by Tim Flannery
From Bargo we arrived at J. Keigron’s inn, situated in a valley of good land, but closely encompassed by bushy hills, which give to the whole place a rather wild aspect. The continual anxiety of an Australian traveller is regarding the existence of some potable water. I was therefore much annoyed when I saw this day towards sunset the firmament getting covered with dark clouds, which decrepitated at last in a heavy southerly storm with lightning, whilst we had still five miles to go to the place where I had determined to stop. We therefore proceeded with some haste through a wood of gum trees, which were actuated and as it were swept by a heavy gale. After some time proceeding on a road not well settled, we perceived, quite in the darkness, lights which however were only belonging to some drays, the pitched tents of which looked rather strange in this perplexing obscurity. Upon inquiry we heard that houses were near and, after some straggling about, I fell into the house of——Chalker. This rather renowned pugilist received me with civility enough, and offered us every accommodation his little quasi inn offered.
† Mr H. was of course William Hovell.
* This is one of the names by which the transported convicts are distinguished in the colony.
GEORGE FRANKLAND
A Landscape beyond All Description, 1835
The breathtaking beauty of Tasmania’s central highlands remained unknown for decades after European settlement. The Aboriginal inhabitants had been largely exterminated or removed before George Frankland entered this fairy-tale landscape on an exploring expedition to the head of the Derwent River in February 1835. Frankland left the expedition two weeks before Lake Pedder was discovered by John Wedge on 11 March 1835. What would he have thought had he known that, little more than a century after European eyes first lighted on glorious Lake Pedder, the jewel in the south-west’s crown would follow its first human inhabitants into oblivion?
10 February 1835—In the evening having advanced about six miles we reached the eastern extremity of an unusually extensive marsh—through which we found a considerable river took its course which I called the Humboldt in honor of the distinguished naturalist of that name. We encamped on the edge of a small streamlet which joined the river towards the western end of the marsh, and before night I reconnoitred the country to the extent of four or five miles around our ground. We found a great abundance of kangaroos but no wild cattle.
A very remarkable mountain here discovered itself to our view towards the north-west. It appeared of immense height, and perpendicular on all sides. From its situation and features I conjectured that it must be the hill called Barn’s Bluff which lies to the south of the Company’s lands, and which I had formerly seen from that side—and in this belief we remained for several days afterwards. Its isolated and commanding position at once excited in us the desire of ascending to its summit, but the apparently inaccessible nature of its faces left us but slender hope of being able to accomplish the object.
11 February—The first portion of this day’s march lay through the long plain before described. The Humboldt running to the south was crossed by a good ford—and we again entered tracts of open forests—with occasional intervals of beautiful marshes wearing the most luxuriant appearance. Continuing a west course and after advancing five miles we suddenly found ourselves on the edge of a beautiful lake in the heart of scenery of the most picturesque character.
I here halted the party to breakfast, and on climbing a tree I ascertained that the sheet of water on the border of which we then stood formed but a comparatively small proportion of the lake which, after winding round several tongues of land beautifully tufted with rich luxuriant foliage, extended for many miles to the north-west, washing the north-east bases of the lofty mountains which I have just mentioned. Judging from the appearances around us that a river probably discharged itself from the lake near the point we then occupied, I despatched Alexander Mackay to coast it to the westward for a mile or two while the party were breakfasting, and while I was engaged in making drawings of the romantic scenery around.
In the course of half an hour he returned, bringing the intelligence that his progress had soon been arrested by a large river falling out of the lake, and being to all appearance the Derwent. This conjecture—in which I entirely agreed so soon as I had reached its banks—was, as will be seen, subsequently verified by the result of our journey.
After breakfasting on this beautiful spot we anxiously pressed forward to explore the extent and features of the lake. The eastern bank being evidently very steep and woody—high tabular hills falling abruptly to the edge of the water—I determined on crossing the river and coasting the lake by its western shore. At a point a few hundred yards from where the water discharges itself we found a tree lying across the river, which served to us for a secure bridge and enabled us to cross the whole of our baggage—the horses being unladen and made to ford the lake a little above the commencement of the river.
Arrived on the other side, I found an extensive flat tract of land bounding Lake Saint Clair on the south and, leaving the reach which had first come under our notice, we traversed this marsh in a north-west direction; and after walking about a mile we again joined the lake and obtained a magnificent view of the greatest portion of this beautiful sheet of water—a deep bay stretched away to our left (south-west) and lay embosomed in sloping hills covered with the most varied foliage, but the main arm extended in a north-west direction in one unbroken sheet apparently ten miles long and three wide, washing the northeastern base of that lofty basaltic mountain which I have before adverted to.
It was a fine summer’s day and the air was so serene that the surface of the water was scarcely ruffled but the sandy beaches bore evidence of the lake being at times as rough as the sea. I will not here dilate on the extreme beauty of this scenery as it might be considered out of place in an official report, but I confess that while thus narrating the circumstances of the journey I feel it difficult to avoid expressing the impressions of delight which were inspired by the first discoverings of such a romantic country, impressions which are almost revived by retracing one’s progress through it, even in cold narrative. I believe every man of the party felt more or less the calm influence of the scenery and, to all, this day’s journey was a matter of recreation.
We sauntered along the south coast of the western bay for three miles, sometimes walking along the finest beaches of white gravel and sometimes ascending the banks—where an open forest opposed no obstacles to our travelling; at length, having reached the head of the bay and the clearer ground here closing in, we determined to halt and accordingly we pitched our blankets on the beach.
The point where we encamped commanded a good view of the upper portions of the great mountain and gave us the opportunity of reconnoitring its features at leisure. On every side it appeared scarped by perpendicular columns of basalt so as to be quite insurmountable but when the setting sun lit up in bold relief every pillar of this singular natural structure we conceived hopes of being able to find some fissure through which an ascent might be practicable, and as the position of the mountain rendered it probable that a most extensive view of the adjacent country would be commanded from its summit I resolved on attempting to scale it.
The base was computed to be seven miles from our encampment—and the intervening ground seemed thickly wooded. It was judged necessary therefore to provide ourselves with four days’ provisions for this excursion, and on the morning of the 12th—leaving a party of men with the pack horses and baggage at our encampment on the little bay, which was named Cynthia’s Cove—the remainder consisting of fourteen persons started in the direction of the mountain.
In the course of half an hour we reached a rapid torrent flowing towards the lake from the south-west. I named it the River Hügel in honour of Baron Charles Hügel of Vienna—and a few paces further we met another larger stream coming from the north-west and joining the Hügel close to the point of our crossing. This river I named Cuvier after the great naturalist who has by his genius and
researches added so extensively to human knowledge.
The opposite bank of this river was steep but thinly wooded and small wet marshes were every here and there interspersed. These clear patches occurred more frequently as we advanced, and after proceeding about a mile we emerged into a long open valley—quite free from timber save a few ornamental clumps of small gum trees. This beautiful valley extended in a north-west direction beyond the great mountain, skirting its base; the Cuvier wound through its centre. On the south-west it was confined by a range of lofty hills apparently separating it from the Hügel. On the north-east it was bounded by the great mountain and its minor ridges.
The discovery of this valley, into which we were ushered so opportunely by chance, gave—as may be conceived—a high zest to the excursion, the more especially as we had been prepared to encounter nothing but the most embarrassing forests. We pushed on rapidly to the foot of the mountain, only halting occasionally to sketch the scenery, or map the country, and before eleven o’clock we found ourselves fairly at the foot of the object of our ambition, its stupendous groups of columns hanging over our heads in the most imposing manner.
We chose the most abrupt point of ascent, and were not disappointed in our hope of finding a crevice between the pillars through which we could clamber. In one hour and twenty minutes we reached the top—hands and feet bearing a pretty equal share in the process—and, on assembling the party at the summit, the little remaining breath was devoted to three hearty cheers and we named the mountain—Olympus.
The view from this point was beyond all description—the whole of Lake Saint Clair lay at our feet with its beautiful bays and its golden beaches, and in addition we could descry at least twenty other lakes of various dimensions in different parts of the panorama. Two in particular attracted our especial notice and admiration by their beauty. They were both situated near Saint Clair’s and I named these lakes Petrarch and Laura. The former lay at the north-west extremity of Cuvier’s valley and gave rise to the river of that name, the latter deeply embosomed in the woody hills on the north side of Saint Clair’s. The whole of the country to the north was intersected by lofty alps; the northeastern country was high and tabular, abounding in lakes. The west too exhibited many chains of mountains and the ocean beyond; the well-known mountain at Macquarie Harbour—called Frenchman’s Cap—being a conspicuous object in that direction, but towards the south-east the eye ranged over extensive plains watered by the Derwent.
We found no water on the top of Mount Olympus but after a long search we fortunately discovered a patch of snow, and mixing it with sugar and ginger in our tin cups it was converted into a most refreshing repast. We passed several hours on the summit of this mountain, making every observation which the object of the expedition prompted and it was with reluctance that I commenced the descent after the sun had sunk beneath the horizon of the western ocean.
JOHN BATMAN
Batmania, 1835
John Batman, who sailed from Van Diemen’s Land to explore the Port Phillip district, was not a modest man. He named Batman Creek ‘after my good self’, and I’m sure he would have been delighted if Melbourne had retained the name of its founder. Doubtless, the name of the city of Batman with its crowds of Batmanians would eventually have become commonplace—but the same colonial sycophancy that lumbered us with the name Sydney ensured that Melbourne would prevail.
What Batman thought he was doing by getting Bungett and Jagajaga to draw sacred designs on a tree, by way of concluding his purchase of 600,000 acres of tribal land in exchange for a barrow load of trinkets, God only knows.
Friday 29 May 1835—This morning as soon as daylight appeared saw the heads of Port Phillip about eight miles off. With a fair wind we got between the heads about nine o’clock a.m., the tide running out, nearly low water. A very heavy surf running at the entrance. The wind was light, and with some difficulty we got in; width about one mile and a quarter, the depth five-and-a-half to seven fathoms of water. We got well into the port about ten o’clock, where the water is very smooth, and one of the finest basins of water I ever saw, and most extensive. I would not recommend anyone to come in until the tide was running in, when the surf is smooth at the mouth.
As we were sailing up the port heard a dog on the shore howling. Cannot think what brought it there. Just called upon deck to see about one hundred geese flying near the vessel; they seemed very large, and flew up the port before us. We anchored in a small bay about twelve miles up the port, and went on shore. Before we got into the boat we saw a dog on the sand. We put off and came up to the dog, which proved to be a native dog of New Holland, which had surely left the natives within a day or so, as he came quite close to my natives, and did not appear at all afraid, but would not allow them to take hold of him. Our dogs, after some time, took after him, and ran him into the water, where we shot him. He was a large dog, and much the same I have seen in New South Wales. We fell in with the tracks of the natives, which was only a day or two old; also huts on the bay where they had been eating mussels…
Saturday 30 May 1835—…I went on shore to look at the land, which appeared beautiful, with scarcely any timber on. On my landing I found the hills of a most superior description—beyond my most sanguine expectations. The land excellent and very rich—and light black soil, covered with kangaroo grass two feet high, and as thick as it could stand. Good hay could be made, and in any quantity. The trees were not more than six to the acre, and those small she-oak and wattle. I never saw anything equal to the land in my life. I walked over a considerable extent, and all of the same description. This land forms an isthmus which is about twenty miles long by ten across it—upwards of 100,000 acres of good land or more. I could see five or six miles in every direction. Most of the high hills was covered with grass to the summit, and not a tree, although the land was as good as land could be. The whole appeared like land laid out in farms for some one hundred years back, and every tree transplanted. I was never so astonished in my life…We anchored in three fathoms water and, to my joy and delight, we saw at some distance the natives’ fire. I intend to go off to them early in the morning and get, if possible, on a friendly footing with them in order to purchase land etc. from them…
Sunday 31 May 1835—…At daylight this morning we landed, to endeavour to meet the natives. We had not proceeded more than one and a half mile when we saw the smoke at seven large huts. My natives stripped off and went up to them quite naked. When they got to the huts, found that they had left this morning. Then, with the natives, went round, and found by their tracks the direction they went in. We followed on the tracks for ten miles or nearly, when Stomert, one of my natives, saw a black at the distance of a mile. We were at this time spread along. He made a sign to us, and all made in the same direction. He came up to the person (an old woman), quite cripple. She had no toes on one foot.
We then saw the remainder of the tribe about a mile further on. We made towards them, and got up to them about one o’clock p.m. They seemed quite pleased with my natives, who could partially understand them. They sang and danced for them. I found them to be only women and children: twenty of the former and twenty-four of the latter. The women were all of a small size, and every woman had a child at her back except one, who was quite a young woman and very good-looking. We understood that the men went up the river. They had four native dogs, and every woman had a load of sixty pounds or seventy pounds on her back, of one thing or another.† Each had two or three baskets, net-bags, native tomahawks, bones etc. I found in one of the net-bags a part of a strake of a cart-wheel, which had two nail holes in. They had ground it down to a sharp edge, and put it in a stick to cut with as a tomahawk. They had also several pieces of iron hoop, ground sharp to cut with; several wooden buckets to carry water in. They had some water with them, which was very bad.
They came back with us to where I had some blankets, looking-glasses, beads, handkerchiefs, sugar, apples. I gave them eight pair blankets, thirty handkerchiefs, one tomahawk, e
ighteen necklaces of beads, six pounds sugar, twelve looking-glasses, a quantity of apples, which they seemed well pleased with. They then went off again. I promised to see them again tomorrow. The young woman, who I have spoke of before, gave me a very handsome basket of her own make. Other women gave me two others; also some spears. I got a native bucket, which I brought on board with me…I never saw or could suppose there could be so extensive plains as I saw today. Five thousand sheep would be almost lost upon them. But the only thing I see at present is the want of water, but am sure it could be obtained by digging in almost any place. The children were good-looking, and of an healthy appearance; they were dreadfully affrighted by the discharge of a gun, and all of them dropped down immediately. I think they never heard the report or saw a gun before. We saw a great number of wild turkeys today, but could not shoot one. We could not have walked less than thirty miles today.
Monday 1 June 1835—We left the vessel this morning at daybreak, and went round a bay to look at and examine some plains and clear hills at a distance, which looked very well. We crossed the neck of land and came to a small river or creek, which we were obliged to follow up, as we could not cross, and I also expected to find at the head of it some fresh water. We followed this stream about ten miles. We saw great numbers of ducks and teal. The creek was about fifty to sixty yards wide, in some places less.
We saw several places on going up which the natives had made with stones across the creek, to take fish, I suppose, in summer time. The walls were built of stones about four feet high, and well done and well planned out; two or three of these places following each other down the stream with gates to them, which they appear to stop with a bundle of bushes. We saw those in about ten or twelve different places up this stream.