Guest, the one about the malacca cane is probably Van Diemen's Land, AKA as Henry The Poacher. Roud 221.

Here's a transcription of Harry Cox's version. I've just swiped it from the Mainly Norfolk site and haven't checked it. So I hope it's accurate.

Henry The Poacher

Come all you wild and wicked youths, whersomever you may be
I pray now pay attention and listen unto me,
The fate of our poor transports, as you shall understand,
The hardships they do undergo upon Van Diemen's Land.

My parents reared me tenderly, good learning give to me,
Till I by bad companions beguiled my home from me.
I was brought up in Worcestershire, near to the town did dwell;
My name it Henry Herbert, and many knows me well.

Me and three more went out one night to Squire Daniel's park;
To get some game was our intent as the night come proving dark.
And to our sad misfortune they took us there by speed
And sent us off to Warwick Gaol which made our hearts to bleed.

'Twas at the March assizes, at the bar we did appear;
Like Job we stood with patience to hear our sentence there.
And being some old offenders it made our case go hard:
Our sentence were for fourteen year and we were sent on board.

The ship that bore us from the land, the Speedwell was her name;
And full four months and upwards we ploughed the raging main.
No land, no harbour could we see, and believe it is no lie,
For around us one black water and above us one blue sky.

I oft-times looked behind me towards my native shore
And the cottage of contentment that I shall see no more;
Likewise my aged father who tore his hoary hair,
Also my tender mother whose arms did once me bear.

'Twas on the Fourth of July, the day we made the land,
At four o'clock we went on shore all chain-ed hand in hand.
And to see our fellow sufferers, as I feel I can't tell how,
Some chained unto a harrow and some unto a plough.

So we were marched into the town without no more delay
And there a gentleman took me, bookkeeper for to be.
I took my occupation, my master likes me well,
My joys are out of measure, I am sure no one can tell.

He kept a female servant, Rosanna was her name,
For fourteen year a convict, from Worcestershire she came.
And we oft-times tell our love tales when we were far at home
And now we are rattling of our chains in foreign lands to roam.