Chapter III (7)

The public journals denounced Gippsland, and said it was full of irregularities. Therefore, on September 13th, 1843, Charles J. Tyers was appointed Commissioner of Crown Lands for the district. He endeavoured to make his way overland to the scene of his future labours, but the mountains were discharging the accumulated waters of the winter and spring rainfall, every watercourse was full, and the marshes were impassable.

The commissioner waited, and then made a fresh start with six men and four baggage horses. Midway between Dandenong and the Bunyip he passed the hut of Big Mat, a new settler from Melbourne, and obtained from him some information about the best route to follow. It began to rain heavily, and it was difficult to ford the swollen creeks before arriving at the Big Hill. At Shady Creek there was nothing for the horses to eat, and beyond it the ground became treacherous and full of crabholes. At the Moe the backwater was found to be fully a quarter of a mile wide, encumbered with dead logs and scrub, and no safe place for crossing the creek could be found. During the night the famishing horses tore open with their teeth the packages containing the provisions, and before morning all that was left of the flour, tea, and sugar was trodden into the muddy soil and hopelessly lost; not an ounce of food could be collected. There was no game to be seen; every bird and beast seemed to have fled from the desolate ranges. Mr. Tyers had been for many years a naval instructor on board a man-of-war, understood navigation and surveying, and, it is to be presumed, knew the distance he had travelled and the course to be followed in returning to Port Philip; but there were valleys filled with impenetrable scrub, creeks often too deep to ford, and boundless morasses, so that the journey was made crooked with continual deviations. If a black boy like McMillan's Friday had accompanied the expedition, his native instinct would, at such a time, have been worth all the science in the world.

The seven men, breakfastless, turned their backs to Gippsland. The horses were already weak and nearly useless, so they and all the tents and camp equipage were abandoned. Each man carried nothing but his gun and ammunition. All day long they plodded wearily through the bush--wading the streams, climbing over the logs, and pushing their way through the scrub. Only two or three small birds were shot, which did not give, when roasted, a mouthful to each man.

At night a large fire was made, and the hungry travellers lay around it. Next morning they renewed their journey, Mr. Tyers keeping the men from straggling as much as he could, and cheering them with the hope of soon arriving at some station. No game was shot all that day; no man had a morsel of food; the guns and ammunition seemed heavy and useless, and one by one they were dropped. It rained at intervals, the clothing became soaked and heavy, and some of the men threw away their coats. A large fire was again made at night, but no one could sleep, shivering with cold and hunger.

Next morning one man refused to go any further, saying he might as well die where he was. He was a convict accustomed to life in the bush, and Mr. Tyers was surprised that he should be the first man to give way to despair, and partly by force and partly by persuasion he was induced to proceed. About midday smoke was seen in the distance, and the hope of soon obtaining food put new life into the wayfarers. But they soon made a long straggling line of march; the strongest in the front, the weakest in the rear.

The smoke issued from the chimney of the hut occupied by Big Mat. He was away looking after his cattle, but his wife Norah was inside, busy with her household duties, while the baby was asleep in the corner. There was a small garden planted with vegetables in front of the hut, and Norah, happening to look out of the window during the afternoon, saw a strange man pulling off the pea pods and devouring them. The strange man was Mr. Tyers. Some other men were also coming near.

"They are bushrangers," she said running to the door and bolting it, "and they'll rob the hut and maybe they'll murder me and the baby."

That last thought made her fierce. She seized an old Tower musket, which was always kept loaded ready for use, and watched the men through the window. They came into the garden one after another, and at once began snatching the peas and eating them. There was something fearfully wild and strange in the demeanour of the men, but Norah observed that they appeared to have no firearms and very little clothing. They never spoke, and seemed to take no notice of anything but the peas.

"The Lord preserve us," said Norah, "I wish Mat would come."

Her prayer was heard, for Mat came riding up to the garden fence with two cattle dogs, which began barking at the strangers. Mat said:

"Hello, you coves, is it robbing my garden ye are?"

Mr. Tyers looked towards Mat and spoke, but his voice was weak, his mouth full of peas, and Mat could not tell what he was saying. He dismounted, hung the bridle on to a post, and came into the garden. He looked at the men, and soon guessed what was the matter with them; he had often seen their complaint in Ireland.

"Poor craythurs," he said, "it's hungry ye are, and hunger's a killing disorder. Stop ating they pays to wonst, or they'll kill ye, and come into the house, and we'll give ye something better."

The men muttered, but kept snatching off the peas. Norah had unbolted the door, and was standing with the musket in her hand.

"Take away the gun, Norah, and put the big billy on the fire, and we'll give 'em something warm. The craythurs are starving. I suppose they are runaway prisoners, and small blame to 'em for that same, but we can't let 'em die of hunger."

The strangers had become quite idiotic, and wou'd not leave the peas, until Mat lost all patience, bundled them one by one by main force into his hut, and shut the door.

He had taken the pledge from Father Mathew before he left Ireland, and had kept it faithfully; but he was not strait-laced. He had a gallon of rum in the hut, to be used in case of snake-bite and in other emergencies, and he now gave each man a little rum and water, and a small piece of damper.

Rum was a curse to the convicts, immigrants, and natives. Its average price was then about 4s. 3d. per gallon. The daily ration of a soldier consisted of one pound of bread, one pound of fresh meat, and one-seventh of a quart of rum. But on this day, to Mr. Tyers and his men, the liquor was a perfect blessing. He was sitting on the floor with his back to the slabs.

"You don't know me, Mat?"

"Know ye, is it? Sure I never clapped eyes on ye before, that I know of. Are ye runaway Government men? Tell the truth, now, for I am not the man to turn informer agin misfortunate craythurs like yourselves."

"My name is Tyers. I passed this way, you may remember, not very long ago."

"What! Mr. Tyers, the commissioner? Sure I didn't know you from Adam. So ye never went to Gippsland at all?"

"Our horses got at the provisions and spoiled them; so we had to come back, and we have had nothing to eat for three days. There is one man somewhere behind yet; I am afraid he will lie down and die. Do you think you could find him?"

"For the love of mercy, I'll try, anyway. Norah, dear, take care of the poor fellows while I go and look for the other man; and mind, only to give 'em a little food and drink at a time, or they'll kill their wake stomachs with greediness; and see you all do just as Norah tells you while I'm away, for you are no better than childer."

Mat galloped away to look for the last man, while his wife watched over the welfare of her guests. She said:

"The Lord save us, and be betune us and harm, but when I seen you in the garden I thought ye were bushrangers, and I took up the ould gun to shoot ye."

Mat soon found the last man, put him on his horse, and brought him to the hut. Next morning he yoked his bullocks, put all his guests into the dray, and started for Dandenong. On December 23rd, 1843, Mr. Tyers and his men arrived in Melbourne, and he reported to Mr. Latrobe the failure of his second attempt to reach Gippsland.

While the commissioner and his men were vainly endeavouring to reach the new country, seven other men were suffering famine and extreme hardships to get away from it. They had arrived at the Old Port by sea, having been engaged to strip bark by Mr. P. W. Walsh, usually known in Melbourne as Paddy Walsh. He had been chief constable in Launceston. Many years before Batman or Fawkner landed in Port Philip, parties of whalers were sent each year to strip wattle bark at Western Port. Griffiths and Co. had found the business profitable, and Paddy Walsh came to the conclusion that there was money to be made out of bark in Gippsland. He therefore engaged seven men and shipped them by schooner, writing to a storekeeper at the Old Port to receive the bark, ship it to Melbourne, and supply the strippers with the requisite stores.

The seven men landed at the Old Port and talked to the pioneers. They listened to their dismal accounts of starvation on roast flathead and mutton-birds' eggs, of the ferocity of the blacks, of the murder of Macalister, of the misfortunes of Glengarry. The nine-pounder gun still stood at the corner of the company's store, pointed towards the scrub, a silent warning to the new men of the dangers in store for them. They took their guns and went about the bush looking for wattle trees, but they could not find in any place a sufficient quantity to make the business profitable. There was no regular employment to be had, but fortunately the schooner 'Scotia', chartered by John King, went ashore in a gale, and four of the barkers, all Irishmen obtained a few days' work in taking out her mud ballast. But no permanent livelihood could be expected from shipwrecks, and the seven strippers resolved, if possible, to return to Melbourne. They wanted to see Paddy Walsh once more, but they had no money, and the storekeeper refused to pay their fare by sea. After much negotiation, they obtained a week's rations, and gave all the tools they had brought with them to Captain Davy in payment for his trouble in landing them at One Tree Hill. They were informed that Brodribb and Hobson had made Western Port in four days on foot, and of course they could do the same. Four of the men were named Crow, Sparrow, Fox, and Macnamara; of the other three two were Englishmen, Smith and Brown; the third, a native of London, named Spiller, installed himself in the office of captain on account of his superior knowledge. He guaranteed to lead the party in a straight line to Western Port. He said he could box the compass; he had not one about him, but that made no difference. He would lay out their course every morning; they had to travel westward; the sun rose in the east, everybody knew as much as that; so all he had to do was to turn his back to the rising sun, and march straight on to Western Port which was situated in the west. The men agreed that Spiller's theory was a very good one; they could not think of any objection to it.

Each man carried his blanket and rations, his gun and ammunition. Every morning Spiller pointed out the course to be taken and led the way. From time to time, with a look of extreme wisdom, he took observations of the position of the sun, and studied the direction of his own shadow on the ground. For five days the men followed him with great confidence, and then they found that their rations were all consumed, and there was no sign of Western Port or any settlement. They began to grumble, and to mistrust their captain; they said he must have been leading them astray, otherwise they would have seen some sign of the country being inhabited, and they formed a plan for putting Spiller's knowledge of inland navigation to the test.

A start was made next morning, the cockney as usual, taking the lead. One man followed him, but kept losing ground purposely, merely keeping the leader in sight; the others did the same. Before the last man had lost sight of the camp, he could see Spiller in the distance walking towards it. He then uttered a long coo-ee, which was answered by every man of the party. They thought some valuable discovery had been made. One by one they followed the call and were soon assembled at the still burning embers they had lately left.

"A nice navigator you are, ain't you, Spiller? Do you know where you are now?" asked Brown.

"Well, I must say there seems to be some mistake," said Spiller. "I came along when I heard the coo-ee, and found myself here. It is most unaccountable. Here is where we camped last night, sure enough. It is most surprising."

"Yes, it is surprising," said Smith. "You know the compass, don't you, you conceited little beggar. You can box it and make a bee-line for Western Port, can't you? Here you have been circussing us round the country, nobody knows where, until we have not a morsel of food left; but if I am to be starved to death through you, you miserable little hound, I am not going to leave you alive. What do you say, mates? Let us kill him and eat him. I'll do the job myself if nobody else likes it. I say nothing could be fairer."

Sparrow, one of the Irishmen, spoke. He was a spare man, six feet high, had a long thin face, a prominent nose, sloping shoulders, mild blue eyes, and a most gentle voice. I knew him after he returned to Gippsland and settled there. He was averse to quarrelling and fighting; and, to enable him to lead a peaceable life, he carried a short riding whip with a hammer handle, and kept the lash twisted round his hand. He was a conscientious man too, and had a strong moral objection to the proposal of killing and eating Spiller; but he did not want to offend the company, and he made his refusal as mild as possible.

"It's a think I wouldn't like to quarrel about with no man," he said, "and the Lord knows I am as hungry as any of you; and if we die through this misleading little chap I couldn't say but he would be guilty of murdering us, and we might be justified in making use of what little there is of him. But for my part I couldn't take my share of the meat--not to-day at any rate, because you may disremember it's Friday, and it's agen the laws of the Church to ate meat this day. So I'd propose that we wait till to-morrow, and if we grow very wake with the hunger, we can make use of the dog to stay our stomachs a little while longer, and something better may turn up in the meantime."

"Is it to cook my dog Watch you mean?" asked Crow. (Here Watch went to his master, and lay down at his feet, looking up in his face and patting the ground with his tail.) "I tell you what it is, Sparrow, you are not going to ate my dog. What has the poor fellow done to you, I'd like to know? You may cook Spiller if you like, to-day or to-morrow, it's all the same to me--and I grant he well deserves it --but if you meddle with Watch you'll have to deal with me."

"It's no use going on this way, mates," said Brown. "We might as well be moving while we have strength enough to do so. Come along."

The men began to rise to their feet. Macnamara suddenly snatched Spiller's gun, and fired off both barrels; he then said, "Now hand over your shot and powder." Spiller, half scared to death, handed them over.

"Now," said Macnamara, "you are my prisoner. I am going to take care of you until you are wanted; and if I see you so much as wink the wrong way I'll blow your brains out, if you have any. Here's your empty gun. Now march."

All the men followed. The country was full of scrub, and they walked through it in Indian file. Not a bird or beast was killed that day or the next. A consultation was held at night, and it was agreed to kill Watch in the morning if nothing else turned up, Crow by this time being too hungry to say another word in favour of his dog. But at daylight an eaglehawk was watching them from a tree, and Brown shot it. It was soon put in the ashes, and when cooked was divided among the seven.

On the eighth day Macnamara said, "I can smell the ocean." His name means "sons of the sea," and he was born and reared on the shore of the Atlantic. Sand hummocks were soon seen, and the roar of the breakers beyond could be heard. Two redbills were shot and eaten, and Spiller and Watch were kept for future use. On the ninth day they shot a native bear, which afforded a sumptuous repast, and gave them strength to travel two days longer. When they camped at night a tribe of blacks made a huge fire within a short distance, howling their war songs, and brandishing their weapons. It was impossible to sleep or to pass a peaceful night with such neighbours, so they crawled nearer to the savages and fired a volley at them. Then there was silence, which lasted all night. Next morning they found a number of spears and other weapons which the blacks had left on the ground; these they threw into the fire, and then resumed their miserable journey. On this day cattle tracks were visible, and at last, completely worn out, they arrived at Chisholm's station, eleven days after leaving One Tree Hill. They still carried their guns, and had no trouble in obtaining food during the rest of their journey to Melbourne.

At the same time that Mr. Tyers reported his failure to reach Gippsland, the seven men reported to Walsh their return from it. The particulars of these interviews may be imagined, but they were never printed, Mr. John Fawkner, with unusual brevity, remarking that "Gippsland appears to be sinking into obscurity."

Some time afterwards it was stated that "a warrant had been issued for Mr P. Walsh, formerly one of our leading merchants, on a charge of fraud committed in 1843. Warrant returned 'non est inventus'; but whether he has left the colony, or is merely rusticating, does not appear. Being an uncertificated bankrupt, it would be a rather dangerous experiment, punishable by law with transportation for fifteen years."

But Mr. Tyers could not afford to allow Gippsland to sink into obscurity; his official life and salary depended on his finding it. A detachment of border and native police had arrived from Sydney by the 'Shamrock', and some of them were intended as a reinforcement for Gippsland, "to strengthen the hands of the commissioner in putting down irregularities that at present exist there."

Dr. Holmes was sending a mob of cattle over the mountains, and Mr. Tyers ordered his troopers to travel with them, arranging to meet them at the head of the Glengarry river. He avoided this time all the obstacles he had formerly encountered by making a sea voyage, and he landed at Port Albert on the 13th day of January, 1844.

GIPPSLAND UNDER THE LAW.

As soon as it was known at the Old Port that a Commissioner of Crown Lands had arrived, Davy, the pilot, hoisted a flag on his signal staff, and welcomed the representative of law and order with one discharge from the nine-pounder. He wanted to be patriotic, as became a free-born Briton. But he was very sorry afterwards; he said he had made a mistake. The proper course would have been to hoist the flag at half-mast, and to fire minute guns, in token of the grief of the pioneers for the death of freedom.

Mr. Tyers rode away with a guide, found his troopers at the head of the Glengarry, and returned with them over Tom's Cap. He camped on the Tarra, near the present Brewery Bridge, and his black men at night caught a number of blackfish, which were found to be most excellent.

Next day the commissioner entered on his official duties, and began to put down irregularities. He rode to the Old Port, and halted his men in front of the company's store. All the inhabitants soon gathered around him. He said to the storekeeper:

"My name is Tyers. I am the Commissioner of Crown Lands. I want to see your license for this store."

"This store belongs to the Port Albert Company," replied John Campbell. "We have no license, and never knew one was required in such a place as this."

"You are, then, in illegal occupation of Crown lands, and unless you pay me twenty pounds for a license I am sorry to say it will be my duty to destroy your store," said Mr. Tyers.

There were two other stores, and a similar demand was made at each of them for the 20 pounds license fee, which was paid after some demur, and the licenses were signed and handed to the storekeepers.

Davy's hut was the next visited.

"Who owns this building?" asked Mr. Tyers.

"I do," said Davy. "I put it up myself."

"Have you a license?"

"No, I have not. Never was asked for one since I came here, and I don't see why I should be asked for one now."

"Well, I ask you now. You are in illegal occupation of Crown lands, and you must pay me twenty pounds, or I shall have to destroy your hut."

"I hav'nt got the twenty pounds," Davy said: "never had as much money in my life; and I wouldn't pay it to you if I had it. I would like to know what right the Government, or anybody else, has to ask me for twenty pounds for putting up a hut on this sandbank? I have been here with my family pretty nigh on to three years; sometimes nearly starved to death, living a good deal of the time on birds, and 'possums, and roast flathead; and what right, in the name of common sense, has the Government to send you here to make me pay twenty pounds? What has the Government done for me or anybody else in Gippsland? They have already taken every penny they could get out of the settlers, and, as far as I know, have not spent one farthing on this side of the mountains. They did not even know there was such a country till McMillan found it. It belonged to the blacks. There was nobody else here when we came, and if we pay anybody it should be the blackfellows. Besides, if I had had stock, and money enough to take up a run, I could have had the pick of Gippsland, twenty square miles, for ten pounds; and because I am a poor man you want me to pay twenty pounds for occupying a few yards of sand. Where is the sense of that, I'd like to know? If you are an honest Englishman, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for coming here with your troopers and carbines and pistols on such a business, sticking up a poor man for twenty pounds in the name of the Government. Why, no bushrangers could do worse than that."

"You are insolent, my man. If you don't pay the money at once I'll give you just ten minutes to clear out, and then I shall order my men to burn down your hut. You will find that you can't defy the Government with impunity."

"Burn away, if you like, and much good may it do you." Pointing to his whaleboat on the beach, "There's the ship I came here in from Melbourne, and that's the ship I shall go back in, and you daren't hinder me."

Mr. Reeve was present, watching the proceedings and listening. He had influential friends in Sydney, had a station at Snake Ridge, a special survey on the Tarra, and he felt that it would be advisable to pour oil on the troubled waters. He said:

"I must beg of you, Mr. Tyers, to excuse Davy. He is our pilot, and there is no man in Gippsland better qualified for that post, nor one whose services have been so useful to the settlers both here and at the lakes. We have already requested the Government to appoint him pilot at the port; we are expecting a reply shortly, and it will be only reasonable that he should be allowed a site for his hut."

"You see, Mr. Reeve, I must do my duty," said Mr. Tyers, "and treat all alike. I cannot allow one man to remain in illegal occupation, while I expel the others."

"The settlers cannot afford to lose their pilot, and I will give you my cheque for the twenty pounds," said Mr. Reeve.

"Twelve months afterwards the cheque was sent back from Sydney, and Mr. Reeve made a present of it to Davy.

"At this time the public journals used very strong language in their comments on the action of Governors and Government officials, and complaint was made in the House of Commons that the colonial press was accustomed to use "a coarseness of vituperation and harshness of expression towards all who were placed in authority." But gentlemen were still civil to one another, except on rare occasions, and then their language was a strong as that of the journals, e.g.:

"I, Arthur Huffington, surgeon, residing at the station of Mr. W. Bowman, on the Ovens River, do hereby publicly proclaim George Faithful, settler on the King River, to be a malicious liar and a coward.

"Ovens River, March 6th, 1844.

"You will find a copy of the above posted at every public-house between the Ovens and Melbourne, and at the corner of every street in the town."

This defiance could not escape the notice of the lawyers, and they soon got the matter into their own hands.

Huffington brought an action of trespass on the case for libel against Faithful, damages 2,000 pounds.

It was all about branding a female calf; "duffing it" was the vulgar term, and to call a settler "duffer" was more offensive than if you called him a murderer.

Mr. Stawell opened the pleadings, brushing up the fur of the two tiger cats thus:

"Here you have Mr. Faithful--the son of his father--the pink of superintendents--the champion of Crown Lands Commissioners--the fighting man of the plains of Goulburn--the fastidious Beau Brummel of the Ovens River,"--and so on. Arthur and George were soon sorry they had not taken a shot at each other in a paddock.

The calf was a very valuable animal--to the learned counsel. On January 30th, 1844, Davy became himself an officer of the Government he had denounced so fiercely, being appointed pilot at Port Albert by Sir George Gipps, who graciously allowed him to continue the receipt of the fee already charged, viz., three pounds for each vessel inwards and outwards.

There were eight other huts on the sandbank, but as not one of the occupants was able to pay twenty pounds, their names are not worth mentioning. After making a formal demand for the money, and giving the trespassers ten minutes to take their goods away, Mr. Tyers ordered his men to set the buildings on fire, and in a short time they were reduced to ashes. The commissioner then rode back to his camp with the eighty pounds, and wrote a report to the Government of the successful inauguration of law and order within his jurisdiction, and of the energetic manner in which he had commenced to put down the irregularities prevalent in Gippsland.

The next duty undertaken by the commissioner was to settle disputes about the boundaries of runs, and he commenced with those of Captain Macalister, who complained of encroachments. To survey each run with precision would take up much time and labour, so a new mode of settlement was adopted. By the regulations in force no single station was to consist of more than twenty square miles of area, unless the commissioner certified that more was required for stock possessed by applicant. This regulation virtually left everything to the goodwill and pleasure of the commissioner, who first decided what number of square miles he would allot to a settler, then mounted his horse, to whose paces he was accustomed, and taking his compass with him, he was able to calculate distances by the rate of speed of his horse almost as accurately as if he had measured them with a chain. These distances he committed to paper, and he gave to every squatter whose run he thus surveyed a description of his boundaries, together with a tracing from a chart of the district, which he began to make. He allotted to Captain Macalister all the country which he claimed, and a dispute between Mr. William Pearson and Mr. John King was decided in favour of the latter.

It was reported in Sydney that Mr. Tyers was rather difficult of access, but it was believed he had given satisfaction to all and everyone with whom he had come in contact, except those expelled from the Old Port, and a few squatters who did not get as much land as they wanted. There were also about a hundred escaped prisoners in the country, but these never complained that the commissioner was difficult of access.

The blacks were still troublesome, and I heard Mr. Tyers relate the measures taken by himself and his native police to suppress their irregularities. He was informed that some cattle had been speared, and he rode away with his force to investigate the complaint. He inspected the cattle killed or wounded, and then directed his black troopers to search for tracks, and this they did willingly and well. Traces of natives were soon discovered, and their probable hiding-place in the scrub was pointed out to Mr. Tyers. He therefore dismounted, and directing two of his black troopers armed with carbines to accompany him, he held a pistol in each hand and walked cautiously into the scrub. The two black troopers discharged their carbines. The commissioner had seen nothing to shoot at, but his blacks soon showed him two of the natives a few yards in front, both mortally wounded. Mr. Tyers sent a report of the affair to the Government, and that was the end of it.

This manner of dealing with the native difficulty was adopted in the early days, and is still used under the name of "punitive expeditions." That judge who prayed to heaven in his wig and robes of office, said that the aborigines were subjects of the Queen, and that it was a mercy to them to be under her protection. The mercy accorded to them was less than Jedburgh justice: they were shot first, and not even tried afterwards.

The settlers expelled from the sandbank at the Old Port required some spot on which they could put up their huts without giving offence to the superior powers. The Port Albert Company excised a township from their special survey, and called it Victoria; Mr. Robert Turnbull bought 160 acres, the present Port Albert, at 1 pound per acre, and offered sites for huts to the homeless at the rate of 1 pound per annum, on the condition that they carried on no business. The stores were removed from the Old Port to the new one, and the first settlement in Gippsland was soon again overgrown with scrub and ferns. Mr. Reeve offered farms to the industrious at the rental of one bushel of wheat to the acre. For some time the township of Tarraville was a favourite place of residence, because the swamps which surrounded Port Albert were impassable for drays during the winter months; the roads to Maneroo and Melbourne mentioned in Mr. Reeve's advertisement were as yet in the clouds. Captain Moore came from Sydney in the revenue cutter 'Prince George' to look for smugglers, but he did not find any. He was afterwards appointed collector for Gippsland, and he came down again from Sydney with a boat's crew of six prisoners, a free coxswain, and a portable house, in which he sate for the receipt of Customs.

For a time the commissioner resided at Tarraville, and then he went to the lakes and surveyed a township at Flooding Creek, now called Sale. His black troopers were in some cases useful, in others they were troublesome; they indulged in irregularities; there was no doubt that they drank rum procured in some inexplicable manner. They could not be confined in barracks, or remain continually under the eye of their chief, and it was not always possible to discover in what manner they spent their leisure hours. But occasionally some evidence of their exploits came to light, and Mr. Tyers became aware that his black police considered themselves as living among hostile tribes, in respect of whom they had a double duty to perform, viz., to track cattle spearers at the order of their chief, and on their own account to shoot as many of their enemies as they could conveniently approach.

There were now ladies as well as gentlemen in Gippsland, and one day the commissioner sailed away in his boat with a select party. After enjoying the scenery and the summer breezes for a few hours, he cast his eyes along the shore in search of some romantic spot on which to land. Dead wood and dry sticks were extremely scarce, as the blacks used all they could find at their numerous camps. He was at length so fortunate as to observe a brown pile of decayed branches, and he said, "I think we had better land over there; that deadwood will make a good fire"; and the boat was steered towards it. But when it neared the land the air was filled with a stench so horrible that Mr. Tyers at once put the boat about, and went away in another direction. Next day he visited the spot with his police, and he found that the dead wood covered a large pile of corpses of the natives shot by his own black troopers, and he directed them to make it a holocaust.

The white men brought with them three blessings for the natives-- rum, bullets, and blankets. The blankets were a free gift by the Government, and proved to the eyes of all men that our rule was kind and charitable. The country was rightfully ours; that was decided by the Supreme Court; we were not obliged to pay anything for it, but out of pure benignity we gave the lubras old gowns, and the black men old coats and trousers; the Government added an annual blanket, and thus we had good reason to feel virtuous.

We also appointed a protector of the aborigines, Mr. G. A. Robinson, at a salary of 500 pounds per annum. He took up his residence on the then sweet banks of the Yarra, and made excursions in various directions, compiling a dictionary. He started on a tour in the month of April, 1844, making Alberton his first halting-place, and intending to reach Twofold Bay by way of Omeo. But he found the country very difficult to travel; he had to swim his horse over many rivers, and finally he returned to Melbourne by way of Yass, having added no less than 8,000 words to his vocabulary of the native languages. But the public journals spoke of his labours and his dictionary with contempt and derision. They said, "Pshaw! a few mounted police, well armed, would effect more good among the aborigines in one month than the whole preaching mob of protectors in ten years."

When a race of men is exterminated somebody ought to bear the blame, and the easiest way is to lay the fault at the door of the dead; they never reply.

When every blackfellow in South Gippsland, except old Darriman, was dead, Mr. Tyers explained his experience with the Government blankets. They were now no longer required, as Darriman could obtain plenty of old clothes from charitable white men. It had been the commissioner's duty to give one blanket annually to each live native, and thus that garment became to him the Queen's livery, and an emblem of civilisation; it raised the savage in the scale of humanity and encouraged him to take the first step in the march of progress. His second step was into the grave. The result of the gift of blankets was that the natives who received them ceased to clothe themselves with the skins of the kangaroo, the bear or opossum. The rugs which they had been used to make for themselves would keep out the rain, and in them they could pass the wettest night or day in their mia-mias, warm and dry. But the blankets we kindly gave them by way of saving our souls were manufactured for the colonial market, and would no more resist the rain than an old clothes-basket. The consequence was that when the weather was cold and wet, the blackfellow and his blanket were also cold and wet, and he began to shiver; inflammation attacked his lungs, and rheumatism his limbs, and he soon went to that land where neither blankets nor rugs are required. Mr. Tyers was of opinion that more blacks were killed by the blankets than by rum and bullets.

Government in Gippsland was advancing. There were two justices of the peace, the commissioner, black and white police, a collector of customs, a pilot, and last of all, a parson--parson Bean--who quarrelled with his flock on the question of education. The sheep refused to feed the shepherd; he had to shake the dust off his feet, and the salvation of souls was, as usual, postponed to a more convenient season. At length Mr. Latrobe himself undertook to pay a visit to Gippsland. He was a splendid horseman, had long limbs like King Edward Longshanks, and was in the habit of making dashing excursions with a couple of troopers to take cursory views of the country. He set out in the month of May, 1844, and was introduced to the settlers in the following letter by "a brother squatter":

"Gentlemen, look out. The jackal of your oppressor has started on a tour. For what purpose? To see the isolated and miserable domiciles you occupy and the hard fare on which you subsist? No! but to see if the oppressor can further apply the screw with success and impunity. You have located yourselves upon lands at the risk of life and property, paying to the Government in license and assessment fees for protection which you have never received, and your quiesence under such a system of robbery has stimulated your oppressor to levy on you a still greater amount of taxation, not to advance your interests, but to replenish his exhausted treasury. Should you strain your impoverished exchequer to entertain your (in a family sense) worthy superintendent, depend upon it he will recommend a more severe application of the screw. Give him, therefore, your ordinary fare, salt junk and damper, or scabby mutton, with a pot of Jack the Painter's tea, in a black pot stirred with a greasy knife."

Mr. Latrobe and Sir George bore all the weight of public abuse, and it was heavy. Now it is divided among many Ministers, each of whom carries his share with much patience, while our Governor's days in the "Sunny South" are "days of pleasantness, and all his paths are peace."

No gentleman could accept hospitality like that suggested by "a brother squatter," and Mr. Latrobe sought refuge at the Port Albert Hotel, Glengarry's imported house. Messrs. Tyers, Raymond, McMillan, Macalister, and Reeve were pitching quoits at the rear of the building under the lee of the ti-tree scrub. Davy, the pilot, was standing near on duty, looking for shipping with one eye and at the game with the other. The gentlemen paused to watch the approaching horsemen. Mr. Latrobe had the royal gift of remembering faces once seen; and he soon recognised all those present, even the pilot whom he had seen when he first arrived in Melbourne. He shook hands with everyone, and enquired of Davy how he was getting on with the piloting. He said: "Now gentlemen, go on with your game. I like quoits myself and I should be sorry to interrupt you." Then he went into the hotel and stayed there until morning. He no doubt obtained some information from Mr. Tyers and his friends, but he went no further into the country. Next morning he started with his two troopers on his return to Melbourne, and the other gentlemen mounted their horses to accompany him; but the "worthy superintendent" rode so fast that he left everyone behind and was soon out of sight, so his intended escort returned to port. Mr. Latrobe's view of Gippsland was very cursory.

Rabbit Island was stocked with rabbits in 1839 by Captain Wishart, the whaler. In 1840 he anchored his barque, the 'Wallaby', in Lady's Bay, and lanced his last whale off Horn Point. A great, grey shark happened to be cruising about the whaling ground, the taste of blood was on the sea, and he followed the wounded whale; until, going round in her flurry, she ran her nose against Wishart's boat and upset it. Then the shark saw strange animals in the water which he had never seen before. He swam under them and sniffed at their tarry trousers, until they landed on the rocks: all but one, Olav Pedersen, a strong man but a slow swimmer. A fin arose above the water between Olav and the shore. He knew what that meant, and his heart failed him. Three times he called for help and Wishart threw off his wet clothes and plunged into the sea. The shark was attracted to the naked captain, and he bit a piece out of one leg. Both bodies were recovered; that of Wishart was taken to Hobarton, and Olav was buried on the shore at the foot of a gum tree. His epitaph was painted on a board nailed to the tree, and was seen by one of the pioneers on his first voyage to the Old Port in 1841.

Before Gippsland was brought under the law, Rabbit Island was colonised by two whalers named Page and Yankee Jim, and Page's wife and baby. They built a bark hut, fenced in a garden with a rabbit-proof fence, and planted it with potatoes. Their base of supplies for groceries was at the Old Port.

They were monarchs of all they surveyed, From the centre all round to the sea.

They paid no rent and no taxes. Sometimes they fished, or went to the seal islands and brought back seal skins. In the time of the potato harvest, and when that of the mutton birds drew near, there were signs of trouble coming from the mainland. Fires were visible on the shore at night, and smoke by day; and Page suspected that the natives were preparing to invade the island. At length canoes appeared bobbing up and down on the waves, but a shot from the rifle sent them back to the shore. For three days and nights no fire or smoke was seen, and the two whalers ceased to keep watch. But early next morning voices were heard from the beach below the hut; the blacks were trying to launch the boat. Page and Jim shouted at them and went down the cliff; then the blacks ran away up the rocks, and were quickly out of sight. Presently Mrs. page came running out of the hut half dressed, and carrying her baby; she said she heard the blacks jabbering in the garden. In a short time the hut was in a blaze, and was soon burned to the ground. The two men then launched their boat and went to the Port. Davy shipped a crew of six men, and started in his whaleboat for the island; but the wind was blowing hard from the west, and they did not arrive at the island until next day. The blacks had then all disappeared; and, as the men wanted something to eat, Davy told them to dig up some potatoes, while he went and shot six rabbits. When he returned with his game, the men said they could not find any potatoes. He said, "That's all nonsense," and went himself to the garden; but he could not find one potato. The blackfellows had shipped the whole crop in their canoes, so that there was nothing but rabbit for breakfast.

In this manner the reign of the Page dynasty came to an abrupt termination. The baby heir-apparent grew up to man's estate as a private citizen, and became a fisherman at Williamstown.

UNTIL THE GOLDEN DAWN.

After Mr. Latrobe's short visit to Port Albert, Gippsland was for many years ruled by Mr. Tyers with an authority almost royal. Davy, after his first rebellious outburst at the burning of the huts, and his subsequent appointment as pilot, retired to the new Port Albert and avoided as much as possible the haunts of the commissioner. On the salt water he was almost as powerful and imperious as was his rival by land. He ruled over all ships and shipwrecks, and allowed no man to say him nay.

Long Mason, the first overseer of Woodside Station, took over a cargo of fat cattle to Hobarton for his brother. After receiving the cash for the cattle he proceeded to enjoy himself after the fashion of the day. The shepherd knocked down his cheque at the nearest groggery and then returned to his sheep full of misery. Long Mason had nearly 300 pounds, and he acted the part of the prodigal brother. He soon made troops of friends, dear brethren and sisters, on whom he lavished his coin; he hired a band of wandering minstrels to play his favourite music, and invited the beauty an chivalry of the convict capital to join him in his revels. When his money was expended he was put on board a schooner bound for Port Albert, on which Davis (of Yarram) and his family were passengers. For two days he lay in his bunk sick and suffering. As the vessel approached the shore his misery was intense. He demanded drink, but no one would give him any. He began to search his pockets for coin, but of the 300 pounds only one solitary sixpence was left. With this he tried to bribe the cabin boy to find for him one last taste of rum; but the boy said, "All the grog is locked up, and the captain would welt me if I gave you a single drop."

So Long Mason landed at the Port with his sixpence, was dismissed by his brother from Woodside Station, and became a wandering swagman.

The next overseer for Woodside voyaged to Port Albert in the brig 'Isabella' in the month of June, 1844. This vessel had been employed in taking prisoners to Macquarie Harbour and Port Arthur until the government built a barque called the 'Lady Franklin'; then Captain Taylor bought the brig for the cattle trade. On this voyage he was anxious to cross the bar for shelter from a south-east gale, and he did not wait for the pilot, although the vessel was deeply laden; there was not water enough for her on the old bar; she struck on it, and the heavy easterly sea threw her on the west bank. It was some time before the pilot and his two men could get aboard, as they had to fight their way through the breakers to leeward. There was too much sea for the boat to remain in safety near the ship, and Davy asked the captain to lend him a hand to steer the boat back to Sunday Island. The second mate went in her, but she was capsized directly. The ship's boat was hanging on the weather davits, and it was no use letting her down to windward on account of the heavy sea. Davy ran out to the end of the jibboom with a lead line. He could see the second mate hanging on to the keel of the capsized boat, and his two men in the water. The ebb sea kept washing them out, and the heavy sea threw them back again, and whenever they could get their heads above water they shouted for help. Davy threw the lead towards them from the end of the jibboom, but they were too far away for the line to reach them. At length the ship's boat was launched to leeward, four men and the mate got into her, but by this time the two boatmen were drowned. While the ship's boat was running through the breakers past the pilot boat, the first mate grabbed the second mate by the collar, held on to him until they were in smooth water, and then hauled him in. It was too dangerous for the seamen to face the breakers again, so the pilot sang out to them to go to Snake Island.

About two o'clock in the afternoon the vessel lay pretty quiet on the ebb tide; a fire was lighted in the galley, and all hands had something to eat. There was not much water in the cabin; but, as darkness set in, and the flood tide made, the seas began to come aboard. There was a heavy general cargo in the hold, six steerage passengers, four men and two women (one of whom had a baby), and one cabin passenger, who was going to manage Woodside Station in place of Long Mason, dismissed.

The sea began to roll over the bulwarks, and the brig was fast filling with water. For some time the pumps were kept going, but the water gained on them, and all hands had to take to the rigging. The two women and the baby were first helped up to the foretop; then the pilot, counting the men, found one missing.

"Captain," he said, "what has become of the new manager?"

"Oh, he is lying in his bunk half-drunk."

"Then," replied Davy, "he'll be drowned!"

He descended into the cabin and found the man asleep, with the water already on a level with his berth.

"Why the blazes don't you get up and come out of this rat-hole?" he said. "Don't you see you are going to be drowned?"

The manager looked up and smiled.

"Please, don't be so unkind, my dear man," he replied. "Let me sleep a little longer, and then I'll go on deck."

Davy standing with the water up to his belt, grew mad.

"Come out of that, you confounded fool," he said.

He dragged him out of his bunk into the water, and hauled him up the companion ladder, and with the help of the men took him up the rigging, and lashed him there out of reach of the breakers.