It was 1854, and rumour had it that convicts from Tasmania were soon to be released onto the mainland. 1200 residents of Geelong had come for a public meeting at Market Square to discuss ‘measures to prevent the influx of criminals,’ as reported in the Geelong Advertiser.

They came on horseback, via cab, and on foot, filling the market grounds, which stunk of manure and old vegetables. They gathered under the clock tower, disgruntled about the mooring, for the past year, of two convict hulks, Success and Sacramento, out in Corio Bay.

Sure, the convicts had been useful, providing a workforce in the early days and during the labour shortages caused by the gold rush. They had built some of the shipping piers, the Barwon River breakwater, the Geelong Botanic gardens, parts of the railway to Melbourne, and the Geelong Gaol. But the hulks had to go. Geelong had to protect its citizens.

There was some talk of knocking sounds coming from the ships anchored in the bay, particularly at night, when sound seemed to carry more easily. Fear came more easily then too—especially for those members of Geelong society terrorised by nightmares of their hidden pasts.

Text: Maria Takolander.