Beyond the Sea Journey Into Hell
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Beyond the Sea Journey into Hell Selected extracts from Chapter 11 - it covers the voyage of the convict transport Atlas 1801-1802. References to Murtagh and Michael Ahern, log details and illustrations have been deleted as have the trials of Atlas captain Richard Brooks and Hercules captain Luckyn Betts. In the cold, mist laden early hours of Sunday, November 29, 1801 the convict transport ship Atlas raised its anchor from the muddy waters of Cork Harbour and slowly made its way out to sea to meet up with her sister ship Hercules and sail together to Port Jackson. The emotional farewells could still be heard from the quay as the pilot boat took its leave with a series of long waves and a shout of ‘god’s speed’. The convicts, now chained together below felt the desperate pull of home, knowing they would never return or ever again hold their loved ones. They were sailing into the unknown. No ship in the history of transportation from Ireland had so many associated deaths before sailing than the Atlas . Upwards of fifteen convicts had perished, some so sick and weak they could not be disembarked from their transport; others died on the quay waiting to go aboard. As the Atlas left the harbour the crew was employed making the ship ready to brace itself against the storms that were gathering on the horizon. Within 24 hours of departure the first on-board death is recorded. A suicide. At quarter past twelve in the afternoon a pistol shot was heard coming from the lower cabin. The ship’s steward raised an alarm, that Isaac Telf the cabin steward had shot himself. He was found lying dead in his own blood. He had shot himself in the left side and a point of a nail was discovered sticking out in the other side. The next day strong gales, pelting rain and heavy seas saw the ship taking huge quantities of water over the deck, causing a great deal of damage and the drowning of sheep and poultry. During this terrible weather the Atlas lose sight of its sister ship Hercules . Both ships and their charges were now at the mercy of a violent and unpredictable sea. The convicts, many of whom had never been to sea, suffered the anxiety of an unknown fate. Sea sickness was the least of their troubles. Their irons pulled against their flesh each time the ship lurched and there was no escape from the loose cargo and human excrement that was being thrown about inside the prison. The noise from thunder and lightning, breaking rigging and shouting sailors added to the fear that all would be lost and they would end up in a watery grave. These atrocious conditions and the moans of the sick continued without end. Being housed below deck, the convicts had no air, all the hatches had been tightly closed. One convict, sentenced to life for the abduction of a Quaker heiress, did not have to endure the squalor of these conditions. On October 31, Sir Henry Browne Hayes, still wealthy, had bribed Atlas Captain Richard Brooks prior to sailing with £200 for a cabin and other privileges, including freedom of the deck and being able to mess with him and other officers. Not for him the restriction of leg irons, chains and the life threatening close association with those suffering from contagious diseases. On October 31 he had been taken from his prison cell to the Cobh of Cork, and rowed out to the Atlas with his personal luggage, there to be greeted by Brooks. Sir Henry, being the only convict allowed on deck on departure was unable to control his emotions, he burst into tears, ran down below to, as it was later reported, ‘to ease his pangs of adversity’. The weather continued to deteriorate as hail, rain and lightning saw sails sheet and split. It sprung the mizzen mast and carried away the bowsprit bitts. The courageous crew rallied in spite of the conditions to change sails and rigging as the ship rolled and laboured in a totally confused sea. Sleeping was impossible, made worse by the confined accommodation, one of the male convicts died in these appalling conditions, and left to lay amongst his fellow sufferers until the storm settled. He was buried, followed by another unfortunate inmate two days later. Their names were not entered in the log, just noted as: ‘buried a convict’. The cramped conditions were a result of the Atlas being heavily laden with the personal goods of the Captain, Richard Brooks. He demonstrated a total disregard for the health and safety of the convicts by cramming goods to trade, including 2,166 gallons of rum, into the holds to protect them from the harsh elements. The air scuttles were closed and the deadlights shut in. Not a spare inch of space was available and the suffering convicts lived amongst the stacked goods. Worse, because of this overloading, half the hospital had been turned into a sail room and the main hatchway fully stowed with casks and boarded to close, cutting off the air from those in the prison. Even the candles could no longer provide a flame, leaving the sickly prisoners to endure in an atmosphere of eerie darkness, the moans of the sick and the foul smells. How the ship gained its ‘permission to sail’ inspection was either through straight bribery or sheer negligence by the inspectors. With little or no air available and the prisoners sitting and lying in their own excrement and vomit the health of already diseased prisoners was now in a critical state, as was the real fear of suffocation. Convicts suffered throughout this ordeal being closely confined and always in irons. They had to carry two very heavy leg irons and another around their necks secured with a large, heavy padlock which weighed a pound and a half. Only when the extreme weather changed on Friday December 11, were prisoners able to go on deck and take in fresh air and dry their soaked bedding. The squally conditions continued. Next day six prisoners were ordered to be double ironed on account of beer buns found empty, the contents delivered down the throats of those responsible. Brooks, totally deprived of humanity, now began to cheat the prisoners of their food rations and water allowance by using false weights and measures. Surgeon Elphinstone Walker complained to Brooks that the rations were totally inadequate for the prisoners to survive. Water had been reduced to a miserable three pints per day, not enough to suppress the insatiable thirst of those burning up with fever. The number of sick in the small overflowing hospital and those in a dying state dramatically increased. If a prisoner complained or made threatening remarks they were unmercifully flogged, regardless of their state of health. Down below the nights seemed to go on forever. Being linked together by a single chain running through an iron ring, those wanting to relieve themselves, or pass the proceeds of poor food or sea sickness had to crawl along the chains and over their sickly, half awake neighbours to get to the buckets, hopefully in time. The human waste could not be bailed out through the open hatches once strong seas were running as the hatches were shut fast, not only to prevent water coming in on the convicts and flooding the prison, but also to preserve the personal goods of Brooks and his first mate, Mr. Byron. Prisoners were only allowed on deck in succession, with their irons being overhauled on reaching the deck. Another male convict died on December 18. Brooks’ log states from time to time ‘the whole of prisoners on deck’. There was little space on the upper deck. The spars on either side of the waist had been raised some four feet and the ship’s long boat was stored in the centre of the deck, so even more merchandise could be stored on board. Suitable areas for exercise just did not exist, so they just lolled about, lent on rails and cargo or sat down on the deck before being sent back and chained below. In these incredibly cluttered conditions both above and below the prisoners fell to disease in large numbers. The death toll continued to rise as did the number on the sick list. Prisoners had died since leaving Cork, due to the state of their living conditions or typhus and dysentery. The supply of anti-scorbutics was extremely low and so rapidly increased the list of those affected by the much dreaded disease, scurvy. The intolerable hot, humid weather added to the discomfort of the prisoners, as rats, lice and cockroaches tormented the sick without relief. On Tuesday December 22, six of the prisoners were drummed on deck and severely flogged on account of the beer they drained in the main hatchway. Christmas passed without the usual celebrations, but the convicts still managed to sing their songs and wished each other better times. Their thoughts naturally drifted off to Ireland. On December 29 saw a terrible flogging of a female prisoner for thieving and shortly after another male convict passed away and was buried in the cruel sea. The burials only added to the depressed state of the convicts. When it came their turn they knew there would be no ceremony or lasting notice. It would be as if they had simply vanished off the face of the earth, their name never recorded. Much to surgeon Walker’s concern, more convicts were being reported as desperately sick, so all the convicts were allowed on deck.