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Chapter XIX
(PLATE 89. SYDNEY, 1835.)
AUSTRALIA.
Sydney.
Excursion to Bathurst.
Aspect of the woods.
Party of natives.
Gradual extinction of the aborigines.
Infection generated by associated men in health.
Blue Mountains.
View of the grand gulf-like valleys.
Their origin and formation.
Bathurst, general civility of the lower orders.
State of society.
Van Diemen's Land.
Hobart Town.
Aborigines all banished.
Mount Wellington.
King George's Sound.
Cheerless aspect of the country.
Bald Head, calcareous casts of branches of trees.
Party of natives.
Leave Australia.
JANUARY 12, 1836.
Early in the morning a light air carried us towards the entrance of
Port Jackson. Instead of beholding a verdant country, interspersed
with fine houses, a straight line of yellowish cliff brought to our
minds the coast of Patagonia. A solitary lighthouse, built of white
stone, alone told us that we were near a great and populous city.
Having entered the harbour, it appears fine and spacious, with
cliff-formed shores of horizontally stratified sandstone. The
nearly level country is covered with thin scrubby trees, bespeaking
the curse of sterility. Proceeding farther inland, the country
improves: beautiful villas and nice cottages are here and there
scattered along the beach. In the distance stone houses, two and
three stories high, and windmills standing on the edge of a bank,
pointed out to us the neighbourhood of the capital of Australia.
At last we anchored within Sydney Cove. We found the little basin
occupied by many large ships, and surrounded by warehouses. In the
evening I walked through the town, and returned full of admiration
at the whole scene. It is a most magnificent testimony to the power
of the British nation. Here, in a less promising country, scores of
years have done many more times more than an equal number of
centuries have effected in South America. My first feeling was to
congratulate myself that I was born an Englishman. Upon seeing more
of the town afterwards, perhaps my admiration fell a little; but
yet it is a fine town. The streets are regular, broad, clean, and
kept in excellent order; the houses are of a good size, and the
shops well furnished. It may be faithfully compared to the large
suburbs which stretch out from London and a few other great towns
in England; but not even near London or Birmingham is there an
appearance of such rapid growth. The number of large houses and
other buildings just finished was truly surprising; nevertheless,
every one complained of the high rents and difficulty in procuring
a house. Coming from South America, where in the towns every man of
property is known, no one thing surprised me more than not being
able to ascertain at once to whom this or that carriage belonged.
I hired a man and two horses to take me to Bathurst, a village
about one hundred and twenty miles in the interior, and the centre
of a great pastoral district. By this means I hoped to gain a
general idea of the appearance of the country. On the morning of
the 16th (January) I set out on my excursion. The first stage took
us to Paramatta, a small country town, next to Sydney in
importance. The roads were excellent, and made upon the MacAdam
principle, whinstone having been brought for the purpose from the
distance of several miles. In all respects there was a close
resemblance to England: perhaps the alehouses here were more
numerous. The iron gangs, or parties of convicts who have committed
here some offence, appeared the least like England: they were
working in chains, under the charge of sentries with loaded arms.
The power which the government possesses, by means of forced
labour, of at once opening good roads throughout the country, has
been, I believe, one main cause of the early prosperity of this
colony. I slept at night at a very comfortable inn at Emu ferry,
thirty-five miles from Sydney, and near the ascent of the Blue
Mountains. This line of road is the most frequented, and has been
the longest inhabited of any in the colony. The whole land is
enclosed with high railings, for the farmers have not succeeded in
rearing hedges. There are many substantial houses and good cottages
scattered about; but although considerable pieces of land are under
cultivation, the greater part yet remains as when first discovered.
The extreme uniformity of the vegetation is the most remarkable
feature in the landscape of the greater part of New South Wales.
Everywhere we have an open woodland, the ground being partially
covered with a very thin pasture, with little appearance of
verdure. The trees nearly all belong to one family, and mostly have
their leaves placed in a vertical, instead of as in Europe, in a
nearly horizontal position: the foliage is scanty, and of a
peculiar pale green tint, without any gloss. Hence the woods appear
light and shadowless: this, although a loss of comfort to the
traveller under the scorching rays of summer, is of importance to
the farmer, as it allows grass to grow where it otherwise would
not. The leaves are not shed periodically: this character appears
common to the entire southern hemisphere, namely, South America,
Australia, and the Cape of Good Hope. The inhabitants of this
hemisphere, and of the intertropical regions, thus lose perhaps one
of the most glorious, though to our eyes common, spectacles in the
world--the first bursting into full foliage of the leafless tree.
They may, however, say that we pay dearly for this by having the
land covered with mere naked skeletons for so many months. This is
too true; but our senses thus acquire a keen relish for the
exquisite green of the spring, which the eyes of those living
within the tropics, sated during the long year with the gorgeous
productions of those glowing climates, can never experience. The
greater number of the trees, with the exception of some of the
Blue-gums, do not attain a large size; but they grow tall and
tolerably straight, and stand well apart. The bark of some of the
Eucalypti falls annually, or hangs dead in long shreds which swing
about with the wind, and give to the woods a desolate and untidy
appearance. I cannot imagine a more complete contrast, in every
respect, than between the forests of Valdivia or Chiloe, and the
woods of Australia.
At sunset, a party of a score of the black aborigines passed by,
each carrying, in their accustomed manner, a bundle of spears and
other weapons. By giving a leading young man a shilling, they were
easily detained, and threw their spears for my amusement. They were
all partly clothed, and several could speak a little English: their
countenances were good-humoured and pleasant, and they appeared far
from being such utterly degraded beings as they have usually been
represented. In their own arts they are admirable. A cap being
fixed at thirty yards distance, they transfixed it with a spear,
delivered by the throwing-stick with the rapidity of an arrow from
the bow of a practised archer. In tracking animals or men they show
most wonderful sagacity; and I heard of several of their remarks
which manifested considerable acuteness. They will not, however,
cultivate the ground, or build houses and remain stationary, or
even take the trouble of tending a flock of sheep when given to
them. On the whole they appear to me to stand some few degrees
higher in the scale of civilisation than the Fuegians.
It is very curious thus to see in the midst of a civilised people,
a set of harmless savages wandering about without knowing where
they shall sleep at night, and gaining their livelihood by hunting
in the woods. As the white man has travelled onwards, he has spread
over the country belonging to several tribes. These, although thus
enclosed by one common people, keep up their ancient distinctions,
and sometimes go to war with each other. In an engagement which
took place lately, the two parties most singularly chose the centre
of the village of Bathurst for the field of battle. This was of
service to the defeated side, for the runaway warriors took refuge
in the barracks.
The number of aborigines is rapidly decreasing. In my whole ride,
with the exception of some boys brought up by Englishmen, I saw
only one other party. This decrease, no doubt, must be partly owing
to the introduction of spirits, to European diseases (even the
milder ones of which, such as the measles, prove very destructive),
and to the gradual extinction of the wild animals. (19/1. It is
remarkable how the same disease is modified in different climates.
At the little island of St. Helena the introduction of
scarlet-fever is dreaded as a plague. In some countries foreigners
and natives are as differently affected by certain contagious
disorders as if they had been different animals; of which fact some
instances have occurred in Chile; and according to Humboldt in
Mexico "Political Essay New Spain" volume 4.) It is said that
numbers of their children invariably perish in very early infancy
from the effects of their wandering life; and as the difficulty of
procuring food increases, so must their wandering habits increase;
and hence the population, without any apparent deaths from famine,
is repressed in a manner extremely sudden compared to what happens
in civilised countries, where the father, though in adding to his
labour he may injure himself, does not destroy his offspring.
Besides these several evident causes of destruction, there appears
to be some more mysterious agency generally at work. Wherever the
European has trod, death seems to pursue the aboriginal. We may
look to the wide extent of the Americas, Polynesia, the Cape of
Good Hope, and Australia, and we find the same result. Nor is it
the white man alone that thus acts the destroyer; the Polynesian of
Malay extraction has in parts of the East Indian archipelago thus
driven before him the dark-coloured native. The varieties of man
seem to act on each other in the same way as different species of
animals--the stronger always extirpating the weaker. It was
melancholy at New Zealand to hear the fine energetic natives saying
that they knew the land was doomed to pass from their children.
Every one has heard of the inexplicable reduction of the population
in the beautiful and healthy island of Tahiti since the date of
Captain Cook's voyages: although in that case we might have
expected that it would have been increased; for infanticide, which
formerly prevailed to so extraordinary a degree, has ceased,
profligacy has greatly diminished, and the murderous wars become
less frequent.
The Reverend J. Williams, in his interesting work, says that the
first intercourse between natives and Europeans "is invariably
attended with the introduction of fever, dysentery, or some other
disease which carries off numbers of the people." (19/2. "Narrative
of Missionary Enterprise" page 282.) Again he affirms "It is
certainly a fact, which cannot be controverted, that most of the
diseases which have raged in the islands during my residence there
have been introduced by ships; and what renders this fact
remarkable is that there might be no appearance of disease among
the crew of the ship which conveyed this destructive importation."
(19/3. Captain Beechey chapter 4 volume 1, states that the
inhabitants of Pitcairn Island are firmly convinced that after the
arrival of every ship they suffer cutaneous and other disorders.
Captain Beechey attributes this to the change of diet during the
time of the visit. Dr. Macculloch "Western Isles" volume 2 page 32,
says "It is asserted that on the arrival of a stranger (at St.
Kilda) all the inhabitants, in the common phraseology, catch a
cold." Dr. Macculloch considers the whole case, although often
previously affirmed, as ludicrous. He adds, however, that "the
question was put by us to the inhabitants who unanimously agreed in
the story." In Vancouver's "Voyage" there is a somewhat similar
statement with respect to Otaheite. Dr. Dieffenbach, in a note to
his translation of this Journal, states that the same fact is
universally believed by the inhabitants of the Chatham Islands and
in parts of New Zealand. It is impossible that such a belief should
have become universal in the northern hemisphere, at the Antipodes,
and in the Pacific, without some good foundation. Humboldt
"Political Essay on Kingdom of New Spain" volume 4, says that the
great epidemics at Panama and Callao are "marked" by the arrival of
ships from Chile, because the people from that temperate region
first experience the fatal effects of the torrid zones. I may add
that I have heard it stated in Shropshire that sheep which have
been imported from vessels, although themselves in a healthy
condition, if placed in the same fold with others, frequently
produce sickness in the flock.) This statement is not quite so
extraordinary as it at first appears; for several cases are on
record of the most malignant fevers having broken out, although the
parties themselves, who were the cause, were not affected. In the
early part of the reign of George III, a prisoner who had been
confined in a dungeon was taken in a coach with four constables
before a magistrate; and although the man himself was not ill, the
four constables died from a short putrid fever; but the contagion
extended to no others. From these facts it would almost appear as
if the effluvium of one set of men shut up for some time together
was poisonous when inhaled by others; and possibly more so, if the
men be of different races. Mysterious as this circumstance appears
to be, it is not more surprising than that the body of one's
fellow-creature, directly after death, and before putrefaction has
commenced, should often be of so deleterious a quality that the
mere puncture from an instrument used in its dissection should
prove fatal.
JANUARY 17, 1836.
Early in the morning we passed the Nepean in a ferry-boat. The
river, although at this spot both broad and deep, had a very small
body of running water. Having crossed a low piece of land on the
opposite side, we reached the slope of the Blue Mountains. The
ascent is not steep, the road having been cut with much care on the
side of a sandstone cliff. On the summit an almost level plain
extends, which, rising imperceptibly to the westward, at last
attains a height of more than 3000 feet. From so grand a title as
Blue Mountains, and from their absolute altitude, I expected to
have seen a bold chain of mountains crossing the country; but
instead of this, a sloping plain presents merely an inconsiderable
front to the low land near the coast. From this first slope the
view of the extensive woodland to the east was striking, and the
surrounding trees grew bold and lofty. But when once on the
sandstone platform, the scenery becomes exceedingly monotonous;
each side of the road is bordered by scrubby trees of the
never-failing Eucalyptus family; and with the exception of two or
three small inns, there are no houses or cultivated land; the road,
moreover, is solitary; the most frequent object being a
bullock-waggon, piled up with bales of wool.
In the middle of the day we baited our horses at a little inn,
called the Weatherboard. The country here is elevated 2800 feet
above the sea. About a mile and a half from this place there is a
view exceedingly well worth visiting. Following down a little
valley and its tiny rill of water, an immense gulf unexpectedly
opens through the trees which border the pathway, at the depth of
perhaps 1500 feet. Walking on a few yards, one stands on the brink
of a vast precipice, and below one sees a grand bay or gulf, for I
know not what other name to give it, thickly covered with forest.
The point of view is situated as if at the head of a bay, the line
of cliff diverging on each side, and showing headland behind
headland, as on a bold sea-coast. These cliffs are composed of
horizontal strata of whitish sandstone; and are so absolutely
vertical, that in many places a person standing on the edge and
throwing down a stone, can see it strike the trees in the abyss
below. So unbroken is the line of cliff that in order to reach the
foot of the waterfall formed by this little stream, it is said to
be necessary to go sixteen miles round. About five miles distant in
front another line of cliff extends, which thus appears completely
to encircle the valley; and hence the name of bay is justified, as
applied to this grand amphitheatrical depression. If we imagine a
winding harbour, with its deep water surrounded by bold cliff-like
shores, to be laid dry, and a forest to spring up on its sandy
bottom, we should then have the appearance and structure here
exhibited. This kind of view was to me quite novel, and extremely
magnificent.
In the evening we reached the Blackheath. The sandstone plateau has
here attained the height of 3400 feet; and is covered, as before,
with the same scrubby woods. From the road there were occasional
glimpses into a profound valley of the same character as the one
described; but from the steepness and depth of its sides, the
bottom was scarcely ever to be seen. The Blackheath is a very
comfortable inn, kept by an old soldier; and it reminded me of the
small inns in North Wales.
JANUARY 18, 1836.
Very early in the morning I walked about three miles to see
Govett's Leap: a view of a similar character with that near the
Weatherboard, but perhaps even more stupendous. So early in the day
the gulf was filled with a thin blue haze, which, although
destroying the general effect of the view, added to the apparent
depth at which the forest was stretched out beneath our feet. These
valleys, which so long presented an insuperable barrier to the
attempts of the most enterprising of the colonists to reach the
interior, are most remarkable. Great armlike bays, expanding at
their upper ends, often branch from the main valleys and penetrate
the sandstone platform; on the other hand, the platform often sends
promontories into the valleys, and even leaves in them great,
almost insulated, masses. To descend into some of these valleys, it
is necessary to go round twenty miles; and into others, the
surveyors have only lately penetrated, and the colonists have not
yet been able to drive in their cattle. But the most remarkable
feature in their structure is, that although several miles wide at
their heads, they generally contract towards their mouths to such a
degree as to become impassable. The Surveyor-General, Sir T.
Mitchell, endeavoured in vain, first walking and then by crawling
between the great fallen fragments of sandstone, to ascend through
the gorge by which the river Grose joins the Nepean (19/4. "Travels
in Australia" volume 1 page 154. I must express my obligation to
Sir T. Mitchell for several interesting personal communications on
the subject of these great valleys of New South Wales.); yet the
valley of the Grose in its upper part, as I saw, forms a
magnificent level basin some miles in width, and is on all sides
surrounded by cliffs, the summits of which are believed to be
nowhere less than 3000 feet above the level of the sea. When cattle
are driven into the valley of the Wolgan by a path (which I
descended), partly natural and partly made by the owner of the
land, they cannot escape; for this valley is in every other part
surrounded by perpendicular cliffs, and eight miles lower down it
contracts from an average width of half a mile, to a mere chasm,
impassable to man or beast. Sir T. Mitchell states that the great
valley of the Cox river with all its branches, contracts, where it
unites with the Nepean, into a gorge 2200 yards in width, and about
1000 feet in depth. Other similar cases might have been added.
The first impression on seeing the correspondence of the horizontal
strata on each side of these valleys and great amphitheatrical
depressions, is that they have been hollowed out, like other
valleys, by the action of water; but when one reflects on the
enormous amount of stone which on this view must have been removed
through mere gorges or chasms, one is led to ask whether these
spaces may not have subsided. But considering the form of the
irregularly branching valleys, and of the narrow promontories
projecting into them from the platforms, we are compelled to
abandon this notion. To attribute these hollows to the present
alluvial action would be preposterous; nor does the drainage from
the summit-level always fall, as I remarked near the Weatherboard,
into the head of these valleys, but into one side of their baylike
recesses. Some of the inhabitants remarked to me that they never
viewed one of those baylike recesses, with the headlands receding
on both hands, without being struck with their resemblance to a
bold sea-coast. This is certainly the case; moreover, on the
present coast of New South Wales, the numerous fine,
widely-branching harbours, which are generally connected with the
sea by a narrow mouth worn through the sandstone coast-cliffs,
varying from one mile in width to a quarter of a mile, present a
likeness, though on a miniature scale, to the great valleys of the
interior. But then immediately occurs the startling difficulty, why
has the sea worn out these great though circumscribed depressions
on a wide platform, and left mere gorges at the openings, through
which the whole vast amount of triturated matter must have been
carried away? The only light I can throw upon this enigma is by
remarking that banks of the most irregular forms appear to be now
forming in some seas, as in parts of the West Indies and in the Red
Sea, and that their sides are exceedingly steep. Such banks, I have
been led to suppose, have been formed by sediment heaped by strong
currents on an irregular bottom. That in some cases the sea,
instead of spreading out sediment in a uniform sheet, heaps it
round submarine rocks and islands, it is hardly possible to doubt,
after examining the charts of the West Indies; and that the waves
have power to form high and precipitous cliffs, even in land-locked
harbours, I have noticed in many parts of South America. To apply
these ideas to the sandstone platforms of New South Wales, I
imagine that the strata were heaped by the action of strong
currents, and of the undulations of an open sea, on an irregular
bottom; and that the valley-like spaces thus left unfilled had
their steeply sloping flanks worn into cliffs during a slow
elevation of the land; the worn-down sandstone being removed,
either at the time when the narrow gorges were cut by the
retreating sea, or subsequently by alluvial action.
Soon after leaving the Blackheath we descended from the sandstone
platform by the pass of Mount Victoria. To effect this pass an
enormous quantity of stone has been cut through; the design and its
manner of execution being worthy of any line of road in England. We
now entered upon a country less elevated by nearly a thousand feet,
and consisting of granite. With the change of rock the vegetation
improved; the trees were both finer and stood farther apart; and
the pasture between them was a little greener and more plentiful.
At Hassan's Walls I left the high-road, and made a short detour to
a farm called Walerawang; to the superintendent of which I had a
letter of introduction from the owner in Sydney. Mr. Browne had the
kindness to ask me to stay the ensuing day, which I had much
pleasure in doing. This place offers an example of one of the large
farming, or rather sheep-grazing, establishments of the colony.
Cattle and horses are, however, in this case rather more numerous
than usual, owing to some of the valleys being swampy and producing
a coarser pasture. Two or three flat pieces of ground near the
house were cleared and cultivated with corn, which the harvest-men
were now reaping: but no more wheat is sown than sufficient for the
annual support of the labourers employed on the establishment. The
usual number of assigned convict-servants here is about forty, but
at the present time there were rather more. Although the farm was
well stocked with every necessary, there was an apparent absence of
comfort; and not one single woman resided here. The sunset of a
fine day will generally cast an air of happy contentment on any
scene; but here, at this retired farmhouse, the brightest tints on
the surrounding woods could not make me forget that forty hardened,
profligate men were ceasing from their daily labours, like the
slaves from Africa, yet without their holy claim for compassion.
Early on the next morning Mr. Archer, the joint superintendent, had
the kindness to take me out kangaroo-hunting. We continued riding
the greater part of the day, but had very bad sport, not seeing a
kangaroo, or even a wild dog. The greyhounds pursued a kangaroo rat
into a hollow tree, out of which we dragged it: it is an animal as
large as a rabbit, but with the figure of a kangaroo. A few years
since this country abounded with wild animals; but now the emu is
banished to a long distance, and the kangaroo is become scarce; to
both the English greyhound has been highly destructive. It may be
long before these animals are altogether exterminated, but their
doom is fixed. The aborigines are always anxious to borrow the dogs
from the farmhouses: the use of them, the offal when an animal is
killed, and some milk from the cows, are the peace-offerings of the
settlers, who push farther and farther towards the interior. The
thoughtless aboriginal, blinded by these trifling advantages, is
delighted at the approach of the white man, who seems predestined
to inherit the country of his children.
Although having poor sport, we enjoyed a pleasant ride. The
woodland is generally so open that a person on horseback can gallop
through it. It is traversed by a few flat-bottomed valleys, which
are green and free from trees: in such spots the scenery was pretty
like that of a park. In the whole country I scarcely saw a place
without the marks of a fire; whether these had been more or less
recent--whether the stumps were more or less black, was the
greatest change which varied the uniformity so wearisome to the
traveller's eye. In these woods there are not many birds; I saw,
however, some large flocks of the white cockatoo feeding in a
corn-field, and a few most beautiful parrots; crows like our
jackdaws were not uncommon, and another bird something like the
magpie. In the dusk of the evening I took a stroll along a chain of
ponds, which in this dry country represented the course of a river,
and had the good fortune to see several of the famous
Ornithorhynchus paradoxus. They were diving and playing about the
surface of the water, but showed so little of their bodies that
they might easily have been mistaken for water-rats. Mr. Browne
shot one: certainly it is a most extraordinary animal; a stuffed
specimen does not at all give a good idea of the appearance of the
head and beak when fresh; the latter becoming hard and contracted.
(19/5. I was interested by finding here the hollow conical pitfall
of the lion-ant, or some other insect: first a fly fell down the
treacherous slope and immediately disappeared; then came a large
but unwary ant; its struggles to escape being very violent, those
curious little jets of sand, described by Kirby and Spence
"Entomology" volume 1 page 425, as being flirted by the insect's
tail, were promptly directed against the expected victim. But the
ant enjoyed a better fate than the fly and escaped the fatal jaws
which lay concealed at the base of the conical hollow. This
Australian pitfall was only about half the size of that made by the
European lion-ant.)
JANUARY 20, 1836.
A long day's ride to Bathurst. Before joining the high road we
followed a mere path through the forest; and the country, with the
exception of a few squatters' huts, was very solitary. We
experienced this day the sirocco-like wind of Australia, which
comes from the parched deserts of the interior. Clouds of dust were
travelling in every direction; and the wind felt as if it had
passed over a fire. I afterwards heard that the thermometer out of
doors had stood at 119 degrees, and in a closed room at 96 degrees.
In the afternoon we came in view of the downs of Bathurst. These
undulating but nearly smooth plains are very remarkable in this
country, from being absolutely destitute of trees. They support
only a thin brown pasture. We rode some miles over this country,
and then reached the township of Bathurst, seated in the middle of
what may be called either a very broad valley, or narrow plain. I
was told at Sydney not to form too bad an opinion of Australia by
judging of the country from the roadside, nor too good a one from
Bathurst; in this latter respect I did not feel myself in the least
danger of being prejudiced. The season, it must be owned, had been
one of great drought, and the country did not wear a favourable
aspect; although I understand it was incomparably worse two or
three months before. The secret of the rapidly growing prosperity
of Bathurst is that the brown pasture which appears to the
stranger's eye so wretched is excellent for sheep-grazing. The town
stands at the height of 2200 feet above the sea, on the banks of
the Macquarie: this is one of the rivers flowing into the vast and
scarcely known interior. The line of watershed which divides the
inland streams from those on the coast, has a height of about 3000
feet, and runs in a north and south direction at the distance of
from eighty to a hundred miles from the seaside. The Macquarie
figures in the map as a respectable river, and it is the largest of
those draining this part of the watershed; yet to my surprise I
found it a mere chain of ponds, separated from each other by spaces
almost dry. Generally a small stream is running; and sometimes
there are high and impetuous floods. Scanty as the supply of the
water is throughout this district, it becomes still scantier
further inland.
JANUARY 22, 1836.
I commenced my return and followed a new road called Lockyer's Line
along which the country is rather more hilly and picturesque. This
was a long day's ride; and the house where I wished to sleep was
some way off the road, and not easily found. I met on this
occasion, and indeed on all others, a very general and ready
civility among the lower orders, which, when one considers what
they are, and what they have been, would scarcely have been
expected. The farm where I passed the night was owned by two young
men who had only lately come out, and were beginning a settler's
life. The total want of almost every comfort was not very
attractive; but future and certain prosperity was before their
eyes, and that not far distant.
The next day we passed through large tracts of country in flames,
volumes of smoke sweeping across the road. Before noon we joined
our former road and ascended Mount Victoria. I slept at the
Weatherboard, and before dark took another walk to the
amphitheatre. On the road to Sydney I spent a very pleasant evening
with Captain King at Dunheved; and thus ended my little excursion
in the colony of New South Wales.
Before arriving here the three things which interested me most
were--the state of society amongst the higher classes, the
condition of the convicts, and the degree of attraction sufficient
to induce persons to emigrate. Of course, after so very short a
visit, one's opinion is worth scarcely anything; but it is as
difficult not to form some opinion, as it is to form a correct
judgment. On the whole, from what I heard, more than from what I
saw, I was disappointed in the state of society. The whole
community is rancorously divided into parties on almost every
subject. Among those who, from their station in life, ought to be
the best, many live in such open profligacy that respectable people
cannot associate with them. There is much jealousy between the
children of the rich emancipist and the free settlers, the former
being pleased to consider honest men as interlopers. The whole
population, poor and rich, are bent on acquiring wealth: amongst
the higher orders, wool and sheep-grazing form the constant subject
of conversation. There are many serious drawbacks to the comforts
of a family, the chief of which, perhaps, is being surrounded by
convict servants. How thoroughly odious to every feeling, to be
waited on by a man who the day before, perhaps, was flogged, from
your representation, for some trifling misdemeanour. The female
servants are of course much worse: hence children learn the vilest
expressions, and it is fortunate if not equally vile ideas.
On the other hand, the capital of a person, without any trouble on
his part, produces him treble interest to what it will in England;
and with care he is sure to grow rich. The luxuries of life are in
abundance, and very little dearer than in England, and most
articles of food are cheaper. The climate is splendid, and
perfectly healthy; but to my mind its charms are lost by the
uninviting aspect of the country. Settlers possess a great
advantage in finding their sons of service when very young. At the
age of from sixteen to twenty they frequently take charge of
distant farming stations. This, however, must happen at the expense
of their boys associating entirely with convict servants. I am not
aware that the tone of society has assumed any peculiar character;
but with such habits, and without intellectual pursuits, it can
hardly fail to deteriorate. My opinion is such that nothing but
rather sharp necessity should compel me to emigrate.
The rapid prosperity and future prospects of this colony are to me,
not understanding these subjects, very puzzling. The two main
exports are wool and whale-oil, and to both of these productions
there is a limit. The country is totally unfit for canals,
therefore there is a not very distant point beyond which the
land-carriage of wool will not repay the expense of shearing and
tending sheep. Pasture everywhere is so thin that settlers have
already pushed far into the interior; moreover, the country farther
inland becomes extremely poor. Agriculture, on account of the
droughts, can never succeed on an extended scale: therefore, so far
as I can see, Australia must ultimately depend upon being the
centre of commerce for the southern hemisphere and perhaps on her
future manufactories. Possessing coal, she always has the moving
power at hand. From the habitable country extending along the
coast, and from her English extraction, she is sure to be a
maritime nation. I formerly imagined that Australia would rise to
be as grand and powerful a country as North America, but now it
appears to me that such future grandeur is rather problematical.
With respect to the state of the convicts, I had still fewer
opportunities of judging than on other points. The first question
is, whether their condition is at all one of punishment: no one
will maintain that it is a very severe one. This, however, I
suppose, is of little consequence as long as it continues to be an
object of dread to criminals at home. The corporeal wants of the
convicts are tolerably well supplied: their prospect of future
liberty and comfort is not distant, and, after good conduct,
certain. A "ticket of leave," which, as long as a man keeps clear
of suspicion as well as of crime, makes him free within a certain
district, is given upon good conduct, after years proportional to
the length of the sentence; yet with all this, and overlooking the
previous imprisonment and wretched passage out, I believe the years
of assignment are passed away with discontent and unhappiness. As
an intelligent man remarked to me, the convicts know no pleasure
beyond sensuality, and in this they are not gratified. The enormous
bribe which Government possesses in offering free pardons, together
with the deep horror of the secluded penal settlements, destroys
confidence between the convicts, and so prevents crime. As to a
sense of shame, such a feeling does not appear to be known, and of
this I witnessed some very singular proofs. Though it is a curious
fact, I was universally told that the character of the convict
population is one of arrant cowardice; not unfrequently some become
desperate, and quite indifferent as to life, yet a plan requiring
cool or continued courage is seldom put into execution. The worst
feature in the whole case is that although there exists what may be
called a legal reform, and comparatively little is committed which
the law can touch, yet that any moral reform should take place
appears to be quite out of the question. I was assured by
well-informed people that a man who should try to improve, could
not while living with other assigned servants;--his life would be
one of intolerable misery and persecution. Nor must the
contamination of the convict-ships and prisons, both here and in
England, be forgotten. On the whole, as a place of punishment, the
object is scarcely gained; as a real system of reform it has
failed, as perhaps would every other plan; but as a means of making
men outwardly honest,--of converting vagabonds, most useless in one
hemisphere, into active citizens of another, and thus giving birth
to a new and splendid country--a grand centre of civilisation--it
has succeeded to a degree perhaps unparalleled in history.
JANUARY 30, 1836.
(PLATE 90. HOBART TOWN AND MOUNT WELLINGTON.)
The "Beagle" sailed for Hobart Town in Van Diemen's Land. On the
5th of February, after a six days' passage, of which the first part
was fine, and the latter very cold and squally, we entered the
mouth of Storm Bay; the weather justified this awful name. The bay
should rather be called an estuary, for it receives at its head the
waters of the Derwent. Near the mouth there are some extensive
basaltic platforms; but higher up the land becomes mountainous, and
is covered by a light wood. The lower parts of the hills which
skirt the bay are cleared; and the bright yellow fields of corn,
and dark green ones of potatoes, appear very luxuriant. Late in the
evening we anchored in the snug cove on the shores of which stands
the capital of Tasmania. The first aspect of the place was very
inferior to that of Sydney; the latter might be called a city, this
is only a town. It stands at the base of Mount Wellington, a
mountain 3100 feet high, but of little picturesque beauty; from
this source, however, it receives a good supply of water. Round the
cove there are some fine warehouses and on one side a small fort.
Coming from the Spanish settlements, where such magnificent care
has generally been paid to the fortifications, the means of defence
in these colonies appeared very contemptible. Comparing the town
with Sydney, I was chiefly struck with the comparative fewness of
the large houses, either built or building. Hobart Town, from the
census of 1835, contained 13,826 inhabitants, and the whole of
Tasmania 36,505.
All the aborigines have been removed to an island in Bass's
Straits, so that Van Diemen's Land enjoys the great advantage of
being free from a native population. This most cruel step seems to
have been quite unavoidable, as the only means of stopping a
fearful succession of robberies, burnings, and murders, committed
by the blacks; and which sooner or later would have ended in their
utter destruction. I fear there is no doubt that this train of evil
and its consequences originated in the infamous conduct of some of
our countrymen. Thirty years is a short period in which to have
banished the last aboriginal from his native island,--and that
island nearly as large as Ireland. The correspondence on this
subject which took place between the government at home and that of
Van Diemen's Land, is very interesting. Although numbers of natives
were shot and taken prisoners in the skirmishing, which was going
on at intervals for several years, nothing seems fully to have
impressed them with the idea of our overwhelming power, until the
whole island, in 1830, was put under martial law, and by
proclamation the whole population commanded to assist in one great
attempt to secure the entire race. The plan adopted was nearly
similar to that of the great hunting-matches in India: a line was
formed reaching across the island, with the intention of driving
the natives into a cul-de-sac on Tasman's peninsula. The attempt
failed; the natives, having tied up their dogs, stole during one
night through the lines. This is far from surprising, when their
practised senses and usual manner of crawling after wild animals is
considered. I have been assured that they can conceal themselves on
almost bare ground, in a manner which until witnessed is scarcely
credible; their dusky bodies being easily mistaken for the
blackened stumps which are scattered all over the country. I was
told of a trial between a party of Englishmen and a native, who was
to stand in full view on the side of a bare hill; if the Englishmen
closed their eyes for less than a minute, he would squat down, and
then they were never able to distinguish him from the surrounding
stumps. But to return to the hunting-match; the natives
understanding this kind of warfare, were terribly alarmed, for they
at once perceived the power and numbers of the whites. Shortly
afterwards a party of thirteen belonging to two tribes came in;
and, conscious of their unprotected condition, delivered themselves
up in despair. Subsequently by the intrepid exertions of Mr.
Robinson, an active and benevolent man, who fearlessly visited by
himself the most hostile of the natives, the whole were induced to
act in a similar manner. They were then removed to an island, where
food and clothes were provided them. Count Strzelecki states that
"at the epoch of their deportation in 1835, the number of natives
amounted to 210. In 1842, that is after the interval of seven
years, they mustered only fifty-four individuals; and, while each
family of the interior of New South Wales, uncontaminated by
contact with the whites, swarms with children, those of Flinders'
Island had during eight years an accession of only fourteen in
number!" (19/6. "Physical Description of New South Wales and Van
Diemen's Land" page 354.)
The "Beagle" stayed here ten days, and in this time I made several
pleasant little excursions, chiefly with the object of examining
the geological structure of the immediate neighbourhood. The main
points of interest consist, first in some highly fossiliferous
strata belonging to the Devonian or Carboniferous period; secondly,
in proofs of a late small rise of the land; and lastly, in a
solitary and superficial patch of yellowish limestone or travertin,
which contains numerous impressions of leaves of trees, together
with land-shells, not now existing. It is not improbable that this
one small quarry includes the only remaining record of the
vegetation of Van Diemen's Land during one former epoch.
The climate here is damper than in New South Wales, and hence the
land is more fertile. Agriculture flourishes; the cultivated fields
look well, and the gardens abound with thriving vegetables and
fruit-trees. Some of the farmhouses, situated in retired spots, had
a very attractive appearance. The general aspect of the vegetation
is similar to that of Australia; perhaps it is a little more green
and cheerful; and the pasture between the trees rather more
abundant. One day I took a long walk on the side of the bay
opposite to the town: I crossed in a steamboat, two of which are
constantly plying backwards and forwards. The machinery of one of
these vessels was entirely manufactured in this colony, which, from
its very foundation, then numbered only three and thirty years!
Another day I ascended Mount Wellington; I took with me a guide,
for I failed in a first attempt, from the thickness of the wood.
Our guide, however, was a stupid fellow, and conducted us to the
southern and damp side of the mountain, where the vegetation was
very luxuriant; and where the labour of the ascent, from the number
of rotten trunks, was almost as great as on a mountain in Tierra
del Fuego or in Chiloe. It cost us five and a half hours of hard
climbing before we reached the summit. In many parts the Eucalypti
grew to a great size and composed a noble forest. In some of the
dampest ravines tree-ferns flourished in an extraordinary manner; I
saw one which must have been at least twenty feet high to the base
of the fronds, and was in girth exactly six feet. The fronds,
forming the most elegant parasols, produced a gloomy shade, like
that of the first hour of night. The summit of the mountain is
broad and flat and is composed of huge angular masses of naked
greenstone. Its elevation is 3100 feet above the level of the sea.
The day was splendidly clear, and we enjoyed a most extensive view;
to the north, the country appeared a mass of wooded mountains, of
about the same height with that on which we were standing, and with
an equally tame outline: to the south the broken land and water,
forming many intricate bays, was mapped with clearness before us.
After staying some hours on the summit we found a better way to
descend, but did not reach the "Beagle" till eight o'clock, after a
severe day's work.
FEBRUARY 7, 1836.
The "Beagle" sailed from Tasmania, and, on the 6th of the ensuing
month, reached King George's Sound, situated close to the
south-west corner of Australia. We stayed there eight days; and we
did not during our voyage pass a more dull and uninteresting time.
The country, viewed from an eminence, appears a woody plain, with
here and there rounded and partly bare hills of granite protruding.
One day I went out with a party, in hopes of seeing a
kangaroo-hunt, and walked over a good many miles of country.
Everywhere we found the soil sandy, and very poor; it supported
either a coarse vegetation of thin, low brushwood and wiry grass,
or a forest of stunted trees. The scenery resembled that of the
high sandstone platform of the Blue Mountains; the Casuarina (a
tree somewhat resembling a Scotch fir) is, however, here in greater
number, and the Eucalyptus in rather less. In the open parts there
were many grass-trees,--a plant which, in appearance, has some
affinity with the palm; but, instead of being surmounted by a crown
of noble fronds, it can boast merely of a tuft of very coarse
grass-like leaves. The general bright green colour of the brushwood
and other plants, viewed from a distance, seemed to promise
fertility. A single walk, however, was enough to dispel such an
illusion; and he who thinks with me will never wish to walk again
in so uninviting a country.
One day I accompanied Captain Fitz Roy to Bald Head, the place
mentioned by so many navigators, where some imagined that they saw
corals, and others that they saw petrified trees, standing in the
position in which they had grown. According to our view, the beds
have been formed by the wind having heaped up fine sand, composed
of minute rounded particles of shells and corals, during which
process branches and roots of trees, together with many
land-shells, became enclosed. The whole then became consolidated by
the percolation of calcareous matter; and the cylindrical cavities
left by the decaying of the wood were thus also filled up with a
hard pseudo-stalactitical stone. The weather is now wearing away
the softer parts, and in consequence the hard casts of the roots
and branches of the trees project above the surface, and, in a
singularly deceptive manner, resemble the stumps of a dead thicket.
A large tribe of natives, called the White Cockatoo men happened to
pay the settlement a visit while we were there. These men, as well
as those of the tribe belonging to King George's Sound, being
tempted by the offer of some tubs of rice and sugar, were persuaded
to hold a "corrobery," or great dancing-party. As soon as it grew
dark, small fires were lighted, and the men commenced their toilet,
which consisted in painting themselves white in spots and lines. As
soon as all was ready, large fires were kept blazing, round which
the women and children were collected as spectators; the Cockatoo
and King George's men formed two distinct parties, and generally
danced in answer to each other. The dancing consisted in their
running either sideways or in Indian file into an open space, and
stamping the ground with great force as they marched together.
Their heavy footsteps were accompanied by a kind of grunt, by
beating their clubs and spears together, and by various other
gesticulations, such as extending their arms and wriggling their
bodies. It was a most rude, barbarous scene, and, to our ideas,
without any sort of meaning; but we observed that the black women
and children watched it with the greatest pleasure. Perhaps these
dances originally represented actions, such as wars and victories;
there was one called the Emu dance, in which each man extended his
arm in a bent manner, like the neck of that bird. In another dance
one man imitated the movements of a kangaroo grazing in the woods,
whilst a second crawled up and pretended to spear him. When both
tribes mingled in the dance, the ground trembled with the heaviness
of their steps, and the air resounded with their wild cries. Every
one appeared in high spirits, and the group of nearly naked
figures, viewed by the light of the blazing fires, all moving in
hideous harmony, formed a perfect display of a festival amongst the
lowest barbarians. In Tierra del Fuego we have beheld many curious
scenes in savage life, but never, I think, one where the natives
were in such high spirits, and so perfectly at their ease. After
the dancing was over the whole party formed a great circle on the
ground, and the boiled rice and sugar was distributed, to the
delight of all.
After several tedious delays from clouded weather, on the 14th of
March we gladly stood out of King George's Sound on our course to
Keeling Island. Farewell, Australia! you are a rising child, and
doubtless some day will reign a great princess in the South; but
you are too great and ambitious for affection, yet not great enough
for respect. I leave your shores without sorrow or regret.
(PLATE 91. AUSTRALIAN GROUP OF WEAPONS AND THROWING STICKS.)
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