The Irish in Australia/Chapter 10

by James Francis Hogan

CHAPTER X.

FOUR OF THE FAMILY.

SOUTH AUSTRALIA—A NOVEL EXPERIMENT IN COLONISATION—RICH COPPER MINES—WHEAT-GROWING CAPABILITIES—IRISH EMIGRATION TO SOUTH AUSTRALIA—ADDRESS OF ST. PATRICK'S SOCIETY TO THEIR COUNTRYMEN AT HOME—WESTERN AUSTRALIA—ITS IMMENSE EXTENT AND UNDEVELOPED RESOURCES—THE LAST OF THE PENAL SETTLEMENTS—FENIAN EXILES—JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY—J. K. CASEY—DR. R. R. MADDEN, COLONIAL SECRETARY— TASMANIA—ITS EARLY DEGRADATION—ITS DELIGHTFUL SCENERY—THE TRANSPORTED MEN OF '48—SMITH O'BRIEN—THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER—TERENCE BELLEW McMANUS—JOHN MITCHEL—JOHN MARTIN—KEVIN IZOD O'DOHERTY—NEW ZEALAND—MAORI WARS—CAREER OF TE KOOTI—A COURAGEOUS IRISHWOMAN—ACTIVITY AND ENTERPRISE IN THE COLONY—MINERAL WEALTH—LIBERAL IMMIGRATION POLICY—IRISH SETTLEMENT IN THE ISLANDS.

So much of what has been said in previous chapters, concerning the progress of colonisation in Victoria, New South Wales, and Queensland, and the concurrent advance of the Irish citizens of these states, applies with equal force and truth to the other four colonies in the Australasian dominion, that, to avoid recapitulation, it will be most convenient to place South Australia, Western Australia, Tasmania and New Zealand under a general heading, and regard them as forming an harmonious family group at the antipodes. The colony of South Australia was founded almost simultaneously with Victoria, but in a far different manner. In 1836 an English enthusiast, Edward Gibbon Wakefield, propounded a new and fantastical scheme of colonisation, which, as is usually the case, attracted many by its novelty alone. The scheme, viewed as a theory, looked very sound and substantial, but, as not unfrequently happens with brilliant theories, it failed miserably when put into practice. Briefly summarised, Wakefield's scheme consisted in placing a high value on land, in order to attract a socially superior class of intending colonists, and thus forming a fund by which labour, both skilled and unskilled, could be obtained at low rates. On this novel principle it was proposed to form a model community of labourers, artisans, and land-owners. The waste land of New South Wales could be purchased without difficulty at the rate of five shillings per acre, but, in order to carry out the rose-water theory of Wakefield, the land of the proposed new colony was valued at twelve shillings per acre, or 120 per cent above its presumably actual value. Surprising as it may appear, it is no less true that this chimerical project made numerous converts throughout England, and received the support of many eminent men, who afterwards no doubt wondered exceedingly what on earth induced them to lend their names to such a hare-brained scheme The promoters, amongst whom were Grote, the historian of Greece, and Henry Bulwer, had no difficulty in forming the South Australian Association on the principles laid down by the sanguine Wakefield. Dr. Whately was one of the most enthusiastic advocates" of the scheme, and, on one occasion, he waxed eloquent in describing its splendid advantages. "A colony so founded," he said, "would fairly represent English society. Every new-comer would have his own class to fall into, and to whatever class he belonged, he would find its relations to the others, and the support derived,from the others, much the same as in the parent country. There would be little more revolting to the feelings of an emigrant than if he had merely shifted his residence from Sussex to Cumberland or Devonshire." It is a great pity that this clerical orator did not accompany those to whom he addressed these delusive words. Had he done so, he would have discovered the enormous gulf that separates theory from actuality, and would have been furnished by experience with material for an additional chapter to his well-known treatise on "Logic." Had he voyaged to the antipodes with the Wakefield pioneers, he would have come in contact with a great many things "revolting to the feelings of an emigrant." However, until the bubble burst, all went merry as a marriage-bell. The association progressed splendidly in public confidence, the prospectus of the new colony was everywhere perused, and the scheme was puffed into a feverish existence by the promises of promoters and the frenzy of reckless speculators.

The first practical step towards the formation of the new colony was taken in May, 1836, when a heterogeneous collection of surveyors, clerks, architects, engineers, teachers, lawyers and clergymen, was despatched to the new land of promise. All these accomplished gentlemen were devout believers in the Wakefield theory, but they would have been the last people in the world chosen by a common-sense leader for the rough-and-ready work of pioneer colonisation. As they afterwards learned to their cost, it would have been far better for them if they had had less book-knowledge and more hand-skill before starting on their wild-goose expedition to the other side of the globe. They found on landing, that the place of which they had heard and read such glowing accounts, was wholly unfit for purposes of settlement. All their delicious old-world dreams were rudely dispelled by the hard realities that stared them in the face. They set out in search of a suitable site for a settlement, and after exploring St. Vincent Gulf chose a position on its eastern shore, a large fertile plain bounded on the east by a mountain range, and traversed by a small river, on the banks of which they settled down, and named their infant city Adelaide, in compliment to the Queen of William the Fourth.

Whilst the first settlers were thus contending with the unexpected difficulties of their position, the London promoters of this ill-digested scheme continued their policy of puffing its alleged advantages, with the result that large numbers of deluded individuals were despatched to the antipodes before any adequate preparations had been made for their reception. These unlucky people were discharged at Port Adelaide as so much human freight, and found themselves compelled to drag their luggage and merchandise after them to the little settlement. To add to the difficulties of the situation, a most pernicious system of gambling in land orders sprang up, and to such an extent did this mischievous speculating proceed, that the future city was actually mapped out as consisting of nine square miles. It would be impossible in a cursory sketch to refer in detail to the numerous absurdities that were perpetrated by the pioneer colonists of South Australia.

Suffice it to say that the reign of speculation came to its inevitable and inglorious collapse in a very short space of time, and the usual unhappy consequences ensued. The unfortunate victims of the broken-down Wakefield theory found that they had been living all the while in airy castles of their own imagination, and had been trading on fictitious capital. They were literally reduced to the direst extremities of poverty. In the excitement of the speculation mania, the natural fertility of the soil was lost sight of, and had it not been for the assistance rendered by the adjacent colonies of Victoria and New South Wales, the Wakefield settlement would have been involved in all the horrors of famine. Thus ended this celebrated attempt to found a colony on abstract scientific principles, and without reference to the suggestions of common sense. The Wakefield experiment, like all other socialistic enterprises of the kind that have been once tried, was never repeated.

Consequent on the collapse of the Wakefield scheme, a general exodus ensued, and Adelaide, the city of nine square miles on paper, ceased for a time to have any actual existence. A happy accident, however, saved the place from complete and utter abandonment. This was the discovery of copper, a discovery that caused a revolution in the fortunes of the colony, and served in a great measure as an antidote to the evils of fantastical colonisation. Mine after mine was opened up, and it was soon ascertained that the settlement had permanent mineral resources of great value. The most famous mines are the Burra Burra, the Kapunda, the Wallaroo and the Moonta. From the Burra Burra mine copper to the value of £5,000,000 sterling has been raised, and the quantity of ore obtained from the Wallaroo is represented by a still higher amount. When the excitement that followed the discovery of copper cooled down, a new source of wealth was found in the agricultural resources of the soil, and South Australia has ever since ranked amongst the finest wheat-growing countries on the face of the earth.

On July 7th, 1849, the members of the St. Patrick's Society of South Australia issued an address to their countrymen at home, expressive of gratitude to God for the prosperity with which their labours in the southern land had been rewarded, and of commiseration for the dire distress and suffering with which it had pleased Providence to afflict their brothers in blood and affection in the old country. It was their anxious desire, they said, to make an effort to lighten the sorrow, to cheer the hopes and to invigorate the energies of their suffering brethren by making known to them a "land flowing with milk and honey," a land of refuge from the political and social evils under which Ireland groaned, a land of rest for their weary spirits, and of promise for their rising sons and daughters.

In this fraternal address, the colony of South Australia was described as "a country where the reward of steady industry, prudence, and sobriety, is certain, where the labour of comparatively few years will ensure a homestead and a competence to the working man and his family—even wealth, abundance, and social advancement to many; where the climate is generally salubrious and agreeable, and where none but freemen tread the soil." But every picture must have its due proportion of shade, and in accordance with that universal principle, the succeeding paragraph of the address intimates to the intending emigrant that "You must be prepared to labour hard, to endure privations, to toil occasionally under a burning sun and a scorching wind, and to suffer loneliness in the bush (for there you must rear your home or work out the means of purchasing one)." A rich recompense is predicted for the Irish emigrant who possesses the manly qualities of resolute perseverance, sobriety, and frugality. An Irishman of determination, undaunted by the inevitable difficulties of a newly-settled land, would be sure in the course of time to accumulate means, create a property, and attain a position of security and comfort, that would enable him to cheer the hearts, and close in comfort the eyes, of his aged parents, besides offering unthought-of advantages to his little ones. That this is no exaggerated statement is proved by facts within the personal knowledge of the writers of the address. "We are happy to state that a large portion of the Irish labourers who have arrived in this province, have, within a period of a few years, been enabled to withdraw themselves from the labour market, to become proprietors of land and stock, and employers of labour. The man who on his native soil was a careworn, toilworn being, living in a wretched hovel, without a chance of improving his circumstances, ill-clad, hungry, hopeless, with no motive for exertion, no work for more than half the year, getting a pittance of sixpence to tenpence a day, yet paying a high rent for his miserable holding, and competing to the death for its possession—this man of despair, transferred to a land of peace, with hope before him to stimulate his energies, and lead them into a right direction, here at length finds his services valuable and well remunerated; and learning for the first time in his life the luxury of feeling that he too can earn something to save, and that he occupies a higher position in the social scale, unfolds qualities that never seemed to belong to the national character."

This inspiriting address was signed by the Hon. Major O'Halloran, President of the St. Patrick's Society; Mr. K. E. Torrens, Collector of Customs, Vice-President; Sir George Kingston; the Hon. Captain Bagot, M.L.C., and a number of other representative Irish colonists. Its publication in Ireland naturally induced many intending emigrants to select South Australia as their future home, but the Imperial authorities seemed to still cling to the old unfortunate Wakefield idea that this particular colony must be kept socially superior to all the rest. Acting under this excessively stupid notion, they did their best to discourage Irish immigration, and the local St. Patrick's Society was compelled to send home a remonstrance against the unfair distinctions that were being made in the choice of immigrants. Under date "Adelaide, July 14, 1849," Sir Henry E. F. Young, governor of South Australia, wrote to Earl Grey, Secretary of State for the Colonies, commending to his favourable notice a memorial from the St. Patrick's Society of the colony, praying that Irish labourers might be shipped from Ireland direct, by the Land and Emigration Commissioners, in equal relative numbers to the English and Scotch labourers who were brought out at the expense of the colonial funds. In the memorial referred to, the members of St. Patrick's Society directed Earl Grey's attention to the fact that their countrymen, who were desirous of proceeding to South Australia, were not receiving a fair share of the facilities and encouragement to which they were entitled at the hands of the home authorities. In proof of this statement, statistics were quoted, showing that the proportion of English to Irish emigrants was as twenty to one. The memorialists further declared that it had come to their knowledge that English agents had in various instances refused to give passages to Irish emigrants, qualified in all respects, solely because they were Irish. And they concluded with a direct intimation to his lordship that they were prepared to prove that the Irish emigrants of South Australia were as orderly, industrious and thrifty as their brethren of England and Scotland, and made equally good colonists.

On December 15th, 1849, Earl Grey replied to the effect that he thought it right to refer the questions raised in the memorial, for the consideration of the Land and Emigration Commissioners, a copy of whose report he enclosed. The Commissioners admitted that taking South Australia by itself, it had not received its equitable proportion of Irish emigrants, a state of things which they attributed to the peculiar circumstances under which that particular colony was founded. "The first settlers," they remarked, "were, with few exceptions, English capitalists, who had acquired by purchase the right of nominating emigrants for free passages and who chiefly selected English labourers." Taking the Australian colonies as a whole, the Commissioners alleged that Ireland had received ample justice in the matter of emigration.

The effect of this energetic remonstrance was that something more closely resembling fair play was afterwards meted out to intending Irish emigrants to South Australia, and a goodly number of them were brought out and satisfactorily settled on the land. Adelaide, the capital of the colony, grew apace, and is now a handsome, well-planned, and well-regulated city of 120,000 inhabitants.

Western Australia enjoys the curious distinction of being at the same time the largest and the least populous of the Australian colonies. It is eight times as large as Great Britain and Ireland, and comprises the immense tract of country lying between the 18th and 35th parallels of latitude, and stretching from the 129th meridian to the Indian Ocean. Its area is estimated at 975,920 square miles or 625 millions of acres, whilst, in striking contrast to this immensity of space, the population does not exceed forty thousand souls. A considerable portion of this huge expanse is not yet thoroughly explored, and the population is practically limited to a small sea-coast area on the south-western side. A "French scare" was the moving impulse that led to the foundation of this colony. In 1829 the Sydney governor, Sir Ralph Darling, heard a rumour that the French intended establishing a colony on the western side of the Australian continent, and forthwith resolved to checkmate the audacious foreigners by anticipating them. An expedition was accordingly fitted out, a landing was effected at the mouth of the Swan River, and the colony was duly proclaimed. However, the French never put in an appearance in the neighbourhood, and the settlement until quite recently had but a very precarious sort of existence. In 1849, at a critical period in the history of the place, the colonists took the extraordinary course of petitioning the Imperial authorities to send out a consignment of prisoners. This reads strangely by the side of what has already been said concerning the herculean efforts made by the other colonies to put a stop to transportation, but the fact was that labour was absolutely unprocurable at that time in Western Australia, and the colonists saw clearly that the settlement would have to be abandoned unless labour of some description, free or bond, was speedily introduced. The authorities at home were only too glad to comply with a request to send out a cargo of first-class felons and enterprising burglars. With a celerity and promptitude they never exhibited in redressing the substantial grievances of the colonists, they despatched upwards of ten thousand convicts, whose labour is described as being of incalculable benefit to the settlement, and to have actually proved its salvation. When, in consequence of the pressure brought to bear by the other colonies, transportation was entirely abolished, the Western Australians went so far as to petition against the cessation of the system as likely to prove prejudicial to their material interests. Fortunately for their neighbours, this selfish prayer was not granted. Amongst the convicts transported to Western Australia were several of the Fenian prisoners of twenty years ago, one of whom, John Boyle O'Reilly, after successfully escaping to America, published an interesting story of Western Australian life, under the title of "Moondyne." Mr. O'Reilly has since achieved a series of literary successes in the United States, and now stands in the front rank of American writers. J. K. Casey (Leo), the author of the popular poem, "The Rising of the Moon," was another of the Fenian prisoners deported to Western Australia. Dr. R. R. Madden, the writer of that splendid monumental work, "The Lives and Times of the United Irishmen," also spent some time in this colony, though not as a captive of the Crown. For three years the industrious historian of '98 filled the office of Colonial Secretary of Western Australia.

It is only within the last few years that the resources of this vast territory have come to be estimated at their right value. The explorations of Giles and Forrest have brought to light millions of acres of rich pastoral country, most of which has been taken up and occupied by enterprising capitalists from the adjoining colonies. Gold, too, has been discovered in considerable quantities, and what is known as the Kimberley district of the colony has been rushed by adventurous diggers from all parts of Australasia. Railways have been started in various directions; public works have been commenced on an extensive scale, and a liberal system of immigration has been adopted with a view to supplying the colony with its greatest need—a population in some measure proportionate to the vastness of its area and its undeveloped resources. The olive, the vine, and the orange grow with the greatest luxuriance, and, in the immense forests of jarrah timber, with which the country is studded, a valuable article of export is found. If only she can induce a full tide of immigrants to flow to her shores, Western Australia will, before long, rank amongst the richest provinces to the south of the equator.

Tasmania, the smallest but prettiest of the colonies, was, up to the date of the abolition of transportation, known as Van Diemen's Land—the title bestowed upon it by its discoverer, Abel Jansen Tasman. But, when the colony decided on turning over a new leaf and getting rid of the unpleasant associations of convictism, it was deemed advisable to re-christen the island, and thus it is now named after the enterprising Dutch navigator by whom it was first descried. Tasmania is a small but beautiful island situated to the south of Victoria, from which it is separated by Bass Straits. It has an area of 26,375 square miles. Its history is almost a counterpart of that of New South Wales, as it was colonised from the parent settlement for the express purpose of forming a second penal colony. This took place about the beginning of the century, and from that time up to the year 1854, the lovely island was a theatre on whose stage were enacted all the horrors incidental to the presence of rampant convictism. In some respects the picture is even blacker than that of New South Wales during the same period, the daughter revelling in greater infamy than the mother. It would be impossible for any pen to adequately describe the frightful excesses of the early days of Tasmania, but the condition of the island may be conjectured from the following words of Sir James Mackintosh in the House of Commons: "The settlement can never be worse than it is now, when no attempt towards reformation is dreamed of, and when it is governed on principles of political economy more barbarous than those which prevailed under Queen Bess." A government inspector of public works describes the moral depravity as "unparalleled in any age," and one horrified historian sums the island up as "that den of thieves, that cave of robbers, that cage of unclean birds, that isthmus between earth and hell." Sales of wives, public and private, were occurrences so common as to cause not the slightest comment. Several authenticated records of such transactions are still extant in the colonial archives. One lady of some personal attractions was publicly sold in the streets of Hobart, the capital of the island, for fifty ewes; another charmer changed hands for five pounds and a gallon of rum; whilst a third accommodating lady was disposed of for twenty ewes and a gallon of rum. The present Roman Catholic Bishop of Birmingham, Dr. Ullathorne, who was one of the earliest missionaries to the island, in his evidence before a parliamentary committee on transportation, horrified that body with the startling picture he presented of the frightful immoralities connected with convict life in Tasmania.

But this terrible state of things has entirely passed away. The dead past has buried its dead; the island is now purified; as in the parent colony, free immigration has gradually extinguished the evils and almost the remembrance of the convict days, and a new Tasmania has arisen on the ruins of the old penal Van Diemen's Land. As the island has one of the finest climates in the world, it is a favourite resort for excursionists during the summer season. On the subject of the enchanting scenery of Tasmania, many writers have exhausted the vocabulary of praise. John Mitchel's "Jail Journal," in particular, contains some exquisite descriptions of the loveliness of the interior of this "isle of beauty." And his brother-exile, Thomas Francis Meagher, has written on the same theme in this rapturous strain: "So far as heaven has ordered, and the Divine Hand has blessed it, it is a beautiful, noble island. In most, if not all, of those gifts which constitute the strength, the true wealth, and grandeur of a country, it has been beneficially endowed. The seas which encompass it, the lakes and rivers which refresh and fertilise it, the woods which shadow, and the genial sky which arches it, all bear testimony to the bounteous will of its Creator; and, with sights of the brightest colouring, and sounds of the finest harmony, proclaim the goodness, munificence and power of God in its behalf. The climate is more than healthful: it is invigorating and inspiring. Breathing it, manhood preserves its bloom, vivacity, and vigour long after the period at which, in other lands, those precious gifts depart, and the first cold touch of age is felt. Breathing it, age puts on a glorious look of health, serenity, and gladness; and even when the gray hairs have thinned, seems able yet to fight a way through the snows, and storms, and falling leaves of many a year to come. Oh, to think that a land so blest, so rich in all that renders life happy, bountiful and great—so kindly formed to be a refuge and a sweet abiding place in these latter times for the younger children of the old, decrepid, worn-out world at home—to think that such a land is doomed to be the prison, the workshop, and the grave of the empire's outcast poverty, ignorance and guilt This is a sad, revolting thought, and the reflections which spring from it cast a gloom over the purest and the happiest minds. Whilst so black a curse lies on it, no heart, however pious, generous, and benignant it may be, could love this land, and speak of it with pride. May that dark destiny of hers be soon reversed! From the pillar to which she is bound; from the derision and the contumely; from the buffeting and the blows she is doomed to bear in this her night of weakness and humiliation; from the garments of scorn, the crown of torture, and the gall they have given her to drink; may the brave spirit of her sons decree to her a deliverance—speedy, blissful and eternal!"^[1] As every one knows, it was to Tasmania that some of the most prominent leaders of the Young Ireland party were expatriated at the close of the State trials of '48. William Smith O'Brien, Thomas Francis Meagher, Terence Bellew McManus, and Patrick O'Donoghue reached Hobart, the capital of the island, on October 27, 1849, in Her Majesty's steamer "Swift." Four days afterwards the "Emma" arrived, having John Martin and Kevin Izod O'Doherty on board, and the "Neptune" followed with the most belligerent and irreconcilable State prisoner of all—the ex-editor of the United Irishman, John Mitchel. On landing in their place of exile, the Irish leaders were offered tickets-of-leave, under which they would be severally assigned to different districts as their place of abode, and by the acceptance of which they would be giving their word of honour not to leave their respective localities without having previously given due notice of their intention to the authorities. As the alternative to this arrangement was rigorous imprisonment, with the repulsive prospect of forced association with the vilest of criminals, the exiled chiefs, with one exception, very naturally and properly accepted the proffered indulgence and comparative liberty. McManus was sent to the Launceston or northern district of the colony; Meagher was appointed to reside in the neighbourhood of Campbelltown; Mitchel and Martin were allowed to live together at Bothwell; O'Donoghue was assigned to New Norfolk, and O'Doherty, being an incipient doctor of medicine, was retained in Hobart, where his professional services were utilised on the staff of St. Mary's Hospital. The men of '48 were thus carefully dispersed through the island in a manner that prevented anything like social friendly intercourse, except on those rare and stolen occasions so sympathetically described: by Mitchel in his "Jail Journal." "I do complain," wrote Meagher, "that having separated us by so many thousand miles of sea from all that was dear, consoling, and inspiring to our hearts, they should have still further increased the severity of this sentence by distributing us over a strange land, in which the best friendship we could form would compensate but poorly for the loss of the warm, familiar, gay companionship we so long enjoyed together."^[2]

The exception to the general rule was Smith O'Brien whose stern and uncompromising adherence to what he conceived to be the right course under the circumstances, precluded him from giving a pledge of any sort to the colonial representatives of the British authorities. The Tasmanian Government had therefore no option but to specially guard their iron-willed State prisoner, and they treated him like another Napoleon. Maria Island, a lonely, cheerless spot was made a prison for his special benefit, and the vigilance with which he was guarded, was redoubled and rendered more painful than ever to the high-born captive after an unlucky and unsuccessful attempt to escape. Smith O'Brien did eventually, and after protracted suffering. accept a ticket-of-leave like his comrades in exile, and it is greatly to be deplored that he could not see his way to do so in the first instance, as his refusal was ii source of considerable pain, humiliation, and annoyance to himself, and of no little embarrassment to the colonial authorities. After five years' banishment, Smith O'Brien, Martin, O'Doherty, and O'Donoghue received a conditional pardon from the Crown, the proviso being that they must not set foot within the United Kingdom, an unworthy disqualification that was subsequently removed. Meagher, McManus, and Mitchel had, in the meantime, succeeded in escaping to America, and were in consequence not named in the Queen's proclamation of clemency. The delicate question, as to whether the mode in which Meagher and Mitchel effected their escape from Tasmania was in harmony with the conditions on which they enjoyed a comparative degree of liberty, has been a subject of discussion for many years. That the point should be a debatable one is solely due to the different interpretations placed upon the spirit of the parole. Meagher and Mitchel believed, and their belief is shared by the majority of their countrymen, that the requirements of honour and of conscience would be satisfied by giving fair notice to the local authorities of their intention to surrender the comparative liberty which had been extended to them, and by affording these said authorities an opportunity to take them into custody if they were so disposed. Smith O'Brien put the case very clearly in his speech at the banquet given in his honour by the Irishmen of Melbourne, on July 22nd, 1854,^[3] when he was passing through that city, after his release from captivity. "I have been complimented in the House of Commons," he said, "at the expense of my fellow-prisoners who have escaped to America, and a cheer was raised on the occasion. I trust that there are reporters now present who will convey to the world that I accept no such compliment. (Cheers.) Previously to his escape, Mr. Mitchel consulted me, and I then gave it as my opinion that if he adopted the course which he ultimately did adopt, there would be nothing dishonourable in it. If, therefore, Mr. Mitchel were guilty of having sacrificed his honour, I am equally guilty. The treatment which he had received at Port Arthur, and elsewhere, was sufficient to destroy health, and it may be a question for casuists whether, under the circumstances, a prisoner is bound by his parole. Nevertheless, he and his fellow-prisoners agreed to be bound by that parole — but not beyond the letter of the parole (cheers). There has also been some question regarding the propriety of Mr. Meagher's escape. I offer no opinion on that subject, for I was not consulted in the matter. But this I know, that Thomas Francis Meagher would never have escaped in any way that he did not deem honourable. So jealous was Mr. Meagher of his honour that, rather than suffer any imputation on it, he had actually taken his passage in a vessel bound from California to Australia, in order to deliver himself again into the hands of the British Government, and he was only restrained from his purpose by the remonstrances of his friends, who represented to him its Quixotic nature. As regards regards Mr. McManus, there could be no question of parole, as he had escaped when in custody, and when a writ of Habeas Corpus had been issued to bring him before a judge. There are thus no grounds whatever for the imputations cast on my fellow-prisoners, or for the compliments paid to myself." In his "Jail Journal," Mitchel has told the full story of his escape, of the galling disappointments he had to endure, and the numerous perils he had to evade, before he could contrive to get clear of his island prison. Meagher's flight from captivity was a more lucky, neat, and expeditious performance. In his own vindication he supplied the New York Herald (June 6, 1852) with the facts in these terms:

"In consequence of some misstatements regarding my escape which I have just seen in two or three of the European newspapers, and which appear to have been copied from an Australian paper, I think it right to set the true facts before the American public, to whom alone I now hold myself responsible. The remarkable kindness I have received from the press and the public generally, ever since my arrival in this noble country, and the anxiety I feel to have it understood that I am not deficient in the honourable spirit which qualifies a stranger to become its citizen, compel me to break the silence which no act or word on the part of my enemies could disturb. The facts are these: In the month of April, 1801, I was called upon to renew my parole. I did so in writing in the following words: 'I hereby pledge my word of honour not to leave the colony so long as I hold a ticket-of-leave.' I handed this pledge to the police magistrate in the open court. Any one can see it who wishes to refer to it. Towards the end of December, the same year, I came to the determination of attempting my escape. Accordingly on January 3rd last I sent the following letter to the police magistrate of the district in which I resided: 'Lake Sorrell, District of Campbelltown, Saturday, January 3rd, 1852.—Sir, Circumstances of a recent occurrence urge upon me the necessity of resigning my ticket-of-leave, and consequently withdrawing my parole. I write this letter, therefore, respectfully to apprise you that after 12 o'clock to-morrow noon I shall no longer consider myself bound by the obligations which that parole imposes. In the meantime, however, should you conceive it your duty to take me into custody, I shall, as a matter of course, regard myself as wholly absolved from the restraint which my word of honour to your government at present inflicts. I have, &c., T. F. Meagher.' The police magistrate received this letter at eleven o'clock the same morning. I remained in my cottage at Lake Sorrell until seven o'clock that evening. A few minutes after that hour, four of my friends arrived on horseback and communicated to me the intelligence that the police were coming up to arrest me. I went out with them into the bush and remained there about 300 yards from the cottage, until my servant brought the news that the police had arrived and were sitting in the kitchen. We mounted our horses immediately and rode down to the cottage. 100 yards from it my friends drew up. I rode on until I came close to the stable, which was within pistol-shot of the kitchen door. I drew up there and desired him to go in and tell the police I was waiting for them. He left me at once and entered the cottage. Two or three minutes elapsed—the police appeared. The moment they appeared I rose in my stirrups, called out to them that I was the prisoner they came to arrest, and defied them to do so. The challenge was echoed by my friends with three loud hearty cheers, in the midst of which I struck spurs to my horse and dashed into the woods in the direction of the coast. Accompanied by my generous and courageous-hearted friends, I reached the sea-shore on Monday afternoon at a point where a boat was in readiness to receive me. I jumped from my horse, got into the boat, put off to sea, and beat about there for a few days until the ship came up which, thank God, bore me at last to a free and hospitable land. In plain words these are the plain facts of the case, as I have written them here. They were written by one of my friends at the house where we changed horses on our way to the coast. The manuscript containing them was forwarded the next morning to the editor of the leading journal of the colony, and bore the names of my friends, written by their own hands in attestation of the truth. The men who vouched with signatures for the truth of the statement they made, and now repeated, are men of considerable property and highly creditable position in the colony, and no one there would be rash enough to speak a single word derogatory of their honour."

Of the little group of illustrious Irishmen who were exiled to Tasmania forty years ago, there is now but one remaining in the land of the living. Dr. O'Doherty, still hale and vigorous, continues in the practice of his profession at Sydney, and, by the unanimous wish of his Australian countrymen, holds the office of president of their National League. The stern and unbending Smith O'Brien died whilst travelling in Wales; Mitchel returned to his native land after an absence of a quarter of a century, and expired just after having been elected to the House of Commons by the men of Tipperary; he was followed to the unseen world in a few days by his old friend and fellow-sufferer, John Martin; General T. F. Meagher, with conspicuous bravery, led the Irish Brigade through the great American civil war in defence of the Union, and, by a deplorable accident, lost his life in the dark waters of the Missouri; and McManus, having died in San Francisco, was buried with national honours, his body having been conveyed across the American continent, and over the Atlantic, to the Irish metropolis, from which he had been sent into captivity thirteen years before.

The material resources of Tasmania are varied and abundant, though but inadequately developed. Its tin mines have been a source of considerable profit for years, and latterly its gold deposits, after long neglect, are being scientifically and systematically worked to advantage. In making the best use of the mineral wealth at their doors, the Tasmanians, who are said by their neighbours to be constitutionally lethargic, have an extensive field for the exercise of any latent energy and industry they may possess. At present they are principally engaged in agricultural pursuits, and Tasmanian produce always secures good prices in the home and colonial markets.

New Zealand—the "Great Britain of the South," as Captain Cook termed it—would probably object to be classed with the Australian colonies, for it has always professed a lofty and sturdy independence of the big continent in its vicinity. It consists of three islands, originally named after three of the four provinces of Ireland. North Island, or New Ulster, has an area of 44,000 square miles; Middle Island, or New Munster, is somewhat larger, having 55,000 square miles; whilst Stewart Island, or New Leinster, is very small, consisting of only 1,000 square miles. The islands are situated in the South Pacific, at a distance of 1,200 miles from the nearest part of New South Wales. They were discovered by Tasman in 1642, but were not again visited by Europeans until Cook took possession of them in 1769 in the name of the British sovereign. Numerous whaling stations were first established along the coast by enterprising Sydney merchants, and a permanent settlement was eventually effected on the site of Wellington, in the extreme south of the North Island. Wellington is now the official and political capital of the colony, having superseded its more northerly rival, Auckland, which nevertheless continues to be the larger and more populous city of the two. In 1848 a Scotch settlement was founded at the southern extremity of the Middle Island, now known as the province of Otago, whose chief city is Dunedin, the largest, most populous, and most commercial city in the group. Almost contemporaneously, the province of Canterbury, on the eastern coast of the same island, was colonised under the auspices of the Church of England, a fact sufficiently denoted by its name and that of its capital, Christchurch, one of the finest and wealthiest of the New Zealand cities.

The history of New Zealand presents a violent and startling contrast to that of the other antipodean states. In the work of colonising the mainland of Australia, no opposition worth mentioning was manifested by the natives to the coming of the whites. The aborigines retired before the new-comers without striking one combined blow. As time passed on, the white man's brandy-bottle did its silent work of destruction and extermination so effectually that now, with the exception of the remote districts of the interior, scarcely a solitary pure black is to be met with on the continent of Australia. Not so in New Zealand. There the whites found a warlike, active, intelligent, and high-spirited people in possession. The Maories declined to surrender their lands at the bidding of the invaders; a bad feeling was thus at the outset engendered between the two races, and boat-loads of the early immigrants were surprised and massacred as they stepped on the beach. Reprisals ensued, and, for a series of years, the northern island was the scene of some of the most sanguinary native wars that stain the annals of colonisation. These were in a great measure provoked by the stupidity and arbitrary conduct of the colonial authorities. On one occasion 200 Maories were seized as suspected persons, and without trial, evidence, or any form of law, banished to a penal settlement on a neighbouring small group, called the Chatham islands. Amongst them was Te Kooti, a young, brave, and daring man, whose name was in after-years a name of terror to the New Zealand settlers.^[4] Lieutenant Gudgeon, the historian of the New Zealand wars, candidly declares it as his conviction" that all the after atrocities committed by Te Kooti or by his orders were dictated by a spirit of revenge and retribution against those who had caused his deportation." Te Kooti, by his innate military genius and natural force of character, soon became the leader of the Maori exiles. By a well-planned and skilfully-executed scheme, a Government vessel that had brought provisions for the prisoners, was captured by Te Kooti and his confederates on the morning of July 4th, 1868. He immediately released his fellow-prisoners and placed them on board the vessel. The white men that constituted the crew, were allowed by Te Kooti to take their choice between two alternatives—instant death or the navigation of the vessel to Poverty Bay, the place from which the Maories had been so illegally and unjustifiably transported. Naturally they chose the latter, and worked the vessel in safety to Poverty Bay. Te Kooti landed, and immediately commenced his terrible career of fanatical butchery and indiscriminate slaughter. Having defeated the colonial forces that were sent against him, his ranks were joined by other Maori tribes hostile to the British. Thus recruited, Te Kooti, one night in November, 1868, descended like an avalanche of fire on the unfortunate settlers in the district of Poverty Bay. So well was the murderous secret kept, that not the slightest precautions had been taken to guard against a Maori surprise. With the stealthy step of the tiger, Te Kooti and his bloodthirsty band surrounded house after house, shooting down the men without an instant's warning, and despatching the women and children with bayonets and tomahawks. Whole families, refusing to come out when called upon by Te Kooti, perished miserably in the flames of their burning houses. And not only the white settlers, but a number of friendly natives, who had accepted the inevitable, and had settled down to live, as they hoped, in peace with the conquerors, were surprised and slaughtered without mercy. Indeed, throughout his campaign, Te Kooti evinced an undying hatred towards those tribes of his countrymen that had become friendly to the British, and he never spared any of them when taken prisoners. The morning after the Poverty Bay massacres dawned on a desolated country. Where on the previous day there had been smiling homesteads and fertile farms, the pleasant surroundings of rustic toil and the cheerful prattle of innocent children, blackened ruins and mutilated corpses now told their silent tale of savage frenzy and ruthless destruction. As Lieutenant Gudgeon truly remarks in his history of the war, the narrow escapes of that dreadful night would fill a volume. One Irishwoman, whose husband happened to be away from home, whilst lying awake in bed, fancied she heard the firing of guns. Her suspicions being aroused, she immediately got up, and one glance at the horizon, glowing with the reflection of the incendiary fires, was sufficient to convince her of the imminent danger in which she stood. Hastily collecting her children, she slipped over the steep bank of an adjacent river, and literally crawled for miles under the shadow of the precipitous cliffs until she arrived with her children in safety at the nearest town, where she was the first to give the alarm. Many other anecdotes of that terrible time might be narrated from contemporary evidence. This massacre, it is needless to say, sent a thrill of horror through the community. Operations directed by English military officers, and supported by the colonial militia, were commenced against Te Kooti, who, during several engagements, displayed a surprising natural knowledge of military science. He understood thoroughly the advantages to be gained by rapid movement and sudden surprise, and it was on this principle that he invariably acted. No part of the northern island felt safe from a sudden attack, and every settlement was required to look to its defences. But, however successful Te Kooti might be in prosecuting this guerrilla sort of warfare, he was occasionally brought face to face with the British trained soldiers, and compelled to fight a pitched battle. Though manifesting the same stubborn and fanatical courage, he was on most of these occasions under the necessity of retreating before the steady battalions of disciplined men arrayed against him. In these engagements he lost many of his finest warriors, and, as the conflict proceeded, his little army gradually melted away, whilst the ranks of his enemies received regular accessions. Still he continued to prosecute with success his favourite Napoleonic plan of swift and sudden attack; but eventually his losses in the field reduced his devoted followers to little more than the strength of a body-guard. With this trusty few, he commenced his retreat to the Waikato, the military and a large body of friendly natives following with all possible rapidity, in the hope and almost certainty of effecting the capture of the redoubtable Maori leader, for whose body, dead or alive, the Government had offered a reward of £5,000. At this critical stage of his career, Te Kooti seemed to possess a charmed life. There were times when his camp was completely surrounded by his enemies, when he himself was recognised sitting in front of his tent, and yet, when the volley was fired, and soldiers rushed from every side, and the camp was taken by assault, Te Kooti was never amongst the slain or captured. He had escaped, no one knew how or whither. Several of the minor rebel chiefs were caught and executed, but the arch-rebel himself—the perpetrator of the Poverty Bay massacre—was never taken. Hunted over mountain and glen, with the bloodhounds ever at his heels, this extraordinary savage, after enduring every privation and escaping every peril, succeeded at length in reaching the iron fastnesses of the Waikato, where he has ever since remained, secure under the protection of the Maori King.

This latter remark demands a little explanation. New Zealand is classed as a British colony, but there is a portion of it over which neither the Queen of Great Britain nor her representative, the local governor, can be said to exercise any actual jurisdiction. This district is situated in the centre of the North Island, and is known as the Waikato, or "King Country." After a long and brave, but unsuccessful, resistance against the encroachments of the whites, a number of the leading Maori Chiefs met, and with a view to the erection of a last barrier against the invaders of their soil, resolved to proclaim the mountainous Waikato country as their sacred territory, to elect a king of their own, and to make all necessary laws for themselves. The agitation was sedulously promoted by the more turbulent and warlike chiefs, and the result was the election and proclamation of a Maori King, who took up his residence at the Waikato. The colonial authorities at first did not know how to regard this unexpected movement on the part of the Maories, and the mischief was all done before they had recovered their wits. They then saw that a fatal mistake had been committed in tacitly consenting to this assumption of independent power within the confines of the colony. Ever since, this portion of New Zealand has been a sort of refugium peccatorum for Maori offenders. The present Maori King—Tawhiao—has dwelt there for years in sullen seclusion, surrounded by the surviving veteran war chiefs. Here To Kooti is somewhere concealed from the vengeance of the colonists. As long as he remains within the charmed circle of the King Country he is perfectly safe; but once he steps outside, is recognised and captured, a swift and summary penalty will be exacted in atonement for the lengthy and diabolical catalogue of crime attached to his name. It is characteristic of the dare-devil disposition of the man that, with a full knowledge of the fate in store for him, he has occasionally ventured out into the settled districts, and regained his retreat before a pursuit could be organised. However, Te Kooti has now eluded justice for so many years that, unless some radical change should come over New Zealand affairs, the murderer of so many innocent men, women and children will in all probability never expiate his crimes on the gallows.

The "native difficulty" in New Zealand is by no means permanently settled. It has a disagreeable habit of forcing its way to the front when least expected; still, there is very little probability of actual war again arising between the Maories and the whites. The former are now too diminished to endanger the public peace. Settlers in New Zealand are now to all intents and purposes as free from peril as those who have chosen homes for themselves and their families in Victoria, New South Wales, or South Australia—colonies in which the "native difficulty" has never been experienced. Since the cessation of hostilities between the two races, New Zealand has made rapid strides in material progress. Railways and public works have been prosecuted on a very extensive scale. Indeed, in proportion to population, this active and enterprising colony has a greater mileage of railways than any other of the antipodean states. There are lines of well-appointed steamers maintaining regular communication with the ports of all the islands, as well as with Melbourne and Sydney. The exports and imports amount to £15,000,000, and the population of the three islands now exceeds 600,000. In addition to large droves of cattle and horses, there are 12 millions of sheep in the colony. Official statistics go to show that the average production of wheat is no less than 27 bushels to the acre. In mineral resources New Zealand has been specially favoured. Three provinces—Otago, Westland, and Nelson—have yielded large quantities of gold, the soil of Otago in particular being wonderfully rich in deposits of the precious metal. There was what is colonially known as a "rush" when the news of the Otago discoveries was circulated. Crowds of Victorian miners filled the steamers en route to New Zealand, and, in the excitement of the moment, hundreds of educated men threw up good remunerative situations and joined in the exodus. Many of them afterwards had reason to regret their unthinking impulsiveness in preferring the pick and shovel to the pen, but most of the experienced miners did remarkably well and settled down as permanent residents. In addition to gold, almost every known variety of iron ore has been found in New Zealand, and there are also numerous coal measures continuously and profitably worked. The New Zealand Government has ever pursued a wise and liberal policy in regard to immigration, and, thanks to the commendable facilities that have been afforded, a large number of Irish families have been enabled to found new homes in the South Pacific. All honour to the men who received with open arms and words of welcome the victims of landlord oppression on the other side of the Equator, who raised no objection on the score of country or creed, but took the honest new-comers by the hand, placed them securely on the land, and formed them into happy, industrious, land contented colonists.

1. Meagher to Duffy. Nation Correspondence.
2. Meagher to Duffy. Nation Correspondence.
3. On this occasion Smith O'Brien was presented with a splendid vase of native gold, the gift of the Irishmen of Victoria "as a trifling testimony of our appreciation of the disinterestedness and devotion by which your past career has been distinguished in endeavouring to promote the amelioration of the country of your birth." As a special gift from themselves, the Irish diggers on the Sandhurst gold-field sent the patriot chief a beautiful nugget of their own gold, nine pounds in weight. His two fellow-exiles, John Martin and Dr. O'Doherty, were at the same time presented with purses of two hundred sovereigns each.
4. "Te Kooti was not committed for trial, but, having been thus arrested without warrant, was shipped off to the Chatham Islands by Mr. Stafford's Government, without writ or authority of any kind, and the wrong done to him was to be written a few years later in terrible characters of blood."—"History of New Zealand," by G. W. Rusden, vol. ii. page 321.