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!