Welcome to a forgotten corner of the ancient forest.
Australia was originally founded as a penal colony. The dynamics of the society founded was based on a ruling class of soldiers and an underclass of prisoners. Unlike what you may think, the prisoners were generally not hardened criminals. All serious criminals were hung in England. Those transported to Australia were usually petty thieves convicted for stealing a hankerchief or some such.
The guards were also effectively transported since they were unlikely to return. Thus it was that soldiers assigned to accompany and guard the prisoners were the worst and most problematic soldiers. This lead to a brutal and sadistic regime and one of the most brutal and sadistic soldiers was in command of the penal colony at Morton Bay in Queensland. His name was Captain Patrick Logan and he was Commandant of Morton Bay from 1825 until his murder in 1830.
The basic decency of many of the convicts and the corruption and brutality of the authorities at this formative stage of our nationhood has left permanent scars in our national psyche that present themselves today as a deep distrust of authority, support of the underdog and a penchant for larrikanism. Superficially we may seem similar to America but in this, I believe, we are quite different.
One Sunday morning as I was walking
By Bribane's Waters I chanced to stray,
I heard a prisoner his fate bewailing
As on the sunny river bank he lay.
I am a native of Erin's Island
Transported now from my native shore.
They tore me from my aged parents
And from the maiden whom I adore.
I've been a prisoner at Port MacQuarie,
At Norfolk Island and Emu Place,
At Custon Hill and Curston Kelly,
And all those settlements of such disgrace.
But of places of condemnation
And penal stations of New South Wales,
Of Morton Bay I have found no equal;
Excessive tyranny each day prevails.
For three long years I was cruelly treated
And heavy irons on my legs I wore.
My back from flogging was lacerated;
My shirt was soaked with my bloody gore,
And many a man from downright starvation
Lies mouldering underneath the clay,
And Captain Logan, he had us tortured
At the pillories down in Morton's Bay.
Like the Egyptians or ancient Hebrews
We were oppressed under Logan's yoke.
'Til a waiting Black lying there in ambush
He gave this tyrant his mortal stroke.
My fellow prisoners be exhilerated
That all such tyrants a death shall find.
And when from bondage we are liberated
Our former sufferings will fade from mind.
One Sunday morning as I was walking
By Brisbane's waters I chanced to stray
I heard a prisoner his fate bewailing
As on the sunny river bank he lay.
Traditional
There are many jewels hidden amongst the leaves in this forgotten part of the ancient forest. Spend some time browsing and you are sure to find some. Click here or continue your search below
or read the most recent entries here.I think you have a mistake in the lyrics to
"Morton Bay"
The line should read
"we were oppressed under Logan's yoke"
rather than "Logan's rule"
In my choirs version of the song, the second verse reads...
For three long years were beastly treated
And heavy irons on our legs we wore.
Our backs with flogging cut to pieces;
and often painted with our crimson gore,
And many a man from downright starvation
Lies mouldering underneath the clay,
And Captain Logan, he had us tortured
At the traingles in Morton's Bay
I had a combination of the two...
"And Captain Logan, he had us mangled
At the triangles of Morton Bay."
I also knew it as "banished now from my native shore" and
"At Castle Hill and at Curs'd Toongabbie (sp)
At All those settlements, I've worked in chains"
Otherwise it's pretty close to what I remember :D
Posted by: Jennifer at August 21, 2006 03:20 PMHi, I found a set of lyrics to this at the John Oxley Library in Brisbane while doing research for somethin else. They are dated 1887 and read as follows:
One Sunday morning as I was walking,
By Brisbane Waters I chanced to stray.
I heard a prisoner his fate bewailing
As on the sunny river bank he lay.
I am a native of Erin's Island.
Banished now from my native shore.
They tore me from my aged parents,
And from the maiden whom I adore.
I've been a prisoner at Port MacQuarie,
At Norfolk Island and Emu Plains,
At Castle Hill and at Toonangabbi,
At all those settlements I've worked in chains.
But of places of condemnation
And penal stations of New South Wales,
To Morton Bay I have found no equal;
Excessive tyranny each day prevails.
For three long years I was beastly treated
And heavy irons on my legs I wore.
My back from flogging was lacerated;
And often coated with my bloody gore.
Many a man from downright starvation
Lies mouldering now underneath the clay,
And Captain Logan, he had us mangled
On the triangles of Morton's Bay.
Like the Egyptians and ancient Hebrews
We were oppressed under Logan's yoke.
'Til a native black lying there in ambush
Did give our tyrant his mortal stroke.
My fellow prisoners be exhilerated
That all tyrants a death shall find.
And when from bondage we are liberated
Our former sufferings shall fade from mind.
thanks David, most interesting and a valuable contribution.
Posted by: Greenman at September 10, 2006 02:03 PM
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