English passengers

by Matthew Kneale

  ‘‘You saw their fires,’’ Mother told him, folding her arms and looking at him as if he was just some piss-poor foolishness. ‘‘We ’ll just get more tired and hungry and still they’ll be coming. No, it’s better to fight them now.’’

  Nobody wanted to fight these whites, as they were so many that we knew this was dying, which was heinous, but she was right, I could surmise. Besides, Mother was frightening, especially when she was angry, so being killed seemed almost easier than saying no. Mother let us rest a short while, but then she took her spear and got to her feet. So she started going straight back towards white scuts, first slow, then faster, and all the while we followed.

  Ben Hayes, Van Diemen’s Land Farmer 1830

  FOR TWO DAYS we crossed farmland, which was sweet. I slept one night in a fine dry barn, and sometimes the women would see us coming and run out with hot milk and fresh bread, which tasted better than Christmas goose. It didn’t last, though. Before long we struck bush that was thick like it only knows how in Van Diemen’s Land, with thorns that tore our clothes and then tore us, so soon everyone was ripped halfway to rags, with so many scars it looked like they’d been napping on bloody bayonets. My worry was my boots, which were getting so bad that I had to tie them with strips from my shirt just to keep the soles on. I hated my pack by then. It is a fact that what seems light as daisies for a minute becomes heavy as rocks when you’re hauling it mile after mile, so hardly a moment passed when I wasn’t wishing I could fling away those handcuffs, and that I’d never brought those two pistols of mine.

  We slept a night in forest, and the next day we climbed into high open country, which was welcome apart from the cold wind. It was that same afternoon that I saw them. I had stopped a moment to shift my pack and try to get more comfortable—though it never did any good—and when I looked up, there they were, two dozen or more of the buggers, scampering away over the next hill. I just froze. I glanced across to Sam and he was just the same. Then we looked at each other and sort of laughed. Not that it was funny.

  We passed the word along and then kept going like before. Soon after it started raining, which was bad, as my clothes had barely dried off properly from the last wetting. It was coming on towards dusk when the shout went down the line to stop. Usually we made camp in just pairs, but this time, what with having seen those blacks, and so many too, this didn’t feel quite safe, and we ended being six. I suppose it did leave a bit of gap to eastwards, but the way we saw it, if they did start trouble at least we’d be enough to fight. Now Pete Tanner was one of those fellows who can get a flame out of pure pond water and soon he had a merry little blaze going, in spite of the wet that was still coming down all around. Well, there’s nothing better to warm the bones than a fire. We cooked some flour into damper, while Sam pulled out a small possum that he’d bagged with his musket that morning, and once we’d got his coat off he was soon doing nicely, smelling sweet as could be.

  The way I look on it now it was the rain that was to blame, as, this being dusk, it did make it hard for a man to see far. Besides, it was so chilly that only a fool would stray off from that blaze we had going. We’d set a watch, for sure, but those blacks must’ve had some way of making themselves hardly visible, as he only saw them when it was nearly too late. All of a sudden there they were, running like the wind through the little valley just below us. Trouble they looked, too. Up at the front was a one that I could only think must be that Amazon I’d heard tell of. Stark naked she was, and holding a fowling piece in her hand. That was a shock, truly, as nobody’d said anything about them having guns. Why, we should’ve been warned. Behind her was another strange one, just a boy, and black as the rest, though his hair was pale as straw.

  Well, we took up our guns quick enough, though it was hard to catch them in our sights what with all their running and jiggling. I was ready to fire, that’s the truth, and I would’ve too if one of the others had only given a shout, like I was expecting for them to do. None of them did. The fact was it was a worry that we might miss, especially with the blacks being so invisible in the dusk, as then they might come back at us, including that Amazon with her gun. Everything went quiet, so all you could hear was the rain and the crackle of the possum roasting on the fire, and inside half a moment they’d scampered away nearly out of range.

  Sam was the one who finally spoke. ‘‘I suppose we should go after them.’’ The way he spoke made it sound like a question.

  Nobody answered, but nobody moved either. We just stood watching. A moment later they’d reached trees and were gone from sight.

  ‘‘If we go after them that’d leave a gap in the line,’’ said Pete Tanner.

  Sam chewed on his cheek a little, which was his habit. ‘‘Besides, there’s no telling if our guns would ever fire in this wet.’’

  Soon after, we went back to sitting round the fire, where it was warm. The damper and that possum were tasty as could be, and later we brewed up some tea in the billy. That night we set a proper watch, with fellows staying awake in turns, just like the proper army. Nobody saw anything, mind.

  It wasn’t that we ever decided to stay quiet about what happened, it was just that none of us said anything. There hardly seemed much purpose.

  George Alder, Governor of Van Diemen’s Land 1830

  ONCE BREAKFAST WAS DONE with and all was packed up once more, our mighty march resumed, with a great jangling of billies, water bottles and muskets. It was only now, as we approached the end of this great campaign, and the narrowness of the land brought together these two thousand men, who had been strung out half across the island, that they finally, by their concentration, assumed the appearance of an army. A brave little army they looked, too, in their ragged clothes and boots. What noble work they had done, to traverse this harsh land, and without suffering a single casualty, excepting those few who had died from mishap, or accidentally shot one another. Their great task was almost done. My chief concern now was that they should remember to treat the aborigines with gentle forcefulness, as I had urged.

  Ned, my chief police magistrate, who is quite a worrier, feared that we might not have enough pairs of handcuffs. ‘‘The reports I have had say there could be as many as four entire tribes trapped.’’

  ‘‘If we run short, then we can always use rope from the tents,’’ I suggested. My attention being then distracted by the sound of shouting behind me, I glanced back and caught sight of a man who could hardly have looked more out of place in this wild spot if he had sought to do so: he bore no weapons, and rather than wearing rough outdoors clothes was dressed in a coat and top hat which would have been more appropriate for a visit to church. As he drew nearer, I recognized him as John Pierce. It was, I supposed, hardly a great surprise, as the man was an infamous maker of nuisance. He had once been employed as an agricultural officer by the New World Land Company, only to abandon his work and appear in Hobart, uttering the wildest claims of cruelties done to the blacks by his colleagues. Fortunately his employer, Mr. Charles, who is a most goodly fellow, had already written to warn me of the man, who he explained had grown quite demented, and had taken to living wildly in the bush like some vagrant. Pierce came several times to Government House with his denunciations, and once he even attempted to accost me in the street, so I was sorely tempted to have him arrested.

  Observing me, he spurred on his horse, calling out in a frenzied voice. ‘‘Governor Alder, I demand that this operation be stopped this moment. You are committing deliberate murder here, nothing less.’’

  He was a most curious-looking fellow, with eyes that were forever blinking and a wounded expression that almost made one wonder if he might break into tears. Demented though he was, I supposed I must give him some answer. ‘‘Mr. Pierce, you are thoroughly mistaken. There will be no murder here.’’ I began to tell him of the three hundred pairs of handcuffs we had prepared, and of the careful instructions I had given to the men, though it was to no avail. I dare say there is no arguing with a madman.

 
; ‘‘Your handcuffs are mere pretence,’’ he insisted. ‘‘Your intention, though you seek to hide it behind the contraptions of justice, is only too evident. I will not be removed. I will bear witness to this massacre so it can never be denied.’’

  I was fast growing weary of the fellow. ‘‘Mr. Pierce,’’ I informed him. ‘‘I never suggested you should be removed, but if you continue to make a nuisance of yourself and to disrupt this most important military operation, then you certainly shall be.’’

  It was then that, rather to my puzzlement, I saw he had fallen into silence, and was now staring ahead with a look of profound surprise. I followed his look. While I had been arguing with the fellow we must have ridden over a ridge, as now a fine view stretched out ahead. It was an exhilarating spot, with gulls hanging high in the wind and the crash of waves all around. To the left lay the sea, to the right also, with the thick line of men glinting and stamping away in each direction, as far as the shores. In front of us lay a wide expanse of open grassland, rolling gently down to the water, and looking a little like some wild part of the Devonshire coast. we had reached the very end of the peninsular, and our great march.

  ‘‘It is a miracle,’’ Pierce murmured.

  The most noticeable thing about the scene, I should explain, was that it was wholly and utterly empty of aborigines.

  Peevay 1830-31

  TIME PASSED, summer came and our fleeing and fighting went on like before. Then one day we found a cider gum tree. This was good tidings, yes, as they never are usual. We cut his bark so gum dripped out into a hollow we made, mixing with water and getting changed into some sweet stuff which makes you foolish and dizzy. This was a good one, too, with enough for everybody, and soon we were laughing and so. All except Mother. Truth was Mother never was the same after that great creeping of num white scuts. Even though nothing happened, and they just stood there by their fire watching, and never killed us after all, still Mother got afflicted, worse than I ever saw her before, and even long after, her look was like stone. I supposed it was because she knew we never could win now, and she wished we got killed then, just so, all finished.

  We were still sitting round the cider gum when Cordeve, who was keeping watch that time, called out. ‘‘Look there. It’s my sister!’’

  Cordeve was Tommeginer and I never even knew he had any sister, but there she was, yes, walking through trees, with two other women I never saw before. That was great good fortune, truly, as we never saw any but white scuts all this long while, ever since we became Mother’s tribe, so it was joyous to find others like us were still alive. Usually Cordeve was just quiet but now he was gleeful and tidings of joy, running to these new ones. He got near, too, when suddenly his friendliness turned to a fighting run, and he raised his spear for throwing. ‘‘Watch out,’’ he shouted. ‘‘Behind you.’’

  There coming after his sister, you see, was one white man. He was a puzzle to confound, yes. He had no gun or killing knife, and just stood there, short and fat and easy to hit, and smiling too. I think Cordeve would spear him, too, but then his sister didn’t go away like anyone would expect, but ran back to stand before this num and be his guard. ‘‘Stop!’’ she called. ‘‘He’s my friend.’’

  Yes, that was strange, but strangest thing came just after. All at once that num white scut shouted to us, and d’you know he never shouted to us in white man’s talk at all, but in Tommeginer language. He didn’t speak very properly, truly, as his words were wrong and stupid, like baby’s, but still, whoever did hear of some white man speaking like us? ‘‘Don’t be frightened,’’ he told. ‘‘I only want to help you. My name is Robson.’’

  ‘‘You must listen to him,’’ said Cordeve’s sister, very beseeching. ‘‘He can save us.’’

  This Robson was smiling now, as if we were foolish children. I suppose we were staring in mighty surprise at his knowing our own words. ‘‘She’s right. I know of a place where you’ll all be safe. A fine place where there are plenty of kangaroo to hunt and no bad white men can hurt you. I can take you there.’’ He reached into his dead skin, which was dirty, and pulled out some shiny round things of different colours, like flat stones. ‘‘These are for you. They’re called buttons.’’

  His words were interesting, yes, as in truth I was too tired of always hurrying and fighting and being cold and hungry. Besides we were not many now and probably we would all be killed quite soon. Cordeve was going up to take one of the coloured things that were called buttons, and I thought I might too, as they were pleasing, but then Mother gave her hating look.

  ‘‘Don’t go near,’’ she told. ‘‘No white pisser brings anything but killing.’’ So she turned to white man Robson. ‘‘Go away and leave us alone or I’ll kill you.’’

  Robson never seemed to hear her words at all, just smiling as if he never believed her. I suppose he never did know Mother. ‘‘We have meat for you if you are hungry,’’ he said, just smiling. ‘‘Plenty of it. And a fine warm fire to sit beside.’’

  ‘‘And there are many others with us who you’ll know,’’ said Cordeve’s sister.

  All of a sudden Mother just raised her gun and fired. I never did surmise if she wanted to miss that fellow or if she was just confounded. Probably she was confounded. Though he wasn’t killed, still he was mightily fearful, and I recollect he went like some spider, crouching, running away and holding up his hands to stop anyone hitting him— though nobody was—all at the same time. Cordeve’s sister and the other two women went with him, running away into bushes, and then Cordeve went too, calling out his sister’s name. I suppose he was sad to lose her so quick after she got found.

  ‘‘We must go away from here,’’ said Mother.

  So we went away. I did ponder, as we walked, that maybe this white man could save us like he said. Probably some others wondered too. Still nobody said anything to Mother, as no one ever did. All the while she was looking angry and calling us to go faster, as if she was more fearful of this one white scut with his smile and speaking Tommeginer language than all those others in the great creeping, with their guns and killing knives. By and by we reached a high place, and when we stopped and looked back there were tails of smoke from fire sticks, so we knew he wasn’t scared by getting nearly killed, but was coming after us still. Those smokes were several, too, so we surmised there must be plenty of our ones with him, just like Cordeve’s sister said.

  So we were fleeing again, and this time it was from our own too, and not just num. This was much harder. When we looked back they always were close after us, so ours were watching our tracks, and seeing them even though we went carefully, which num never could. Even then I think we could evade them easily, except that coughing sickness came. I never had seen this till then, though I had heard of it as some heinous thing, and more killing even than white scuts. On that second day of fleeing it caught Cordeve’s cousin, whose name was Lawerick. After just a few hours he was hot and gasping, and by evening he was spitting out white stuff like bird shit, and was so crook he hardly could speak. That same night two others got sick besides. One was Mother.

  A thing about Mother was she never would yield. If my skill was enduring, then hers was just going on by and by. Some other would know we must stop now as we were just ruination, but not Mother. Next morning her eyes were faint and her step was stiff, but still she never paid any heed. ‘‘We must go to the river,’’ she declared.

  I soon saw her bold intention. First, when we got to the river, we put out all fire sticks except just one and put them in bushes, and we hid our tracks by brushing them with leaves. Then we stepped into the stream, though it was cold, and we began walking, shouting at the dog animals to try and make them stay in the water too. All day we followed that stream, though our feet got numb and were often cut by sharp stones, and Lawerick and Mother and those others got more crook all the while. Finally we came to a place where all was big rocks, smooth and flat like big shells, and Mother said we could go out onto these, as they showed
no tracks. Behind was a small forest and this was where we went, wiping our footmarks so foes wouldn’t see.

  I supposed we were safe now, but still we were getting sicker by and by. Mother said we couldn’t have any campfire here, even in a hole, as enemies would smell its smoke, and that night was cold. In the morning Lawerick was very bad, moaning and such, and though his eyes were open he didn’t know anybody. He died soon after, and his dying started a big fight, I do recollect, as his brother said we must burn him, which was correct, but Mother said no even to this.

  ‘‘We ’ll put him in the forest now and burn him later, when they’re far away,’’ she told. Lawerick’s brother was too angry, saying animals might find that body and eat it, but he was alone in his talk, and so Lawerick got put in the forest like Mother desired.

  Later that day clouds went and warm sun shone, which was better, and everyone who wasn’t bad with coughing sickness went searching for roots to eat just nearby. I went with Heedeek. We found some, and though they weren’t so many still it was more food than we had since we started our fleeing, and we ate hungrily and then gave some to the others that were crook, who were six now. It is pleasing to eat when you are hungry, and afterwards everyone lay down to rest.

  Everyone except me.

  I was thinking, you see, of that white man’s warm fire and his meat to eat, and how blissful these things would be. Then I was thinking of his promised place with kangaroo to hunt, where we would be safe, I did surmise. For a time I looked at those others as they slept, and then, very quietly, I went away. Nearby was a tree that was tall, and so I climbed, going high till I reached just thin branches which leaned as I held them. From that place I could see half of everywhere, so it looked. Over to westwards were mountains, sharp like cutting stones. Near to eastwards was that same cold river where we walked to be hidden. And there, to southwards, were thin lines of smoke like rope. These were never so near as before now, and as I watched, holding on to those branches till my arms ached, I saw they were moving away from us now. Yes, I could divine, Mother’s walking in the stream had worked and they had missed us. When I climbed down I went over to Mother, who was hot and coughing in her sleep. I took some root I found, which was large and just good for eating, and I put this near her hand, just as some kindly thing. Next I went over to the small fire stick that was all the fire Mother let us have now.