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Ever wonder how a petty thief from Essex ends up a pioneer in Australia’s earliest settlements? Well, grab a cup of coffee because the story of my 4x great-grandfather, James Davey, is a wild one — and trust me, he didn’t exactly have a “master plan.”
James had what you might call a pioneering spirit, but honestly, he didn’t have much of a choice. When you’re sentenced to seven years transportation halfway across the world, “spirit” is really just survival.
It all kicked off in 1802 at the Essex Summer Assizes in Chelmsford. James, along with Robert Davey and William Mills, was hauled into court for a textbook smash-and-grab at Joseph Presland’s shop in Debden. We’re talking six yards of Irish cloth (classy), a silk handkerchief, a pair of worsted stockings, ten pounds in cash, and four one-pound banknotes. They all pleaded not guilty and — miraculously — beat those charges.
But, and here’s the kicker, the jury wasn’t done with James yet. Turns out he had a little side hustle going: stealing sacks. Three sacks, to be exact, on three different occasions. A few stolen sacks might sound laughable today, but back then, it screamed “serial offender,” and Judge Baron Hotham wasn’t feeling generous. He sentenced James to seven years transportation — “for the security of the country.” Subtle.
Fun fact (and by fun, I mean grim): over 80% of convicts shipped to Australia were repeat offenders. James was just another number in the grand British plan to clean out the jails.
James boarded HMS Calcutta for what must have been a miserable journey to Port Phillip. Picture it: hundreds of convicts, a handful of officers, marines, settlers, wives, kids, and all their supplies, crammed onto two ships (Calcutta and Ocean). Most convicts had been done for theft — cloth, money, handkerchiefs, you name it. Only a handful were violent criminals.
The plan was to start fresh at Sullivan Bay (near modern-day Sorrento, Victoria), but — spoiler alert — it was a disaster. The place was dry, windswept, and terrible for farming. After less than a year, Lieutenant-Governor David Collins called it quits and packed nearly everyone (William Buckley – a story for another day) off to the Derwent River in Van Diemen’s Land.
Sullivan’s Cove, 1804: Birth of Hobart
By February 1804, James landed at Sullivan’s Cove — muddy, cold, and surrounded by wilderness. Welcome to your new life, buddy.
The first order of business? Survival. Convicts like James were shoved into back-breaking work: felling trees, building huts, constructing wharves, and guarding precious stores from theft (ironic, considering the workforce).
Tents were pitched in a rough grid. The Governor got the best spot (naturally), free settlers were put on the good side, and the convicts were kept busy from dawn till dusk, six days a week. Sundays were reserved for Anglican services, held outside because — you guessed it — there was no church.
Meanwhile, marines patrolled constantly, and a night watch was made up of “trusted” convicts. (A bold move if you ask me.)
Conditions were brutal. Supplies ran low, crops failed, and by winter, the settlers were shivering under leaky tents, living on kangaroo meat and whatever could be foraged or hunted. Scurvy ravaged the population, and at one point, convicts were so underfed they physically couldn’t work full days.
It wasn’t the noble, romantic pioneer life you see in paintings — it was raw, harsh survival.
Well, that’s just part one of his story. Stick around — because James Davey’s adventure didn’t end with setting foot in Hobart. Spoiler: life had a few more curveballs (and maybe a shot at redemption?) waiting for him.