The landless young chief resolved to transfer his broken fortunes to Australia. He brought with him a number of men and women, chiefly Highlanders, who were landed by Davy in his whaleboat. For this service Glengarry gave a cheque on a Sydney bank for five pounds, which was entrusted to Captain Gaunson of the schooner 'Coquette' to purchase groceries. On arriving in Sydney the Gaunsons went on a pleasure excursion about the harbour, the 'Coquette' was capsized in a squall, one or two of the family perished, and Davy's cheque went down with the vessel. But when the schooner was raised and the water pumped out, the cheque was found, and the groceries on the next voyage arrived safely at the Old Port.

Glengarry's head man and manager of the enterprise was a poor gentleman from Tipperary named Dancer, and his chief stockman was Sandy Fraser.

By the regulations then in force in New South Wales, Glengarry was entitled, for a fee of 10 pounds per annum, to hold under a depasturing license an area of twenty square miles, on which he might place 500 head of cattle or 4,000 sheep. He selected a site for his head station and residence on the banks of the Tarra. The house was built, huts and stockyards were erected, 500 dairy cows were bought at 10 pounds each, and the business of dairy farming commenced.

But the young chief and his men were unused to the management of a station in the new country; they had everything to learn, and at a ruinous cost.

A number of young men bailed up the cows each morning, and put on the leg ropes; then they sat on the top rails of the stockyard fence and waited while the maids drew the milk. Dancer superintended the labours of the men and the milkmaids. He sat in his office in a corner of the stockyard, entering in his books the number of cattle milked, and examining the state of their brands, which were daubed on the hides with paint and brush. Some cheese was made, but it was not of much account, and all the milk and butter were consumed on the station.

At this time the blacks had quite recovered from the fright occasioned by the discharge of the nine-pounder gun, and were again often seen from the huts at the Old Port. Donald Macalister was sent by his uncle, Lachlan Macalister, of Nuntin, to make arrangements for shipping some cattle and sheep. The day before their arrival Donald saw some blacks at a distance in the scrub, and without any provocation fired at them with an old Tower musket, charged with shot. The next day the drovers and shepherds arrived with the stock, and drove them over Glengarry's bridge to a place between the Tarra and Albert rivers, called the Coal Hole, afterwards occupied by Parson Bean. there was no yard there, and the animals would require watching at night; so Donald decided to send them back to Glengarry's yards. Then he and the drovers and shepherds would have a pleasant time; there would be songs and whisky, the piper would play, and the men and maids would dance. The arrangement suited everybody. The drovers started back with the cattle, Donald helped the shepherds to gather the sheep, and put them on the way, and then he rode after the cattle. The track led him past a grove of dense ti-tree, on the land now known as the Brewery Paddock, and about a hundred yards ahead a single blackfellow came out of the grove, and began capering about and waving a waddy. Donald pulled up his horse and looked at the black. He had a pair of pistols in the holsters of his saddle, but he did not draw them: there was no danger from a blackfellow a hundred yards off. But there was another behind him and much nearer, who came silently out of the ti-tree and thrust a spear through Donald's neck. The horse galloped away towards Glengarry's bridge.

When the drovers saw the riderless horse, they supposed that Macalister had been accidentally thrown, and they sent Friday to look for him. He found him dead. The blacks had done their work quickly. They had stripped Donald of everything but his trousers and boots, had mutilated him in their usual fashion, and had disappeared. A messenger was sent to old Macalister, and the young man was buried on the bank of the river near McClure's grave. The new cemetery now contained three graves, the second being that of Tinker Ned, who shot himself accidentally when pulling out his gun from beneath a tarpaulin.

Lachlan Macalister had had a long experience in dealing with blackfellows and bushrangers; he had been a captain in the army, and an officer of the border police. The murder of his nephew gave him both a professional and a family interest in chastising the criminals, and he soon organised a party to look for them. It was, of course, impossible to identify any blackfellow concerned in the outrage, and therefore atonement must be made by the tribe. The blacks were found encamped near a waterhole at Gammon Creek, and those who were shot were thrown into it, to the number, it was said, of about sixty, men, women, and children; but this was probably an exaggeration. At any rate, the black who capered about to attract young Macalister's attention escaped, and he often afterwards described and imitated the part he took in what he evidently considered a glorious act of revenge. The gun used by old Macalister was a double-barrelled Purdy, a beautiful and reliable weapon, which in its time had done great execution.

The dairy business at Greenmount was carried on at a continual loss, and Glengarry resolved to return to Scotland. He sold his cows and their increase to Thacker and Mason, of Sydney, for twenty-seven shillings and sixpence per head; his house was bought by John Campbell. On the eve of his departure for Sydney in the schooner 'Coquette' (Captain Gaunson), a farewell dinner was given by the Highlanders at the Old Port, and Long Mason, who had come from Sydney to take delivery of the cows on behalf of Thacker and Mason, was one of the guests. But there was more of gloom than of gaiety around the festive board. All wished well to the young chief, but the very best of his friends could think of nothing cheerful to say to him. His enterprise had been a complete failure; the family tree of Clanranald the Dauntless had refused to take root in a strange land the glory had gone from it for ever, and there was nothing to celebrate in song or story.

Other men from the Highlands failed to win the smiles of fortune in Gippsland. At home, notwithstanding their tribal feuds, they held their own for two thousand years against the Roman and Saxon, the Dane and the Norman. Only one hundred and fifty years ago (it seems now almost incredible) they nearly scared the Hanoverian dynasty from the throne of England, and even yet, though scattered throughout the British Empire, they are neither a fallen nor a falling race.

Glengarry returned to his tent early, and then the buying and selling of the five hundred cows became the subject of conversation; the whisky circulated, and Long Mason observed that unfriendly looks began to be directed towards himself. He was an Englishman, a Southron, and it was a foul shame and dishonour that such as he should pay a Highland chief only twenty-seven shillings and sixpence for beasts that had cost ten pounds each. That was not the way in the good old days when the hardy men of the north descended from the mountains with broadsword and shield, lifted the cattle of the Saxon, and drove them to their homes in the glens.

The fervid temper of the Gael grew hotter at the thought of the rank injustice which had been done, and it was decided that Long Mason should be drowned in the inlet. He protested against the decision with vigour, and apparently with reason. He said:

"I did not buy the cattle at all. Glengarry sold them to Thacker and my brother in Sydney, and I only came over to take delivery of them. What wrong have I done?"

But the reasoning of the prosaic Englishman was thrown to the winds:

"Ye've done everything wrong. Ye should hae gin ten pund sterling apiece for the coos, and not twenty-sen and saxpence. It's a pity yer brither, and Thacker, and MacFarlane are no here the nicht, and we'd droon them, too."

Four strong men, shouting in Gaelic the war-cry of Sheriffmuir, "Revenge, revenge, revenge to-day, mourning to-morrow!" seized the long limbs of the unfortunate Mason, and in spite of his struggles bore him towards the beach. The water near the margin was shallow, so they waded in until it was deep enough for their purpose. There was a piercing cry, "Help! murder! murder!" John Campbell heard it, but it was not safe for a Campbell to stand between a Macdonnell and his revenge. However, Captain Davy and Pateley Jim came out of their huts to see what was the matter, and they waded after the Highlanders. Each seized a man by the collar and downhauled. There was a sudden whirlpool, a splashing and a spluttering, as all the five men went under and drank the brine.

"I think," said Pateley, "that will cool 'em a bit," and it did.

Long Mason was a university man, educated for the church, but before his ordination to the priesthood he had many other adventures and misfortunes. After being nearly drowned by the Highlanders he was placed in charge of Woodside station by his elder brother; he tried to mitigate the miseries of solitude with drink, but he did so too much and was turned adrift. He then made his way to New Zealand, and fought as a common soldier through the Heki war. Captain Patterson, of the schooner 'Eagle', met him at a New Zealand port. He was wearing a long, ragged old coat, such as soldiers wore, was out of employment, and in a state of starvation. The captain took pity on him, brought him back to Port Albert, and he became a shepherd on a station near Bairnsdale. While he was fighting the Maoris his brother had gone home, and had sent to Sydney money to pay his passage to England. But he could not be found, and the money was returned to London. At length Captain Bentley found out where he was, took him to Sydney, gave him an outfit, and paid his passage to England. Long Mason, honest man that he was, sent back the passage money, was ordained priest, obtained a living near London, and roamed no more.

He had a younger brother named Leonard Mason, who lived with Coady Buckley at Prospect, near the Ninety-Mile, and became a good bushman. In 1844 Leonard took up a station in North Gippsland adjoining the McLeod's run, but the Highlanders tried to drive him away by taking his cattle a long distance to a pound which had been established at Stratford. The McLeods and their men were too many for Leonard. He went to Melbourne to try if the law or the Government would give him any redress, but he could obtain no satisfaction. The continued impounding of his cattle meant ruin to him, and when he returned to Gippsland he found his hut burned down and his cattle gone on the way to the pound. He took a double-barrelled gun and went after them. He found them at Providence Ponds, which was a stopping place for drovers. Next morning he rose early, went to the stockyard with his gun, and waited till McDougall, who was manager for the McLeods, came out with his stockmen. When they approached the yard he said:

"I shall shoot the first man who touches those rails to take my cattle out."

McDougall laughed, and ordered one of his men to take down the slip-rails, but the man hesitated; he did not like the looks of Mason. Then McDougall dismounted from his horse and went to the slip-rails, but as soon as he touched them Mason shot him.

Coady Buckley spared neither trouble nor expense in obtaining the best counsel for Mason's defence at the trial in Melbourne. He was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to nine years' imprisonment, but after a time was released on the condition of leaving Victoria, and when last heard of was a drover beyond the Murray.

After the departure of Glengarry, Dancer could find no profitable employment in Gippsland, and lived in a state of indigence. At last he borrowed sufficient money on a promissory note to pay his passage to Ireland. In Tipperary he became a baronet and a sheriff, and lived to a good old age.

WANTED, A CATTLE MARKET.

It seemed incredible to the first settlers in North Gippsland that their new Punjaub, the land of the five rivers, which emptied their waters into immense lakes, should communicate with the sea by no channel suitable for ships, and an expedition was organised to endeavour to find an outlet. McMillan had two boats at his station at Bushy Park, but he had no sails, so he engaged Davy as sailmaker and chief navigator on the intended voyage. The two men rode together from the Old Port up the track over Tom's Cap, and shot two pigeons by the way, which was fortunate, for when they arrived at Kilmany Park William Pearson was absent, and his men were found to be living under a discipline so strict that his stock-keeper, Jimmy Rentoul, had no meat, and dared not kill any without orders; so McMillan and Davy fried the pigeons, and ate one each for supper. Next morning they shot some ducks for breakfast, and then proceeded on their journey. They called at Mewburn Park, arrived at Bushy Park (McMillan's own station), and Davy began making the sails the same evening. Next morning he crossed the river in a canoe, made out of a hollow log, to Boisdale, Lachlan Macalister's station, and went to the milking yard. The management was similar to that of Dancer at Greenmount. Eleven men and women were milking about one hundred and fifty cows, superintended by nine Highlanders, who were sitting on the toprails discoursing in Gaelic. One of them was Jock Macdonald, who was over eighteen stone in weight, too heavy for any ordinary horse to carry; the rest were Macalisters, Gillies, and Thomsons. The stockmen were convicts, and they lived with the Highlanders in a big building like the barracks for soldiers. Every man seemed to do just what he liked, to kill what he liked, and to eat what he liked, and it was astonishing to see so little discipline on a station owned by a gentleman who had seen service both in the army and in the border police.

The blacks were at this time very troublesome about the new stations. They began to be fond of beef, and in order to get it they drove fat cattle into the morasses and speared them. This proceeding produced strained relations between the two races, and the only effectual remedy was the gun. But many of the settlers had scruples about shooting blackfellows except in self-defence, and it could hardly be called self-defence to shoot one or more of the natives because a beast had been speared by some person or persons unknown. John Campbell, at Glencoe, tried a dog, a savage deerhound, which he trained to chase the human game. This dog acquired great skill in seizing a blackfellow by the heel, throwing him, and worrying him until Campbell came up on his horse. When the dog had thus expelled the natives from Glencoe, Campbell agreed to lend him to little Curlewis for three months in order to clear Holey Plains Station. Curlewis paid ten heifers for the loan of the dog, and Campbell himself went to give him a start in the hunt, as the animal would not own any other man as master. But the blacks soon learned that Campbell and his dog had left Glencoe unprotected, and the second night after his departure they boldly entered the potato patch near his hut, and bandicooted the whole of his potatoes.

When the sails were made, the two boats were provisioned with tea, sugar, flour, and a keg of whisky; the meat was carried in the shape of two live sheep, to be killed when required. The party consisted of eight men, and each man was armed with a double-barrelled gun. McMillan, McLennan, Loughnan, and Davy went in one boat, and in the other boat were William Pearson, John Reeve, Captain Orr, and Sheridan, who was manager for Raymond at Stratford. Sheridan was a musical man, and took his flute with him. When everything was ready they dropped down the river to Lake Wellington, and took note of the soundings during the whole of the voyage as they went along. Wherever they approached either shore, they saw natives or found traces of them. Every beach was strewn with the feathers of the ducks, swans, and other birds they had killed, and it was difficult to find sufficient dead wood near the water to make a fire, the blacks having used so much of it at their numerous camping places.

The gins had an ingenious system of capturing the ducks. They moved along under water, leaving nothing but their nostrils visible above the surface, and they were thus able to approach the unsuspecting birds. As opportunity offered they seized them by the legs, drew them quickly under water, and held them until they were drowned. When they had secured as many as they could hold in one hand they returned to land.

One of the explorers always kept guard while the others slept, the first watch of each night being assigned to Davy, who baked the damper for the next day. One of the sheep was killed soon after the voyage commenced; and the duty of taking ashore, tethering, and guarding the other sheep at each landing place was taken in turn by Pearson and Loughnan. At the lower end of the lakes the water was found to be brackish, so they went ashore at several places to look for fresh water. They landed on a flat at Reeve's River, and Davy found an old well of the natives, but it required cleaning out, so he went back to the boat for a spade. It was Loughnan's turn that day to tether the sheep on some grassy spot, and to look after it; the animal by this time had become quite a pet, and was called Jimmy. On coming near the boats Davy looked about for Jimmy, but could not see him and asked Loughnan where he was.

"Oh, he is all right," said Loughnan, "I did not tether him, but he is over there eating the reeds."

"Then he's gone," replied Davy.

Every man became seriously alarmed and ran down to the reeds, for Jimmy carried their whole supply of meat. They found his tracks at the edge of the water, and followed them to the foot of a high bluff, which they ascended, calling as they went repeatedly for Jimmy. They looked in every direction, scanning especially the tops of the reeds to see if Jimmy was moving amongst them, but they could see no sign of the sheep that was lost. The view of land and river, mountain and sea, was very beautiful, but they were too full of sorrow for Jimmy to enjoy it. On going away they agreed to call the bluff Jimmy's point, but other voyagers came afterwards who knew nothing of Jimmy, and they named it Kalimna, The Beautiful. Near the shore a number of sandpipers were shot, and stewed for dinner in the large iron pot which was half full of mutton fat. Then the party pulled down to the entrance of the lakes at Reeve's River, went ashore, and camped for the night.

Next day they found an outlet to the ocean, and sounded it as they went along, finding six feet of water on the bar at low tide. But the channel proved afterwards to be a shifting one; the strong current round Cape Howe, and the southerly gales, often filled it with sand, and it was not until many years had passed, and much money had been expended, that a permanent entrance was formed. In the meantime all the trade of Gippsland was carried on first through the Old Port, and then through the new Port Albert. For ten years all vessels were piloted without buoy or beacon; in one year one hundred and forty having been entered inwards and outwards.

The party now started on the return voyage. In going up the lakes a number of blacks were observed on the port beach, and the boats were pulled towards the land until they grounded, and some of the men went ashore. The natives were standing behind a small sand hummock calling out to the visitors. One of them had lost an eye, and another looked somewhat like a white man browned with the sun and weather, but only the upper part of his body could be seen above the sand. One of the men on shore said, "Look at that white-fellow." That was the origin of the rumour which was soon spread through the country that the blacks had a white woman living with them, the result being that for a long time the blackfellows were hunted and harassed continually by parties of armed men. When the natives behind the sand hummock saw that the white men had no arms, they began to approach them without their spears. Sheridan took up his flute, and they ran back to the scrub, but after he had played a while they came nearer again and listened to the music.

After pulling two or three miles, another party of natives was seen running along the sands, and the explorers went ashore again at a point of land where seven or eight men had appeared, but not one was now visible. Davy climbed up a honeysuckle tree, and then he could see them hiding in the scrub. Several of them were seized and held by the white men, who gave them some sugar and then let them go.

The boats then sailed away with a nice easterly breeze, and in McLennan's Straits hundreds of blackfellows were seen up in the trees shouting and shaking their spears; but the boats were kept away in mid-stream, out of reach of the weapons.

That night the camp was made at Boney Point, near the mouth of the River Avon; the name was given to it on account of the large quantity of human bones found there. No watch was kept, as it was believed that all the blacks had been left behind in McLennan's Straits. There was still some whisky left in the keg; and, before going to sleep, Orr, Loughnan, and Sheridan sang and drank alternately until the vessel was empty. At daylight they pulled up the Avon and landed at Clydebank, which was at that time one of Macalister's stations, but afterwards belonged to Thomson and Cunningham. After breakfast they walked to Raymond's station at Stratford, and then to McMillan's at Bushy Park.

The cattle brought over the mountains into Gippsland soon grew fat, and the first settlers sold some of them to other men who came to search for runs; but the local demand was soon supplied. In two years and a half all the best land was occupied. An intending settler, who had driven a herd of cattle seven hundred miles, had some bitter complaints to make about the country in June, 1843. He said: "The whole length of Gippsland, from the bore of the mountains in which the road comes, is 110 miles, and the breadth about fifteen miles, the whole area 1650 square miles, one-third of which is useless through scrub and morass, which leaves only 1,100 square miles come-at-able at all, and nearly a third of this is useless. On this 1,100 square miles of land there are 45,000 sheep, 1,500 cattle, and 300 horses. Other herds of cattle and about 2,000 sheep are expected daily. The blacks are continuing their outrages, robbing huts and gardens and slaughtering cattle wholesale, Messrs. Pearson and Cunningham being the latest sufferers by the cannibals. Sheep shearing is nearly completed, after paying a most exorbitant price to the shearers.* The wool is much lighter than in any other part of the colony, and the skins much thicker than in hotter climates;" and lastly, "A collection has been made for the support of a minister." But the minister was not supported long, and he had to shake the dust of Gippsland off his feet. From Dan to Beersheba—from the bore in the mountains to the shores of Corner Inlet, all was barren to this disappointed drover.

[Footnote] *In the season of 1844 the average price per 100 for sheep-shearing was 8s.; the highest price asked, 8s. 6d.

And the squatters, in order to keep a foothold in the country, had to seek markets for their stock over the sea. The first to export cattle was James McFarlane of Heyfield. He chartered the schooner 'Waterwitch' for 100 pounds a month for six months, and found her in everything. She arrived on March 2nd, 1842, but could not come up to the Port being too sharp in the bottom, and drawing (when loaded with cattle) thirteen feet six inches, so she lay down at the Oyster Beds. McFarlane borrowed the square punt from the 'Clonmel' wreckers, a weak stockyard of tea tree was erected, and the punt was moored alongside. A block was made fast to the bottom of the punt, and a rope rove through it to a bullock's head, and the men hauled on the rope. Sometimes a beast would not jump, and had to be levered and bundled into the punt neck and crop. Then the men got into a boat, and reached over to make the rope fast from the head of the bullock to one of the eyebolts which were fixed round the punt, and even then the bullock would sometimes go overboard. It took a week to load twenty fat bullocks and twenty cows with their calves. The schooner set sail for New Zealand on April 2nd, 1842, and at Port Nicholson the bullocks were sold for fifteen and the cows for twelve pounds each, cash. The 'Waterwitch' returned to Port Albert on April 29th, and took in another cargo of breeding cattle, which had to be sold on bills, the cash at Port Nicholson being exhausted. McFarlane next sought for a market at Hobarton, which was then supplied with beef from Twofold Bay. Forty bullocks were put on board the 'Waterwitch' in five days, and in forty-eight hours they were offered for sale in Hobarton, and fetched fourteen pounds ten shillings a head—all but one, a snail-horned brute, which was very wild. When he landed, a number of soldiers were at drill in the paddock, and he charged the redcoats at once. They prepared to receive cavalry, but he broke through the ranks, scattered the citizens the whole length of Liverpool Street, and reached the open country. Guisden, the auctioneer, sold the chance of him for eleven pounds.

At this time, nobody in Hobarton had heard of such a place as Gippsland; but the fat cattle, which were far superior to those imported from Twofold Bay, soon made the new territory well known, and many enterprising men of various characters found their way to it from the island.

McFarlane sent over another cargo of forty bullocks, thirty-seven of which averaged fourteen pounds; one was lost, and two belonging to Macalister, heavy weights, were sold for forty pounds ten shillings.

McMillan took over the 'Waterwitch' for the next trip, and also chartered the schooners 'Industry' and 'Scotia', which were the first vessels brought up to the shipping place at Port Albert on August, 3rd, 1842. Each of these vessels took two cargoes to Hobarton, which sold well, and then Macalister chartered the brig 'Pateena', which would hold sixty bullocks. The 'Clonmel' punt was now dispensed with; the cattle were roped, put in the water, and made to swim between the vessel and a boat. A piece of small ratline was fixed to the slings, with the handlead made fast to it so that it would sink. The mate had the slings, and a man in the boat held the other end of the line, and with it he hauled the slings under the bullocks, which were then made fast, and the animal was hoisted up. In this way forty bullocks were shipped in three hours.

Oysters were obtained in great abundance at Clonmel, Snake Island, and in other parts of the inlets, and the cattle vessels, after receiving their loading, took bags of oysters on board for sale at Hobarton. In June, 1843, the cutter 'Lucy' took 700 dozen to Melbourne, and in July another 700 dozen. In August the 'Mary Jane' took 500 dozen, and the cutter 'Domain' 400 dozen. The oyster beds were soon destroyed, and when in course of a few years I was appointed inspector of fisheries at Port Albert I could never find a single dozen oysters to inspect, although I was informed that a certain reverend poacher near the Caledonian Canal could obtain a bucket full of them when so disposed.

Gippsland enjoyed one year of prosperity, followed by seven years of adversity. The price of stock declined so rapidly that in April, 1843, the very best beasts only realized 6 pounds per head, and soon afterwards it was estimated that there were in New South Wales 50,000 fat bullocks which nobody would buy. Moreover, the government was grievously in want of money, and in addition to the fees for depasturing licenses, exacted half-yearly assessments on the unsaleable flocks and herds. But the law exacted payment on live cattle only, so the squatters in their dire distress resolved to kill their stock and boil them, the hides and the resulting tallow being of some value. The Hentys, in the Portland district, commenced boiling their sheep in January, 1844, and on every station in New South Wales the paddocks still called the "boiling down" were devoted to the destruction of sheep and cattle and to the production of tallow. It was found that one hundred average sheep would yield one ton of tallow, and ten average bullocks also one ton, the price in London ranging from 35 pounds to 42 pounds per ton. By this device of boiling-down some of the pioneers were enabled to retain their runs until the discovery of gold.

The squatters were assisted in their endeavours to diminish the numbers of their live stock by their neighbours, both black and white. It is absurd to blame the aborigines for killing sheep and cattle. You might as well say it is immoral for a cat to catch mice. Hunting was their living; the land and every animal thereon was theirs; and after we had conferred on them, as usual, the names of savages and cannibals, they were still human beings; they were our neighbours, to be treated with mercy; and to seize their lands by force and to kill them was robbery and murder. The State is a mere abstraction, has neither body nor soul, and an abstraction cannot be sent either to heaven or hell. But each individual man will be rewarded according to his works, which will follow him. Because the State erected a flag on a bluff overlooking the sea, Sandy McBean was not justified in shooting every blackfellow or gin he met with on his run, as I know he did on the testimony of an eye-witness. This is the age of whitewash. There is scarcely a villain of note on whose character a new coat has not been laboriously daubed by somebody, and then we are asked to take a new view of it. It does not matter very much now, but I should prefer to whitewash the aboriginals.

J. P. Fawkner wrote: "The military were not long here before the Melbourne district was stained with the blood of the aborigines, yet I can safely say that in the year in which there was neither governor, magistrate, soldier, nor policemen, not one black was shot or killed in the Melbourne district, except amongst or by the blacks themselves. Can as much be said of any year since? I think not."

In the year 1844 Mr. Latrobe was required to send to the Council in Sydney a return of all blacks and whites killed in the Port Phillip district since its first settlement. He said forty whites had been killed by the blacks, and one hundred and thirteen blacks had been reported as killed by the whites; but he added, "the return must not be looked upon as correct with respect to the number of aborigines killed." The reason is plain. When a white man murdered a few blacks it was not likely that he would put his neck into the hangman's noose by making a formal report of his exploit to Mr. Latrobe. All the surviving blackfellow could say was: "Quamby dead —long time—white-fellow—plenty—shoot 'em."

He related in eight words the decline and fall of his race more truly than the white man could do it in eight volumes.

It is not so easy a task to justify the white men who assisted the squatters to diminish the numbers of their stock. They were principally convicts who had served their sentences, or part of them, in the island, and had come over to Gippsland in cattle vessels. Some of them lived honestly, about one hundred of them disappeared when the Commissioner of Crown Lands arrived with his black and white police, and a few of the most enterprising spirits adopted the calling of cattle stealers, for which business they found special facilities in the two special surveys.



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TWO SPECIAL SURVEYS.

A notice dated March 4th, 1841, was gazetted in Sydney to the following effect:

"Any Holder of a Land Receipt to the extent of not less than five thousand one hundred and twenty acres may, if he think fit, demand a special survey of any land not hereinafter excepted, within the district of Port Philip, whether such Land Receipt be obtained in the manner pointed out in the 'Government Gazette' of the 21st January last, or granted by the Land and Emigration Commissioners in London.

"Not more than one mile of frontage to any river, watercourse, or lake to be allowed to every four square miles of area; the other boundaries to be straight lines running north and south, east and west.

"No land to be taken up within five miles of the towns of Melbourne, Geelong, Williamstown, or Portland.

"The right of opening roads through any part of the land to be reserved for the Crown, but no other reservation whatever to be inserted in the Deeds of Grant."

The Port Albert Company took up land, under the above conditions, between the Albert and Tarra rivers. It was in Orr's name, and is still known as Orr's Special Survey. A surveyor was appointed to mark and plan the boundaries; he delegated the work to another surveyor. Next a re-survey was made, then a sub-divisional survey, and then other surveys went on for fifty years, with ever-varying results. It is now a well-established fact that Orr's Special Survey is subject to an alternate expansion and contraction of area, which from time to time vitiates the labour of every surveyor, and has caused much professional animosity. Old men with one foot in the grave, in this year 1895, are still accusing each other of embezzling acres of it; the devil of Discord, and Mercury the god of thieves, encamped upon it; the Port Albert Company fell into its Slough of Despond, which in the Court of Equity was known as "Kemmis v. Orr," and there all the members perished.

Mr. John Reeve had a land receipt, and wanted land. After he had taken up the station known as Snake Ridge he looked about for a good Special Survey. He engaged Davy and his whaleboat for a cruise in Port Albert waters and McMillan, Sheridan, and Loughnan were of the party. They went up the narrow channel called the Caledonian Canal, examined the bluffs, shores, and islands of Shallow Inlet, and at night encamped on St. Margaret's Island. When shelter was required, Davy usually put up the mainsail of his boat for a tent; but that night was so fine and warm that it was decided to avoid the trouble of bringing the sail ashore and putting it up. After supper the men lay around the fire, and one by one fell asleep; but about midnight heavy rain began to fall, the sail was brought ashore, and they all crept under it to keep themselves as dry as possible.

The next morning was fair. On leaving the port it had been the intention of the party to return the same evening, and the boat was victualled for one day only. There was now nothing for breakfast but a little tea and sugar and a piece of damper: no flesh, fish, or fowl. Davy was anxious to entertain his passengers to the best of his ability, especially Mr. Reeve, who, though not of delicate health, was a gentleman of refined tastes, and liked to have his meals prepared and served in the best style. Fresh water was of the first necessity, and, after so much rain, should have been plentiful, but not a spoonful could anywhere be found: the soil of the island was sandy, and all the rain had soaked into it and disappeared. The damper having been exposed to the weather was saturated with water. There was in the boat a large three-legged iron pot, half filled with fat, a hard and compact dainty not liable to be spilled or wasted, and in it had been stewed many a savoury meal of sandpipers, parrots, rats, and quail. This pot had been fortunately left upright and uncoveredduring the night, and the abundant rain had filled it with fresh water. Davy, with the intuition of artistic genius, at once saw the means of producing a repast fit for the gods. He poured the water which covered the fat from the iron pot into the kettle, which he placed on the fire for the purpose of making tea. He cut the sodden damper into substantial slices, put them into the pot, and cooked them in the fat over the fire. When well done they tasted like fried bread, and gave entire satisfaction; Mr. Reeve observing, when the feast was finished, that he had never in all his life eaten a better breakfast.

A start was made for the port, but the wind came dead ahead, and the men had to pull the whole way across the inlet, through the Caledonian Canal, and as far as Long Point. There they went ashore for a rest, and Mr. Reeve asked Davy if he could find the mouth of the Tarra River. Davy said he had never been there, but he had no doubt that he could find it, as he had seen the river when he was duck-shooting. It was then high water, and the wind still blowing strongly from the west, so a reef was taken in the lug, and the boat ran right into the Tarra as far as the site of the present court-house. There the party landed, and after looking at the country Mr. Reeve decided to take up his special survey there. It was partly open forest, but it contained, also, a considerable area of rich flats covered with luxuriant tea tree and myrtle scrub, which in course of time became mingled with imported blackberry bushes, whins, sweetbriar, and thistles. Any quantity of labour might be spent on it with advantage to the owner, so the following advertisement appeared in the public journals:

TO CAPITALISTS AND THE INDUSTRIOUS LABOURING CLASS.

GIPPSLAND—PORT ALBERT.

An accurate plan of Mr. Reeve's Special Survey of Tarra Vale having been completed, notice is hereby given that farms of various sizes are now open for sale or lease. The proprietor chiefly desires the establishment of a Respectable Tenantry, and will let these farms at the moderate rent of one bushel of wheat per acre. The estate consists of 5,120 acres of rich alluvial flats; no part of the estate is more than two miles from the freshwater stream of Tarra. Many families already occupy purchased allotments in the immediate vicinity of the landing place and Tarra Ville. There is a licensed hotel, good stores and various tradesmen, likewise dray roads from Maneroo and Port Philip. Apply to F. Taylor, Tarra Ville, or John Brown, Melbourne.

There were several doubtful statements in this notice, but, as the law says, "Buyer, beware."

Joshua Dayton was not a capitalist, but he belonged to the Industrious Labouring Class, and he offered himself, and was accepted as a Respectable Tenant, at the rental of a bushel of wheat to the acre. He was a thief on principle, but simple Mr. Taylor, of Tarraville, put his trust in him, because it would be necessary to fence and improve the land in order to produce the bushel of wheat. The fee simple, at any rate, would be safe with Mr. Reeve; but we live and learn—learn that there are men ingenious enough to steal even the fee simple, and transmit it by will to their innocent children.

The farm comprised a beautiful and rich bend of the Tarra, forming a spacious peninsula. Joshua erected a fence across the isthmus, leaving the rest of his land open to the trespass of cattle, which were, therefore, liable to be driven away. But he did not drive them away; he impounded them within his bend, and at his leisure selected the fattest for slaughter, thus living literally on the fat of the land. He formed his boiling-down establishment in a retired glade, surrounded with tea-tree, tall and dense, far from the prying eyes and busy haunts of men. His hut stood on a gentle rise above the highest flood mark, and in close proximity to the slip rails, which were jealously guarded by his Cerberus, Neddy, a needy immigrant of a plastic nature, whose mind succumbed under the strong logic of his employer.

Neddy had so far led an honest life, and did not fall into habits of thievery without some feelings of compunction. When Joshua first drove cattle into the bend, he did not tell Neddy that he had stolen them. Oh, no! He said:

"Here are a few beasts I have had running about for some time, and I think I'll kill one or two of the fattest and make tallow of them. Beef is worth next to nothing, and we must make a living somehow. And I know you would like a little fresh beef, Neddy; a change of diet is good for the health."

But Neddy was not so much of a fool as to be able to shut his eyes to the nature of the boiling-down business. The brands were too various, and Joshua claimed them all. Neddy said one night:

"Don't you think, Joshua, this game of yours is rather dangerous? Why, it's nothing better than cattle stealing; and I've heern folks say at one time it was a hanging matter. You may be found out some day by an unlucky chance, and then what will you do?"

"You mustn't call it cattle stealing, Neddy; that doesn't sound well," said Joshua. "I call it back pay for work and labour done. I have good reasons for it. I was sent out for stealing a horse, which I never did steal; I only bought it cheap for a couple of pounds. They sent me to the island, and I worked seven years for a settler for nothing. Now I put it to you, Neddy, as an honest and sensible man, Am I to get no pay for that seven years' work? And how am I to get it if I don't take it myself? The Government will give me no pay; they'd give me another seven years if they could. But you see, there are no peelers here, no beaks, and no blooming courts, so I intend to make hay while the sun shines, which means tallow in these times. All these settlers gets as much work out of Government men as they can get for nothing, and if you says two words to 'em they'll have you flogged. So while I does my seven years I says nothing, but I thinks, and I makes up my mind to have it out of 'em when my time comes. And I say it's fair and honest to get your back wages the best way you can. These settlers are all tarred with the same brush; they make poor coves like us work for 'em, and flog us like bullocks, and then they pretend they are honest men. I say be blowed to such honesty."

"But if you are caught, Joshua, what then?"

"Well, we must be careful. I don't think they'll catch me in a hurry. You see, I does my business quick: cuts out the brand and burns it first thing, and always turns out beasts I don't want directly."

Other men followed the example of Joshua, so that between troubles with the black men, troubles with the white men, and the want of a market for his stock, the settler's days were full of anxiety and misery. And, in addition, the Government in Sydney was threatening him with a roaming taxgatherer under the name of a Commissioner of Crown Lands, to whom was entrusted the power of increasing or diminishing assessments at his own will and pleasure. The settler therefore bowed down before the lordly tax-gatherer, and entertained him in his hut with all available hospitality, with welcome on his lips, smiles on his face, and hatred in his heart.

The fees and fines collected by the Commissioners all over New South Wales had fallen off in one year to the extent of sixty-five per cent; more revenue was therefore required, and was it not just that those who occupied Crown lands should support the dignity of the Crown? Then the blacks had to be protected, or otherwise dealt with. They could not pay taxes, as the Crown had already appropriated all they were worth, viz., their country. But they were made amenable to British law; and in that celebrated case, "Regina v. Jacky Jacky," it was solemnly decided by the judge that the aborigines were subjects of the Queen, and that judge went to church on the Sabbath and said his prayers in his robes of office, wig and all.

Jacky Jacky was charged with aiding and abetting Long Bill to murder little Tommy. He said:

"Another one blackfellow killed him, baal me shoot him."

The court received his statement as equivalent to a plea of "Not guilty."

Witness Billy, an aboriginal, said:

"I was born about twenty miles from Sydney. If I don't tell stories, I shall go to Heaven; if I do, I shall go down below. I don't say any prayers. It is the best place to go up to Heaven. I learnt about heaven and hell about three years ago at Yass plains when driving a team there. Can't say what's in that book; can't read. If I go below, I shall be burned with fire."

Billy was sworn, and said:

"I knew Jacky Jacky and Cosgrove, the bullock driver. I know Fyans Ford. I know Manifolds. I went from Fyans Ford with Cosgrove, a drove of cattle, and a dray for Manifolds. I knew Little Tommy at Port Fairy. He is dead. I saw him dying. When driving the team, I fell in with a lot of blacks. They asked me what black boy Tommy was; told them my brother. They kept following us two miles and a half. Jacky Jacky said; 'Billy, I must kill that black boy in spite of you.'"

Jacky Jacky said sharply, "Borack."

"Jacky Jacky, who was the king, got on the dray, and Little Tommy got down; a blackfellow threw a spear at him, and hit him in the side; the king also threw a spear, and wounded him; a lot of blacks also speared him. Long Bill came up and shot him with a ball. Jacky Jacky said to Cosgrove: 'Plenty gammon; I must kill that black boy.' Little Tommy belonged to the Port Fairy tribe, which had always been fighting with Jacky Jacky's tribe."

"It's all gammon," said Jacky Jacky, "borack me, its another blackfellow."

"Jacky Jacky, when with the dray, spoke his own language which I did not understand. I was not a friend of Little Tommy. I was not afraid of the Port Fairy tribe. I am sometimes friend with Jacky Jacky's tribe. If I met him at Yass I can't say whether I should spear him or not; they would kill him at the Goulburn River if he went there. Blackfellow not let man live who committed murder."

Are the aboriginals amenable to British law? Question argued by learned counsel, Messrs. Stawell and Barry.

His Honor the Resident Judge said: "The aboriginals are amenable to British law, and it is a mercy to them to be under that control, instead of being left to seek vengeance in the death of each other; it is a mercy to them to be under the protection of British law, instead of slaughtering each other."

Jacky Jacky was found guilty of "aiding and abetting." The principals in the murder were not prosecuted, probably could not be found. Before leaving the court, he turned to the judge and said, "You hang me this time?"

He only knew two maxims of British law applicable to his race, and these he had learned by experience. One maxim was "Shoot 'em" and the other was "Hang him."

There is abundant evidence to prove that an aboriginal legal maxim was, "The stranger is an enemy, kill him." It was for that reason Jacky Jacky killed Little Tommy, who was a stranger, belonging to the hostile Port Fairy tribe.

Joshua and Neddy carried on the boiling down business successfully for some time, regularly shipping tallow to Melbourne in casks, until some busybody began to insinuate that their tallow was contraband. Then Joshua took to carrying goods up the country, and Neddy took to drink. He died at the first party given by Mother Murden at her celebrated hostelry.

There were at this time about two hundred men, women, and children scattered about the neighbourhood of New Leith (afterwards called Port Albert), the Old Port, the New Alberton and Tarra Vale. Alberton, by the way, was gazetted as a township before the "village" of St. Kilda was founded. There were no licenses issued for the various houses of entertainment, vulgarly called "sly grog shops." There was no church, no school, no minister, and no music, until Mother Murden imported some. It was hidden in the recesses of a barrel organ; and, in order to introduce the new instrument to the notice of her patrons and friends, Mother Murden posted on her premises a manuscript invitation to a grand ball. She was anxious that everything should be carried out in the best style, and that the festive time should commence at least without intoxication. She therefore had one drunken man carried into the "dead room," another to an outside shed. Neddy, the third, had become one of her best customers, and therefore she treated him kindly. He was unsteady on his legs, and she piloted him with her own hands to the front door, expecting that he would find a place for himself somewhere or other. She gave him a gentle shove, said "Good night, Neddy," and closed the door. She then cleared a space for the dancers in her largest room, placed the barrel-organ on a small table in one corner, and made her toilet.

The guests began to arrive, and Mother Murden received them in her best gown at the front door. Neddy was lying across the threshold.

"It's only Neddy," she said apologetically; "he has been taking a little nobbler, and it always runs to his head. He'll be all right by-and-by. Come in my dears, and take your things off. You'll find a looking-glass in the room behind the bar."

The gentlemen stepped over Neddy, politely gave their hands to the ladies, and helped them over the human obstacle.

When everything was ready, Mother Murden sat down by the barrel-organ, took hold of the handle, and addressed her guests:

"Now boys, choose your girls."



The biggest bully, a "conditional pardon" man of the year 1839, acted as master of the ceremonies, and called out the figures. He also appropriated the belle of the ball as his partner.

The dancing began with great spirit, but as the night wore on the music grew monotonous. There were only six tunes in the organ, and not all the skill and energy of Mother Murden could grind one more out of it.

Neddy lay across the doorway, and was never disturbed. He did not wake in time to take any part in the festive scene, being dead. Now and then a few of the dancers stepped over him, and remarked, "Neddy is having a good rest." In the cool night air they walked to and fro, then, returning to the ball-room, they took a little refreshment, and danced to the same old tunes, until they were tired.

Mother Murden's first ball was a grand success for all but Neddy.

"No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet, To chase the glowing hours with flying feet."

But morn reveals unsuspected truths, and wrinkled invisible in the light of tallow candles. The first rays of the rising sun fell on Neddy's ghastly face, and the "conditional pardon" man said, "Why, he's dead and cold."

Mother Murden came to the door with a tumbler in her hand, containing a morning nip for Neddy, "to kill the worm," as the Latins say; but the worm was dead already. The merry-makers stood around; the men looked serious and the ladies shivered. They said the air felt chilly, so they bade one another good morning and hurried home.

It is hard to say why one sinner is taken and the other left. Joshua's time did not arrive until many years afterwards, when we had acquitted him at the General Sessions; but that is another story.



HOW GOVERNMENT CAME TO GIPPSLAND.

At this time there was no visible government in Gippsland. The authorities in Sydney and Melbourne must have heard of the existence of the country and of its settlement, but they were content for a time with the receipt of the money paid into the Treasury for depasturing licenses and for assessments on stock.

In 1840 the Land Fund received in New South Wales amounted to 316,000 pounds; in 1841 it was only 90,000 pounds; and in 1842 Sir George Gipps, in his address to the Council severely reprimanded the colonists for the reckless spirit of speculation and overtrading in which they had indulged during the two preceding years. This general reprimand had a more particular application to Mr. Benjamin Boyd, the champion boomer of those days.

Labourers out of employment were numerous, and contractors were informed by 'Gazette' notice that the services of one hundred prisoners were available for purposes of public utility, such as making roads, dams, breakwaters, harbours, bridges, watchhouses, and police buildings. Assignees of convicts were warned that if they wished to return them to the custody of the Government, they must pay the expense of their conveyance to Sydney, otherwise all their servants would be withdrawn, and they would become ineligible as assignees of prisoners in future.

Between the first of July, 1840, and the first of November, 1841, 26,556 bounty immigrants had been received in Sydney. The bounty orders were suspended in the autumn of the latter year, but in 1842 Lord Stanley was of opinion that the colony could beneficially receive ten thousand more immigrants during the current year.

Many married labourers could find no work in Sydney, and in November, 1843, the Government requested persons sending wool-drays to the city to take families to inland districts gratis.

A regular stream of half-pay officers also poured into the colony, and made Sir George's life a burden. They all wanted billets, and if he made the mistake of appointing a civilian to some office, Captain Smith, with war in his eye and fury in his heart, demanded an interview at once. He said:

"I see by this morning's 'Gazette' that some fellow of the name of Jones has been made a police superintendent, and here am I, an imperial officer, used to command and discipline, left out in the cold, while that counter-jumper steps over my head. I can't understand your policy, Sir George. What will my friends of the club in London say, when they hear of it, but that the service is going to the dogs?"

So Captain Smith obtained his appointment as superintendent of police, and with a free sergeant and six convict constables, taken, as it were, out of bond, was turned loose in the bush. He had been for twenty years in the preventive service, but had never captured a prize more valuable than a bottle of whisky. He knew nothing whatever about horses, and rode like a beer barrel, but he nevertheless lectured his troopers about their horses and accoutrements. The sergeant was an old stockrider, and he one day so far forgot the rules of discipline as to indulge in a mutinous smile, and say:

"Well, captain, you may know something about a ship, but I'll be blowed if you know anything about a horse."

That observation was not entered in any report, but the sergeant was fined 2 pounds for "insolence and insubordination." The sum of 60,899 pounds was voted for police services in 1844, and Captain Smith was paid out of it. All the revenue went to Sydney, and very little of it found its way to Melbourne, so that Mr. Latrobe's Government was sometimes deprived of the necessaries of life.

Alberton was gazetted as a place for holding Courts of Petty Sessions, and Messrs. John Reeve and John King were appointed Justices of the Peace for the new district.

Then Michael Shannon met James Reading on the Port Albert Road, robbed him of two orders for money and a certificate of freedom, and made his way to Melbourne. There he was arrested, and remanded by the bench to the new court at Alberton. But there was no court there, no lock-up, and no police; and Mr. Latrobe, with tears in his eyes, said he had no cash whatever to spend on Michael Shannon.

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."