In those days the post was sent twice a month by an aboriginal foot postman. Sometimes he got tired of his work, and would leave the post-bag under a tree and decamp. Then scouts had to be sent out to find the mail. An old colonist, Mr. R. Scott, related to me many of his experiences at that time. Mr. Scott’s father arrived in the colony in 1830, and not liking the look of Fremantle, which was merely a sandy beach and wild bush, with a few tents scattered about, intended returning to Scotland, but Governor Stirling persuaded him to go to Bunbury with some other intending settlers. The younger members of the party traversed the 115 miles on foot, the older people going in the Governor’s ship to the port. The tramp was a long one, and young Scott’s clothes were so tattered when he arrived that he would not go out to speak to the Governor, but hid behind a tree. He was, however, persuaded to show himself, and the Governor, seeing the poor boy in such a plight, sent to the vessel for a suit of his own clothes and a cap, no others being available. By cutting off portions and tucking in other parts the boy was made presentable. Mr. Scott’s mother, who died some years ago, aged 88, kept those clothes with great pride until the day of her death.
Whaling was a local industry in those days. Mr. Scott and his brother had several whaling-boats, and sometimes took as much as 90 tons of whale-oil to Fremantle. An American vessel went ashore at that time, and the enterprising captain, being stranded, took up a piece of land and started a garden, which he fenced in with the staves of olive barrels.
The only native murder at Bunbury was perpetrated in 1840, Mr. Layman, a settler at Wanerup, being the victim. He was speared by the king of the black tribe then at Wanerup, about 6 miles from Busselton. This booka (king) came to Mr. Layman’s camp when a native boy, servant to Mr. Layman, was packing up his damper (a kind of large colonial scone cooked in ashes) to take with him as rations when he was going out with sheep. The booka took the damper from the boy, and throwing him a small piece, was going off with the rest. Mr. Layman came up and saw this, and taking the booka by the beard forced him to give up the damper. This was evidently too much indignity for him, and when Mr. Layman turned his back he speared and killed him, then immediately made off into the bush. The settlers, about twenty in number, determined to follow and execute him, but found many difficulties in the way, as none of the natives would lead them to his tracks. They, however, tracked him as well as they could, and to frighten the tribe they shot down every native they came across. This put such fear into them that an old man called Crocodile was induced to show them the way, and they then tracked the murderer to the Capel river, to a hollow tree, whence it was some time before he could be dislodged. When this was effected he was found to be well armed with spears ready to fight. He was, however, summarily shot by Corporal Gill, and his head carried back on a pole to the Vasse (now called Busselton). Since then the only known murder by natives was that of Mrs. McGowan, who was speared by a half-witted native. The shooting of the blacks, although it seems cruel, was the means of showing them that the white man was their master, and after this no more trouble arose with the various tribes. Had it not been done the tables would have been turned, and all the white settlers might have been murdered.
The natives are divided into four families or tribes—the Ballarook, Deduruk, Donderup, and Gnakerunk. Consequently, if you want to find out what tribe a certain native belongs to you must say to him: “You Ballarook?” If he does not belong to that tribe he will say: “No, me Donderup.” They are all brothers and sisters in each tribe, and bound to protect one another. When civilised they make fairly good servants, but never quite lose their wild instincts; and when they have a holiday, which they frequently take of their own free will, away they go to their tribe, and revel in free life until they tire and once more long for the flesh-pots of civilisation, when they again return to their work.
BUNBURY
Thousands of acres of land are available here for purchase. The Mangles Estate has lately been opened up for settlement on very easy terms. Potatoes, onions and other vegetables grow most luxuriantly. The pastoral and agricultural land is very rich, and as many as three crops a year are sometimes taken off the same land by Mr. Clarke, who has a farm near Bunbury. The forest lands around abound with splendid jarrah and other timber. The harbour is very safe and partially protected by a coral reef. There are many handsome residences. The Hon. Charles Spencer has a large house on a hill in the most beautiful position in Bunbury, and there are some splendid vineyards, the soil being specially good for vine culture.
The town has 1200 inhabitants and the district about 3000. It is very prosperous, and has many fine public buildings; some of the early settlers who went through so many rough times are now in the enjoyment of comfortable homes, and passing peacefully down the vale of life. There is an exceptionally fine post-office, standing near the spot where the barracks were erected for the soldiers in the long-ago days. The hospital is an imposing building, on an elevation commanding a fine view of the bay, and has very pretty grounds. It would be by no means intolerable to be ill in this lovely seaside resort, but, as a rule, people who come to Bunbury get well, not ill. The walking, driving, boating, fishing, bathing and shooting excursions that are the order of the day give one no time to think of being ill. Cycling is a favourite pastime, and there is a very good club. The streets are wide and planted with shady trees. The Preston river runs into the estuary, its banks are loaded with bright flowers, and the golden sunshine shining through the trees, the blue water and the massive breakwater in the distance make beautiful Bunbury look like a bit of Paradise.