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The Bushman — Life in a New Country

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Title: The Bushman — Life in a New Country

Author: Edward Wilson Landor


        
Release date: December 1, 2004 [eBook #7181]
                Most recently updated: August 10, 2012

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7181

Credits: Produced by Sue Asscher


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BUSHMAN — LIFE IN A NEW COUNTRY ***




Produced by Sue Asscher






THE BUSHMAN: LIFE IN A NEW COUNTRY

BY EDWARD WILSON LANDOR



(ILLUSTRATION: "KANGAROO HUNTING.")

----------------------------


THE BUSHMAN.

LIFE IN A NEW COUNTRY

BY

EDWARD WILSON LANDOR.




PREFACE.

The British Colonies now form so prominent a portion of the Empire,
that the Public will be compelled to acknowledge some interest in
their welfare, and the Government to yield some attention to their
wants. It is a necessity which both the Government and the Public
will obey with reluctance.

Too remote for sympathy, too powerless for respect, the Colonies,
during ages of existence, have but rarely occupied a passing thought
in the mind of the Nation; as though their insignificance entitled
them only to neglect. But the weakness of childhood is passing away:
the Infant is fast growing into the possession and the consciousness
of strength, whilst the Parent is obliged to acknowledge the
increasing usefulness of her offspring.

The long-existing and fundamental errors of Government, under which
the Colonies have hitherto groaned in helpless subjection, will soon
become generally known and understood -- and then they will be
remedied.

In the remarks which will be found scattered through this work on the
subject of Colonial Government, it must be observed, that the system
only is assailed, and not individuals. That it is the system and not
THE MEN who are in fault, is sufficiently proved by the fact that the
most illustrious statesmen and the brightest talents of the Age, have
ever failed to distinguish themselves by good works, whilst directing
the fortunes of the Colonies. Lord John Russell, Lord Stanley, Mr.
Gladstone -- all of them high-minded, scrupulous, and patriotic
statesmen -- all of them men of brilliant genius, extensive
knowledge, and profound thought -- have all of them been but slightly
appreciated as Colonial rulers.

Their principal success has been in perpetuating a noxious system.
They have all of them conscientiously believed their first duty to
be, in the words of Lord Stanley, to keep the Colonies dependent upon
the Mother Country; and occupied with this belief, they have
legislated for the Mother Country and not for the Colonies. Vain,
selfish, fear-inspired policy! that keeps the Colonies down in the
dust at the feet of the Parent State, and yet is of no value or
advantage to her. To make her Colonies useful to England, they must
be cherished in their infancy, and carefully encouraged to put forth
all the strength of their secret energies.

It is not whilst held in leading-strings that they can be useful, or
aught but burthensome: rear them kindly to maturity, and allow them
the free exercise of their vast natural strength, and they would be
to the parent country her truest and most valuable friends.

THE COLONIES OF THE EMPIRE ARE THE ONLY LASTING AND INALIENABLE
MARKETS FOR ITS PRODUCE; and the first aim of the political economist
should be to develop to their utmost extent the vast resources
possessed by Great Britain in these her own peculiar fields of
national wealth. But the policy displayed throughout the history of
her Colonial possessions, has ever been the reverse of this. It was
that grasping and ungenerous policy that called forth a Washington,
and cost her an empire. It is that same miserable and low-born
policy that still recoils upon herself, depriving her of vast
increase of wealth and power in order to keep the chain upon her
hapless children, those ambitious Titans whom she trembles to unbind.

And yet poor Old England considers herself an excellent parent, and
moans and murmurs over the ingratitude of her troublesome offspring!
Like many other parents, she means to do well and act kindly, but
unhappily the principles on which she proceeds are radically wrong.
Hence, on the one side, heart-burning, irritation, and resentment; on
the other, disappointment, revulsion, and alarm.

Is she too deeply prejudiced, or too old in error, to attempt a new
system of policy?

In what single respect has she ever proved herself a good parent to
any of her Colonies? Whilst supplying them with Government Officers,
she has fettered them with unwholesome laws; whilst giving them a
trifling preference over foreign states in their commerce, she has
laid her grasp upon their soil; whilst allowing them to legislate in
a small degree for themselves, she has reserved the prerogative of
annulling all enactments that interfere with her own selfish or
mistaken views; whilst permitting their inhabitants to live under a
lightened pressure of taxation, she has debarred them from wealth,
rank, honours, rewards, hopes -- all those incentives to action that
lead men forward to glory, and stamp nations with greatness.

What has she done for her Colonies -- this careful and beneficent
parent? She has permitted them to exist, but bound them down in
serf-like dependence; and so she keeps them -- feeble, helpless, and
hopeless. She grants them the sanction of her flag, and the
privilege of boasting of her baneful protection.

Years -- ages have gone by, and her policy has been the same --
darkening the heart and crushing the energies of Man in climes where
Nature sparkles with hope and teems with plenty.

Time, however, too powerful for statesmen, continues his silent but
steady advance in the great work of amelioration. The condition of
the Colonies must be elevated to that of the counties of England.
Absolute rule must cease to prevail in them. Men must be allowed to
win there, as at home, honours and rank. Time, the grand minister of
correction -- Time the Avenger, already has his foot on the threshold
of the COLONIAL OFFICE.

-----------------


CONTENTS.

CHAPTER.

1. -- COLONISTS.

2. -- ST. JAGO.

3. -- THE MUTINY.

4. -- THE PRISON-ISLAND.

5. -- FIRST ADVENTURES.

6. -- PERTH. -- COLONIAL JURIES.

7. -- BOATING UP THE RIVER.

8. -- FARMS ON THE RIVER.

9. -- THE MORAL THERMOMETER OF COLONIES.

10. -- COUNTRY LIFE.

11. -- PERSECUTIONS.

12. -- MICHAEL BLAKE, THE IRISH SETTLER.

13. -- WILD CATTLE HUNTING.

14. -- WOODMAN'S POINT.

15. -- HOW THE LAWS OF ENGLAND AFFECT THE NATIVES.

16. -- REMARKS ON THE PHYSICAL ORGANIZATION OF THE NATIVES.

17. -- SKETCHES OF LIFE AMONG THE NATIVES.

18. -- THE MODEL KINGDOM.

19. -- TRIALS OF A GOVERNOR.

20. -- MR. SAILS, MY GROOM. -- OVER THE HILLS. -- A SHEEP
STATION.

21. -- EXTRACTS FROM THE LOG OF A HUT-KEEPER.

22. -- PELICAN SHOOTING. -- GALES. -- WRESTLING WITH DEATH.

23. -- THE DESERT OF AUSTRALIA. -- CAUSE OF THE HOT WINDS. --
GEOLOGY.

24. -- COLONIAL GOVERNMENT.

25. -- ONE OF THE ERRORS OF GOVERNMENT. -- ADVENTURES OF THE
"BRAMBLE".

26. -- SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERIES. -- KANGAROO HUNTING. -- EMUS. --
LOST IN THE BUSH.

27. -- THE COMET. -- VITAL STATISTICS. -- METEOROLOGY.

28. -- THE BOTANY OF THE COLONY.

29. -- MISFORTUNES OF THE COLONY.

30. -- RESOURCES OF THE COLONY: -- HORSES FOR INDIA. -- WINE. --
DRIED FRUITS. -- COTTON. -- COAL. -- WOOL. -- CORN. -- WHALE-
OIL. -- A WHALE HUNT. -- CURED FISH. -- SHIP TIMBER.

31. -- RISE AND FALL OF A SETTLEMENT. -- THE SEQUEL TO CAPTAIN
GREY'S DISCOVERIES. -- A WORD AT PARTING.


(PLATES.

KANGAROO HUNTING (Frontispiece).
THE BIVOUAC.
SPEARING KANGAROO.
DEATH OF THE KANGAROO.
EMU HUNT (woodcut).)


THE BUSHMAN;

OR,

LIFE IN A NEW COUNTRY.


CHAPTER 1.

COLONISTS.

The Spirit of Adventure is the most animating impulse in the human
breast. Man naturally detests inaction; he thirsts after change and
novelty, and the prospect of excitement makes him prefer even danger
to continued repose.

The love of adventure! how strongly it urges forward the Young! The
Young, who are ever discontented with the Present, and sigh for
opportunities of action which they know not where to seek. Old men
mourn over the folly and recklessness of the Young, who, in the fresh
and balmy spring-time of life, recoil from the confinement of the
desk or the study, and long for active occupation, in which all their
beating energies may find employment. Subjection is the consequence
of civilized life; and self-sacrifice is necessary in those who are
born to toil, before they may partake of its enjoyments. But though
the Young are conscious that this is so, they repine not the less;
they feel that the freshness and verdure of life must first die away;
that the promised recompense will probably come too late to the
exhausted frame; that the blessings which would now be received with
prostrate gratitude will cease to be felt as boons; and that although
the wishes and wants of the heart will take new directions in the
progress of years, the consciousness that the spring-time of life --
that peculiar season of happiness which can never be known again --
has been consumed in futile desires and aspirations, in vain hopes
and bitter experiences, must ever remain deepening the gloom of
Memory.

Anxious to possess immediate independence, young men, full of
adventurous spirit, proceed in search of new fields of labour, where
they may reap at once the enjoyments of domestic life, whilst they
industriously work out the curse that hangs over the Sons of Adam.

They who thus become emigrants from the ardent spirit of adventure,
and from a desire to experience a simpler and less artificial manner
of living than that which has become the essential characteristic of
European civilization, form a large and useful body of colonists.
These men, notwithstanding the pity which will be bestowed upon them
by those whose limited experience of life leads to the belief that
happiness or contentment can only be found in the atmosphere of
England, are entitled to some consideration and respect.

To have dared to deviate from the beaten track which was before them
in the outset of life; to have perceived at so vast a distance
advantages which others, if they had seen, would have shrunk from
aiming at; to have persevered in their resolution, notwithstanding
the expostulations of Age, the regrets of Friendship, and the sighs
of Affection -- all this betokens originality and strength of
character.

Does it also betoken indifference to the wishes of others? Perhaps
it does; and it marks one of the broadest and least amiable features
in the character of a colonist.

The next class of emigrants are those who depart from their native
shores with reluctance and tears. Children of misfortune and sorrow,
they would yet remain to weep on the bosom from which they have drawn
no sustenance. But the strong blasts of necessity drive them from
the homes which even Grief has not rendered less dear. Their future
has never yet responded to the voice of Hope, and now, worn and
broken in spirit, imagination paints nothing cheering in another
land. They go solely because they may not remain -- because they
know not where else to look for a resting place; and Necessity, with
her iron whip, drives them forth to some distant colony.

But there is still a third class, the most numerous perhaps of all,
that helps to compose the population of a colony. This is made up of
young men who are the wasterels of the World; who have never done,
and never will do themselves any good, and are a curse instead of a
benefit to others. These are they who think themselves fine, jovial,
spirited fellows, who disdain to work, and bear themselves as if life
were merely a game which ought to be played out amid coarse laughter
and wild riot.

These go to a colony because their relatives will not support them in
idleness at home. They feel no despair at the circumstance, for
their pockets have been refilled, though (they are assured) for the
last time; and they rejoice at the prospect of spending their capital
far from the observation of intrusive guardians.

Disgusted at authority which has never proved sufficient to restrain
or improve them, they become enamoured with the idea of absolute
license, and are far too high-spirited to entertain any apprehensions
of future poverty. These gallant-minded and truly enviable fellows
betake themselves, on their arrival, to the zealous cultivation of
field-sports instead of field produce. They leave with disdain the
exercise of the useful arts to low-bred and beggarly-minded people,
who have not spirit enough for anything better; whilst they
themselves enthusiastically strive to realize again those glorious
times,--

"When wild in woods the noble savage ran."

In the intervals of relaxation from these fatigues, when they return
to a town life, they endeavour to prove the activity of their
energies and the benevolence of their characters, by getting up balls
and pic-nics, solely to promote the happiness of the ladies. But
notwithstanding this appearance of devotion to the fair sex, their
best affections are never withdrawn from the companion of their
hearts -- the brandy flask. They evince their generous hospitality
by hailing every one who passes their door, with "How are you, old
fellow? Come in, and take a nip." Somehow or other they are always
liked, even by those who pity and despise them.

The women only laugh at their irregularities -- they are such
"good-hearted creatures!" And so they go easily and rapidly down
that sloping path which leads to ruin and despair. What is their
end? Many of them literally kill themselves by drinking; and those
who get through the seasoning, which is the fatal period, are either
compelled to become labourers in the fields for any one who will
provide them with food; or else succeed in exciting the compassion of
their friends at home, by their dismal accounts of the impossibility
of earning a livelihood in a ruined and worthless colony; and having
thus obtained money enough to enable them to return to England, they
hasten to throw themselves and their sorrows into the arms of their
sympathizing relatives.

Nothing can be more absurd than to imagine that a fortune may be made
in a colony by those who have neither in them nor about them any of
the elements or qualities by which fortunes are gained at home.

There are, unfortunately, few sources of wealth peculiar to a colony.
The only advantage which the emigrant may reasonably calculate upon
enjoying, is the diminution of competition. In England the crowd is
so dense that men smother one another.

It is only by opening up the same channels of wealth under more
favourable circumstances, that the emigrant has any right to
calculate upon success. Without a profession, without any legitimate
calling in which his early years have been properly instructed;
without any knowledge or any habits of business, a man has no better
prospect of making a fortune in a colony than at home. None,
however, so circumstanced, entertains this belief; on the contrary,
he enters upon his new career without any misgivings, and with the
courage and enthusiasm of a newly enlisted recruit.

Alas! the disappointment which so soon and so inevitably succeeds,
brings a crowd of vices and miseries in its train.



CHAPTER 2.

ST. JAGO.

The reader may naturally expect to be informed of the reasons that
have induced me thus to seek his acquaintance. In one word -- I am a
colonist. In England, a great deal is said every day about colonies
and colonists, but very little is known about them. A great deal is
projected; but whatever is done, is unfortunately to their prejudice.
Secretaries of State know much more about the distant settlements of
Great Britain than the inhabitants themselves; and, consequently, the
latter are seldom able to appreciate the ordinances which (for their
own good) they are compelled to submit to.

My own experience is chiefly confined to one of the most
insignificant of our colonies, -- insignificant in point of
population, but extremely important as to its geographical position,
and its prospects of future greatness, -- but the same principle of
government applies to all the British settlements.

A few years ago, I was the victim of medical skill; and being
sentenced to death in my own country by three eminent physicians, was
comparatively happy in having that sentence commuted to banishment.
A wealthy man would have gone to Naples, to Malta, or to Madeira; but
a poor one has no resource save in a colony, unless he will
condescend to live upon others, rather than support himself by his
own exertions.

The climate of Western Australia was recommended; and I may be
grateful for the alternative allowed me.

As I shall have occasion hereafter to allude to them incidentally, I
may mention that my two brothers accompanied me on this distant
voyage.

The elder, a disciple of Aesculapius, was not only anxious to gratify
his fraternal solicitude and his professional tastes by watching my
case, but was desirous of realizing the pleasures of rural life in
Australia.

My younger brother (whose pursuits entitle him to be called
Meliboeus) was a youth not eighteen, originally designed for the
Church, and intended to cut a figure at Oxford; but modestly
conceiving that the figure he was likely to cut would not tend to the
advancement of his worldly interests, and moreover, having no
admiration for Virgil beyond the Bucolics, he fitted himself out with
a Lowland plaid and a set of Pandaean pipes, and solemnly dedicated
himself to the duties of a shepherd.

Thus it was that we were all embarked in the same boat; or rather, we
found ourselves in the month of April, 1841, on board of a certain
ill-appointed barque bound for Western Australia.

We had with us a couple of servants, four rams with curling horns --
a purchase from the late Lord Western; a noble blood-hound, the gift
of a noble Lord famous for the breed; a real old English
mastiff-bitch, from the stock at Lyme Park; and a handsome spaniel
cocker. Besides this collection of quadrupeds, we had a vast
assortment of useless lumber, which had cost us many hundred pounds.
Being most darkly ignorant of every thing relating to the country to
which we were going, but having a notion that it was very much of the
same character with that so long inhabited by Robinson Crusoe, we had
prudently provided ourselves with all the necessaries and even
non-necessaries of life in such a region. Our tool chests would have
suited an army of pioneers; several distinguished ironmongers of the
city of London had cleared their warehouses in our favour of all the
rubbish which had lain on hand during the last quarter of a century;
we had hinges, bolts, screws, door-latches, staples, nails of all
dimensions -- from the tenpenny, downwards -- and every other
requisite to have completely built a modern village of reasonable
extent. We had tents, Macintosh bags, swimming-belts, several sets
of sauce-pans in graduated scale, (we had here a distant eye to
kangaroo and cockatoo stews,) cleavers, meat-saws, iron skewers, and
a general apparatus of kitchen utensils that would have satisfied the
desires of Monsieur Soyer himself. Then we had double and
single-barrelled guns, rifles, pistols, six barrels of Pigou and
Wilkes' gunpowder; an immense assortment of shot, and two hundred
weight of lead for bullets.

Besides the several articles already enumerated, we had provided
ourselves with eighteen months' provisions, in pork and flour,
calculating that by the time this quantity was consumed, we should
have raised enough to support our establishment out of the soil by
the sweat of our brows. And thus from sheer ignorance of colonial
life, we had laid out a considerable portion of our capital in the
purchase of useless articles, and of things which might have been
procured more cheaply in the colony itself. Nor were we the only
green-horns that have gone out as colonists: on the contrary,
nine-tenths of those who emigrate, do so in perfect ignorance of the
country they are about to visit and the life they are destined to
lead. The fact is, Englishmen, as a body know nothing and care
nothing about colonies. My own was merely the national ignorance.
An Englishman's idea of a colony (he classes them altogether) is,
that it is some miserable place -- the Black-hole of the British
empire -- where no one would live if he were allowed a choice; and
where the exiled spirits of the nation are incessantly sighing for a
glimpse of the white cliffs of Albion, and a taste of the old
familiar green-and-yellow fog of the capital of the world.
Experience alone can convince him that there are in other regions of
the world climes as delightful, suns as beneficent, and creditors as
confiding, as those of Old England.

The voyage, of course, was tedious enough; but some portion of it was
spent very pleasantly in calculating the annual profits which our
flocks were likely to produce.

The four noble rams, with their curly horns, grew daily more valuable
in our estimation. By the sailors, no doubt, they were rated no
higher than the miserable tenants of the long-boat, that formed part
of the cuddy provisions. But with us it was very different. As we
looked, every bright and balmy morning, into the pen which they
occupied, we were enabled to picture more vividly those Arcadian
prospects which seemed now brought almost within reach. In these
grave and respectable animals we recognised the patriarchs of a vast
and invaluable progeny; and it was impossible to help feeling a kind
of veneration for the sires of that fleecy multitude which was to
prove the means of justifying our modest expectations of happiness
and wealth.

Our dogs also afforded us the most pleasing subjects for speculation.
With the blood-hound we were to track the footsteps of the midnight
marauder, who should invade the sanctity of our fold. The spaniel
was to aid in procuring a supply of game for the table; and I
bestowed so much pains upon his education during the voyage, that
before we landed he was perfectly au fait in the article of
"down-charge!" and used to flush the cat in the steward's pantry with
the greatest certainty and satisfaction.

Jezebel, the mastiff-birch, was expected to assist in guarding our
castle, -- an honourable duty which her courage and fidelity amply
warranted us in confiding to her. Of the former quality, I shall
mention an instance that occurred during the voyage. We had one day
caught a shark, twelve feet long; and no sooner was he hauled on deck
than Jezebel, wild with fury, rushed through the circle of eager
sailors and spectators, and flew directly at the nose of the
struggling monster. It was with difficulty that she was dragged away
by the admiring seamen, who were compelled to admit that there was a
creature on board more reckless and daring than themselves.

We were now approaching the Cape Verd Islands. I daresay it has been
frequently mentioned, that there is in these latitudes a vast bed of
loose sea-weed, floating about, which has existed there from time
immemorial, and which is only found in this one spot of the ocean; as
though it were here compelled to remain under the influence of some
magic spell. Some navigators are of opinion that it grows on the
rocks at the bottom of the sea, beneath the surface on which it
floats. Others maintain that it has been drifted across the
Atlantic, having issued from the Gulf of Mexico. Here, however, it
is doomed to drift about hopelessly, for ever lost in the wilderness
of waters; on the surface of which it now vegetates, affording
shelter to small crabs, and many curious kinds of fishes.

One of the latter which we caught, about an inch in length, had a
spike on his back, and four legs, with which he crawled about the
sea-weed.

We approached the Island of St. Jago, sailing unconsciously close to
a sunken rock, on which (as we afterwards learnt) the "Charlotte" had
struck about six weeks before whilst under full sail, and had gone
down in a few minutes, barely allowing time for the crew to escape in
their boat.

Notwithstanding we had been five weeks at sea when we dropped anchor
in Porto Praya roads, the appearance of the land was by no means
inviting to the eyes. A high and extremely barren hill, or large
heap of dry earth, with a good many stones about it, seemed to
compose the Island. Close to us was the town, a collection of white
houses that looked very dazzling in the summer sun. Beside, and
running behind it, was a greenish valley, containing a clump of
cocoa-nut trees. This was the spot we longed to visit; so, getting
into the captain's boat, we approached the shore, where a number of
nearly naked negroes rushing into the sea (there being no pier or
jetty) presented their slimy backs at the gun-wale, and carried us in
triumph to the beach. The town boasted of one hotel, in the only
sitting-room of which we found some Portuguese officers smoking pipes
as dirty as themselves, and drinking a beverage which had much the
appearance of rum and water. There was no one who could speak a word
of English; but at length a French waiter appeared, who seemed
ravished with delight at the jargon with which we feebly reminded him
of his own lively language "when at home." Having ordered dinner, we
wandered off in search of the coca-nut valley, and purchased bananas
for the first time in our lives, and oranges, the finest in the world.

Those who have been long at sea know how pleasant it is to walk once
more upon the land. It is one of the brightest of the Everlasting
flowers in the garland of Memory.

We walked along the sea-beach, as people so circumstanced must ever
do, full of gladsome fancies. There was delight for us in the varied
shells at our feet; in the curious skeletons of small fishes,
untimely deceased; in the fantastic forms of the drifted sea-weed; in
the gentle ripple of the companionable waves by our side. And little
Fig, the spaniel, was no less pleased then ourselves. He ran before
us rejoicing in his fleetness; and he ran back again in a moment to
tell us how glad he was. Then as a wave more incursive than its
predecessor unexpectedly wetted his feet, he would droop his tail and
run faster with alarm, until the sight of some bush or bough, left
high and dry by the last tide, awakened his nervous suspicions, and
dreading an ambuscade, he would stop suddenly and bark at the
dreadful object, until we arrived at his side, when, wagging his tail
and looking slyly up with his joyous eyes, he would scamper away
again as though he would have us believe he had been all the time
only in fun.

What profound satisfaction is there in the freedom of land after so
long a confinement! The sunshine that makes joyous every object
around us finds its way into the deeps of the heart.

And now we determined to bathe. So we crossed over a jutting rock,
on the other side of which was a beautiful and secluded little bay,
so sheltered that the waves scarcely rippled as they came to kiss the
shell-covered beach. Here we soon unrobed; and I was the first to
rush at full speed into the inviting waters. Before I got up to my
middle, however, I saw something before me that looked like a dark
rock just below the surface. I made towards it, intending to get
upon it, and dive off on the other side; but lo! as I approached, it
stirred; then it darted like a flash of lightning towards one side of
the bay, whilst I, after standing motionless for a moment, retreated
with the utmost expedition.

It was a ground-shark, of which there are numbers on that coast.

We lost no time in putting on our clothes again, and returned in
rather a fluttered state to the inn.



CHAPTER 3.

THE MUTINY.

We remained a week at St. Jago, the captain being busily engaged in
taking in water, and quarrelling with his crew. One day, at the
instigation of our friend, the French waiter, we made a trip of seven
miles into the interior of the island, to visit a beautiful valley
called Trinidad. Mounted on donkeys, and attended by two ragged,
copper-coloured youths, we proceeded in gallant style up the main
street, and, leaving the town, crossed the valley beyond it, and
emerged into the open country. It was a rough, stony, and hilly
road, through a barren waste, where there scarcely appeared a stray
blade of grass for the goats which rambled over it in anxious
search of herbage.

At length, after a wearisome ride of several hours, we descended
suddenly into the most fertile and luxuriant valley I ever beheld,
and which seemed to extend a distance of some miles. A mountain
brook flowed down the midst, on the banks of which numerous scattered
and picturesque cottages appeared. On either side the ground was
covered with the green carpet of Nature in the spring of the year.
Everywhere, except in this smiling valley, we saw nothing but the
aridity of summer, and the desolation caused by a scorching tropical
sun. But here -- how very different! How sudden, how magical was
the change! Every species of vegetable grew here in finest
luxuriance. Melons of every variety, pine-apples, sweet potatoes,
plantains, and bananas, with their broad and drooping leaves of
freshest green and rich purple flower, and ripe yellow fruit.
Orange-trees, cocoa-nut trees, limes -- the fig, the vine, the
citron, the pomegranate, and numerous others, grateful to the weary
sight, and bearing precious stores amid their branches, combined to
give the appearance of wealth and plenty to this happy valley. It
was not, however, destined to be entered by us without a fierce
combat for precedence between two of our steeds. The animal whom it
was the evil lot of Meliboeus to bestride, suddenly threw back its
ears, and darted madly upon the doctor's quadruped, which, on its
side, manifested no reluctance to the fight.

Dreadful was the scene; the furious donkeys nearing and striking with
their fore-feet, and biting each other about the head and neck
without the smallest feeling of compunction or remorse; the two
guides shrieking and swearing in Portuguese at the donkeys and each
other, and striking right and left with their long staves, perfectly
indifferent as to whom they hit; the unhappy riders, furious with
fright and chagrin, shouting in English to the belligerents of both
classes to "keep off!" The screams of two women, who were carrying
water in the neighbourhood, enhanced by the barking of a terrified
cur, that ran blindly hither and thither with its tail between its
legs, in a state of frantic excitement -- altogether produced a
tableau of the most spirited description. Peace was at length
restored, and we all dismounted from our saddles with fully as much
satisfaction as we had experienced when vaulting into them.

There is little more to say about the valley of Trinidad. The
cottagers who supply the town of Porto Praya with fruits and
vegetables are extremely poor, and very uncleanly and untidy in their
houses and habits. We had intended to spend the night with them, but
the appearance of the accommodations determined us to return to our
inn, in spite of the friendly and disinterested advice of our guides.

St. Jago abounds with soldiers and priests; the former of whom are
chiefly convicts from Lisbon, condemned to serve here in the ranks.

The day for sailing arrived, and we were all on board and ready. Our
barque was a temperance ship; that is, she belonged to owners who
refused to allow their sailors the old measure of a wine-glass of rum
in the morning, and another in the afternoon, but liberally
substituted an extra pint of water instead.

There is always one thing remarkable about these temperance ships,
that when they arrive in harbour, their crews, excited to madness by
long abstinence from their favourite liquor, and suffering in
consequence all the excruciating torments of thirst, run into violent
excesses the moment they get on shore. St. Jago is famous for a kind
of liquid fire, called aguadente, which is smuggled on board ship
in the shape of pumpkins and watermelons. These are sold to the
sailors for shirts and clothing; there being nothing so eagerly
sought for by the inhabitants of St. Jago as linen and calico.

Our crew, being thoroughly disgusted with their captain, as indeed
they had some reason to be, and their valour being wondrously excited
by their passionate fondness for water-melons, came to a stern
resolution of spending the remainder of their lives on this agreeable
island; at any rate, they determined to sail no farther in our
company. The captain was ashore, settling his accounts and receiving
his papers; the chief-mate had given orders to loose the fore-topsail
and weigh anchor; and we were all in the cuddy, quietly sipping our
wine, when we heard three cheers and a violent scuffling on deck. In
a few moments down rushed the mate in a state of delirious
excitement, vociferating that the men were in open mutiny, and
calling upon us, in the name of the Queen, to assist the officers of
the ship in bringing them to order. Starting up at the call of our
Sovereign, we rushed to our cabins in a state of nervous
bewilderment, and loading our pistols in a manner that ensured their
not going off, we valiantly hurried on deck in the rear of the
exasperated officer. On reaching the raised quarter-deck of the
vessel, we found the crew clustered together near the mainmast, armed
with hand-spikes, boat-oars, crow-bars, and a miscellaneous
assortment of other weapons, and listening to an harangue which the
carpenter was in the act of delivering to them. They were all
intoxicated; but the carpenter, a ferocious, determined villain, was
the least so.

At one of the quarter-deck gangways stood the captain's lady, a lean
and wizened Hecate, as famous for her love of rum as any of the crew,
but more openly rejoicing in the no less objectionable spirit of
ultra-methodism. Screaming at the top of her voice, whilst her
unshawled and dusky shoulders, as well as the soiled ribands of her
dirty cap, were gently fanned by the sea-breeze, she commanded the
men to return to their duty, in a volume of vociferation that seemed
perfectly inexhaustible. Fearing that the quarter-deck would be
carried by storm, we divided our party, consisting of the two mates,
three passengers with their servants, and Mungo the black servant,
into two divisions, each occupying one of the gang-ways.

In a few moments the carpenter ceased his oration; the men cheered
and danced about the deck, brandishing their weapons, and urging one
another to "come on." Then with a rush, or rather a stagger, they
assailed our position, hoping to carry it in an instant by storm.
The mate shouted to us to fire, and pick out three or four of the
most desperate; but perceiving the intoxicated state of the men we
refused to shed blood, except in the last extremity of self-defence;
and determined to maintain our post, if possible, by means of our
pistol-butts, or our fists alone. In the general melee which ensued,
the captain's lady, who fought in the van, and looked like a lean
Helen MacGregor, or the mythological Ate, was captured by the
assailants, and dragged to the deck below. Then it was that
combining our forces, and inspired with all the ardour which is
naturally excited by the appearance of beauty in distress, we made a
desperate sally, and after a fearful skirmish, succeeded in rescuing
the lady, and replacing her on the quarter-deck, with the loss only
of her cap and gown, and a few handfuls of hair.

After this exploit, both parties seemed inclined to pause and take
breath, and in the interval we made an harangue to the sailors,
expressive of our regret that they should act in so disgraceful a
manner.

The gallant (or rather ungallant) fellows replied that they were
determined to be no longer commanded by a she-captain, as they called
the lady, and therefore would sail no farther in such company.

I really believe that most of them had no serious intention whatever
in their proceedings, but the officers of the ship were firmly
convinced that the carpenter and one or two others had resolved to
get possession of the vessel, dispose of the passengers and mates
somehow or other, and then slip the cable, and wreck and sell the
ship and cargo on the coast of South America.

Whilst the truce lasted, the second mate had been busily engaged
making signals of distress, by repeatedly hoisting and lowering the
ensign reversed, from the mizen-peak. This was soon observed from
the deck of a small Portuguese schooner of war, which lay at anchor
about half a mile from us, having arrived a few hours previously,
bringing the Bishop of some-where-or-other on a visitation to the
island. The attention of the officer of the watch had been
previously attracted towards us by the noise we had made, and the
violent scuffle which he had been observing through his glass. No
sooner, therefore, was the flag reversed, than a boat was lowered
from the quarter-davits, filled with marines, and pulled towards our
vessel with the utmost rapidity. The mutineers, whose attention was
directed entirely to the quarter-deck, did not perceive this
manoeuvre, which, however, was evident enough to us, who exerted
ourselves to the utmost to prolong the parley until our allies should
arrive.

The carpenter now decided upon renewing the assault, having laid
aside his handspike and armed himself with an axe; but just at this
moment the man-of-war's boat ran alongside, and several files of
marines, with fixed bayonets, clambering on to the deck, effected a
speedy change in the aspect of affairs. Perceiving at once how
matters stood, the officer in command, without asking a single
question, ordered a charge against the astonished sailors, who, after
a short resistance, and a few violent blows given and received, were
captured and disarmed.

There was a boy among the party called Shiny Bill, some fifteen years
of age, who managed to escape to the fore-shrouds, and giving the
marine who pursued him a violent kick in the face, succeeded in
reaching the fore-top, where he coiled himself up like a ball. Two
or three marines, exasperated by the scuffle, and by several smart
raps on the head which they had received, hastened up the shrouds
after the fugitive, who, however, ascended to the fore-top-mast
cross-trees, whither his enemies, after some hesitation, pursued.
Finding this post also untenable, he proceeded to swarm up the
fore-top-gallant-mast shrouds, and at last seated himself on the
royal yard, where he calmly awaited the approach of the enemy.
These, however, feeling that the position was too strong to be
successfully assailed by marines, deliberately commenced their
retreat, and arrived on deck, whilst their officer was hailing the
immovable Bill in Portuguese, and swearing he would shoot him unless
he instantly descended.

Disdaining, however, to pay the least attention to these threats,
Shiny William continued to occupy his post with the greatest
tranquillity; and the officer, giving up the attempt in despair,
proceeded to inquire from us in Portuguese-French the history of this
outbreak. The scene concluded with the removal of the mutineers in
one of the ship's boats to the man-of-war, where, in a few moments,
several dozen lashes were administered to every man in detail, and
the whole party were then sent on shore, and committed to a dungeon
darker and dirtier than the worst among them had ever before been
acquainted with. But before all this was done, and when the boats
had pulled about a hundred yards from the vessel, Shiny Bill began to
descend from his post. He slipped down unobserved by any one, and
the first notice we had of his intentions was from perceiving him run
across the deck to the starboard bow, whence he threw himself,
without hesitation, into the sea, and began to swim lustily after his
captive friends. Our shouts -- for, remembering the abundance of
sharks, we were very much alarmed for the poor fellow -- attracted
the attention of the officer in the boat, to whom we pointed out the
figure of Bill, who seemed as eager now to make a voluntary
surrender, and share the fate of his comrades, as he had previously
been opposed to a violent seizure. The swimmer was soon picked up,
and, to our regret, received in due season the same number of stripes
as fell to the lot of his friends captured in battle.

The prisoners remained several days in their dungeon, where they were
hospitably regaled with bread and water by the Portuguese Government;
and at the end of this period (so unworthy did they prove of the
handsome treatment they received) the British spirit was humbled
within them, and they entreated with tears to be allowed to return to
their duty. The mates, however, refused to sail in the same vessel
with the carpenter, and it was accordingly settled that he should
remain in custody until the arrival of a British man-of-war, and then
be returned to his country, passage free.



CHAPTER 4.

THE PRISON-ISLAND.

It was nearly the end of August when we approached the conclusion of
our voyage. The wind was fair, the sun shone brightly, and every
heart was gay with the hope of once more being upon land. We drew
nigh to the Island of Rottnest, about sixteen miles from the mouth of
the river Swan, and anchored to the north of it, waiting for a pilot
from Fremantle.

And there we had the first view of our future home. Beyond that low
line of sand-hills, which stretched away north and south, far as the
eye could reach, we were to begin life again, and earn for ourselves
a fortune and an honourable name. No friendly voice would welcome us
on landing, but numberless sharpers, eager to prey upon the
inexperienced Griffin, and take advantage of his unavoidable
ignorance and confiding innocence. There was nothing very cheering
in the prospect; but supported by the confidence and ambition of
youth, we experienced no feelings of dismay.

In order to wile away the time, we landed on the island, and, passing
through a thick wood of cypresses, came to a goodly-sized and
comfortable-looking dwelling-house, with numerous out-buildings about
it, all built of marine lime-stone.

As the particulars which I then learned respecting this island were
afterwards confirmed by experience and more extended information, I
may as well enter upon its history at once.

The gentleman who was then Governor of Western Australia, was Mr.
John Hutt, a man of enlightened mind, firm, sagacious, and
benevolent. From the first, he adopted an admirable policy with
regard to the native inhabitants.

Exhibiting on all occasions a friendly interest in their welfare, he
yet maintained a strict authority over them, which they soon learned
to respect and fear. The Aborigines were easily brought to feel that
their surest protection lay in the Government; that every act of
violence committed upon them by individual settlers was sure to be
avenged by the whites themselves; and that, as certainly, any
aggression on the part of the natives would call down the utmost
severity of punishment upon the offenders. By this firm
administration of equal justice the Aboriginal population, instead of
being, as formerly, a hostile, treacherous, and troublesome race, had
become harmless, docile, and in some degree useful to the settlers.

But it was not the policy of Mr. Hutt merely to punish the natives
for offences committed against the whites; he was anxious to
substitute the milder spirit of the British law in lieu of their own
barbarous code; and to make them feel, in process of time, that it
was for their own interest to appeal for protection on all occasions
to the dominant power of Government, rather than trust to their own
courage and spears. This was no easy task, and could only be
accomplished by firmness, discrimination, and patience; but in the
course of a few years, considerable progress had been made in
subduing the prejudices and the barbarous customs of the Aborigines.
Although it had been declared by Royal Proclamation that the native
inhabitants were in every respect subjects of the British throne, and
as such entitled to equal privileges with ourselves, and to be judged
on all occasions by the common and statute laws, it proved to be no
easy matter to carry into practice these views of the Home
Government. People in England, who derive their knowledge of savages
from the orations delivered at Exeter Hall, are apt to conceive that
nothing more is requisite than to ensure them protection from
imaginary oppression, and a regular supply of spiritual comforts.
They do not consider that whilst they insist upon these unfortunate
creatures being treated exactly as British subjects, they are placing
a yoke on their own necks too heavy for them to bear in their present
condition. Primitive and simple laws are necessary to a primitive
state of society; and the cumbrous machinery of civilized life is
entirely unsuited to those who in their daily habits and their
intellectual endowments are little superior to the beasts that
perish. By declaring the savages to be in every respect British
subjects, it becomes illegal to treat them otherwise than such. If a
settler surprise a native in the act of stealing a pound of flour, he
of course delivers him over to a constable, by whom he is conveyed
before the nearest magistrate. Now this magistrate, who is an old
settler, and well acquainted with the habits of the natives, is also
a man of humanity; and if he were allowed to exercise a judicious
discretion, would order the culprit to be well flogged and dismissed
to his expectant family. But thanks to Her Majesty's well-meaning
Secretaries of State for the Colonies, who have all successively
judged alike on this point, it is declared most unadvisable to allow
a local magistrate the smallest modicum of discretion. He has only
one course to pursue, and that is, to commit the offender for trial
at the next Quarter Sessions, to be held in the capital of the
colony. Accordingly the poor native, who would rather have been
flayed alive than sent into confinement for two months previous to
trial, whilst his wives are left to their own resources, is heavily
ironed, lest he should escape, and marched down some sixty or seventy
miles to Fremantle gaol, where the denizen of the forest has to
endure those horrors of confinement which only the untamed and
hitherto unfettered savage can possibly know.

Among savages, the 'Lex talionis' -- the law of retaliation -- is the
law of nature and of right; to abstain from avenging the death of a
relative would be considered, by the tribe of the deceased, an act of
unpardonable neglect. Their own customs, which are to them as laws,
point out the mode of vengeance. The nearest relative of the
deceased must spear his slayer. Nothing is more common among these
people than to steal one another's wives; and this propensity affords
a prolific source of bloodshed.

They have also a general law, which is never deviated from, and which
requires that whenever a member of a tribe dies, whether from
violence or otherwise, a life must be taken from some other tribe.
This practice may have originated in a desire to preserve the balance
of power; or from a belief, which is very general among them, that a
man never dies a natural death. If he die of some disorder, and not
of a spear-wound, they say he is "quibble gidgied," or speared by
some person a long distance off. The native doctor, or wise man of
the tribe, frequently pretends to know who has caused the death of
the deceased; and the supposed murderer is of course pursued and
murdered in turn. This custom necessarily induces a constant state
of warfare. Now it is very right that all these barbarous and
unchristian practices should be put an end to; but, whilst
endeavouring to suppress them, we ought to remember that they are
part and parcel of the long-established laws of this rude people, and
that it is not possible all at once to make them forego their ancient
institutions and customs. The settlers would gladly see punished all
acts of violence committed among the natives in their neighbourhood.
Were they permitted to inflict such punishments as are best suited to
the limited ideas and moral thraldom of the Aborigines, these,
without cruelty or injustice, might gradually be brought within the
pale of civilization; but when the law declares it to be inevitable
that every British subject who is tried and found guilty of having
speared his enemy shall be hanged without benefit of clergy, the
colonists out of sheer humanity and pity for the ignorance of the
culprit, refrain from bringing him to trial and punishment -- a
proceeding which, by the way, would cost the colony some fifteen or
twenty pounds -- and thus he goes on in his errors, unreproved by
the wisdom or the piety of the whites. Sometimes, however, it
happens that the officers who exercise the calling of Protectors of
the Aborigines, anxious to prove that their post is no sinecure, make
a point of hunting up an occasional law-breaker, who, being brought
to trial, is usually found guilty upon his own evidence -- the
unfortunate culprit, conscious of no guilt in having followed the
customs of his ancestors, generally making a candid statement of his
offence. The sentence decreed by the English law is then passed upon
him, and he would, of course, be duly subjected to the penalty which
justice is supposed to demand, did not the compassionate Governor, in
the exercise of the highest privilege of the Crown, think proper to
step in and commute the sentence to perpetual imprisonment. As it
would have entailed a serious expense upon the colony to have had to
maintain these prisoners in a gaol in the capital, his Excellency
determined to establish a penal settlement at Rottnest; and this he
accordingly accomplished, with very good effect.

At the time we visited the island, there were about twenty native
prisoners in charge of a superintendent and a few soldiers.

The prisoners were employed in cultivating a sufficient quantity of
ground to produce their own food. It was they also who had built the
superintendent's residence; and whenever there was nothing else to
do, they were exercised in carrying stone to the top of a high hill,
on which a lighthouse was proposed to be built.

The Governor has certainly shown very good judgment in the formation
of this penal establishment. It is the dread of the natives
throughout the colony; and those prisoners who are released inspire
among their fellows the greatest horror and dismay by their tales of
the hardships they have suffered. No punishment can be more dreadful
to these savages -- the most indolent race in the world -- than being
compelled to work; and as their idleness brings them occasionally in
contact with the superintendent's lash, their recollections and
accounts of Rottnest are of the most fearful description. Certain,
however, it is, that nothing has tended so much to keep the
Aborigines in good order as the establishment of this place of
punishment. It is maintained at very little expense to the colony,
as the prisoners grow their own vegetables, and might easily be made
to produce flour enough for their own consumption.

It was a clear, beautiful, sparkling day, and there was a sense of
enjoyment attached to the green foliage, the waving crops, and the
gently heaving sea, that threw over this new world of ours a charm
which filled our hearts with gladness.

Having returned to our ship, we saw the pilot-boat rapidly
approaching. As it came alongside, and we were hailed by the
steersman, we felt a sensation of wonder at hearing ourselves
addressed in English and by Englishmen, so far, so very far from the
shores of England. With this feeling, too, was mingled something
like pity; we could not help looking upon these poor boatmen, in
their neat costume of blue woollen shirts, canvass trousers, and
straw hats, as fellow-countrymen who had been long exiled from their
native land, and who must now regard us with eyes of interest and
affection, as having only recently left its shores.

No sooner was the pilot on board than the anchor was weighed, the
sails were set, and we began to beat up into the anchorage off
Fremantle. Night closed upon us ere we reached the spot proposed, and
we passed the interval in walking the deck and noting the stars come
forth upon their watch. The only signs of life and of human
habitation were in the few twinkling lights of the town of Fremantle:
all beside, on the whole length of the coast, seemed to be a desert
of sand, the back-ground of which was occupied with the dark outline
of an illimitable forest.

It was into this vast solitude that we were destined to penetrate.
It was a picture full of sombre beauty, and it filled us with solemn
thoughts.

The next morning we were up at daybreak. Certainly it was a
beautiful sight, to watch the sun rise without a cloud from out of
the depths of that dark forest, rapidly dispersing the cold gray
gloom, and giving life, as it seemed, to the sparkling waves, which
just before had been unconsciously heaved by some internal power, and
suffered to fall back helplessly into their graves.

How differently now they looked, dancing joyously forward towards the
shore! And the sun, that seems to bring happiness to inanimate
things, brought hope and confidence back to the hearts of those who
watched him rise.

Flights of sea-birds of the cormorant tribe, but generally known as
Shags, were directing their course landward from the rocky islands on
which they had roosted during the night. What long files they form!
-- the solitary leader winging his rapid and undeviating way just
above the level of the waves, whilst his followers, keeping their
regular distances, blindly pursue the course he takes. See! he
enters the mouth of the river; some distant object to his practised
eye betokens danger, and though still maintaining his onward course,
he inclines upwards into the air, and the whole line, as though
actuated by the same impulse, follow his flight. And now they
descend again within a few feet of the river's surface, and now are
lost behind projecting rocks. All day long they fish in the retired
bays and sheltered nooks of the river, happy in the midst of plenty.

The river Swan issues forth into the sea over a bar of rocks,
affording only a dangerous passage for boats, or vessels drawing from
four to five feet water. Upon the left bank of the river is the town
of Fremantle. The most prominent object from the sea is a circular
building of white limestone, placed on the summit of a black rock at
the mouth of the Swan. This building is the gaol.

On the other side of the roadstead, about ten or twelve miles distant
from the main, is a chain of islands, of which Rottnest is the most
northern. Then come some large rocks, called the Stragglers, leaving
a passage out from the roadstead by the south of Rottnest; after
these is Carnac, an island abounding with rabbits and mutton-birds;
and still farther south is Garden island.

Fremantle, the principal port of the colony, is unfortunately
situated, as vessels of any burthen are obliged to anchor at a
considerable distance from the shore. Lower down the coast is a fine
harbour, called Mangles Bay, containing a splendid anchorage, and it
is much to be lamented that this was not originally fixed upon as the
site for the capital of the colony.

The first impression which the visitor to this settlement receives is
not favourable. The whole country between Fremantle and Perth, a
distance of ten miles, is composed of granitic sand, with which is
mixed a small proportion of vegetable mould. This unfavourable
description of soil is covered with a coarse scrub, and an immense
forest of banksia trees, red gums, and several varieties of the
eucalyptus. The banksia is a paltry tree, about the size of an
apple-tree in an English or French orchard, perfectly useless as
timber, but affording an inexhaustible supply of firewood. Besides
the trees I have mentioned, there is the xanthorea, or grass-tree, a
plant which cannot be intelligibly described to those who have never
seen it. The stem consists of a tough pithy substance, round which
the leaves are formed. These, long and tapering like the rush, are
four-sided, and extremely brittle; the base from which they shoot is
broad and flat, about the size of a thumb-nail, and very resinous in
substance. As the leaves decay annually, others are put forth above
the bases of the old ones, which are thus pressed down by the new
shoots, and a fresh circle is added every year to the growing plant.
Thousands of acres are covered with this singular vegetable
production; and the traveller at his night bivouac is always sure of
a glorious fire from the resinous stem of the grass-tree, and a
comfortable bed from its leaves.

We landed in a little bay on the southern bank of the river. The
houses appeared to be generally two-storied, and were built of hard
marine limestone. Notwithstanding the sandy character of the soil,
the gardens produced vegetables of every variety, and no part of the
world could boast of finer potatoes or cabbages. Anxious to begin
the primitive life of a settler as speedily as possible, we consulted
a merchant to whom we had brought letters of introduction as to the
best mode of proceeding. He advised us to fix our head-quarters for
a time near to Fremantle, and thence traverse the colony until we
should decide upon a permanent place of abode. In the meantime we
dined and slept at Francisco's Hotel, where we were served with
French dishes in first-rate style, and drank good luck to ourselves
in excellent claret.

In the early days of the colony, Sir James Stirling, the first
Governor, had fixed upon Fremantle as the seat of government; and the
settlers had begun to build themselves country-houses and elegant
villa residences upon the banks of the river. These, however, were
not completed before it was determined to fix the capital at Perth,
some dozen miles up the river, where the soil was rather better, and
where a communication with the proposed farms in the interior would
be more readily kept up.

The government officers had now to abandon their half-built stone
villas, and construct new habitations of wood, as there was no stone
to be found in the neighbourhood of Perth, and brick clay had not
then been discovered.

It was in one of these abandoned houses (called the Cantonment),
situate on the banks of the Swan, about half a mile from Fremantle,
that, by the advice of our friend, we resolved to take up our
quarters. The building was enclosed on three sides by a rough stone
wall, and by a wooden fence, forming a paddock of about three
quarters of an acre in extent. It comprised one large room, of some
forty feet by eighteen, which had a roof of thatch in tolerable
repair. The north side, protected by a verandah, had a door and two
windows, in which a few panes of glass remained, and looked upon the
broad river, from which it was separated by a bank of some twenty
feet in descent, covered with a variety of shrubs, just then
bursting into flower. A few scattered red-gum trees, of
the size of a well-grown ash, gave a park-like appearance to our
paddock, of which we immediately felt extremely proud, and had no
doubt of being very comfortable in our new domain. Besides the large
room I have mentioned, there were two others at the back of it,
which, unfortunately, were in rather a dilapidated condition; and
below these apartments (which were built on the slope of a hill) were
two more, which we immediately allotted to the dogs and sheep. This
side of the building was enclosed by a wall, which formed a small
court-yard. Here was an oven, which only wanted a little repair to
be made ready for immediate use.

For several days we were occupied in superintending the landing of
our stores, and housing them in a building which we rented in the
town at no trifling sum per week. A light dog-cart, which I had
brought out, being unpacked, proved extremely useful in conveying to
our intended residence such articles as we were likely to be in
immediate want of.

The two men had already taken up their abode there, together with the
rams and dogs; and at last, leaving our comfortable quarters at the
hotel with something like regret and a feeling of doubt and
bewilderment, we all three marched in state, with our double-barrels
on our shoulders, to take possession of our rural habitation.



CHAPTER 5.

FIRST ADVENTURES.

We had providently dined before we took possession; and now, at
sunset, we stood on the bank before our house, looking down upon the
placid river. The blood-hound was chained to one of the posts of the
verandah; Jezebel, the noble mastiff-bitch, lay basking before the
door, perfectly contented with her situation and prospects; and
little Fig was busily hunting among the shrubs, and barking at the
small birds which he disturbed as they were preparing to roost.

One of the men was sitting on an upturned box beside the fire,
waiting for the gently-humming kettle to boil; whilst the other was
chipping wood outside the house, and from time to time carrying the
logs into the room, and piling them upon the hearth. As we looked
around we felt that we had now indeed commenced a new life. For some
months, at any rate, we were to do without those comforts and
luxuries which Englishmen at home, of every rank above the entirely
destitute, deem so essential to bodily ease and happiness.

We were to sleep on the floor, to cook our own victuals, and make our
own beds. This was to be our mode of acquiring a settlement in this
land of promise. Still there was an air of independence about it,
and we felt a confidence in our own energies and resources that made
the novelty of our position rather agreeable than otherwise.

There was something exhilarating in the fresh sea-breeze; there was
something very pleasing in the gay appearance of the shrubs that
surrounded us -- in the broad expanse of the river, with its
occasional sail, and its numerous birds passing rapidly over it on
their way to the islands where they roosted, or soaring leisurely to
and fro, with constant eyes piercing its depths, and then suddenly
darting downwards like streams of light into the flood, and emerging
instantly afterwards with their finny prey. The opposite bank of the
river displayed a sandy country covered with dark scrub; and beyond
this was the sea, with a view of Rottnest and the Straggler rocks. A
few white cottages relieved the sombre and death-like appearance of
that opposite shore. Unpromising as was the aspect of the country,
it yet afforded sufficient verdure to support in good condition a
large herd of cattle, which supplied Fremantle with milk and food.

Here, then, the reader may behold us for the first time in our
character of settlers. He may behold three individuals in light
shooting coats and cloth caps, standing upon the bank before their
picturesque and half-ruinous house, their dogs at their side, and
their gaze fixed upon the river that rolled beneath them. The same
thoughts probably occupied them all: they were now left in a land
which looked much like a desert, with Heaven for their aid, and no
other resources than a small capital, and their own energies and
truth. The great game of life was now to begin in earnest, and the
question was, how it should be played with success? Individual
activity and exertion were absolutely necessary to ensure good
fortune; and warmly impressed with the consciousness of this, we
turned with one impulse in search of employment.

Aesculapius began to prepare their supper for the dogs, and Meliboeus
looked after his sheep, which were grazing in the paddock in front of
the dwelling. As for myself, with the ardent mind of a young
settler, I seized upon the axe, and began to chop firewood -- an
exercise, by the way, which I almost immediately renounced.

And now for supper!

Our most necessary articles were buried somewhere beneath the heaps
of rubbish with which we had filled the store-room at Fremantle. Our
plates, cups and saucers, etc., were in a crate which was not to be
unpacked until we had removed our property and abode to the inland
station which we designed for our permanent residence. There were,
however, at hand for present use eight or nine pewter plates, and a
goodly sized pannikin a-piece. In one corner of the room was a bag
of flour, in another a bag of sugar, in a third a barrel of pork, and
on the table, composed of a plank upon two empty casks, were a couple
of loaves which Simon had purchased in the town, and a large tea-pot
which he had fortunately discovered in the same cask with the
pannikins.

The kettle fizzed upon the fire, impatient to be poured out; the
company began to draw round the hospitable board, seating themselves
upon their bedding, or upon empty packing-cases; and, in a word, tea
time had arrived. Hannibal, as we called the younger of our
attendants, from his valiant disposition, had filled one of the
pewter plates with brown sugar from the bag; the doctor made the tea,
and we wanted nothing but spoons to make our equipage complete.
However, every man had his pocket-knife, and so we fell to work.

Butter being at that time half-a-crown a pound, Simon (our head man)
had prudently refrained from buying any; and as he had forgotten to
boil a piece of the salt pork, we had to sup upon dry bread, which we
did without repining, determined, however, to manage better on the
morrow.

In the meantime we were nearly driven desperate by most violent
attacks upon our legs, committed by myriads of fleas. They were so
plentiful that we could see them crawling upon the floor; the dogs
almost howled with anguish, and the most sedate among us could not
refrain from bitter and deep execrations. We had none of us ever
before experienced such torment; and really feared that in the course
of the night we should be eaten up entirely. These creatures are
hatched in the sand, and during the rains of winter they take refuge
in empty houses; but they infest every place throughout the country,
during all seasons, more or less, and are only kept down by constant
sweeping from becoming a most tremendous and overwhelming plague,
before which every created being, not indigenous to the soil, would
soon disappear, or be reduced to a bundle of polished bones. The
natives themselves never sleep twice under the same wigwam.

After tea, the sheep and dogs being carefully disposed of for the
night, we turned out before the house, and comforted ourselves with
cigars; and having whiled away as much time as possible, we spread
out our mattresses on the floor, and in a state of desperation
attempted to find rest. We escaped with our lives, and were thankful
in the morning for so much mercy vouchsafed to us, but we could not
conscientiously return thanks for a night's refreshing rest.

At the first dawn of day we rolled up our beds, lighted the fire,
swept out the room, let the dogs loose, and drove the rams to pasture
on the margin of the river. After breakfast, which was but a sorry
meal, we determined to make our first attempt at baking. Simon, a
man of dauntless resolution, undertook the task, using a piece of
stale bread as leaven. It was a serious business, and we all helped
or looked on; but the result, notwithstanding the multitude of
councillors, was a lamentable failure. Better success, fortunately,
attended the labours of Hannibal, who boiled a piece of salt pork
with the greatest skill.

Mutton at this period, 1841, was selling at sixteen-pence per pound
(it is now two-pence), and we therefore resolved to depend upon our
guns for fresh meat. We had brought with us a fishing-net, which we
determined to put in requisition the following day.

The most prominent idea in the imagination of a settler on his first
arrival at an Australian colony, is on the subject of the natives.
Whilst in England he was, like the rest of his generous-minded
countrymen, sensibly alive to the wrongs of these unhappy beings --
wrongs which, originating in a great measure in the eloquence of
Exeter Hall, have awakened the sympathies of a humane and unselfish
people throughout the length and breadth of the kingdom. Full of
these noble and ennobling sentiments, the emigrant approaches the
scene of British-colonial cruelty; but no sooner does he land, than a
considerable change takes place in his feelings. He begins to think
that he is about to place his valuable person and property in the
very midst of a nation of savages, who are entirely unrestrained by
any moral or human laws, or any religious scruples, from taking the
most disagreeable liberties with these precious things.

The refined and amiable philanthropist gradually sinks into the
coarse-minded and selfish settler, who is determined to protect
himself, his family, and effects, by every means in his power -- even
at the risk of outraging the amiable feelings of his brother
philanthropists at home. In Western Australia, the natives generally
are in very good order; they behave peaceably towards the settlers,
eat their flour, and in return occasionally herd or hunt up their
cattle, and keep their larders supplied with kangaroo.

It is very rarely -- I have never indeed heard of a single
well-authenticated instance -- that any amount of benefits, or the
most unvarying kindness, can awaken the smallest spark of gratitude
in the breasts of these degraded savages. Those who derive their
chief support from the flour and broken meat daily bestowed upon them
by the farm settlers, would send a spear through their benefactors
with as little remorse as through the breast of a stranger. The fear
of punishment alone has any influence over them; and although in this
colony they are never treated with anything like cruelty or
oppression, it is absolutely necessary to personal safety to maintain
a firm and prompt authority over them.

When we first arrived, we were philanthropists, in the usual sense of
that term, and thought a good deal about the moral and general
destitution of this unfortunate people; but when we first encountered
on the road a party of coffee-coloured savages, with spears in their
hands, and loose kangaroo-skin cloaks (their only garments) on their
shoulders, accompanied by their women similarly clad, and each
carrying in a bag at her back her black-haired offspring, with a face
as filthy as its mother's -- we by no means felt inclined to step
forward and embrace them as brethren.

I question, indeed, whether the most ardent philanthropist in the
world would not have hesitated before he even held forth his hand to
creatures whose heads and countenances were darkened over with a
compound of grease and red clay, whose persons had never been
submitted to ablution from the hour of their birth, and whose
approach was always heralded by a perfume that would stagger the most
enthusiastic lover of his species.

But it was not merely disgust that kept us at arm's length. We must
confess we were somewhat appalled at this first view of savage life,
as we looked upon the sharp-pointed spears, wild eyes, and
well-polished teeth of our new acquaintance. Although, in truth,
they were perfectly harmless in their intentions, we could not help
feeling a little nervous as they drew nigh, and saluted us with
shrill cries and exclamations, and childish bursts of wild laughter.
Their principal question was, whether we were "cabra-man?" or seamen,
as we afterwards discovered their meaning to be. After a good deal
of screaming and laughing, they passed on their way, leaving us much
relieved by their absence. They seemed to be, and experience has
proved to us that they are, the most light-hearted, careless, and
happy people in the world. Subsisting upon the wild roots of the
earth, opossums, lizards, snakes, kangaroos, or anything else that is
eatable which happens to fall in their way, they obtain an easy
livelihood, and never trouble themselves with thoughts of the morrow.
They build a new house for themselves every evening; that is, each
family, erects a slight shelter of sticks covered over with bark, or
the tops of the xanthorea, that just keeps off the wind; and with a
small fire at their feet, the master of the family, his wife, or
wives, and children, lie huddled together like a cluster of snakes --
happier than the tenants of downy beds. Far happier, certainly, than
we had lately been in ours. We had, however, devised a new plan for
the next night. Having each of us a hammock, we suspended them from
the rafters; and thus, after the first difficulty and danger of
getting into bed was overcome, we lay beyond the reach of our
formidable enemies, and contrived to sleep soundly and comfortably.

The next morning we breakfasted early. My brothers resolved to try
the effect of the fishing-net, and I myself arranged a shooting
excursion with a lad, whose parents rented a house situated about a
quarter of a mile from our own. We were to go to some lakes a few
miles distant, which abounded with wild ducks and other water-fowl.
Preceded by Fig, and more soberly accompanied by Jezebel, we set out
upon our expedition.

It was the close of the Australian winter, and the temperature was
that of a bright, clear day in England at the end of September. The
air was mild, but elastic and dry; the peppermint and wattle-trees
were gay with white and yellow blossoms; an infinite variety of
flowering shrubs gave to the country the appearance of English
grounds about a goodly mansion; whilst the earth was carpeted with
the liveliest flowers. It was impossible to help being in good
spirits.

We passed up a valley of white gum-trees, which somewhat resemble the
ash, but are of a much lighter hue. They belong to the eucalyptus
species.

I shot several beautiful parroquets, the plumage of which was chiefly
green; the heads were black, and some of the pinion feathers yellow.
The country presented very little appearance of grass, though
abounding with green scrub; and frequently we passed over denuded
hills of limestone-rock, from which we beheld the sea on one side,
and on the other the vast forest of banksias and eucalypti, that
overspreads the entire country. The river winding among this mass of
foliage, relieved the eye.

After a walk of two hours we approached the lakes of which we were in
search, situated in a flat country, and their margins covered with
tall sedges, it was difficult to obtain a view of the water. Now,
then, we prepared for action. Behind those tall sedges was probably
a brood of water-fowl, either sleeping in the heat of the day, or
carefully feeding in the full security of desert solitude. "Fig! you
villain! what are you about? are you going to rush into the water,
and ruin me by your senseless conduct? I have got you now, and here
you must please to remain quiet. No, you rascal! you need not look
up to me with such a beseeching countenance, whilst you tremble with
impatience, eager to have a share in the sport. You must wait till
you hear my gun. I am now shooting for my dinner, and perhaps for
yours also, if you will condescend to eat duck, and I dare not allow
you the pleasure of putting up the game. You understand all this
well enough, and therefore please to be silent; -- or, observe! I'll
murder you."

Leaving the boy with the dogs, I began to steal towards the lake,
when I heard his muttered exclamation, and turning round, saw him
crouching to the earth and pointing to the sky. Imitating his
caution, I looked in the direction he pointed out, and beheld three
large birds leisurely making towards the spot we occupied. They were
larger than geese, black, with white wings, and sailed heavily along,
whilst I lay breathlessly awaiting their approach. The dogs were
held down by the boy, and we all seemed equally to feel the awfulness
of the moment. The birds came slowly towards us, and then slanted
away to the right; and then wheeling round and round, they alighted
upon the lake.

Creeping to the sedges, I pushed cautiously through, up to the ankles
in mud and water. How those provoking reeds, three feet higher than
my head, rustled as I gently put them aside! And now I could see
plainly across a lake of several acres in extent. There on the
opposite side, were three black swans sailing about, and occasionally
burying their long necks in the still waters. With gaze riveted upon
that exciting spectacle, I over-looked a myriad of ducks that were
reposing within a few yards of me, and which, having discovered the
lurking danger, began to rise en masse from the lake.

Never before had I seen such a multitude. Struck with amazement, I
stood idly gaping as they rose before me; and after sweeping round
the lake, with a few quacks of alarm, whirled over the trees and
disappeared.

The swans seemed for a moment to catch the general apprehension, and
one of them actually rose out of the water, but after skimming along
the surface for a few yards, he sank down again, and his companions
swam to rejoin him. Gently retreating, I got back upon the dry land,
and motioning the boy to remain quiet, hastened round the lake to its
opposite bank. More cautiously than before I entered the grove of
sedges, and soon beheld two of the swans busily fishing at some
distance from the shore. What had become of the third? There he is,
close to the border of the lake, and only about fifty yards from my
position! My first shot at a swan! -- Now then -- present! fire! --
bang! What a splutter! The shots pepper the water around him. He
tries to rise, He cannot! his wing is broken! Hurrah! hurrah! "Here
Jonathan! Toby! what's your name? here! bring the dogs -- I've hit
him -- I've done for him!

"Fig, Fig! -- O! here you are; good little dog -- good little fellow!
now then, in with you! there he is!"

With a cry of delight, little Fig dashed through the reeds. The
water rushed down his open throat and half-choked him; but he did not
care. Shaking the water out of his nose as he swam, he whimpered
with pleasure, and hurried after the swan which was now slowly making
towards the middle of the lake. Its companions had left it to its
fate. We stood in the water watching the chase. Jezebel, excited
out of all propriety, though she could see nothing of what was going
on, gallopped up and down the bank, with her tail stiff out, tumbling
over the broken boughs which lay there, and uttering every now and
then deep barks that awoke the astonished echoes of the woods.
Sometimes she would make a plunge into the water, splashing us all
over, and then she quickly scrambled out again, her ardour
considerably cooled.

"Well done, Fig! good little dog! at him again! never mind that rap
on the head from his wing."

Away swam the swan, and Fig after him, incessantly barking.

Had not the noble bird been grievously wounded he would have defied
the utmost exertions of the little spaniel, but as it was, he could
only get for a moment out of the reach of his pursuer by a violent
effort, which only left him more exhausted. And now they approached
the shore; and the swan, hard pressed, turns round and aims a blow
with its bill at the dog.

This Fig managed to elude, and in return made a snap at his enemy's
wing, and obtained a mouthful of feathers; but in revenge he received
on his nose a rap from the strong pinion of the bird that made him
turn tail and fairly yelp with anguish. "Never mind, brave Fig! good
dog! at him again! Bravo -- bravo! good little fellow!" There he
is, once more upon him. And now, master Fig, taught a lesson by the
smart blows he had received, endeavours to assail only the wounded
wing of the swan. It was a very fierce combat, but the swan would
probably have had the best of it had not loss of blood rendered him
faint and weak.

He still fought bravely, but now whenever he missed his adversary,
his bill would remain a moment in the water, as though he had
scarcely strength to raise his head; and as he grew momentarily
weaker and weaker, so Fig waxed more daring and energetic in his
assaults; until at length he fairly seized his exhausted foe by the
neck, and notwithstanding his struggles, and the violent flapping of
his long unwounded wing, began to draw him towards the shore. We
hurried to meet and help him. Jezebel was the first that dashed
breast-high into the water; and seizing a pinion in her strong jaws,
she soon drew both the swan and Fig, who would have died rather than
let go, through the yielding sedges to the land.

The swan was soon dead; and Fig lay panting on the sand, with his
moth open, and looking up to his master as he wagged his tail,
clearly implying, "Did not I do it well, master?" "Yes, my little
dog, you did it nobly. And now you shall have some of this bread, of
Simon's own baking, which I cannot eat myself; and Jonathan and I
will finish this flask of brandy and water."

And now we set out on our return home, anxious to display our trophy
to envious eyes.

As we approached the Cantonment, I discharged my unloaded barrel at a
bird like a thrush in appearance, called a Wattle-bird, from having
two little wattles which project from either side of its head.

The salute was answered by a similar discharge from the Cantonment,
and soon afterwards Meliboeus came running to meet us, preceded by
the blood-hound at full gallop. The dogs greeted one another with
much apparent satisfaction. Little Fig was evidently anxious to
inform his big friend of all that he had done, but Nero was much too
dignified and important to attend to him, and bestowed all his notice
upon Jezebel.

The fishermen had succeeded in catching a dozen mullet, which were
all ready for cooking; and the frying-pan being soon put in
requisition, we were speedily placed at table.

Being still without legitimate knives and forks, the absence of the
latter article was supplied by small forked-sticks, cut from a
neighbouring peppermint tree. Those who did not like cold water
alone were allowed grog; and the entertainment, consisting of fish
and boiled pork (which a few months before we should have considered
an utter abomination), being seasoned with hunger, went off with
tolerable satisfaction.

The following day we had the swan skinned and roasted, but it
certainly was not nearly so good as a Michaelmas goose.
Nevertheless, it was a change from boiled pork, and we endeavoured to
think it a luxury. Simon had been more successful in his latter
efforts at baking, and, on the whole, things assumed a more
comfortable aspect.



CHAPTER 6.

PERTH -- COLONIAL JURIES.

So soon as we were well settled in our new abode, we began to think
of pushing our researches a little farther into the country. We
thought it high time that we visited the capital, and paid our
respects to the Governor. About a mile and a half from our location,
the Fremantle and Perth road crosses the river (which is there about
four hundred yards wide) by a ferry. John-of-the-Ferry, the lessee
of the tolls, the Charon of the passage, is a Pole by birth, who
escaped with difficulty out of the hands of the Russians; and having
the fortune to find an English master, after a series of adventures
entered into the employment of an emigrant, and settled in Western
Australia. He had now become not only the lessee of the ferry, but a
dealer in various small articles, and at the time to which I refer,
was the owner of several Timor ponies. Singular enough for a
horse-dealer and a colonist, John had the reputation of being an
honest man, and his customers always treated him with the utmost
confidence.

Having learnt his good character, we repaired to his neat,
white-washed cottage on the banks of the river to inspect his stud;
and soon effected a purchase of two of his ponies. These animals,
about thirteen hands high, proved to belong to the swiftest and
hardiest race of ponies in the world. They required no care or
grooming; blessed with excellent appetites, they picked up their food
wherever they could find any, and came night and morning to the door
to receive their rations of barley, oat-meal, bread-crusts, or any
thing that could be spared them. The colony had been supplied with
several cargoes of these ponies from Timor, and they proved extremely
useful so long as there was a scarcity of horses; but afterwards they
became a nuisance, and tended greatly to keep back improvements in
the breed of horses. Pony-stallions suffered to roam at large,
became at length such an evil, that special acts of Council were
passed against them; and as these did not prove of sufficient
efficacy, the animals were sometimes hunted like wild cattle, and
shot with rifles.

It was some amusement to us to break in our small quadrupeds to draw
my light cart; we had brought out tandem-harness; and in a short time
we got up a very fair team. But, alas! there was no pleasure in
driving in that neighbourhood -- the road being only a track of deep
sand. One bright and tempting morning the doctor and myself mounted
our steeds, and leaving our affairs at the castle in the faithful
charge of Meliboeus, wended our way towards the capital of the
colony. The river at the ferry has a picturesque appearance,
precipitous rocks forming its sides, and two bays, a mile apart,
terminating the view on either hand, where the river winds round
projecting head-lands.

The old road to Perth was truly a miserable one, being at least six
inches deep in sand the whole way. It was scarcely possible to see
more than fifty yards ahead of you, so thickly grew the banksia
trees. After crossing the ferry, we lost sight of the river for
several miles, and then diverged from the dismal road by a path which
we had been directed by the ferryman to look out for, and which
brought us to a sandy beach at the bottom of a beautiful bay, called
Freshwater Bay. From this point to the opposite side was a stretch of
several miles, and the broad and winding river, or rather estuary,
with its forest banks, presented a beautiful appearance.

We now ascended from the shore to the high land above. The forest
through which we passed resembled a wild English park; below was the
broad expanse of Melville water, enlivened by the white sails of
several boats on their way from Perth to Fremantle. Farther on, the
mouth of the Canning River opened upon us; and now we could see, deep
below the high and dark hill-side on which we travelled, the narrow
entrance from Melville water into Perth water. At length we obtained
a full view of the picturesquely situated town of Perth.

It stands on the right bank of a broad and crescent-shaped reach of
the river Swan, in an extremely well-chosen locality. The streets
are broad; and those houses which are placed nearest to the river,
possess, perhaps, the most luxuriant gardens in the world. Every
kind of fruit known in the finest climates is here produced in
perfection. Grapes and figs are in profuse abundance; melons and
peaches are no less plentiful, and bananas and plantains seem to
rejoice in the climate as their own.

The town has a never-failing supply of fresh water from a chain of
swamps at the back, and the wells fed by them are never dry. Many of
the houses are well built -- brick having long since superseded the
original structure of wood -- and possess all the usual comforts of
English residences.

In the principal street, most of the houses stand alone, each
proprietor having a garden, or paddock of three quarters of an acre
in extent, about his dwelling. The great misfortune of the town is,
that the upper portion of it is built upon sand, which is many feet
deep. The streets, not being yet paved, are all but impassable; but
happily, each possesses a good foot-path of clay, and it is to be
hoped that the cart-ways will ere long be similarly improved. Sydney
was originally in the state that Perth presents now; but there the
natural unfavourableness of the soil has been entirely overcome.
Increasing wealth and population will ere long do as much for us.

It is not until we reach Guildford, eight miles farther inland than
Perth, that the stratum of sand ceases, and a cold and marly clay
succeeds, which reaches to the foot of the Darling range of hills,
and extends many miles down the coast.

The banks of the Swan River, as well as of the Canning and most other
rivers of the colony, contain many miles of rich alluvial soil,
capable of growing wheat sufficient for the support of a large
population. Many of these flats have produced crops of wheat for
sixteen years successively, without the aid of any kind of manure.
It must, however, be owned, that a very slovenly system of farming
has been generally pursued throughout the colony; and, in fact, is
commonly observable in all colonies. The settlers are not only apt
to rely too much upon the natural productiveness of the soil, but
they are in general men whose attention has only lately been turned
to agriculture, and who are almost entirely ignorant of practical
farming in its most important details. The Agricultural Society of
Western Australia has for some years exerted itself to improve this
state of things, and has in some measure succeeded.

It must be observed that with the exception of the rich flats of the
Swan and Canning rivers, the vast extent of country between the coast
and the Darling Hills is a miserable region, scarcely more valuable
for the purposes of cultivation than the deserts of Africa, except
where occasional swamps appear like oases, and tempt the hardy
settler to found a location. As all the worst land of the colony
lies unfortunately near the coast, those who visit only the port and
capital usually leave the country with a very unfavourable and a very
erroneous impression of its real character.

It is not until the granite range of the Darling Hills is passed
over, that the principal pastoral and agricultural districts are
found. There are the farm settlements, the flocks, and herds of the
colony. From the Victoria plains north of Toodyay, for hundreds of
miles to the southward, comprising the fertile districts of Northam,
York, Beverley, the Dale and the Hotham, is found a surface of stiff
soil, covered over with straggling herbage, and many varieties of
trees and shrubs. But I am travelling too fast: I must pause for
the present at Perth.

Circumstances determined me to take up my residence there, instead of
accompanying the rest of my party into the interior, as I had
originally intended. I liked the appearance and situation of the
town; and I liked the people generally. And here I may state, with
many kindly feelings, that never was a more united or cordial society
than that of the town of Perth, with its civil and military officers,
and its handful of merchants. No political or religious differences
have hitherto disturbed its harmony; nor have there yet been
introduced many of those distinctions which may be necessary and
unavoidable in large communities, but which, though generally to be
met with in all societies, are not only lamentable but highly
ridiculous in small out-of-the-way colonies. Such divisions,
however, must be apprehended even here in progress of time, and the
period will come when we shall look back with regret to those days
when we were all friends and associates together, and when each
sympathized with the fortunes of his neighbour. The kindly feeling
which thus held society together, was ever manifested at the death of
one of its members. Then not only the immediate connexions of the
deceased attended his funeral, but every member of his circle, and
many also of the lower classes. It has more than once happened that
a young man has fallen a victim to his rashness and nautical
inexperience, and met with an untimely fate whilst sailing on
Melville water. I myself twice narrowly escaped such a calamity, as
perhaps I may hereafter narrate. Every boat belonging to the place
is immediately engaged in search of the body, and many of the boatmen
freely sacrifice their time and day's wages in the pursuit. And when
at length the object of that melancholy search is discovered, and the
day of the funeral has arrived, the friends, companions, neighbours,
and fellow-townsmen of the deceased assemble at the door of his late
residence, to pay the last testimonies of sympathy and regret for him
who has, in that distant colony, no nearer relative to weep at his
grave. It is a long procession that follows the corpse to its home,
passing with solemn pace through the else deserted streets, and
emerging into the wild forest which seems almost to engulph the town;
and then pursuing the silent and solitary path for a mile until, on
the summit of a hill, surrounded by dark ever-green foliage, appears
the lonesome burial-ground. Ah! how little thought the tenant of
that insensible body, late so full of life and vigour, that here he
should so soon be laid, far from the tombs of his family, far from
the home of his parents, to which his thoughts had so constantly
recurred! I do not think any one ever witnessed the interment in
that solitary place of one whom perhaps he knew but slightly when
living, without feeling in himself a sensation of loneliness, as
though a cold gust from the open grave had blown over him. It is
then we think most of England and home -- and of those who though
living are dead to us.

But these are only transient emotions; they are idle and unavailing,
so away with them!

I shall now proceed to give an account of my first appearance before
a colonial public. Some of the crew of our vessel, exasperated by
the conduct of the captain, who refused to allow them any liberty on
shore after their long voyage, and encouraged and even led on by the
chief mate, had broken into the store-room, and consumed a quantity
of spirits and other stores. Now as we had been most shabbily
treated by the miserly and ruffian captain, and as the stores thus
stolen had been paid for by the passengers, and withheld from them
upon the voyage (stolen, in fact, by the captain himself), we were
delighted with the robbery, and extremely sorry to hear that the
chief mate had been committed to prison for trial as the principal
offender. In fact, the captain thought proper to wink at the conduct
of the others, as he could not afford to part with any more of his
crew. The General Quarter Sessions drew nigh, and the day before
they commenced I received a kind of petition from the prisoner,
entreating me to aid him at this pinch, as he had not a friend in
that part of the world, and would inevitably be ruined for what he
considered rather a meritorious action -- taking vengeance on the
stinginess of the captain. Though I did not see exactly of what
benefit I could be to him, I repaired to the court-house on the day
of trial. It was crowded with people, as such places always are when
prisoners are to be tried; and as I had met at dinner most of the
magistrates on the Bench, I did not much like the idea of making my
first public appearance before them as a friend of the gentleman in
the dock, who had improperly appropriated the goods of his employer.

The amiable desire, however, of paying off old scores due to the
captain, annihilated every other feeling; and when the prisoner, on
being asked whether he was guilty or not guilty of the felony laid to
his charge, instead of answering, cast his imploring eyes upon me, as
though I knew more of the business than himself, I could not refrain
from advancing towards the table occupied by the counsel and
solicitors, and asking permission of the bench to give my valuable
assistance to the prisoner. This being graciously accorded, the
mate, with a most doleful countenance, and a very unassured voice,
made answer to the plain interrogative of the Clerk of Arraigns --
"Not guilty, my Lord."

Whilst the prosecutor was being examined by the Advocate General, I
conned over the indictment with a meditative countenance, but without
being able to see my way in the least. The captain, scowling
atrociously at me and my persecuted friend, gave his evidence with
the bitterest animosity. He proved his losses, and the facts of the
store-room door having been broken open, and the prisoner and most of
the sailors being found drunk by him on his repairing one evening to
the vessel. It now became my turn to ask questions, as

Prisoner's Counsel. Your ship, Captain W., is commonly called a
Temperance ship, is it not?

Captain (after a ferocious stare). I should think you knew that.

P. Counsel. And being a temperance ship, you do not allow the men,
at any time, any other liquor than water?

Captain. No.

P. Counsel. In temperance ships, I suppose it sometimes happens that
the men contrive to buy liquor for themselves?

Captain (looking like a bull about to charge a matadore). Boo!

P. Counsel. Do you remember the day we were off Madeira?

Captain stares and snorts.

P. Counsel. Do you remember on that day several of the sailors being
remarkably light-headed -- reeling about the deck?

Captain (roaring, and striking the table with his hand). Yes!

P. Counsel. Was this the effect of a 'coup de soleil', do you think?

Captain. No!

P. Counsel. Very well. Do you remember, whilst we were on the Line,
the second-mate being in your cabin helping Mrs. W. to stow away some
things in the lazarette, and both being found afterwards extremely
unwell, and obliged to be taken to bed?

Chairman (interfering). I think the witness need not answer that question.

Advocate General. I should have made the same objection, Sir, but --
(aside) I was laughing too much.

P. Counsel. Very well, Sir. I will not press it if it be
disagreeable. Do you remember at St. Jago the whole of the crew
being every day notoriously drunk -- from eating water-melons?

Captain (recovering from an apoplectic fit). Ah-h!

P. Counsel. Do you remember, when off the Cape, the sail-maker and
several others being unable to do their duty, and being pronounced by
the doctor to be in a state of liquor?

Captain. Yes.

P. Counsel. Then, as it appears that on board of a temperance ship,
men do occasionally (and in your vessel very often) get drunk, might
not the prisoner at the time of his alleged offence have been
drinking other liquor than that which formed part of your stores?

Chairman (the Captain being too full of rage to articulate). The
jury will be able to draw their own inference as to that.

Captain. It was he, gentlemen; it was this -- gentleman (forsooth --
ha! ha!) who gave the men money on landing in order to make them
drunk.

P. Counsel. Thank you for that evidence. The intelligent gentlemen
in the box will perceive that it was at my expense that the
unfortunate prisoner got drunk, and not at the captain's.

The prosecutor was now permitted to retire, which he did growling
like a bear, amid the jeers of the populace, who always sympathize
with misfortune when it appears impersonated in the dock.

The jury were also evidently in high glee, and cast most friendly
looks at the prisoner, and the 'fidus Achates' who stood up for him
so stoutly.

The next witness was the sail-maker, who reluctantly owned himself to
have aided the prisoner in drinking some brandy which had come from
the ship's stores.

P. Counsel. But, Sails, you do not mean to say that the prisoner
told you he had himself taken it from the ship's stores?

Witness. Oh no, Sir, certainly not.

P. Counsel. In fact, of your own knowledge, you do not know where
the liquor came from?

Witness. No, Sir; oh, no, Sir!

Here the Advocate-General administered such a lecture to the witness,
who was considerably more than half-drunk at the time, that he
entirely lost his wits and memory, and answered so completely at
random, that the jury begged he might not be asked any more questions.

Advocate General. It is of no importance. I shall call no more
witnesses, as I hold in my hand the prisoner's own confession, made
before the committing magistrate, who was yourself, Mr. Chairman.

This was a knock-down blow to me, and made the jury look extremely
blank. They gazed on one another in despair. The document was duly
proved, and the case for the prosecution closed. The chairman asked
if I wished to address the jury, but I declined, and observed that
the prisoner must explain for himself what he meant by this
extraordinary confession. Every thing seemed dead against the
prisoner, who hung his head and looked remarkably simple. I read
over the paper, which stated that he, the prisoner, with several
others, on a certain day took a quantity of the captain's brandy, and
got drunk thereupon.

A ray of hope beamed upon me. I started up, and the jury
instinctively began to brighten; they had given up the prisoner as
lost, and now they were ready to catch at a straw. I addressed the
unfortunate "You state here, that you took the captain's brandy with
certain of the sailors. Do you mean by that, you 'partook' of the
brandy which other sailors were drinking?"

Prisoner (balbutiant). I -- I -- ye -- ye --

P. Counsel. What do you really mean, Sir, by this written document?
Do you mean to say that you yourself took this brandy, or that you
partook of it with others?

Prisoner. Yes, Sir, -- that I partook of it.

P. Counsel. Then, gentlemen of the jury, this document does not
convict the unfortunate man at the bar; and what appears like an
admission of guilt is only to be attributed to his imperfect mode of
expressing himself. He admits that he partook of certain brandy
stated to be the captain's, which the captain, himself, however,
would lead you to suppose had been provided by me. The witness who
has been examined throws no further light upon the matter; and though
the prisoner himself has admitted that he partook of liquor which he
believed belonged to the captain, that admission does not convict him
under the present indictment, which charges him with having
"feloniously taken and carried away," etc.

The jury were evidently delighted with this construction; and the
people in the gallery and body of the court could scarcely be
restrained from giving three cheers.

The chairman recapitulated the evidence, and left the matter in the
hands of the jury, who jostled one another out of the box, and
retired to "consider their verdict." As they passed through the
ante-room to the apartment in which they usually held their solemn
deliberations, they caught up a bucket of water which the bailiff of
the court generally kept at hand for thirsty counsel or magistrates;
and as soon as they had decently secluded themselves, and indulged in
a genial fit of merriment, the foreman produced a bottle of brandy
from his pocket, and seizing the pannikin which floated in the
bucket, poured forth a good libation, and drank "towards all
present." Each juryman in turn then drank the health of the foreman.
After that, they all drank the prisoner's health; and as one of the
number afterwards assured me, they would have conscientiously toasted
the prisoner's counsel, but the liquor unfortunately failed.

The foreman then said, "Come, my lads, there's no more left, so we
may as well go back again." So they jostled one another out of the
room, and with composed countenances returned to the court, where
they were ostentatiously conducted to their box by the sheriff's
officer amid loud cries of "Silence in the court! silence there!"

Their names having been called over, the Clerk of Arraigns asked the
usual question, "Have you considered your verdict, gentlemen?"

"Not guilty!" interrupted the foreman, as if he feared lest the
prisoner should be convicted in spite of the jury.

"How say you," continued the clerk, "is the prisoner at the bar
guilty or not guilty?"

"Not guilty!" cried the whole jury to a man; and amid thunders of
acclamations the prisoner was released from the dock, and turned out
of court, where he was seized upon by a multitude of sympathizers,
and carried in triumph to the next public-house. There he spent the
ensuing four-and-twenty hours, the hero of the day.

In this slight sketch I am conscious that I have only been able to
convey to the reader a very faint idea of
A COLONIAL JURY.



CHAPTER 7.

BOATING UP THE RIVER.

Whilst I was making acquaintances at Perth, my brothers, mounted on
our Timor steeds, were making a tour of inspection beyond the Darling
Hills. They fixed at length upon a farm at York, with about three
thousand acres belonging to it, and having a good farm-house, with
excellent barn and out-buildings attached. This evinced a more
comfortable and luxurious state of things than they had anticipated,
and they returned in high spirits to head-quarters.

It now became necessary to consider how the various goods and
utensils were to be conveyed to the new settlement, which was seventy
miles distant from Fremantle. We sold most of our flour and pork at
a fair profit, and left by far the greater part of the other articles
which we had brought out with us to be sold by a commission agent, as
opportunity offered.

 From various causes, but chiefly from our own ignorance in selecting
our goods in London, we lost a considerable sum upon the things we
had brought out. Emigrants, unless they are men of great experience,
should bring all their capital to a colony in bills or specie, and
not attempt to increase their property by speculating in goods. On
their arrival, they will most probably find the markets already
glutted, and they will be compelled either to sell at a sacrifice, or
leave their effects in the hands of an agent, who will charge
enormously for warehouse-rent and other expenses, and will take
especial care that the unfortunate emigrant is not the party who
profits most by the sale of his goods.

We had brought out with us an old artillery waggon; and all hands now
set to work to put it together, which was accomplished after a good
deal of difficulty. We also purchased three pair of bullocks, which
were at that date very dear. One pair -- magnificent animals
certainly -- cost fifty guineas, and the other animals twenty pounds
a-piece. Now, however, the best working bullocks may be obtained for
about fifteen pounds a pair. As the road so far as Guildford was
excessively heavy, we resolved to convey most of our goods by water
to a spot a few miles beyond that town, where a friendly settler had
placed at our disposal a wooden building, consisting of a single
room, situated on the banks of the river, and used occasionally by
himself as a store-house for his own goods on their transit to his
dwelling. The same friend lent us his own whale-boat; and by
determining to convey our effects ourselves we avoided a very heavy
expense. The cost of conveying necessaries from the coast to the
farm settlements in the interior, has been one of the chief drawbacks
to the colony. The boatmen made fortunes, whilst the farmers were
nearly ruined by their charges, and those of the storekeepers in the
towns.

For fifteen years, at least, the latter have grumbled with violent
indignation unless their goods have realised from two to five hundred
per cent profit. Resolved, therefore, to be our own boatmen, we
moored our vessel at a little wooden jetty below our house, and began
to pack up such articles as were designed to compose the first cargo.

I remember well the pleasure with which we stood upon that wooden
jetty one summer's evening, looking upon the boat in which we were to
perform our first voyage up the river, as she lightly floated before
us, scarcely giving a strain upon the rope which held her to one of
the posts at the end of the pier. Fig and Jezebel, always intimate
friends, were hunting for bandicoots -- animals less than a
kangaroo-rat -- which abounded in the bank below our dwelling.

Upon this bank, Hannibal was to be seen cleaning the tandem harness,
suspended from the bough of a tree, and occasionally casting an eye
in the direction of the sheep, for whose safety he was responsible.
By the river side, our bullocks were busily engaged picking the
scanty herbage. The sea-breeze blowing steadily up the river cooled
the air, and seemed to bear health and spirits on its wings.

The only sound that met the ear was a rushing noise, which every now
and then rose from the water along the shore. It was caused by
myriads of little fish rushing into shoal water to escape from
some pressing foe.

There are some minds that draw pleasure from things which in no
degree affect others; to such, this was one of those seasons of
tranquil happiness that leave no regrets behind. The consciousness
of independence -- the pleasant nature of our duties -- the cheerful
aspect of all around -- the flattering whispers of Hope, though false
as usual -- all helped to form for the mental eye a picture which it
loved to look upon.

And now we were busied in loading our boat. What pride we felt! no
shame at being seen performing manual labour; but pride, and
pleasure, and exultation. We had always been fond of boating, and
now that it was about to be an useful employment, it seemed
additionally agreeable. And what a noble scene for this our first
adventurous voyage, upon that broad river or rather arm of the sea!
We had found out the secret of human happiness, long hidden from us
-- business had become our pleasure. I was to be the captain, and my
youngest brother and Simon composed the crew.

The boat was not loaded until late in the afternoon, and our
departure was therefore postponed until the sea-breeze should set in
on the following day. Still, we could not resist the delight of
making an experimental trip, and so the sprit-sail and jib were set,
and we shoved off into the tide-way. A whale-boat goes very fast
before the wind, but will not beat, nor will she go about well
without using an oar; she is not, therefore the craft best adapted
for nautical evolutions, but we were too happy to find much fault
with her on that occasion; and so we sailed several times across the
river and back again in the very height of enjoyment. Then suddenly
luffing up in the middle of the stream, the anchor was let go, and
the sail brailed up, in order that we might have the pleasure of
sitting still in the very midst of the waters, and rest, as it were,
in the plenitude of our satisfaction; and when the anchor dragged a
few yards over the sand before it held, and then suddenly brought up
the boat with a jerk, it seemed the climax of our pleasure. This,
the sagacious reader, in the depth of his gravity, will consider
extremely boyish. But should we not rejoice and be thankful whenever
we find among the many simple pleasures of our boyhood, a single one
which retains the power of gladdening our maturer years? Alas! one
after another they die down, and are no more to be revived. We are
apt to fancy that when the pleasures of youth have lost their
sweetness, and are no longer desired, it is an evidence of our
increasing wisdom. But it proves only that our tastes, grown more
vitiated, have taken new directions. We have only changed our
follies -- and for the worse.*


[footnote] *"'Tis sweet to think we grow more wise
When Radcliffe's page we cease to prize,
And turn to Malthus, and to Hervey,
For tombs, or cradles topsy-turvy;
'Tis sweet to flatter one's dear self,
And altered feelings vaunt, when pelf
Is passion, poetry, romance; --
And all our faith's in three per cents."
                     R. R. Madden


The breeze! the breeze! the glorious sea-breeze comes stealing
swiftly over the bar; it crosses the first bay. Like a dark shadow
it moves along the face of the river, and now it has reached our
landing-place and gone swiftly forwards, bringing pleasure and
thankfulness on its path. Now, my men, jump in! hand me the grog and
provision basket -- and now loose the sails, and shove off. There,
we are fairly under weigh, and little Fig whimpers his adieu to
Jezebel and Nero, who for some minutes accompany the course of the
boat along the shore; and then finding we are really going, remain
fixed with astonishment, gazing upon their departing friend. Soon,
how soon, vanishes from their breasts every feeling of regret!
Before we have turned the first headland we perceive them playfully
biting each other about the ears and neck: and now Nero scampers off
under the trees in the direction of the house, and Jezebel (type of
her sex!) hurries after him.

The breeze came rattling up the river, and the boat flew merrily
before it. We had occasionally sailed to Perth in the passage-boats,
and therefore knew something of the channel. Sand-spits frequently
run far out into the river, and those who think only of steering a
straight course, are very sure of running aground several times
during the voyage.

The distance from Fremantle to Perth, by water, is about twelve
miles, and it is about as many more from Perth to Guildford. After
passing the ferry-reach, the river appeared about a quarter of a mile
broad, having abrupt rocky banks on either side; far a-head was the
wooded bottom of Freshwater Bay. Instead of coasting round this bay,
we passed through a channel cut across the spit into Melville water.
Here is a beautiful site for a house: a sloping lawn, covered with
fine peppermint trees, which in form resemble the weeping willow, and
a great variety of flowering shrubs, down to the water's edge. The
view from the house (lately the seat of Alfred Waylen, Esq.) is
exceedingly pleasing; on one hand is the fine sheet of Melville
water, seven miles in extent, and three or four in breadth,
surrounded by thick woods; in front is the graceful curve of
Freshwater Bay; and on the opposite side of the house from Melville
water, the river sweeps abruptly round through the deep and broad
channel I have already mentioned towards the ferry-reach.

We passed up Melville water, and in about an hour and a quarter after
starting came abreast of the town of Perth, which we left about
three-quarters of a mile on our larboard side, and continued our
passage up Perth water. We had now a difficult channel to pass
through, where the river is extremely shoal; and in our inexperience
we soon got the boat aground. Jumping into the water, we succeeded
in shoving her again into the channel, and passed by a small island
called Harrison's Island. It was here that a French exploring party
took refuge after they had come so far up the river in spite of many
alarms. These men were some of the crew of Captain Perron, who was
engaged in a survey of this part of the coast of Australia, for the
French Government. During the night they were thrown into a state of
agitation and alarm by hearing incessant noises in the thick woods on
the main land, that were thought by some to be the bellowing of wild
bulls; by many the howling of wolves; and by others the cries of
savages. After a night spent in momentary expectation of attack and
massacre, the Frenchmen got into their boats and hastened down the
river again with the utmost expedition, and scarcely thought
themselves quite safe until they were once more on board their ship.

This account of the French navigators was uppermost in the minds of
the English settlers on their first arrival, and contributed greatly
to the dread they felt at wandering a few yards from the settlement.
In those days, an orderly scarcely durst take a message from the
Governor to the Surveyor General's tent, within sight, unless
accompanied by a couple of his fellows, with their muskets ready for
action.

The borders of the river were in many parts, especially on the
present town site of Perth, so entangled with thick brushwood, that
enemies might be lying in swarms, close at hand, without the least
fear of detection. When Sir James Stirling and his party first
passed up the river in boats, they had the accounts of the French
sailors fully in mind, and were very cautious how they landed. They
passed the night in a state of preparation, if not of alarm, and were
kept in constant vigilance by the same fearful noises.

The woods were now supposed to be filled with wild beasts, and it was
not until some time had elapsed that people became convinced that the
dreadful sounds which assailed their ears at night proceeded from
myriads of frogs. These little creatures swarm in the samphire
marshes near the river, and possess voices far surpassing anything
known in their species in Europe.

I was once looking out for ducks or coots in a thicket of bulrushes
higher than my head, when I was startled by hearing a loud "bomb!" at
no great distance from me. Having no idea what kind of wild beast
had made its lair in that dense thicket, I got ready to fire both
barrels on the first appearance of danger. Again the same awful
noise! It must be the snorting of a bison, or vast buffalo, seeking
shelter from the sun -- or it may proceed from some kind of
water-dragon, I thought. I looked in every direction, but could see
no living creature; and at last was about to retreat in the quietest
manner possible, when I espied a little frog perched on the top of a
reed, about a yard from my nose, and apparently looking full in my
face, whilst, ever and anon he inflated his cheeks, and uttered the
fearful sounds I had heard.

But besides the dread of wild beasts, the colonists were long in the
greatest apprehension of losing themselves in the vast wilderness of
forest by which they were on every side enclosed. The country being
extremely level, up to the Darling range of hills, which is seen
trending north and south about twelve or fourteen miles at the back
of Perth, a man once in the woods has no object but the sun by which
to direct his course. Every now and then he comes upon an impassable
swamp, which throws him out of his track, and causes him infinite
difficulty before he can get round it, and then he begins to doubt of
his true direction. This is certainly, an awkward predicament; and
nothing is so easy as for inexperienced bushmen to lose their way.
When once a man begins to doubt whether he is right, he loses all
confidence in himself; he wanders first in one direction and then in
another, in the hope of finding something to guide him; and fears
lest every step should take him farther into the labyrinth of the
forest-wilderness. I have myself been several times lost for a short
period, and know how very unpleasant is the sensation. A common
soldier, sent on a message from Perth to Fremantle, happened to get
off the track. Becoming alarmed, he tried to recover it, but as it
had made a bend, he walked as far as he thought its position ought to
be, without success, and then fancied he must have mistaken the
direction. He therefore diverged at right angles, and after walking
a short time, recollected that he must now be going in the wrong
direction, as he had left the path originally on his left hand.
Accordingly he turned back again, and walked so far without
perceiving any signs of the track that he now fancied he must be
going parallel with it. Had he gone on a few yards father, all would
have been right, but now he really took a parallel course, and after
walking for some time longer, he again turned back, and walked in
another direction. Now this man had the sea on one side of him, and
the river on the other, at most not more than four miles apart; yet
the dread of having walked back into the wilderness behind Perth
overpowered his faculties, and he walked for hours in a circle of
about half a mile in diameter. He might have considered that the
Darling Hills were behind Perth, and must have brought him up, but
reason does not always act freely at these times. At length,
completely exhausted, he sat down at the foot of a tree, where he
remained all night, expecting death from starvation, from the
natives, or some unknown wild beasts.

The next day he walked again as long as his strength would allow, but
before night sank down in the extremity of despair. It was not until
the third day of his misfortunes that he was tracked up by a party
sent in search of him, and guided by friendly natives, who followed
his many devious steps with unerring eyes.

Another man, similarly lost in the interior, after vainly trying to
recover the road, determined to make for the coast, which he knew lay
to the west. He was also confident that the sun regularly set in
that quarter, and therefore, he boldly determined to trust himself to
the guidance of the sun, making sure, that if he followed it far
enough, it must lead him to the coast at last. Accordingly, he
marched after the sun till night-fall and then went cheerfully to
sleep, having supped upon some bread and pork, which he carried with
him. The next morning, at sunrise, he started off in the direction
of his guide, perfectly unconscious that he was now retracing his
steps, and journeying eastward. All day, however, he continued to
follow the sun, and when it set, wondered that he had not yet reached
the sea. At night, he finished his bread and pork, and the next
morning set off again on his long and tedious journey; still, at
night, there was no appearance of the ocean, and he fired off his gun
at a black cockatoo, which he killed with his only charge of shot.

Upon this bird he lived for the next two days, and for two more he
subsisted upon roots. He had now given up all hopes of discovering
the sea, and had lain down to die, when he was found by his master
and a party of natives, who had come in search of him.

It appeared that he was found upon almost the very spot on which he
had first lost himself.

When once a man begins to believe that he is lost in the wilderness,
he feels as helpless as one who is blind-folded at the game of
blindman's buff, and who has been twirled round so often, that he has
no idea whereabouts the door or the fire-place is situated. Those
who are used to the bush steer their course with almost unerring
precision by the sun, and a few known objects, but there are numbers
who never acquire this power. The natives appear to know by instinct
the direction of every spot they wish to reach; and many white men
seem to possess the same faculty.

But I have almost forgotten that we are all this time sailing up the
rive in our whale-boat. It was a very beautiful sail, and we
repeatedly passed cheerful-looking farm-houses on either bank --
sometimes goodly mansions with park-like enclosures about them. In
the afternoon we dined upon cold wild-duck; and as each man sipped
his grog in his pannikin, we felt so exceedingly cheerful, that Simon
and Meliboeus favoured the public with "Away with melancholy!" and
divers other agreeable ditties. The wind however died away, and
evening set in as we passed Guildford. The banks of the river had
now risen into steep cliffs, which threw a deep gloom over our
course. We had furled the sails, and taken to the oars, and as we
blindly poked our way, we began to think this kind of work was not
quite so agreeable as it had at first appeared. Nothing was now to
be seen but the outlines of the steep sides of the river on which
occasional houses were visible, the light streaming through the
windows, and making us fancy how comfortable every thing must be
within, and how pleasant it would be to be sitting at supper in a
cheerful room, instead of toiling at our oars with blistered hands,
and without the prospect of a good bed at the end of the voyage.

Romance was gone; the sad reality of life remained. Still we pulled
along, steering by turns, and doubting and wondering every hundred
yards whether we had not gone past the place we sought. Sometimes we
paused on our oars to debate the question, but still we continued to
push on; till at length we found ourselves close abreast of the
wooden building we were so anxiously looking out for, and experienced
a sensation of surprise as well as of delight.

The boat was soon safely moored, and the door of the building
unlocked; and by the light of a wax taper, which we had brought on
purpose, we found ourselves in a large empty room, without any
fire-place. A heap of dead wood was soon collected at the entrance;
and a glorious fire lighted up the small enclosure which surrounded
the building, and sufficiently illuminated a considerable portion of
the room itself. The kettle being put on, we soon had tea ready, and
managed to get through our rations of bread and pork, not forgetting
to give little Fig his supper, who sat very seriously before the
fire, wondering what it all meant.

Cigars, and brandy and water, having been duly administered before
bed-time, we next proceeded to litter down coats and cloaks; and
having made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would admit of,
stretched ourselves on the floor, with a few sighs and thoughts of
home, and slept until day-break.

The first thing we did next morning was to unload the boat; and then
having breakfasted, and secured the door on our effects, we started
on our homeward trip, and had the satisfaction of pulling the whole
distance to Perth, where we were obliged to sleep the next night, as
it was impossible for us to get down Melville water in the teeth of a
strong sea-breeze.

When we had to start again with another load of goods, our hearts
were much heavier than on the first excursion.



CHAPTER 8.

FARMS ON THE RIVER.

First impressions endure the longest, and are recalled with most
pleasure. Further acquaintance does not always give us a truer idea
of the value of the object, as familiarity frequently makes us
overlook as insignificant that which is constantly before us. It is
not the object that is proved to be really less valuable as we become
better acquainted with it, but our own views which change with our
position. My first impressions on visiting the various farms, or
rather gentlemen's residences, on the banks of the Swan, were
extremely agreeable. I thought nothing could be more delightful than
to live at one of those picturesque and lovely spots. If the romance
of that first feeling be now faded from my heart, it is not because I
have discovered that all which I then saw was an illusion, but
because a more sober state of mind -- that state into which the mind
settles as the excitement of sudden change and unwonted novelty
subsides -- teaches that happiness is not local, and that it is no
more likely to be found in the finest country residence than in the
main street of a town.

At the first view we are apt to imagine that people who live in one
of these pleasant retreats must needs be happier than ourselves, who
possess nothing but a miserable shilling.

This is the delusion; and when with increasing knowledge, we recover
from this, we cease to envy and to covet.

My first ride up the Swan was a most delightful one. No park in
England could be more beautiful than the grounds around some of the
dwellings.

The ride through the scattered village of Guildford, with a view of
the rich and extensive flats of Woodbridge, the property of Sir James
Stirling, and the frequent bends of the river, is a very agreeable
one. The whole country of the middle and upper Swan resembles a vast
English park. We passed the pretty country church of the Middle
Swan, with its modest parsonage beside it, and then proceeded through
wooded ravines along a pleasant drive to one of the most hospitable
mansions in the colony. Extensive stables, barns and out-buildings
occupied the back of the premises. As it was now too late in the
evening to see much of the surrounding scenery, we entered the house
of Samuel Moore, Esq., and sat down to an excellent dinner. In the
evening we had music -- pianos are as common in Western Australia as
in England. At night I occupied a sofa in the parlour. The
excitement and novelty of my present situation -- so many thousands
of leagues removed from the spot on which, only a few months before,
I had deemed I was to spend my life -- kept me wakeful; and about one
o'clock I arose, and opening the French window, stepped out into the
verandah. How solemn was the scene before me, faintly lighted by the
moon! In front of the house was a pretty sloping garden, and below
this stretched a broad clearing, now waving with corn, amidst which
rose up a number of scattered, lofty, dead trees, which had been
purposely killed by ringing the bark. How mournful they looked in
that gloomy light!

The river bounded this clearing, and beyond the river stretched its
high bank, covered with forest trees, the advanced lines, as it were,
of the vast wilderness which lay behind. From out the depths of
those woods rose the occasional shrieks of an owl, or other night
bird, and at intervals the long dismal howl of a wild dog -- the only
carnivorous animal indigenous in that country. The air was balmy,
but there was something in the mournful aspect of the scene that
weighed upon the spirits, and made one feel inexpressibly lonely in
the midst of that boundless wilderness of forest.

Time soon takes off the edge of novelty, and long ago I have learned
to feel perfectly at ease and cheerful, whilst lying in the midst of
much deeper solitude, with no companions but my horse grazing near
me, and the fire at my feet. There is no country in the world so
safe for the traveller as Western Australia.

The next day we went over the farm of our host. His best land was on
the flats at the river side, but his upland, by judicious
cultivation, is made productive and valuable. A carriage-drive
extends through the grounds and affords beautiful prospects of the
river, and of the estates through which it runs; and on the other
side, of the Darling Hills. The hedge-rows on this property are
planted with olive, almond, and peach trees -- an admirable policy,
which ought to be adopted throughout Australia. In a few years --
for the olive bears fruit much sooner here than in the south of
Europe -- a valuable traffic in olive-oil may be expected from this
colony.

The ingenious gentleman who owns this property (which is, in point of
soil, one of the worst farms on the Swan) continues annually to add
to its value by his persevering system of improvement. He has had a
steam-engine constructed on his own premises, and under his personal
superintendence; and he grinds his own flour as well as that of his
neighbours.

The neighbouring estate of W. L. Brockman, Esq., is a more valuable
property, and equally attractive in possessing a well-cultivated
farm, a beautiful situation, a comfortable residence, and an amiable
family.

With similar energy and savoir faire, all the beautiful farms on this
river might be made most enviable residences.

Whilst on the subject of farming, I may mention a reaping-machine
which has been introduced into this colony from South Australia,
where it was invented. It is only adapted to a very dry climate, but
there it is most valuable. A pair of horses push a machine before
them, which consists of a threshing-machine and a set of revolving
combs, some six feet wide. These combs, in their revolutions, catch
up the wheat, and tear off the ears from the stalks, throwing them
back into the threshing-machine. A field of wheat is thus reaped and
threshed as fast as the horses can walk over it. The straw is
afterwards mown.

The roads are hard and good in this neighbourhood, and some of the
settlers keep their open carriages.

I doubt whether I have conveyed to the reader a just idea of some of
the pleasantest spots which are to be met with in this colony; but I
would not have him (full of romantic thoughts and agricultural
purposes) rush hastily into the mart and sell his substance in order
to lead a life of tranquil retirement in this distant Eden. It
requires a good deal of philosophy to make a contented settler. Most
colonists leave England full of virtuous resolutions -- with bosoms
glowing with the ardent love of nature; and fully persuaded that they
need nothing to make them happy but a small farm, beautifully
situated, with its cottage ornee, and its spreading vines, and a
noble fig-tree, beneath which they are to sit in the cool of the
evening, with their little ones around them. All this they may
really possess; and for some time they are in raptures at the novel
feeling of being men of landed interest. This is always the first
ambition of a colonist -- to have some property which he may lawfully
call his own. And, indeed, the human heart never expands with more
satisfactory pride than in the breast of him whose territorial
possessions have hitherto been confined to a few flower-pots in his
parlour-window, but who now stands firmly beneath a lofty gum-tree,
and looking round him, murmurs "This is mine!" It is, indeed, a very
pleasant sensation, but, unfortunately, it is very short-lived.

Men do not come out to a colony to spend an income, but to make a
living. When once their capital is laid out in the acquisition of a
farm, and in the necessary purchase of stock, they have to raise
money out of it to pay their labourers' wages, and find their
households with tea, sugar, clothing, and "sundries." Many things
may be grown upon your farm, but not everything. At first, the
settler is satisfied with finding that he can sell sufficient produce
to enable him to pay his way, provided he practise the utmost
economy, and exhibit a reasonable degree of good management.

But soon there are extra expenses to be liquidated; a long illness in
his family brings him in debt to the doctor; or his neighbour has
injured him, and he has, thereupon, further injured himself by going
to law and avenging the wrong. He now becomes discontented, and
thinks he is as badly off as he was before he left England; or,
perhaps he may have sustained no losses, and is just able to live on
his property without getting into debt; he forgets, however, the
principles on which he came out to settle; he begins to complain that
he is not making money. It is true he leads an easier life than he
did in England; he is not striving and struggling for existence as he
was there, but he is making no money. His wife asks him daily, in
the pleasantest connubial key, why he brought them all from England,
to bury them there, and see nobody from morn till night? What, she
urges, is to become of their children? Will Jonadab, their
first-born, be a gentleman like his maternal ancestors? -- But how,
indeed should he, with the pursuits of a cow-boy and the hands of a
scavenger? It is very well for one who cares nothing for genteel
society, and whose bearish manners, in fact, unfit him for it, to
lead such a life; but is she to endure this for ever, and see her
daughters married to men who wear long beards and Blucher boots?

These incessant attacks at length overthrow the ennobling philosophy
of the colonist. He knows not where to procure more than he already
possesses, or he would gladly return to the country of his
fore-fathers; but alas! he sees no prospect of gaining even a bare
livelihood there. Without knowing, then, how or where to improve his
condition, he deplores the penury of his lot, and sighs for wealth
which he has no prospect of ever obtaining.

My own opinion has ever been that colonists, with few exceptions,
must always be poor men. They may possess large estates and numerous
herds; but the more numerous these herds, the less is their
marketable value: for population and demand can never increase in
equal ratio with the supply. A man, therefore, who possesses the
elements of wealth, may still be poor in the article of money.

Nor will his estates produce him more income than his herds; for in
most cases the only rent which his tenants can afford to pay is in
kind. 'The only real wealth to a colony is the incessant influx of
immigration, combining capital and labour.'

There are some of us, happily, who still retain the ancient
philosophy. We have not thought of pecuniary wealth, and are content
to live easily, with those moderate blessings which attach to a
beneficent climate and a simple mode of life.

So very little is required which money can buy, that men seem to be
annoyed at the fact, and insist upon creating new wants.

A great deal of discontent and repining generally prevails in a
colony. People who have lived miserably in England, who have long
doubtfully hovered between suicide and highway robbery, determine at
length to adopt the still more melancholy alternative of emigration.
After bequeathing a few tender sighs to the country which they have
hitherto regarded rather as a step-mother than a parent; and having
pathetically solicited the sympathy of those who more readily bestow
upon them a few pounds than a few tears, in the pious hope of never
seeing them more, our emigrants betake themselves to the favoured
land of their adoption, in the full and confident belief that they
have nothing now to do, but live "like gentlemen," though without the
means, or any other qualifications of that class. Their Faith is of
that affecting and unlimited description, as to lead them to suppose
that He who beneficently feeds the ravens will not neglect the rooks
or the drones.

In a very short time, however, they find that they are no better off
in the new than they were in the old country. The gum-trees do not
produce bread, nor the banksias shoulders of mutton; and,
consequently, their hopes have been miserably disappointed, and they
loudly proclaim their wants and sorrows in the streets. There are
unfortunately in all colonies -- those 'refugia peccatorum' -- many
emigrants of this class, idle and worthless, who have never done
well, and never will succeed in any part of the world.

A colonial life is not for these men, and we recommend them to pass
on to some other region as quickly as possible.



CHAPTER 9.

THE MORAL THERMOMETER OF COLONIES.

In the chief town of every colony, there is always agreeable society
to be found among the resident Government officers, and the other
principal inhabitants. Many estimable individuals are to be met with
in all communities; in that in which I have myself resided for some
years, there are many for whom I entertain the highest regard. I
hope, therefore, it will not be considered that, in the remarks which
I am about to make, I am actuated by any ill or invidious feeling, or
at all allude to individuals. Since I have undertaken the task of
drawing sketches of colonial life, I must not endeavour to conceal
any portion of the truth, nor tacitly allow erroneous conclusions to
be drawn from my remarks.

I have already observed that a good and kindly feeling towards one
another prevails in this colony among the settlers generally. But I
must qualify this remark by adding -- in all cases in which
individual interests are not concerned. There is less perhaps of the
'spirit of dealing' in this colony than in any other of the British
empire. Ours is not a mercantile community, and the farm-settlers
generally are young men of good birth and gentlemanly spirit. Still,
even here, beyond all question, exists the same odious tendency
(though less apparent) which prevails more or less in all colonies,
to advance self-interest on every possible occasion, without being
deterred by any scruples whatsoever.

When men become emigrants, they leave behind them their relations,
friends, connexions, and all their old associations, and appear upon
a new theatre of action, where they have no feelings to consult
beyond their own personal wishes and interests.

They find themselves suddenly emancipated from all those restraints
which formerly acted with a salutary influence upon their natural
inclinations; and having no one near them whose opinion they regard,
or whom they care to conciliate, they fall rapidly into the belief
that they have no one to live for but themselves, and, consequently,
make self the sole guide of all their actions, and sole god of their
idolatry.

This spirit of 'Yankeeism' is the prevailing spirit of colonies. It
is the natural consequence of the isolated state in which men feel
themselves to exist, when they have no longer those less selfish
motives of action that influenced and regulated their conduct under
other circumstances. The eye of a parent no longer watches over them
with approbation or anxiety; and what has a still more powerful
influence upon their conduct, they are now beyond the observation of
that circle of friends, relations, and acquaintance, to which they
had been known from childhood; which had constituted their world, and
the censure or approbation of which determined their state of
self-reproach or self-satisfaction. Few men may be trusted far who
can say, "I am not known here," for these are always the people who
care least what they do. Good and well-meaning persons will exclaim,
"Colonists can have very little sense of religion, if they allow
themselves to act at a distance differently from what they would do
at home." Those who have more than a theoretical acquaintance with
mankind, and who are used to look upon them in their undisguised
selfishness, know well that their sense of religion is greatly
dependent upon the circumstances in which men find themselves placed.
We are not speaking of what such and such people would do and feel,
but of what is really done and felt by thousands.

Besides, I have already premised that it is not every colonist who
acts on these principles, but that such is the general tendency to
act in a colony.

We can now understand the origin of that intense selfishness in the
American character, which has never yet been cast aside, and which,
in fact, is perpetuated by a republican form of government.

The high and nice sense of honour, the chivalrous generosity, the
frank acknowledgment of superiority, and the ready devotion of self
to the interests of others at the call of duty, constituted the
brightest ornaments of the feudal system, and still glitter (though
with feebler lustre) among the fragments of that system throughout
civilized Europe.

The Spirit of Trade, which has shattered feudalism, has impaired the
brightness of that principle which was the soul of feudalism. Nor
has religion yet succeeded in supplying the loss. Religion, which is
the bond between Man and his God, has less influence in regulating
his dealings with his fellows than Honour, which is the bond between
man and man.*


[footnote] *In making this observation, I refer to the general
conduct of the World; and am far from intending to say, that honour
ought to have more influence with mankind than religion. The truly
religious, a small but sacred band, "do justly, love mercy, and walk
humbly with God."


And when the principle of honour loses its purity, you may be sure
that the principle of religion is already decayed or dead. Now the
principle of honour being (so to speak) of human origin, depends
greatly for existence upon the opinions of men; and when we are
emancipated from all great regard for those opinions, it almost
inevitably follows that our sense of honour becomes much impaired;
and having no longer any fear of censure, we no longer have any
feeling of shame.

In a colony, then, is most apparent the accursed Spirit of Trade --
that insidious spirit which undermines the truth of the heart, which
destroys its most generous impulses, and sneers at every
manifestation of disinterestedness. The first object of a colonist
is that of a petty shopkeeper, -- to grasp at every thing which is
likely to benefit himself, without regard to justice, religion, or
honour. His own interest is the only guide of his actions, and
becomes the very soul of his existence. He came out to make a
fortune, if possible, and he thinks himself justified in using every
means to this end. Do not suppose that he is a downright villain who
would commit highway robbery. He would be greatly shocked at such an
imputation, for his conscience is still too timid for so flagrant a
crime. He merely follows the golden maxim of 'caveat emptor', and,
like the petty shopkeeper, thinks he is justified in cheating those
who are too stupid to look after their own interests, and too
ignorant or too feeble to enforce their just dues.

When that nice sense of honour which rules the conduct of the
high-minded gentleman, and makes him scorn to take advantage of the
ignorance or the necessities of another, ceases to influence, the
accursed spirit becomes dominant, and men look with suspicion on all
around them.

It has become the pride and the boast of colonists, as of
horse-dealers, that they are sharp fellows; that they have cut their
eye-teeth, and are remarkably wide-awake. These honourable
distinctions are acknowledged by the simple-minded with alarm. They
feel like men involved among a mob, and instinctively button up their
pockets.

The moral thermometer in a colony is lamentably low.

We do not, however, look upon this state of things as irremediable,
and without hope; on the contrary, we doubt not but the Better Spirit
will in time resume its pre-eminence, and colonists will be respected
for their elevated sentiments and high sense of honour, rather than
for their acuteness in driving a bargain. This evil, which is the
natural consequence of their present condition as isolated atoms,
unconnected together by those bonds of mutual respect which confine
men in older countries, will cease as society becomes re-organized,
and men feel themselves occupying in a colony the same position, as
regards obligations and duties, that they would have filled in the
parent state. As they settle themselves more firmly in their places,
they will come to feel that respect which ever attaches to the
character of HOME; and conscious that example is necessary from men
who occupy prominent positions, a higher tone will insensibly be
assumed, and the Better Spirit again be diffused throughout all the
ramifications of society. But to this end, it is most essential that
every aid should be given that Government has the power to bestow.
Religious instruction, and that good example which, we may assume, is
ever afforded to society by the English clergy, are the principal
instruments to be sought. In Western Australia there are at this
time only six clergymen, who are scattered over a country many
hundred miles in extent. Many districts are, unavoidably, entirely
without the exhortations and offices of a minister. At King George's
Sound, an important post, no clergyman is seen from one year to
another. Human beings are born, married, and buried, without a
minister to baptize, to teach, to bless, or to give consolation in
their extremity. There is no bishop to consecrate, to watch over, or
to reprove.*


[footnote] *By the munificence of Miss Burdett Coutts, a bishopric
has been recently founded in South Australia; and the Western Colony
is for the present to be included in the same diocese. But when it
is remembered that there is no over-land communication between the
colonies, and the route by sea occupies about ten days, it must be
evident that this provision is very inadequate to our wants.

This is a state of things that must be remedied, or moral
improvements cannot be expected.

The Roman Church has been more thoughtful of her children in this
colony, there being now settled here a bishop, and about a dozen
priests of that persuasion -- reason the more for the active
interference of a Protestant Government to protect the spiritual
welfare of the Protestant community.

The next most important object is the education of the youth of the
colony. So soon as ever Government can afford the grant of a few
hundreds a year, free-schools ought to be established in various
districts. Such is usually the scarcity of money in a colony, that
parents cannot afford to bestow even the commonest education upon
their children. Of course, I allude only to the general condition of
society; there are individuals who educate their families in a
judicious and sufficient manner; but the great prevailing want is not
the less felt and deplored. Boys, the sons of men who have
themselves been well educated, are early made to supply the place of
labourers and servants. Hardy and manly in appearance, they are
naturally rough and uncouth in manner, and unhappily possess no
mental stores beyond those early principles of gain which have grown
with their growth. In their anxiety that their sons should do well
in the world, the parent's first object is to impress upon them the
necessity of making the most of every thing. Their early powers are
exercised in selling stores, sheep, cattle, or other produce, and
they are applauded in proportion to the hard bargain which they have
driven. If a man, threatened with law proceedings, is compelled to
sell his whole crop of potatoes at a ruinous loss, our keen and
knowing youngster glories in the opportunity of making a bargain by
which he shall profit to the amount of a hundred per cent., though
the seller return to his agitated family writhing with despair. The
malleable intellect of our youth is annealed by the Demon of Gain
upon the anvil of Self-interest.

National education is one of the first objects of a paternal
government. The course of study ought ever to be adapted to the
circumstances and position of the scholars. In the first years of a
colony, the human mind peculiarly exhibits a downward tendency. Few
men prove themselves in their new condition of life superior or equal
to the character which they had formerly borne, as pious, learned, or
humane. The circumstances which formerly so eminently conduced to
the maintenance of piety, the cultivation of intellect, and the
exercise of benevolence, no longer exist. Solitary and selfish from
position, men of naturally generous temper and good disposition, feel
their hearts contract and shrivel within them. Surrounded by a
sordid and selfish crew, they find no objects for sympathy, no
inducements for the increase or the preservation of knowledge, no
animating impulse to lead them forward in a good cause. Struggling
for a time in the net which is around them, they at length fall from
the edge, down into the seething cauldron, and become fused among the
mass.

'The tendency of colonization is to deteriorate.' The first object
of Government should therefore be to arrest this impulse, and remedy
the evil so far as may be accomplished. If the original settlers
degenerate in their moral condition, their children sink still lower.
When parents cease to feel the influence of those high and pure
principles in which they were themselves brought up, they naturally
forget to inculcate them in the minds of their offspring. What,
then, are the guides that direct these in their progress through
life? What can they be but Self-interest, relieved perhaps
occasionally by a few touches of Good-nature?

The young women inevitably grow up mere creatures of impulse. Where
are those high qualities which are necessary to give them their
proper influence over the minds and actions of the other sex? Where
is that powerful sense of the duties of their calling and position,
that is necessary to create confidence in the breast of the lover or
the husband? Where are those unswerving principles which alone can
keep them, through trial and temptation, in the right way?

Woman, alas! has lost her power, when she ceases to inspire
veneration and command respect.

It is the interest of every colony, and the duty of every Government,
to raise the moral character and condition of the people. The
necessity of this must be forcibly present in the minds of those to
whom the duties of legislation are intrusted; and as the most obvious
means of improvement lie in the judicious instruction of the young
generation, the attention of Government must soon be directed to this
grand object.



CHAPTER 10.

COUNTRY LIFE.

It is most undeniably true, "that there is no place like England,"
for men who are in "easy circumstances," and who therefore think no
more of direct or indirect taxation, and of those multitudinous
burthens which highly-civilized life imposes, than a besom-maker's
ass does of the load under which it daily journeys. But how many
thousands are there (children of sad parents -- Toil and Sorrow) who
find their utmost efforts scarcely sufficient to keep them out of the
debtor's prison! Continual gloom fills the chambers of their hearts;
the sun bestows its cheering rays in vain; and all the gay and
beautiful influences of the bright world of Nature fail to inspirit
him whose every energy is directed to the task of raising his family
beyond the threatening grasp of Want. In his few moments of
relaxation, when those whom he loves -- for whom he is toiling unto
death -- hang around him with gentle fondness; in those sweet
moments, when love unutterable beams through the glistening eye, and
tender solicitude watches the care-worn face, seeking to win one
happy smile -- even then, he dare not give himself up to joy. The
thought is never absent from him that life perhaps is ebbing fast;
the very labours to which his only hope of income is attached, are
gradually wearing him down to the grave; and when he is no more, what
shall be the lot of those whose beaming faces smile so sweetly? What
struggles, what miseries are in store for the beloved wife, and those
young and innocent daughters whose hearts are full of him! No! he
dare not give himself up to joy; he smiles in answer to their
endearments -- but it is rather a shadow than a sunbeam that passes
across his countenance.

How many thousands are there in England so circumstanced, who curse
the artificial state of society in which they are compelled to live!
In their profession or trade they are bound to keep up a certain
degree of appearance, or they are shunned by those whom it is their
chief interest to conciliate. The great bug-bear ever present in the
mind of an Englishman, is the dread of not being thought sufficiently
"respectable." Professional men and tradesmen depend for their
subsistence upon appearances. To be flashy is as bad as to be
shabby; the great object is to appear substantial. If you are rich,
you have less temptation to be dishonest, and may consequently be
trusted. Every man, therefore, who depends upon the opinion of
others, is compelled to assume the appearance of being comfortably
circumstanced in order to inspire confidence. Character is the
life-blood of Englishmen, but character alone will seldom extricate a
man from the slough of Poverty. In our highly artificial state of
society, something more powerful than character alone is required to
place a man in the road to fortune -- call it as you please, tact or
humbug.

This necessity for keeping up appearances in order to move in that
rank of life which his business requires him to occupy, is the
heaviest tax imposed upon the income of an Englishman. How often
does it draw from him all his profits, leaving him to lament how
little he is enabled to lay by annually for his children! Many times,
without doubt, he wishes he durst retire to a cottage too small to
admit the visits of the heartless acquaintance who form his
"fashionable" world. Does their society afford him or his family any
real happiness? Is it not rather the cause of many heart-burnings to
him and to them? How much happier he feels he should be, had he
never looked abroad for happiness, but sought it only around his own
hearth! To see his daughters elegantly attired, would gratify him
extremely, were it not for the unwelcome reminiscences of expense.
But would they look less lovely to his eyes, or be less dear to his
heart, when moving about him in the useful performance of domestic
duties, clad in homely garments, and thinking more of him and home
than of visiting and display?

How economically, and how happily too, might he live, were his own
house his world, and his wife and children the only beings for whose
opinion he cared! But alas! these are the persons whose opinion is
of least importance in his pursuit of fortune. He must do as the
world does if he would secure its smiles, and is compelled to think
less of happiness than of gain.

Is such a man happier, leading such a life, than he would be as a
colonist? Here -- ever blessed be the recollection! -- there is no
necessity for sacrificing peace of mind to appearance. The man whose
conduct proves him to be of gentlemanly mould, is everywhere treated
as an equal; and though his occupation and mode of living be ever so
humble, he loses nothing in the consideration of his
fellow-colonists. The half-pay officer, or gentleman farmer, who
occasionally drives his own cart, or sows the seed which he has
purchased in the market, is not thought less qualified to act as a
magistrate, nor is less respected by the great and small in his
neighbourhood. His cares are all directed towards obtaining
substantial comforts for his family, and not towards making a display
in the eyes of the little world around him.

Conscious that he is respected only for his character as an upright
man, and that as every one knows he is not wealthy, it would be
ridiculous to affect the appearance of wealth, he wears the coarsest
garments with more pleasure than the finest coat, and draws all his
happiness from domestic sources. His sons and daughters equally
indifferent to show -- though the latter, at least, are always neatly
dressed -- are busied with their different duties, all tending to
promote the general comfort.

Happy family! -- how pleasantly the evenings pass in your society!
Gladly would I ride many miles to spend such pleasant hours, and
witness happiness so unpretending and real. How cheerful looks that
large room, with its glorious fire of Jarra-wood and black-boys, (for
it is the winter season,) and how lightly those young girls move
about, arranging the tea-table, and preparing for the evening meal!
The kind-hearted mother, relieved of all duties but that of
superintendence, sits by the fire chatting cheerfully with the guest,
whose eyes, nevertheless, wander round the room after a certain light
and dancing shape; the host, a man of eld, but stalwart in
appearance, full of hospitality and noble courtesy, appears in his
easy slippers and an old and well-worn coat, which formerly had seen
service in London ball-rooms. He discourses not only of the crops
and colonial politics, but of literature, and the last news from
England; for like many other colonists he receives the English
papers, and patronizes the 'Quarterly Review'. On the sofa lie the
latest numbers of 'Punch' and 'the Illustrated London News' -- some
four months old, of course -- for the ladies like fun and pictures,
whilst their father laboriously wades through a three months'
accumulation of the 'Times'.

With what alacrity the old gentleman rises up and welcomes a
traveller, who has unexpectedly arrived, and has just stabled his
horse, and seen him fed before he made his appearance in the parlour!
There is no beating about the bush for a bed, or an invitation to
supper. Of the latter he is certain, and indifferent about the
former; for having slept the last night under a tree, he feels sure
of making himself comfortable on the sofa, or on the hearth-rug
before the fire. And then the girls, who have no affectation or
nonsense about them, crowd round the new-arrived, and ply him with
questions about their young friends in other parts of the colony,
and whether he was at the last ball at Government House, and what
was most worn on that occasion -- until the good man, laughing,
breaks through the circle, declaring he will answer no more
questions till he has had his supper, and, it may be, a glass of
whisky-toddy screeching hot.

During the evening the girls sing, and happily they sing well; and
they take most pleasure in those songs which papa likes best to hear.
And the poor bachelor-guest, who looks on, feels his heart melting
within him, and reviles himself for the destitution in which he lives
at home. Suddenly, perhaps, horses at a gallop are heard to enter
the yard; and soon afterwards two young fellows, fresh from the
capital, come dashing into the room, full of spirits, and vowing they
have gallopped over on purpose to ascertain whether the ladies were
still living. Here is authority of undoubted value for everything
relating to the ball at Government House; and the merits and
appearance of every person who attended it are soon brought under
discussion. This naturally inspires the young people with a desire
to dance; so the table is pushed aside, and papa being squeezed
nearly into the fire, mamma takes her place at the piano, and bursts
off with the Annen Polka.

It may seem strange to you, dear reader, who have an idea that
colonists are merely wild beasts, that such things should be. But so
it is; and though people may dance the Cellarius with more gravity in
the saloons of St. James's, I question whether dancing be half the
fun there that our light-hearted colonists seem to think it. There
are no strangers in small colonies -- it is always a family party
dancing together; and consequently, people are as merry as if it were
Christmas-time all the year round.

Your fashionable people may pity them; but God help them, poor
things! In their dark and degraded state they seem to enjoy
themselves so much, that I should not like them to be put out of
conceit with themselves, or made to repudiate whatever gives them
innocent pleasure. Nor are they entirely insensible to the good
opinion of great people; for when they learnt that the Polka was
thought vulgar at Buckingham Palace, they had serious intentions of
denying it admittance into the ball-rooms of Perth; and I sincerely
believe it would speedily have pined away and died, like a maiden
under the breath of slander, but for a confidently entertained hope
that her Majesty would never hear of the offences of the people of
Perth -- and people will do all kinds of things when they can do them
secretly. So the Polka continues to be danced in Western Australia;
and the courage of the dancers has been much revived of late by
hearing that it is still greatly in vogue at home, notwithstanding
the august censures said to have been passed upon it.

A country life might always be a happy one, were people possessed of
the smallest competence, and of properly regulated minds. There is
as much unhappiness, or at least discontent, in colonies as
elsewhere; but discontented colonists are the greatest fools in the
world, because they have themselves created the evils, and the
remedies are generally in their own power. The grand object of
man's search is happiness, which he strives to obtain by a thousand
various ways. Wealth he covets, because he fondly believes that it
contains the prize he seeks; but if happiness may be found without
wealth, of what value are riches? Money is not so indispensable a
necessary in a colony. Very little indeed suffices to enable a
proprietor on the banks of the Swan, the Avon, or the Brunswick, to
bring up his family in comfort, and to perform all the rights of a
generous hospitality. The discontent which is so often felt in
colonies arises from two causes: first, it is the natural feeling of
those who emigrate late in life; who, although unsuccessful at home,
have ever been fondly attached to home associations, to the friends
and connexions with whom they have been bound up during many years,
and to the national belief that a man can never be truly happy out of
England. In addition to this, the emigrant of mature years has been
so long accustomed to feel himself living in the very centre of
intelligence, he has so long been accustomed to watch the progress of
political action at home and on the continent, and to drink the fresh
draughts of scientific discovery at the fountain-head, that now, when
far removed from the busy and exciting scenes of the ever-moving
panorama of European life, he feels lost in the wilderness -- a
fragment of drift-wood washed ashore and left far behind by the
fast-progressing waves of Knowledge and Action.

The second cause of discontent is found in the non-acquisition of money.
Every one goes out to a colony with the full conviction that he shall
make a fortune in a few years, and then return to England and become
a man of landed interest.

A man has to conquer his first disappointments before he can become a
happy settler; he has to form new and more just ideas of his actual
position. Generally, it is necessary that he should return to
England once more before he can entirely appreciate the advantages
open to him in a colony. He then fully perceives how much more
difficult it is to obtain a bare subsistence in the old country. He
finds that with the utmost economy he cannot supply the numerous
wants of his family, and he longs for his old Australian dwelling
again, and the easy, independent life which he was accustomed to
lead, when his children used to run about in brown holland, and his
wife looked becoming in printed cotton, and thought no beverage so
good as the wine which she had assisted to make.



CHAPTER 11.

PERSECUTIONS.

Scepticism is the offspring of ignorance. There are many people
still living who doubt the existence of dragons; who go so far as to
assert that such creatures never did exist upon the face of this
earth, and never did torment and destroy the inhabitants thereof, and
persecute forlorn maidens. They scoff at the records which have
descended to our times, as fabulous legends, composed by idle monks;
who were accustomed to write fictitious histories during the dark
ages. They deny to historical ballads that authority which Mr.
Macaulay attaches to them; and yet the principal fact in the
biography of Andromeda (even before the times of the monks) may have
been true; and the poor people of Wantley may really have been
harassed by the celebrated dragon of that ilk. We speak seriously.

Geologists have ascertained beyond a doubt that winged monsters of
the size described in ancient legends did really inhabit this earth
at some period or other. Happily they no longer exist of the same
dimensions as formerly; like the descendants of Anak, they have
become 'fined down', as it were, in the course of ages, until their
proportions no longer awaken personal fear, nor do their exploits
engage the attention of historians. Sometimes, however, the ancient
ferocity, the propensity for devastation, still breaks forth, even in
the diminutive descendants of this formidable race, and persecuted
Man feels himself driven to the brink of despair.

Soon after I had settled at Perth, in a small house, with three
quarters of an acre of ground about it, I began to think of improving
my little territory. I thought it was a duty I owed to society to
set a good example, by bringing my property into a high state of
cultivation.

I intended to "make the barren desert smile" -- to embower my
dwelling in the midst of blossoming peas, and aspiring kidney beans,
-- to draw around me, as it were, a little luxuriant Eden, which
should be the admiration of a Sunday public, as they stood riveted at
the palings, unable to pass by without a lengthened survey; whilst
the envied possessor, stooping behind his magnificent cabbages, would
listen to their unstudied bursts of rapture with justifiable pride.
Glowing with horticultural fervour, I rose early in the morning, and
dug up the soil with stern resolution, toiling with a Patagonian
pick-axe at the great roots which ran in every direction, until I
thought myself a perfect pattern of a settler. My man also exerted
himself with equal energy and more steady endurance; and in process
of time a considerable portion of ground was got ready for seed. In
order that nothing might be wanting to insure the most unlimited
success, I purchased a quantity of manure, and had it drawn upon the
ground. Then it was that the Evil Genius who (like the wicked
Enchanter that always kept his eye upon Don Quixote,) hath ever
dogged my steps, made his baleful presence manifest by the most
rampant hostility. The day on which the manure arrived, I went out
in my pleasure-boat upon Melville Water, accompanied by my man
Hannibal, to manage the head-sheets. On our return, at dusk, we
found the manure scattered all over the premises, as if it had been
kicked about by a party of dancing demons.

The traces of talons were clearly discernible on the ground. I knew
not what to make of it. I thought a dragon must have been rampaging
about the premises. Well! the next day the man scratched the manure
together again as well as he could, and we sowed a quantity of seed
-- peas, beans, and divers succulent vegetables. The following
morning Hannibal rose late, having overslept himself, as he alleged.
I was awakened by his sudden appearance at my bed-side, but no sooner
sat up than I fell back again, appalled by the ghastliness of his
visage.

"The d---ls," said he, "have been again, and have scrat up the earth
far and wide; and (he added using a strong expression,) I'll be
dashed if there's a seed left!"

Alas! "'twas but owre true." The ground so neatly raked the evening
before, which I had returned again and again to look at with fond
pride, until it was obscured by darkness, was now torn up and defaced
throughout its length and breadth.

"Well!" I exclaimed, as soon as I could speak, "there are dragons in
the world."

I could now enter into the feelings of the poor husbandman of the
dark ages, when he got up in the morning, and found a dragon
finishing the last of his highly-prized dairy cows. If I could only
catch him at it! I felt immediately a fit of blood-thirstiness creep
over me. I could have destroyed a dozen dragons with pleasure, might
I only come within reach of them. Calmly, however, I ordered
Hannibal to sow the seeds again, and keep better watch and ward in
future.

It now became a serious question how my property was to be protected.
Am I to be subject to these incursions without defence? Is there no
safeguard in this country for a man's possessions?

I finished breakfast hastily, and went to consult the chief
magistrate. To my question as to how I ought to guard my garden and
vegetables from the attacks of the insidious enemy, he replied by
referring me to the 2 Wm. IV. No. 2, a local act, by which people
whose property is trespassed upon, are allowed the privilege of
impounding the trespassers.

Impound a dragon! I thanked the worthy magistrate, "But," said I,
"the creatures that destroy my substance have wings, and are not to
be caught by men who have none."

"The law," replied his worship, "is decisive on the subject; you must
follow the law, whether you be able to follow the offender or not."

"But," said I again, "if the law gives me no protection -- and merely
to authorize me to impound a creature with wings, is a mockery
unworthy of the dignity of the law -- I may surely protect myself? I
will have a file of men on guard, and fire on any creature that
infringes upon the vested rights which I possess in my property. I
will defend myself," said I, growing warm under the oppressive weight
of the law, "and maintain my vested rights."

"No man," replied the worshipful justice, "as you know very well, has
a right to defend himself, except with the weapons of the law. You
will only get into scrapes if you fight with any other weapons."

Finding that I was kicking against the pricks, I made my bow, and
went home again in a very ireful mood.

Hannibal had resown the beds, and was at work upon others. On seeing
me, he stepped up to a fine Nuytsia floribunda, which ornaments my
grounds, and taking up a double-barrelled gun that was leaning
against it, gave a few significant slaps upon the breach, and smiling
complacently, winked his eye. I turned away and entered the house,
filled with a kind of grim satisfaction, as thoughts of vengeance
flitted through my brain. Too much disturbed to sit still, I paced
up and down the room, listening eagerly for sounds which should
announce the hour of slaughter and revenge.

The milk of human kindness had curdled in my breast; I felt that I
could sympathize with the restless anxiety of Charles IX on the
memorable eve of St. Bartholomew. But the butchery of unarmed
Huguenots was a different affair altogether from a war of
extermination against invading dragons. I looked out of the windows
every moment to see what Hannibal was about; but there he continued
hoeing, and weeding, and raking, and looking as calm and amiable as
the Duke when he awaited the proper moment to attack the French.
Suddenly he paused; I watched him quietly drop his rake, and retire
backwards behind a bush, where he remained crouching down, with the
double-barrelled gun in his hands.

Unable to remain quiet any longer, I opened the window, and cried in
a fierce whisper, "Kill! kill!" With his hand he motioned me to be
quiet, so I withdrew and paced about the room with feverish anxiety.
The discharge of both barrels made me drop into a chair. Murder had
been committed! Vengeance was satisfied, and remorse arrived as
usual. Remorse, the ill-favoured offspring of Fear!

"You will get yourself into scrapes," said the chief magistrate, "if
you use any other weapon than the law." I reasoned with Conscience;
I repeated the argument that I had a right to defend my property when
the law failed to afford me protection. Dragons, said I, are 'ferae
naturae'; the people of Perth, it would seem, are in the habit of
keeping them as pets, and thus they come to be considered private
property. But then, let the people of Perth destroy their own
substance, and not mine. If they do not choose to have gardens of
their own, they have no right to prevent the growth of my radishes.
Because they do not like sack, shall we have no more cakes and ale?
Because they can exist without cauliflowers, must I renounce all
hopes of having hyssop in my pottage?

What! am I to rise up early in the morning and sow the seeds of
carefulness and labour, merely for the sustenance of other people's
harpies?

To whom am I to look for redress, when I know not to whom the
ruthless creatures belong? -- Creatures that wander far and wide in
search of food; that gain their precarious subsistence by plunder and
rapine; and are intensely hostile to the labours and improvements
of civilization. No wonder the poet looked upon them as hell-born,
and called them a pest and a curse to society: --

"------nec saevior ulla
Pestis et ira Deuim Stygiis sese extulit undis."

I had made these reflections, and received a good deal of comfort
from them, when Hannibal appeared at the door with a pallid
countenance.

"Two of them, Sir, are done for; one's a big un -- eight pounds, if
he weighs an 'unce. He's a handsome feller, that un; black feathers,
and spurs to his heels six inches long. They'll make a houtcry about
him, I expect."

"What have you done with the carcases?"

"Dragged 'em behind the bushes. 'Tan't legal to lift the bodies."

"Go on with your work, Hannibal, and don't appear at all fluttered or
discomposed. Look as if nothing had happened. If any one calls, I
am not at home."

An outcry was raised about the death of the dragon. He was the
favourite of a young lady who was a pet of her papa's -- (next to
dragons, children are the most horrid nuisances). -- An accursed dog
(the D---l take all dogs! say I,) had found the body, and dragged it
into the street, where it was recognised by the girl. The papa,
furious at the sight of the favourite's tears, roamed and raged about
the town in search of witnesses. Men of Belial are always to be
found, especially in a colony, and Hannibal was openly accused of the
murder.

The whole town was in a state of excitement. People seemed to think
that a blow had been struck at the very roots of civil and religious
liberty; and as every one had his favourite dragon, every one felt
alarmed for its safety so long as Hannibal remained unpunished.

The ladies were especially bitter in their remarks and innuendoes.

I was told by 'friends', that more than one lady had observed, that
an old bachelor like myself cared nothing about dragons, and
therefore it was just like my selfishness to seek to deprive them of
their innocent pleasures and amusements.

No one would listen to my plea of self-defence; no one regarded my
losses; I was not looked upon as a sufferer; and instead of sympathy
received only abuse.

A summons being issued against Hannibal, he appeared before the
tribunal of two of Her Majesty's Justices of the Peace, accused of a
grave misdemeanour.

As every one knew that I was the instigator of the offence, I
magnanimously avowed the fact, and was requested to stand in the
place of Hannibal.

In vain, however, did I use every argument to justify the deed. The
chief magistrate reminded me that I had been fully advised to proceed
only according to law, under the Act, 2 Wm. IV. No. 2, amended (!!)
by 4 Wm. IV. No. 5; by either of which I was fully authorized to
seize and impound all trespassers -- a limit and license that
included dragons.

My defence was allowed to be a sensible and rational one; but the law
was opposed to it, and their worships were bound by oath to prefer
the law to common sense. (I doubted myself whether dragons came
within the Law, but the Justices decided that they were poundable
animals.) This being the case, I was under the necessity of paying
the sum of ten shillings damages, and as many more for costs and
expenses incurred by the bailiff, in travelling up and down his
bailiwick in search of the body of John Hannibal Muckthorne (whose
body was all the time sitting quietly in my kitchen) -- rather than
go to Fremantle gaol for a month, and help to draw stones about the
streets in a large cart.

I need scarcely add, that I returned home a wiser and sadder man.
"Hannibal," said I, "the Spirit of the Age in this colony is opposed
to territorial and to social improvement. My grounds must still
remain a barren waste. Instead of embowering myself in fertility, as
I had intended; instead of creating new beauties which should
transfuse fresh charms into the minds of the peripatetics of Perth; I
must continue to live in a desert, and shall doubtless soon subside
into an ascetic recluse. Hannibal! turn the horses into the garden,
and let them trample over the beds."

Thus have I reluctantly shown the reader that the dark ages still
cast their shadows over the city of Perth; -- the dawn of a high
state of civilization is still wanting there, where man continues
defenceless from the ravages of noxious monsters peculiar to an early
and uncivilized era.*


[footnote] *The laws which colonists make for themselves are often
as absurd as any that the Imperial Parliament thinks proper to enact
for them. To this day, the only legal remedy (except an action and a
shilling damages) against the winged and long-clawed nuisances that
destroy the hopes and break the heart of the horticulturist, is to
impound them.



CHAPTER 12.

MICHAEL BLAKE, THE IRISH SETTLER.*

[footnote] *A dry and humorous old man, who I cannot help suspecting
coins a good many of his anecdotes, gave me this account of one of
the early settlers, just as I record it. The fact of Blake's coming
to this colony, solely because he had heard there was an estate in it
called Skibbereen, (after the place of his nativity,) struck me as
being something truly Irish and original. The man's whole history is
given almost in the words of my informant, who professed to have
received it pure from the fountain-head.

Michael Blake was a native of Skibbereen, a well-known barony in the
"ould country." His parents lived in a hut, "quite handy" to the
road, in the midst of a bit of turf-ground where they managed to rear
their annual crops of potatoes and their sprouts of children with as
little trouble to themselves as possible. Michael, as he said
himself, was the youngest of four, but there were five younger than
he. As soon as he could walk, his mother clothed him in an old coat
of his father's, the tails of which swept the ground far behind him,
as he trotted over the cabin-floor with a stick in his hand to wallop
his favourite companion, the long-legged and long-snouted sow, as she
lay dreaming in the door-way. His father was an upright man, and
dealt equal justice among his children, whom he 'lathered' daily with
the strictest impartiality. This was all the education they had any
reason to expect, as the priest was always in a hurry when he called
at their door, and had not time to dismount from his pony, from whose
back he bestowed his blessing upon the tattered crowd of children as
they pressed around, and gazed upon his Reverence with their wild
grey eyes and open mouths. And their parents could not be expected
to give any other education than they had themselves received.

Michael grew up, therefore, as might be expected, a hungry,
dirty-faced, unbreeched, long-coated urchin. Although his parents
had done no more for him than to usher him into a life of mud and
misery, Nature had been more compassionate. She had bestowed upon
him a restless imagination, apparently for the purpose of removing
him from this scene of trouble as quickly as possible. It led him,
at an early age, to explore the passes of a neighbouring bog, where
he fell into a deep hole filled with water, and was just on the point
of escaping from the cares of the world, when his eldest brother
unfortunately came by, and fished him out. Their father seized the
opportunity, and lathered them both.

Michael next travelled in a northerly direction, and reached the
high-road with another brother, who was sent out to beg. Here they
both sat upon a stone and cried for their breakfast, until a
brilliant idea occurred to Michael, which dried his tears. He made a
dirt-pie, and presented it to his brother; and they both passed their
time very pleasantly, until an English carriage appeared coming along
the road. Little Pat ran forward, begging and praying their honours
to give him a halfpenny for the love of the Virgin, as he had been
carefully instructed to do by his dear mother, whilst his father took
measures to impress the lesson upon his mind and person. Michael, on
his part, made a vigorous effort to cross over to the other side,
crying lustily, "Please Sir, a halfpenny!" but his mother, in order
to give him a good appearance in front, had buttoned the old coat
wrong side before, and poor Mike, in his haste and hurry, happening
to put one of his little feet into the remains of a pocket, unhappily
tripped himself up, and rolled before the horses' feet. The post-boy
cleverly turned them aside as quickly as possible, but nothing could
prevent the hind-wheel of the carriage from grazing one of Michael's
shins, and making him squall out in the most dreadful manner.

A young lady and gentleman descended from the carriage, and showed
the greatest compassion for the sufferer, whom they caused to be
carried by a servant to his father's hovel, whither they accompanied
him, and soon relieved the anxieties of his parents by a present of
five golden guineas.

Some years elapsed, and things went on in the old way with the Blake
family. Mike had sprouted out into a fine gossoon of a boy, and
exercised his errant disposition by running after the gentlemen when
they went out shooting, and helping the keepers to carry the game.
One day, a gentleman who was shooting in the neighbourhood called at
his father's cabin, and asked for the little boy whom he had run over
in his carriage some seven years before. Mr. Blake, senior, after
blessing his honour for his goodness, and wishing him long life and
every earthly happiness called to the young spalpeen to get out of
that; and why was he not for coming when the gentleman was spaking to
him? Mr. Blake hinted to his visitors that he should correct the
manners of the youth at an early opportunity, and in the meantime
Mike slyly approached with a gun that he was carrying for the keeper
in his hands, and received the compliments of the gentleman on his
good looks.

The end of it was that the gentleman, who was an officer, took Mike
into his service; and in process of time, when he joined his
regiment, Michael became his constant attendant. Dying, however,
unexpectedly, as most people do, the worthy Mr. Blake, junior, was
left to his own resources; and finding nothing better to do, he
accepted a shilling from a friendly serjeant, and entered Her
Majesty's service as a full private.

In process of time he married a wife -- a real jewel, from that "gem
of the sea" so dear to poor old England -- and accompanied his
regiment to Van Dieman's Land, en route to India. He was well known
and liked by the officers, having a peculiar talent for blarney; and
nothing pleased him so much as a little conversation with a superior.

The regiment remained seven years in Van Dieman's Land, and then
passed on to its destination, leaving a number of men, who had
received their discharge, to become settlers in the colony. Among
these was Mr. Michael Blake, who soon established himself on a block
of land, and became a prosperous colonist. But times grew bad, ere
he could retire with a fortune. His wife formed undesirable
acquaintances, and Michael endeavoured to reclaim her by wholesome
correction; but, unhappily, he bestowed so much attention upon her
amendment that he entirely neglected himself, and before he was aware
that he was falling into error, had become an habitual drunkard.

Everything now went wrong. Mike, hating himself, began to hate
everything about him; he hated the colony; he hated the magistrates,
who now and then imposed a penalty upon him; he hated the laws, and
discovered the difference between law and justice, without being able
to find any traces of the latter. His fences fell into decay; his
pigs and cattle committed trespasses, and the neighbours made him pay
damages. It was the fault of the law, or rather of the lawyers, whom
he condemned to the flames with dreadful imprecations.

Unable to pay the storekeeper for sugar and tea, judgment was given
against him, and his last surviving cow was seized by the sheriff.
He had the satisfaction of beating the officer nearly to death; but
the cow was sold notwithstanding, and he took a month's exercise on
the treadmill, whilst his wife spent the time with her friend the
excise-officer, and drank to his better health and general
improvement.

On being released, he complained to the Governor, and presented
petitions to the Legislative Council against the unjust judges who
ruled the land, and crushed the hearts out of the people.

Soon, however, softer feelings came over him; thoughts returned of
home, so long forgotten in days of prosperity. He wondered whether
his parents were alive, whom, forty years ago, he had left in the
barony of Skibbereen, and had not heard of since.

He thought of the home of his boyhood; of the antiquated cabin in
which, at the will of his father, he had so often "eaten stick;" of
the long-legged and long-snouted sow, that used to grunt uneasily in
her dreams before the fire; of the potatoes and salt for breakfast
and dinner, of which he never got enough; of the puddle before the
door, in which he used to love to dabble -- all these visions of the
past came back upon him now in the time of his sorrows, and filled
him with a craving for the scenes of his youth.

Every one in trouble goes to the Governor, who has consequently
plenty of morning-callers. A few words of sympathy from his
Excellency are very consoling, and serve the afflicted for a topic of
conversation for some time to come. "His Excellency, the last time I
saw him, desired me to write to my friends." "His Excellency
particularly wishes me to make it up with Smith, or I'd never have
forgiven him for seizing my cow." "His Excellency swears that he
can't spare me from the colony, or nothing should make me stay
another day in it," etc. etc.

Mike presented himself at the government-offices, and after waiting a
couple of hours, caught sight of the Governor as he was passing out
through the ante-room.

"God bless your Honour, it's bould I am to be stopping your Honour
and Excellency this way, and you going out too with the business of
the Nation upon your Honour's shoulders."

"What do you want, my good friend, what do you want?"

"It's your Honour and Excellency that's the good friend to me and the
poor, and many's the prayer that's offered up night and morning for
your Excellency, by them that blesses the Good God and the Virgin for
having sent your Honour to reign over us." --

"What is it, Mike, what is it? I'm in a hurry."

"And is it me that's hindering your Honour? sure and I'll walk wid ye
to the world's end and talk all the same. Och, and it's the bad
times that have come upon us all entirely -- and the ould settlers
feels it the most, as is likely. Faith and we'd all die off, out and
out, if it wasn't for your Excellency thinking of us, and schaming to
do us the good turn, when the Council (bad luck to 'em!) raises the
duties."

"My horse is waiting; I really cannot stay."

"Arrah, and it's a fine baste that same, and the two of you looks
well together, with the white cockatoo feathers, and the sword all
gould and diamonds."

Here his Excellency showed signs of mounting his horse, so Mike
hastened to whisper confidentially,

"Governor, dear, my heart's broken entirely for the ould country, and
the poor father and mother that's looking out for me night and
morning these forty years, to give me their blessing; and the woman
at home, the crathur, kills me day-by-day with her going on; and I'd
like to see ould Ireland once before I die, and Skibbereen, which
your Honour knows is the finest place under God Almighty's blessed
canopy, and I can't die in pace till I see it -- 'deed I can't,
Governor dear; and ther's a Man-of-war, no less than the Shannon
herself, going to sail for the Indies, where I'd get passed on by
Colonel Maxwell (God bless him for the rale gintleman!) only,
Governor dear, spake the good word for me to Captain Widdicombe, and
I'll be took to Calcutty free for nothing; and it's not a
tinpenny-piece that I have in the world, the blessed Virgin pity me!"
-- Here his Excellency, being mounted on horseback, felt himself in
more independent circumstances, and told Mike that he must not think
of leaving the colony without his wife, as it would be most improper
conduct (the Government would have to support her), and that he
himself had no interest with Captain Widdicombe -- His Excellency's
charger, being of an impatient temper, allowed no further time for
parley, but cantered off with his rider, leaving Mike rather at fault.

The more numerous the difficulties that appeared in the way of Mike's
return to Skibbereen, the more yearning became his desire to lay his
bones there. Every day he appeared at the Government-offices, and
waylaid the Colonial-secretary, or the Attorney-General, or some
other of the officials, entreating them to obtain a free passage for
an old soldier, whose only desire on earth was to die among the bogs
of Skibbereen.

He talked incessantly of that beautiful spot, and swore that he loved
it better than the Garden of Eden. He pined after Skibbereen as the
melancholy pelican pines for his desert home; but hope gradually
seemed to leave him -- all other friends had long since abandoned
him, and he had fallen helplessly into the power of his arch-enemy
the Rum-bottle, when a fellow-countryman arrived at Hobart Town from
Western Australia. Mr. Denis Maguire listened patiently to Mike's
pathetic lamentation over the lost Skibbereen, and then calmly
replied, "Och, but it's little that I'd disthract myself for a place
like that in the ould country; sure isn't there Skibbereen near the
Swan River, belonging to Mr. O'Driscoll, and isn't it a beautifuller
place entirely than any other Skibbereen in the world?" "What!"
interrupted Mike, "is there Skibbereen at the Swan River, and is it
Mr. O'Driscoll that's living there? Arrah! say that again, my
darling, if you plaze." Maguire repeated the statement; on which
Mike, starting up, began to dance an Irish hornpipe; and then,
stopping short of a sudden swore that he was the happiest boy alive,
and thanked the blessed Saints for all their goodness to him.

The next day he managed to sell all the remains of his property, and
made a bargain with the owner of a small coasting-vessel to convey
him and his wife (whom he was compelled to take with him) to Swan
River, where he arrived in due course of time, and managed to locate
himself at Skibbereen, where he built a hut, cultivated several acres
of land, and became quite a reformed character.

Although his landlord, Mr. O'Driscoll, was his countryman, Mike
managed to blarney him so that he did just what he liked, and never
paid any rent either in cash or in kind. His yearning desire had
been to live at Skibbereen, and now that he had attained his object
he was (wonderful to say) contented and happy.

He frequently came to Perth for the sake of a little chat with the
storekeepers and the gentry, and as he was sure to blarney some one
into giving him a dinner, he always returned home light of heart and
unimpaired in pocket. But alas! poor Mike was not destined to die in
peace at Skibbereen. A large party of the natives had suddenly
attacked the abode of a neighbouring settler, and put the owner to
death. Michael Blake and two of his friends, without waiting for
other assistance, hastened to the rescue, imperfectly armed. They
were overpowered in an instant. Blake and one of his companions fell
pierced with many spears, whilst the other, being on horseback,
escaped, carrying with him four spears fixed in his body. Years
afterwards, one of the natives who had assisted at the slaughter
coolly related the particulars of the death of Michael Blake.

When he was lying on the ground, said this man, he turned round, and
supporting himself on his arm, entreated for mercy in the most moving
terms. The savages stood round him, looking on, and listening
patiently to his address.

"Did you show him mercy?" asked my informant.

"No!" replied the savage, with calm indifference.

"What did you do?"

"We cut his tongue out."

"Wretch! what for?"

"He wongee (chattered) too much."

Poor Mike! his blarney could not save him; it had often before done
him good service, but the savages valued it not.



CHAPTER 13.

WILD CATTLE HUNTING.

Having received intelligence that a numerous herd of wild cattle had
lately been seen grazing upon some extensive plains a day's journey
south of Perth, I got up a party with the intention of hunting them.

Our preparations were made the day before starting on the expedition.
A bullock-cart was loaded with fire-arms, kegs of brandy, various
kinds of provisions, and cloaks and blankets. A couple of natives
had been engaged to act as guides, and these, with their wives and
families, spent the greater part of the day lounging about my
premises, idly inspecting the arrangements, and sleeping in the
sunshine, lazy as the pigs, which they surpassed in filth. In the
afternoon, taking with them a supply of flour, they commenced their
journey, intending to sleep upon the road, and leave us to overtake
them on the following day.

At day-break the next morning we were in our saddles, the
bullock-cart having started during the night. The party
consisted of three, who were all clad in blue hunting-shirts, and had
polished horns hanging at their backs, filled with eau-de-vie, wine
and water, or the simple fluid, according to the taste of the wearer.
As we passed down the silent street at that early hour, one of the
party, an officer, agreeably dispelled the slumbers of the peaceful
inhabitants by a most able performance upon a key-bugle; the others
gave vent to the exuberance of their spirits by loud "tally-ho's!"
and cries of "hark away!" and other encouraging expressions addressed
to imaginary dogs. Then we gave our able steeds the head, and dashed
along with all those happy and exulting thoughts which bubble in the
breast of youth hurrying to the chase. Is there any moment in life
so dear to memory as those we have passed on horseback, in the fine
air of morning, when we hurried along towards the haunt of cunning
Reynard, and expected every instant to see him break cover? Less
exciting by far is hunting in Australia, but still it is hunting, and
we are on horseback, and eager as ever for a gallop. Passing over
two well-built wooden bridges, connected by a causeway, we crossed
the river, and took the road for the Canning.

Thick woods of banksia, wattle, and eucalypti, closed in the view on
every side; but occasionally we ascended a gentle slope, and then
looking back we could see a beautiful picture before us. In the
still air and misty light of the morning, Perth water lay clear and
tranquil amidst the vast forest by which it is surrounded. The
heights of Mount Eliza looked down into the glittering mirror. On
the right bank were the white houses of the capital; far to the left
we caught glimpses of Melville water. Except the occasional flights
of wild ducks, and the dark gusts which from time to time swept along
the waters, heralding the rising land-wind, all was still and
breathless. One could not help asking oneself how long this scene
had existed as we now beheld it? Was it designed for thousands of
years to be viewed only by savages, mindless as the birds or fishes
that frequented its waters? Had it always existed thus, or been
growing during centuries under the hand of Nature, until it should be
adapted to the habitation of civilized man? And was that period now
arrived, or were we premature in seizing upon our inheritance before
it was thoroughly prepared for our reception? Many times have we
asked ourselves this last question. This singular country appears to
represent the ancient character of the earth in one of the earlier
stages of formation. It represents that epoch when animal life was
first developed in the lowest order of quadrupeds.

There are a few small exceptions, but it may be laid down as a
general rule, that all the animals indigenous to this country are
marsupial -- from the kangaroo, the largest down to the little
field-mouse.

The animals not indigenous are Man, the wild cattle, and the wild
dogs. Many speculations have been hazarded as to the origin of the
first: to me it appears there can be little doubt that the first
tribes found their way hither from the eastern islands, having
proceeded originally from India. The language of the natives bears
more traces of the Hindu than of any other. This, I believe, is the
opinion of the Rev. J. Mitchell, M.A., of the Middle Swan, whose long
residence in India, and intimate acquaintance with some of the
languages of that country, give weight to his conjectures. Many of
the words used by the natives of both countries are identical in
sound, and express the same meaning.

I have also noticed that the Coolies of India and the natives of this
colony manage to understand one another much sooner than is the case
between the latter and the whites.

The wild cattle have long existed in the interior, as appears from
their remains. Both they and the wild dog have probably descended
from animals cast ashore by shipwreck. The indigenous tribes are
those of the kangaroo, the opossum, and the lizard. It is curious to
observe how the distinguishing features of the first are manifested
in a great variety of animals, of all sizes from the kangaroo
downwards -- the long hind, and short fore legs, the three toes on
the former, the rat-like-head, the warm pouch, betokening the
immature parturition. The opossums also are marsupial. All these
animals seem to belong to an early age of the geological world. Many
of the plan

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