under his arm. He looked at them both, and again muttered half to himself, 'I ought to kill you, you bitch', then walked out the front door into the night.

Billy and Mary Ann came into the kitchen, and Biddy hugged all of them. Jimmy said, 'What are you going to do now Mum?'

Biddy looked at him. 'I think we're on our own now,' she said sadly, her voice sounding hoarse after that trauma. 'Jimmy, would you go and get the Constable, I need to talk to him.'

Even Billy could see that this was a serious matter. Once the police got involved, it meant that their domestic problems were going to become public knowledge, and his father was probably going to be in a lot of trouble.

When the police arrived a short time later, Biddy told them what had happened, and made a formal complaint of assault. An initial search failed to find Joe at any of the local pubs that night, and the next day Biddy was interviewed again. She was asked about Joe's background and told the police what she knew of him, including her suspicion that he had been a convict.

As the sun rose, Joe was pushing through thick bush not far from home. He had spent the night alternatively walking and resting to get far away from the settled areas, but the rugged country was difficult by day, and nearly impossible to travel by night. He sat down against a tree trunk, wrapped in the blanket that he had brought with him, and pondered what he would do next. He was on the run again. He was sure Biddy would have called the police, since he knew he had pushed her too far, and her Irish temper would demand revenge. He wasn't sure what the charge would be, but with his convict record, if he was caught he could expect a gaol sentence. This wasn't looking good.

Joe pressed on through the morning, and around midday he found a secluded hollow in the bush three miles from Blackwood. He used fallen branches to set up a rough shelter while he considered what to do next. This brought back memories of Glasgow, and the feeling of being hunted, something that he had long forgotten. Where was he going to go this time? No mother to run home to, and no other relatives within 10,000 miles. The only advantage he had this time was that he knew the police procedures, and how they would most likely try to find him. Going to any town in this area would be out of the question. Country towns were now calm places with orderly routines where everyone knew each other. A stranger would certainly attract attention, and the police would have his description displayed at post offices and banks, and lists of wanted people were regularly published in newspapers throughout the country.

His best hope was in getting to Melbourne where he should be able to get lost in the crowd, since its population was now somewhere around 600,000. Then with a bit of luck he might be able to get out of Victoria altogether. Getting there was going to be difficult though, now that the gold rush was over, there wasn't that great movement of people that could cover his travels. He would certainly have to stay off the roads around Blackwood because police would be patrolling along all of them. If he was sighted by any townspeople they were likely to inform on him as well. On the other hand, there were hundreds of abandoned camp sites for miles in every direction around Blackwood, left by departing diggers. Some were just clearings in the bush, but others still had the rough huts that those men had built to live in. Joe just had to find a suitable one, and stay out of sight until the initial search died down. When it started to rain he knew that he couldn't stay in his current situation for long. He had to get to shelter and find some food.

As Joe was contemplating his next move, the Blackwood police sergeant was reviewing Biddy's statement. He decided that this was more than just assault, and later that day, the Blackwood Magistrate Charles Shuter signed an arrest warrant for Joe, for threatening to kill Biddy. The police sent Joe's description to Bacchus Marsh so that wanted posters could be printed, and it was promulgated in the next Victoria Police Gazette, to alert police all over the State.

'Joseph Allen is charged, on warrant, with threatening the life of his wife at Blackwood, Kyneton district, on the 25th October. He is Scotch, a miner, supposed to be an old hand, aged 50, 5 feet 7 inches high, fair complexion, sandy hair turning grey, small fair whiskers under the chin, regular features, slight build, 10 stone, erect gait, active appearance; was one of the original members of the detective force in Victoria; wore blue crimean shirt, moleskin trousers, bluchers, and brown wideawake, and carried a white blanket, swag.---5th November 1870.'

Joe knew of an abandoned camp where a group of prospectors had given up and left the district. The camp was in one of the more distant gullies and should be a safe hideout for a while, at least until the police gave up actively looking for him. Then he should be able to get some gear together and leave the area, camping in the bush until he was well away from Blackwood. He should be able to get a lift to Melbourne and melt into the crowd. It was much the same plan that had worked in Glasgow before he managed to escape to Belfast, so there was no reason it shouldn't work again. The only difference this time was he'd never be able to come back to Blackwood or any of the surrounding towns.

He found the prospectors' camp in due course, and settled in. There were still some men working another claim further along the gully, and Joe was able to buy some flour from them with the money he had brought with him. But after five days he was tired of eating damper, and started thinking about his next move, when it occurred to him that if the police did find the camp, there was nowhere for him to hide. The creek came down precipitous cliffs into the gully, and his only exit was back along the creek to the Lerderderg River, the way he had come in, and the way the police would come in too. There were no routine mining licence checks now, so they would only be coming to look for him. That was unlikely, but he decided to leave the next day and get out of the district. He would try to catch a lift with one of the regular wagons delivering goods from Bacchus Marsh or Ballan to the Blackwood area, and hope that no one was keeping a lookout for him. He reasoned that since he hadn't committed a capital offence, by now the police should have other things to think about, and only bad luck could ruin his plan.

Early next morning Joe trekked out of the gully carrying his swag, and on through the bush towards the Bacchus Marsh road. It was still risky to be on the road, but he could travel much quicker and put more distance between himself and the areas where the police were likely to be looking for him. He expected to reach the road about a mile south of its intersection with the Ballan road. That intersection was a logical place where any police check point would be set up, since George Sawbridgeworth's Junction Hotel was conveniently located there. It was four miles from Red Hill, and it would provide a very satisfactory spot for a constable to wait and check passing travellers. Joe would hit the road on the Bacchus Marsh side of the hotel, and be walking away from it, so that if anyone saw him they would assume he had been checked.

At around 10am, Joe peered out of the roadside scrub, and seeing no one, he stepped out onto the well-worn dirt track, and strode out at a fast pace towards Bacchus Marsh. He walked for half an hour without seeing anyone, not even a wagon that he could hitch a lift on. Nevertheless, he was feeling confident that he had escaped any immediate danger of being caught. He was far enough from Blackwood now, so he just had to find someone going towards Melbourne to give him a ride, and he would be in the clear.

The plan was nearly foolproof, except for the unlikely possibility of running into the mounted constable who was returning from Bacchus Marsh where he had picked up Joe's wanted posters. They had been printed there, and now had to be delivered to all surrounding towns. This constable was the only policeman in Victoria who was even thinking about Joe at that time. By the time Joe saw the approaching constable, he knew he had been seen, and running would be a giveaway. Joe had never had his photograph taken, so there were no pictures of him to assist police, and he decided to bluff his way through. As the constable rode up and reined in his horse, Joe said,

'Morning constable, a nice day isn't it?'

Constable Thomas had noted the man's appearance as he rode up, and was aware that he resembled the description of the man in the posters that he had just picked up from the Bacchus Marsh police station. He wasn't sure though, because it wasn't unusual to see lone men walking out here. There were still stragglers from the gold digging days who hadn't settled down, and seemed destined to spend their lives wandering from town to town as the whim took them, carrying all their possessions in their swags. This man fitted the description except for the week's growth of beard. But as soon as Joe spoke, his Scottish accent was enough to remove any doubts the constable had. He drew his pistol and aimed it at Joe.

Joe's arrest was notified in the next issue of the Police Gazette, in just a couple of lines.

'Joseph Allen, charged with threatening the life of his wife, has been arrested by the Blackwood police.-17th November 1870.'

Joe was taken to the new Golden Point lockup to await his trial, which was expected to take place within two weeks in the recently upgraded Court House. Joe had been told unofficially to expect at least three months in gaol if he was found guilty, but here he had some good news. When Biddy cooled down and recovered her composure, she realised that being on her own for the rest of her life could make things difficult for her. When she was summoned to attend the court, she withdrew her complaint and refused to give evidence. The charge was withdrawn and Joe was released. For the children's sake she even allowed Joe to live with her again, but their relationship could never be the same, and so they spent the rest of their separate lives under the same roof.

Joe's assault wasn't widely known in the district because the 'Wanted' posters were never displayed, and it was gradually forgotten over the following years by those few people who did know. But afterwards, Joe and Biddy tended to have separate groups of friends who didn't socialise together. When their youngest child Margaret, whose birth had triggered Biddy's depression that led to the assault, contracted diphtheria early in February of 1875, her friends tried to help, but Margaret died seven days later, aged just six years.

To maintain a respectable facade as the rest of their children grew up and married, Joe and Biddy went to the weddings together. Bill married Alice Crossley in 1882, then later Mary Ann married Bill Grose, Edward married Grace Pryn, and Duncan married Hannah Garner, all within a year of each other. Grace Pryn was a midwife at Blackwood, and it was rumoured that she could also deal with unwanted pregnancies. She and Edward later divorced over an adulterous relationship. But as far as most people knew, everything was blissful between Biddy and Joe. Bill Allan knew better though, and never forgot what he'd seen when he was ten.

# Part Three - Their Connection

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# Chapter 1

When he was old enough, Bill Allan started attending the local dances at Blackwood, often with a group of mates, and even travelled as far as Mt Egerton, Ballan and Bacchus Marsh. He met a feisty young lady named Elizabeth Vurlow who lived at Mt Egerton, and they saw each other frequently at the dances. She was popular with all the young men, and while Bill had some good times with her, she wasn't interested in any long term relationship. She kept a large circle of friends, the majority of them men. Each of the towns had its equivalent of a lovers' lane and Elizabeth was familiar with all of them.

After the downturn in gold mining in the 1860s, a recovery started in the late 70s as companies raised capital to mine the deeper leads. This recovery resurrected gold mining around Creswick, and large amounts of gold were recovered from that region. The Argus newspaper published a long article about the area at the time, claiming that:

'Today it is the premier alluvial gold-field of Australia ...giving employment to thousands of men.'

Within a few years the many companies mining in that area would produce millions of pounds worth of gold for their shareholders.

In 1881 the big mining companies at Barry's Reef were running down and would close within a couple of years. Seeing future employment there looking uncertain, Bill Allan left Blackwood to work in the mines at Allendale just north of Creswick, and about 10 miles west of Blackwood. He almost immediately met a girl there named Alice Crossley, whose parents had a farm at the nearby settlement of Navigators. She was soon pregnant, and so Bill and Alice were married in 1882. They moved out of the Allendale district and went to Gordon just three miles from Mt Egerton. Bill and Alice had stopped going to the local dances after they were married, because Alice was suffering illness from her pregnancy, and they stayed close to home. Nevertheless Bill saw Elizabeth Vurlow now and then as one or the other of them visited either town, and they talked freely, so Bill always knew her circumstances. She was still single, and still had a number of men friends.

Bill and Alice had five children in the next seven years. The first was William, just a few months after they were married, then came Alice in 1883, John in 1884, Mary in 1886 and finally Margaret in 1889. Bill's wife suffered from lung congestion, and had bouts of bronchitis, so immediately after Margaret was born they decided, on the doctor's advice, to move to Melbourne to be close to the hospital. They rented a house in Caroline Street at Clifton Hill where Bill could work at the nearby Melbourne Corporation Quarry, and they intended staying there until Alice fully recovered. But within days her condition worsened, and after a bout of illness that lasted two weeks she died suddenly in August of 1889, aged 27. Margaret was then only 2 months old, so Bill took the children back to Blackwood to be near his family.

It was winter, and Blackwood was very cold. The baby soon suffered similar symptoms to her mother's, and in October she died too, leaving Bill with four children. Bill's mother Biddy wasn't well either, but his sister Mary Ann was able to help with the children, so Bill struggled on. He began work at Barry's Reef, but was having a difficult time of it, travelling back and forth each day from Red Hill, and looking after the four children who were now aged between 3 and 7 years old.

Elizabeth Vurlow sympathised with the emerging socialist views being embraced by many of the younger generation at the time, and was not much interested in tradition and social conventions. This attitude attracted criticism from family members, both from moral and political viewpoints, some of whom thought that perhaps her morals were not up to standard. When she became pregnant as a single woman in 1884 and again in 1887, having two sons, grandfather Richard Venville supported her against the inevitable criticism from family and friends. Elizabeth wouldn't name the father of the boys in either case, and they were registered as James and Thomas Vurlow, fathers Unknown. But when she became pregnant for the third time in 1891, even Richard urged her to get a husband. She married a Welshman named Dick Williams, who was 14 years older than herself, and the baby girl who they named Ellen, was born in February of 1892.

After the marriage, Elizabeth's situation seemed to have been settled to everyone's satisfaction, with her pre-marital sins then being relegated to 'past events not spoken about'. But just when everything seemed to be going smoothly, Dick Williams had an attack of asthma and died suddenly in October of 1892, after only a year of marriage. Elizabeth was then left with three children, and few options. She was now 30 years old, and her former radical views had mellowed somewhat, but she was still considered by most people as being out of step with social conventions. She worried about her children, but still resisted marriage, and spent hours talking to her grandfather, arguing her point of view, and listening to his advice.

It was during these conversations that he divulged his secret to her, hoping to show her that even when the future looks bleak, some good could come from it. Elizabeth found the story of his life exciting, and asked many questions about his time in Gloucestershire and as a convict, but she knew that it would embarrass her mother and father if she told anyone else, and so she promised to keep his past to herself. His story encouraged her though, and she began seriously considering finding a man to give her children a better life than the one she could see coming if she stayed on her own. But that man needed to accept that marriage wasn't an option.

Bill Allan heard about Dick Williams' death, and he arrived on Elizabeth's doorstep to pass on his condolences late in 1892. He found that Elizabeth was once more against marriage, since it had achieved nothing for her last time. But it was soon obvious to both of them that each filled the other's needs. He was widowed with four children and needed a mother for them, while she needed a breadwinner and father for her three. After discussing their respective situations, they decided to combine their families. Very soon Elizabeth and her children moved in with Bill and his children at Barry's Reef where houses were cheap as mines had closed and the population had fallen from its peak of 4000, to just a few hundred. By June of 1893 Elizabeth was pregnant yet again.

In February of 1894, Bill's children from his marriage were, William aged 11, Alice 10, John 9, and Mary 7. Elizabeth's children were James aged 10, Thomas 7, and Ellen 2. Elizabeth went back to familiar surroundings at Mt Egerton for the birth of her fourth child, George, that month. By now people knew she was living with Bill and it was generally assumed they were married, but George's birth was registered as illegitimate. Elizabeth seemed to be trying to hold on to some independence for herself.

Her grandfather had defended Elizabeth's behaviour since the first illegitimate birth ten years earlier, and was pleased when she married Dick Williams. But now he was too old to shield her, as Elizabeth started her extramarital activities again. Elizabeth ignored any whispering about her morals, and went on with her life. In late 1895 she was pregnant for the fifth time.

The year 1896 was eventful and traumatic for both the Allan and Venville families. Bill's mother Biddy had been in poor health for some time. It wasn't enough to send her to a hospital, but it meant she didn't get out of the house much. Joe wasn't any help, always wandering off to the pub, and so she was looked after by her friends. Joe and Biddy's relationship had never really recovered from the choking incident, and they spoke only when necessary to each other. Some of Biddy's friends suspected that she was getting worse because of Joe's neglect.

One morning at around 11 o'clock, their neighbour called in to see Biddy as she often did, and passed Joe as he left the house heading for the pub as he did each day. He said nothing to her, and hurried off. She went inside and found Biddy dead in her bed. Because of her previously known illness, her death was assumed to be from natural causes and no inquest was held. Biddy was buried in the Blackwood cemetery on the hill, high above the town.

The Bacchus Marsh Express newspaper employed a correspondent at Blackwood to report on events there, and it published a short obituary in its next edition on Saturday the 29th of February 1896.

'Another of Blackwood's pioneer residents passed away this week, the wife of Mr. Joseph Allan having been found dead in bed on Monday morning last. The cause of death is supposed to have been heart disease, and as she had been ailing for some time an inquiry was not thought necessary. She was 62 years of age.'

Later that year Elizabeth gave birth to Joseph, who like the others, was registered as Vurlow, but in subsequent years, probably for convenience, all of Elizabeth's children from George onward were known as Allan when they started school. The two eldest boys, James and Tom left the family early on, and went off to follow their own paths. James became a telegraph lineman and worked mostly in country Victoria. Tom became a miner, but finished up as a well-known mining manager working for some of the big companies.

Her family's happiness at seeing Elizabeth finally settle down was ruined later in 1896, by the death of another of the Venville boys. This time it was the second of the twins, Alexander, now aged 33, who was killed in a mining accident.

Underground mining operations were often leased out to one or more teams of men who took a tribute, or contract, to perform various tasks. Alexander and five of his mates had just taken a tribute to raise ore out of the Blackhorse Mine at Mt Egerton. They were putting timbers in place to support the block and tackle when a piece became stuck. Alexander climbed up to free it, but it slipped and the fall killed him within minutes.

Richard had watched Elizabeth throughout the years as she grew into this unconventional woman, and was more tolerant of her views than most family members. He had been on his own since Eliza had died thirteen years earlier, and tinkered with woodwork in the shop, but now even that was too much for him. He had met Bill many times, but although Elizabeth had told Bill about Richard's background, it was never openly discussed, and Bill never mentioned that his own father had been a convict as well. It was socially unacceptable to have criminals in the family, and most families who had one invented all sorts of fanciful stories to explain how their ancestor came to Australia. These stories survived, often being embellished over the years, until the stigma faded and the truth was eventually discovered generations later.

Richard was looked after in his declining years by his daughters, particularly Susan, and he continued to support Elizabeth's independence until the last few years of his life, when it all got too complicated for his ageing mind to worry about. Finally, on the 21st of October 1896 Elizabeth's confidante, the former Farm Labourer, Swing Rioter, Convict, Sheep Station Manager, and Patriarch of a large descendant family in Australia, Richard Venville, died at Mt Egerton at the age of 86.

# Chapter 2

Joe Allen hadn't been to Melbourne very often over the years, but each time he did go the changes to the city were remarkable. It had surpassed Sydney's population way back in 1865, and now in 1890 it was bigger than many European Capital cities, with a population of nearly one million people. Immigrants and visitors were surprised to see office towers of up to twelve storeys, with the most modern decoration and facilities available in the era, as well as churches with spires and domes. Gas street lighting and reticulated water supplies had been installed as far back as 1862. Street lighting was now being upgraded to electric, cable trams ran throughout the city, and would soon be electrified too. Australia's first telephone exchange had been installed in 1878 when there were just 128 telephones in Melbourne. Now there were thousands.

In 1888 a World Expo was held at the new Exhibition Buildings on the edge of the central business district to mark the first 100 years of Australian settlement. That year, the third version of a bridge over the Yarra at Swanston Street, the present day Princes Bridge, replaced its predecessor, and Queens Bridge just downstream past the Sandridge railway bridge, was completed the following year. The Yarra had been straightened and dredged between the city and its mouth to accommodate shipping, and to eliminate the regular flooding as surveyor Robert Russell had advocated 50 years earlier.

The Princes Bridge Hotel had already been trading for 30 years, and would be renamed Young and Jackson's later. The Queen Victoria Market was starting up on the old cemetery site on Flagstaff Hill, across the street from the Flagstaff Gardens where the signal station once stood. Those gardens had grown to become an attraction for visitors to the city. House and land prices had boomed for a decade, and the citizens proudly referred to their city as 'Marvellous Melbourne'. But it all came to a stop in 1891, when a world-wide economic depression hit, and banks and other financial institutions closed their doors. The economy recovered within a few years, but it was the end of the spectacular boom period for Melbourne that had lasted for nearly 50 years.

Joe Allen was still in good health and stayed on in his house at Blackwood after Biddy died. He didn't work at all now, but was paid a pension and still had enough money to buy the necessities of life. Bill and Elizabeth had their second child together, Joseph, in 1896 followed closely by David in 1898. Both were registered as Vurlow, and their fathers as 'unknown'.

Old Joe wasn't particularly concerned with Bill and Elizabeth's marital status, and so they spent more time with him than they may have if he had been critical of them, as many of Elizabeth's family were. On one visit in 1899 Bill told his father that he and Elizabeth were leaving Blackwood and moving to Beaconsfield in Tasmania where his older brother Joseph was already working in the gold mine there.

By the turn of the century Joe was 84 years old and was not as active as he used to be. Nevertheless, he felt well enough, and walked to his favourite hotel each day for one drink. Then if he felt like it, he sometimes walked further before returning home. He always met people he knew, and stopped to chat for a while, but it was becoming an effort, and he wasn't as interested in happenings around Blackwood as he used to be. He was alone now, all the children having moved to other places, except for one son still living at Barry's Reef. He wasn't lonely though, he had always been comfortable on his own since the earliest time he could remember, roaming the streets of Glasgow as a boy.

No one here knew his real history, and few even remembered his last brush with the law in 1870. Some knew he had been a policeman, but that was a respected occupation now. Only the few people still living who had been part of Victoria's small population in the 1840s remembered the dubious history of the early police. But, over the years Joe had told Bill and Elizabeth something of his early life, so they had some idea of his past. To everyone else though, he was known as the old chap who had been one of the first diggers in Blackwood.

One Friday in January of 1902 Joe set out for Bill Edlington's Prince of Wales hotel as usual. There had been dozens of hotels in the Blackwood area since 1855, and many had only lasted a year or two. The ones that remained changed hands often. Edlington was an exception. He had built his hotel in 1876 and was still running it. Joe knew him well and had been drinking there for 25 years, even though it was a long walk from his house. The hotel was on the Red Hill-Golden Point Road opposite the junction of the new road recently made by the towns-people down to the Mineral Springs.

It was a warm day, the sky was blue and the birds were singing sweetly. Joe walked slowly along the road, down the slope towards Golden Point, and eventually reached the hotel a bit out of breath, but it was a lovely day and he was enjoying his walk. After a leisurely drink and a few words with Edlington he decided to go straight home, back up the hill to Martin Street.

Just up from the pub was Bill Morrish's house, where he sometimes stopped for a chat, but Bill wasn't to be seen, so Joe leaned on the fence for a moment to catch his breath. Suddenly the dull ache in his chest turned to a sharp pain, and he staggered out to the middle of the road. Then a hammer blow to the chest stopped Joe in his tracks. He just had time to realise what was happening before everything went black.

Five minutes later, Jim Hamilton came across Joe lying face down in the road. He checked for a pulse, but there was none. Hamilton hailed another passer-by and asked him to fetch the police from the Red Hill station 400 yards away. When Constable Shebler arrived ten minutes later, he had to make his way through the crowd that had gathered. As news had reached the pub, many of the patrons who knew Joe had come out to see what had happened. But there was nothing to do but arrange for the body to be removed.

Constable Shebler enlisted the help of Joe's friends and had his body taken to his son's house at Barry's Reef. Because of his age, no inquest was deemed necessary, and Joe's funeral took place on the Sunday afternoon, attended by a large crowd. They were mostly older people who had some knowledge of the early days, and knew of Joe's involvement in the discovery of gold, and the foundation of Blackwood.

The Blackwood correspondent for the Bacchus Marsh Express newspaper penned an obituary that was printed on the following Saturday, the 1st of February 1902.

'By the death of Mr. Joseph Allan on Friday last another of the old residents of Blackwood joins the great majority. Mr. Allan who was 86 years of age, was seen about 10.30am on Friday morning passing by Edlington's Hotel, Golden Point road, and as Mr. J Hamilton passed that way a few minutes later he came on the old man lying on his face in front of the residence of Mr. W. Morrish. A brief examination convinced Mr. Hamilton that he was quite dead. Constable Shebler was sent for, and made arrangements for his removal to his son's residence at Barry's Reef. Mr. R Cameron JP gave the order for burial, and the funeral duly took place on Sunday at 4pm, when a large number of deceased's friends followed his remains to his last resting place in the local cemetery. Mr. C. H. Derrick officiated at the grave. Deceased had resided here since the end of 1854, and was in his day a lucky digger, obtaining several large patches in Nuggety Gully which he opened. He arrived in Victoria in 1846, and joined the police under Capt Sturt. He leaves a large family residing in the several States.'

Another obituary appeared in the Adelaide Advertiser:

'Mr. Joseph Allan, one of the oldest residents of Blackwood Victoria, dropped dead on Saturday morning. He had resided at Blackwood since 1854 and was in his day a lucky digger, obtaining several large patches in Nuggety Gully, which he opened. One nugget turned the scale at 60 oz. He arrived in Victoria in 1846, and joined the police under Captain Sturt. He was 87 years old, and was in receipt of an old age pension.'

Joe was buried in the same cemetery as his wife, on the hill overlooking the rugged gullies where he had worked for nearly 50 years, but in a separate section from Biddy. Neither of them has a headstone.

# Epilogue

Richard and Eliza Venville were both gone by 1896, and most of their twelve surviving children had moved on. But Susan and her husband Alexander Vurlow, and several of their children stayed in the Mt Egerton area. Some of them married into other local families, most notably the Harris's, and some of the Vurlow and Harris boys played instruments in the Mt Egerton town band. Alexander Vurlow died in 1901, but Susan remained there for another 26 years and died in 1927, at the age of 86. Of her nine children, only Charlotte and William were still alive by the time she died.

By the time Joe Allen died, his descendants were spread far and wide, living in South Australia, New South Wales, Tasmania and Victoria. Bill and Elizabeth were settled in Beaconsfield and in 1900 Tasman Allan was born there, but by 1912 they had left Tasmania and moved to the Melbourne suburb of Footscray. By then she was known as Elizabeth Allan, and Bill was being recorded in official documents as the father of all of the children from George onwards.

Bill worked at the Maribyrnong ammunition factory during World War One, while their three older sons George, Joe and Dave joined the First AIF. George was a machine gunner, Joe served in the 5th Infantry Battalion, and Dave was in the Pioneer battalion. They all survived the war, but each one was badly affected by it, all in very different ways. Tasman was too young to enlist.

Elizabeth died of cervical cancer in August of 1925, aged 63, two years before her mother Susan. There is no record of Bill and Elizabeth ever being married to each other.

Bill's daughter Alice from his first marriage to Alice Crossley was a tough woman. She had left the family by 1900 and began work as a barmaid, then progressed to hotel manager. In 1911 she married a professional boxer named Robert Morton and they moved to Kalgoorlie. He was a thug who tried to beat her up so she threw him out. She was manager of the Golden Horseshoe hotel on the Golden Mile when, one night in 1919, someone threw a stick of dynamite into her bedroom. She survived the blast with relatively minor injuries and eventually died of old age in Perth 40 years later.

Bill finally succumbed to the lung disease, 'miner's phthisis', in October of 1941 aged 81. His son George, who was already in hospital by that time, died three weeks later aged 47. Dave died in 1961 aged 62, Tasman died in 1965 and lastly Joe died in 1975 aged 78.

Melbourne became Australia's seat of Government after Federation in 1901, and remained so until the Federal Parliament moved to Canberra in 1927.

Both sheep stations, Tullochgorum near Fingal Tasmania, and Ballark near Mt Egerton Victoria, are still operating.

At Blackwood, the bush has regenerated, obliterating nearly all signs of the gold mining days. The permanent population is still less than 1000, but that number is regularly swelled by seasonal tourists and campers. The nearby Lerderderg Gorge is now a National Park.

The freeway from Melbourne to Ballarat bypasses nearly all the towns that once were the resting places for travellers.

Scientific estimates are that the 2,500 tons of gold produced in Victoria between 1851 and 1880, amounts to about 2% of the total produced in all human history, and that there is probably much more still buried deep below the surface, along a rough corridor from Ballarat to Bendigo, and continuing north to the New South Wales border.

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Bibliography

Aspects of Early Blackwood.....Alan Buckingham & Margot Hitchcock

Convicts of the Port Philip District ..... Keith Clarke

Gloucestershire Machine Breakers ...... Jill Chambers

Hotels and Hotelkeepers of the Blackwood Goldfield.....Andrew Robertson

Mount of Gold .........James Baxter

Additional sources

Police records in Scotland and Victoria

Victorian BDM records

Newspapers online

Other books by Barry Allan, at Smashwords.com

'The Great Adventure' (due in April 2012)

Following from Black Sheep and Gold Diggers, it tells the story of three of Elizabeth Vurlow's sons George, Joe and Dave, who served in the AIF during World War One.

Joe joined first and went to Gallipoli where less than a day after arriving he was in the battle of Lone Pine. From there he went to the Western Front and fought in nearly every major AIF battle until his luck ran out just before the war finished. Dave, the youngest, lied about his age and was second to join. He had many adventures, some of them in VD hospitals. George the eldest brother was married and was last to join. By the time he returned to Australia his life was changed forever.

'Sophia Grantham aka Kezia Tregilgus' (available now)

The story of a young woman convicted of larceny in England in 1841, who was transported to Van Diemen's Land on the ship Rajah. She married a seaman known as 'Handspike Jack' Tregilgus, and soon they were both arrested for stealing Government Stores. They moved to New Zealand and then to Melbourne during the gold rush, but their son was killed, and they moved on to Queensland where they founded the towns of Taroom in 1856 and Rolleston in 1861. They moved to Rockhampton in 1863 where Kezia ran bushranger-friendly hotels until her long term illness caused her death at age 52.

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