Peevay 1828
MOTHER’S HEARTFELT DESIRE deep inside her breast was that we should go out from the world to kill Father. It seemed woeful, yes, and scaring besides, to go away into some heinous unknown place, where stories in rocks and hills were not ours. Some of mine, such as Grandmother and Tartoyen, said they wouldn’t go, which was ruination, as it meant we must get cut in two, like some tree chopped by lightning, and everyone must choose staying or going. Mongana and his mother were keeping there, and Grandmother said I must stay too, as I was too young for fighting and she and Tartoyen would look after me, but still I wanted to go with Mother. I did believe I could win her tender cherishings, you see, as they were my own deserving. Hadn’t I waited for her all those summers, and dreamed her walking so pretty from the sea? Worst, if I stayed I would be giving her to Tayaleah, my little scut of a never-guessed brother.
Tayaleah means owl but in truth he never was like any, as that is some strong, swooping thing while he was weakly, with his thin legs and looking always fearful. It was a mystery to confound that Mother could give him her adorings, but so she did. When Tayaleah tried to make a spear and it was piss-poor blunt and wouldn’t throw, Mother said it was the best spear. Also when Tayaleah climbed some easy tree hunting possum—who probably wasn’t even there—Mother said he was bravest boy. Even at night by the fire she did cradle his little snivelly head and keep him safe from cold and dark. This made me frenzied, yes, as that cradling was mine not his. That little pisser should be vanished, killed to nowhere, and it was my heartfelt desire deep inside my breast to spear him dead. He was so weakly that I surmised this would be easy, too, except for Mother. She stayed with him always and gave me hating looks if I went near. Tayaleah knew I had revilings for him and I could see his fright of me, and yet he never was hateful back, which was some puzzle to confound. Why, I never even heard him say heinous lies about me to Mother, though she would believe anything he told. I suppose there was just no wrath in him, even for enemies. No, I think I would almost have liked him better if he was raging, as then we would be fine foes.
Finally the time came to go away. That was lamentable. It was hard to leave so many of my ones, even ones I hated, like Mongana and his mother. Roingin were cut in two also, and goodbyes were long and slow, while even dog animals Mother brought went quiet, like they knew this was some mournful thing. Then Mother said we must go now and we began, some walking almost backwards so they could look still. By and by that big mob cracked and became two, like fingers unsticking. Shouts got loud and wavings bigger as we went further. Then suddenly we were in trees, others were getting hidden and all I could see was this new mob, that was Mother’s mob.
Mother did try and kill Father before, of course, but she was confounded. Years before, when I was just some new baby, she went back to the shore near Father’s island, but then she couldn’t find Father’s boat, which she hid before. Probably sea took it. That was some grievous blow for Mother, as Father’s island was far and even with a bark canoe she couldn’t go just alone. So she walked beside the sea by and by, making spears and hunting game, and watching for some other boat, though she never found any. Once she got chased by white scuts, and later she slipped and hurt one leg in rocks so she couldn’t hunt game, so she got hungry and sick. By then she walked so far she was beyond Roingin world, and reached some place which we hardly knew even in stories. I think she would be dead, too, except that she met another mob, whose name was TOMMEGINER, who were eating muttonfish by the sea.
Tommeginer almost speared her for being strange, but when they heard her woeful tale they felt sad for her by and by, and gave her food to eat. They told her how ghosts came stealing their women sometimes, and killing everyone for no reason, so they were fighting a war with them, though this was hard. Mother never was scared of ghosts because she knew them, and she said they weren’t dead fellows jumped up like Tommeginer thought, but just some heinous pissers from beyond the sea. She told how they could be killed easily and how she killed one herself just with a stone. So they never called them ghosts anymore, but num, which was their word for those white men.
So Mother joined their war. She learned about dog animals that Tommeginer got from white men, and which were clever at smelling but greedy for food and fuckings and so. She even took one Tommeginer as husband, and he was father of that little shit Tayaleah. Soon she learned fighting cleverly—better than other Tommeginer—and when their cleverest fellow got killed she chose their way, which was some impossible thing, yes, as she was woman, and foreigner too. One day they speared two white scuts in their hut and she got their magic stick that killed with its noise, and is called GUN. When she was on Father’s island, fixed to the wall of his hut long before, she saw Father make his GUN ready for killing seals, and she did try to recollect this, until she learned how to make it work, with powder and killing stones. That was wondrous to other Tommeginer, and great good fortune and tidings of joy, as it meant she could use white men’s magic against them. She killed one very finely, in his head, and always Tommeginer could see white scuts’ fright when they saw her carrying that gun. She kept it carefully, with wood in the end to stop rain getting inside.
Then one day coughing sickness arrived. Many Tommeginer got crook and died and Mother’s new husband was one. Later, when they were so weak, num came in the night and killed plenty of them, all together, so Mother and some others were lucky to flee. That was a worst grievous blow. After then Mother told Tommeginer who were still living that they must leave their world now, as it got too woeful and killing to stay, and so they did. For many days they went, hunting game and so, till finally they found footmarks of us, and Roingin too. This was interesting to Mother, as she did want to meet her old fellows, and also to get new ones to fight her wars.
So here I was, in her mob. Those were woeful days I can recollect. I missed Grandmother giving me food with her long, bony fingers, and I missed her more when I got tired from walking and there was nobody to carry me high on shoulders for a time. I missed Tartoyen with his stories and teachings and his kindly looks, as I never got any such from Mother, even after days passed and I hoped she might get better to me. So I felt alone with these many strangers, until I even got some tender feelings deep inside my breast about Father, who we were going to kill. Yes, others said he was some heinous scut and so, but still he was Father, and my only one, and sometimes I did suppose he might be kindlier than Mother. But then my thinking would go hither and thither, like some tree branch blowing in the storm. Now I was sad for him and hoping he might escape us after all. Now I was thinking how clever I would be if I could kill him dead myself. That was a fine dream, yes. There I was spearing him quick in his belly, snicky snick, everyone was full of wonder and surprise, and even Mother was pleased, so she never scorned me anymore but gave me all her cherishings, while Tayaleah got left alone in some cold place and nobody cared.
By and by we reached the last edge of our world and stepped across into places I never saw before, which felt strange. Roingin were pleased, as this was theirs—they were always pointing at some place or hill they did recollect—but they were also fearful and watching for white scuts who threw their fellows off that cliff into the sea. Mother said we must not fight these ones now, heinous though they were, as they were too many. CHOOSE THE WAR THAT YOU WILL WIN was Mother’s thought, and she said it often. But she let us make sticks sharp as spears that we hid in small holes in the path, pointing upwards so they might step there and get our surprise. Always we went carefully, watching far ahead. Days were bad, always raining, which Mother said was best, as num white men hated rain and would just wait in their huts without ever knowing we were near. She was right, too, and we never saw any. Soon we reached the sea, all still alive, and I could discern islands, one far away, low and grey like some cloud. When Mother looked at this her face went hard like stone, so I knew it must be Father’s.
Rain was falling but wind was quiet, which was lucky, as it meant sea was not too angry, and
also Father should stay inside his hut like other whites, so we could kill him more easily. So we started making bark canoes, enough to carry us all, even babies, as Mother said it was too dangerous leaving anyone behind. Only dog animals stayed, and when canoes were finished and we pushed them into great waves they got fretful, howling and running along the shore hither and thither. I never went on any bark canoe in the sea before and it was some fearful thing, yes. Waves made it jump and fall like a leaf in big winds, and I held on hard, pondering all the while that I might fall away into that ocean, or bark canoe might break into nothing. Sky was dark and sea was too, so it looked deep as if it had no bottom and was just more water forever, so it was scaring to think that this canoe and us were like some beetle on some wide lake. Also I feared huge whale creatures that I saw playing before, and which might jump up and bite my feet, which were dipping. But they never did. By and by Father’s island got nearer till finally we were close enough to see all. Boat was there and hut had smoke coming up, which was great good fortune, as it meant he was inside.
Mother made us stop on another side of the island, even though this was further, so Father would not hear us. Then we went carefully. When we got near we could observe two women were behind that hut, both tied with shining strands that Mother said were called CHAINS, and which made her spit at the ground, very angry. Tommeginer got blissful when they saw these women, as they whispered they were Tommeginer too, but disappeared long before, so everyone thought they were dead.
Mother made strong faces to make Tommeginer stay quiet, and two women too, as they were filled with tidings of joy to see each other. So we went near, small steps, very careful, until, ready with spears and Mother’s gun, we opened that door so quickly and, in our mighty rush, we went within.
It was dark in there, smoky too, and smelling of fish and seal fat, but that fire made light to see, just enough. In one place were sealskins, plenty of them, so I hardly could believe so many seals could get dead so. Also I saw other white men’s things which were interesting, such as wooden ones like tree stumps, whose name was CASKS, and strange ones standing on legs on the floor, whose name was STOOLS. That hum whitefellow was sitting on one of these. He was surprised to see us of course, very so, and his mouth fell open like some broken shell. Just for a moment he looked away to a wall where GUN was leaning, like Mother’s but smaller, but this was too far, so he just sat still. Thus we won this war without anybody killed. Yes, everything was great good fortune and tidings of joy except for that one heinous thing.
Mother made a scowling face. ‘‘It’s not him.’’
That was hardship to endure, yes, and we all got tender feelings for poor Mother, whose dear desire was always to kill Father. Also it was some mystery to confound, as this was Father’s island, so he should be here. Mother started talking to this fellow in his own words—which she learned when she was here on this island with Father, fixed to that wall— and sometimes we pricked him with spear to make him answer quicker. It was interesting to hear white men’s talk, yes, as I never heard it before, and I observed it never was said properly but was just murmured, like wombat coughing. Now, of course, I can speak those words myself, and better than Mother ever could, so they hardly are words to me anymore but just thinkings that are said, but in that long ago time they were new and curious. Another interesting thing was that she spoke Father’s name, which I never heard before, and sounded strange like no real name ever did. This name was JACK.
‘‘Where’s Jack?’’ she said, once and again. ‘‘Where’s ugly whitefellow with big cut on him?’’ So she drew line on her face with her finger to show. But that num just looked at floor and said he didn’t know. He told that he came to this island two summers before—fleeing from some other num—and though hut was already built here it was empty, for a long time so he thought, and no other white man ever came. Next we brought the two Tommeginer women he kept outside, and they spat and hit his face for all those hateful, heinous doings he did, but still they said he was correct and that they never saw any other white man but him. Mother was mournful, I do recollect. Even when others took the white man outside and speared him dead to please her, still she never would smile. The next morning we took the white man’s boat, which was bigger than canoes so my legs stayed inside. Two Tommeginer women were so happy to be escaped they sang all that way, and dogs on the cliff were pleased too, shouting as we came near. Still Mother stayed angry that she couldn’t kill Father. When some of my ones said we should go back, to find Tartoyen and Grandmother and those others, she looked hard like stone and said no. ‘‘We came here to fight, didn’t we?’’ she told, waving her guns, as she had two now. Mother could be scaring when she was angry, yes, and though some fellows gave each other looks, nobody did confound her, or even try. So we never went south but east, across Roingin world, for more war.
Sir Charles Moray, Secretary for Colonies, London, to George Alder, Governor of Van Diemen’s Land 1828
Sir, I write to you concerned as to the plight of the aboriginal race of His Majesty’s Colony of Van Diemen’s Land. It is my understanding that, as a consequence of violence between these and the white population, the blacks’ numbers have become greatly reduced, so much so that they are now entirely extinguished in many districts. I have been advised that, if matters continue on their present course, the native population of the island will, before long, be entirely extirpated.
It is imperative that such an eventuality be avoided. Though lawless aggression against colonists cannot, naturally, be permitted, it is nothing less than essential that the good name of His Majesty’s Government be protected. The destruction of this aboriginal nation, however remote its station and savage its nature, would form an indelible stain upon the reputation of this country, and would most certainly be used by foreign powers seeking to cause embarrassment to His Majesty and his representatives. You are, in consequence, required to do all in your power to endeavour to preserve the blacks, at least in sufficient numbers to assure their continued survival.
George Alder, Governor of Van Diemen’s Land, to Sir Charles Moray, Secretary for Colonies, London 1828
Sir, in your last communication—which took close to five months to arrive, the transport ship Aphrodite having struck windless weather—you expressed your alarm regarding the fate of the natives of this island. You may rest assured that this is a matter upon which I feel no less strongly than you yourself, having been concerned as to the plight of this unhappy race since ever I arrived upon this colony, four years ago. I have, indeed, made every effort to protect and improve them, though this has proved, I regret to say, far from easy to achieve.
The blacks, you must understand, have no comprehension of what I may term system, this being the very root of order. Despite their wandering and elusive ways I have hoped that they might show some curiosity towards this mighty and civilized society that has appeared so suddenly in their midst—in our agriculture and manufacturing, our complex laws and processes—but I am afraid I have been disappointed. They have likewise maintained a savage resistance to their own spiritual advancement, though there are more than a few good men in the colony who would happily help them from their state of moral darkness.
In spite of such discouragements I have made every effort to ensure they are preserved. You will recall that I organized a most extensive campaign to apprehend the runaway convicts who comprised the natives’ chief persecutors (most of whom, I may add, escaped in the time of my predecessors) and that this proved so effective that nearly all such men, including some of notorious character, have been captured or killed. By the time this was completed, however, the aborigines had become bent on revenge, venting their wrath upon any white they could discover, whether guilty or innocent, while this in turn caused some among the free settlers to answer violence with violence. Once again I responded promptly, issuing not one but several proclamations, commanding the whites to treat their black neighbours only with kindness, and warning them that any unprovoked kill
ing would be answered with the harshest punishment. The truth is, however, that it is not easy to control the population of an island that is as large as Ireland and as mountainous and inhospitable as Scotland. It appears some among the white settlers have continued with their aggressions, in spite of my proclamations, while the blacks most certainly have. The colonial government has had no choice but to send parties of soldiers in pursuit of native raiders— though they are rarely found—while some among the settlers have organized hunting parties of their own. Thus, despite all my efforts, the colony has slipped ever further into a state of warfare.
Matters have not been helped by the activities of a small group of men of property, who have made themselves enemies of the colonial government, and have lately sought to tarnish the reputation of His Majesty’s representatives by playing on the fears of the free population and suggesting they are not protected against the violence of the blacks. Meetings of protest have been held and attacks have appeared in the Colonial Times, many of them directed, and most poiso-nously so, even at my own self. While I care little for my own reputation in this matter I have felt great alarm at this undermining of the authority of His Majesty’s Government. Any land whose population is comprised largely of convicts and convicts freed, is, by its very nature, little less than a tinderbox, while if the forces of property fall into conflict with their own government it must be feared that the convict will seize his chance and mutiny. The havoc wreaked would certainly be terrible indeed, and could quite consume this colony.
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