SKETCHES OF NATIVE CHARACTER.

Bennillong.—The first native who could be persuaded to live upon friendly terms of confidence with the British settlers in New South Wales was called Bennillong, and it was after no very long period, (within two years after the commencement of the colony,) that this intercourse with them began in the following manner:—In the spring of the second year the bodies of many of the natives were found in a lifeless or dying state upon different parts of the coast near Sydney, in consequence of the small-pox, which had been raging among them; and some of these having been brought up to the settlement, from motives of pity, the disease was taken by a native who had been captured shortly before, in hopes of opening through him a means of communication with the others. The intended interpreter died, but the governor, Captain Philip, still retained in his care two native children, whose lives had been saved from the small-pox, and succeeded, within a few months, in securing two other natives, both of them well known to the children, through whom they were assured of perfect safety. However, instead of remaining until they could become familiar with the English manners and language, so as to carry on an intercourse between the colonists and their own countrymen, these natives both made their escape, one of them very soon after he had been taken; the other, Bennillong, in about six months afterwards, when he had been treated with every kindness and indulgence, and had grown somewhat accustomed to the society of the English settlers. Bennillong made his escape in May 1790, and in the September following he saw some of the colonists, by whom he sent a present to the governor, namely, a piece of the whale which was then lying on the beach, and around which the natives were assembled at a feast. Wishing to see him again, the governor went immediately to the spot, where he found a number of natives, and both Bennillong, and the other one, Cole-be, who had first escaped. All went on amicably at first, and some wearing apparel, belonging to the men in the boat, was given to the savages, while Bennillong obtained a promise from his excellency that more should be brought in two days, and likewise some hatchets. The governor and his friends were retiring by degrees to their boat, having imprudently allowed the natives very nearly to surround them, when Bennillong, after presenting several of his friends by name, pointed out one, whom Captain Philip stepped forward to meet, holding out both his hands to him. The savage, not understanding this civility, and possibly thinking that he was going to seize him, threw his spear, and wounded the governor rather badly, but not mortally. Several other spears were thrown, and one musket fired, but no injury was done on either side. A few days after the accident Bennillong came with his wife and some companions very near to the settlement, and an interview between these and the British officers took place, in which it was agreed that the governor, as soon as he was able, should visit the same spot; Bennillong, meanwhile, assuring them that the man who had inflicted the wound had been severely beaten. On the tenth day his Excellency was so far recovered as to go to the place of the whale feast, together with several officers, all armed. Bennillong here repeated his assurances to the governor in person, that the offending party had been well beaten by him and Cole-be, and added that his throwing the spear was entirely the effect of his fears, and arose from an impulse of self-preservation. The day before this visit nearly 4000 fish had been taken by the colonists, and between 30 and 40 of these, weighing on an average about 5 lbs. each, were sent to Bennillong and his party on the north shore of Port Jackson. After this, tolerably friendly feelings continued, with some few interruptions, between the two nations, and Bennillong himself became very much attached to the governor, insomuch that he and another native resolved to accompany Captain Philip to England, when, towards the close of 1792, that excellent officer resigned his appointment, and embarked on board of the Atlantic transport-ship. The two Australians, fully bent upon the voyage, which they knew would be a very distant one, withstood resolutely, at the moment of their departure, the united distress of their wives and the dismal lamentations of their friends. No more was heard respecting these absentees until March 1794, when a message was brought from them in England, requesting that their wives might be told to expect them in the course of that year, since, though well, they had not so completely lost their love of liberty and of their native country, to prefer London, with its pleasures and abundance, to the woods of New South Wales. It was not, however, until August, 1795, that Bennillong reached his native shores, having become accustomed to the manners of civilized life, by his long sojourn among the English people. He declared to his old acquaintance, with an air and tone that seemed to expect compliance, that he should no longer suffer them to fight and cut each other’s throats, but should introduce peace among them, and make them love one another. When they visited him at Government House, he wished they would contrive to be somewhat more cleanly in their persons and less coarse in their manners; and he was quite offended at his sister, who came in such haste to see him, that she positively forgot to bring anything else upon her back, except a little nephew! Bennillong had been an attentive observer of manners, which he was not unsuccessful in copying; his dress was an object of no small concern to him, and every one was of opinion that he had cast off all love for savage life.

Upon his arrival, Bennillong made inquiries after his wife,[75] but having heard no very good account of her conduct, he at length tempted her by some rose-coloured clothes and a gipsy bonnet to leave her new lover and return to her former husband. Bennillong’s presents, however pretty, were of very little practical use, and he was soon afterwards missing, having gone into the Bush to give his rival a good beating with fists after the English method. However, all his valour was lost upon his wife, who deserted him,—an event which did not appear to give him great uneasiness, nor was it much to be wondered at, since she had been stolen by him. His absence from the governor’s house became now frequent, and when he went out, his clothes were usually left behind him, although he carefully resumed them on his return before he made his visit to the governor.

Within a year of his arrival from England this poor creature had a quarrel with his bosom-friend Cole-be, whose wife he had coveted, and from whom he received some severe wounds, together with the cutting inquiry, “Whether he meant that kind of conduct to be a specimen of English manners?” Thus Bennillong by degrees returned again to all the habits of savage life,—habits rendered rather worse than better by the experience he had gained respecting those of civilized men. He could not, however, keep on terms with his countrymen, and in 1796 he was obliged to call in the help of the governor’s soldiers to protect him from his own people. In the following year he was accused of having been the cause of a woman’s death, who had dreamed, when dying, that he had killed her; and by some it was said, that he actually had wounded her, so that it was demanded of him that he should undergo the ordeal of having some spears thrown at him. Although he denied the charge, yet it was not thought unlikely to be true, for he was now become so fond of drinking that he lost no opportunity of being intoxicated, and in that state was savage and violent enough to be capable of any mischief. On these occasions he amused himself with annoying and insulting all his acquaintance, who were afraid to punish him lest they should offend his white friends. But, however, his interest with the latter was fast declining, for in an affray between the natives, Bennillong chose to throw a spear among the soldiers, who interfered to prevent further mischief; and one of these was dreadfully wounded by him. He was, notwithstanding, set at liberty, but being offended at the blame his behaviour had brought down upon him he would sometimes walk about armed, and declare that he did so for the purpose of spearing the governor whenever he might see him! After repeated affrays and quarrels with his wife’s lover and other natives, Bennillong, who had almost entirely quitted the comforts and quiet of civilized life, was dangerously wounded twice within two or three months. And although no more is related concerning him, and it is true that he had recently recovered of several very severe wounds, yet the probability is, that this weak and violent savage was not long afterwards cut off in the midst of life by an untimely and cruel death.

Barangaroo’s Funeral.—When Barangaroo Daringha, Bennillong’s elder wife, who was above fifty at the time of her death, was to have the funeral rites performed over her body, it was resolved by her husband that she should be burned, and the governor, the judge-advocate, and the surgeon of the colony were invited to the ceremony, besides whom there were present Bennillong’s relatives and a few others, mostly females. The spot for the pile was prepared by digging out the ground with a stick, to the depth of a few inches, and in this a heap of wood was raised to the height of about three feet, the ends and sides being formed of dry pieces, and the middle of it consisting of small twigs and branches, broken off for the purpose, and thrown together. Some grass was then spread over the pile, and the corpse covered with an old blanket was placed upon it, with the head towards the north. A basket with sundry articles belonging to the deceased was placed by her side, and some large logs being laid over the body by Bennillong, the pile was lighted by one of the party, and was quickly all in a flame. Bennillong himself pointed out to his friends that the fire had reached the corpse, and the spot was left long before the pile was consumed, while the husband seemed more cheerful than had been expected, and spoke about finding a nurse among the white women for his infant and motherless child, Dil-boong.[76] The next day he invited the same party of Europeans to see him rake the ashes together, and none of his own people were present at this ceremony. He went before his companions in a sort of solemn silence, speaking to no one until he had paid the last duties to Barangaroo. In his hand was the spear, with which he meant to punish the car-rah-dy, or conjurer, for whom he had sent to attend her in her illness, but who either could not or would not obey the summons; and with the end of this spear he collected the funereal ashes into a heap. Over these he made, with a piece of bark, which served for a spade, a small mound of earth, on each side of which was placed a log of wood, and on the top the bark with which he had constructed it. All was done with the utmost care and neatness, and he seemed pleased, when, in reply to his inquiries, he was told by his friends that it was “good.” His behaviour throughout was solemn and manly, and he was perfectly silent during the whole of the ceremony, from which nothing was suffered to withdraw his attention. Nor did he seem desirous to get quickly through it, but paid these last rites of affection with a care that did honour to his feelings towards one, for whom, notwithstanding his barbarism, he appeared to feel a sincere and strong attachment. When his melancholy task was ended, he stood for a few moments, with his hands folded over his bosom, and his eye fixed upon his labours, in the attitude of a man in profound thought. What were his thoughts then it is impossible certainly to declare, but they may have been more nearly akin to those of the mere civilized worldling than we might at first imagine. Death brings all men to an equality, and throws down every distinction but one. That distinction, indeed, so far from overthrowing, death renders more marked and conspicuous than before, clearly making manifest the difference between the believer and the unbeliever, “between him that serveth God, and him that serveth him not.”

The Spitting Tribe.—This was the name given by Major Mitchell to one of the most troublesome and ferocious of the native tribes, the place of whose habitation is on the lonely banks of the Darling, in the interior of Eastern Australia. When these disagreeable people were first met with, the man who was taking care of the sheep belonging to the exploring party held out a green bough; but the savage, who had before pointed a spear at the Englishman, replied to his emblem of peace by taking a bough, spitting upon it, and then thrusting it into the fire. Upon Major Mitchell hastening to the spot, similar expressions of ill will were manifested, evidently with the purpose of telling the strangers that they must go back. The native and a boy who was with him then threw up dust at their enemies, in a clever way, with their toes. Their feelings of hostility and defiance were too plainly expressed to be mistaken. Every effort at conciliation was useless, until, at length, the enraged native of the Bush retired slowly along the river bank, singing a war-song as he went, and showing by his actions that he was going for his tribe. This happened in the morning; and during the afternoon of the same day, a party of the tribe made their appearance, holding out boughs indeed, but with a very different ceremonial from what had hitherto been observed.[77] Their violent and expressive gestures evidently were intended to drive back the intruders; and as these last could not but feel that they were not upon their own ground, they used every endeavour to conciliate the opposing party. The blacksmith belonging to the expedition was at work with his bellows and anvil near the river bank, and his labours seemed to awaken very much the curiosity of the natives, who, however, still refused to sit down, and continued to wave their branches in the faces of the white people, and to spit at them repeatedly, all which conduct was patiently endured in the hope of establishing afterwards a more agreeable and friendly intercourse. As a peace-offering, a tomahawk was presented to the leader, who, guessing immediately its use, turned round to a log, and chopped it. Two other stout fellows then rudely demanded the British officer’s pistols from his belt, whereupon he drew one, and, curious to see the effect, fired it at a tree. Immediately, as though they had previously suspected the intruders to be evil demons, and had at length a clear proof of it, they repeated their actions of defiance with tenfold fury, accompanying these with demoniac looks, hideous shouts, and a war-song,—crouching, jumping, spitting, springing with the spear, and throwing dust at them, as they slowly retired. In short, their hideous crouching postures, measured gestures, and low jumps, to the tune of a wild song, with the fiendish glare of their countenances, at times all black, but now all eyes and teeth, seemed a fitter spectacle for Pandemonium than for the light of the bounteous sun. Thus they retired, dancing in a circle, and leaving the strangers in expectation of their return, and perhaps an attack in the morning. Whatever was the cause of their hostility, any further attempt to quiet them appeared out of the question, and it was too likely that ere long the English party would be forced to prove their superiority by arms.[78]

These troublesome visitors did not, however, make their appearance again before the following afternoon, when their curiosity and desire to get more presents brought them forth from their hiding-places in the woods. By degrees, they seemed to gain a little more confidence; but signs of defiance were still made; and as their fears diminished, their love of pilfering appeared to increase. The blacksmith was at work this day also; and they moved towards him, commencing at the same time a kind of chant, and slowly waving their green boughs. There was evidently some superstition in the ceremony, and one of the parties concerned in it was a coradje, or priest, who occasionally turned his back upon the Europeans, and touched his eye-brows, nose, and breast; then pointing his arm to the sky, and with his hand afterwards laid upon his breast, pouring forth a most solemn chant. The blacksmith, with whose honest occupation all this formed a strange contrast, had been ordered not to laugh nor stop working, which orders he obeyed as long as it was practicable. But, gradually, the black visitors gathered round the forge, and began to pilfer whatever they could lay hand or foot upon, until the persecuted smith could no longer proceed with his work. The best part of this scene was, that they did not mind being observed by any one, except the blacksmith, supposing that they were robbing him only. His patience, however, being severely tried, he was at last tempted to give one of them a push, when a scene of chanting, spitting, and throwing dust commenced on the part of the thief, who was a stout fellow and carried a spear, which he seemed inclined to use. One or two articles were lost in spite of all efforts, but the explorers were glad to feel at peace with these people upon any terms, and both parties separated that night in a tolerably civil way.

On the following day, the travellers began to move onwards, but they did not leave behind (as they had hoped) their troublesome neighbours. The natives rushed forth from the woods in greater numbers than ever, being painted white, and many of them carrying spears, and shouting. A horse belonging to one of the party was so startled at this, that he galloped away, and was with some little difficulty recovered. The threats and defiance of the savages were again repeated; and when the party of explorers began to proceed onwards, the whole of the woods appeared to be in flames. Various annoyances and hindrances were experienced from these disagreeable inhabitants of the Bush, during the next ten or twelve days; after which an event happened, which, though sad and unfortunate in itself, was yet calculated to fill the minds of these impudent savages with some respect and awe for the power of the Europeans. Joseph Jones,—the man who attended the flock of sheep, which accompanied Major Mitchell’s party in their wanderings in the interior of New Holland,—had been sent for some water; and the tea-kettle he carried with him was the sole cause of the quarrel that ensued. As he was getting up the river bank with the water, another man being stationed (as usual) at the top to protect him with his pistol, one of the natives, with others in his company, met him half way up, and with a smile took hold of the pot which he was carrying, together with the kettle. This was done under pretence of helping Jones, but, on reaching the top of the bank, the savage, in the same jocose way, held it fast, until a woman said something to him; and then, letting the pot go, he seized the kettle with his left hand, and at the same time struck Jones senseless to the ground by a violent blow on the forehead, inflicted with a club which he held in his right. On seeing this the other man, who was stationed by way of protection, fired, and wounded the savage, who swam across the river, and made off as well as he could; but the rest of the tribe were now advancing. The Englishman fired twice at them, and the second time, unfortunately, he shot the woman already mentioned, who, with her child fastened to her back, slid down the bank, and lay, apparently dying, in the water. At this moment three other Englishmen arrived, who had been sent off from the camp when the noise of fire-arms was heard, and one man among the natives was shot in the breast, but little more mischief was done, for the tribe speedily dispersed, having dragged away the dead body of the woman; while Joseph Jones returned, wounded and bleeding, to the camp of the explorers. When night arrived, “a death-like silence,” says Major Mitchell, “prevailed along the banks of the river; no far-heard voices of natives at their fires broke, as before, the stillness of the night, while a painful sympathy for the child bereft of its parent, and anticipations of the probable consequences to us, cast a melancholy gloom over the scene. The waning moon at length arose, and I was anxiously occupied with the observations, which were most important at this point of my journey, when a mournful song, strongly expressive of the wailing of women, came from beyond the Darling, on the fitful breeze which still blew from the north-west.” The feelings of a brave but humane British officer, surrounded by difficulties, with very few except convicts under his command, annoyed by natives, yet anxious not to injure them, and just about to turn back from the journey of discovery which he had hitherto successfully pursued; the feelings of Major Mitchell under the circumstances so touchingly described by him can scarcely be imagined. The thoughts of a veteran who had served his country during many long years of war and strife, must have wandered back to past scenes and by-gone days, while he stood in that solitary wilderness; and when the wild shrill cry of savage grief came floating upon his ears, he must have felt most deeply those strange sensations which we experience

“When, musing o’er companions gone,
We doubly feel ourselves alone.”

These savages of the Darling have the power of doing with their toes many things most surprising to men who wear shoes, and have never been accustomed from infancy to climb trees after the Australian fashion. With their toes they gather the fresh-water muscles from the muddy bottoms of rivers or lakes, and these are one of their principal articles of food in the neighbourhood of the Darling. In the attempts of the Spitting Tribe to steal from the English party, their feet were much employed, and they would tread softly on any article, seize it with the toes, pass it up the back, or between the arm and side, and so conceal it in the arm-pit, or between the beard and throat. The hoary old priest of the Spitting Tribe, while intent upon tricks of this kind, chanted an extraordinary hymn to some deity or devil; the act was evidently superstitious and connected with no good principle. Arrangements were probably being made, and some of these strange ceremonies observed by them, for the purpose of destroying the strangers, intruders they might be called. “And no man,” observes Major Mitchell, “can witness the quickness and intelligence of the aborigines, as displayed in their instant comprehension of our numerous appliances, without feelings of sympathy. They cannot be so obtuse, as not to anticipate in the advance of such a powerful race as ours, the extirpation of their own, in a country which barely affords to them the means of subsistence.” Yet, melancholy though the reflection may appear, it is but too true, that scarcely any hope of improving and civilizing these barbarous people can be at present reasonably indulged. What a picture does the same humane traveller already quoted draw of the tribes about the lower part of the Darling, of whose character the Spitting Tribe may serve for a specimen. “It seldom happened,” he says, “that I was particularly engaged with a map, a drawing, or a calculation, but I was interrupted by them or respecting them. Our gifts seemed only to awaken on their part a desire to destroy us, and to take all we had. While sitting in the dust with them, according to their custom, often have they examined my cap, evidently with no other view than to ascertain whether it would resist the blow of a waddy, or short stick. Then they would feel the thickness of my dress, and whisper together, their eyes occasionally glancing at their spears and clubs. The expression of their countenances was sometimes so hideous, that, after such interviews, I have found comfort in contemplating the honest faces of the horses and sheep; and even in the scowl of ‘the patient ox,’ I have imagined an expression of dignity, when he may have pricked up his ears, and turned his horns towards these wild specimens of the ‘lords of the creation.’ Travellers in Australian deserts will find that such savages cannot remain at rest when near, but are ever anxious to strip them by all means in their power of every thing. It was not until we proceeded as conquerors, that we knew any thing like tranquillity on the Darling; and I am now of opinion, that to discourage at once the approach of such natives, would tend more to the safety of an exploring party than presenting them with gifts.”

Mulligo’s Death.—The following curious account of the death of a certain native of Western Australia is given by Captain Grey. Mulligo, for such was the name of the unfortunate man, had severely hurt his spine by a fall from a tree, and having lost the use of his lower limbs, he gradually wasted away, until, in about two months’ time, he became a perfect skeleton, and was evidently dying. Soon after day-break, Captain Grey came to the hut of Mulligo, and found him alive indeed, but breathing so slightly that it was scarcely to be perceived. His head rested on his aged mother’s knees, who leaned over him in tears, while other women were seated around, their heads all verging to a common centre, over the wasted frame of the dying man; they were crying bitterly, and scratching their cheeks, foreheads, and noses, with their nails, until the blood trickled slowly from the wounds. The men, meanwhile, were preparing their spears for the fight, which was expected to take place respecting the two wives of Mulligo, the title of his heir being disputed. Other native females soon began to arrive in small parties, each one carrying her long stick in her hand, and each party marching slowly after the eldest woman belonging to it. When they came within about thirty or forty yards of the hut of the dying man, they raised the most piteous cries, and hurrying their pace, moved rapidly to the place where the other women were seated, recalling to the mind of one acquainted with the Bible, that custom alluded to by Jeremiah (chap. ix. 17, 18). As they came up to the bark hut, many of them struck it violently with their sticks, producing by the blow a dull hollow sound, and then, after joining the assembled circle, chanting mournfully the usual songs on these occasions. Then, suddenly, one of the women in a frenzy would start up, and standing in front of the hut, while she waved her stick violently in the air, would chant forth curses against the sorcerers, who, as she believed, had been the cause of Mulligo’s sufferings. It was strange to watch the effect of these wild chants upon the savage countenances of the men; one while they sat in mournful silence; again they grasped firmly and quivered their spears; and by and by a general “Ee-Ee,” pronounced in their throat, with the lips closed, burst forth in token of approbation at some affecting part of the speech.

Time wore on; each withered beldame by turns addressed the party, while the poor creature, whose dying moments were thus disturbed, was gradually sinking. At last he ceased to live, and at that moment an old woman started up, and with grief and rage, poured forth her curses upon the Boyl-yas, and tore the hut in which Mulligo had been lying to pieces, saying, “This is now no good.” Her proceedings excited the feelings of the men, and at last Moon-dee, the most violent of them, was on the point of spearing one of the wives of the deceased, but he was withheld by some of the women. The cause of Moon-dee’s anger was afterwards thus explained. About two or three months before this time, a cloak belonging to Mulligo’s brother had been stolen, and, it was supposed, given to one of the sorcerers, who gained thereby some mysterious power over either of the two brothers, which he had exercised on Mulligo, when he caused him to fall and injure his back. Another sorcerer was called in, who applied fire to the injured part, but without any success; and since the poor fellow was daily wasting away, it was imagined that the unfriendly sorcerers came every night to feast upon the invalid during his hours of sleep. But Moon-dee chose to fancy that if his wife had been more watchful, the Boyl-yas might have been detected, and therefore he intended to spear her in the leg, in order to punish her supposed neglect. This outrage was, however, prevented; and the two trembling partners of the deceased, neither of whom was above fifteen years old, fled into Perth, to find among Europeans a refuge from the violence of their own countrymen. After vowing vengeance against a great many of the sorcerers, though they had no proof whatever against any of these in particular, the men followed the widows to Perth, to see that no one stole them away; and a few only were left with the women to superintend the funeral.

In about an hour’s time, the body was removed to a distance of nearly half a mile from the spot where the death had taken place, and the women were still leaning over it, uttering the words, yang, yang, yang, and occasionally chanting a few sentences. The grave was then dug, as usual, due east and west, with no better instruments than sticks and hands; but afterwards, when many Europeans had assembled at the spot, to the great annoyance of the natives, these last occasionally employed a spade, although, from the extreme narrowness of the grave, it was no easy matter to make use of this implement. During the digging an insect had been thrown up, whose motions were watched with the deepest interest, and since the animal crawled off in the direction of Guildford, this was thought an additional proof of the guilt of the sorcerers of that place, who had before been suspected, because the cloak had been stolen by a man living near this settlement.

When the grave was completed, they set fire to some dried leaves and twigs which they threw in, and old Weeban, the friendly sorcerer, knelt at the foot of the grave, with his back to the east, and his head bowed down to the earth in a posture of the deepest attention; his office being a very important one, namely, to discover in what direction the hostile Boyl-yas would take their flight, when drawn out of the earth by the heat. The fire roared for some time in the grave; and the hollow sound of the flames arising from the narrow opening evidently aroused the superstitious fears of the bystanders, until the old conjuror signified by his actions that the authors of the mischief were gone off in the direction of Guildford. The relatives of the deceased appeared satisfied at knowing upon whom to avenge the foul witchcraft, and at being assured of the cause of their friend’s death. The body of Mulligo was then taken from the females, his mother having, for the last time, fervently kissed its cold lips; and the corpse was lowered into the grave, and placed upon a bed of leaves, which had been laid there directly the fire was extinguished; the face being, according to custom, turned towards the east. The women continued their mournful songs, and the grave was filled up with small green boughs and earth, until the tomb was completed, presenting the appearance, owing to the heaps placed at the head and foot, of three graves nearly alike in size and form, lying in a due east and west direction. On the same evening, the old mother was found sitting at the place where her son’s remains were interred, and crying bitterly. She had caught the Boyl-yas, she said, in the very act of sitting round Mulligo’s grave, for the purpose of preying upon his miserable body, and she pointed out their tracks at the spot from which they sprung into the air, in the direction of Guildford, but European eyes were not keen enough to detect these mysterious traces of mischief.

The Corrobory.—The natives have a dance, called corrobory, of a very original character, and almost universally prevalent on the shores of Australia. The dance always takes place at night; and not only in this respect, but likewise in the preparation and excitement occasioned by it, a resemblance may be traced between the corrobory and the dances of more civilized nations. The curious evolutions and figures performed in these assemblies of savages, are regulated by time beaten upon stretched skins or drums,—the only musical instrument that is commonly seen among them; and while the light of blazing boughs is thrown upon the scene of festivity, the rude music is accompanied by a song. Darkness seems essential to the effect of the whole; and the painted figures coming forward from the obscurity of the background, while the singers and beaters of time are invisible, have a highly theatrical effect. Each dance appears most tastefully progressive; the movement being first slow, and introduced by two persons, displaying graceful motions, both of arms and legs; others, one by one, join in, each gradually warming into the truly savage attitude of the “corrobory” jump; the legs then stride to the utmost, the head is turned over one shoulder, the eyes glare, and are fixed with savage energy all in one direction; the arms also are raised, and inclined towards the head, the hands usually grasping some warlike weapons. The jump now keeps time with each beat; the dancers at every movement taking six inches to one side, all being in a connected line, led by the first, which line, however, is sometimes doubled or tripled, according to numbers; and thus great effect is added; for when the front line jumps to the left, the second jumps to the right; the third to the left again, and so on, until the action gains due intensity, when all suddenly stop at the same moment. The excitement which this dance produces in the savage is very remarkable. However listless the individual may be, lying perhaps, as usual, half asleep, set him to this, and he is fired with sudden energy, every nerve is strung to such a degree, that he is hardly to be known as the same person, while the corrobory continues.

Peerat and his Wives.—A garden belonging to a soldier at King George’s Sound had been robbed by the natives of nearly a hundred weight of potatoes. This was the first act of theft that had been committed during the five months of Governor Grey’s residence there, although there had often been as many as two hundred natives in the settlement, who had no means of subsistence beyond the natural productions of the country, and what little they derived from being occasionally employed by the colonists. And even in this theft of the potatoes, they had purposely left the large roots, and had taken away only the smaller ones, in the hope that by so doing they would lessen the crime. However, the governor resolved to act promptly and vigorously upon this first offence, and to avoid the common fault of Europeans, in confounding the guilty and the innocent together. By the help of an intelligent native, the tracks of three persons were found in the garden that had been robbed, and the footsteps were pronounced to be those of Peerat’s two wives, and his son Dal-bean. These had all walked off into the Bush, meaning, probably, to avoid suspicion, and to wait till the affair had passed quietly over. The governor determined to pursue them, but this required great secrecy, for Australians are no easy creatures to catch hold of; and it was not meant to adopt the popular system of shooting them when they ran away. Accompanied by four natives only, the governor pressed forward, following Peerat’s tracks for about nine miles in a direction where the Bush had been set on fire by the natives, until he met with some of these, who were solemnly informed of the theft and of the names of the criminals, whom he had come to take prisoners; if these were given up, it was promised that they should undergo only the regular punishment for petty robbery; otherwise, the usual allowance of flour, which was issued to all the natives every two months, was to be stopped; and it was threatened that a party of soldiers should be brought out to fire upon Peerat and his party wherever they might be found. These threats, uttered in a very decided tone, gave occasion to a consultation among the natives, by whom it was unanimously agreed:—

Imprimis. That stealing potatoes was a very heinous offence, more particularly in women.

Secondly. That women were notorious thieves, and altogether worse characters than men.

Thirdly. That beating women was an every day occurrence.

Fourthly. That losing flour was a great bore; and,

Fifthly. Upon these considerations, Peerat, his wives, and son, were to be given up.

These resolutions having been passed, the whole assembly came to the governor to inquire whether he told the truth, when he said that he was not personally angry with Peerat’s family, and that they should not be killed; and being satisfied upon this point, they all proceeded together in search of the offending parties.

Peerat waited quietly to receive them, indeed, he was not aware of the cause of his being honoured by a visit from the governor; when, however, he heard of this, he abused his wives, and promised to thrash them soundly, but absolutely refused to give either them or his son up as prisoners. The first man who might lay a finger upon him was threatened with a spear through the heart, and the governor was obliged to proclaim the sacredness of his own person, and to cock both barrels of his gun, with an assurance that he would shoot poor Peerat in case of resistance. All savage strife is noisy in the extreme; even the strife of civilized men in their public meetings and vestries is often tolerably boisterous,—and a great deal of running and leaping about, and quivering of spears accompanies the former kind of altercation. While things were in this confusion the governor went alone to Peerat’s fire, and seized his little boy, Dal-bean, but could see nothing of the wives, who were, most likely, busy digging roots for the family. The boy was told that if he moved he would be shot, a threat which kept him very quiet; but Peerat soon found out what had happened, and came running after them. These natives are always greatly attached to their children, and strong proofs of this were now given by the father, who first declared that the boy had been with him, and that it was the mother only that had stolen, producing about a dozen witnesses to prove this to be the truth. However, the reply to this was by asking the question, How came the child’s footmarks in the garden? It was answered that Peerat’s second wife had, indeed, been there, and that she was just the size of the boy; but that plea would not hold good, since her footsteps had been observed likewise. The father now urged the tender years of the lad, and that he was under the influence of his mother; and then fairly wept upon his child’s neck, who was calling upon his parent and the other natives by name to save him. The governor’s own feelings and those of his followers urged him to let the little fellow go, but he wisely resolved to act with determination, and held fast by the prisoner. Spears were now given to Peerat—a sign of his quarrel being espoused by those who gave them, and that he was expected to use them; and, matters having taken a serious turn, the governor hastened away with his prisoner and two of his native companions, but not before he had explained to the others the advantage of an impartial inquiry and proper punishment of offenders, in preference to their being exposed to the indiscriminating fire of Europeans. Peerat was then threatened with a shot if he did not take himself off, and bring his wives into the settlement to be punished; and the matter ended, for the present, in the lodgment of the youthful Dal-bean safe in the British gaol. In a day or two afterwards, during which no tidings had been heard of Peerat and his wives, the little Dal-bean made an attempt to break out of his place of confinement, by taking up a loose stone from the floor, with which he had battered a hole in the door. This, however, he stoutly denied, asserting that, whilst he was asleep, sorcerers from the north, having a spite against him, had entered through some air-holes in the wall and done this; and, on his persisting in the story, he was told that, in future, he would be well whipped for neglect, if he did not give the alarm when these strange visitors came. Meanwhile, the governor was half inclined to whip him for telling a story, but he satisfied himself with giving him a lecture upon the crime of lying, to which the cunning little rogue replied, by arguing upon the general usefulness and prevalence of that vice in the world, entirely setting aside its evil nature and sinfulness.

The very same day Peerat made his appearance with a very pitiful tale. He had two wives, and to govern them both was no easy task, but, although they had been soundly beaten, they could not be induced to come into the settlement, until he had threatened to spear them. This threat had, at last, succeeded, and in recompense for his sufferings from the loss of his son, and from the obstinacy and bad temper of his wives, he begged to be allowed to beat the latter himself. They were ordered to the spot where the robbery was committed, and there the native women soon appeared, dreadfully cut and mangled from the beating they had already received. One was a nice looking girl, about fourteen, but an incorrigible thief. Peerat was going to hit her a tremendous blow upon the head, which must have laid it open. She stood with her back to her husband, trembling and crying bitterly. The governor caught Peerat’s arm, picked up a little switch from the ground, and told him to beat her on the shoulders with that, instead of with his meero. Two slight blows, or rather taps, were given her, in order to know where it was that the governor meant her to be struck, but the poor girl cried so bitterly from fear, that she was pardoned, and so likewise was the other woman, who had already been severely beaten, and had at that moment a little child sitting upon her shoulder, and crying piteously at the sight of its mother’s tears. Before the crowd dispersed a lecture was given them, and they were warned not to presume upon the governor’s clemency in the present instance.

In the afternoon, the governor, attended by Peerat, his wives, and a crowd of natives, walked up to the gaol to release little Dal-bean. The father and the governor alone entered the prison, and when the gaoler was told to hand Peerat the whip, the latter took it, and said, “Yes, yes, I will strike him; let not another beat him.” The door of the cell was then opened, and the little boy was led out: his father ran up to him, caught him in his arms, and began kissing him; having done this, he told him he was going to beat him. The little fellow did not answer a word, but standing as firm and erect as possible, presented his back to him. The father gave him one blow, and it was ended—justice was satisfied. The criminals had surrendered to salutary laws, of which they had but a vague and undefined knowledge; it was their first offence; the nature of the laws they had broken was explained to them; they were warned to be careful in their future conduct, and they were set free. Little Dal-bean, directly they got outside the gaol, walked up to the governor, took his hand, and squeezed it; then turning to his mother, he just looked at her; she cried, but did not dare to kiss him, or to show any other mark of emotion. The whole party then moved off, after showering many thanks upon the governor, and saying, “What a good fellow, what a good fellow,” or, to give a literal translation, “one good man, one good man!”

Woga’s Captivity.—In Caledon Bay, upon the northern coast of New Holland, the natives had behaved very well to the party under Captain Flinders, which had landed on their shores, until one of those who had been most kindly treated ran away with an axe, and from the thickness of the forest could not be overtaken. It was indeed here, as in other parts of Australia, no easy matter to hinder the people from stealing whatever came within their reach; and in order to check this, two men were seized by command of Captain Flinders, and after a little time one of these was set free, upon his promising by signs to restore the axe, and being made to understand that the other would be kept as a pledge of this engagement being fulfilled. Much confusion was noticed among the natives, and preparations were made for firing upon them in case of necessity, but after one of the prisoners had been released, they appeared to have less anxiety, and still no axe was forthcoming. The prisoner, a youth of about fourteen, whose name was Woga, was taken in a boat to a place much frequented by the savages, many of whom were seen behind the bushes, endeavouring to entice a native who accompanied the expedition on shore, no doubt intending to seize him by way of retaliation. The restoration of the axe was demanded, and the prisoner seemed to use all his powers to enforce it, but the constant answer was that the thief, Ye-han-ge-ree, had been beaten and was gone away; and since no axe was likely to be brought, Woga was carried on board the ship, after a great deal of crying, entreating, threatening, and struggling on his part. He there ate heartily, laughed, sometimes cried, and noticed every thing; frequently expressing admiration at what he saw, and especially at the sheep, hogs, and cats. The next morning he was taken ashore, and attempted to make a spring out of the boat, so that it was needful to bind him, notwithstanding his struggles; but after a while he became quiet, and enjoyed his meal of rice and fish, although he was made fast to a tree. A sort of attack was then made by the other natives upon a party of gentlemen who had landed to botanize, and who had been almost surrounded by the savages; but, however, a couple of shots dispersed their enemies, and two of the Australians were supposed to have been wounded. Since the prisoner was thus a cause of mischief to his fellow-countrymen, and his being carried off would be an act of injustice, as well as injurious to future visitors of that coast, at length Captain Flinders, who would otherwise willingly have taken Woga with him, resolved to release him. On that day, the third of his captivity, Woga appeared to be a little melancholy in his bondage, but upon the whole had not fared amiss, having been eating the greater part of the morning and afternoon. He begged hard to be released; promising, with tears in his eyes, to bring back the axe; and after having received some clothing and presents he was suffered to depart. As far as two hundred yards he walked away leisurely; but then, looking first behind him, took to his heels with all his might, leaving his British friends very reasonably doubtful of the fulfilment of his pathetic promises!

Bal-loo-der-ry and the Convicts.—In 1791, when the town of Paramatta, about fifteen miles from Sydney, was first settled, the natives soon began to bring in their fish and barter it for bread or salted meat; and this proving a great convenience to the settlers, the traffic was very much encouraged by them. There were, however, some among the convicts so unthinking or so depraved, as wantonly to destroy a canoe belonging to a fine young man, a native, who had left it at a little distance from the settlement, as he thought, out of the way of observation, while he went with some fish he had to sell. His rage at finding his canoe destroyed was very great: he threatened to take his revenge, and in his own way, upon all white people. Three of the offenders, however, having been seen and described, were taken and punished, and so were the remainder of them not very long afterwards. The instant effect of this outrage was, that the natives discontinued the bringing up of fish; and Bal-loo-der-ry, whose canoe had been destroyed, although he had been taught to believe[79] that one of the six convicts had been hanged for the offence, meeting a few days afterwards with an European who had strayed to some distance from Paramatta, he wounded him in two places with a spear. This act of Bal-loo-der-ry was followed by the governor’s strictly forbidding him to appear again in any of the settlements; and the other natives, his friends, being alarmed, Paramatta was seldom visited by any of them, and all commerce with them was (for the time) at an end. However, in about two months afterwards, before the person wounded by him had recovered, Bal-loo-der-ry ventured into the town with some of his friends, and one or two armed parties were sent to seize him. A spear having been thrown, it was said, by him, two muskets were fired, by which one of his companions was wounded in the leg, but Bal-loo-der-ry was not taken. On the following day it was ordered that he was to be seized whenever an opportunity should offer, and that any native attempting to throw a spear in his defence, (since they well knew why he was denounced,) was, if possible, to be prevented from escaping. Those who knew this savage regretted that it had been necessary to treat him thus harshly, for among his countrymen they had never seen a finer young man. We cannot finish this melancholy history with a more true reflection than that of Lieutenant Collins: "How much greater claim to the appellation of savages had the wretches (the convicts) who were the cause of this, than the natives who were termed so!"

Native Hospitality and Philosophy.—After a most distressing journey in Western Australia, Captain Grey and his party fell in with a number of natives, at no great distance from the settlement of Perth. So great had been the trials of the explorers that a disinclination to move pervaded the whole party, and their courageous leader had felt much the same desire to sink into the sleep of death, that one feels to take a second slumber in the morning after great fatigue. However they had aroused themselves, and had managed to walk about eight miles at the slow rate of a mile and a quarter an hour, when they came suddenly upon the tracks of the natives. Kaiber, their guide, announced that they were wild natives; and, after a second survey, he declared that they had “great bush fury” on them, i.e. were subject to wild untutored rage. It was proposed, however, to fire a gun as a signal, for since the distance from Perth was thought to be very trifling, it was hoped that these natives would understand its meaning. Kaiber threatened to run away, but the coward was, in fact, afraid to move five yards from the party, so, sitting down on his haunches under cover, he kept muttering to himself various terms of Australian scorn,—“The swan—the big-head—the stone forehead!”—while the Captain advanced towards the strangers, who no sooner heard the gun, and saw him approaching, than they came running to him. Presently, Kaiber accosted one of them by name, and at the sound of this name, Imbat, the strongest feeling was awakened; it was well known to the travellers, and they knew that their lives were safe, and the end of their journey at hand. Captain Grey was in good favour with most of the natives of those parts, to whom he had frequently made presents of flour, and hence his common appellation among them was “Wokeley brudder,” or Oakley’s brother, that being the name of a baker residing in Perth.

The women were soon called up, bark-baskets of frogs opened for the exhausted travellers, by-yu nuts roasted, and, for a special delicacy, the Captain obtained a small fresh-water tortoise. He was bidden to sleep while Imbat cooked, and though the delay which the willing native’s skill in cookery occasioned was a little trying to the patience of hungry men, yet it was not very long before they were all regaling on the welcome feast. In reply to the questions of the Englishmen, the natives all told them that they would see Perth the next morning, “while the sun was still small;” and upon finding that there was a kangaroo hunter with a hut, and a supply of provisions only seven miles off, Imbat and the Captain went thither together, to prepare for the comfortable reception of the rest of the party. However, they found the hut deserted, its owner having returned to Perth. A fire was lighted, notwithstanding, and the Englishman laid down to rest his weary limbs, while the Australian again began to cook, and in his chattering mood to philosophize also. “What for do you, who have plenty to eat, and much money, walk so far away in the Bush?” was his first inquiry. The Captain, fatigued and rather out of humour, made no reply. “You are thin,” continued the philosopher, “your shanks are long, your belly is small,—you had plenty to eat at home, why did you not stop there?” “Imbat, you comprehend nothing,—you know nothing,” was the traveller’s brief reply. “I know nothing!” answered the wise man of the woods, “I know how to keep myself fat; the young women look at me and say, Imbat is very handsome, he is fat;—they will look at you and say, He not good,—long legs;—what do you know? where is your fat? what for do you know so much, if you can’t keep fat? I know how to stay at home, and not walk too far in the Bush: where is your fat?” “You know how to talk, long tongue,” answered the Captain;—“And I know how to make you fat!” rejoined Imbat, forgetting his anger, and bursting into a roar of laughter, as he began stuffing his guest with frogs, by-yu nuts, &c. The rest of the party arrived just before nightfall, and, searching the hut, they found a paper of tea, and an old tin pot, in which they prepared the welcome beverage, after which, having had a good supper, they all laid down to sleep; and in the silence of the night, fervent thanks went up from that lonely hut in the wilderness to the Maker of all things, whose merciful guidance had again brought them so near “the haven where they would be.”

The Widow and her Child.—During the journey of Major Mitchell’s party, exploring the course of the river Lachlan down to its junction with the Murray, they had to cross several branches of the former stream, which gave them some trouble from the steepness of their banks, until they at length reached the main channel of the Lachlan, which stream, together with all its tributaries, was at that time perfectly dry. The welcome news was then heard that some ponds of water were near, but at the same time it was reported that natives were there; so the party approached cautiously, and having found two pools encamped beside them. The black people had all fled, except one child, about seven or eight years old, quite blind, who sat near a fire, and a poor little girl still younger, who, notwithstanding the strange appearance of the new visitors, and the terror exhibited in the flight of her own people, still lingered about the bushes, and at length took her seat beside the blind boy. A large supply of the balyan root lay near them, and a dog so lean that he was scarcely able to stand, drew his feeble body close up beside the two children, as though desirous of defending them. Afterwards an old man came up to the fire, and he directed the travellers to some of the water-holes in their proposed route, but could not be prevailed upon to become their guide. However, he persuaded a widow, with the little girl just mentioned, who might be about four years old, to accompany the party and act as guide. The strangers soon began to learn the value of their new guide, TurÀndurey; for within a fortnight they met with a number of the natives, approaching in a silent and submissive manner, each having a green bough twined round his waist or in his hand; and a parley was opened with them by means of the widow, as she was sitting on the opposite bank of a river to that on which they made their appearance. Some form or ceremony, it seems, always prevents the male natives, when strangers to each other, from speaking at first sight; no such restraint, however, is placed upon their wives or gins, as they are called. These, with the privilege of their sex, are ever ready to speak; and the strangers as readily replied to TurÀndurey; so conversation was thus held across the river. This female guide, who had before scarcely ventured to look up, now stood boldly forward to address the strange tribe; and when her countenance was lighted up, displaying fine teeth, and great earnestness of manner, it was gratifying to the travellers to see what spirit their guide possessed. Being invited to swim over the stream, the children of the woods complied but on condition that the wild animals (the sheep and horses) should be driven away,—a stipulation at which the widow and other natives in the British party laughed heartily; nor was their laughter stopped when they watched the awkward attempts of these heroes to show off before the females, while they were unable entirely to conceal their fears of the silly sheep!

It was no very long time afterwards that an unfortunate accident happened to the little native child, Ballandella, who fell from a cart, and one of the wheels passing over, broke her thigh. On riding up to the spot, Major Mitchell found the widow, her mother, in great distress, lying in the dust, with her head under the limb of her unfortunate child. The doctor was ordered to set it immediately; but, from its being broken very near the socket, it was found difficult to bandage the limb so as to keep the bone in its place. Every possible care was taken of the child, and she bore the pain with admirable patience, though only four years old; while she gave a curious proof of her good sense at so early an age, by calling for “Majy” (the Major), as soon as she had met with the accident. Little Ballandella did very well, and was, after about two months’ time, fast recovering from her misfortune, when the widow, having been travelling all that time, and being now far distant from her own country, felt inclined to return; and was prepared to make nothing of swimming the broad waters of the Murray, the largest known river in New Holland, pushing the child before her floating upon a piece of bark, nor of any other difficulties which might oppose her in her journey homewards. No objections were offered to the woman’s departure, who appeared extremely attached to her daughter, and half afraid of being deprived of her. Indeed, it was a tempting opportunity of trying an experiment of the effect of education upon one of that race; for the little savage, who at first would prefer a snake or lizard to a piece of bread, had become so far civilised at length, as to prefer bread; and it began to cry bitterly on leaving its European friends. However, its absence from them was not to be a long one; for, on the third day, the widow returned again, carrying her child on her back, after the Australian fashion. She had seen, she stated, another tribe on the opposite side of the river, and they had inquired very angrily, who made the fires upon her side; after which, receiving no reply, (for she was afraid and had hid herself,) they danced a corrobory in a furious style, during which she and the child crept away, and had passed two nights without fire and in the rain.[80] The mother and her daughter received a kindly welcome, and were as well treated as before, notwithstanding the petty jealousy of some other natives, who, it was thought, had persuaded TurÀndurey to go, hoping thus to get a greater share of food for themselves. After this, the widow and Ballandella continued with the exploring party during almost the whole of the remainder of their expedition, making themselves serviceable in various ways. Sometimes they would give notice of the approach of the Major, upon his return from an excursion, long before he had reached the camp; their quick ears seemed sensible of the sound of horses’ feet at an astonishing distance, for so only could it be accounted for that the widow and her infant daughter, seated at the fire, were always the first to give notice of the Major’s approach. Sometimes TurÀndurey would employ herself in a less serious, though not less useful manner; for on such exploring expeditions the amusement of the men is a matter of the first importance. She would exercise her skill in mimicry or imitation, powers which the natives of New Holland possess to an amazing degree; and she thus occasionally amused the men by acting the part of their leader, taking angles, drawing from nature, and copying other occupations in which Major Mitchell was frequently engaged.

On the return of the expedition, it was found needful, from a scarcity of provisions, to divide into two parties, one of which was to proceed, under the leader, by forced marches home to Sydney, while the other was to remain behind until necessary supplies should be forwarded. The widow was among the party to be left; but on the morning of separation she was marked with white round the eyes,—the Australian token of mourning,—and the face of Ballandella was whitened also. This poor woman, who had cheerfully carried the child upon her back, when it was offered that both might be carried in the carts, and was as careful and affectionate as any mother could be, had at length determined to entrust to the Major the care of her daughter. He was pleased with this proof of confidence, and less unwilling to take the charge from the knowledge of the wretched state of slavery to which the native females are doomed. Besides, the poor child had suffered considerably by the accident that befel her while with the party of Englishmen, and she seemed to prefer their mode of living so much, that her mother at length despaired of being ever able to instruct her thoroughly in the mysteries of killing and eating snakes, lizards, rats, and similar food. The widow had been long enough with Europeans to learn how much more her sex was respected by civilised men than by savages; and it was with feelings of this nature, probably, that she entrusted her child to them, under the immediate care, however, of a native woman, the wife of Piper, the guide who had accompanied them through all the journey. A match was subsequently made between TurÀndurey and king Joey, one of the native chiefs, by which the good woman gained a handsome and comfortable settlement for an Australian. The child Ballandella was a welcome stranger to the Major’s own children, among whom she remained, conforming most willingly to the habits of domestic life, and showing a very promising aptness of understanding, until she was transferred, at the removal of the family to England, to the care of a friend; and the last mention made of Ballandella is, that she was able to read as well as any white child of the same age. Miago.—This last sketch of native character may serve to place in a striking, yet fair light, the perplexing situation of the half-civilised blacks, the strong inducements for them to relapse into barbarism again, and, consequently, the difficulty that stands in the way of their being thoroughly reclaimed. It is impossible to do this better than in the very words of Captain Grey.[81] “The officers of the Beagle took away with them a native of the name of Miago, who remained absent with them for several months. I saw him on the north-west coast, on board the Beagle, apparently perfectly civilised; he waited at the gun-room mess, was temperate, (never tasting spirits,) attentive, cheerful, and remarkably clean in his person. The next time I saw him was at Swan River, where he had been left on the return of the Beagle. He was then again a savage, almost naked, painted all over, and had been concerned in several murders. Several persons here told me,—‘You see the taste for a savage life was strong in him, and he took to the bush again directly.’ Let us pause for a moment and consider.

“Miago, when he was landed, had amongst the white people none who would be truly friends of his;—they would give him scraps from their table, but the very outcasts of the whites would not have treated him as an equal,—they had no sympathy with him,—he could not have married a white woman,—he had no certain means of subsistence open to him,—he never could have been either a husband or a father, if he had lived apart from his own people;—where, amongst the whites, was he to find one who would have filled for him the place of his black mother, whom he is much attached to? What white man would have been his brother? What white woman his sister? He had two courses left open to him,—he could either have renounced all natural ties, and have led a hopeless, joyless life among the whites, ever a servant, ever an inferior being; or he could renounce civilisation, and return to the friends of his childhood, and to the habits of his youth. He chose the latter course, and I think that I should have done the same.”