Having shewn the possibility of conciliation, Mr. Robinson declined the further risk of his life, except on terms which would place his family beyond the reach of want. The Governor fully met his just claims, providing pensions for his wife and children, in case of his death, and promising £1,000,—£300 in hand, and the rest when all should be brought in. It was understood, that the future government of the aborigines should be entrusted to his charge, when the mission had realised its intention. The Governor granted all his requests, and spared no expense to ensure his success. The task was not accomplished for several years, but from this time the natives at large rarely appeared, and the colonists enjoyed that repose to which they so long had been strangers. His labours were attended with various and unusual perils. It was the custom of the men belonging to the Circular Head establishment, to approach the native fires, and destroy all they could not capture. One night, Robinson, with his black attendants, were on a point of land six miles from the establishment: the people were attracted by the smoke, when turning accidentally, he saw seven men cautiously creeping round: they had levelled their muskets: but for an instant recognition of his voice, his labours and his life would probably have ended.

Mr. Robinson had learned, that a large party were approaching Arthur River, on their way to their own country, and returning from a warlike expedition against those recently captured. He resolved to send four friendly blacks, and three recent converts, to open a communication with this tribe: they were to make signals, if successful. Two days after, the sign was given. On reaching the farther bank, he saw the wild natives coming towards him with their waddies and spears. He proposed that they should re-cross with him: they, however, desired him to remain, promising to hunt for his entertainment. He consented, and made them presents; but he left his son, and a small party, in the rear. He was alarmed at night by a friendly native, who being acquainted with one of the hostile tribe, had learned that it was intended to murder him and his people. Robinson concealed his knowledge from his companions, lest their fears should be too powerful to suffer their remaining with him. The assassins extinguished their own fires, but did not lie down to sleep: Robinson kept his burning brightly, that he might watch their movement. They were earnestly chattering, and were trimming their weapons, while one of their number insisted upon the cruelty of killing the white man! On Robinson's rising, the whole seized their spears—one grasped in their right hand, and a bundle in their left. The dogs of Robinson's party had been secured, and their spears removed; they, however, escaped, and he was left alone. In a moment, he darted into the scrub: at this retreat, they seemed struck with astonishment; and quickly covered by the thicket, their spears did not reach him. On clearing the scrub, he hastened to Arthur River, and crossed on a floating tree. At this instant, the natives reached the bank: he was soon joined by his own friends, and confronted the hostile party, who stood on the opposite bank flourishing their spears. Robinson cried out, that he forgave their conduct, and offered them his protection. This induced a girl and two men to join him; but his situation was perilous, and having made fires, as if for signals, he hastened away, to deposit the proselytes in safety.

This tribe continued at large until 1834. They had determined never to be taken—to subsist upon the quoib (badger), and to perish rather than yield. Finding Mr. Robinson in pursuit, they endeavoured to elude his search by false direction sticks. The blacks in his company dreaded an ambush, and declared that they should all be slain, if they proceeded further, now that their pursuit was known to the hostile tribe. Mr. Robinson, however, resolved to persevere, and soothed their fears. The march was long and harassing, the natives having divided into three parties, the better to escape. They were captured: eight in February, three in March, and in April, nine; and were embarked at Circular Head for Launceston, and thence to Flinders' Island.

The Governor warmly congratulated the colony on its deliverance, but the numbers that remained were greater than he imagined. The abolition of martial law was deemed by some to be premature. Twenty were captured in 1834, and seventeen in 1835. Mr. Robinson, after nine months pursuit, came up with the small relics which were known to be still at large, in Middlesex Plains, and found one man, four women, and two children: they had travelled as far as the head of the Derwent. Two men, sent by Robinson with despatches from the place of their capture, were lost in the bush, and perished. It was now announced, that no more aborigines were at large: in this, both Mr. Robinson and the government were mistaken. Rumours, for several years, were continually stirring, of blacks fleeing in the distance; of the thin smoke, the native cry, and other indications of their presence. At length it was proved, that these were not the ghosts of the departed tribes. In December, 1842, at Circular Head, seven persons were captured, and rejoined their long banished countrymen. This remnant consisted of a single family: the parents about fifty years; the rest of ages from childhood to thirty years. They were taken by a sealer, whose boat they had pilfered, and conveyed to Flinders'. They were more than usually intelligent in their appearance: they did not understand one word of English, and they had probably retained to the last the primitive manners of their race.

Mr. Robinson was a builder at Hobart Town, his family was large, and depended on his trade. It detracts nothing from his merit, while it is honorable to the government, that he was a gainer by successful humanity. The munificence of the crown, alone prevented a larger subscription by the people; he had, however, the warm and unanimous expression of public gratitude.

The character of his mission was supported by his conduct. He went unarmed, and if the natives approached him at all, they were devoid of fear and therefore of ferocity. He plunged into the heart of the forest, assumed the habits of a wanderer, and continued his absence for months together. He shared the danger of his allies, and confided in their affection: he encouraged their sports, and so far as could a white man, without debasement, he became one among them. Hitherto the English had dealt treacherously, and rarely approached their camps, but to oppress, to mock, or to destroy them. They now discovered, that all were not enemies, and kindness was felt more powerfully by contrast. It is said by Backhouse, that Robinson acted under a sense of religious duty; by Mann, that he was a fatalist or predestinarian: he was calumniated by the base and the envious: the ascendancy he acquired over the natives, the Christian philosopher can easily comprehend. The effect of "good will to men," is peace on earth. Moral courage, united with generosity, often overpowers the suspicion and hostility, of even the most barbarous. The coward dies, while the man of bold spirit dissipates the clouds of distrust, and wakens in others the confidence he himself cherishes. Nor is it necessary for the writer to observe, that Divine Providence gives back often, the "hazard of their lives," to the resolute in right, or that an omnipotent protector attends the footsteps of the merciful.

Thus, in their harassing life, parents and children had been divided, and families had been broken up in melancholy confusion: indeed, they had ceased to be tribes, and became what they were called—mobs of natives, composed often of hereditary enemies. Infanticide and distress, rapid flight, and all the casualties of a protracted conflict, threatened them with speedy destruction. Had not Robinson appeared, the last savage, hopeless of peace or safety, would have perished with his weapon in his hand. It was a great deliverance to this colony, as well as to the native. From the Windmill-hill at Launceston, whence a wide and beautiful country is visible, the spectator could discern the site of twenty aboriginal murders—settlers, servants, and infants; the aged and the kind had fallen, as well as the base hearted and cruel. It was something to know, that the fatal hand, which no precaution could resist, would be raised no more.

It was, indeed, a mournful spectacle: the last Tasmanian quitting the shores of his ancestors: forty years before, the first settler had erected his encampment! A change so rapid in the relations of a people to the soil, will scarcely find a parallel in this world's history; but that banishment which, if originally contrived, had been an atrocious crime, was at last an act of mercy—the tardy humanity of Englishmen, which rescued a remnant, extenuated the dishonor of their cruelty to the race. As for Mr. Robinson, he enjoyed, not only the bounty of the government, but the affection of the natives—and the applause of all good men. His name will be had in everlasting remembrance: happier still, if numbered by the judge of all among his followers, who came "not to destroy men's lives, but to save them."[21]

FOOTNOTES:

[18] "Gentlemen," said Mr. Kemp, of Mount Vernon at the mess at the Macquarie Hotel, "you see a sample before you, of what this colony can produce, which we are now, one and all, making an unanimous effort to insure the enjoyment of in peace and comfort: if, when not only the necessaries, but many of the luxuries of life are thus bountifully supplied us, we are not loyal, we shall never be loyal. Fill your glasses, gentlemen—the health of his Excellency; and success to the volunteers. Hip, hip, hip,—hurrah!"—Courier.