Crammed in like cattle on a diat of biscuits and water.
Straight out of Newgate like lambs being led to slaughter.
Sentenced to deportation for stealing a loaf of bread, but
trufully they would have been off dead.
If the sea did not get them the the journey would, but they
only stole for their livelyhood.
Sea sickness, fever and on rolled the waves, in a great wide
ocean and to some it became their graves. Not one of them knowing
what the journey would unfold, but these were child convicts and
they had to do what they were told.
This a journey that took months if not a year, and in all that time
living in constant fear. The fear of being birched and left with
marks and at the end of it all, was the question of sharks.
Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, just constanly sick as the
ship rolled from side to side. Waves so high almost touching
the sky, and what came next; just do or die.
The Mother Land seemed so far way, but with hope in their hearts
they would return someday.
A far distant shore and a convict branded, but that never bothered
the few that had landed.
A strange land, a baron land and no one there to lend a hand.
They done the crime so they had to do their time, from six in the
morning untill way past nine.
Treated like slaves on a far distant shore, Im'e sure God forgave
them for breaking the law.
sylvia spencer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-convict-branded/
