Rum: A Distilled History of Colonial Australia

By Matt Murphy

Australia and its formation - through the distorted view of a rum bottle.

Could the Rum Rebellion have been averted if Major Johnston wasn't hungover?

Would the Eureka Stockade have been different if the rebels weren't pissed?

How were prisoners to get drunk if Macquarie closed the only pub in the gaol?

And why should sailors under fourteen be deprived of their sixteen shots of rum per day?

These are just some of the questions raised in Matt Murphy's account of Australia's colonial history. Brimming with detailed research and irreverent character sketches, Rum looks at not just how much was drunk in colonial Australia (a lot!), but also the lengths people went to get their hands on it, the futile efforts of the early governors to control it, and the often disastrous and/or absurd consequences of its consumption.

Those consequences aren't just in our past. Murphy goes beyond foundation stories to look at the legacy our love affair with alcohol has created, from binge drinking to lockout laws and from prohibition to urinating on the parliamentary carpet.

So here's to Rum, for making bad decisions look like a good idea at the time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781460713044

Matt Murphy

At school, Matt Murphy failed English and couldn't see the point of history. He became a firie and has been serving in Sydney's inner city for 33 years. He is now also a part time historian and teacher, tolerating the attitudes of kids towards history that he used to share. His previous book, Weight of Evidence, is about what was the longest civil court case in New South Wales. Matt's younger self would be aghast that he is now writing history books but be consoled by the absurdist voice old Matt has achieved. Matt also can't believe he has to write his own bio.

Book preview

Prologue

When distilling rum it is normal to sift the nasty elements and scum from the surface as they appear. In order to keep the rest pure, the top 5 per cent of the liquid, known as the heads, should also be discarded as it contains methanol, which can be lethal if ingested. For the same reason it is also safest to let the most potent vapours that rise to the top of the still escape into the atmosphere. These nasties not only adversely affect the spirit’s taste, they also make the rum more volatile if they remain.

The crude and unpalatable nature of the spirits in colonial Australia is similar to how the European settlement of Australia was established. Rather than being skimmed off the pure essence, or being allowed to harmlessly vaporise and escape, many harmful characters were, instead of being separated from the rest of the brew, actively stirred back in.

*

This book is full of distractions, digressions and at least six instances of people without their pants on, but it is ultimately the story of rum and the extent to which it infused, impacted and influenced every aspect of colonial Australian society.

PART A

Pre-1788

‘The hardiness of some of the insects deserves to be mentioned. A beetle was immersed in proof spirits for four hours, and when taken out crawled away almost immediately. It was a second time immersed, and continued in a glass of rum for a day and a night, at the expiration of which time it still showed symptoms of life.’

– Watkin Tench, 1788

The five stages of inebriation – Stage one

The Word

Where did the word ‘rum’ come from, and what does it mean?

There are about as many contenders for the origin of the word as there are etymologists with theories. The French spelling of rhum has led some to consider that the word derived from the Greek word rheum, meaning flow. Other theorists point to words like ‘aroma’ or ‘saccharum’, the latter being the genus of plants to which sugar cane belongs, or the Sanskrit roma, which means water.

Most researchers, however, favour an article published by Trinity College in Dublin in 1651 titled ‘Description of Barbados’, which notes the chief alcoholic drink they made on the island was a ‘hot, hellish, and terrible liquor’ known by its locals as ‘rumbullion’. Another article only a decade later about the nearby Dutch colony of Surinam refers to a spirit derived from sugar cane known simply as ‘rum’. But all may not be as simple as it seems, as ‘rumbullion’ is also a Devonshire word meaning ‘great tumult’, and it is understood that there were settlers from Devonshire in Barbados at that time who possibly witnessed the great tumult that drinking the fiery liquid created.

Associated Devonshire words from that era include ‘berummaged’, which means confused; ‘rumgumption’, which means courage and confidence; ‘rumbustious’, meaning boisterous; ‘rambunctious’, meaning difficult to control; and the simple word ‘rumble’. There is no direct evidence that these words derive from ‘rum’, but researchers are keen to point out that all these words evolved shortly after the rise in popularity of the spirit in England and by no coincidence describe the effects of excess consumption.

The most famous slang term for rum is ‘Nelson’s Blood’. The story goes that when Nelson was killed at Trafalgar in October 1805, his body was kept in a cask of rum to preserve it. As the body was being returned to London, thirsty sailors tapped the cask to drink from the liquid supporting the corpse.

The Origins

Evolutionary scientists have pointed to New Guinea as the original home of the Saccharum officinarum plant, known commonly as sugar cane. From there it travelled along trade routes through Indonesia, reaching mainland Asia by about 400 BC. It is believed it was the Indians who first squeezed the cane to get juice, which they called sidhu or gaudi, in about 320 BC. From there it made its way to Persia and the Middle East, and was renamed sukkar. It then made its way across north Africa and into Spain when the Moors invaded in 711. There the cultivation of the plant intensified, with more than 75,000 acres dedicated to growing sugar cane.

After Columbus bumped into the West Indies while searching for the East Indies in 1493, a voyage financed by the Spanish royal family included 1500 passengers eager to seek their fortune in the New World. Sugar cane was planted in Puerto Rico in 1508, and by 1520 throughout the West Indies as well as mainland South America and Mexico. By 1516, the New World was exporting sugar back to Spain. But still, no one was distilling it.

With only a small proportion of the raw material becoming crystallised sugar, the amount of waste, particularly when production was stepped up, became unmanageable. Surely the thick syrup that accumulated in the bottom of the boiling vats had a better use than feeding it to cattle or slaves?

The poor slaves were being forced to eat the stuff, sometimes after it had been left to ferment in the hot Caribbean sun. It was they who first realised the by-product’s potential. By the mid-17th century, the dregs, known in Spanish as melasses, began earning a lot more respect.

*

In 17th-century Europe, the art of distilling wine was practised by alchemists for medicinal purposes. Wine was not distilled for pleasure, but rather because it was believed drinking it would retain youthfulness and prolong one’s life. It was very costly and considered the preserve of sovereigns. It was in France that the practice of distilling eau-de-vie, pure alcohol, was first introduced for the masses by vinegar-makers.

It didn’t take long for the penny to drop. Suddenly, colonising lands with warmer climates became very popular. The Spanish, French, English, Danish, Portuguese and Dutch all developed sugar plantations in the West Indies or adjacent American mainland.

A crucial turning point came in 1688, with the succession of Dutchman William III to the English throne. He encouraged adding juniper berries to the surplus grain stocks to make what was called ‘jenever’. The British contracted it to ‘gin’ and the spirit soon became the speediest escape route for London’s poor from their menial and difficult lives. It was not long before the spirit was being condemned as ‘the principal cause of all the vice & debauchery committed among the inferior sort of people’ in a way that the less intoxicating beers and wines did not. Within 50 years the British Parliament was passing Acts and increasing taxes on the retailing of gin in an attempt to curtail its production. In 1743, England was drinking ten litres of gin per person per year, but the taxes, licence fees and particularly the rising cost of grain meant that the so-called ‘gin craze’ was over by the 1760s.

Rum was easier and cheaper to produce once the crucial ingredient, sugar, was obtained. By the late 18th century, sugar was both cheap and abundant. In England, the consumption of rum rose from 200 gallons in 1698 to more than 2,000,000 gallons in 1771.

Rum had definitely arrived, though by the time of the First Fleet in 1788, the consumption of spirits in England was in decline and continued that way over the next 100 years, steadily being replaced by beer and porter. There were, however, two groups of people for whom hard drinking had not abated – the lower classes and the navy. Herein lies the predicament: modern Australia was founded by Britain’s lower classes and the navy.

What Shall We Do with the Drunken Sailor?

Naval vessels can spend many weeks away from port. Understandably, ensuring sufficient food and water for the crew was and is of utmost importance. Before refrigeration became commonplace, shipboard food generally consisted of salted meats stored in vats of brine; some flour that could be made into simple bread; sugar; perhaps some rice; and in later years some salted cabbage, or sauerkraut, which was fermented in barrels.

Finding a suitable drink would prove more difficult. Water was kept in wooden casks and would rapidly become slimy with algae and undrinkable, if it were not already foul in the first place. In the late 16th century, the navy often opted to supplement the water supplies with beer. Not only was it considered that crews at sea for long periods of time deserved something that was readily available to landlubbers,¹ but, because of its alcohol content, it also kept better than water. A standard beer ration in the English navy was one gallon a day, equal to about 4.5 litres, or 10 schooners, or 16 middies.²

The turning point came in Jamaica in 1655. With both beer and water depleted and the new wonder product of the West Indies in plentiful supply, Vice Admiral William Penn broke with navy tradition and issued rum to his fleet’s crew. It was an instant hit. Not only did the crew obviously enjoy it, the length of time it was kept did not adversely affect its taste or potency, unlike water or beer. By 1700 the ration of a gallon of beer was replaced on most ships by half a pint – or a quarter of a litre – of rum per day.³

A quarter of a litre of rum every day is a lot of rum. But it was even more when you consider how strong the drink was. Before the invention of the hydrometer in 1816, the only way to tell if rum was ‘proof’ was by adding a small amount of gunpowder to it then training a magnifying glass on the mix to focus the sun’s heat. To prove the rum was undiluted it had to ignite, but most sailors were not satisfied unless the mix exploded. Overproof rum has to have more than 54 per cent alcohol, but for the mix to explode it has to be closer to 85 percent. To put it another way, the daily ration was equivalent to about 16 standard drinks a day by current Australian standards.

For many crews this measure was just the lower limit. As addiction to rum took its toll, many sailors could be enticed to work harder or longer for a top-up of their daily hit. Events such as splicing the main brace, crossing the equator, the birthday of a royal or anniversaries of famous sea battles were all excuses for celebrating with an extra rum ration. Edward Teach, better known as Blackbeard, also used rum to maintain his crew’s ‘spirits’. He maintained that if he kept his crew intoxicated and addicted to rum they would remain subservient.

While sailors working in cooler climes, such as in the North Sea, found it warmed them up, crews working in the more temperate Mediterranean were far more prone to mishaps and drunken fights. Rum-soaked crews assigned to the stifling heat of the Caribbean often went completely mad.

Though it would have been clear to anyone involved with the navy that rum was having a deleterious effect on the crews, it wasn’t until 1740 that anyone did anything about it. That was when Vice Admiral Edward Vernon issued three orders to all ships in his charge, which swiftly followed across the entire navy. Firstly, the act of giving excess rum to encourage work was forbidden; secondly, the rum ration was to be added to a quarter gallon of water to prevent it being drunk so quickly; and thirdly, the ration was to be split into two servings, noon and sundown.

Vernon was known as ‘Old Grogram’ on account of the coarse woollen cloak he often wore that was made out of material known by that name. The new watered-down drink was named ‘grog’ in his honour. Later, some ships, and even fleets were called ‘Gorgon’, which were often crewed by incorrigible convicts. Saying the name backwards would explain why these vessels were unpopular.

The grog issue remained contentious, with many navy captains wanting the ration to be watered down further or in some instances altogether abolished. By the start of the 19th century, the evidence of a causal link between not only rum and drunkenness, but also between rum and crime or rum and injury was obvious to many, including within senior naval ranks. Meddling with the daily rum ration was courting trouble, but to turn a blind eye was also immoral.

In 1823 a deal was struck whereby the grog ration would be halved to a quarter of a pint,⁴ but the tea and cocoa ration was raised, and an extra two shillings a month be awarded in pay. The crews from the Thetis and Ganges were first to accept the deal and were summarily mocked by other crews for doing so, but with a slight rise in the meat ration the following year, the entire navy got on board.

Cunning and thirsty sailors still often smuggled rum on board, or the invited girls would bring it in. A neat trick was ‘bulling’, in which a rum cask that had been emptied was partially refilled with water and left for the rum to leach out of the wood into the water and become grog. Large quantities of wine were also on board, though ostensibly only for medicinal purposes. Feigning a malaise or showing a bruise was considered a sure way to get use of the exclusive wine cabinet and its restorative effects.

While the halving of the rum ration perhaps led to a halving of crime and misdemeanour, by the 1840s the Royal Navy still considered the amount of drunkenness among its ranks too high. In 1850, as happened in 1823, the rum ration was halved again (to an eighth of a pint, or four standard drinks) in return for extra pay, meat and sugar. Additionally, any sailor under 14 was to be refused grog entirely.

In 1907, and again in 1913, sailors could opt for additional pay instead of their grog ration. Both times about a quarter took the money.

By the 1960s the issuing of grog to sailors came under fire, particularly in response to drink-driving campaigns and the invention of the breathalyser. In response, the UK defence ministry issued this public statement to all seamen in October 1967:

Experimental tests under police supervision at HMS Caledonia showed that two petty officers and a leading seaman were unfit to drive after drinking their daily rum ration. Though the three were perfectly sober, a signal has gone out to all shore establishments warning ships’ companies to take care if they drive soon after taking their grog.

The issuing of rum to sailors was viewed by the general public as an outdated and even dangerous practice, particularly given that the reason why the ration existed, to make up for poor water supplies, had long been resolved. The last issue of grog to seamen in the Royal Navy was on 1 August 1970.

Indigenous Australia and Alcohol Pre-1788

Before the arrival of the First Fleet, Aboriginal people had access to alcohol, but understanding the dangers of overuse, they monitored and controlled its consumption in their communities. Also limiting any widespread use was the lack of any container suited to long-term storage and the seasonal availability of the necessary ingredients.

The main source of alcohol for the Eora clans of Sydney was the liquid drawn from the trunk of the corkwood tree (Duboisia myporoides). The potency of the liquid is demonstrated by the fact that it was also used to poison fish in small waterholes.

Aboriginal peoples from other parts of the continent also found alcohol in local plants: pandanus plants in Arnhem Land; nectar from bauhinia blossoms (a type of orchid) mixed with crushed ants in north Queensland; and fermented quandongs in the Murray River area. Mild alcohol was also drawn from coconuts and native honey. Some other concoctions were not alcoholic but did have mind- or mood-altering properties, much like kava from the Pacific islands.

The most potent of Indigenous alcohols is undoubtedly the sap from the Eucalyptus gunnii divaricata, a tree in Tasmania. In the 19th century the local stockmen referred to these trees as cider trees, although modern bush tucker experts believe they taste like Cointreau. Indigenous Australians for centuries rarely used the intoxicant on themselves but often set baits to get possums and kangaroos drunk and make them easier prey. Eucalyptus gunnii divaricata is now listed as a threatened subspecies, with less than 2000 trees believed to be growing on Tasmania’s central plateau.

Also noteworthy, though not alcoholic, is a plant called the pituri, which is found on the fringe of desert regions from Western Australia to Queensland. Its leaves have about four times the nicotine content of tobacco. Pituri was used as a social drug and also to keep hunger at bay. Mixed with ash and tree sap, it was often chewed or sometimes used in much the same way as a nicotine patch by being absorbed through the skin. Due to its potency it was only used by tribal elders, and samples of it found in coastal Victoria demonstrate how widely it was traded.

Another source of alcohol for Aboriginal Australians was Indonesia, with which they had been trading for many centuries before the arrival of Europeans. The Makassan people (from modern-day Makassar on the island of Sulawesi), who came in search of sea cucumbers and are known to have married Aboriginal women, also brought with them what is believed to be a crude form of gin as early as 1600.

But the Indonesians were not the only contact the original Australians had with the rest of the world. Before Captain Cook bumped into the east coast, it is estimated that more than 50 mainly Dutch vessels made landfall on the west and north coasts between 1600 and 1800 as they headed to the spices of Indonesia. Many Dutch journals report meetings with local tribes along the way, and as the Dutch had invented and exported gin around the world, they would undoubtedly have left some lying around, traded it or used it to entice sexual favours.

The First Fleet at Sea

Historians argue over the reason the 11 ships of the First Fleet were sent from England to the other end of the earth, but the overcrowded English prisons are a good place to start. Ships, known as hulks, were lined up along the Thames and filled with forgers, pickpockets and people who had stolen lace or firewood, but these ships were only ever intended as a temporary measure. A decade earlier, the English prison overload was shipped across the Atlantic to the new American colonies, until the American War of Independence, which ended in 1783, put a halt to that.

Many historians have argued that the exile of convicts could not have been the prime reason for the establishment of a colony in Australia, because it was so far away and therefore costly to establish, communicate with and manage. Some have argued that it must have been to exploit the natural resources of the area, such as the flax on Norfolk Island or timber, coal and furs. Others believe colonisation of New South Wales was just a manifestation of British colonial ambition – claiming a land before any rivals got around to it. La Perouse arriving in Botany Bay a week after the First Fleet perhaps supports this argument.

While theories and counter-theories about why New South Wales was founded persist, how it was founded, and in particular how well organised that foundation was, was down to the sagacity of one man – Arthur Phillip, an inveterate list-maker.

Phillip knew that setting up a colony on the other side of the world was an arduous task, and that there was every possibility that the colony would not receive any communication or sustenance from London for years. He realised that apart from the 750-odd convicts, the colony needed sufficient people to manage them as well as every implement and tool and material to house the colony and provide it with productive labour. It was an austere time in Britain, however, and the purse strings were tight. While the Colonial Office initially promised to give Phillip all he wanted, ultimately he was forced to be selective about what he took so as to keep under budget.

The First Fleet’s manifest included such items as 700 shovels, 700 axes and 700 hoes, 305 pairs of women’s shoes, 100 hinges, 5000 bricks, 747,000 nails, 5040 candles and a set of candlestick makers, 210 kilos of sewing twine, 8000 fishing hooks, 17 bundles of poles, 10 forges and 12 smith’s bellows. The ships also carried what Phillip calculated to be two years’ worth of food, which was to be carefully rationed out until the first harvest, another source of food was found, or another fleet would arrive to replenish their stores. In addition to 300 barrels of pork and beef¹ there was pease (a type of porridge made from split peas instead of oats), butter and bread, as well as an abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables, which would only last a few weeks but could be replenished when they docked at ports en route. There was also livestock – 44 sheep, 32 pigs, 6 cows, 6 horses and more than 300 chickens, ducks and geese – as well as seeds, such as wheat, cocoa, coffee, banana, guava, prickly pear, tamarind and ipecacuanha² to be planted in the virginal soil.

Curiously, the manifest included only 800 sets of bedding for more than 1500 people. About 40 of the officers brought their wives with them, so presumably everyone else had to find a bunkmate.

Despite the austerity measures, Phillip persuaded the Colonial Office to transport a few home comforts, as he considered this important for maintaining morale. To this end he supervised the loading of a piano and some oak and myrtle trees to remind everyone of home. As an indulgence he also took his four pet greyhounds and let another officer take his cats. Also on board, though not on the official manifest, was a Newfoundland dog. Some reports even list a monkey.³

There were also 1600 litres of rum and 1400 litres of brandy, though it was nearly intentionally left behind and was only placed on board at the insistence of the head of the marines, the argumentative marine Major Robert Ross. As the cargo was predominantly thirsty convicts, Phillip considered it safest to have no alcohol on board or in the colony. But Ross saw a loophole in an ambiguous statement regarding his troops and the voyage. Where Admiral Lord Howe wrote in May 1787 that the marines should receive ‘the usual rations, excepting wines and spirits’, rather than taking it to mean there was to be no alcohol, Ross cunningly misinterpreted it to mean that wine and spirits were simply exempt from rationing.

Subsequently Ross insisted, and Colonial Secretary Nepean yielded, that Phillip was to find space to include spirits for the exclusive use of the marines: 3000 litres of spirits divided by about 250 marines amounted to 12 litres each.

Twelve litres per man, by rum rations of the era, would only last about seven weeks, not even a quarter of the voyage. Upon finding out how little rum there was, the marines petitioned the lenient Nepean and justified their need for more rum only a week before the fleet departed, expressing their concern that without it they would surely perish:

[We] now conceive ourselves sorely aggrieved by finding the intentions of Government to make no allowance of spirituous liquor or wine after our arrival at the intended colony of New South Wales. A moderate distribution of the above-ment’d article being indispensably requisite for the preservation of our lives, which exchange of climate and the extreme fatigue we shall be necessarily exposed to may probably endanger.

[We] request you will use your influence to cause a removal of the uneasiness we experience under the idea of being restricted in the supply of one of the necessarys of life, without which, for the reasons above stated, we cannot expect to survive the hardships incident to our situation.

Nepean assented to their request and upon arrival at their second stopover, Rio de Janeiro, Ross ordered that an additional 55,000 litres⁴ of rum be brought on board; a further 225 litres per marine. The Brazilian rum, which was given the name ‘blackstrap’, was very dark in colour because it was distilled from treacle. Unfortunately, not even the sweetness of the treacle could mask the objectionable taste of the resulting spirit. Marine Officer Watkin Tench diarised that the Portuguese in Brazil, though very accommodating, ‘have not, however, learnt the art of making palatable rum’.⁵ Not one to mince words, his boss Robert Ross simply called it ‘extremely offensive’ and added that ‘nothing short of absolute necessity would induce my men to use it’. Either his men found the necessity or did not share his disgust, as they tucked into it with relish. On board, the men also made spruce beer, a weak alcohol concoction made by brewing Canadian pine needles, purely for its alleged antiscorbutic properties, and apparently often mixed it with the blackstrap, hoping that the unpalatability of the two concoctions, when mixed together, would cancel each other out.

So while the fervent list-maker Phillip ensured enough food for all the colonists, both convict or free, for two years, the marines ensured they had enough rum for almost four.

A few weeks before landfall at Botany Bay, some of the rum was stolen. Thomas Kelly, a convict who was transferred from the Alexander to the women’s transport Lady Penrhyn to look after the governor’s horses, broke into the rum store to get some for the ladies. As it was decided that the women put him up to it, he was not punished. This was likely not the first theft of rum on the voyage, and there is no doubt the female convicts were offered rum by the marines in return for sexual favours.

As resourceful and meticulous as Phillip was, he was going to need to dedicate more of his time and resources than he had intended to stemming the flow and impact of the First Fleet’s most sought-after commodity.

The Real Australia Day

The First Fleet staggered into Botany Bay over three days in mid-January 1788. By the time the last vessel arrived it had been decided that the site was unsatisfactory. An exploratory party set out northward and discovered the grand harbour of Port Jackson, and on 26 January, the day we now celebrate as the founding of modern Australia, the last of the 11 vessels relocated.¹ Over the next week the marines and convict men cleared land, erected tents and the governor’s prefabricated house, and unloaded all the stores in order of priority as established by the fastidious Phillip. The rum and the women were the last to be bundled onto the shore.

Much of the women’s clothing was ragged and filthy. The prudish officer Ralph Clark² considered them ‘abandoned wenches’ compared to his virtuous wife, yet neglected to consider that many of the 188 women had been on board the transports with limited access to laundering facilities for over a year before they even left England.

Australia’s love affair with alcohol started on what some consider should be marked as the real Australia Day. This day, 6 February, was more than a week after the celebrated one. A typically hot February day was unknown to all the new arrivals, but as any seasoned Sydneysider knows, the afternoon southerly can be either refreshing or destructive. At about the same time as the women were being

Reviews for Rum

[faradaydon_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Deftly told tale, cleverly constructed to make it one of the most readable history books of the year.