with the black men, troubles with the white men, and the want of a
market for his stock, the settler's days were full of anxiety and
misery. And, in addition, the Government in Sydney was threatening
him with a roaming taxgatherer under the name of a Commissioner of
Crown Lands, to whom was entrusted the power of increasing or
diminishing assessments at his own will and pleasure. The settler
therefore bowed down before the lordly tax-gatherer, and entertained
him in his hut with all available hospitality, with welcome on his
lips, smiles on his face, and hatred in his heart.
The fees and fines collected by the Commissioners all over New South
Wales had fallen off in one year to the extent of sixty-five per
cent; more revenue was therefore required, and was it not just that
those who occupied Crown lands should support the dignity of the
Crown? Then the blacks had to be protected, or otherwise dealt with.
They could not pay taxes, as the Crown had already appropriated all
they were worth, viz., their country. But they were made amenable to
British law; and in that celebrated case, "Regina v. Jacky Jacky," it
was solemnly decided by the judge that the aborigines were subjects
of the Queen, and that judge went to church on the Sabbath and said
his prayers in his robes of office, wig and all.
Jacky Jacky was charged with aiding and abetting Long Bill to murder
little Tommy. He said:
"Another one blackfellow killed him, baal me shoot him."
The court received his statement as equivalent to a plea of "Not
guilty."
Witness Billy, an aboriginal, said:
"I was born about twenty miles from Sydney. If I don't tell stories,
I shall go to Heaven; if I do, I shall go down below. I don't say
any prayers. It is the best place to go up to Heaven. I learnt
about heaven and hell about three years ago at Yass plains when
driving a team there. Can't say what's in that book; can't read. If
I go below, I shall be burned with fire."
Billy was sworn, and said:
"I knew Jacky Jacky and Cosgrove, the bullock driver. I know Fyans
Ford. I know Manifolds. I went from Fyans Ford with Cosgrove, a
drove of cattle, and a dray for Manifolds. I knew Little Tommy at
Port Fairy. He is dead. I saw him dying. When driving the team, I
fell in with a lot of blacks. They asked me what black boy Tommy
was; told them my brother. They kept following us two miles and a
half. Jacky Jacky said; 'Billy, I must kill that black boy in spite
of you.'"
Jacky Jacky said sharply, "Borack."
"Jacky Jacky, who was the king, got on the dray, and Little Tommy got
down; a blackfellow threw a spear at him, and hit him in the side;
the king also threw a spear, and wounded him; a lot of blacks also
speared him. Long Bill came up and shot him with a ball. Jacky
Jacky said to Cosgrove: 'Plenty gammon; I must kill that black boy.'
Little Tommy belonged to the Port Fairy tribe, which had always been
fighting with Jacky Jacky's tribe."
"It's all gammon," said Jacky Jacky, "borack me, its another
blackfellow."
"Jacky Jacky, when with the dray, spoke his own language which I did
not understand. I was not a friend of Little Tommy. I was not
afraid of the Port Fairy tribe. I am sometimes friend with Jacky
Jacky's tribe. If I met him at Yass I can't say whether I should
spear him or not; they would kill him at the Goulburn River if he
went there. Blackfellow not let man live who committed murder."
Are the aboriginals amenable to British law? Question argued by
learned counsel, Messrs. Stawell and Barry.
His Honor the Resident Judge said: "The aboriginals are amenable to
British law, and it is a mercy to them to be under that control,
instead of being left to seek vengeance in the death of each other;
it is a mercy to them to be under the protection of British law,
instead of slaughtering each other."
Jacky Jacky was found guilty of "aiding and abetting." The
principals in the murder were not prosecuted, probably could not be
found. Before leaving the court, he turned to the judge and said,
"You hang me this time?"
He only knew two maxims of British law applicable to his race, and
these he had learned by experience. One maxim was "Shoot 'em" and
the other was "Hang him."
There is abundant evidence to prove that an aboriginal legal maxim
was, "The stranger is an enemy, kill him." It was for that reason
Jacky Jacky killed Little Tommy, who was a stranger, belonging to the
hostile Port Fairy tribe.
Joshua and Neddy carried on the boiling down business successfully
for some time, regularly shipping tallow to Melbourne in casks, until
some busybody began to insinuate that their tallow was contraband.
Then Joshua took to carrying goods up the country, and Neddy took to
drink. He died at the first party given by Mother Murden at her
celebrated hostelry.
There were at this time about two hundred men, women, and children
scattered about the neighbourhood of New Leith (afterwards called
Port Albert), the Old Port, the New Alberton and Tarra Vale.
Alberton, by the way, was gazetted as a township before the "village"
of St. Kilda was founded. There were no licenses issued for the
various houses of entertainment, vulgarly called "sly grog shops."
There was no church, no school, no minister, and no music, until
Mother Murden imported some. It was hidden in the recesses of a
barrel organ; and, in order to introduce the new instrument to the
notice of her patrons and friends, Mother Murden posted on her
premises a manuscript invitation to a grand ball. She was anxious
that everything should be carried out in the best style, and that the
festive time should commence at least without intoxication. She therefore
had one drunken man carried into the "dead room," another to an
outside shed. Neddy, the third, had become one of her best
customers, and therefore she treated him kindly. He was unsteady on
his legs, and she piloted him with her own hands to the front door,
expecting that he would find a place for himself somewhere or other.
She gave him a gentle shove, said "Good night, Neddy," and closed the
door. She then cleared a space for the dancers in her largest room,
placed the barrel-organ on a small table in one corner, and made her
toilet.
The guests began to arrive, and Mother Murden received them in her
best gown at the front door. Neddy was lying across the threshold.
"It's only Neddy," she said apologetically; "he has been taking a
little nobbler, and it always runs to his head. He'll be all right
by-and-by. Come in my dears, and take your things off. You'll find
a looking-glass in the room behind the bar."
The gentlemen stepped over Neddy, politely gave their hands to the
ladies, and helped them over the human obstacle.
When everything was ready, Mother Murden sat down by the
barrel-organ, took hold of the handle, and addressed her guests:
"Now boys, choose your girls."
[ILLUSTRATION 4]
The biggest bully, a "conditional pardon" man of the year 1839, acted
as master of the ceremonies, and called out the figures. He also
appropriated the belle of the ball as his partner.
The dancing began with great spirit, but as the night wore on the
music grew monotonous. There were only six tunes in the organ, and
not all the skill and energy of Mother Murden could grind one more
out of it.
Neddy lay across the doorway, and was never disturbed. He did not
wake in time to take any part in the festive scene, being dead. Now
and then a few of the dancers stepped over him, and remarked, "Neddy
is having a good rest." In the cool night air they walked to and
fro, then, returning to the ball-room, they took a little
refreshment, and danced to the same old tunes, until they were tired.
Mother Murden's first ball was a grand success for all but Neddy.
"No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet,
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet."
But morn reveals unsuspected truths, and wrinkled invisible in the
light of tallow candles. The first rays of the rising sun fell on
Neddy's ghastly face, and the "conditional pardon" man said, "Why,
he's dead and cold."
Mother Murden came to the door with a tumbler in her hand, containing
a morning nip for Neddy, "to kill the worm," as the Latins say; but
the worm was dead already. The merry-makers stood around; the men
looked serious and the ladies shivered. They said the air felt
chilly, so they bade one another good morning and hurried home.
It is hard to say why one sinner is taken and the other left.
Joshua's time did not arrive until many years afterwards, when we had
acquitted him at the General Sessions; but that is another story.
HOW GOVERNMENT CAME TO GIPPSLAND.
At this time there was no visible government in Gippsland. The
authorities in Sydney and Melbourne must have heard of the existence
of the country and of its settlement, but they were content for a
time with the receipt of the money paid into the Treasury for
depasturing licenses and for assessments on stock.
In 1840 the Land Fund received in New South Wales amounted to 316,000
pounds; in 1841 it was only 90,000 pounds; and in 1842 Sir George
Gipps, in his address to the Council severely reprimanded the
colonists for the reckless spirit of speculation and overtrading in
which they had indulged during the two preceding years. This general
reprimand had a more particular application to Mr. Benjamin Boyd, the
champion boomer of those days.
Labourers out of employment were numerous, and contractors were
informed by 'Gazette' notice that the services of one hundred
prisoners were available for purposes of public utility, such as
making roads, dams, breakwaters, harbours, bridges, watchhouses, and
police buildings. Assignees of convicts were warned that if they
wished to return them to the custody of the Government, they must pay
the expense of their conveyance to Sydney, otherwise all their
servants would be withdrawn, and they would become ineligible as
assignees of prisoners in future.
Between the first of July, 1840, and the first of November, 1841,
26,556 bounty immigrants had been received in Sydney. The bounty
orders were suspended in the autumn of the latter year, but in 1842
Lord Stanley was of opinion that the colony could beneficially
receive ten thousand more immigrants during the current year.
Many married labourers could find no work in Sydney, and in November,
1843, the Government requested persons sending wool-drays to the city
to take families to inland districts gratis.
A regular stream of half-pay officers also poured into the colony,
and made Sir George's life a burden. They all wanted billets, and if
he made the mistake of appointing a civilian to some office, Captain
Smith, with war in his eye and fury in his heart, demanded an
interview at once. He said:
"I see by this morning's 'Gazette' that some fellow of the name of
Jones has been made a police superintendent, and here am I, an
imperial officer, used to command and discipline, left out in the
cold, while that counter-jumper steps over my head. I can't
understand your policy, Sir George. What will my friends of the club
in London say, when they hear of it, but that the service is going to
the dogs?"
So Captain Smith obtained his appointment as superintendent of
police, and with a free sergeant and six convict constables, taken,
as it were, out of bond, was turned loose in the bush. He had been
for twenty years in the preventive service, but had never captured a
prize more valuable than a bottle of whisky. He knew nothing
whatever about horses, and rode like a beer barrel, but he
nevertheless lectured his troopers about their horses and
accoutrements. The sergeant was an old stockrider, and he one day so
far forgot the rules of discipline as to indulge in a mutinous smile,
and say:
"Well, captain, you may know something about a ship, but I'll be
blowed if you know anything about a horse."
That observation was not entered in any report, but the sergeant was
fined 2 pounds for "insolence and insubordination." The sum of
60,899 pounds was voted for police services in 1844, and Captain
Smith was paid out of it. All the revenue went to Sydney, and very
little of it found its way to Melbourne, so that Mr. Latrobe's
Government was sometimes deprived of the necessaries of life.
Alberton was gazetted as a place for holding Courts of Petty
Sessions, and Messrs. John Reeve and John King were appointed
Justices of the Peace for the new district.
Then Michael Shannon met James Reading on the Port Albert Road,
robbed him of two orders for money and a certificate of freedom, and
made his way to Melbourne. There he was arrested, and remanded by
the bench to the new court at Alberton. But there was no court
there, no lock-up, and no police; and Mr. Latrobe, with tears in his
eyes, said he had no cash whatever to spend on Michael Shannon.
The public journals denounced Gippsland, and said it was full of
irregularities. Therefore, on September 13th, 1843, Charles J. Tyers
was appointed Commissioner of Crown Lands for the district. He
endeavoured to make his way overland to the scene of his future
labours, but the mountains were discharging the accumulated waters of
the winter and spring rainfall, every watercourse was full, and the
marshes were impassable.
The commissioner waited, and then made a fresh start with six men and
four baggage horses. Midway between Dandenong and the Bunyip he
passed the hut of Big Mat, a new settler from Melbourne, and obtained
from him some information about the best route to follow. It began
to rain heavily, and it was difficult to ford the swollen creeks
before arriving at the Big Hill. At Shady Creek there was nothing
for the horses to eat, and beyond it the ground became treacherous
and full of crabholes. At the Moe the backwater was found to be
fully a quarter of a mile wide, encumbered with dead logs and scrub,
and no safe place for crossing the creek could be found. During the
night the famishing horses tore open with their teeth the packages
containing the provisions, and before morning all that was left of
the flour, tea, and sugar was trodden into the muddy soil and
hopelessly lost; not an ounce of food could be collected. There was
no game to be seen; every bird and beast seemed to have fled from the
desolate ranges. Mr. Tyers had been for many years a naval
instructor on board a man-of-war, understood navigation and
surveying, and, it is to be presumed, knew the distance he had
travelled and the course to be followed in returning to Port Philip;
but there were valleys filled with impenetrable scrub, creeks often
too deep to ford, and boundless morasses, so that the journey was
made crooked with continual deviations. If a black boy like
McMillan's Friday had accompanied the expedition, his native instinct
would, at such a time, have been worth all the science in the world.
The seven men, breakfastless, turned their backs to Gippsland. The
horses were already weak and nearly useless, so they and all the
tents and camp equipage were abandoned. Each man carried nothing but
his gun and ammunition. All day long they plodded wearily through
the bush--wading the streams, climbing over the logs, and pushing
their way through the scrub. Only two or three small birds were
shot, which did not give, when roasted, a mouthful to each man.
At night a large fire was made, and the hungry travellers lay around
it. Next morning they renewed their journey, Mr. Tyers keeping the
men from straggling as much as he could, and cheering them with the
hope of soon arriving at some station. No game was shot all that
day; no man had a morsel of food; the guns and ammunition seemed
heavy and useless, and one by one they were dropped. It rained at
intervals, the clothing became soaked and heavy, and some of the men
threw away their coats. A large fire was again made at night, but no
one could sleep, shivering with cold and hunger.
Next morning one man refused to go any further, saying he might as
well die where he was. He was a convict accustomed to life in the
bush, and Mr. Tyers was surprised that he should be the first man to
give way to despair, and partly by force and partly by persuasion he
was induced to proceed. About midday smoke was seen in the distance,
and the hope of soon obtaining food put new life into the wayfarers.
But they soon made a long straggling line of march; the strongest in
the front, the weakest in the rear.
The smoke issued from the chimney of the hut occupied by Big Mat. He
was away looking after his cattle, but his wife Norah was inside,
busy with her household duties, while the baby was asleep in the
corner. There was a small garden planted with vegetables in front of
the hut, and Norah, happening to look out of the window during the
afternoon, saw a strange man pulling off the pea pods and devouring
them. The strange man was Mr. Tyers. Some other men were also
coming near.
"They are bushrangers," she said running to the door and bolting it,
"and they'll rob the hut and maybe they'll murder me and the baby."
That last thought made her fierce. She seized an old Tower musket,
which was always kept loaded ready for use, and watched the men
through the window. They came into the garden one after another, and
at once began snatching the peas and eating them. There was
something fearfully wild and strange in the demeanour of the men, but
Norah observed that they appeared to have no firearms and very little
clothing. They never spoke, and seemed to take no notice of anything
but the peas.
"The Lord preserve us," said Norah, "I wish Mat would come."
Her prayer was heard, for Mat came riding up to the garden fence with
two cattle dogs, which began barking at the strangers. Mat said:
"Hello, you coves, is it robbing my garden ye are?"
Mr. Tyers looked towards Mat and spoke, but his voice was weak, his
mouth full of peas, and Mat could not tell what he was saying. He
dismounted, hung the bridle on to a post, and came into the garden.
He looked at the men, and soon guessed what was the matter with them;
he had often seen their complaint in Ireland.
"Poor craythurs," he said, "it's hungry ye are, and hunger's a
killing disorder. Stop ating they pays to wonst, or they'll kill ye,
and come into the house, and we'll give ye something better."
The men muttered, but kept snatching off the peas. Norah had
unbolted the door, and was standing with the musket in her hand.
"Take away the gun, Norah, and put the big billy on the fire, and
we'll give 'em something warm. The craythurs are starving. I
suppose they are runaway prisoners, and small blame to 'em for that
same, but we can't let 'em die of hunger."
The strangers had become quite idiotic, and wou'd not leave the peas,
until Mat lost all patience, bundled them one by one by main force
into his hut, and shut the door.
He had taken the pledge from Father Mathew before he left Ireland,
and had kept it faithfully; but he was not strait-laced. He had a
gallon of rum in the hut, to be used in case of snake-bite and in
other emergencies, and he now gave each man a little rum and water,
and a small piece of damper.
Rum was a curse to the convicts, immigrants, and natives. Its
average price was then about 4s. 3d. per gallon. The daily ration of
a soldier consisted of one pound of bread, one pound of fresh meat,
and one-seventh of a quart of rum. But on this day, to Mr. Tyers and
his men, the liquor was a perfect blessing. He was sitting on the
floor with his back to the slabs.
"You don't know me, Mat?"
"Know ye, is it? Sure I never clapped eyes on ye before, that I know
of. Are ye runaway Government men? Tell the truth, now, for I am
not the man to turn informer agin misfortunate craythurs like
yourselves."
"My name is Tyers. I passed this way, you may remember, not very long
ago."
"What! Mr. Tyers, the commissioner? Sure I didn't know you from
Adam. So ye never went to Gippsland at all?"
"Our horses got at the provisions and spoiled them; so we had to come
back, and we have had nothing to eat for three days. There is one
man somewhere behind yet; I am afraid he will lie down and die. Do
you think you could find him?"
"For the love of mercy, I'll try, anyway. Norah, dear, take care of
the poor fellows while I go and look for the other man; and mind,
only to give 'em a little food and drink at a time, or they'll kill
their wake stomachs with greediness; and see you all do just as Norah
tells you while I'm away, for you are no better than childer."
Mat galloped away to look for the last man, while his wife watched
over the welfare of her guests. She said:
"The Lord save us, and be betune us and harm, but when I seen you in
the garden I thought ye were bushrangers, and I took up the ould gun
to shoot ye."
Mat soon found the last man, put him on his horse, and brought him to
the hut. Next morning he yoked his bullocks, put all his guests into
the dray, and started for Dandenong. On December 23rd, 1843, Mr.
Tyers and his men arrived in Melbourne, and he reported to Mr.
Latrobe the failure of his second attempt to reach Gippsland.
While the commissioner and his men were vainly endeavouring to reach
the new country, seven other men were suffering famine and extreme
hardships to get away from it. They had arrived at the Old Port by
sea, having been engaged to strip bark by Mr. P. W. Walsh, usually
known in Melbourne as Paddy Walsh. He had been chief constable in
Launceston. Many years before Batman or Fawkner landed in Port
Philip, parties of whalers were sent each year to strip wattle bark
at Western Port. Griffiths and Co. had found the business
profitable, and Paddy Walsh came to the conclusion that there was
money to be made out of bark in Gippsland. He therefore engaged
seven men and shipped them by schooner, writing to a storekeeper at
the Old Port to receive the bark, ship it to Melbourne, and supply
the strippers with the requisite stores.
The seven men landed at the Old Port and talked to the pioneers.
They listened to their dismal accounts of starvation on roast
flathead and mutton-birds' eggs, of the ferocity of the blacks, of
the murder of Macalister, of the misfortunes of Glengarry. The
nine-pounder gun still stood at the corner of the company's store,
pointed towards the scrub, a silent warning to the new men of the
dangers in store for them. They took their guns and went about the
bush looking for wattle trees, but they could not find in any place a
sufficient quantity to make the business profitable. There was no
regular employment to be had, but fortunately the schooner 'Scotia',
chartered by John King, went ashore in a gale, and four of the
barkers, all Irishmen obtained a few days' work in taking out her mud
ballast. But no permanent livelihood could be expected from
shipwrecks, and the seven strippers resolved, if possible, to return
to Melbourne. They wanted to see Paddy Walsh once more, but they had
no money, and the storekeeper refused to pay their fare by sea.
After much negotiation, they obtained a week's rations, and gave all
the tools they had brought with them to Captain Davy in payment for
his trouble in landing them at One Tree Hill. They were informed
that Brodribb and Hobson had made Western Port in four days on foot,
and of course they could do the same. Four of the men were named
Crow, Sparrow, Fox, and Macnamara; of the other three two were
Englishmen, Smith and Brown; the third, a native of London, named
Spiller, installed himself in the office of captain on account of his
superior knowledge. He guaranteed to lead the party in a straight
line to Western Port. He said he could box the compass; he had not
one about him, but that made no difference. He would lay out their
course every morning; they had to travel westward; the sun rose in
the east, everybody knew as much as that; so all he had to do was to
turn his back to the rising sun, and march straight on to Western
Port which was situated in the west. The men agreed that Spiller's
theory was a very good one; they could not think of any objection to
it.
Each man carried his blanket and rations, his gun and ammunition.
Every morning Spiller pointed out the course to be taken and led the
way. From time to time, with a look of extreme wisdom, he took
observations of the position of the sun, and studied the direction of
his own shadow on the ground. For five days the men followed him
with great confidence, and then they found that their rations were
all consumed, and there was no sign of Western Port or any
settlement. They began to grumble, and to mistrust their captain;
they said he must have been leading them astray, otherwise they would
have seen some sign of the country being inhabited, and they formed a
plan for putting Spiller's knowledge of inland navigation to the test.