THE CONVICT'S TOUR OF HELL.
You prisoners of New South Wales
Who frequent watch-houses and gaols,
A story true to you I’ll tell,
Tis of a Poet’s tour to hell.
Our hero’s valour had been tried,
On the highway before he died
This hero’s valour oft was tried,
At length to death he fell a prey,
To him it proved a happy day.
Downwards he bent his course, we’re told,
Like me, destined to Satan’s fold,
And no refreshments would he take,
Till he approached the Stygian Lake.
At length he then began fix
Contiguous to the river Styx,
And thinking no one would molest him,
He stood _ when Charon thus addressed him:
“Stranger! Art thou friend or foe?
What’s thy name? Pray let me know.”
“Kind sir! I come from Sydney goal,
My name I wish not to conceal,
And as you do desire to know it,
On earth I was called ‘Frank the Poet.’”
“Are you that person?” Charon said,
“I’ll carry you to yonder side,
And stranger! Do not troubled be,
I’ll grant to you a passage free,
Tho’ sixpence is my usual charge
For passage in my well pitched barge
But noble guest! I’d have you know it,
I never mean to charge a poet.”
No other succour being nigh
Frank with the invite did comply’
And leaving Charon at the ferry
Went straightway down to Purgatory,
And knocking boldly at the gate
Of Limbo – or the middle state –
Pope Pious Nono soon appeared
With beads, gown, crucifix, and beard,
And gazing at the poet awhile
Addressed him in the following style: -
“Stranger! Art thou friend or foe?
Thy business, too, pray let me know”
Said Frank, “For Heaven I am not fitted,
So here I hope to be admitted.”
Cried Pious – “Vain are all your hopes,
This place was made for Priests and Popes;
This is a world of our own invention,
So Frank, I’ve not the least intention
To admit you here – a foolish elf,
Who scarce knows how to bless himself.”
Frank answered – “Were you all insane
When you composed this world of pain?
For naught can I discern but fire,
And share of that I don’t desire.
And midst it, weeping, wailing, gnashing,
With torments of the newest fashion!
More justly they the fools and elves
Who made a rod to beat themselves;
And may you and your honest neighbours
Enjoy the fruits of all your labours.
Bidding the Pope a long farewell,
Frank hurried to the Gulf of Hell,
And having found that gloomy gate,
He knocked aloud to know his fate.
He louder knocked, and louder still,
Till Satan came – “Pray, what’s your will?”
“Alas!” cried Frank, “I’ve come to dwell
with you, and share your fate in hell.”
Cried Satan, “That can’t be I’m sure,
For I detest and hate the poor,
None shall in my Kingdom stand
Except the wealthy and the grand.
So Frank! I think you’ve got astray,
For convicts never come this way,
But soar in Heaven, in droves and legions,
A place so-called in the upper regions.
And Frank! I think with an empty purse
You might go farther and fare worse.
Well, cried the Poet, “Since ‘tis so,
One thing of you I’d wish to know,
And I’m at present in no hurry,
“Have you one here called Captain Murray?”
”Yes, Murray ‘s here within this place;
perhaps you’d like to see his face.”
“May God forbid that I should view him,
aboard the Phoenix hulk I knew him.
But who is that in yonder blaze?
On fire and brimstone seems to graze.”
He’s Captain Logan, of Moreton Bay,
And Williams – killed the other day,
Was overseer at Gross’ farm,
And did you convicts no small harm.
Cook, who discovered New South Wales,
And he who first invented goals,
Are both tied to a fiery stake
That stands in yonder burning lake.
Hark! Hera you not that dreadful yelling?
It comes from Doctor Wardell’s dwelling;
And yonder see those fiery chairs?
They’re fitted up for beaks and mayors,
And men of all judicial orders,
Beaks, bankers, lawyers and recorders.
Then Frank saw legions of traitors,
Hangmen, gaolers, flagellators,
Commandants, constables, and spies;
Informers, overseers likewise ,
In flames of brimstones they were toiling,
And lakes of sulphur round them boiling.
Hell resonant with hideous yelling;
Alas! How dismal was their dwelling.
Then Major Morrison then he espied,
With Captain Clooney by his side.
They in fire-belt were lashed together
As tight as sole to upper leather;
Their situation here was horrid
For both were tyrants to the nor’ard.
Next he beheld old Sergeant Flood,
In Vulcan’s hottest forge he stood;
He gazed on Frank – his eyes with ire
Appeared like burning coals of fire.
He by a red –hot clasping band
Was to a lofty lamp-post chained
With fiery garments all arrayed
Like wild Arabian ass he brayed.
Loud he implored for Frank’s assistance
To end for him his sad existence.
“Cheer up,” said Frank, “don’t be dismayed,
Remember number 3 stockade;
In course of time you may do well
If you behave yourself in hell.
Your heart on earth was fraught with malice,
You oft drove convicts to the gallows,
A greater rogue in shoes ne’er trod.
You now atone for all the blood
Of convicts shed by Sergeant Flood.”
He next beheld that noted trapman
And police runner, Israel Chapman,
Steeped was he standing to his head
In cauldron hot of boiling lead.
“Alas!” he cried, “behold me stranger,
I’ve captured many a bold bushranger,
For which I am now suffering here,
But lo! Now yonder snakes appear.”
Then Frank beheld some loathly worms
And snakes of varied shapes and forms,
All entering at the mouth and ears
To gnaw his guts for endless years.
He next beheld the Company’s Commissioner
At knee like humblest petitioner.
“Satan,” he cried, “my life is ended,
For many years I’ve superintended
The Agricultural Company’s affairs
And punctually paid all arrears.
But if you doubt the hopping colonel (Dumaresq)
At Carrington you’ll find my journal
Careful writ out in black and white,
I’ll prove that my accounts are right.”
The poet turned to go away,
But Lucifer begged he would stay.
Now Poet Frank, stay, don’t you go man,
Till you see your friend, Doctor Bowman;
See how he trembles, writhes and gnashes,
He gave you many the thousand lashes,
And for those same he does bewail;
While Oscar with his iron flail
Thrashes him well you may depend,
And will – till time shall have an end.”
Just as he spoke a coach and four
Came up in post haste to the door,
And some six feet of mortal sin,
Sans leave or license tumbled in.
At its arrival cheers were given
That reached from Hell to Highest Heaven;
And all the denizens of Hell
With one rope peeled the greatest bell
That ne’er was known to sound or ring
Since Judas sold our Heavenly King.
Drums were beating, flags were hoisting,
Never before was there such rejoicing;
Dancing, singing, joy and mirth,
In Heaven above – and on the earth.
Straightway to Lucifer Frank went
To learn what these rejoicings meant.
“Of sense,” cried Satan, “I’m deprived
since Governor Darling has arrived;
brimstone and fire I’ve ordered him,
and Vulcan has his tools in trim.
And I’ll now find a fixed abode,
For Colonel Wilson’s on the road.
Don’t go, Frank. Till you see the novice,
The Colonel from the Police Office.
“Sir,” answered Frank, “I’m satisfied
To learn that he’s to be tied
And tortured in this world of fire;
With your leave, sir, I’ll now retire.”
And after travelling many days
O’er fiery hills and boiling seas,
At length he found that happy place,
Where all the woes of mortal cease;
And rapping boldly at the wicket,
Says Peter, “Where’s your certificate?
Or if you have got none to show
Pray ‘Who in Heaven do you know?”
“Why, sir, I know Bold Jack Donohue,
And Johnny Prog, and Jenkins too,
And many more whom scourgers bled,
Were lastly by Jack ketch strung dead.”
“Peter,” the Son said, “Let Frank in,
For he is truly purged from sin;
Altho’ in convict costume drest
Here shall he be a welcome guest.
Enoch! Go you with him to Job,
And put on him a silken robe.
Saint Paul! Go to the flock straightway,
And kill a calf or two today,
Tell Abraham, and likewise Abel,
In haste to lay the banquet table,
For we will make a grand repast,
Since Poet Frank has come at last.”
Soon Moses came, likewise Elias,
John the Baptist and his pal Matthias,
With many saints from foreign lands,
And with the Poet all shook hands,
Thro’ Heaven’s concave curfew rang,
And hymns of praise they loudly sang;
And while they glorified their theme,
I woke – and found it was a dream.
The newspaper publication also provided references to some of the people and items named in the poem.
Phoenix Hulk, Government Gazette Notice March 26
Capt. Logan. March 23, 26, Nov 19, 30
Doctor Wardell Murdered 1834
Capt Clunie. Jan, Nov 17, 1830
Israel Chapman. 4/12/27 his absolute pardon endorsed. |
IN THIS SECTION:
Convicts + Transportation
Convict Verse
Worth Noting:
The newspaper publication also provided references to some of the people and items named in the poem.
- Phoenix Hulk, Government Gazette Notice March 26
- Capt. Logan. March 23, 26, Nov 19, 30
- Doctor Wardell Murdered 1834
- Capt Clunie. Jan, Nov 17, 1830
- Israel Chapman. 4/12/27 his absolute pardon endorsed.
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