Tasmania—The Blacks—Mr. G. A. Robinson—The capture and transportation of the Aborigines to Flinders Island—Their gradual decay and extinction—Lalla Rookh, the last native.
Tasmanhad discovered the island of Tasmania and given it the name of Van Diemen’s Land, after the Governor of Batavia, by whom he had been commissioned to explore the “Great South Land.”
The next visitor was a Frenchman, named Captain Marion du Fresne, who on landing was assailed with showers of stones and spears, and retaliated by volleys of musketry, which killed and wounded several natives. This was the first blood shed, never to be forgotten by the natives. The celebrated discoverer Captain Cook visited the island in 1777. He and Captain Bligh left pigs, vines, oranges, apples, plums, onions, and potatoes, to which Captain Furneaux made additions.
Captain Cook describes the natives—their women naked, their bodies marked with scars, their heads partially shaved; they lived like beasts. No doubt their condition was very miserable, but it was made more so by European contact.
Even Flinders’ interview with the natives was unfortunate; while Captain De Surville, who anchored in Doubtless Bay, and was received by crowds of natives, who supplied them with food and water, and treated their sick with tenderness, nevertheless, repaid their services with cruelty, under the suspicion that they had stolen a boat. The chief Paginni, having been invited on board, was placed in irons. They then burnt down the village and carried the chief to sea, who died of a broken heart. De Surville, afterwards, was drowned in the surf when landing at Callao in 1791. Thus, unfortunately, the very first visit of the European was a visitation of blood, while the introduction of large bodies of criminals added crime and disease to their wretchedness.
From these causes arose an undying hatred on the part of natives to Europeans; in fact, nothing short of a guerrilla war.
Government sought to conciliate and benefit these people, and no doubt much was done, but with very unsatisfactory results.
From the diary of the Rev. Robert Knopwood we learn that our people went to their camp, probably by way of reprisal, and attacked the natives at Burke’s house, where a large body of natives had assembled and were, in pursuit of kangaroo, shooting with spears. Mistaking this for a war attack, an inexperienced officer ordered the soldiers to fire into them, and numbers were wounded and slain. This led to fearful consequences.
Shortly afterwards two Europeans were put to death by the natives, and the attack was attributed by the Governor in his proclamation, 1813, to the frequent ill-treatment by the bushrangers.
Another calamitous event took place. The natives came into town, under the leadership of a prisoner named Campbell, who cohabited with a native woman; they were kindly received by the Government, and many presents were bestowed on them; the children associated and played with the white children, but the conduct of the bushrangers to the native women led to serious consequences. “Bad men,” they said, “had stolen their piccaninnies.”
In 1816 it is recorded that the natives now manifested much hostility to the up-country settlers, killing and driving away their cattle. Quarrels arose between them and the stockmen. Spears were exchanged for the more deadly fire of musketry. The natives now entered on a marauding warfare, stopped drays and travellers, and made regular attacks on the huts.
The Lieut.-Governor issued a proclamation in which he enumerated the ill-treatment sometimes received—that they killed the men and pursued the women and compelled them to abandon their children; and still more horrible, the editor of a Wellington paper said, “We have ourselves heard old handsdeclare it was not an uncommon practice to shoot them to supply food for their dogs.” Females were not only the object of their lust, but of their barbarity. The lash and the chain were the harsh expedients of their savage love.
Lemon, one of the leaders of the bushrangers, fearing that the natives would disclose their retreats, bound them to trees and used them as targets. These barbarities led to numerous murders of the whites; but certainly the whites, even the soldiers, who cast one of their infants into the flames, and a bushranger who cut off the head of a woman’s husband, strung it round her neck, and made her walk before him, could not be exceeded in atrocious conduct by the barbarians.
Mr. Bonwick, in his narrative, sums up the determination of the blacks to scatter blood, conflagration, death, and ruin throughout every district of the Colony; so, for some time afterwards, blood was freely shed, and homesteads were doomed to the flames. Inquests were held daily, and country property had fallen in value to zero.
A Government proclamation was issued in 1826 referring to these outrages, and giving instructions how to act, but all these proclamations, however well intended, were no better than waste paper.
The savage, unrelenting and revengeful, proceeded at once to the great black war. Two natives were captured and executed, while some thirty-seven other persons were sentenced to death at the same Sessions. It was proposed to give up one district to the blacks, but this could not be accomplished, as they could not be confined to any boundary.
Black Tom was catechised by the Governor, and replied, “Your stock-keepers kill plenty of blacks.” “But,” said the Governor, “you kill men, women, and children.” “White men kill plenty of men, women, and piccaninny.” “We want to be friendly to you.” Tom, laughing, said, “All the same as white man, you catch it and kill it.” On hearing the proclamation read, Tom, laughing, said, “You make proclamation, ha, ha, ha! I never see that foolish. When he see dat he can’t read, who tell him?” “You tell him, Tom.” “No, me like see you tell him yourself. He soon spear me.”
Here is a savage not destitute of human intellect. The Governor must have felt that he met more than his match.
As the blacks could not read, as Tom said, sign-boards were put up exhibiting blacks spearing whites, and then hanging to a tree; the Governor, with a cocked-hat and uniform, with soldiers superintending; white women nursing black babies. How the blacks must have been convulsed with fun, and turned all into a corroboree!
Then came the Line scheme. Captain Welsh and Mr. G. A. Robinson succeeded even at this early period in opening friendly intercourse with one tribe, but this seems to have been objected to, as not driving the natives far enough away.
We must now introduce some noted characters, Mosquito, and Black Jack, his colleague. The former was a native of New Holland, of great physical powers, vigorous intellect, and of indomitable will. The other, Jack, was able to read and write. When taking to the bush, he exclaimed, “I’ll kill all the whites”; and Mosquito had associated with convicts in New South Wales, and adopted all their vices of drinking and swearing. An associate of Mosquito’s, known by the settlers as Bulldog, and he cruelly ill-used and then murdered a woman; then ripped up the body of the woman to destroy the infant. For want of evidence they were simply transported—Mosquito to Van Diemen’s Land in 1813. He was there employed to track bushrangers, a kind of blood-hound, but the constables, his associates, became jealous of his skill; he was therefore sent away to Hobart Town; and there became head and leader of the mob, who hung about the town. He lived with several women, whom he employed for various purposes, but one Gooseberry, a superior woman, was his chief wife. He murdered her in a fit of jealousy. The monster cut off the breasts of one of his gins, because she would suckle her infant against his will. He sent his blacks to rob and slaughter. He and his people kept the land in a state of terror. They spared neither age nor sex, while it was impossible to catch them in the trackless wilderness. He induced a native civilized lad to join his party, but he was soon captured and sentenced to Macquarie Harbour, the Tasmanian hell, but escaped, and was afterwards employed by the Government as a black tracker.
The outrages of these men were terrible, and a party of soldiers and officers was formed to destroy them. In their search they came upon a black party, stole on them at night, fired into them volleys, and killed and wounded several. A sergeant seized a child, saying, “If you are not mischievous now, you will be,” and dashed the child’s brains out against a tree. Both parties became alike ferocious. Mosquito was captured at length, being badly wounded, and, with Black Jack, tried at Hobart Town. Mosquito was found guilty, Black Jack not guilty, but the latter was tried on a second charge of murder, and both weresentenced to death. They pleaded to be sent to a penal settlement, but in vain—they were both executed. The chaplain who attended (the Rev. W. Bedford) exhorted them to pray. Black Jack exclaimed, “Pray yourself; I am too b——y frightened to pray.” After this example of justice, many natives came into town to implore pardon. The black war however went on, so that, during the temporary absence of the husbands the quick-eyed natives stole down the chimneys or through the other entrances of the houses, murdered all within, and plundered the places. On the husband’s return he found his home a slaughterhouse. No one was safe, and at length it was felt that something of a general character must be done.
Two or three persons—including the celebrated Batman, who first passed over to Port Phillip and settled in that portion of New South Wales—went out with a party for a year, captured several natives and shot some; also the names of Robertson, Jorgenson, Hopkins, Eldon, Grant, and others, must be mentioned as adventurers in the cause, who took the field, but all in vain. Within six years 121 outrages of the blacks were recorded in Oaklands district alone; twenty-one inquests upon murdered persons were held between 1827 and 1830; some women in self-defence took the musket and beat the attacking parties off, although they attempted to fire the houses.
Another proclamation was issued, offering rewards for the capture of offenders, but, in spite of 3,000 armed persons forming a cordon not more than sixty yards apart, the natives escaped. An occasional cry was heard from the sentinels, “Look out, look out.” Every man seized his gun and rushed forward, while the General galloped up, shouting, “What is the matter?” “Don’t know; there has been a breaking of sticks in that scrub.” “Fire, fire, fire.” A poor frightened cow rushed out, occasioning peals of laughter. The Governor was facetiously called Colonel George Black-string. They captured two natives only; the rest had escaped in a fog. The army broke up, and the people were in no way relieved from their danger.
It was at this critical time that Mr. Robinson, a mechanic, made an application to be permitted to go forth, unarmed, and by peaceful means attempt to induce the natives to surrender. He was of course derided, called a madman, a fool; but, although he had a little family depending on him, he could not abandon his self-imposed duty. The state of the natives was such that they lived worse than dogs, and were deprived of food. Their gins were debauched by the cruel white men. The black visitors to Tasmania had treated the natives with great cruelty. Military and civil had been in the field from the 4th of October to 26th November, but the attempt entirely failed. The expense was near £50,000; some say £70,000.
Mr. Robinson proposed a plan of conciliation—to make a visit first to Port Davey, and become known to the other tribes. He obtained a long-boat, but this was wrecked. He carried no arms, but took with him two natives, and set off at 12 o’clock at night with these guides to cross the country, and the next morning the whole tribe joined him. This was in 1830. He placed thirty-four natives on Swan Island, and having been supplied with a cutter, he visited the islands, and rescued many women from the sealers, who used them brutally, flogging them if they did not cook properly.
Next, he removed the Big River tribe and the Oyster Bay tribes to Gun-carriage Island. On approaching these tribes, they ran down the hill with spears, shouting. His party fled, and he alone confronted these exasperated savages. They had known that he was the blackfellows’ friend, and so became pacified. On one occasion only he fled, and was saved by an old woman, who towed him over the river on a log.
Mr. J. Bonwick’s description of one interview is too lucid to pass over.
The leader Robinson had ventured under the shadow of the Frenchman’s Gap, 5,000 feet high, in the uninhabited district of the western interior. There he met the last tribe, and the most dangerous of the natives. He had with him his stripling son, McGeary, Stanfield, and an Hawaiian Islander.
The stout-looking but handsome chief, Montpeliata, glared at them and grasped his spear, 18 feet long; while fifteen powerful men, with their spears and waddies, filled with all the hate and loathing for white men which such a war had excited, were ill restrained by the voice and gesture of their head. They rattled their spears, shouted their war-cry, and menaced the mission party. The women kept in rear, each carrying a bundle of spears, and 150 dogs growled at the intruders.
It was a moment of trial to the stoutest nerves. The whites trembled, and the friendly natives were about to fly. One word from that stern chief and they would have been transfixed with spears. “I think,” whispered McGeary, “we shall soon be in the resurrection.” “I think we shall,” replied Robinson.
The chief advancing, shouted, “Who are you?” “We are gentlemen,” was the reply. “Where are your guns?” “We have none.” Still suspicious, although astonished, the chief inquired, “Where are your piccaninnies (pistols)?” “We have none.” There was then a pause. The chief, seeing some blacks belonging to the white party running away, shouted, “Come back!” This was the first gleam of hope. Meanwhile some of the courageous female guides had glided round and were holding quiet earnest conversewith their wilder sisters. The great chief now walked to the rear to confer with the old women. The whole party waited with suspense for the result, on which their lives depended. In a few minutes the women threw up their hands three times, as a token of peace. Down fell the spears, and the impulsive natives rushed forward to embrace relatives and friends, while the chiefs grasped each other’s hands in brotherly embrace. It was a jubilee of joy. A feast followed, and a corroboree closed the eventful day. Well may Robinson say this was the happiest evening of his life.
These poor people had fought for the soil; numbers had perished. They had resisted 3,500 men well armed, but pacific measures had subdued them: a noble victory of moral influence. The tribe had yielded as friends, not captives. They delivered up sixteen stand of arms taken from bushrangers, together with their spears; the latter were returned to them.
Robinson marched his friends to Bothwell. The inhabitants were terrified, until he assured them that there was nothing to fear. After a night’s rest he proceeded to Hobart Town, where he was greeted with shouts of triumph and of welcome. Portraits were taken; the muse was awakened to commemorate the bloodless victory; and then followed an entertainment at Government House.
In January, 1835, vessels were provided to convey them to Flinders Island. This island is 40 miles long by 12 to 18 miles wide. Here everything possible was done for them. As to religious and other instruction, a Quakers’ deputation which visited the island describes the state of society:—“A large party of native women took tea with us at the Commandant’s. After tea they washed up the tea things, and put everything in order. The catechist has translated into one of their dialects a large portion of the first three chapters of Genesis. They are daily instructed by the catechist.” Dr. Ross gives a sketch of these people:—The females superintend the domestic matters. Each family has a hut, windows, chairs, and tables manufactured by themselves of the timber of the island, and they send to Launceston skins of kangaroos and birds, and in exchange obtain useful articles. They cultivate one large garden, moving the hoe to one of their melodies, and have cleared a road several miles into the interior. An aboriginal fund has been established, a Police Court to settle differences, and a market formed for sale of articles. Mr. Robinson gives a sermon entirely composed by one of them.
But, alas, fearful mortality reduced the number down to fifty persons, and they were fast disappearing, not from want of attention, but they suffered much from nostalgia, and sighed after their country, which they could see not very far off. They were consequently removed to Oyster Cove; twelve men, twenty-two women and ten children. This place is but a few miles from Hobart Town; it had been a penal settlement. In time, the new settlement seemed to thrive. Mr. Clarke, the catechist, wrote to say—they are now comfortable; have a full supply of provisions; are able to till their gardens; sow beans and potatoes; and the women can all make their own clothes, cook their food, and make the houses comfortable, and are contented. But both Mr. and Mrs. Clarke died, and the place became the dark valley of death. In 1854, there remained only three men, eleven women, and two boys, at a cost of £2,000 per annum to the Colony; the place became a ruin; the unfortunate people were supplied with spirits—became drunken and abandoned. The Governor often visited the station, as well as Lady Denison, and brought them up to town in their carriages; but all in vain, their doom was cast.
Their condition was pitifully described by Mary Ann, a half-caste, wife of Walter:—“We had souls in Flinders, but we have none here; there we were looked after, here we are thrown into the scum of society; they have brought us amongst the scum of the earth (alluding to convicts); it would be better if some one came and read to us, and prayed with us; we are tempted to drink; nobody cares for us.” The Bishop had appointed a clergyman, but he was unpopular.
Mary Ann’s description of poor Clarke’s death is very affecting:—“With grief for the loss of his wife and the degradation of the people, he took to his bed of death. Then,” said the faithful creature, weeping, “Father Clarke died. I attended him, along with his daughter, night and day. All the people wanted to do something; all loved him; and he talked and prayed with us, and told me what to read. He had the room full of us, and bade us good-bye. He did love us.” The writer had to comfort her. She shook her head mournfully, and with bitterness replied, “No one cares for the native’s soul, now Father Clarke is gone.” Soon Mary Ann and Walter followed.
The description of this couple and their fate is truly affecting. Walter was engaged in conveying the mail from Huron to Hobart Town. They lived in a three-roomed cottage. Mary Ann had it very neat, clean, and gave guests a welcome. The floor was covered with a carpet, the walls decorated with pictures, and the Bible and other books lay on the table. Melancholy to think, both this man and wife became victims to drink; he was drowned, and she, a noble woman, was soon cut off by intemperance. One solitary man and one woman remained, King Billy and his wife.
The last public appearance of the king was at the Governor’s Ball, at Government House, accompanied by three aboriginal females.
In 1868, he accompanied the Duke of Edinburgh to Hobart Town, in a blue suit of clothes, with gold lace round his hat, walking proudly with the Duke, as one possessing royal blood; but he was seldom sober. He also perished. He took to the sea and became a celebrated whaler, but on getting his wages, £12 13s., he commenced drinking, and died of cholera. He was followed to the grave by a large concourse of people, mostly sailors. There still remained one woman, Lalla Rookh.
Truganina, or Lalla Rookh, as she was sometimes called, the last of the aborigines of Tasmania, died on the 8th instant (says theHobart Town Mercury, of May, 1876) of paralysis, at the residence of her protectress, Mrs. Dandridge, in Macquarie-street. The death of this last scion of a once numerous race is an event in the history of Tasmania of no common interest, and it may well serve to “point a moral and adorn a tale” on the question of the gradual but certain extinction of the aboriginal races of these southern lands. Of Truganina we shall no doubt hear many interesting narratives, now that she has departed this world, but at present we must content ourselves with a few brief facts concerning her life and death, leaving it to others, who have leisure and opportunity, to favour the public with more extended notices respecting her. That she was a queen is an admitted fact, and that she had five husbands, all kings, is generally known. The last of these partners of her joys and sorrows was the celebrated King Billy, who died in March, 1869, and was the sole remaining male representative of the Tasmanian aboriginals. It is a singular fact that Truganina assisted “Black Robinson” in his efforts to induce the few natives, then alive, to place themselves under the care of the Government. She accompanied “Black Robinson” on a visit to the natives, distributing presents of various kinds; and when they paid a second visit they were warmly received, and the natives eventually consented to be taken care of by the State. Truganina has seen them all die. She could tell many very exciting stories of her life, and used to amuse those friends who visited her with relating them. At one time, with other natives, she was in Victoria, then known as Port Phillip. A murder was committed, and though she always said she was innocent, she and another woman and some males were sentenced to be hanged. Fortunately for her, she had saved a lady and two children from the fury of the blacks on one occasion, and this coming to the ears of the authorities, her life was spared. Twenty years ago, when Mr. Dandridge, who succeeded Dr. Milligan, took charge of the Oyster Cove Aboriginal Station, there were sixteen survivors of the race, including Truganina, who belonged to the Bruni Island tribe. Fifteen of them died during the life of Mr. Dandridge. Nearly three years ago he, with his wife and family, removed to Hobart Town, bringing Truganina with them, and the citizens soon became familiar with the form of Her Majesty. She appeared at public gatherings on several occasions, and frequently went out for walks, always in charge of some member of the family with which she lived. Her short, stout figure, red turban, and dusky features were known far and wide, and always attracted great attention. She was partial to conversation, and was always willing to give such information as was within her knowledge. The death of Mr. Dandridge, two years ago, was the occasion of great sorrow to her, and she never ceased to mourn his loss. Since then she has been under the care of Mrs. Dandridge, the Government having for many years granted £60 per annum for her maintenance. She suffered a good deal from bad health of late. Though sometimes very weak, she always rallied, and promised to live many years. Within the last ten days, however, she had a presentiment that she was going to die, but it did not seem to give her great concern. She passed away as peacefully as a child, and though she was about seventy-three years old, she did not look half that age after her death.
One of the aborigines pathetically describes the destruction of the people:—“All blackfellow gone. All this my country. A very pretty place; many piccaninnies run about; plenty of blackfellow there; corroboree; great fight; all cause about only me tell now. Poor them, tumble down all; bury her like a lady. Put her in coffin like English. I feel a lump in my throat when I talk of her, but bury her like a lady, master.”
Mr. Howitt says we actually turned out these inhabitants of Van Diemen’s Land because we saw it was a goodly heritage; and our best justification is that if we did not transport them we must burn them out with our liquid fire, and poison them with disease and vice. It is a powerful and, in some respects, a mysterious history. The only hope appears to be when the Gospel precedes colonization, but even then, if the tide sets in too soon, destruction follows. Let us look to European Christianity. How many so-called Christians are little better than savages, for with all the appliances by which they are surrounded, the law only restrains them from violence. However many the failures, yet the capacity for advancement of these people renders it no longer a question of doubt whether they are no better than dogs.
[Sketches.]
Sydney: Thomas Richards, Government Printer.—1883