By James Findlay

Supported by a Create NSW Arts and Cultural Grant – Old Parramattans & Murder Tales

WARNING: This essay discusses a violent murder, which may be distressing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

It was Thomas Cosgrove who first testified in court against the man who shot his brother dead.[1] In his account—corroborated by other witnesses—around one o’clock in the afternoon on Thursday 1 April 1819, 38-year-old William Cosgrove, a respected constable of Wianamatta (the South Creek district) in Gomerigal Country, had approached three men in a local bar, David Brown, Timothy Buckley and Timothy Ford. Believing them to be convict runaways-turned bushrangers, William ordered the men to surrender. Disobeying his request the three bolted, and William gave chase ‘with great courage and…the most determined zeal.’[2] With the assistance of others present, including William’s eldest stepson, the trio were apprehended—but not before Buckley had turned to his closest pursuer, Constable Cosgrove, and fired a ‘musket loaded with…eleven or twelve slugs into his…side, breast, and lungs.’[3] The court heard that William had initially survived the attempt on his life, but had suffered ‘in anguish until the following day’ when he succumbed to his injuries and died.

The Gazette’s report of William’s bravery is replete with details of the dramatic events leading to the constable’s violent end. It also provides a record of how William’s friends and family sought to remember his character. Described as a ‘settler’ and a ‘man in good circumstances,’ he was spoken of warmly in the trial as a committed and capable lawman and a ‘good member of society.’[4] These sentiments would echo down the centuries when the New South Wales Police Force commemorated the 200-year anniversary of his death by erecting a small plaque at his place of burial in St. John’s Cemetery, Parramatta in Burramattagal Country; a memorial that turns Constable Cosgrove’s death into a potent historical symbol of the dangers inherent in maintaining law and order.[5] It is ironic then, that amongst the details of William’s life, commemorated in contemporary stone and historical print, one important aspect of the constable’s past remained hidden. Like his assailant Buckley, William too had a criminal past.

A Rebellious Spirit

That William’s status as an emancipated convict remained hidden from the Gazette’s readers is unsurprising. By 1819 many ex-convicts who had arrived in chains and had since ‘made good’ were recasting themselves as settlers. Matters of reputation (and origins) were becoming increasingly crucial to matters of business in the rapidly developing colony.[6] That William’s journey should take him from transported criminal to constable marks his life as one of the many examples of social transformation a penal colony like New South Wales produced.

Tried and convicted in Baile Átha Cliath (Dublin), William had been sentenced to seven years transportation and exiled from Éire (Ireland) in 1802, travelling to Cadi (Sydney), Gadigal Country, on board the Rolla.[7] Carrying only Irish men and women convicts, the ship also brought Thomas Cosgrove, William’s brother, under sentence.[8] The timing of their departure and William’s later insubordination in the colony, suggest that both men were convicted for activities relating to political rebellion.

The Irish Rebellion of 1798 that was fought against the British occupation brought with it mass casualties and a rapid build up of prisoners filling the country’s gaols. To deal with the swelling prison population many rebels were executed and many more were transported to various penal colonies throughout the empire. Whilst the top leadership of groups such as the United Irishmen were either put to death or exiled to Europe, the majority of rebels sent to New South Wales were of the lower classes, being labourers, peasants or artisans.[9] Such prisoners were aboard the Rolla, which departed Corcaigh (Cork) on 4 November 1802, and arrived at Warrane (Sydney Cove) on 12 May 1803 with most convicts disembarked in good health.[10]

Despite the trauma of exile, or perhaps because of it, William maintained a rebellious spirit under sentence. This is evidenced by his reported involvement in the famed ‘Castle Hill uprising,’ a convict led insurrection that rocked the colony less than a year following his arrival.[11] Sparked by news of renewed insurgency in Éire (Ireland), convicts stationed at the farming settlement of ‘Castle Hill’ at Mogoaillee in Bidjigal Country overpowered their overseers and took possession of weapons and stores. Their hopes of marching onto Cadi (Sydney) to commandeer a ship back home were famously dashed when one of the group’s messengers turned informant. With the rebels betrayed and authorities alerted, martial law was declared and the New South Wales Corps were sent to quash the uprising. The convicts retreated towards Bulyayorang (Windsor) in Dharug and Darkinjung Country, hoping to rally more numbers, but the Redcoats ran them down, and the ensuing battle resulted in the short-lived rebellion’s defeat.[12]

Punishment was swift. The rebels’ leader Philip Cunningham was caught and immediately executed. Others were tried and hung for treason, or sent to the penal settlements of Muloobina (Newcastle), Norfolk Island or Lutruwita (Van Diemen’s Land / later Tasmania).[13] William was one of those flogged for his involvement: a punishment designed to terrorise and debase, but not render the convict incapable of future labour.[14] With the indelible inscription of authority marked upon his body, William seems to have reconsidered his future prospects. What follows in his life indicates the fires of rebellion were, at last, extinguished. Henceforth, William Cosgrove would work within the system, rather than against it.

Making Good in a Colony of Thieves

There are few records to help us understand William’s life during the remainder of his sentence. We know that in comparison to later periods of the penal system, life in the colony under Governor King afforded opportunities. For example, convicts could use their time outside of government assignment to undertake task-work for payment in goods. There were no prisoners’ barracks; instead convicts were expected to build and maintain their own places of residence, meaning that home life whilst often basic was relatively free for some.[15] There were also strong incentives for those who impressed authorities, such as tickets of leave and the option of land grants following the expiry of a sentence.[16]

William’s involvement in rebellion most likely kept him under the watchful eye of authorities, ruling out such freedoms, but details of his exact circumstances are sketchy. Was he put to work in hard labour gangs, or kept in chains for the remainder of his sentence? We do not know. Muster records have him residing in Parramatta in 1806.[17] Later his name appears on statements of capital advance by Gregory Blaxland between 1806–1808.[18] During this time he is fortunate enough to meet Mary York (née Murray), and in 1810, almost exactly seven years after arriving in Port Jackson, he is granted his certificate of freedom.[19]

What follows is a remarkable period of social advancement. In the year of his release Mary gives birth to the first of their children, John.[20] It appears that around this time he is appointed as a constable. In 1811, William is listed to receive a land grant of 60 acres in Bringelly, Cabrogal Country.[21] A year later, on 20 March 1812, Mary gives birth to their second child, a daughter, who is also baptised Mary.[22] Now with land, family and holding rank, William and Mary’s decision to turn their backs on their old lives and settle in the colony is sealed.

For William to be so quickly appointed as a law enforcer when he had, until recently, been serving his own sentence, is not as strange as it first seems. In the penal colony of New South Wales, constables were frequently drawn from the ranks of ex-convicts out of sheer necessity; first hand knowledge of the criminal class may have also proved useful on the job.[23] Under the employ of the local magistrate, constables were usually closely connected to their communities, but often had to undertake other work to supplement their law enforcement salary.[24] William was a case in point, running a farm and also being employed as a Pound Keeper, a role that involved locating and impounding runaway, stolen or abandoned animals.

Insights into his daily activities suggest that he was conscientious and committed to his various posts. His farm was clearly a success, as demonstrated by his tendering a significant quantity of fresh meat to the government stores in 1817.[25]  The Sydney Gazette also features numerous impoundment notices in which, as Pound Keeper for the Wianamatta (South Creek) area, William meticulously describes animals that have found their way into his care: ‘Impounded at South Creek, a Brown filley about 15 months old with a star on the forehead’; ‘a stallion… three year old, colour an iron grey, with black feet’; ‘Brown Mare, with a Black Filley Foal by her side’; ‘Ten Head of Horned Cattle, branded as follows…’.[26] William’s dutiful location of missing livestock would have been a key service to local farmers, though he was always canny enough to recoup fees for any expenses incurred.

Of all the activities he engaged in, William’s heroics in apprehending the bushranger gang—as recorded in the 1819 trial of his murder—stand out as the most detailed and dramatic in the historical record. He had acted calmly in the face of considerable danger. During the trial the court heard that the bushranger Buckley repeatedly levelled his musket at the constable, but that William only fired his pistol in retaliation after being shot. It was perhaps a fitting end for someone remembered so fondly for his ‘manly boldness’ to fall valiantly in the line of duty.[27] Though suffering a tragic death, the convict turned constable had been afforded opportunities in the colony and, after a rebellious start, made the most of them. Granted land and fortunate enough to have the comforts of family, he experienced privileges that many transported convicts would have craved, but sadly never known. Men like David Brown, Thomas Buckley and Timothy Ford who—apart from their brief moment of infamy as William’s killers—would fade into obscurity like so many who suffered the fate of transportation.

Bushrangers and Bandits

And what of those who hung by their necks for William’s murder? We know their names, but little else. Let us focus on the man who fired the bullets into William’s chest, Timothy Buckley. Sentenced to life for burglary in Corcaigh, Éire (Cork, Ireland), in March 1817, he was a blacksmith horseshoer by trade and landed in Cadi (Sydney) per Guildford (3) in April 1818.[28] The very short timeframe between arrival, escape, and execution suggests his experience under sentence was hard. The Gazette describes Buckley as working under ‘Government employ,’ which possibly meant performing ganged labour such as building roads, bridges or cutting stone.[29]

The New South Wales penal system at the time was evolving to become harsher and more punitive.[30] Overwork, mistreatment and the threat of secondary penal settlements were all motivators for convicts to break the chains of bondage. Buckley’s turn towards bushranging was not uncommon, reflecting a trend between 1816–1831 when the greater Sydney region saw a remarkable rise in this kind of illicit behaviour.[31]

Bushrangers resonate deeply in Australia’s historical psyche. Names like Ben Hall, Captain Thunderbolt and Mad Dog Morgan exist in a pantheon of folk heroes, whose masculine endeavours and rebellious crimes have been romanticised in popular culture since the colonial period. Often relying on support from local communities and tapping into antiauthoritarian sentiments, bushranging has since been characterised, and mythologised, as a form of criminal behaviour known as ‘social banditry.’[32] Famous figures such as Robin Hood, Billy the Kid and Australia’s Ned Kelly fall into this cultural tradition, which celebrates criminals who engage in a perceived class struggle and resistance, often playing out in pre-industrial and frontier societies.[33]

[Clockwise from top left] (1) “Mad Dog Morgan” aka Daniel Morgan, bushranger, shot at Pechelba Station, April 9th 1865, photographed on the spot by Henry Pohl, (1865), State Library Victoria (2) Ned Kelly’s Armour at State Library Victoria, by Chensiyuan with edits by Michaela Ann Cameron, (CC BY-SA 4.0), via Wikimedia Commons (3) Carte de visite of Ben Hall, (Sydney: Freeman Brothers, 1863), P1 / 693 / FL3312247, Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales (4) Bushranger “Bold” Jack Donohoe [aka Donahue] on the mortuary slab, attributed to Sir Thomas Mitchell, P2 / 361 / FL1828695, State Library of New South Wales (5) Capture of Thunderbolt, near Uralla, by Constable Walker, (Sydney: Illustrated Sydney News, 1870), PIC Drawer 3652 #S4504, National Library Australia.

The Australian manifestation of this particular outlaw legend taps into these mythological elements, but in a way that links directly to its colonial context. During the mid to late nineteenth century in New South Wales and Victoria the figure of the bushranger was deeply intertwined with contested notions of land and class, as seen in the Kelly story.[34] In penal colony Sydney a different set of factors were at play. Bushrangers during this time were often escaped convicts, and sympathy for their cause was likely stoked because the ever-increasing emancipist population had a shared experience of life under sentence.[35] Outlaws like the famed Jack Donohoe, an Irish convict who garnered much attention in the colony, was one such figure. He led a gang who terrorised William’s district in the decade following his death and was said to have favoured robbing the rich over the poor.[36] Aware that his exploits would be sensationalised in the colonial press, he and others like him adopted performative gestures during robberies, such as displaying gallantry towards women, donning masks and wearing flamboyant clothing.[37]

But the daring highway robberies and romanticised crimes that feature so prominently in the bushranger legend were in reality the exception to the rule. As witnessed in the incident leading to William’s death, most were violent acts of desperation. Frequently these resulted in vicious assaults as well as the destruction of property, and it was often the smaller settlers rather than the moneyed elite who bore the brunt.[38] Authorities were alarmed and in an attempt to quash the nefarious behaviour a reward system was established to encourage constables, like William, to track them down.[39] With significant money to be made from capturing a bushranger, it raises the question: was William’s eagerness to apprehend Buckley and his co-conspirators brought on by the lures of financial gain as much as the need for justice? During his killer’s trial, William’s actions leading to his death were presented as a reflection of his moral character. The Gazette reported that it was his sense of duty that had propelled him to chase down the bushranger gang. Looking back on William’s story there is ample evidence of this character trait, most notably, a sense of duty towards his family and community by taking on the post of constable. It was no small shift in thinking for an Irish ex-rebel to assume the role of law enforcer in a British colony. But when interrogating the scant archival records, what perhaps shines through most brightly is William’s astuteness to know that this duty was intertwined with advancement in the penal colony, and through it a convict could shape his own destiny. 

‘An Unavoidable Destiny’

Whatever personal motivations brought the various players together at the bar on the fateful day William was shot, it is worth remembering that greater historical forces were also at play. The machinery of a larger imperial world directed the lives of those transported. William and his killers had initially shared similar fates, suffering and rebelling against the penal system’s control over their lives. But their divergent destinies are a salient reminder of the unpredictability of the convict experience. Timothy Buckley’s life as a convict was short lived: The Gazette reported that during the trial he seemed to have resigned himself to an ‘unavoidable destiny’—one that led to his execution.[40] William on the other hand, had risen through the ranks of colonial society to a relatively comfortable station. His death at the wrong end of a musket barrel, but on the right side of the law, ensured he was remembered not as a victim of the system but instead an enforcer of it.

CITE THIS

James Findlay, “William Cosgrove: Duty and Destiny,” St. John’s Online, (2020), https://stjohnsonline.org/bio/william-cosgrove, accessed [insert current date]

Acknowledgements

• Biographical selection, assignment, research assistance, editing & multimedia: Michaela Ann Cameron.

References

Primary Sources

• “Court of Criminal Jurisdiction,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 10 April 1819, pp. 2–3.
• Parish Baptism Registers, Textual Records, St. John’s Anglican Church Parramatta, New South Wales, Australia.
• Parish Burial Registers, Textual Records, St. John’s Anglican Church Parramatta, New South Wales, Australia.

Secondary Sources

• Paula Byrne, Criminal Law and Colonial Subject, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993).
• Michaela Ann Cameron, “Benjamin Ratty: Convict Constable,” St. John’s Online, (2019), https://stjohnsonline.org/bio/benjamin-ratty/, accessed 27 April 2020.
• Andrew James Couzens, A Cultural History of the Bushranger Legend in Theatres and Cinemas, 1828–2017, (London: Anthem Press, 2019).
• Garry Crockett, “Task Work,” Sydney Living Museums, (2017), https://sydneylivingmuseums.com.au/convict-sydney/convicts-colony, accessed 20 April 2020.
• Judith Dunn, The Parramatta Cemeteries: St. John’s, (Parramatta: Parramatta and District Historical Society, 1991).
• Raymond Evans and Bill Thorpe, “Commanding Men: Masculinities and the Convict System,” Journal of Australian Studies, Vol. 22, No. 56, (2009): 17–34.
• Stephen Gaunsen, The Ned Kelly Films: A Cultural History of Kelly History, (Bristol: Intellect, 2013).
• John Hirst, Freedom on the Fatal Shore, (Melbourne: Black Inc., 2018).
• E. J. Hobsbawm, Bandits, (New York: Pantheon Books, 1981).
• Grace Karskens, The Colony: A History of Early Sydney, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010).
• Jan Kociumbas, “Thirty Acres – Male Convict Experience 1788–1804,” Oxford History of Australia, Vol. 2, 1770–1860: Possessions, (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1986), pp. 32–62.
• Tony Moore, Death or Liberty: Rebel Exiles in Australia 1788–1868, (Sydney: Pier 9, 2010).
• Pat O’Malley, “Class Conflict, Land and Social Banditry: Bushranging in Nineteenth-Century Australia,” Social Problems, Vol. 26, No. 3 (Feb, 1979): 271–283.
• Graham Seal, The Outlaw Legend: A Cultural Tradition in Britain, America and Australia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).
• Anne-Maree Whitaker, “Castle Hill Convict Rebellion 1804,” Dictionary of Sydney, (2009), http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/castle_hill_convict_rebellion_1804, accessed 3 May 2020.
• Anne-Maree Whitaker, Unfinished Revolution: United Irishmen in New South Wales, 1800–1810, (Darlinghurst: Crossing Press, 1994).

NOTES

[1] “Court of Criminal Jurisdiction,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 10 April 1819, p. 2.

[2] “Court of Criminal Jurisdiction,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 10 April 1819, p. 2.

[3] “Court of Criminal Jurisdiction,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 10 April 1819, p. 2.

[4] “Court of Criminal Jurisdiction,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 10 April 1819, p. 2.

[5] Constable William Cosgrove is buried next to his wife in Left Section 1, Row 21, Memorial Q (L.21.Q), St. John’s Cemetery, Parramatta.

[6] Grace Karskens, The Colony: A History of Early Sydney, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010), pp. 332–4.

[7] “Ship News – Rola 1803,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Sunday 15 May 1803, p. 4; New South Wales Government, Main Series of Letters Received, 1788–1825, Series: 897; Reels: 6041–6064, 6071–6072, (State Records Authority of New South Wales. Kingswood, New South Wales, Australia).

[8] Anne-Maree Whitaker, Unfinished Revolution: United Irishmen in New South Wales, 1800–1810, (Darlinghurst: Crossing Press, 1994), p. 203.

[9] Tony Moore, Death or Liberty: Rebel Exiles in Australia 1788–1868, (Sydney: Pier 9, 2010), p. 99.

[10] “Convict Ship Rolla 1803” Free Settler or Felon, https://www.jenwilletts.com/convict_ship_rolla_1803.htm, accessed 25 April 2020.

[11] Anne-MareeWhitaker, Unfinished Revolution: United Irishmen in New South Wales, 1800–1810, (Darlinghurst: Crossing Press, 1994), pp. 105, 203.

[12] Anne-Maree Whitaker, “Castle Hill Convict Rebellion 1804,” Dictionary of Sydney, (2009), http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/castle_hill_convict_rebellion_1804, accessed 3 May 2020.

[13] Tony Moore, Death or Liberty: Rebel Exiles in Australia 1788–1868, (Sydney: Pier 9, 2010), pp. 116–9

[14] Raymond Evans and Bill Thorpe, “Commanding Men: Masculinities and the Convict System,” Journal of Australian Studies, Vol. 22, No. 56, (2009): 17–34.

[15] Garry Crockett, “Task Work,” Sydney Living Museums, (2017), https://sydneylivingmuseums.com.au/convict-sydney/convicts-colony, accessed 20 April 2020.

[16] Jan Kociumbas, “Thirty Acres – Male Convict Experience 1788–1804,” Oxford History of Australia, Vol. 2, 1770–1860: Possessions, (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1986), pp. 32–62.

[17] Home Office: Settlers and Convicts, New South Wales and Tasmania, Publication: HO 10; Piece: 37, (The National Archives of the UK (TNA), Kew, Surrey, England).

[18] New South Wales Government, Main Series of Letters Received, 1788–1825, Series: NRS 897, Reels: 6041–6064, 6071–6072, (State Records Authority of New South Wales. Kingswood, New South Wales, Australia).

[19] New South Wales Government, Special Bundles, 1794–1825, Series: NRS 898; Reels 6020–6040, 6070; Fiche: 3260–3312, (State Records Authority of New South Wales, Kingswood, New South Wales, Australia); John Thomas Campbell, “Public Notice. Secretary’s Office, 9^th June, 1810,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 16 June 1810, p. 1.

[20] “Baptism of JOHN COSGROVE, son of WILLM COSGROVE and MARY YORK, born 3 March 1810 and christened 23 December 1810,” Parish Baptism Registers, Textual Records, St. John’s Anglican Church Parramatta, New South Wales, Australia.

[21] New South Wales Government, Special Bundles, 1794–1825, Series: NRS 898; Reels 6020–6040, 6070; Fiche: 3260–3312, (State Records Authority of New South Wales, Kingswood, New South Wales, Australia).

[22] “MARY COSGROVE: FHL Film Number: 1363870,” Australia, Births and Baptisms, 1792–1981, (Salt Lake City, Utah: FamilySearch, 2013);“Baptism of MARY COSGROVE, Daughter of WILLIAM COSGROVE and MARY YORK, born 20 March 1812 and christened 17 January 1813,” Parish Baptism Registers, Textual Records, St. John’s Anglican Church Parramatta, New South Wales, Australia.

[23] Michaela Ann Cameron, “Benjamin Ratty: Convict Constable,” St. John’s Online, (2019), https://stjohnsonline.org/bio/benjamin-ratty/, accessed 27 April 2020.

[24] John Hirst, Freedom on the Fatal Shore, (Melbourne: Black Inc., 2018), p. 393.

[25] The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 27 December 1817, p.1

[26] “Impounded at the South Creek,”The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 14 December 1816, p. 2; “Impounded at the South Creek,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Thursday 12 December 1811, p. 2; “Impounded at the South Creek,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 4 October 1817, p. 4.

[27] “Court of Criminal Jurisdiction,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 10 April 1819, p. 2.

[28] Home Office: Settlers and Convicts, New South Wales and Tasmania, Publication: HO 10, Piece: 1/1, (The National Archives of the UK (TNA), Kew, Surrey, England); “TIMOTHY BUCKLEY,” in Peter Mayberry, Irish Convicts to New South Wales, 1788–1849, (2011), http://members.pcug.org.au/~ppmay/cgi-bin/irish/irish.cgi?requestType=Search2&id=2141, accessed 24 May 2020.

[29] “Court of Criminal Jurisdiction,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 10 April 1819, p. 2.

[30] Grace Karskens, The Colony: A History of Early Sydney, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010), p. 300.

[31] Grace Karskens, The Colony: A History of Early Sydney, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010), p. 302.

[32] E. J. Hobsbawm, Bandits, (New York: Pantheon Books, 1981).

[33] Graham Seal, The Outlaw Legend:  A Cultural Tradition in Britain, America and Australia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Stephen Gaunsen, The Ned Kelly Films: A Cultural History of Kelly History, (Bristol: Intellect, 2013), pp. 41–56; Andrew James Couzens, A Cultural History of the Bushranger Legend in Theatres and Cinemas, 1828–2017, (London: Anthem Press, 2019), pp. 1–18.

[34] Pat O’Malley, ‘Class Conflict, Land and Social Banditry: Bushranging in Nineteenth Century Australia’, Social Problems 26, no. 3 (Feb 1979), pp.271-283.

[35] Andrew James Couzens, A Cultural History of the Bushranger Legend in Theatres and Cinemas, 1828–2017, (London: Anthem Press, 2019), p.5.

[36] Grace Karskens, The Colony: A History of Early Sydney, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010), p. 304.

[37] Grace Karskens, The Colony: A History of Early Sydney, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010), pp. 304–5.

[38] Paula Byrne, Criminal Law and Colonial Subject, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 135.

[39] Paula Byrne, Criminal Law and Colonial Subject, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 135.

[40] “Court of Criminal Jurisdiction,” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 – 1842), Saturday 10 April 1819, p. 2.

© Copyright 2020 James Findlay and Michaela Ann Cameron for St. John’s Online