The Windmill (present Observatory)
Overdue Vessel
Sugar or “Coal Tar”
On the Treadmill
Chain Gang Working Out Their Punishment
Leg Irons Put On
Watching the Performance
Prisoner’s Peculiar Way of Walking
” Peg-leg” Kelly-Fifteen or Sixteen Years for Stealing Turnips
Life for Stealing a Sheep
Tom Petrie’s Lessons
The Convict’s “Feather Beds “
First Execution by Hanging
Sowing Prepared Rice
The windmill (the present Observatory, much altered, of course) is said to have been erected in 1829. It was built for the purpose of grinding the maize grown by the prisoners into meal, but there was something very wrong with the machinery evidently, for the wind would not move the “fans” round in a decent fashion. For years everything thought of was tried to alter this defect; even the ground round about was cleared of its heavy timber, so that the wind would have fair play, but all to no purpose. However, the maize was ground in spite of all, for the mill was turned into a treadmill, and by way of punishment the prisoners’ legs had to do the work the wind refused to perform.
Mr. Knight in his book says: “The year 1837 marked two important events in the early history of Brisbane-the arrival of the Petries, and of the first steamer which ploughed the waters of Moreton Bay.” Mr. Andrew Petrie, who before his departure from Sydney was attached to the Royal Engineers there, examined the windmill on his arrival, at once discovered the fault of the machinery, and had it put to rights. So after that the mill could do its own work, but still the “treads” were used as a punishment for the badly-behaved prisoners, and at these times the corn was ground by double power. It was no light punishment, as many a prisoner could tell to his cost, especially a heavily- ironed man-poor wretch.
My father remembers a time in those days when the vessel which came from Sydney with supplies for the settlement was a long time overdue, and it was thought she must be wrecked. Tea and sugar and flour and a number of other things were scarce, on account of her non-arrival. Here it may be mentioned that the tea then was all green tea, and very coarse, like bits of stick-indeed it was christened “posts and rails.” The sugar the prisoners called “coal tar,” for it was almost black like tar. “I do not know,” Father says, “what the people of to-day would say if they had to live on such stuff; they would think their last hour had come. But we all lived and kept in good health.” One thing which was “grand,” according to him, however, was boiled pumpkin and sweet potatoes, mashed and mixed together, and then baked in the oven in the shape of a sugar- loaf, alongside a piece of roast beef. Another idea was sweet potatoes mixed with cornmeal and made into cakes. Then they used to roast the Indian corn in a pan and grind it to make coffee, sweetened with the “coal tar.”
To return to the overdue vessel. In order to gain a good supply of meal to make up for the other things, Grandfather Petrie got the better class of prisoners to volunteer to work the treadmill, as it was calm weather (no wind to speak of), and the mill was slow in its work. The prisoners did not object, as it meant plenty to eat for themselves as well as for the rest of the settlement. The boy “Tom” marched alongside with the convicts up to the mill, and when there he saw them go in turns to the wheel, so many on at a time. It was a very hot day, and the first lot took off their shirts, and then went up some five steps to get on to the wheel, which was like a water-wheel, and was thirty or forty feet long, and the treads being about nine inches wide. An iron bolt at one end held it steady till the prisoners were on, then when that was withdrawn the weight of the men started it moving, and they simply had to step up or be hit on the shins; they had a rail to hold on by, of course. A shaft ran through from the wheel into the windmill, where it connected with the cogwheels there-the works were something like those of a chaffcutter. To look at the convicts stepping, one would think they were going upstairs. They had to tread so many minutes, and when one man got off at the far end, another one took his place at the starting point. The man just off would have a rest till his turn came round again. Some took to it so well that they could just hold on with the left hand as they stepped, and with the right scribble on the boards drawings of ships, animals, and men-others seemed to tire altogether. However, on this occasion it was not a punishment, and most of them were very jolly over it, chaffing one another, and calling, “Hullo, Bill, or Jack, what have you done to be put on the treadmill ?” And so they went on till plenty of meal was ground to keep things going, and a couple of days later the expected vessel turned up. She had been windbound in some bay on the coast.
Father also saw the unfortunate chained men on the treadmill working out their punishment. You would hear the “click, click ” of their irons as they kept step with the wheel, and those with the heavier irons seemed to have “a great job” to keep up. Some poor wretches only just managed to pull through till they got off at the far end, then they sat down till their turn came to go on again. They all had to do so many hours, according to their sentence; an overseer kept the time, and a couple of soldiers guarded them. When they had put in their time they were marched back to barracks.
The leg irons for the chain gang were made in the lumber yard by a blacksmith prisoner there. A supply was kept always on hand, some light and some heavy, and when a prisoner was sentenced to wear them for a certain time he was taken to this blacksmith’s shop to be fitted up; then when his sentence had expired he was sent there to have them taken off again. Father has many a time watched both performances. The rings which went round the man’s ankle were made in two half circles the size of the leg, the ends flattened having holes punched in them for rivets. One end was riveted loosely so that it would act as a hinge, then the man standing near a small anvil put out his foot, and the blacksmith fitted the iron on and riveted the other end. He then tightened the loose one. When both legs were fixed up, a piece of leather, made round, like the top of a boot, was put in between the iron and the man’s leg, so that the skin would not be so readily chafed. When the irons were taken off, the rivets were cut through with a cold-chisel.
The lighter irons had links about the size of a plough chain, the others being much heavier. The chains were some two feet long between the legs, and in the middle of each was a small ring with a string through it, which, being connected to the prisoner’s belt, kept the irons from dragging on the ground during motion. Prisoners wearing chains had a peculiar way of walking, and you would see the poor fellows just released after six months or so, going along as though they still wore them. Heavily-chained men always dragged their feet along in a weary fashion-life to them could not have been much joy. Ordinary trousers would not go over a man’s irons, so the chain gang all wore these garments opened right down the outside seams, and buttoned there with big black buttons.
At that time “Tom” was the youngest son of the Petrie family, and there being of course no school to go to, his father used to take him two or three days in the week to the lumber yard to his office, there to get lessons from his clerk. This clerk was a prisoner, and he was called, “Peg-leg Kelly,” because he had a wooden leg, but Grandfather himself said, he was a very good scholar. He kept books for the lumber yard, and could tell from them what the prisoners made and everything that was done in the yard; also all the prisoners’ names, why they were sent out, and the length of their sentence, etc. Father says, “I have often heard my father say that some of the poor fellows got fifteen or sixteen years for stealing turnips, others were sentenced for life because they had stolen sheep, or for forgery. Nowadays, for the same offence or worse, they pay a fine or earn a few months in gaol, where they are kept like gentlemen with everything they want, and very often the moment time is up something is done to get back again. If they were treated as the prisoners in the early days, they would not be so anxious to get in again, but would turn honest, even as the convicts did.
Those poor fellows when they once got free could be trusted with almost anything.
Very little in the way of lessons my father says he learnt in those days. So soon as his father left the office and went from the lumber yard to inspect the outside works, “Tom” was off out among the prisoners watching them as they made nails, and all the other various articles, without a thought to his lessons. “Poor Kelly,” he says, “would never tell on me. Although I used to get many a thrashing from Father for not knowing my lessons, and Kelly got many a scolding for not getting me along better, he would never ‘split’ on me. I used to take him now and again a bit of tobacco and a little tea and sugar, or a piece of bread, all unknown to Father, and sometimes I gave the other prisoners some, so that I was a great favourite among them, and no matter what I did they never let it out. I have often thought since that if I had taken poor Father’s advice, and stuck to my lessons, it would have been better for me to-day. But I only thought of playing in those days, and though I had, of course, no opportunity to become what my father was, the few poor chances which came in my way were passed unrecognised. Just at this time myself and brothers (John, Andrew, and Walter) were the only boys in the settlement, with the one exception of the barrack sergeant’s son. (Of course, later on there were lots of youngsters.) This boy (Billy Jones) was not allowed in among the prisoners, and we were really not supposed to be there unless we went with our father. My brothers, like myself, were in great favour with the convicts, as they used also to bring food and tobacco to them. The prisoners would do anything for us.”
A convict called ” Joe Goosey,” an odd job man, was much disliked by the others, because he told tales about them. He could never grow any sign of whiskers, and for this reason and because he wore small silver rings in his ears, he was jeered at, and called “The Lady.” The convicts could not stand a “tell-tale” at any price, and poor “Joe Goosey,” a soft sort of a fellow, had anything but a pleasant life among them.
But even he had no complaints to make of the Petrie youngsters.
The building where the prisoners slept (the barracks) was divided up into wards for the different classes-the chain gang occupied one, and so on. The beds the poor fellows had to lie on were merely movable boards six feet long and two feet wide, and these were supported by ledges one higher than the other, so as to cause a slant from the head downwards to the feet. Also at the higher end a piece of timber rounded off and nailed there served as a pillow. Add to this a double blanket, and we have the one-time convict’s “feather bed.”
In the centre part of the barracks was a room used as a church, and here service was held every Sunday. (This room was afterwards used as the Supreme Court.) The chain gang always clanked upstairs to the gallery, while the mechanics sat below. The barracks, as I have said, were situated a little above Messrs. Chapman and Co.’s warehouse, and further down (from the Bridge) on the right- hand side, at the corner of Queen and Albert Streets, the stockyard once stood, used by the prisoners for yoking up the working bullocks. Then, on the bank of the river, opposite the present Ice Works, the Government saw-pits stood, and at Roma Street Station, in the hollow there, the convicts made the bricks.
When my father was nine or ten years old, he saw the first execution by hanging in Brisbane-that of two aboriginals, who were found guilty of the murder of the surveyors, Staplyton and Tuck. The execution took place at the Windmill, which was fixed up for the occasion. After it was over a prisoner, taking young “Tom” by the hand, drew him along to have a look in the coffin. Stooping, he pulled the white cap from the face of the dead blackfellow, exposing the features. The eyes were staring, and the open mouth had the tongue protuding from it. The horror of the ghastly sight so frightened the child that it set him crying, and he could not get over it nor forget it for long after- wards. As a man he remembers it still.
While talking of these days I may mention the story told of the planting of prepared rice. This was done in Logan’s time by Mr. Peter Spicer, the superintendent of convicts. My father has often heard his father laughing and telling the tale as a joke to the early squatters. The land prepared for the rice was a swamp, which extended from Bulimba to Newstead, and doubtless there are those who remember the drains on this land. After all the trouble, because the rice did not come up, the land was declared to be unsuitable for the growing of that crop !