It was a moment of trial to the stoutest nerves. The whites trembled, and the friendly natives were about to fly. One word from that stern chief and they would have been transfixed with spears. “I think,” whispered McGeary, “we shall soon be in the resurrection.” “I think we shall,” replied Robinson.
The chief advancing, shouted, “Who are you?” “We are gentlemen,” was the reply. “Where are your guns?” “We have none.” Still suspicious, although astonished, the chief inquired, “Where are your piccaninnies (pistols)?” “We have none.” There was then a pause. The chief, seeing some blacks belonging to the white party running away, shouted, “Come back!” This was the first gleam of hope. Meanwhile some of the courageous female guides had glided round and were holding quiet earnest converse with their wilder sisters. The great chief now walked to the rear to confer with the old women. The whole party waited with suspense for the result, on which their lives depended. In a few minutes the women threw up their hands three times, as a token of peace. Down fell the spears, and the impulsive natives rushed forward to embrace relatives and friends, while the chiefs grasped each other’s hands in brotherly embrace. It was a jubilee of joy. A feast followed, and a corroboree closed the eventful day. Well may Robinson say this was the happiest evening of his life.
These poor people had fought for the soil; numbers had perished. They had resisted 3,500 men well armed, but pacific measures had subdued them: a noble victory of moral influence. The tribe had yielded as friends, not captives. They delivered up sixteen stand of arms taken from bushrangers, together with their spears; the latter were returned to them.
Robinson marched his friends to Bothwell. The inhabitants were terrified, until he assured them that there was nothing to fear. After a night’s rest he proceeded to Hobart Town, where he was greeted with shouts of triumph and of welcome. Portraits were taken; the muse was awakened to commemorate the bloodless victory; and then followed an entertainment at Government House.
In January, 1835, vessels were provided to convey them to Flinders Island. This island is 40 miles long by 12 to 18 miles wide. Here everything possible was done for them. As to religious and other instruction, a Quakers’ deputation which visited the island describes the state of society:—“A large party of native women took tea with us at the Commandant’s. After tea they washed up the tea things, and put everything in order. The catechist has translated into one of their dialects a large portion of the first three chapters of Genesis. They are daily instructed by the catechist.” Dr. Ross gives a sketch of these people:—The females superintend the domestic matters. Each family has a hut, windows, chairs, and tables manufactured by themselves of the timber of the island, and they send to Launceston skins of kangaroos and birds, and in exchange obtain useful articles. They cultivate one large garden, moving the hoe to one of their melodies, and have cleared a road several miles into the interior. An aboriginal fund has been established, a Police Court to settle differences, and a market formed for sale of articles. Mr. Robinson gives a sermon entirely composed by one of them.
But, alas, fearful mortality reduced the number down to fifty persons, and they were fast disappearing, not from want of attention, but they suffered much from nostalgia, and sighed after their country, which they could see not very far off. They were consequently removed to Oyster Cove; twelve men, twenty-two women and ten children. This place is but a few miles from Hobart Town; it had been a penal settlement. In time, the new settlement seemed to thrive. Mr. Clarke, the catechist, wrote to say—they are now comfortable; have a full supply of provisions; are able to till their gardens; sow beans and potatoes; and the women can all make their own clothes, cook their food, and make the houses comfortable, and are contented. But both Mr. and Mrs. Clarke died, and the place became the dark valley of death. In 1854, there remained only three men, eleven women, and two boys, at a cost of £2,000 per annum to the Colony; the place became a ruin; the unfortunate people were supplied with spirits—became drunken and abandoned. The Governor often visited the station, as well as Lady Denison, and brought them up to town in their carriages; but all in vain, their doom was cast.
Their condition was pitifully described by Mary Ann, a half-caste, wife of Walter:—“We had souls in Flinders, but we have none here; there we were looked after, here we are thrown into the scum of society; they have brought us amongst the scum of the earth (alluding to convicts); it would be better if some one came and read to us, and prayed with us; we are tempted to drink; nobody cares for us.” The Bishop had appointed a clergyman, but he was unpopular.
Mary Ann’s description of poor Clarke’s death is very affecting:—“With grief for the loss of his wife and the degradation of the people, he took to his bed of death. Then,” said the faithful creature, weeping, “Father Clarke died. I attended him, along with his daughter, night and day. All the people wanted to do something; all loved him; and he talked and prayed with us, and told me what to read. He had the room full of us, and bade us good-bye. He did love us.” The writer had to comfort her. She shook her head mournfully, and with bitterness replied, “No one cares for the native’s soul, now Father Clarke is gone.” Soon Mary Ann and Walter followed.
The description of this couple and their fate is truly affecting. Walter was engaged in conveying the mail from Huron to Hobart Town. They lived in a three-roomed cottage. Mary Ann had it very neat, clean, and gave guests a welcome. The floor was covered with a carpet, the walls decorated with pictures, and the Bible and other books lay on the table. Melancholy to think, both this man and wife became victims to drink; he was drowned, and she, a noble woman, was soon cut off by intemperance. One solitary man and one woman remained, King Billy and his wife.
The last public appearance of the king was at the Governor’s Ball, at Government House, accompanied by three aboriginal females.