AUSTRALIA
Sydney—Excursion to Bathurst—Aspect of the woods—Party of
natives—Gradual extinction of the aborigines—Infection generated by
associated men in health—Blue Mountains—View of the grand gulf-like
valleys—Their origin and formation—Bathurst, general civility of the
lower orders—State of society—Van Diemen’s Land—Hobart Town—Aborigines
all banished—Mount Wellington—King George’s Sound—Cheerless aspect of
the country—Bald Head, calcareous casts of branches of trees—Party of
natives—Leave Australia.
_January_ 12_th_, 1836.—Early in the morning a light air carried us
towards the entrance of Port Jackson. Instead of beholding a verdant
country, interspersed with fine houses, a straight line of yellowish
cliff brought to our minds the coast of Patagonia. A solitary
lighthouse, built of white stone, alone told us that we were near a
great and populous city. Having entered the harbour, it appears fine
and spacious, with cliff-formed shores of horizontally stratified
sandstone. The nearly level country is covered with thin scrubby trees,
bespeaking the curse of sterility. Proceeding farther inland, the
country improves: beautiful villas and nice cottages are here and there
scattered
along the beach. In the distance stone houses, two and three stories
high, and windmills standing on the edge of a bank, pointed out to us
the neighbourhood of the capital of Australia.
At last we anchored within Sydney Cove. We found the little basin
occupied by many large ships, and surrounded by warehouses. In the
evening I walked through the town, and returned full of admiration at
the whole scene. It is a most magnificent testimony to the power of the
British nation. Here, in a less promising country, scores of years have
done many more times more than an equal number of centuries have
effected in South America. My first feeling was to congratulate myself
that I was born an Englishman. Upon seeing more of the town afterwards,
perhaps my admiration fell a little; but yet it is a fine town. The
streets are regular, broad, clean, and kept in excellent order; the
houses are of a good size, and the shops well furnished. It may be
faithfully compared to the large suburbs which stretch out from London
and a few other great towns in England; but not even near London or
Birmingham is there an appearance of such rapid growth. The number of
large houses and other buildings just finished was truly surprising;
nevertheless, every one complained of the high rents and difficulty in
procuring a house. Coming from South America, where in the towns every
man of property is known, no one thing surprised me more than not being
able to ascertain at once to whom this or that carriage belonged.
I hired a man and two horses to take me to Bathurst, a village about
one hundred and twenty miles in the interior, and the centre of a great
pastoral district. By this means I hoped to gain a general idea of the
appearance of the country. On the morning of the 16th (January) I set
out on my excursion. The first stage took us to Paramatta, a small
country town, next to Sydney in importance. The roads were excellent,
and made upon the MacAdam principle, whinstone having been brought for
the purpose from the distance of several miles. In all respects there
was a close resemblance to England: perhaps the alehouses here were
more numerous. The iron gangs, or parties of convicts who have
committed here some offence, appeared the least like England: they were
working in chains, under the charge of sentries with loaded
arms. The power which the government possesses, by means of forced
labour, of at once opening good roads throughout the country, has been,
I believe, one main cause of the early prosperity of this colony. I
slept at night at a very comfortable inn at Emu ferry, thirty-five
miles from Sydney, and near the ascent of the Blue Mountains. This line
of road is the most frequented, and has been the longest inhabited of
any in the colony. The whole land is enclosed with high railings, for
the farmers have not succeeded in rearing hedges. There are many
substantial houses and good cottages scattered about; but although
considerable pieces of land are under cultivation, the greater part yet
remains as when first discovered.
The extreme uniformity of the vegetation is the most remarkable feature
in the landscape of the greater part of New South Wales. Everywhere we
have an open woodland, the ground being partially covered with a very
thin pasture, with little appearance of verdure. The trees nearly all
belong to one family, and mostly have their leaves placed in a
vertical, instead of as in Europe, in a nearly horizontal position: the
foliage is scanty, and of a peculiar pale green tint, without any
gloss. Hence the woods appear light and shadowless: this, although a
loss of comfort to the traveller under the scorching rays of summer, is
of importance to the farmer, as it allows grass to grow where it
otherwise would not. The leaves are not shed periodically: this
character appears common to the entire southern hemisphere, namely,
South America, Australia, and the Cape of Good Hope. The inhabitants of
this hemisphere, and of the intertropical regions, thus lose perhaps
one of the most glorious, though to our eyes common, spectacles in the
world—the first bursting into full foliage of the leafless tree. They
may, however, say that we pay dearly for this by having the land
covered with mere naked skeletons for so many months. This is too true;
but our senses thus acquire a keen relish for the exquisite green of
the spring, which the eyes of those living within the tropics, sated
during the long year with the gorgeous productions of those glowing
climates, can never experience. The greater number of the trees, with
the exception of some of the Blue-gums, do not attain a large size; but
they grow tall and tolerably straight, and stand well apart. The bark
of some of the Eucalypti falls annually, or
hangs dead in long shreds which swing about with the wind, and give to
the woods a desolate and untidy appearance. I cannot imagine a more
complete contrast, in every respect, than between the forests of
Valdivia or Chiloe, and the woods of Australia.
At sunset, a party of a score of the black aborigines passed by, each
carrying, in their accustomed manner, a bundle of spears and other
weapons. By giving a leading young man a shilling, they were easily
detained, and threw their spears for my amusement. They were all partly
clothed, and several could speak a little English: their countenances
were good-humoured and pleasant, and they appeared far from being such
utterly degraded beings as they have usually been represented. In their
own arts they are admirable. A cap being fixed at thirty yards
distance, they transfixed it with a spear, delivered by the
throwing-stick with the rapidity of an arrow from the bow of a
practised archer. In tracking animals or men they show most wonderful
sagacity; and I heard of several of their remarks which manifested
considerable acuteness. They will not, however, cultivate the ground,
or build houses and remain stationary, or even take the trouble of
tending a flock of sheep when given to them. On the whole they appear
to me to stand some few degrees higher in the scale of civilisation
than the Fuegians.
It is very curious thus to see in the midst of a civilised people, a
set of harmless savages wandering about without knowing where they
shall sleep at night, and gaining their livelihood by hunting in the
woods. As the white man has travelled onwards, he has spread over the
country belonging to several tribes. These, although thus enclosed by
one common people, keep up their ancient distinctions, and sometimes go
to war with each other. In an engagement which took place lately, the
two parties most singularly chose the centre of the village of Bathurst
for the field of battle. This was of service to the defeated side, for
the runaway warriors took refuge in the barracks.
The number of aborigines is rapidly decreasing. In my whole ride, with
the exception of some boys brought up by Englishmen, I saw only one
other party. This decrease, no doubt, must be partly owing to the
introduction of spirits, to
European diseases (even the milder ones of which, such as the
measles,[1] prove very destructive), and to the gradual extinction of
the wild animals. It is said that numbers of their children invariably
perish in very early infancy from the effects of their wandering life;
and as the difficulty of procuring food increases, so must their
wandering habits increase; and hence the population, without any
apparent deaths from famine, is repressed in a manner extremely sudden
compared to what happens in civilised countries, where the father,
though in adding to his labour he may injure himself, does not destroy
his offspring.
[1] It is remarkable how the same disease is modified in different
climates. At the little island of St. Helena the introduction of
scarlet-fever is dreaded as a plague. In some countries foreigners and
natives are as differently affected by certain contagious disorders as
if they had been different animals; of which fact some instances have
occurred in Chile; and, according to Humboldt, in Mexico (_Polit.
Essay, New Spain,_ vol. iv.)
Besides these several evident causes of destruction, there appears to
be some more mysterious agency generally at work. Wherever the European
has trod, death seems to pursue the aboriginal. We may look to the wide
extent of the Americas, Polynesia, the Cape of Good Hope, and
Australia, and we find the same result. Nor is it the white man alone
that thus acts the destroyer; the Polynesian of Malay extraction has in
parts of the East Indian archipelago thus driven before him the
dark-coloured native. The varieties of man seem to act on each other in
the same way as different species of animals—the stronger always
extirpating the weaker. It was melancholy at New Zealand to hear the
fine energetic natives saying that they knew the land was doomed to
pass from their children. Every one has heard of the inexplicable
reduction of the population in the beautiful and healthy island of
Tahiti since the date of Captain Cook’s voyages: although in that case
we might have expected that it would have been increased; for
infanticide, which formerly prevailed to so extraordinary a degree, has
ceased, profligacy has greatly diminished, and the murderous wars
become less frequent.
The Reverend J. Williams, in his interesting work,[2] says that the
first intercourse between natives and Europeans “is invariably attended
with the introduction of fever, dysentery,
or some other disease which carries off numbers of the people.” Again
he affirms “It is certainly a fact, which cannot be controverted, that
most of the diseases which have raged in the islands during my
residence there have been introduced by ships;[3] and what renders this
fact remarkable is that there might be no appearance of disease among
the crew of the ship which conveyed this destructive importation.” This
statement is not quite so extraordinary as it at first appears; for
several cases are on record of the most malignant fevers having broken
out, although the parties themselves, who were the cause, were not
affected. In the early part of the reign of George III, a prisoner who
had been confined in a dungeon was taken in a coach with four
constables before a magistrate; and although the man himself was not
ill, the four constables died from a short putrid fever; but the
contagion extended to no others. From these facts it would almost
appear as if the effluvium of one set of men shut up for some time
together was poisonous when inhaled by others; and possibly more so, if
the men be of different races. Mysterious as this circumstance appears
to be, it is not more surprising than that the body of one’s
fellow-creature, directly after death, and before putrefaction has
commenced, should often be of so deleterious a quality that the mere
puncture from an instrument used in its dissection should prove fatal.
[2] _Narrative of Missionary Enterprise,_ p. 282.
[3] Captain Beechey (chap. iv, vol. i.) states that the inhabitants of
Pitcairn Island are firmly convinced that after the arrival of every
ship they suffer cutaneous and other disorders. Captain Beechey
attributes this to the change of diet during the time of the visit.
Dr. Macculloch (_Western Isles,_ vol. ii, p. 32) says, “It is
asserted, that on the arrival of a stranger (at St. Kilda) all the
inhabitants, in the common phraseology, catch a cold.” Dr. Macculloch
considers the whole case, although often previously affirmed, as
ludicrous. He adds, however, that “the question was put by us to the
inhabitants who unanimously agreed in the story.” In Vancouver’s
_Voyage_ there is a somewhat similar statement with respect to
Otaheite. Dr. Dieffenbach, in a note to his translation of this
Journal, states that the same fact is universally believed by the
inhabitants of the Chatham Islands and in parts of New Zealand. It is
impossible that such a belief should have become universal in the
northern hemisphere, at the Antipodes, and in the Pacific, without
some good foundation. Humboldt (_Polit. Essay on King. of New Spain,_
vol. iv.) says that the great epidemics at Panama and Callao are
“marked” by the arrival of ships from Chile, because the people from
that temperate region first experience the fatal effects of the torrid
zones. I may add that I have heard it stated in Shropshire that sheep
which have been imported from vessels, although themselves in a
healthy condition, if placed in the same fold with others, frequently
produce sickness in the flock.
17_th._—Early in the morning we passed the Nepean in a
ferry-boat. The river, although at this spot both broad and deep, had a
very small body of running water. Having crossed a low piece of land on
the opposite side, we reached the slope of the Blue Mountains. The
ascent is not steep, the road having been cut with much care on the
side of a sandstone cliff. On the summit an almost level plain extends,
which, rising imperceptibly to the westward, at last attains a height
of more than 3000 feet. From so grand a title as Blue Mountains, and
from their absolute altitude, I expected to have seen a bold chain of
mountains crossing the country; but instead of this, a sloping plain
presents merely an inconsiderable front to the low land near the coast.
From this first slope the view of the extensive woodland to the east
was striking, and the surrounding trees grew bold and lofty. But when
once on the sandstone platform, the scenery becomes exceedingly
monotonous; each side of the road is bordered by scrubby trees of the
never-failing Eucalyptus family; and with the exception of two or three
small inns, there are no houses or cultivated land; the road, moreover,
is solitary; the most frequent object being a bullock-waggon, piled up
with bales of wool.
In the middle of the day we baited our horses at a little inn, called
the Weatherboard. The country here is elevated 2800 feet above the sea.
About a mile and a half from this place there is a view exceedingly
well worth visiting. Following down a little valley and its tiny rill
of water, an immense gulf unexpectedly opens through the trees which
border the pathway, at the depth of perhaps 1500 feet. Walking on a few
yards, one stands on the brink of a vast precipice, and below one sees
a grand bay or gulf, for I know not what other name to give it, thickly
covered with forest. The point of view is situated as if at the head of
a bay, the line of cliff diverging on each side, and showing headland
behind headland, as on a bold sea-coast. These cliffs are composed of
horizontal strata of whitish sandstone; and are so absolutely vertical,
that in many places a person standing on the edge and throwing down a
stone, can see it strike the trees in the abyss below. So unbroken is
the line of cliff that in order to reach the foot of the waterfall
formed by this little stream, it is said to be necessary to go sixteen
miles round. About five miles distant in front another line of cliff
extends, which thus appears completely to encircle
the valley; and hence the name of bay is justified, as applied to this
grand amphitheatrical depression. If we imagine a winding harbour, with
its deep water surrounded by bold cliff-like shores, to be laid dry,
and a forest to spring up on its sandy bottom, we should then have the
appearance and structure here exhibited. This kind of view was to me
quite novel, and extremely magnificent.
In the evening we reached the Blackheath. The sandstone plateau has
here attained the height of 3400 feet; and is covered, as before, with
the same scrubby woods. From the road there were occasional glimpses
into a profound valley of the same character as the one described; but
from the steepness and depth of its sides, the bottom was scarcely ever
to be seen. The Blackheath is a very comfortable inn, kept by an old
soldier; and it reminded me of the small inns in North Wales.
18_th._—Very early in the morning I walked about three miles to see
Govett’s Leap: a view of a similar character with that near the
Weatherboard, but perhaps even more stupendous. So early in the day the
gulf was filled with a thin blue haze, which, although destroying the
general effect of the view, added to the apparent depth at which the
forest was stretched out beneath our feet. These valleys, which so long
presented an insuperable barrier to the attempts of the most
enterprising of the colonists to reach the interior, are most
remarkable. Great armlike bays, expanding at their upper ends, often
branch from the main valleys and penetrate the sandstone platform; on
the other hand, the platform often sends promontories into the valleys,
and even leaves in them great, almost insulated, masses. To descend
into some of these valleys, it is necessary to go round twenty miles;
and into others, the surveyors have only lately penetrated, and the
colonists have not yet been able to drive in their cattle. But the most
remarkable feature in their structure is, that although several miles
wide at their heads, they generally contract towards their mouths to
such a degree as to become impassable. The Surveyor-General, Sir T.
Mitchell,[4] endeavoured in vain, first walking and then by crawling
between the great fallen fragments of sandstone, to
ascend through the gorge by which the river Grose joins the Nepean; yet
the valley of the Grose in its upper part, as I saw, forms a
magnificent level basin some miles in width, and is on all sides
surrounded by cliffs, the summits of which are believed to be nowhere
less than 3000 feet above the level of the sea. When cattle are driven
into the valley of the Wolgan by a path (which I descended), partly
natural and partly made by the owner of the land, they cannot escape;
for this valley is in every other part surrounded by perpendicular
cliffs, and eight miles lower down it contracts from an average width
of half a mile, to a mere chasm, impassable to man or beast. Sir T.
Mitchell states that the great valley of the Cox river with all its
branches, contracts, where it unites with the Nepean, into a gorge 2200
yards in width, and about 1000 feet in depth. Other similar cases might
have been added.
[4] _Travels in Australia,_ vol. i, p. 154. I must express my
obligation to Sir T. Mitchell for several interesting personal
communications on the subject of these great valleys of New South
Wales.
The first impression on seeing the correspondence of the horizontal
strata on each side of these valleys and great amphitheatrical
depressions, is that they have been hollowed out, like other valleys,
by the action of water; but when one reflects on the enormous amount of
stone which on this view must have been removed through mere gorges or
chasms, one is led to ask whether these spaces may not have subsided.
But considering the form of the irregularly branching valleys, and of
the narrow promontories projecting into them from the platforms, we are
compelled to abandon this notion. To attribute these hollows to the
present alluvial action would be preposterous; nor does the drainage
from the summit-level always fall, as I remarked near the Weatherboard,
into the head of these valleys, but into one side of their baylike
recesses. Some of the inhabitants remarked to me that they never viewed
one of those baylike recesses, with the headlands receding on both
hands, without being struck with their resemblance to a bold sea-coast.
This is certainly the case; moreover, on the present coast of New South
Wales, the numerous fine, widely-branching harbours, which are
generally connected with the sea by a narrow mouth worn through the
sandstone coast-cliffs, varying from one mile in width to a quarter of
a mile, present a likeness, though on a miniature scale, to the great
valleys of the interior. But then immediately occurs the startling
difficulty, why has the sea worn out these
great though circumscribed depressions on a wide platform, and left
mere gorges at the openings, through which the whole vast amount of
triturated matter must have been carried away? The only light I can
throw upon this enigma is by remarking that banks of the most irregular
forms appear to be now forming in some seas, as in parts of the West
Indies and in the Red Sea, and that their sides are exceedingly steep.
Such banks, I have been led to suppose, have been formed by sediment
heaped by strong currents on an irregular bottom. That in some cases
the sea, instead of spreading out sediment in a uniform sheet, heaps it
round submarine rocks and islands, it is hardly possible to doubt,
after examining the charts of the West Indies; and that the waves have
power to form high and precipitous cliffs, even in land-locked
harbours, I have noticed in many parts of South America. To apply these
ideas to the sandstone platforms of New South Wales, I imagine that the
strata were heaped by the action of strong currents, and of the
undulations of an open sea, on an irregular bottom; and that the
valley-like spaces thus left unfilled had their steeply sloping flanks
worn into cliffs during a slow elevation of the land; the worn-down
sandstone being removed, either at the time when the narrow gorges were
cut by the retreating sea, or subsequently by alluvial action.
Soon after leaving the Blackheath we descended from the sandstone
platform by the pass of Mount Victoria. To effect this pass an enormous
quantity of stone has been cut through; the design and its manner of
execution being worthy of any line of road in England. We now entered
upon a country less elevated by nearly a thousand feet, and consisting
of granite. With the change of rock the vegetation improved; the trees
were both finer and stood farther apart; and the pasture between them
was a little greener and more plentiful. At Hassan’s Walls I left the
high-road, and made a short detour to a farm called Walerawang; to the
superintendent of which I had a letter of introduction from the owner
in Sydney. Mr. Browne had the kindness to ask me to stay the ensuing
day, which I had much pleasure in doing. This place offers an example
of one of the large farming, or rather sheep-grazing, establishments of
the colony. Cattle and horses are, however,
in this case rather more numerous than usual, owing to some of the
valleys being swampy and producing a coarser pasture. Two or three flat
pieces of ground near the house were cleared and cultivated with corn,
which the harvest-men were now reaping: but no more wheat is sown than
sufficient for the annual support of the labourers employed on the
establishment. The usual number of assigned convict-servants here is
about forty, but at the present time there were rather more. Although
the farm was well stocked with every necessary, there was an apparent
absence of comfort; and not one single woman resided here. The sunset
of a fine day will generally cast an air of happy contentment on any
scene; but here, at this retired farmhouse, the brightest tints on the
surrounding woods could not make me forget that forty hardened,
profligate men were ceasing from their daily labours, like the slaves
from Africa, yet without their holy claim for compassion.
Early on the next morning Mr. Archer, the joint superintendent, had the
kindness to take me out kangaroo-hunting. We continued riding the
greater part of the day, but had very bad sport, not seeing a kangaroo,
or even a wild dog. The greyhounds pursued a kangaroo rat into a hollow
tree, out of which we dragged it: it is an animal as large as a rabbit,
but with the figure of a kangaroo. A few years since this country
abounded with wild animals; but now the emu is banished to a long
distance, and the kangaroo is become scarce; to both the English
greyhound has been highly destructive. It may be long before these
animals are altogether exterminated, but their doom is fixed. The
aborigines are always anxious to borrow the dogs from the farmhouses:
the use of them, the offal when an animal is killed, and some milk from
the cows, are the peace-offerings of the settlers, who push farther and
farther towards the interior. The thoughtless aboriginal, blinded by
these trifling advantages, is delighted at the approach of the white
man, who seems predestined to inherit the country of his children.
Although having poor sport, we enjoyed a pleasant ride. The woodland is
generally so open that a person on horseback can gallop through it. It
is traversed by a few flat-bottomed valleys, which are green and free
from trees: in such spots the scenery was pretty like that of a park.
In the whole
country I scarcely saw a place without the marks of a fire; whether
these had been more or less recent—whether the stumps were more or less
black, was the greatest change which varied the uniformity so wearisome
to the traveller’s eye. In these woods there are not many birds; I saw,
however, some large flocks of the white cockatoo feeding in a
corn-field, and a few most beautiful parrots; crows like our jackdaws
were not uncommon, and another bird something like the magpie. In the
dusk of the evening I took a stroll along a chain of ponds, which in
this dry country represented the course of a river, and had the good
fortune to see several of the famous Ornithorhynchus paradoxus. They
were diving and playing about the surface of the water, but showed so
little of their bodies that they might easily have been mistaken for
water-rats. Mr. Browne shot one: certainly it is a most extraordinary
animal; a stuffed specimen does not at all give a good idea of the
appearance of the head and beak when fresh; the latter becoming hard
and contracted.[5]
[5] I was interested by finding here the hollow conical pitfall of the
lion-ant, or some other insect: first a fly fell down the treacherous
slope and immediately disappeared; then came a large but unwary ant;
its struggles to escape being very violent, those curious little jets
of sand, described by Kirby and Spence (_Entomol._ vol. i, p. 425) as
being flirted by the insect’s tail, were promptly directed against the
expected victim. But the ant enjoyed a better fate than the fly and
escaped the fatal jaws which lay concealed at the base of the conical
hollow. This Australian pitfall was only about half the size of that
made by the European lion-ant.
20_th._—A long day’s ride to Bathurst. Before joining the high road we
followed a mere path through the forest; and the country, with the
exception of a few squatters’ huts, was very solitary. We experienced
this day the sirocco-like wind of Australia, which comes from the
parched deserts of the interior. Clouds of dust were travelling in
every direction; and the wind felt as if it had passed over a fire. I
afterwards heard that the thermometer out of doors had stood at 119°,
and in a closed room at 96°. In the afternoon we came in view of the
downs of Bathurst. These undulating but nearly smooth plains are very
remarkable in this country, from being absolutely destitute of trees.
They support only a thin brown pasture. We rode some miles over this
country, and then reached the township of Bathurst, seated in the
middle of what may be called either a very broad valley, or narrow
plain. I was told at Sydney not to form too bad an opinion of Australia
by judging of the country from the roadside, nor too good a one from
Bathurst; in this latter respect I did not feel myself in the least
danger of being prejudiced. The season, it must be owned, had been one
of great drought, and the country did not wear a favourable aspect;
although I understand it was incomparably worse two or three months
before. The secret of the rapidly growing prosperity of Bathurst is
that the brown pasture which appears to the stranger’s eye so wretched
is excellent for sheep-grazing. The town stands at the height of 2200
feet above the sea, on the banks of the Macquarie: this is one of the
rivers flowing into the vast and scarcely known interior. The line of
watershed which divides the inland streams from those on the coast, has
a height of about 3000 feet, and runs in a north and south direction at
the distance of from eighty to a hundred miles from the seaside. The
Macquarie figures in the map as a respectable river, and it is the
largest of those draining this part of the watershed; yet to my
surprise I found it a mere chain of ponds, separated from each other by
spaces almost dry. Generally a small stream is running; and sometimes
there are high and impetuous floods. Scanty as the supply of the water
is throughout this district, it becomes still scantier further inland.
22_nd._—I commenced my return and followed a new road called Lockyer’s
Line along which the country is rather more hilly and picturesque. This
was a long day’s ride; and the house where I wished to sleep was some
way off the road, and not easily found. I met on this occasion, and
indeed on all others, a very general and ready civility among the lower
orders, which, when one considers what they are, and what they have
been, would scarcely have been expected. The farm where I passed the
night was owned by two young men who had only lately come out, and were
beginning a settler’s life. The total want of almost every comfort was
not very attractive; but future and certain prosperity was before their
eyes, and that not far distant.
The next day we passed through large tracts of country in flames,
volumes of smoke sweeping across the road. Before noon we joined our
former road and ascended Mount Victoria. I slept at the Weatherboard,
and before dark took another
walk to the amphitheatre. On the road to Sydney I spent a very pleasant
evening with Captain King at Dunheved; and thus ended my little
excursion in the colony of New South Wales.
Before arriving here the three things which interested me most were—the
state of society amongst the higher classes, the condition of the
convicts, and the degree of attraction sufficient to induce persons to
emigrate. Of course, after so very short a visit, one’s opinion is
worth scarcely anything; but it is as difficult not to form some
opinion, as it is to form a correct judgment. On the whole, from what I
heard, more than from what I saw, I was disappointed in the state of
society. The whole community is rancorously divided into parties on
almost every subject. Among those who, from their station in life,
ought to be the best, many live in such open profligacy that
respectable people cannot associate with them. There is much jealousy
between the children of the rich emancipist and the free settlers, the
former being pleased to consider honest men as interlopers. The whole
population, poor and rich, are bent on acquiring wealth: amongst the
higher orders, wool and sheep-grazing form the constant subject of
conversation. There are many serious drawbacks to the comforts of a
family, the chief of which, perhaps, is being surrounded by convict
servants. How thoroughly odious to every feeling, to be waited on by a
man who the day before, perhaps, was flogged, from your representation,
for some trifling misdemeanour. The female servants are of course much
worse: hence children learn the vilest expressions, and it is fortunate
if not equally vile ideas.
On the other hand, the capital of a person, without any trouble on his
part, produces him treble interest to what it will in England; and with
care he is sure to grow rich. The luxuries of life are in abundance,
and very little dearer than in England, and most articles of food are
cheaper. The climate is splendid, and perfectly healthy; but to my mind
its charms are lost by the uninviting aspect of the country. Settlers
possess a great advantage in finding their sons of service when very
young. At the age of from sixteen to twenty they frequently take charge
of distant farming stations. This, however, must happen at the expense
of their boys associating entirely with
convict servants. I am not aware that the tone of society has assumed
any peculiar character; but with such habits, and without intellectual
pursuits, it can hardly fail to deteriorate. My opinion is such that
nothing but rather sharp necessity should compel me to emigrate.
The rapid prosperity and future prospects of this colony are to me, not
understanding these subjects, very puzzling. The two main exports are
wool and whale-oil, and to both of these productions there is a limit.
The country is totally unfit for canals, therefore there is a not very
distant point beyond which the land-carriage of wool will not repay the
expense of shearing and tending sheep. Pasture everywhere is so thin
that settlers have already pushed far into the interior; moreover, the
country farther inland becomes extremely poor. Agriculture, on account
of the droughts, can never succeed on an extended scale: therefore, so
far as I can see, Australia must ultimately depend upon being the
centre of commerce for the southern hemisphere and perhaps on her
future manufactories. Possessing coal, she always has the moving power
at hand. From the habitable country extending along the coast, and from
her English extraction, she is sure to be a maritime nation. I formerly
imagined that Australia would rise to be as grand and powerful a
country as North America, but now it appears to me that such future
grandeur is rather problematical.
With respect to the state of the convicts, I had still fewer
opportunities of judging than on other points. The first question is,
whether their condition is at all one of punishment: no one will
maintain that it is a very severe one. This, however, I suppose, is of
little consequence as long as it continues to be an object of dread to
criminals at home. The corporeal wants of the convicts are tolerably
well supplied: their prospect of future liberty and comfort is not
distant, and, after good conduct, certain. A “ticket of leave,” which,
as long as a man keeps clear of suspicion as well as of crime, makes
him free within a certain district, is given upon good conduct, after
years proportional to the length of the sentence; yet with all this,
and overlooking the previous imprisonment and wretched passage out, I
believe the years of assignment are passed away with discontent and
unhappiness. As an intelligent man remarked to me, the convicts know no
pleasure
beyond sensuality, and in this they are not gratified. The enormous
bribe which Government possesses in offering free pardons, together
with the deep horror of the secluded penal settlements, destroys
confidence between the convicts, and so prevents crime. As to a sense
of shame, such a feeling does not appear to be known, and of this I
witnessed some very singular proofs. Though it is a curious fact, I was
universally told that the character of the convict population is one of
arrant cowardice; not unfrequently some become desperate, and quite
indifferent as to life, yet a plan requiring cool or continued courage
is seldom put into execution. The worst feature in the whole case is
that although there exists what may be called a legal reform, and
comparatively little is committed which the law can touch, yet that any
moral reform should take place appears to be quite out of the question.
I was assured by well-informed people that a man who should try to
improve, could not while living with other assigned servants;—his life
would be one of intolerable misery and persecution. Nor must the
contamination of the convict-ships and prisons, both here and in
England, be forgotten. On the whole, as a place of punishment, the
object is scarcely gained; as a real system of reform it has failed, as
perhaps would every other plan; but as a means of making men outwardly
honest,—of converting vagabonds, most useless in one hemisphere, into
active citizens of another, and thus giving birth to a new and splendid
country—a grand centre of civilisation—it has succeeded to a degree
perhaps unparalleled in history.
30_th._—The _Beagle_ sailed for Hobart Town in Van Diemen’s Land. On
the 5th of February, after a six days’ passage, of which the first part
was fine, and the latter very cold and squally, we entered the mouth of
Storm Bay; the weather justified this awful name. The bay should rather
be called an estuary, for it receives at its head the waters of the
Derwent. Near the mouth there are some extensive basaltic platforms;
but higher up the land becomes mountainous, and is covered by a light
wood. The lower parts of the hills which skirt the bay are cleared; and
the bright yellow fields of corn, and dark green ones of potatoes,
appear very luxuriant. Late in the evening we anchored in the snug cove
on the shores of which stands the capital of Tasmania. The first aspect
of the place was very inferior to that of Sydney; the latter might be
called a city, this is only a town. It stands at the base of Mount
Wellington, a mountain 3100 feet high, but of little picturesque
beauty; from this source, however, it receives a good supply of water.
Round the cove there are some fine warehouses and on one side a small
fort. Coming from the Spanish settlements, where such magnificent care
has generally been paid to the fortifications, the means of defence in
these colonies appeared very contemptible. Comparing the town with
Sydney, I was chiefly struck with the comparative fewness of the large
houses, either built or building. Hobart Town, from the census of 1835,
contained 13,826 inhabitants, and the whole of Tasmania 36,505.
Hobart Town and Mount Wellington
All the aborigines have been removed to an island in Bass’s Straits, so
that Van Diemen’s Land enjoys the great advantage of being free from a
native population. This most cruel step seems to have been quite
unavoidable, as the only means of stopping a fearful succession of
robberies, burnings, and murders, committed by the blacks; and which
sooner or later would have ended in their utter destruction. I fear
there is no doubt that this train of evil and its consequences
originated in the infamous conduct of some of our countrymen. Thirty
years
is a short period in which to have banished the last aboriginal from
his native island,—and that island nearly as large as Ireland. The
correspondence on this subject which took place between the government
at home and that of Van Diemen’s Land, is very interesting. Although
numbers of natives were shot and taken prisoners in the skirmishing,
which was going on at intervals for several years, nothing seems fully
to have impressed them with the idea of our overwhelming power, until
the whole island, in 1830, was put under martial law, and by
proclamation the whole population commanded to assist in one great
attempt to secure the entire race. The plan adopted was nearly similar
to that of the great hunting-matches in India: a line was formed
reaching across the island, with the intention of driving the natives
into a _ cul-de-sac_ on Tasman’s peninsula. The attempt failed; the
natives, having tied up their dogs, stole during one night through the
lines. This is far from surprising, when their practised senses and
usual manner of crawling after wild animals is considered. I have been
assured that they can conceal themselves on almost bare ground, in a
manner which until witnessed is scarcely credible; their dusky bodies
being easily mistaken for the blackened stumps which are scattered all
over the country. I was told of a trial between a party of Englishmen
and a native, who was to stand in full view on the side of a bare hill;
if the Englishmen closed their eyes for less than a minute, he would
squat down, and then they were never able to distinguish him from the
surrounding stumps. But to return to the hunting-match; the natives
understanding this kind of warfare, were terribly alarmed, for they at
once perceived the power and numbers of the whites. Shortly afterwards
a party of thirteen belonging to two tribes came in; and, conscious of
their unprotected condition, delivered themselves up in despair.
Subsequently by the intrepid exertions of Mr. Robinson, an active and
benevolent man, who fearlessly visited by himself the most hostile of
the natives, the whole were induced to act in a similar manner. They
were then removed to an island, where food and clothes were provided
them. Count Strzelecki states,[6] that “at the epoch of their
deportation in 1835, the number of natives amounted to 210. In 1842,
that is after
the interval of seven years, they mustered only fifty-four individuals;
and, while each family of the interior of New South Wales,
uncontaminated by contact with the whites, swarms with children, those
of Flinders’ Island had during eight years an accession of only
fourteen in number!”
[6] _Physical Description of New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land,_
p. 354.
The _Beagle_ stayed here ten days, and in this time I made several
pleasant little excursions, chiefly with the object of examining the
geological structure of the immediate neighbourhood. The main points of
interest consist, first in some highly fossiliferous strata belonging
to the Devonian or Carboniferous period; secondly, in proofs of a late
small rise of the land; and lastly, in a solitary and superficial patch
of yellowish limestone or travertin, which contains numerous
impressions of leaves of trees, together with land-shells, not now
existing. It is not improbable that this one small quarry includes the
only remaining record of the vegetation of Van Diemen’s Land during one
former epoch.
The climate here is damper than in New South Wales, and hence the land
is more fertile. Agriculture flourishes; the cultivated fields look
well, and the gardens abound with thriving vegetables and fruit-trees.
Some of the farmhouses, situated in retired spots, had a very
attractive appearance. The general aspect of the vegetation is similar
to that of Australia; perhaps it is a little more green and cheerful;
and the pasture between the trees rather more abundant. One day I took
a long walk on the side of the bay opposite to the town: I crossed in a
steamboat, two of which are constantly plying backwards and forwards.
The machinery of one of these vessels was entirely manufactured in this
colony, which, from its very foundation, then numbered only three and
thirty years! Another day I ascended Mount Wellington; I took with me a
guide, for I failed in a first attempt, from the thickness of the wood.
Our guide, however, was a stupid fellow, and conducted us to the
southern and damp side of the mountain, where the vegetation was very
luxuriant; and where the labour of the ascent, from the number of
rotten trunks, was almost as great as on a mountain in Tierra del Fuego
or in Chiloe. It cost us five and a half hours of hard climbing before
we reached the summit. In many parts the Eucalypti grew to a great size
and composed a noble forest. In some of the dampest ravines tree-ferns
flourished in an extraordinary manner; I saw one which must have been
at least twenty feet high to the base of the fronds, and was in girth
exactly six feet. The fronds, forming the most elegant parasols,
produced a gloomy shade, like that of the first hour of night. The
summit of the mountain is broad and flat and is composed of huge
angular masses of naked greenstone. Its elevation is 3100 feet above
the level of the sea. The day was splendidly clear, and we enjoyed a
most extensive view; to the north, the country appeared a mass of
wooded mountains, of about the same height with that on which we were
standing, and with an equally tame outline: to the south the broken
land and water, forming many intricate bays, was mapped with clearness
before us. After staying some hours on the summit we found a better way
to descend, but did not reach the _Beagle_ till eight o’clock, after a
severe day’s work.
_February_ 7_th._—The _Beagle_ sailed from Tasmania, and, on the 6th of
the ensuing month, reached King George’s Sound, situated close to the
south-west corner of Australia. We stayed there eight days; and we did
not during our voyage pass a more dull and uninteresting time. The
country, viewed from an eminence, appears a woody plain, with here and
there rounded and partly bare hills of granite protruding. One day I
went out with a party, in hopes of seeing a kangaroo-hunt, and walked
over a good many miles of country. Everywhere we found the soil sandy,
and very poor; it supported either a coarse vegetation of thin, low
brushwood and wiry grass, or a forest of stunted trees. The scenery
resembled that of the high sandstone platform of the Blue Mountains;
the Casuarina (a tree somewhat resembling a Scotch fir) is, however,
here in greater number, and the Eucalyptus in rather less. In the open
parts there were many grass-trees,—a plant which, in appearance, has
some affinity with the palm; but, instead of being surmounted by a
crown of noble fronds, it can boast merely of a tuft of very coarse
grass-like leaves. The general bright green colour of the brushwood and
other plants, viewed from a distance, seemed to promise fertility. A
single walk, however, was enough to dispel such an illusion; and he who
thinks with me will never wish to walk again in so uninviting a
country.
One day I accompanied Captain Fitz Roy to Bald Head, the place
mentioned by so many navigators, where some imagined that they saw
corals, and others that they saw petrified trees, standing in the
position in which they had grown. According to our view, the beds have
been formed by the wind having heaped up fine sand, composed of minute
rounded particles of shells and corals, during which process branches
and roots of trees, together with many land-shells, became enclosed.
The whole then became consolidated by the percolation of calcareous
matter; and the cylindrical cavities left by the decaying of the wood
were thus also filled up with a hard pseudo-stalactitical stone. The
weather is now wearing away the softer parts, and in consequence the
hard casts of the roots and branches of the trees project above the
surface, and, in a singularly deceptive manner, resemble the stumps of
a dead thicket.
A large tribe of natives, called the White Cockatoo men happened to pay
the settlement a visit while we were there. These men, as well as those
of the tribe belonging to King George’s Sound, being tempted by the
offer of some tubs of rice and sugar, were persuaded to hold a
“corrobery,” or great dancing-party. As soon as it grew dark, small
fires were lighted, and the men commenced their toilet, which consisted
in painting themselves white in spots and lines. As soon as all was
ready, large fires were kept blazing, round which the women and
children were collected as spectators; the Cockatoo and King George’s
men formed two distinct parties, and generally danced in answer to each
other. The dancing consisted in their running either sideways or in
Indian file into an open space, and stamping the ground with great
force as they marched together. Their heavy footsteps were accompanied
by a kind of grunt, by beating their clubs and spears together, and by
various other gesticulations, such as extending their arms and
wriggling their bodies. It was a most rude, barbarous scene, and, to
our ideas, without any sort of meaning; but we observed that the black
women and children watched it with the greatest pleasure. Perhaps these
dances originally represented actions, such as wars and victories;
there was one called the Emu dance, in which each man extended his arm
in a bent manner, like the neck of that bird. In another dance,
one man imitated the movements of a kangaroo grazing in the woods,
whilst a second crawled up and pretended to spear him. When both tribes
mingled in the dance, the ground trembled with the heaviness of their
steps, and the air resounded with their wild cries. Every one appeared
in high spirits, and the group of nearly naked figures, viewed by the
light of the blazing fires, all moving in hideous harmony, formed a
perfect display of a festival amongst the lowest barbarians. In Tierra
del Fuego we have beheld many curious scenes in savage life, but never,
I think, one where the natives were in such high spirits, and so
perfectly at their ease. After the dancing was over the whole party
formed a great circle on the ground, and the boiled rice and sugar was
distributed, to the delight of all.
After several tedious delays from clouded weather, on the 14th of March
we gladly stood out of King George’s Sound on our course to Keeling
Island. Farewell, Australia! you are a rising child, and doubtless some
day will reign a great princess in the South; but you are too great and
ambitious for affection, yet not great enough for respect. I leave your
shores without sorrow or regret.
[Illustration: Australian group of weapons and throwing sticks]
[Illustration: Inside an atoll, Keeling Island]