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 12th, 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 further 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 offense, 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 civilization
than the Fuegians.
It is very curious thus to see in the midst of a civilized 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 civilized
countries, where the father, though in adding to his labour he may
injure himself, does not destroy his offspring.
Besides the 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 Rev. 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.
17th.--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.
18th.--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 arm-like 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.
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 bay-like
recesses. Some of the inhabitants remarked to me that they never
viewed one of those bay-like 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 farm-house, 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 farm-houses:
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]
20th.--A long day's ride to Bathurst. Before joining the highroad 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
degs., and in a closed room at 96 degs. 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 water-shed,
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 sea-side. The
Macquarie figures in the map as a respectable river, and it is the
largest of those draining this part of the water-shed; 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.
22nd.--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 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 misdemeanor. 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 further 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 civilization--it has
succeeded to a degree perhaps unparalleled in history.
30th.--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.
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!"
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 farm-houses, 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
steam-boat, 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 the
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 7th.--The Beagle sailed from Tasmania, and, on the 6th of the
ensuing month, reached King George's Sound, situated close to the S. W.
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-stalactical 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.
[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.).
[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 the 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 of
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.
[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.
[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.
[6] Physical Description of New South Wales and Van Diemen's Land, p.
354.