Thomas Langham 'a very guilty boy'

  

On the 29^th March, 1863 Thomas Langham and Thomas Charles Robson stole two horses (a gelding and a mare), plus two saddles and two bridles from James Brown of London Street, Dunedin. They rode these horses to the Dunstan and stayed with a Mrs McGuire. They said that their horses had run away and left the saddles and bridles with the McGuire’s. Robson later returned and picked up the more expensive saddle and bridle, saying that Langham’s horse had been found. The pair went to Moke Creek and sold the bridle and saddle and another (stolen?) horse to Robson’s father. Mr Robson paid some money to Langham as his son owed him money for a gold claim.

Thomas, who gave the name of Frederick Smith, was arrested on a steamer bound for Melbourne. He said he was returning home to his family.

The court case, for horse stealing, took place on 10^th June. Both ‘lads’ blamed the other and Langham’s lawyer said he could not be charged with horse stealing as the horse sold did not belong to Brown. Only when they were charged were the ages of the pair revealed, Robson was 16 and Langham 15. Along with being given a sentence of one month’s hard labour they were to be privately whipped. Robson was also sentenced to 5 months for several larcenies he had committed.

One of the concerns of judges sentencing young lads was that they would be corrupted while in prison. Although it was almost impossible to achieve, the Gaoler endeavored to keep the young men separated from the rest of the inmates.

Robson was released in December 1863. On the 10^th February 1864 the pair robbed Julius Heyne, near Oamaru. They assaulted him and stole several items including money and jewellery. They threatened him with pistols on the road, so the charge was highway robbery. Both pled guilty. The Otago Police Gazette called Julius a hawker and stated that he was leaving Schulter’s Accommodation House (Pukeuri) and was going towards the Waikato River (this should read Waitaki). Heyne had his hands tied with flax and one of his packs was tied to his legs so he could not escape.

The Judge spoke first to Robson saying he had been given a light sentence before due to his youth, but he was ‘a very bad boy’. Before he was ‘silly’ in his actions, but now he was ‘dangerous’. He could be transported [New Zealand was the last country to send criminals to Tasmania] or sentenced to penal servitude for life, but instead the judge passed a sentence of 6 years penal servitude.

Langham, who now was said to be 17, was assumed to have been led astray by Robson. The Judge thought him ‘a very guilty boy’ and ‘very foolish’. He was sentenced to 4 years penal servitude.

On the 24th August 1866 both ‘ruffians’ escaped. In the newspaper report detailing the escape their criminal career was recounted and said both had been unwell. Langham was said to be suffering from palpitations of the heart, so he was on light duties. Robson, who had been working for a blacksmith until he stole his watch, was being trained as a blacksmith and was working on Bell Hill as such. He too has been declared unwell and had been working in the carpenter’s shop within the prison and undertook small jobs there.

The newspaper stressed that they had been kept apart from the old prisoners as much as possible but that they associated with each other often. The report went on the say that since work on Bell Hill commenced (and most of prisoners were out) only one warden was on duty and he was stationed near the debtor’s wing. He was unarmed as no criminals should have been about.

Robson had been sent to the sergeant’s rooms to repair something, and Langham was also there cleaning. Robson asked Warden Birt to inspect the work he had done on the chimney and as he was looking, Robson hit him on the head with a heavy mallet. Robson continued hitting Birt until he dropped. Robson stole the keys and Langham found two pistols, fully loaded. Although they had the keys and could have unlocked the front gate, they decided to scale the buildings, threatening debtors and fellow prisoners alike. George Henry a West Indian, [sentenced to two years for bestiality], who was acting as cook, tried to subdue Robson, but he too was threatened. Some Debtors came out to see what the commotion was, while others hid.

The pair got to Cumberland Street and started running. The prisoners and wardens from Bell Hill were recalled and the chase was on. The pair made it to the Town Belt and managed to evade their hunters. Both Robson and Langham were wearing clothes marked with the Broad Arrow (it was assumed they would rob some lonely house to get new clothes). Langham was described as 5 foot 4 and stout, brown hair grey eyes and spoke with a noticeable impediment.

The following morning, they were spotted rowing a boat across the harbour and were found in a brick works in Andersons Bay. A warden was wounded in the fiery exchange and after a second volley Langham was found in a ditch dead – shot through the neck. Justifiable homicide was the verdict of the inquest.

Thomas Langham is buried in Southern Cemetery, and it was recorded he was a native of Hobart and had been in New Zealand for four years.

Robson received three years hard labour for shooting with intent. He became a storekeeper. t appears that he may have become a storekeeper. Apart from a charge of sly grogging in 1875, for which he received 2 months he did not appear before the Court again.

 

 

Julius Heyne

He was born in Friedrichstadt Germany in 1835. When he was 18, he went to America. Four years after he came to New Zealand. His 1911 obituary does not mention that he was a hawker, but instead says he started a draper’s business on the West Coast. Certainly, he was listed as being a storekeeper there in Hokitika in 1869. It was said that he had customers throughout the goldfield there and in Otago. When he retired, he moved to Amberley, North Canterbury. Electoral rolls list him as a miner., although he also called himself a dealer. He was involved in several groups in the area, including the Caledonian Society offering prizes for races, including in 1882 an opera glass for a race for unmarried women over 16. He is buried in Balcairn Cemetery. He was naturalised in 1881.

Charles Gibson a early inmate of Dunedin’s first gaol.

 

Charles Gibson was a very early inmate of the first gaol in Dunedin. Previously Dunedin’s wrong doers were held in a tent borrowed from a local lawyer or chained to lamp posts.

Little is known about him. He was first mentioned as arriving at 5pm on the 6^th September 1851 being drunk and disorderly. Monson, the gaoler, states that he was a young man of a weak mind and very stubborn will. There is no mention of how long a sentence he received. Often the sentence was 24 hours, or at least until the person had sobered up.

The next mention is 30 January 1852 where he was brought in after stealing sundry articles of clothing from an unnamed French man. He was sentenced to six months hard labour. The following day fellow inmates accused him of masturbation in his cell and although he denied the charge he was put on bread and water for three days and threatened with a flogging if he did it again. Monson said he was sullen and very disobedient during this time.

On the 16^th April he was involved in a scuffle with one of the police on duty. He was placed in the dark cell as punishment.

16^th June he was accused of stealing money from one of the policemen. Monson who expanded his description to still being of weak mind but now ‘very treacherous and unscrupulous to the highest degree’, tried to force a confession out of him by locking him in his cell for 18 hours, to no avail. The money was found in a flax bush, and it was assumed that Charles hid it for when he was allowed out to work.

Hard labour was usually undertaken outside the prison, as it was very small and there was little that the inmates could do inside the walls. Most of the men sentenced to hard labour were tasked with working on roads (forming or cleaning) cutting firewood for the gaol or the hospital or other public works. Gibson however, perhaps given his ‘weak mind’ had been used by the police as a servant. He cleaned their shoes and clothes, tidied their rooms and even cooked for them. He also cleaned the rooms of government officials. Gibson was also tasked with cleaning the courthouse for church services (it was given to the Anglican and methodists for Sunday services). he was, therefore, possibly outside of the prison more than other inmates.

After yet another run in with Corporal McKain, from whom he had stolen money, Gibson refused to do anymore tasks, stating he was ill used by the police. He was becoming quite a handful.

He also was costing Monson money. In this early period funding for items such as tools for the prisoners to use, items for the building (such as hinges for the doors) and clothes for the prisoners was hard to obtain and often Monson had to pay for these items himself and hope (sometimes in vain) that he would be reimbursed. Gibson entered gaol with only one pair of trousers and during the time he was in prison Monson had to supply him with 5 shirts (one was brand new) a coat, a blue shirt and shoes (and one assumes more trousers). Other hard labour men often could not go outside to work as their clothes had fallen apart, so although Gibson wasn’t given any special treatment as he was one of the longer sentenced men, he required more clothes than normal.

 

Charles Gibson does not reappear in Monson’s records after his release. What happened to him? Did he remain in Dunedin, or maybe he found a job outside of town. When did he arrive and from where? Did he come alone or was he part of a family?

Another question is how ‘weak minded' was he really? The people administering the selection of immigrants to Otago would be unlikely to accept someone who was unable to be a useful member of society, so one assumes that if he did come as a single man he really wasn’t as impaired as Monson insists.

We may never really know Charles Gibson. The details we do have come from the diary of Henry Monson, held by the Hocken Collections, Dunedin (and forms the content of Elsie Locke’s book ‘The Gaoler’). Monson does not record, details such as age, place of birth or occupation, which are recorded in later police gazettes, so its impossible to find him in other records.  

The newspaper of the time, the Otago Witness is also mute on court proceedings and sentencing, so Charles’ background and remaining life remains a mystery.

Interesting item from papers past

 

This interesting item was found in the Otago Witness 17 March 1898.  It was reprinted from Otago's VERY FIRST newspaper, the Otago News and was the first editorial of that 'paper dated 13 December 1848.  

Update on Mary Hall

Mary indeed was plucky and strong. In an age when even a minor injury could cause infection and death, she lived a long life. She married John Beckett in 1884 in Winton. The couple adopted three children. She owned her own business - a millinery shop in Invercargill. It is possible that John ended his days in Seacliff Lunatic asylum, (yet to be confirmed). She died in 1938 and is buried in the Jewish section of the Invercargill cemetery. What a battler!

 

The plucky Mary Hall

Mary Hall was 15 when she and her family left Oxfordshire and boarded the Scimitar, bound for Port Chalmers, Otago. The family arrived in March 1874 and quickly moved to Invercargill, where Mary gained employment as a domestic at the Harp of Erin Hotel, Dee Street.

One of the seamen on board the ship was John Brennan, aka Roach, from London. He was 45 and left the ship, taking on a job as cook in the same hotel for a while. He had intended to leave the region and left to board the City of Dublin. Something made him change his mind and he returned and became a lodger at the hotel.

John had been in the Royal Navy as an ordinary seaman and served on at least three ships. However, he was also recorded as being imprisoned in the Naval Prison as well as two other prisons and the Wandsworth House of Correction. I have yet to locate any prison records for him to uncover his activities before coming to New Zealand.

Certainly, drink was a problem for him. Only a few days after the ship arrived in Port Chalmers he was arrested for drunkenness. His ‘defence’ was that he must have been drunk as he awoke to find all his money had gone.

On the 15^th June, he attacked Mary with a Tomahawk, hitting her twice on the head.  The reason for the attack was never clearly explained. Speculation from newspapers was rife and Brennan himself gave several conflicting accounts.

An early reason he gave was that she would not give him a drink (he was reported as saying a sixpence would have saved her life). Mrs Anne Connell, the housekeeper, recalled that she overheard Mary saying, ‘Mind your own business’ when she was serving in the dining room, to which Brennan replied, ‘I’d think no more of cutting your throat than a young suckling pig’s’.

Mary herself stated that she herself was unaware of why he attacked her. She had gone to the theatre with him once, but that she had not encouraged anything. Brennan had attempted to take liberties with her which she refused.

 

Whatever the cause he followed Mary into the kitchen and hit her while her back was turned and then calmly walked out into the dining room and announced he had killed her. He told Ann Connell to look after her as his life depended on Mary. He told others to go for the police ad he would wait. Did he attack her in a fit of madness or passion and then regret it immediately afterwards??  It seems likely. When the landlord Mr McCarthy and another man entered the kitchen and lifted a lifeless Mary up, Brennan hugged and kissed her

Mary was attended to by doctors and her parents sent for. Her recovery was thought unlikely. While Southland newspapers only mentioned the seriousness of the wounds, The Lake County Press explained graphically that her brains were protruding for the holes in her head.

However, plucky Mary did recover and after 8 days on lying unconscious awoke and gave evidence. Unbelievably Brennan was present at her bedside to hear her evidence (this was common practice at the time) and after Mary said she forgave him, she was quoted as saying,  ‘God Bless you’.

After he was arrested Mary’s father came to visit him, to understand why he had committed the crime, he said he wanted a drink and she refused, but also, he had wanted to do her good but she has stopped speaking to him for a few weeks. ‘I loved the girl better than my life and I must have been mad at the time’.

 

Mary was still hovering between life and death. Pieces of her brain continued to come away for a number of days and she was paralysed down the left side. For many weeks she was unbale to see or hear and could barely swallow and suffered a number of convulsions.  Slowly, however she began to regain her facilities, even being able to move around her room and speak distinctly. After being paralysed she later felt acute pain in her legs and head (not surprisingly). By December, however she was well enough to attend the supreme court hearing and give evidence.

 

We hear nothing more of Mary and hope that she did indeed make as full a recovery as she could after the horrific physical and emotional attack. Her family remained in the area, so perhaps someone knows what happened to her..

Brennan’s story is more easily uncovered. The case was straightforward, he did not deny attacking her. In his summing up the Judge said: ‘Never in the course of my legal experience have I met with a more cruel, barbarous or revolting crime. To have done to a cat or dog what you have done to a helpless girls would have been the mark of a cruel and depraved mind’. He assumed that Brennan, a heavy drinker had had his mind been disordered and corrupted by alcohol. However, his actions could not be excused, and he was sentenced to life in prison

Brennan was sent to Dunedin prison soon after his sentencing and began working on Bell Hill. On 2 September 1879 his life sentenced ended when he died from inflammation of the left lung. Some early reports suggested he died of heart issues and certainly in the 1883 inquiry into the Dunedin prison, one prison, Charles Coleman said that Brennan had been sent out to work when he was unfit and died three days later.

Brennan is buried in Dunedin’s Northern Cemetery

The Garroting panic of 1862

The Garrotting panic of 1862

While some people may have heard of the term 'Garrote', what does it really mean?

Many may believe that it was a simply a method of murder. Television and popular culture tell us that a physical instrument, such a rope (or in gangster movies, piano wire) is employed to strangle and thereby kill the victim. It did not always end in death, however.

Garrotting originated in Spain, which explains the exotic sounding name, and was used as a method of torture as well as execution. Before industrialization made metal straightforward to procure, rope or some other cordage was used. To provide better traction, a wooden rod was used to increase the pressure and to reduce the incidence of slippage. It is the wooden rod that was the actual garrot, but the term quickly became applied to the process. As a method of torture, the garrote could be applied to any limb as well as the neck.

An upsurge in its publicity occurred in 1851 when the Spanish used it to execute a Cuban leader Narciso López who led a failed rebellion against their rule. This was international news.  ‘Simple’ executions using this method been used previously to despatch murders was often reported by overseas reporters. In 1832, for example an eyewitness of one such execution in Madrid made by a former reporter of the English newspaper, the Morning Herald was widely reprinted in Australian newspapers. In his account the writer commented that he hoped the English would follow suit, calling garrotting ‘more decent and less cruel than hanging’ [1]

Garrotting was used to half strangle the victim, rendering them if not unconscious at least senseless. It was made a viable option for criminals in England when people, including women, began to arm themselves as a defence against any form of assault.  Although more affluent men were accustomed to carry swords, developments in the gun making industry made handguns not only cheaper but more compact (women often carried their handguns in their muffs or occasionally their hats).

However, garrotting was not the only option. Similar forms of assault included hitting the victim on the head with a handkerchief with a stone in it. This evidence was much easier to dispose of (everyone had a hanky, and a stone could be thrown away easily) but achieved the same result. 

What made the news and caused concern was the foreignness and novelty of the garrote. That fact that people were being attacked and robbed was nothing new and certainly not news.

The London panic

In 1856, and later during 1862-3, London was consumed by a garrotting panic. Physical assaults associated with robbery did increase during these outbreaks, but certainly not in the numbers that were stated by newspapers. The Garrotting panic has many similarities with social media manipulation of today.  It saw the press create hysteria in the exaggeration of numbers of attacks and provided graphic details of the assaults. It converted a few instances into a widespread, uncontrollable threat. Word of mouth soon spread the fever of fear throughout the country and was fully reported overseas.

The panic resulted in a blame game, where the public condemned the police force for not acting quickly and claimed sentences were too short and life in prison too soft.  A section of the population was singled out as being responsible for the attacks. Unlike modern situations it wasn’t a race that was being slandered but a type of people, in this circumstance it was convicts.

In the 1850s transportation to Australia began to slow and then stop.  New South Wales, the first colony of convicts, stopped accepting convicts in 1850 and Tasmania (Van Diemen’s Land) in 1853. Western Australia did accept a limited number of convicts up until 1868, but by then the process of sending men and women to Australia had become unacceptable in England and unwelcome in Australia. 

England therefore was faced with not only an increase in criminals who were apparently unafraid of sentences and life in English prisons and, more frightening (at least if one listened to the press), an influx of former convicts (ex Australia) returning home hardened, desperate and frightened of nothing.

However, the number of convicts returning home is thought to be rather small. The freedom to leave Australia legally required a full pardon, which few men bothered to apply for. Conditional pardons, or ticket of leaves prohibited them to leave the area in which they had been convicted without written permission. Not only that they would have had to pay their own fare back. This was expensive and many convict settlers realised that their chances to rehabilitate (if that were their choice) were much better in a land that had better employment chances, easier access to land and, in many cases, less prejudice against them as past offenders.

So, the 1851 outrages were small in number and possibly not carried out by ex convicts at all. Tougher sentencing did occur after this spate and the panic died down, as such things do.

In 1862 a member of the English Government (James Pilkington) was garrotted and the scare started again, this time more intensely. Panic and fear spread like a contagion and the public reacted by less mobility after dark, and even wearing anti garrotting clothing (such as studded collars).  As occurred in the earlier scare, people demanded tougher sentencing and stricter conditions in prison. Sentences were increased. While penal administration had been moving towards a more pro rehabilitation stance now punishment and deterrent returned to being in vogue. Prisoners were forced into longer periods of solitary , given more reduced diets and forced to ‘hard labour’, which took the form of monotonous, unproductive tasks such as the crank and treadwheel.

It was an anxious time and dominated the minds of many, for a time. Eventually, as most things do, the press moved on to another topic and the garrotting scare subsided naturally. However, given that the English activities were covered fully in the colonies it is not surprising perhaps that interest and perhaps a little concern migrated to Australia and New Zealand.

Australian attacks

It is interesting that although Australia’s convicts had been blamed in England, no such accusations seem to have been made in their local papers. Also, when attacks did occur there was reference to the English incidences, but no real panic ensued. There had been similar attacks before 1856 in Australia. One of the earliest attacks recorded in newspapers was in 1854 in Hobart[2].

Here in New Zealand

New Zealand of course, given its connection to both countries, was unlikely to remain immune from these attacks. There was interest in the activities. In 1863 the Daily Southern Cross [3] (an Auckland newspaper) reported that ‘garrotting is openly practiced in the streets’ of London. Nelson’s Colonist stated that two cases of garrotting had recently occurred in Melbourne.[4] However, by August 1863 local newspapers, such as the Southland Times[5] were claiming the panic was over and that it was all ‘highly exaggerated.’ 

New Zealand did have incidences of garrotting of course, but there was no widespread panic that occurred when it happened elsewhere. While the first case called garrotting was possibly in Otuhuhu [6] late in 1863 there was an even earlier incident which although a very clear case was not described as such.

In March 1862 the Otago Daily Times recorded the Gallant capture of a gang of five desperadoes. [7] A tent at the junction of Garbriels [Gully] and Weatherstones was the scene of the attack. Two men were inside and one, a Mr Livesey, went out and was promptly garrotted, thrown down and generally attacked and robbed by three men. When the men were arrested, they were charged with highway robbery and stealing from the person. For those romantically envisaging a dashing Dick Turpin on his trusty stead when they hear term ‘highway robbery’ may be disappointed to hear that it merely means a robbery, not necessarily armed, on a public thoroughfare.

The arrest of the gang, which numbered five was quite a drama, perhaps that is why the incidence of garrotting was overlooked by the press. The Police had suspicions of who may have committed the crime and sought them out. This may sound rather unlikely considering the number of people, often mobile, living in the area at the time. While a rather sleepy area now, in the 1860s it was seething with humanity given the number of gold fields in the area.  A question may be asked how a few policemen stationed in this isolated area could be aware of a small group of men in a sea of many.

This is easily, but nevertheless extraordinarily, explained by the tremendous communication networks operating in police circles, not just locally and nationally, but internationally. Victoria and Otago had a very close relationship when it came to policing. Both areas had experienced a massive influx of people due to gold strikes and with it a dramatic increase in crime. When Otago, only founded in 1848, became aware that they would soon follow down the path trod beforehand by Victoria, they approached them for advice and assistance.

The first constabulary, which was originally dedicated to patrol the goldfields was established by St John Branigan, late of the Victorian Police. He brought with him a few handpicked constables and established the first professional police force in Otago. The Provincial Government also introduced a police gazette for Otago, based on a similar publication in Victoria. This Gazette, among reporting missing horses and stolen goods, listed convictions and the whereabouts of past convicted men. As many men travelled from the Victorian goldfields to those of Otago, it was an ingenious way to keep track of possibly active criminals. To ensure police officers were keen to keep their eyes peeled, the possibility of a reward for apprehending criminals was offered.

These men had all served time in Victorian prisons, some were convicted from England, so they were well known in Victoria and quickly marked in Otago. The arrest was reported in detail and published in several Victorian newspapers.

Three police officers approached the tent, and the five men scattered. Two men were arrested almost immediately, although one did attempt to attack Constable Johnson with a pick but was knocked down by Sergeant Major Bracken who was described in the newspaper as an extremely powerful man. Once these two were secured at the police camp, Bracken mounted his horse and apprehended another.

The second officer, Sergeant Trimbill, chased the remaining two on foot, he was armed and fired on the men after he told them to stop. They returned fire. He returned to camp, mounted and was joined by hundreds of miners in the search. The following day Bracken joined the search and was informed where the two could be hiding. The area, near Waipori,  is very hilly and Bracken crawled down the hill to the hidden tent, cut it open and pointed his revolver at the two sleeping men, warning them he would ‘blow their brains out’ if they moved.

Cheers greeted the police when they brought the remaining men in to face their fate at the hands of the Dunedin court. Bracken was awarded £10 for the arrest, and the two other officers received £5 each.

The five men were John Russell (aka Spratty), John Davies, Joseph Sullivan, Thomas Hannah (aka Kelly, aka Noon) and Richard Hill (aka Burgess). If readers feel some of these names are familiar Sullivan, Kelly and Burgess were part of the Burgess gang who became infamous as the Maungatapu Murderers.

An interesting, if perhaps fatal, coincidence in connection to these two crimes was that originally the gang intended to rob the bank at Hokitika, however on arriving in the town the gang, who split up to avoid suspicion discovered, to their astonishment, that both Bracken and Trimbill had left the force and both had become landlords of hotels. They therefore decided to travel to Nelson where their, and their victims, fate was sealed.

Thus, a very early, if not the first garroting case in New Zealand has been overlooked as a small, almost irrelevant aspect of a story that was a vital episode in a much larger story that ended in the hanging (a very English means of execution) of two of the men.

 

 

 

 

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[1]  “British Extracts”. Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, August 13,1833. https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/2213377?

[2] “Hobart Town Supreme Court”. People’s Advocate and New South Wales Vindicator. January 7, 1854. https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/251541515/27926933.

[3]Daily Southern Cross. February 27, 1863. https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/DSC18630227.2.11.

[4] Colonist. April 10, 1863. https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/TC18630410.2.6.

[5] “The Garotting Panic”. Southland Times. August, 4, 1863. https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/ST18630804.2.13.

[6] Daily Southern Cross. October 29, 1863. https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/DSC18631029.2.12

[7] “Gallant Capture of a Gang of Five Desperadoes”. Otago Daily Times. March 13, 1862. https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/ODT18620313.2.15.

 

 

 

 

 

The sad case of AH SOW

The gold strikes attracted many people to Otago. They came from all parts of the globe. Some came directly from their homelands, while others had come from other strikes, especially Australia.

One of the nationalities that came in number were the Chinese. They often worked in groups, comprised of family members or people from the same village. Hardworking and full of perseverance, the Chinese were often the subject of racial hatred, often because they would work areas that had been abandoned by Europeans and would find gold. The case we are looking at today is from the 1880s – a long time after the heydays of the goldfields (the 1860s) indicating that this group was indeed one the determined few who continued to search for gold while many others had given up

Due to misunderstanding or mishearing their names, researching these people is sometimes difficult. There are several Ah Sow’s in the province at the time.

This Ah Sow, however, leaves us with a sad story, made perhaps even sadder as I cannot uncover what happened to him.  

12 February 1886. The Dunstan Times records that a party of five Chinamen, working at Kyeburn, were robbed. The party were washing up (the extracted gold) and the group took it in turns to watch the claim at night. On the night of the 24^th January Ah Sow was on guard, and he went to sleep.  It was suggested that he had been drugged, although there is no mention by the newspapers as to how. £80 was stolen.

Six days earlier, on the 6 February, The Mount Ida Chronicle noted that Ah Sow had been committed to the Seacliff Lunatic Asylum [near Dunedin] as being a ‘dangerous Lunatic’ by the Resident Magistrate in Naseby   

Ah Sow was admitted on the 10 February. His case notes state that he rolls about in his cell. He took his shirt off and put it his bucket [chamber pot]. He appears vacant and uninterested and doesn’t answer all the questions put to him by the interpreter.

One day he was recorded as covering himself with his own excrement. He believes people are trying to poison him.

He is violent, causing an uproar by shouting and banging his head against the floor. He also refuses food. He was listed as being both suicidal and potential violent to others.

He was discharged 11 March, supposedly ‘relieved’. What happened to him I wonder. Did he return to his friends and continue to mine for gold? Did he receive care and support from his nephew? We may never know.

 

Who was he? According to the committal papers, he was 43, married (but as there were very few Chinese women in the country, we must assume his wife was still in China) and his religion was stated to be Confucian. He had a nephew listed as next of kin, Shin Tye.