Shipwrecked.
“I was the convict sent to Hell, to make of the desert a living well. I split the rock, I felled the tree. The nation is because of me.” Mary Gilmore. I wrote this song when I was reading Robert Hughes’ book “The fatal shore” A lot of folks probably don’t know this, but Australia was founded as a British penal colony when the crown was no longer able to ship it’s felons to the plantations of the Carolinas during, and after the revolutionary war. Now ‘felons’ is a big word. It conjures up in the contempary mind visions of dope dealers, gang bangers and corrupt politicians. But way back in the day they were usually petty offenders. Many simply trying to feed families in difficult times, a great number having served their King in a time of war. These poor battered hopeless souls may as well have been sent to the moon for all the hope they had for their future. The first fleet was nine months at sea before running up the colors at Botany Bay. (The effect of this action on the indigenous peoples is a whole other can of worms and songs.) For the convict, transportation was in most cases, effectively a life sentence, for many a death sentence. Like the crew and convict freight of the Neva. The Neva sailed from Cork, Ireland for Sydney on 8 January 1835 carrying 150 female convicts with 33 children, nine free women (probably wives of convicts) with 22 children., and 26 crew, under the command of Captain Benjamin Peck. With the deaths of a crewman, a convict and a free woman, and one birth, during the voyage, by the time the Australian coastline was reached the total complement was 239. Hells’ gate too far for these lost souls.Shipwrecked.
Me babe was so hungry I’d of slit your throat for a shilling there was no work for laborers even those that was willing.
Who’d work for a pittance shoveling dung, the great Lord said. “I’m sorry, but jobs there are none.”
I was a gunner with Nelson, I smashed our enemy’s to Hell, and all this before the Kings’ court I did try to tell.
Too explain my folly to the high magistrate. “Our bellies was empty and our need was great.”
But stiff back he sneered. “I’ll reward your crime, I’ll sail you to Hell for fourteen years time.”
Cut up on the coral and dashed on a reef with our timbers stove in and our bones bare and bleached. Shipwrecked, shipwrecked we be, shipwrecked, at a loss on the great Pacific sea.
Shipwrecked, shipwrecked we be, shipwrecked, at a loss on the great Pacific sea.
England so far for us good men in chains, us felonious thieves all branded with blame.
Bound for Port Jackson, manacled as one, chained ‘tween the decks soaked, frigid and numb. Whores, poachers and bandits transported in tears, away, away from Portsmouth for fourteen grim years.
Cut up on the coral and dashed on a reef with our timbers stove in and our bones bare and bleached. Shipwrecked, shipwrecked we be, shipwrecked, at a loss on the great Pacific sea.
Shipwrecked, shipwrecked we be, shipwrecked, at a loss on the great Pacific sea.
We crossed the line they gave us a tot of rum that burned a hole in my belly like a frigates great gun.
Then the decks they plunged and creaked, as our little ship did start to leak, when the water rushed up around our guts the captain had the chains struck off of us. For we were aground in a great filthy squall and an old sailor cursed: “Death is equal, let God judge us all.”
