The Three Colonies of Australia/Part 1/Chapter 15

by Samuel Sidney

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CHAPTER XV.

SONGS OF THE SQUATTERS.

AMONG the "signs of the times" during Sir George Gipps' government, we notice a decided progress in the literature of the colony: verse as well as prose of no mean order was called into existence by the fierce contest between the colonists and their governor. We give a few extracts from the colonial newspaper of 1845. They may be received as evidence of some value by those who do not care to dive into any of the reports we have quoted on important but not very amusing questions.

THE BUSHMAN'S COMPLAINT.

The commissioner bet me a pony I won
So he cut off exactly two-thirds of my run;
For he said I was making a fortune too fast,
And profit gained slower the longer would last.

He remark'd, as devouring my mutton he sat,
That I suffer'd my sheep to grow sadly too fat;
That they wasted the waste land, did prerogative brown
And rebelliously nibbled the droits of the crown;

That the creek that divided my station in two
Show'd nature design'd that two fees should be due.
Mr. Riddel assured me 'twas paid but for show,
But he kept it and spent it, that's all that I know.

The commissioner fined me because I forgot
To return an old ewe that was ill of the rot;
And a poor, wry-neck'd lamb that we kept for a pet,
And he said it was treason such things to forget.

The commissioner pounded my cattle, because
They had mumbled the scrub with their famishing jaws
On the part of the run he had taken away,
And he sold them by auction the cost to defray.

The Border police were out all the day,
To look for some thieves who had ransack'd my dray;
But the thieves they continued in quiet and peace,
For they robb'd it themselves, had the Border police.

When the white thieves were gone next the black thieves appear'J,
My shepherds they waddied, my cattle they spear'd;
But for fear of my license I said not a word;
For I knew it was gone if the government heard.

The commissioner's bosom with anger was fill'd
Against me because my poor shepherd was kill'd;
So he straight took away the last third of my run,
And got it transferr'd to the name of his son.

The cattle that had not been sold at the pound,
He took with the run at five shillings all round,
And the sheep the blacks left me at sixpence a head,
And a very good price the commissioner said.

The governor told me I justly was served;
That commissioners never from duty had swerved;
But that if I'd apply for any more land,
For one pound an acre he'd plenty on hand.

TITYRE TU PATULÆ, &c.

An Australian Version.

ARGUMENT.

Mivins, a Port Phillipian squatter, has been bought out of his run. On his road, with his sheep, looking for a new station, he meets Timmins, an old "lag," who, by "tipping" the Clerks at the Crown Land Office, has had his run kept out of the government sales.

Mivins.	While, Timmins, you recline at ease, Under the shade of these gum trees, Whistling such ditties, gay and flat, As "Nix my Dolly" and "Bound my Hat," We, with all manner of vexations, Are forced to look out for new stations; I have been put to total rout, A d——d new chum has bought me out! While you sit there, you happy sticker, And smoke your pipe and drink your liquor.
Timmins.	A real gentleman, and no mistake, Has done the business, Mivins, for my sake; I tip him very regular, you must know— A brace of lambs I send, or else a ewe; And thus you see it comes about, That I have not been purchased out.
Mivins.	I do not envy you, but wonder how, Or why, they have got up this blessed row; The ewes and lambs I am too weak to drive, And fear I'll bring off very few alive; The weakest lambs I put upon the dray, But still I save but few—alas the day! A score of them are dead in yonder spot, The very finest too of all the lot. The overseer, I recollect, fortold That all this run of ours would soon be sold; Such croaking prophecies I sent to h——; But, Timmins, tell us something of this swell.
Timmins.	The city they call Sydney, I once thought Was like this town of Melbourne, where we brought Our wedders oft for sale; so ewes to lambs Resemblance show, and cubs are like their dams: But Sydney does this town of ours surpass, As does the tall white gum the burnt up grass.
Mivins.	What was it brought you up to Sydney, pray?
Timmins.	To get my freedom, which, with some delay, I did obtain at last ; but while away I saw the swell I mentioned: and I tell you There are no flies about him, my good fellow; And when I asked him if I were secure My run should not be purchased, "To be sure," Says he: "Don't be in such a fright; You pay the tip, and I'll make it all right."
Mivins.	A fortunate old chap you surely are; For though the run may seem a little bare, And dotted over here and there with rock, Yet still it is sufficient for your stock; And by the river is so well protected, There is no danger of its being infected. But some of us must go to Portland Bay, Others to Gipps's land or Goulburn way; Or else to South Australia and the plains North of the Pyrenees and Grampians. I wonder if I ever shall again Behold the spot which once was my domain; The door against the Bushman never shut, And the bark covering of my humble hut. Some half-pay officer will reap my corn, Some sailor shear my flocks—may I be shorn, If I had thought it would have reach'd this pass, If ever I'd have been the infernal ass To build a wool-shed, or to put a rod Of fencing up, or turn a single sod.
Timmins.	At any rate you'll spend the night with me, And have a bit of damper and some tea; And now I see it's getting rather late, So we'll go in and finish the debate.

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"THE ASSYRIAN CAME DOWN LIKE THE WOLF ON THE FOLD'

The commissioner 'll come with his wolves to my fold,
And order my station and sheep to be sold;
For of New Regulations I can't pay the fee,
So my fold must go into Gipps' treasury.
 
With their white silky fleeces, my ewes will be seen
Disporting at eve with their lambs on the green
Next morning all dusty, and panting, and hot,
Ewes, wethers, and lambs will be off to the pot;
 
For the gov'nor 'ill issue his new regulations,
That all must pay twice, or p'raps thrice, for their stations;
And the purse of the squatter the treas'ry must fill,
Just as much and as oft as the gov'nor shall will.
 
And there be my wheat to be reap'd by the blacks,
Because I can not pay the governor's tax.
And the huts will be silent, their occupants gone,
The yards all unswept, and the squatter undone.

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And the wealth of Australia, wool, commerce, and ships,
Will be melted like wax at the breath of a Gipps.

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LORD STANLEY AND MR. CARDWELL.

Scene, the Colonial Office.—Lord Stanley discovered reading the advertisement of the Times, when enters Mr. Cardwell.

THE WOOL LIEN.

Lord Stanley.

Stop, Mr. Cardwell, you have doubtless heard
That New South Wales has got a Constitution:
Such an assembly, I should think, was never
Seen since the time of Romulus—all thieves—
Several who have not yet received their pardons;
And Stephen says they voted it a breach
Of privilege, to pick a member's pocket
While in debate engaged. 'Tis sad to think
The spurious liberalism of the age
Should give such rascals power.

Mr. Cardwell.

Sad, indeed!

Lord Stanley.

Well, Sir, these rascals have presumed to make
A law about their filthy sheep and cattle,
For which we've written them a sharp despatch,

Whereon I would interrogate you briefly.

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Tell me, then,
If any difference exist in law
Betwixt the pledge of personal estate and alienation?

Mr. Cardwell.

Very great, my lord:

If personal estate or goods be sold,
Possession ought to follow the transaction;
Or, if the seller still do keep the goods,
It is—so Turyne's case says—a badge of fraud:
But if the property be only pledged,
Possession in the pawner does not give
The slightest badge of fraud. 'Tis true, if bankrupt
The mortgagor become, his assignees
Will have a preference o'er the mortgagee,
Because the property does still remain
Within the order and disposing power
Of him they represent.

Lord Stanley (rising sternly).

Sir, I intended

To have promoted you to mighty honour;
But finding you so grossly ignorant
Of the first axioms of the legal science,
I do repent me of my former purpose.
Sir, had you been a lawyer, you'd have known
That mortgages of personal estate
Are held by English law in perfect hate;
For law, indeed, we do not greatly care,
Save that injustice must not be too bare.
Away, young man, and seek your special pleader;
If you talk thus, you'll never be a leader.

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THE "DEVIL AND THE GOVERNOR."

A FRAGMENT.

The Devil.

I've come, my dear soul, for an hour or two, On passing events to chat with you; To render you thanks for the mischief you're brewing For the state you oppress, and the men you're undoing. And also to offer—excuse my freedom— A few words of advice where you seem to need 'em.

|The Governor, after some parley, excuses himself from offering hospitality on the grounds of the lateness of the hour, and that he does not himself drink "grog;" to which answers the

Devil.

* * Such is the general spread of sobriety,

They've got up in hell a Temperance Society;
Now I make it a rule, though some trouble it brings,
To patronise all those sort of things.
A sober sinner is not the less
A sinner for want of drunkenness;

And they wrong me who say I'm fond of riot,—

I like those crimes best that are done in quiet.

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Governor.

Your advice, your advice, 'twere a shame to lose it,

Though I need not take it unless I choose it.

Devil.

I grant you the praise you've fairly won

By the deeds you do and the deeds you've done;
I know that no causes corrupt the mind
Like the chains by which tyrants have crushed mankind;
That the blighting touch of a despot's rod
Kills in man's spirit the breath of God;
That the cherishing light of the holy skies,
Falls barren and vain upon servile eyes;
That the weeds of evil will thrive there best
Where the fair shoots of nature are clipped and dressed:
And under those climes where the poisonous brood
Of error is nursed by servitude.
When most I am bent on man's undoing,
The tyrant assists my work of ruin:
In New South Wales, as I plainly see,
You're carving out plentiful jobs for me.
But—forgive me for hinting—your zeal is such,
That I'm only afraid you'll do too much.
I know this well:—to subject mankind
You must tickle before you attempt to bind;
Nor lay on his shoulders the yoke, until
Through his passions you've first enslaved his will.
You're too violent far—you rush too madly
At your favourite ends, and spoil them sadly.
Already I warn you, the system totters—
They're a set of hornets—these unruly squatters;
Especially when you would grasp their cash.
Excuse me, George, but I think you're rash.

Governor.

Rash! d—n it! rash!

Devil.

Don't fly in a passion,

In the higher circles 'tis not the fashion.

Governor.

Would you have me forego the rights of the Crown,

To be laughed at all over the factious town?
I'll teach these squatters to pay their rent;
I don't care a rush for their discontent!
They've abused me in print, they've made orations,
They've their papers and Pastoral Associations;
They've gone to the length of caricaturing,
But I'll show them the evil is past their curing.

Devil.

Come, come, be cool, or your aim you'll miss,

Your temper's too hot for work like this.
'Twere a pity to peril this rich possession
By foolish rashness or indiscretion.

Wentworth and Windeyer are troublesome chaps,

And the Council's a thorn in your side, perhaps;
But let them grumble and growl their fill,
You know very well their power is nil.
Look at the schedules by which, 'tis clear,
You handle a monstrous sum each year;
Look at the patronage thrown in your gift;—
To give your backers a solid lift.
Look at the power you have to draw
On Downing-street when you want a new law;
Look at the lands that are unlocated,
Where droits of the crown are so nicely created;—
Then calmly proceed. * * * * *
Subdue by degrees, and slowly oppress,
Or I tell you you'll get yourself into a mess.
While people petition they'll find it a sell,
But don't push them too hard they might rebel.

Governor.

Rebel! Ha! ha! you're surely in joke;

Rebellion here—a mere puff of smoke—
A handful of troops would put them down,
And the higher classes would join the crown.

Devil.

It might be so; but just mark, my friend,

Who'll come to be losers in the end?
No doubt ther'd be fun well worth enjoying,—
Burning, and plundering, and destroying;
Fighting for towns not worth disputing;
Skirmishing, robbing, and rifle-shooting
From bushes and trees, and rock for barriers;
Murdering of postboys and plundering of carriers
Storming of camps by midnight entries,
Driving off horses and popping off sentries;
Seizures of stock for purposes royal;
Pressing of men to make them loyal.
Some heroes might fall in that petty strife,
Whom bondage had taught a contempt for life;
Some patriots leading in civil storms,
Might dangle on gibbets their martyr forms;
Or exiled afar, to return no more,
Might bury their bones on a foreign shore,
Proscribed by the tyrants they dared to brave,
And mocked by the people they sought to save.
But not in vain would they bear and bleed;
This land would have gained what most they need ;
John Bull from his drowsy indifference waking,
Would give you small despots a terrible shaking;
You'd be robbed of your berth and your reputation,
For causing your masters so much vexation.^[1]

SIR GEORGE AND THE GIBBET.

ON THE GOVERNOR'S BEING PRESENT AT A REHEARSAL OF THE NEW DROP AT WOOLLOMOOLOO GAOL, FEB. 3, 1845.

Pervading Gipps! whose penetrating soul
The least o'erlooks, the mightiest can control;
Now drowning towns, now decimating quills,
Now taxing provinces, now taxing bills;
Or when thy jaded spirit seeks for ease,
And e'en misgovernment has ceased to please,
Just acting o'er to dissipate thy gloom,
The dread rehearsal of a felon's doom!

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THE GUNDAGAI FLOOD.

In 1844 the colony was visited by severe floods. The water was from four to five feet deep in the township of Gundagai, which had been laid out and sold in building lots by the government sometime previously. The Commissioner of Crown Lands, in the district, addressed a letter to the Colonial Secretary, Mr. Deas Thomson, suggesting that, "in consequence of the late floods, it would be highly essential to the future welfare of the township of Gundagai to have part of the township laid out on the south bank of the Murrumbidgee River, on moderately high ground, well adapted for building, giving the parties who have now allotments in the recently-flooded land others on the high land." The suggestion of the Crown Commissioner as to laying out allotments was adopted; but in conveying this information Mr. Thomson adds:—"His Excellency further directs me to inform you that he cannot sanction the proposed exchange of the flooded allotments, as he considers that what a man buys he buys for better or worse."^[2]

Ye watermen of Gundagai
Who're grounded in the mud,
Whose huts, not quite triumphantly,
Have battled with the flood;
Your new allotments haste to buy,
And pay for, ere you go,
For the old ones are all gone
To the settlements below.
 
New Holland lacks much water
Her flocks and herds to keep;
Your streets are little rivulets,
Your homes are in the deep.
With punts, canoes, and jolly boats,
From hut to hut ye go:
As ye swim with the stream
To the settlements below.
 
Your wives and children's drowning cries
Shall rise in every shower;
They swam their last at Gundagai,
In that ill-omened hour;
And as the auction-hammer fell
To "gone," why 'twas a "go:"
For you float in your boats
O'er the settlements below.
 
Then Gundagai, then Gundagai,
Be liberal with your purse,
Again your town allotments buy
"For better and for worse;"
And if, as further still you wend,
To lands still worse you go,
Gipps will still stand your friend
In the settlements below.

1. The author of this fierce poetical summary of Australian wrongs was a young gentleman born and bred in the colony. We give it, therefore, nearly at length, not only as evidence of colonial feeling, but of colonial talent.
2. In consequence of this decision, a hundred people were drowned in this same township in 1851.