Chapter 1
Crime and Transportation: Hannah Brown (1795 - 1835) & Thomas Marslin (1787-1854)
In the early 19th century, two of my maternal ancestors, Hannah Brown and Thomas Marslin*, saw their lives irrevocably altered by the forces shaping industrial England and colonial Australia. Both were deeply affected by the changes of their era—Hannah by the harsh realities of industrial London and Thomas by the struggles of rural England. Their lives were shaped by poverty and a harsh legal system that forced them to leave everything familiar and face an uncertain future in Australia. Despite the hardships of their voyages and the challenges that awaited them, both showed great strength in adapting to their new lives. Tracing how Hannah Brown and Thomas Marslin came to Australia is where this story begins—and perhaps the key to understanding everything that followed.
Hannah Brown: Early Life
Hannah Brown was born around 1795 in the small rural setting near Mayden Croft, Hertford, England. Her father, John Brown, was then 23, and her mother, Mary S. Street, was 19. Mayden Croft was a quiet rural setting—fields, hedge groves, and a scattering of cottages where life moved to the rhythms of the land and the seasons. Though John’s family had roots in Essex, he was born in Cripplegate, London, and baptised in Kingsland, Herefordshire, in 1772. Mary’s family hailed from Suffolk, though she herself was born in Latton, a village near London. Their rural backgrounds, followed by their urban upbringings, mirror a growing pattern of families transitioning from countryside to city life—a trend that defined much of this period in England.
Before they married on 17 April 1801 in Stepney, London, John and Mary had welcomed three children: Melicent (1794–1876), Hannah (probably born in 1795), and John (1799–1850). Stepney, on the eastern fringes of London, was already becoming crowded and chaotic—a far cry from where the Browns had begun. The family probably lived in a single rented room, perhaps even sharing with another family. We can only imagine the strain of raising three young children in such cramped quarters, with little privacy and few comforts. A shared privy served entire streets, and residents fetched water from communal taps. Bathing would have required trips to a public bathhouse, and cooking was often done over open fires in poorly ventilated spaces or on the streets. These were not homes of choice but of necessity. For Mary, the daily burden of feeding and clothing her children in such conditions would have been physically and emotionally wearing.
The shift from rural life to the city was not simply a change of location; it marked a fundamental transformation in how families lived and worked. The growth of factories, the rise of mass production, and the early spread of railways brought new jobs and wealth — but only to a select few. For people like the Browns, opportunity often meant long hours, insecure employment, and the daily struggle to raise children in cramped and uncertain conditions. These sweeping changes were not just a distant episode of English history, but the lived experiences of my ancestors.
This new urban world also altered the nature of children’s work. In rural communities, it was expected that children would contribute to the household—helping with farm chores, tending animals, or assisting in family trades. But industrialisation introduced something different: work that was more dangerous, more repetitive, and more removed from the rhythms and protections of home life. For the Browns, there may have been little real choice about whether their children worked—economic necessity decided for them. Some were employed to repair broken threads on spinning machines or to crawl beneath dangerous equipment to retrieve waste cotton as “scavengers.” Others worked as “doffers,” replacing full bobbins with empty ones on spinning frames. Long hours, physical exhaustion, and the constant risk of injury were part of daily life for working class children in industrial London.
It is hard to picture what daily life might have been like for my great-great-great-grandmother, Hannah Brown, as a young girl in the crowded streets of early 19th-century London. She likely woke early in a crowded, dimly lit room shared with her parents and siblings. Breakfast, if there was one, may have been a bowl of porridge made with oats and water—simple, cheap, and just enough to see her through the morning. If, like so many children in her position, she worked, her day may have begun well before sunrise. Factory children were expected to perform repetitive, often dangerous tasks under the watch of overseers. The hours were long and exhausting, the air thick with dust and noise. She might have returned home to a thin stew of vegetables and potatoes or cabbage, with just a scrap of meat or a bacon bone added for flavour. And yet, amid this hardship, there may have been moments of relief—games played in the narrow streets, laughter shared with siblings, or stolen moments of quiet. It is hard not to wonder what she hoped for, what small joys she held onto in a life that offered so few.
By her mid-teens, Hannah Brown had entered the precarious world of working-class adolescents in London. She was old enough to earn and contribute to the family finances, yet still young and vulnerable. Like many girls in her situation, she may have worked in textile factories or shops, assisted with deliveries, or taken on domestic tasks to support her family. In 1813, at 18 years old and on the cusp of adulthood, Hannah made a fateful decision—one that would entangle her in the criminal justice system and alter the course of her life.
Imagined Portrait of Hannah Brown as a child.*
Textile workers, including many children, played a central role in the burgeoning industrial economy of the early 19th century. Child workers like Hannah Brown faced harsh conditions, long hours, and significant risks while operating spinning frames and other machinery in textile mills.
Imagined Portrait of Hannah Brown, circa 1814.*
Women’s prisons in the early 19th century were overcrowded and harsh. Hannah Brown would have been held in a similar facility before her transportation to New South Wales.
Crime and Punishment: The Trial of Hannah Brown
By 1813, Hannah had turned 18, and life in the Brown household was growing increasingly strained. Her father, Thomas, was likely still employed in the textile trade, where wages remained low and employment was often unpredictable. Hannah was doing what she could to support the household, but her mother, Mary, had recently given birth to two more daughters—Mary in 1812 and Maria in 1813—and would have been preoccupied with their care. Her capacity to contribute to the family’s income would have been sharply reduced. Hannah had one older sister and a younger brother, both of whom may have been working, but the responsibility of feeding and clothing a growing family in a city grappling with rising food prices, overcrowded housing, and periodic unemployment remained relentless.
Across London, thousands of working families faced similar strains. Industrial England in the early 1800s was marked by rapid urbanisation, but social reform had not kept pace. As we have seen, poor families lived in cramped, often unsanitary conditions, with limited access to medical care, education, or stable work. The combination of long hours, low pay, and the unpredictability of casual labour meant that many families survived week to week. For young people like Hannah, the weight of these burdens was heavy. Like many others, she may have seen no clear path forward with few protections and fewer opportunities. It was under these circumstances that Hannah made a decision that would alter the course of her life. She stole.
On 14 July 1813, Hannah Brown stood before Justice Gibbs at the Old Bailey, charged with two counts of theft. The courtroom, one of the busiest in Britain, was a place of drama and fear. Hundreds of cases were heard each year under its roof, many in rapid succession, with the accused ushered in and out with grim efficiency. It was a place where justice played out in full view—formal, often bewildering, and seldom merciful to the poor.
Hannah was charged with stealing four yards of muslin (a lightweight cotton fabric) from a shop in Holborn, a shawl from a draper’s, and a yard of lace. None of the items were extravagant, but the legal threshold for capital punishment had been met. Stealing goods worth more than five shillings from a shop was defined as a capital offence under what was known as the Bloody Code—a body of laws that imposed the death penalty for more than 200 crimes, many of them involving property. The system made little distinction between desperate need and deliberate theft. Teenagers like Hannah were regularly caught in the wide net cast by a legal code that criminalised the poor in the name of deterrence.
The court transcript gives us a rare glimpse into Hannah’s character. When asked about the muslin, she simply replied, “I took it myself.” We do not know how she said it—quietly, defiantly, or with resignation. She did not name her companion, Sarah Deering, who stood beside her in the dock. Whether out of loyalty, fear, or resolve, Hannah took full responsibility. In the eyes of the court, it was all they needed to hear. Deering was acquitted of the capital charge. Hannah was not.
The jury found her guilty of “stealing privately in a shop,” but attached to their verdict a recommendation of mercy “on account of the smallness of the property.” Justice Gibbs, presiding, had no power to alter the sentence. By law, he was required to issue the penalty of death. But he made note of the jury’s plea for clemency, and the case was passed on for review.
What followed was a kind of legal limbo. Hannah remained in prison for several months, likely in the women’s quarters of Newgate Gaol, awaiting the outcome of her petition. She would have heard from others that most death sentences were commuted—but there were always exceptions. The uncertainty must have weighed heavily: not knowing whether she would be spared or be led to the gallows. In November, her sentence was commuted. Rather than face the gallows, she would be transported to New South Wales—for life. This form of conditional mercy was common. While thousands were sentenced to death under the Bloody Code, only a fraction were executed. Most were granted reprieves, with exile to the colonies serving as the ultimate compromise between law and compassion.
And so Hannah Brown was removed from everything she had ever known. Her punishment, though not unusual, was final in its own way. She would never see her family again. She was confined to Middlesex Gaol, and within its notorious walls, Hannah waited for transportation to the farthest reaches of the world.
Hannah Brown: Life Aboard Convict Ship Broxbornebury in 1814
Hannah Brown was transported to Botany Bay aboard the Broxbornebury, a convict ship that set sail from London on 22 February 1814. The ship carried 120 female convicts, passengers, cargo, and merchandise. Thomas Pitcher Jr. commanded the vessel, with Colin McLachlan serving as the surgeon superintendent. The Broxbornebury was a substantial three-decker merchant ship launched at Gravesend in 1812. Measuring over 130 feet in length and weighing 709 tons, she was copper-sheathed and rated A1—a classification reserved for ships of the highest standard. With three tall masts and ample space between decks, she was purpose-built for long-haul voyages. Though her design made her well-suited to extended voyages, conditions aboard remained cramped and austere.
As the Broxbornebury pulled away from the London docks, Hannah must have known she would never see her family again. Her punishment under the law was part of a broader British policy of using convicts to expand the Empire. Hannah found herself within a system designed not only to punish but also to populate the fledgling colony in Australia. British policymakers understood that women were essential to establishing a permanent settlement in a new land—and all aboard were enlisted in the service of the British Empire.
Babette Smith, in A Cargo of Women, offers insight into the broader experiences of convicts like Hannah Brown. She argues that these women were not simply prisoners, but rather part of a broader plan to establish a permanent society in New South Wales. Earlier views had portrayed female convicts in narrow terms—either as immoral or as unfortunate—but more recent historians, including Grace Karskens, have demonstrated that many women became integral to the colony by taking on work as domestic servants, raising families, starting businesses and facing the hardships of colonial life. Although Hannah’s transportation took place about twenty years before the events Smith focuses on, the reasons for her sentence were much the same: poverty, limited choices, and a justice system that was particularly harsh on the poor. While her punishment was meant to be severe, it also served a larger purpose. British authorities believed that sending women to the colony would help settle the population and create the conditions for family life. For Hannah, the 156 days at sea marked the start of that transformation: from thief to settler, from outcast to participant in an ambitious colonial project.
The vagaries of fate played a crucial role in the lives of convicts transported to the Colony of New South Wales. Beyond the inherent dangers of 19th-century sea travel, the character and competence of the captain, surgeon, and crew shaped much of the experience. Disease remained the most feared threat, particularly typhus and dysentery, which could spread rapidly in crowded quarters. The Surry, a convict ship that departed England just weeks before Hannah’s, carried 200 male prisoners and was ravaged by typhus—a highly infectious disease transmitted by lice. At least 46 men died, including the ship’s surgeon, and the dead were buried at sea. The episode served as a grim reminder of how quickly a voyage could descend into tragedy.
Yet in contrast to some voyages, the Broxbornebury was comparatively safe. Of the 120 female convicts on board, only one is recorded as having died—a remarkably low mortality rate for the period. This may have been due to a competent surgeon, the regular issue of watered-down lemon juice to prevent scurvy, or simple good fortune. Even so, the women endured overcrowded and unsanitary conditions. Their diet consisted largely of salted meat and hard biscuits, with limited access to fresh water. An observer noted that they were “exceedingly poorly clothed, having little more than a few rags to cover them,” and many were already in fragile health before the journey began. Malnutrition and scurvy were common, and abuse from the crew was not unheard of. Each day aboard ship must have felt endless for Hannah as she grappled with fear and homesickness, her thoughts often drifting back to the life she had left behind in London with her newly born brother and sister. The familiar streets and her family must have seemed like distant memories as she faced the harsh reality of her new life at sea. She likely wondered if she would even survive to see the distant shores of Australia.
Despite these hardships, Hannah may have found strength in the relationships she built with other women on board. The months at sea brought extended periods of confinement, routine, and waiting, and it is likely that bonds of solidarity formed below decks. Together, the women may have shared conversations about their families, fears, and hopes, offering one another the emotional support needed to endure the monotony and uncertainty of the voyage. Some may have forged friendships that continued after disembarkation; others may have formed more intimate attachments—an aspect of shipboard life noted in some historical records, though largely undocumented. Still under twenty, Hannah must have felt the pangs of loneliness deeply. Yet these women, like Hannah, were not passive victims. Many demonstrated small acts of defiance—resisting exploitation, negotiating with crew, or preserving their dignity through companionship, humour, or shared routines. Surgeon-superintendent reports from similar voyages note cases where women challenged unfair treatment or cared for the ill among them. Hannah, too, may have been stronger than she realised. Her experiences on the Broxbornebury likely steeled her for the challenges ahead, helping her develop the strength and endurance she would need to survive in the penal colony.
As the Broxbornebury entered the magnificent harbour of Port Jackson in July 1814, Hannah's emotions must have been bittersweet. The long, arduous journey had finally come to an end, and she had survived. But stepping off the ship meant stepping into an unknown future—a penal colony where she faced a lifetime of hard labour and uncertainty. Reflecting on Hannah’s experience aboard the Broxbornebury, I believe the deprivations she endured were part of a larger narrative of adaptation to life in a new world. Her hardships did not mark the end of her story, but the beginning of a life in a new land—one that would become home to her, her descendants, and thousands more like her.
Typical of the convict ships used to transport prisoners like Hannah Brown from Britain to New South Wales in the early 19th century, these vessels endured long and perilous journeys across the oceans.
View of Port Jackson in the early 19th century, showing the expanding colony of Sydney around the time of Hannah Brown’s arrival.
This image, dated c.1820, captures the transformation from penal outpost to a functioning township. The busy harbour and cultivated fields reflect signs of a colony now firmly established at the far edge of the British Empire.
Imagined Portrait Thomas Maslin as a child.*
Prison hulks, like the one depicted here, were repurposed ships used to house prisoners in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, alleviating overcrowding in land-based prisons. Conditions on these floating jails were often harsh and unhygienic.
Imagined portrait of Thomas Maslin, circa 1818.*
Thomas Marslin - Early Life
Thomas was born on 27 April 1792 in Surrey, England, to Robert Marslem (or a similarly spelled surname) and Ann. No further records of his parents have been located, and no known evidence has yet emerged of siblings. Like many born into modest rural families at the time, Thomas likely entered the workforce in childhood. From what can be inferred about his later employment, he may have worked as a stable hand or groom, acquiring the physical strength, patience, and skill needed to care for horses. His daily tasks would have included feeding, grooming, and watering the horses, cleaning out the stables, and maintaining the equipment. Horses were indispensable to the workings of 18th and early 19th-century England—used for farming, industry, urban transport, and the military—and Thomas’s work, while humble, was of real value to the communities he served. These same skills would later carry over into his life in the colony, where horses remained essential to the functioning of both penal settlements and the broader economy.
The England of Thomas’s youth was on the edge of change. Although his early years were spent in a rural setting, agricultural life across southern England was increasingly under strain. The enclosure of common lands, the slow collapse of traditional village economies, and the expansion of wage labour pushed many rural families to the margins. For labourers like Thomas, employment was often seasonal, wages unreliable, and the threat of displacement never far away. In this context, his work with horses may have offered a small degree of security, but it was unlikely to shield him from the broader economic uncertainties facing the rural poor. Unlike Hannah Brown, whose early family life can be partly reconstructed from birth and baptismal records, Thomas’s story remains largely undocumented. There are few surviving clues about the personal circumstances that preceded his arrest, but at some point in his mid-twenties, he made the decision that would set the course for the rest of his life.
Thomas - Crime and Punishment
By the time he reached his mid-twenties, Thomas Maslin was likely living on the economic edge. Surrey’s rural economy, like much of southern England, was in a state of transition during the 1810s. Mechanisation, enclosure, and poor harvests were upending traditional labour patterns, especially for unskilled rural workers. Against this backdrop of uncertainty, Thomas was convicted on 13 August 1817 at the Surrey Assizes, held in Croydon. The charge was felony larceny—specifically, the theft of garments from local bleaching grounds. Bleaching grounds were open fields where newly washed or treated fabrics were laid out to dry and whiten in the sun, making them vulnerable to theft. While the crime may seem minor by modern standards, theft of goods left in such spaces (common in the textile trade) was taken seriously, particularly as property laws were strictly enforced. The punishment handed down—a life sentence of transportation to New South Wales—was severe but not unusual for the period. The law aimed to make examples of working-class men caught stealing in such contexts. In this respect, Thomas’s sentence reflects the broader legal and economic climate of his time, where transportation served both as a punitive measure and a labour solution for the expanding colony.
Thomas was sentenced to transportation for life. Before departing England, he was held aboard the prison hulk Bellerophon, moored in the Thames at Woolwich. Originally a warship, the Bellerophon had been repurposed—like many decommissioned vessels of the time—as a floating prison. The hulks were introduced when Britain’s land-based gaols were full and transportation to America had ceased. They soon became notorious for their appalling conditions: overcrowded, disease-ridden, and foul-smelling. The stench of human waste, stagnant air, and rot drifted across the water, and nearby residents lived in fear of outbreaks or escapees. Their presence—unsightly and unsanitary—added to public pressure for reform and played a role in the reintroduction of transportation to Australia.
In this context, the Bellerophon was not merely a place of confinement for Thomas as he awaited transportation, but part of Britain’s broader penal system. Offences like theft from bleaching fields were relatively common, and repeat or aggravated cases often led to transportation for extended periods or life. By the time Thomas boarded the Glory, he had already experienced the harsh realities of the British penal process.
Thomas Maslin: Transported on the Glory
In 1818, at the age of 26, Thomas Maslin found himself aboard the convict ship Glory, bound for the distant and unfamiliar colony of New South Wales. The vessel, a 400-ton merchantman launched in 1811, had previously served in the West Indies trade. Now fitted out for convict transport, it embarked from England under the command of Captain Edward Pounder, with 170 male convicts on board. Thomas was among those sentenced to transportation for life. A detachment of 28 soldiers from the 87th Regiment of Foot provided security during the voyage, and a small number of free settlers also sailed.
Life on the Glory was far from easy. Though some convicts might have been assigned tasks such as maintaining the ship or assisting with sails, most spent their days in confinement below deck, where cramped and unsanitary conditions prevailed. The air was foul, thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, waste, and damp timber. Rats and lice were common, and illness was a constant threat. Just a few years earlier, typhus had swept through the Surry, another convict ship, claiming dozens of lives. But the Glory was spared such an outbreak. This was likely due in part to the efforts of the ship’s surgeon, William Evans, who enforced basic hygiene measures, monitored provisions, and maintained discipline throughout the voyage. His diligence—and perhaps a measure of good fortune—meant that despite the hardships, the Glory completed its journey without the loss of a single convict.
Despite this, life below decks remained harsh. The daily diet, often consisting of salted meat, ship’s biscuit, and watered beer or tea, was meagre but sustained life. Some convicts may have been called up to help with maintenance or light duties, though most remained below, enduring monotony, discomfort, and uncertainty. The military guard enforced discipline, and floggings remained a constant threat.
For Thomas, who had already spent months confined aboard the Bellerophon, the transition to the Glory would have brought no great relief. Yet there may have been small consolations—brief moments of camaraderie, a dry patch of deck, or an untroubled night’s sleep. The Glory departed England in May 1818 and made landfall at Port Jackson on 14 September that same year. After nearly four months at sea, the ship anchored in Sydney Cove, and the men were disembarked in small groups and transferred to barracks or assigned to work details.
Disembarking into a colony still defining itself, Thomas was no longer simply a convict in transit. He was now a convict of New South Wales, subject to its rules, routines, and possibilities. Hannah Brown had stepped ashore four years earlier, and both carried with them private stories shaped by hardship and distance. Their lives would eventually converge. From these separate beginnings, the first generation of the Mazlin family in Australia would begin
Notes:
* These portraits were generated using AI tools to create visual approximations of Hannah Brown and Thomas Maslin at different stages of their lives. Inspired by approaches used in the Imagining the Lives of Female Convicts project, these images draw on family photographs and historical research, incorporating period-appropriate clothing and artistic styles. While not historically verified likenesses, they are offered as thoughtful reconstructions to support the reader’s visual connection to the narrative.
**Throughout historical records related to Thomas Marslin and his family, the spelling of the surname varies significantly. In this chapter, I will refer to Thomas Marslin, which is the preferred spelling for this section. However, other name variations appear in documents, including Marsling, Marslen, Maslin, Maslen and Mazlin. These variations underscore the challenges of historical research, particularly when working with handwritten records and diverse regional accents. I explore this issue in the blog post: What’s in a Name?
Bibliography:
Bateson, C. (1983). The convict ships, 1787–1868 (Australian ed.). Library of Australian History.
Clark, C. M. H. (1963). A short history of Australia. New York: New American Library.
Clark, Manning. (1962). The currency lad. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press.
Convict Records. (n.d.). Indefatigable voyages. Retrieved from https://convictrecords.com.au/ships/indefatigable/voyages/54?convicts=3
Daniels, K. (1998). Convict women. St. Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin.
Evans, W. (1818). Surgeon’s Journal of the convict ship Glory [Manuscript]. The National Archives (UK), ADM 101/30/1.
Fry, E. (1827). Memoir of the life of Elizabeth Fry: With extracts from her journal and letters. London: J. Hatchard and Son.
Hirst, J. (2000). Currency lads and lasses. Sydney: Oxford University Press.
Hughes, R. (1987). The fatal shore: The epic of Australia’s founding. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.
Karskens, G. (2009). The colony: A history of early Sydney. Sydney: Allen & Unwin.
Mayhew, H. (1861). London labour and the London poor. London: Griffin, Bohn, and Company.
Maxwell-Stewart, H. (2018). Transportation from Britain and Ireland, 1615–1875. In C. Anderson (Ed.), A global history of convicts and penal colonies (pp. 183–210). Bloomsbury Academic.
Maxwell-Stewart, H., & Kippen, R. (2015). Sickness and death on convict voyages to Australia. In P. Baskerville (Ed.), Lives in transition: Longitudinal analysis from historical sources (pp. 43–70). McGill-Queen’s University Press.
New South Wales Government. (n.d.). Convict indents (digitised). State Archives and Records NSW. Retrieved from https://www.records.nsw.gov.au/
O’Donoghue, J. M. Great adventures and achievements: The story of the Mazlin family. Unpublished manuscript.
Oxley, D. (1996). Convict maids: The forced migration of women to Australia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Roberts, R. (1971). The classic slum: Salford life in the first quarter of the century. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Smith, B. (2008). A cargo of women: Susannah Watson and the convicts of the Princess Royal. Sydney: UNSW Press.
Smith, B. (2017). Defiant voices: How Australia’s female convicts challenged authority. Sydney: Allen & Unwin.
Surgeon’s Journal of the convict ship Mary Ann, 1822 (As cited in Smith, B. (2017). Defiant voices: How Australia’s female convicts challenged authority. Sydney: Allen & Unwin.)
Thompson, E. P. (1963). The making of the English working class. London: Gollancz.
Thompson, F. M. L. (1988). The rise of respectable society: A social history of Victorian Britain 1830–1900. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Image Generation:
Images were generated using AI tools provided by OpenAI.