SECTION I.

Nearly fifty years have elapsed, since Van Diemen’s Land was numbered with the colonies of the British empire. A generation has risen up and is passing away. Thousands, while they venerate the land of their European ancestors, with an amiable fondness love Tasmania as their native country. They will, hereafter, guide its affairs, extend its commerce, and defend its soil; and, not inferior in virtue and intelligence, they will fill an important position in the vast system of Australasia.

To gratify their curiosity, and offer to their view the instructive and inspiriting events of the past, is the purpose of this history.

The difficulty of the task can be appreciated only by experience. To collect from scattered records, facts worthy of remembrance; to separate reality from romance; to remove partial coloring from statements made long ago; and to exhibit useful truth without disguise and without offence, required much research and deliberation.

It is not the intention of this history to relate every event which, when passing, may have been deemed momentous; much less to recal from obscurity the errors, absurdity, and wickedness which exercised no distinct influence on the common welfare. The author has endeavoured to realize the feelings and sympathies of the benevolent and just of another age, and to confine his pen to details which may maintain their interest, when the passions with which they were associated shall subside for ever.

In calling this work the history of Tasmania, a designation is chosen generally preferred by the colonists, and which their successors will certainly adopt. “Van Diemen” is a name affixed to the north coast of New Holland; and this country is the first known discovery of Tasman.

The name of Tasman is recognised by the royal patent constituting the diocese; by several literary societies and periodical works: it forms the term by which we distinguish our Tasmanian from our European youth.

Tasmania is preferred, because “Van Diemen’s Land” is associated among all nations with the idea of bondage and guilt; and, finally, because while Tasmania is a melodious and simple sound, “Van Diemen” is harsh, complex, and infernal.

During the reign of Charles I. (Frederick Henry, grandfather of William iii. being Stadtholder of Holland) the Dutch discovered this island. The enterprise of that people had raised them to the zenith of their power: unless by England, they were unrivalled in nautical science and commercial opulence. More for the purposes of trade than the acquisition of knowledge, they were anxious to discover unknown countries, and to conceal the information they possessed from the rest of the world.

At this time, Anthony Van Diemen was governor-general of Batavia: by him, Abel Jans Tasman was commissioned to explore the “Great South Land,” the name by which New Holland was known until 1665, when, by the authority of the Netherland government, it received its present designation. A fragment of the journal of Tasman, containing an account of his discovery, was first published by Dirk Rembrant, and afterwards translated into most European tongues. In this abstract nautical details respecting Van Diemen’s Land were omitted, but were described in the journal itself, and by thirty-eight charts, views, and figures. These were purchased by Sir Joseph Banks, on his return from his voyage to these seas. Tasman’s journal was translated by a Netherland clergyman: he considered the age of the manuscript confirmed by the spelling: that it was genuine he had no doubt, although he questioned whether written by Tasman, or transcribed at his command. Sir Joseph Banks acquired at the same time a copy of instructions to Tasman, given by the Governor of Batavia in 1644, for a second expedition, and which recapitulated the various voyages of his predecessors. These, however, have no connection with Van Diemen’s Land.

To adorn the new stadthouse of Amsterdam, erected in 1665, three hemispheres were wrought in stone, of twenty-two feet in diameter: the circles were inlaid with brass, and were executed by a celebrated artist. The southern hemisphere exhibited the discoveries of Tasman and his predecessors: they formed the pavement of the hall, until obliterated by the tread of several generations. They were quite forgotten when Sir Joseph Banks sought information from the inhabitants. A copy of these works of art was preserved, and displayed the extent to which New Holland and Van Diemen’s Land were known.

The journal of Tasman has been greatly admired: it is clear, laconic, and devout. It opens with an invocation: “May God Almighty be pleased to give his blessing to this voyage. Amen.” The document is, indeed, full of pious sentiments: when a long desired breeze liberated the vessel from port, or refreshment was obtained, or safe anchorage found, he dots down a thanksgiving. He reckoned his longitude from the Peak of Teneriffe: the hours he called glasses; his miles were German, fifteen to a degree.

On the 14th of August, 1642, Tasman embarked at Batavia, on board the Heemskirk, the fly-boat Zeehaan, Jerit Zanzoon, master, in company. They set sail for the Mauritius, and arrived on the 5th of September. That island, then commanded by Van Steelan, was but little cultivated, and gave slight promise of its present importance. On the 4th October, they were ready to depart, but were delayed by contrary winds until the 8th, when on a change in their favor they stood eastward to sea. On the 27th, a council being called, it was resolved that a man should constantly look out at the topmast head; and to encourage vigilance it was determined, that the first discoverer of land should receive three reals and a pot of arrack. On the 4th November they saw patches of duckweed and a seal, and inferred their vicinity to land. The first pilot, Francis Jacobzs, on the 7th, supported by the advice of the steersman, thus delivered his opinion: “We should keep to the 44 deg. south latitude, until we have passed 150 deg. longitude; then make for latitude 40 deg. south, and keeping in that parallel to run eastward to 220 deg. longitude, and then steering northward search with the trade wind from east to west for the Solomon Islands. We imagine, if we meet with no main land till we come to 150 deg. longitude, we must then meet with islands.” On the 17th, they were in latitude 44 de’ and longitude 147 de’: they concluded that they had already passed the south land then known. On the 22nd they found their compass was not still within eight points, which they attributed to the influence of loadstone, and which kept the needle in continual motion. On the 24th, at noon, they found their latitude 42 de’ south, longitude 163 de’: in the afternoon, at 4 o’clock, they observed land, Point Hibbs, bearing east by north. The land was high, and towards evening they saw lofty mountains to the east south-east, and to the north-east two smaller mountains: here their compass stood right. They resolved to run off five hours to sea, and then to run back towards the land. On the 25th, the morning was calm, and at 5 o’clock they were within three miles of the shore, and had soundings at sixty fathoms. They approached a level coast, and reckoned their latitude 42 de’, and middle longitude 163 de’. On this day they named their discovery: “we called it Anthony Van Diemen’s Land, in honor of our high magistrate and governor-general, and the islands near (Boreels) we named in honor of the council of India, as you may see by the little map we made.” Next day they lost sight of land. They fixed the longitude 163 de’, and gave orders to the master of the Zeehaan to adopt that reckoning. On the 28th land reappeared, and in the evening they came near three small islands, one of which they thought like the head of a lion (Mewstone, of Furneaux). On the following morning they passed two cliffs, one (the Swilly, of Furneaux) like the Pedra Branca, near the coast of China; the other, the eastern cliff, resembling a high misshapen tower (the Eddystone, of Cook). Between the cliff and the main land they passed, until they came almost to Storm Bay, where they found it impossible to anchor, and were driven by the wind to sea so far, that land could scarcely be sighted in the morning. In the afternoon of the 1st December, they anchored in a good port (marked Frederick Hendrik Bay in the chart), with twenty-two fathoms water, and bottom of fine light grey sand.

On the following morning the boats were despatched to the shore: on their return, the steersman informed them that they had heard the sound of voices, and of a little gong; but saw no one. They remarked two trees, sixty feet from the ground to the branches, and two and a-half in circumference: the bark taken off with flint stones, and steps cut to climb for birds’ nests, full five feet from each other, and indicative of a very tall people. They saw marks, such as are left by the claws of a tiger, and brought on board the excrements of some quadruped; gum lac, which dropped from trees, and greens “which might be used in place of wormwood.” They saw people at the east corner of the bay: they found no fish, except mussels: many trees were burned hollow near the ground; they were widely separated, and admitted an extensive view.

On the 3rd, they went to a little bay, south-west from their ships, in search of water: the surf prevented their landing, but the carpenter swam on shore; and near four remarkable trees, standing in the form of a crescent, he erected a post, on which a compass was carved, and left the Prince’s flag flying upon it. “When the said carpenter had done this in the sight of me, Abel Jans Tasman, of the master Jerit Zanzoon, and under merchant Abraham Coomans, we went in the shallop as near as possible, and the said carpenter swam back through the surf. We then returned on board, and left this memorial to the posterity of the inhabitants. They did not show themselves, and we suspected some to be not far from thence, and watching carefully our doings.” The last object they noticed was a large round mountain (St. Patrick’s Head), on the eastern coast, of which they lost sight on the 5th December.

From Van Diemen’s Land they proceeded to New Zealand, where by an encounter with the natives several lives were lost: thence they passed Tongataboo, Amsterdam, and Rotterdam, and arrived at Batavia on the 15th June, 1643. Tasman closes his journal with his usual devotion: “God be praised for this happy voyage. Amen.”

That Maria Island was named after the daughter of Van Diemen, and that Tasman went over the ocean writing down her name in the imperishable records of his discoveries, is a pleasing tale; but the evidence on which it rests is far from conclusive. Thus at Amsterdam he called the anchorage Van Diemen’s Road, and where the boats went for water Maria’s Bay, “in honor of our governor-general and his lady.” That a daughter of the same name existed is not improbable, but who can tell whether the Maria Island of Tasmania’s coast was named in complaisance to the daughter, or to conciliate the mother! In hope to confirm the agreeable fiction the journal of Tasman has been examined, but in vain.

The spirit of discovery revived in Europe after a long slumber; and a succession of illustrious navigators, in their passage to regions deemed more important, touched at Van Diemen’s Land, and thus rapidly developed its geography. After Tasman, the next visitor was Captain Marion, of the Mascarin and Castries, who in 1772 arrived from the Mauritius, in search of the “southern continent,” then the grand object of nautical inquiry, and anchored in Frederick Hendrik Bay, the 4th March. The visit is chiefly memorable for a fatal collision with the natives, who, according to the French, exhibited uncommon ferocity. On his stepping on shore they offered Captain Marion a fire stick, which he supposed a ceremony of friendship; but when he lighted a heap of wood, as he imagined in compliance with their custom, they retired to a hill, and threw a shower of stones. The French fired their muskets, and the natives fled: their pursuers found in the wood a dying savage the first victim of European intrusion. Marion and some others were injured slightly by the missiles of the natives, and a black servant was wounded by a spear.

The remarks they made are of no great value: they entered the country, and saw everywhere the effects of fire, which they supposed was intended to drive wild animals from the coast. They could not discover a tree suitable for a mast, and were unsuccessful in obtaining water. A small map, which sketched the form of the coast with considerable exactness, accompanied the account of this voyage, and tended to awaken the French to the importance of these seas.

The next visit was accidental, but most important: Captain Cook, in 1772, left Great Britain to explore the icy region near the Pole. There the vessels separated in a fog: they were unable to rejoin, and while Cook proceeded to New Zealand in the Resolution, Captain Tobias Furneaux, his second in command, touched at Van Diemen’s Land in the Adventure. He made the south-west cape on the 9th of March, 1773, exactly one year after Marion left the island. After passing the Mewstone, a boat’s crew sent on shore reported favorably of the country, and that they had seen beautiful cascades pouring from rocks two hundred feet high. Finding no anchorage, Furneaux passed the black rocks (the Boreels of Tasman), which he called the Friars, and discovered Adventure Bay, which is separated from Storm Bay by Cape Frederick Henry. There they found anchorage in seven fathoms, within half a mile of either shore, and obtained wood and water in abundance. The numerous islets and tortuous navigation of the coasts led Furneaux into several errors. To discuss them would tire the patience of nine readers in ten, and afford no pleasure to the tenth.

The Adventure sailed along the eastern coast to the latitude of 40 de’, where Furneaux observed the land turned towards the westward. He, however, narrowly missed the discovery of the straits, and turned off for New Zealand, convinced “that there was no strait between New Holland and Van Diemen’s Land, but a very deep bay.” The impression he adopted, he conveyed to Captain Cook, who had intended to visit Van Diemen’s Land for the solution of this geographical problem, which now he considered determined.

On his third and final voyage to the Pacific, Captain Cook touched at Van Diemen’s Land in the Resolution, then accompanied by Captain Clerke. He sighted the island bearing north-west half-west, distant three leagues from Mewstone. A neighbouring rock, unnoticed by Furneaux, he called the Eddystone, from its resemblance to an English lighthouse of that name. Detained by calms, he did not reach Adventure Bay until the 26th, where at 4 P.M. he dropped anchor in twelve fathoms, within a mile of the shore. The officers were delighted with the country, and particularly with its gigantic forests. Mr. Anderson, the surgeon, spent his leisure wandering on the beach of Adventure Bay; angling in a lake, or ascending the neighbouring hills. Captain Cook left swine on the shore, which were driven into the bush when the natives were not present; in the hope they might escape them, and thus add to the resources of the country. He departed on the 30th for New Zealand. The account left by Cook is chiefly interesting for its description of the natives, and will be noticed in the history of that unfortunate people.

On the 3rd July, 1789, the brig Mercury, John Henry Cox, master, entered a deep bay on the south side of Van Diemen’s Land, and was about ten miles from the Mewstone: attempting Adventure Bay, he was carried to the eastward, and afterwards accidentally discovered Oyster Bay.

Captain Wm. Bligh, subsequently governor of New South Wales, touched at Van Diemen’s Land in 1788, when on his voyage to Tahiti, whence he was instructed to convey the bread fruit tree to the West India Islands. His object was frustrated by the mutiny of his crew; and after a passage in an open boat, attended with extraordinary perils, he reached Great Britain. The Providence and Assistant were placed under his command: he was sent on the same errand, in which he was successful, and re-appeared in Adventure Bay in 1792. During his stay he planted several fruit trees, acorns, and vegetables.

An inscription found by the French crew on a tree, signified that near by, “Captain William Bligh planted seven fruit trees: Messrs. T. and W., botanists.” They consisted of one fig, two pomegranates, and four quinces. An apple tree was found by Labillardiere on the coast. They doubtless all perished. The Frenchman was greatly scandalised by the despotism which condemned men of science to initials, and gave a sea captain a monopoly of fame.

This celebrated naturalist was attached to the expedition of Rear-Admiral Brune D’Entrecasteaux, sent out by the government of France to ascertain the fate of La Perouse, whose amiable reputation conciliated the good-will of all parties. Although concluded that the vessel he commanded must be lost, it was fondly hoped that he still survived. The national assembly paused in the midst of its conflict with the king, to request that vessels might be dispatched, and rewards offered, for his relief. In his decree, Louis XVI. describes the expedition as intended, beyond its primary design, to perfect the description of the globe. On the day the first colonists of New South Wales entered Port Jackson, the expedition of La Perouse was seen by the astonished English approaching the coast. After an interchange of those civilities which dignify the intercourse of polished nations, he left New Holland.

In a letter, dated September, 1787, Perouse stated his intention “to employ six months in visiting the Friendly Islands to procure refreshments; the south-west coast of Mendana, the land of the Arsacides, with that of Louisiade, as far as New Guinea."

Many years after, relics were recovered, which demonstrated the vicinity of his misfortunes. A lascar informed Captain Peter Dillon, of the East India Company’s service, that two Frenchmen survived at Manicola; he therefore visited the island, where he found several relics of the lost admiral, although the Frenchmen were dead; among the rest his sword guard, marked with his cypher. Dillon was honored by the French government with the title of Chevalier, and received a pension.

In 1792, D’Entrecasteaux in the Recherche, and Captain Huon Kermandee in the Esperance, reached Van Diemen’s Land. On the 20th April, when looking for Adventure Bay, they discovered the channel which bears the name of D’Entrecasteaux. They remained a month, when they departed on their search, and returned on the 20th January, 1793, to complete their observations. They found that the channel extended to the Storm Bay of Tasman: they entered and named the Huon, and the Rivere du Nord, now the Derwent, and examined the different harbours. Their charts are said to exhibit the finest specimen of marine surveying ever made in a new country. Of D’Entrecasteaux’s Channel, then deemed the most important discovery since the time of Tasman, Rossel, who recorded the events of the voyage, writes with rapture: “A harbour, twenty-four miles in length, and equally safe in every part. Such a retreat, in a gulph which bears the menacing name of Storm Bay, is a luxury that, to be able to express, must be felt.”

Captain John Hayes, of the Bombay marine, with the private ships Duke and Duchess, examined Storm Bay and D’Entrecasteaux’s Channel, in 1794. He passed up the Rivere du Nord much farther than the French, which he called the Derwent; and in his passage affixed names to various places, which have effaced those given by the original French discoverers whose survey, however, to the extent of their navigation, was more correct than his own.

The form of Van Diemen’s Land had long been a nautical problem. Captain Hunter, observing the swell of the ocean, deemed the existence of a strait highly probable. Mr. George Bass, surgeon of the royal navy, a gentleman to whom his generous friend Flinders refers with great admiration, resolved to test the conjecture. He had already given proof of intrepidity: in company with Flinders and a boy, he embarked in a boat, eight feet long, called Tom Thumb. After escaping great dangers, they returned to Port Jackson with valuable information respecting the coast.

In 1798, Bass obtained from Governor Hunter a six-oared whale boat, six men, and six weeks provisions: with this outfit he proceeded along the eastern coast of New Holland, occasionally landing and obtaining supplies, which enabled him to prolong his absence to eleven weeks. He continued his course until the agitation of the water convinced him that the open sea was not far distant: he discovered Western Port, and a country of great attraction. He explored six hundred miles of coast, one-half of which was hitherto unknown; an enterprise beyond example in nautical adventure, and entitling him to that renown which belongs to his name.

To test this discovery, the governor authorised Lieutenant Flinders and Mr. Bass to sail through the strait in the Norfolk, a colonial sloop, of 25 tons. Twelve weeks only were allowed for the voyage, which compelled the navigators to content themselves with a cursory survey.

In October, 1798, they left Port Jackson: after spending some time among the islands which crowd the straits, they sighted Cape Portland, a name given it in honor of the Duke of Portland, then secretary for the colonies; thence they passed Port Waterhouse, so called after the captain of the Reliance. The first important discovery was Port Dalrymple, called after the hydrographer of the admiralty, Alexander Dalrymple. Green Isle, Western Arm, Middle Island, Whirlpool Reach, Swan Point, and Crescent Shore, preserve memorials of the visit in their designations.

They reported Port Dalrymple an excellent place for refreshments: black swans, whose quills covered the beach in countless thousands; kangaroos, of the forest kind; flocks of ducks and teal, and mussels and oysters, were found in abundance.

Proceeding along the coast, they came to a headland, which they called Circular Head, from its resemblance to a Christmas cake. They now approached the solution of the question which had dictated their voyage. They remarked a long swell from the south-west breaking on the western shore: they hailed it with joy and mutual gratulation, and passed in safety the clustering islets in their course: the extreme north-west they called Cape Grim. Proceeding round the western coast, they observed the mountains noticed by Tasman when he visited the island, which in memory of his vessels they called Mount Heemskirk and Mount Zeehaan. They named Point Hibbs after the master of the Norfolk. The discoveries of Flinders here may be said to terminate, until he proceeded up the Derwent.

The utility of the strait was highly rated. It secured perpetual renown to Bass, whose name it bears: this was given by Governor Hunter at the recommendation of Flinders, whose candour is always conspicuous in awarding the palm of discovery to those to whom it is due! Not only does the strait curtail a voyage from the Cape by four degrees, but vessels avoid the winds which obstruct navigation round the South Cape and Cape Pillar of Van Diemen’s Land, which prolong the passage several days; a point of great importance in the conveyance of passengers.

The Norfolk steered into the Derwent by the chart of Hayes. Both Flinders and Bass observe, with indignation, how creeks are magnified into rivers, coves into bays, and a few acres into plains: as Risdon River, Prince of Wales’s Bay, and King George’s Plains. They corrected his definitions, but left him the honors of discovery. Flinders proceeded to Herdsman’s Cove, which he so distinguished for its extensive pasture and plentiful waters.

Bass depicts the Derwent as a dull and lifeless stream, respectable only because the Tasmanian rivers are insignificant! To a bay they entered on the western side of Tasman’s Peninsula, they gave the name of their vessel, which was built at Norfolk Island, of the pine peculiar to that place.

Flinders continued, after the departure of Bass, to prosecute researches on the coast of New Holland, until the Reliance returned home. In that vessel his charts were conveyed, and were published. On a plan being offered by Sir Joseph Banks for completing the survey, the Investigator was placed under the command of Flinders, who was promoted to the rank of commander, furnished with a chosen crew, and attended by Westall, a painter, and Brown, a naturalist whose collection added largely to his department of science. Flinders received a passport from the French government, expressed with the usual amplitude. It inhibited all vessels of war from molesting the Investigator, and gave right of entry to all ports subject to France, for refitting or refreshment, on condition that nothing were done hostile to that power. This protection was demanded by Lord Hawksbury, of M. Otto, the celebrated representative of the Republic in England. Flinders had proposed to visit Van Diemen’s Land, but had been partly anticipated by the Lady Nelson, sent from England to be employed as tender to the Investigator, and fitted with a keel suited to shallow waters. Brown, the naturalist, remained some time after the expedition was interrupted. He wandered on the banks of the Derwent and Tamar, collecting shrubs and flowers during a stay of several months; and although some specimens of plants were lost in the Porpoise, not one out of 3,900 species was wanting.

In June, 1803, Flinders passed the north coast of Van Diemen’s Land: eighteen men were lying in their hammocks almost hopeless of recovery, some of whom died before the vessel entered Port Jackson, and several afterwards. A survey was instantly held, and the Investigator was condemned: the hull was found rotten, both plank and timbers, and it was declared that reparation was impossible. On inspecting her condition, Flinders expressed great astonishment, and remarked that a hard gale must have sent her to the bottom.

The volumes of Captain Flinders, though of vast scientific worth, are not greatly interesting to the general reader, except when he tells of his trials, which were many. His work was patronised by the admiralty, and he had the prospect of reward; but on the day of publication, fame ceased to be valuable to him, he cast that anchor which is never weighed.

A long imprisonment in the Isle of France, and the mental anxiety inseparable from a strong sense of injustice, it is said, destroyed him. His case may be told in few words: the Investigator was condemned as unfit for service, and Flinders embarked at Port Jackson on board the Porpoise, in company with the Cato and the Bridgewater. When passing through Torres Straits, at between eight and nine knots, they saw breakers a-head. Before signals could be made, the other vessels were seen hastening to the same destruction. They hauled to the wind across each other; a collision seemed inevitable: a death-like silence prevailed during the awful crisis; but happily they passed off side by side. Instantly, however, the Cato struck on the reef, and was totally lost. All hands were preserved, except three boys; of these, one spent the night on a spar, bewailing his unhappy lot: four times he had embarked in different vessels, and each time had been wrecked; this was the last, for before morning he disappeared. The Bridgewater was yet safe: she was seen at dawn; but while awaiting her help, the captain, with a selfishness happily not common without even sending a boat to pick up a cast-away proceeded on his voyage. He reached India in safety; sailed for Europe, and was never heard of more: the people he had abandoned were all rescued.

This was effected by Flinders. A cutter was built and provisioned from the stores saved on the reef: in this, which he called the Hope, he set out for Port Jackson, 750 miles distant. There he obtained the assistance of two vessels, beside the Cumberland, a colonial schooner of 29 tons. The inhabitants, unsolicited, sent many presents to the sufferers, who soon hailed the arrival of Flinders with rapturous cheers.

Having performed this duty, he proceeded towards England in the Cumberland, with seven men and three officers; but finding that she was unable to bear the voyage, he resolved to confide in the honor of the French, and present his passport at the Mauritius. There he was detained a prisoner six years; first charged with imposture, then treated as a spy; and when these imputations were refuted, he was accused of violating his passport. The French had found in his journal a wish dotted down to examine the state of that settlement, written when a stranger to the renewal of war. Some doubt seems to have been really entertained, for the moment, respecting him; but his long detention after his release was promised, was ascribed to the ambition of Napoleon, and the dishonesty of the French Institute, who from Flinders’ papers were appropriating to Baudin the honor of discoveries he never himself claimed.

Before the Investigator left England, the Géographe and Naturaliste, under Captains Baudin and Hamelin, visited this island. During a pause in the hostilities of Europe, the French government obtained from Mr. Addington, then premier, a safe conduct for this expedition. The terms granted entitled them to freedom from search; to supplies in any English colony, notwithstanding the contingency of war: it being well said by the French, that the promoters of scientific knowledge were the common benefactors of mankind. While Flinders was prosecuting his voyage he met Baudin on the coast of New Holland, at a place thence called Encounter Bay. The interview was civil, rather than cordial; both nations were competitors in science, and rivals are rarely kind. Yet the suffering of the French may be mentioned with pity: of twenty-three scientific men who accompanied the expedition, three only survived. The vessels were ill-provisioned, the water corrupt, and they encountered fearful tempests, in attempting to circumnavigate this island.

Captain Baudin had been directed by his government to examine the eastern coast of Van Diemen’s Land, the discoveries of D’Entrecasteaux, and the channels and rivers of the coast. The surgeon of the Géographe, Monge, fell by an attack of the natives, and was buried on the spot which bears his name. The French surveyed the eastern coast, and finally determined the position of the Frederick Henry Bay of Tasman. They examined the intricacies which had escaped the observation of earlier navigators, who erroneously numbered the islands on their charts, and thus overlooked the bays. They coasted between the main and the Schoutens, and gave the name of Fleurieu to the Oyster Bay of Cox. They then passed through a strait heretofore unnoticed, which divides the Schoutens and Freycinet’s Peninsula. Their survey was minute, and sometimes three boats were employed in different directions. The French vessels parted company, and the Naturaliste, after a long search for her consort, proceeded to New South Wales.

Baudin, of the Géographe, was far more unfortunate. Having touched at his land of Napoleon, instead of returning through Bass’s Strait to Port Jackson, he resolved to pass the south cape of Van Diemen’s Land. Throughout the passage he experienced the most fearful storms: the darkness at night often prevented the execution of naval manoeuvres, and the vessel was drenched with water. The condition of the crew was terrible; “cries of agony made the air ring:” four only, including the officers of the watch, were able to keep the decks. After beating about Port Jackson for several days, a boat appeared which had been dispatched by the governor, who saw the French were unable to manage the vessel. By a change of diet, they speedily recovered.

When at Port Jackson, Flinders showed his discoveries to the French, who admitted the justice of his prior claim, but with little sincerity.

M. Baudin died: Captain Hamilin, of the Naturaliste, returned to the Mauritius. He eulogised the conduct of the colonists to extravagance; but it is mortifying to find, that soon after, having captured a small English settlement, he burned the property he could not carry off; and invited upon deck the ladies, his prisoners, to witness the devastations of their late peaceful dwellings.

The misfortunes of the distinguished navigators, whose success has been recorded, fully equalled their fame. The fate of Cook belongs to a story which mingles with our early remembrance. A child need scarcely be told, that after a career eminently glorious to his country and profession, while attempting to restrain his men who were firing to protect him, he fell by the dagger of a savage.

His colleague, Captain Clerke, who attended him through all his expeditions, did not long survive him. Resolved to complete his instructions, he remained in the neighbourhood of Kamschatka, which hastened the crisis of a consumption. He was buried beneath a tree at the harbour of St. Peter and St. Paul, and an inscription pointed to his grave. This was found by M. Perouse defaced, who restored it. On his arrival at Botany Bay, he interred the naturalist of his expedition: the memorial he set up was destroyed by the natives, and Governor Phillip repaid, by the substitution of another, the honor done to his own countryman.

De L’Angle, the companion of Perouse, with eleven officers and men, lost their lives by a misunderstanding at the Navigators’ Isles: the manner of his own death may be inferred from the native tradition.

The end of D’Entrecasteaux and Huon, was hardly less melancholy: both commanders were buried by their crews; the admiral at Louisiade, and Huon at New Caledonia. The vessels were detained by the Dutch at Java, and many of the seamen died in captivity. There the calamities of their country became known to them: some sided with the royalists, others with the jacobins, but few regained their native land; among these, however, was Labillardiere.

The fate of Captain Flinders is already told; that of Dr. Bass is involved in obscurity. A rumour that he was alive in 1812, in South America, was circulated in London. In the colonies it was reported, that the vessel in his charge foundered at sea; others alleged that he attempted a contraband trade in the Spanish colonies, was taken prisoner, and with his companions sent to the quicksilver mines, and there died.

The whale-boat of Bass, which first swept the waters of the strait, was long preserved at Port Jackson. Of its keel snuff boxes were wrought, and regarded as valuable relics. A fragment, mounted with silver, engraven with the particulars of the passage, was presented to M. Baudin, as a memorial of the man whose example had stimulated colonial discovery.

Flinders predicted that the name of Bass would be conspicuous among the benefactors of mankind: the glory of his own will enlarge with the value of his discoveries. They resulted not from accident, which may give reputation to success without merit, but were the reward of prudent enthusiasm. A small community cannot, indeed, rear a monument worthy the destinies of their names: private memorials may be perishable, like the sympathies which inscribed them, but a future and opulent era will display the moral grandeur of their enterprise, and posterity will pay public honors to their fame.

At the cost of L250, Sir John Franklin erected an obelisk on the rock of Stamford Hill, Port Lincoln, with the following inscription:

This place, from which the gulf and its shores were first surveyed, on the 26th of Feb., 1802, by MATTHEW FLINDERS, R. N.. commander of H.M.S. Investigator, and the discoverer of the country now called South Australia, was on 12th Jan., 1841, with the sanction of Lieut.-Colonel GAWLER, K.H., then Governor of the Colony, then set apart for, and in the first year of the Government of Captain G. GREY, adorned with this monument, to the perpetual memory of the illustrious navigator, his honoured commander, by JOHN FRANKLIN, Captain R.N., K.C.H., K.R., Lt.-Governor of Van Diemen’s Land.

SECTION II.

The settlement of New Holland was proposed by Colonel Purry, in 1723: he contended that in 33 deg. south, a fertile region would be found, favorable to European colonisation. He offered his theory to the British government, then to the Dutch, and afterwards to the French; but with little encouragement. His views were submitted to the Academy of Sciences at Paris, who replied that “they could not judge of countries they had not seen." Thus the project slept, until the great English navigator in 1770 gave certainty to what had been conjecture.

To Dalrymple, the hydrographer, the impulse of this enterprising era is largely due. He fully believed that a vast southern continent must exist, to balance the antipodes. So firm was his conviction, that he defined its extent as “greater than the whole civilised part of Asia, from Turkey to the extremity of China. Its trade would be sufficient to maintain the power of Great Britain, employing all its manufactories and ships.” The position of this region of fancy was traversed by Cook, who found nothing but ocean. The doctrine of terrestial counterpoise was disturbed; he, however, alighted on a great reality.

The description of New South Wales by Cook and his companions, which charmed the public, attracted the attention of the crown; and Botany Bay, named on account of the variety and beauty of its vegetation long known through Europe as a region of gibbets, triangles, and chains; to be celebrated hereafter as the mistress of nations was selected for a settlemen men and 192 women, the pioneers of a larger division, were embarked under the charge of a military force composed of volunteers; comprehending, besides the staff, sixteen commissioned officers.

The fleet consisted of H.M.S. Sirius, Hyena, and Supply; six transports and three victuallers: they assembled at the Motherbank on the 16th March, and sailed on the 13th May, 1787. They touched at Teneriffe, and then at the Cape. Separated into two divisions, they reached their destination within forty-eight hours of each other. On the day of their junction, dense clouds threw a gloom over the sea; but they rejected the omen, and believed that they had seen “the foundation, and not the fall of an empire.” Having found the bay unsuitable for location, they proceeded to examine the port called after Jackson, a seaman, who observed it from the mast, and immortalised his name. As they passed the capes, which form an entrance, they were in raptures with the scene: the tall mouldering cliffs; the trees, which touched the water’s edge; and the magnificent harbour, four miles in length, begirt with a luxuriant shore.

It was on the 7th February, 1788, that the Governor was inaugurated: an area being cleared for the purpose, the military marched to the ground with music, and colors flying; 750 convicts, 212 marines and their officers, were assembled. The standard of England was unfurled, the commission of Phillip, the first governor, published, and the courts of justice proclaimed. The usual formalities being complete, Phillip turned to the prisoners, and declared his intentions. He had resolved to cherish and render happy such as might deserve his favour; but to allow the law its course with the impenitent and unreformed. In such language we discern the sentiments which prevailed: banishment, not punishment for past crimes, was implied in the cheering alternative. From that moment he possessed authority to manumit not less absolute than the sovereign, but immeasurably more power to avenge.

Those who first entered New Holland, and witnessed the elevation of the royal standard on the shores of Port Jackson, described in terms of despondency its barren soil, barely compensated by its salubrious atmosphere. Contemporary political writers looked coldly on the infant establishment, as the diseased and hopeless progeny of crime: one, which could never recompense the outlay of the crown, either by its vigour or its gratitude. The projects entertained, in connection with commerce, were the growth of flax and the supply of naval timber, both of which had been reported by Cook as indigenous to Norfolk Island. “When viewed in a commercial light,” Captain Tench observes (writing in 1789), “the insignificance of the settlement is very striking.” “Admitting the possibility,” he continues, “that the country will hereafter yield a sufficiency of grain, the parent state must long supply the necessaries of life. The idea of breeding cattle sufficient to meet the consumption, must be considered very chimerical.” Such desponding sentiments mostly attend the first stages of colonisation; but in a much later period, the enterprise was regarded with scarcely less suspicion: “Why,” said a celebrated critic, “we are to erect penitentiaries and prisons, at the distance of half the diameter of the globe, and to incur the enormous expense of feeding and transporting its inhabitants, it is extremely difficult to discover. It is foolishly believed, that the colony of Botany Bay unites our moral and commercial interests, and that we shall receive, hereafter, an ample equivalent in the bales of goods, for all the vices we export." With what obstinacy an idea once mooted is cherished, may be inferred from an opinion afterwards expressed by an authority of still greater pretension: “The most sanguine supporter of New South Wales system of colonisation, will hardly promise himself any advantage from the produce it may be able to supply." Its corn and wool, its timber and hemp, he excludes from the chances of European commerce, and declares that the whale fishery, after repeated failures, had been relinquished!

It is not less instructive than pleasing, to notice the past epochs of opinion: we find consolation against the dark clouds overshadowing the future, by discovering how many forebodings of ancient seers have vanished before the light of the event.

These discouraging views were not, however, universal. Many distinguished men imagined an advancement, which our age has been sufficient to realise. To commemorate the foundation of the colony the celebrated artist, Wedgewood, modelled, from clay brought from the neighbourhood of Sydney, an allegorical medallion, which represented Hope encouraging Art and Labor, under the influence of Peace.

The French, however, always represented this colony as a masterpiece of policy; an element of Anglican power, pregnant with events. Peron, when dwelling on the moral prodigies of the settlement, declared that these but disguised the real objects of its founders, which, however, could not escape the discernment of statesmen: they saw the formidable germ of great revolutions.

The expedition of Baudin was connected by English politicians with a project of French colonisation. His instructions directed him to inspect narrowly the places eligible for occupation, and it was expected that an Australian Pondichery would become a new focus of rivalry and intrigue. The special injunctions to survey the inlets of Van Diemen’s Land, seemed to indicate the probable site of an establishment so obnoxious.

Dr. Bass had, however, already examined this country with similar views, especially the margin of the rivers. To him no spot on the eastern side of the Derwent appeared to equal the neighbourhood of Risdon Creek, around which he observed an expanding area of fertile land. He delineated not less favorably the valley of the Tamar. This country he considered preferable to New South Wales: with a greater proportion of fertile soil, more amply supplied with water, and well adapted for colonisation.