English passengers (38 page)

One of the delights of Mr. Robson’s leadership was that one never did know what might next occur. Thus it was with the aborigines’ names. I had observed for some days that he had been devoting his free moments to what appeared to be a long list, but still I was taken wholly by surprise when he suddenly called all the blacks, and the settlement officers, to gather in the open space in front of the school, where he announced—to the amazement of all—that the natives were to be renamed. It seemed a most bold notion, and as I watched him call the natives up one by one to receive their new appellations—quite in the manner of a general awarding medals to his soldiers—I was full of admiration.
I fully understood the significance of his intention. He meant the aborigines to be begun afresh and reborn as civilized, Christian beings.

As for the names themselves, these were quite charming. Some of the older and more exalted of the natives were rewarded with titles of quaintest grandeur, such as King Alpha, Queen Adelaide or Princess Cleopatra. Others were allotted names of purest romance, from Neptune and Semiramis to Achilles. I observed also that Mr. Robson sometimes indulged himself in delightful artifice as—unbeknown to the blacks them-selves—he made playful reference to some aspect of their character. Thus a little fellow whose expression seemed always stern now became Cato, while a girl who was dreamy and sad was now Ophelia. This was not only humorous in itself, but made the names easy to recall, especially in comparison with those they replaced, that had been so very long and confusing.

In some cases I was amused to note that a title concealed some clever sting in its tail. Thus the monstrous female, Walyeric, became Mary, and while this might seem innocent enough, I had little doubt as to which murderous monarch was in Mr. Robson’s mind. Her half-caste son, Peevay, who had such a curious round mop of blond hair above his little black face, and who insisted on regarding one with such disconcerting seriousness, was now Cromwell, that most sombre of rulers. His friend Mongana, who seemed always to delight in troublesome questioning, was ingeniously reborn as Voltaire, while Mongana’s mother, Pagerly, who was often in a state of sinister commune with the dreadful Walyeric, was now Boadicea.

That was a joyous day, and yet it was soon followed by disappointment. Mr. Robson was thorough in his efforts to ensure that the new names would become quickly familiar to everyone, insisting that all teachers and officers henceforth address the natives exclusively by their new titles, and for a time it seemed as if the natives had (with a few exceptions, such as the incorrigible Mary) adopted their new titles happily enough. As weeks passed, however, I became increasingly sure that when they spoke among themselves—using that curious language they had evolved, part English and part native tongues—they secretly continued to address one another by their old, savage appellations. It may seem
a small matter, but it distressed me greatly, seeming nothing less than a betrayal of the man, by those whom he had striven so hard to save.

Looking back, I do believe that moment proved something of a turning point, as with every week and month that followed I found myself growing increasingly troubled with doubts as to the success of our great campaign of instruction. Part of the difficulty lay with the other teachers, as, if truth be told, poor good Mr. Robson had not been blessed with the assistants he deserved. Mr. Smith proved as lazy of purpose as he was unkind of tongue, until Mr. Robson was forced publicly to rebuke him, causing no little resentment. Mr. Robson’s son proved hardly more able, while his wife, who appeared as dissatisfied with her life on Flinders Island as her first dismal stare at its shore had suggested, quite refused to help. As for the two officers’ wives, these seemed of little usefulness, forever loitering about the school—though it was hardly spacious—and distracting Mr. Robson from his work with their fussing.

The authorities in Hobart proved also a great disappointment. Though the Van Diemen’s Land governor had been quick to declare his support for our efforts, little was shown in the way of tangible assistance, and Mr. Robson’s requests for further books and teachers were met with a succession of excuses. Worse was to come, notably with regard to the business of the seal hunters. These, I should explain, were Europeans of brutal disposition who lived on other islands in the Bass Strait, and many of whom had abducted aborigine women, who they used with abominable cruelty. Some lived close by, and would even visit the settlement to purchase goods from Louis’ store, swaggering and uttering vilest language. Our own blacks had long known that their women were held captive by these fiends and were greatly pleased when Mr. Robson announced that he would rescue them from their fate. He made every effort to achieve this, sending letter after letter to Hobart, and yet, hateful as it is to recall, the colonial government quite refused to assist in the matter, claiming the women had borne so many children to their tormentors that it was too late to remove them. The decision was not merely callous and unjust, but also served to undermine Mr. Robson’s standing with the natives.

The greatest cause of our difficulties did not, however, lie with white men, but, I regret to say, with the blacks themselves. It may seem harsh
and yet I could not help but observe they showed an increasing reluctance to apply themselves to their reformation. There were always a handful, such as the monstrous Mary, who quite refused to attend school classes, but as time passed this number began gradually to increase, almost as if the majority of the blacks had attended only out of curiosity, or boredom, and were now growing tired of this novelty. Even those who continued with their learning would suddenly disappear on some foolish hunting expedition. This made their instruction most difficult, especially in the case of the older ones, whose powers of memory were feebler. How frustrating it was after weeks of practice upon, for instance, the Ten Commandments, to have half a class abruptly vanish, only to return days later, excitably clutching speared wallabies, their commandments all but forgotten.

There was not one among them, if truth be told, who showed a full and enthusiastic devotion to his studies. George Vandiemen himself, the school’s finest scholar, who could recite his Psalms so well, would often drift into some troubled distractedness of his own, or petulantly complain that he wished to be taught Arithmetic, though he had been told often enough that it was neither useful nor practical for him to learn. His half brother Cromwell was no better. It was true that he showed a talent for English, surprising some with his mastery of odd and difficult words, yet there was a sullenness about him, so that even when he recited his commandments correctly it was hard to believe he was persuaded of what he said.

Here, indeed, lay the fundamental problem. Though some among the blacks might learn lines of the Scriptures tolerably, they seemed obstinately unable to see the bright light of faith. During Sunday services some would even tie handkerchiefs around their foreheads to hide their eyes, so they might sleep unobserved: this, as the very word of God was being brought to them! It was quite as if they imagined that Christian knowledge had little pertinence to their lives. Sad to say this could hardly have been less true. As time passed, the blacks’ numbers were diminishing at a perilous rate. The outbreaks of disease, which had seemed to slow when Mr. Robson first arrived, had grown more frequent than ever, with several deaths sometimes occurring in a single week. The aborigines, who had comprised some two hundred even in the early
days, were now reduced to less than half that number, and their huts, whose crowded conditions had caused Mr. Robson great concern when he first arrived, were now all too sadly sufficient. Little by little the settlement began to acquire an aura of sombre emptiness, only the graveyard remaining busy.

There was, inevitably, much talk as to the reasons for this decline. The settlement surgeon—a man greatly neglectful of his religious devotions, so that some doubted his Christian convictions—cited purely practical causes, such as the blacks’ lack of exposure to European diseases, and their being restrained in one place when it was in their nature always to be roaming. I, and others too, perceived a greater force at work, however. If the aborigines had only shown greater reverence for the Scriptures I had no doubt that the good Lord would have been moved to protect them from suffering. It might seem unkind, but I could not help but feel that they were reaping the reward for what was, in truth, their own betrayal of Mr. Robson. Had he not risked his own life and health to rescue them from the wilderness? Had he not devoted his every waking hour to their improvement, bringing them new knowledge, and even new names? They had returned his kindness only with indolence and unconcern.

Poor Mr. Robson was much affected by the natives’ decline, naturally, and with each new death his sadness became a little more marked. In spite of this he never allowed himself to lose his determination. ‘‘If we cannot save them in one way,’’ I recall him confiding in me one terrible day, when two had been taken within only hours of one another, ‘‘then we must endeavour to save them in another.’’

I understood his meaning only too well. It was soon after this, indeed, that he began his final campaign, which was not so much concerned with the education of the natives as with the need to win them away from their pagan customs. A number of announcements were made in quick succession, including a prohibition upon their occasional nighttime revels of singing and dancing, and also upon their hunting expeditions, which were, in truth, often little more than an excuse to evade the scrutiny of the settlement officers. The blacks were also required to discard the superstitious health charms they wore about their
necks, which contained, so I heard, bones of their dead relatives, and could hardly have been more barbarously removed from Christian ways.

Sadly these noble intentions proved not easy to put into effect. While Mr. Robson had some success with the charms, the hunting expeditions were undertaken with so little warning that they were nearly impossible to prevent. It seemed for a time that he had made progress with the nighttime revels—several times he sternly marched out into the nearby bush and caused one to cease—but before long ashes of the fire and footmarks were discovered merely further distant, beyond earshot of the settlement. Unchanged and unrepentant, the blacks seemed obstinate in their refusal to be saved. So the life of the settlement continued week after week, month after month, though each was marked with sadness.

Then, one Thursday afternoon, the supply boat arrived, quite as usual, and we found ourselves shaken with news. It had been known for some time that there were plans to establish a new settlement on mainland Australia at Port Phillip Bay, just across the Bass Strait from Flinders Island, and now we learned that Mr. Robson was being considered—and most seriously so—for a position as government protector of the aborigines of this new settlement. If he won the post, as seemed very likely, and he considered it acceptable, which seemed no less so, he would start work there within a few months.

I was most pleased for him, naturally. Having worked so closely with the man, I believe I understood him as well as any. Why, I would even say he was possessed of a kind of greatness. I considered he amply deserved reward for his great toil. The sad truth was, besides, that in many ways his work on Flinders Island was largely complete, his charges being now so greatly reduced in numbers, after all, that their future was unhappily evident. How much more fitting for him to progress to a new land where there was much still to be done. I was saddened, naturally, for those natives who still remained, and who, I knew, would miss him most dreadfully. They had, I supposed, come to rely on his presence, and to presume upon his gentle kindliness. I had no doubt that they would find great difficulty in letting him go. They must, I considered, endeavour to be strong.

As for the Europeans of the settlement, the discovery of Robson’s
likely departure had, I am afraid to say, a most regrettable effect. The poisonous and malicious atmosphere, that I had thought long banished, soon began to creep back, as I witnessed myself. One late winter’s afternoon, only a few days after the supply vessel had come with its news, I was on my way to the school, intending to prepare my lessons for the next day, when I found myself passing the surgeon and the garden overseer as they stood beside the store, sheltering from the chilly wind.

‘‘It’s what he wanted, after all,’’ I overheard the surgeon declare. ‘‘A fine little career he’s won for himself from those blacks.’’

I stopped. ‘‘For a moment, Doctor,’’ I told him in a warning voice, ‘‘I almost imagined you must be talking of Mr. Robson, but that would hardly be the way to describe a brave man who risked his very life to rescue the aborigines.’’

The surgeon assumed a derisive look. ‘‘He did well enough from his rescuing, too, as I recall, at five pounds per head.’’

I could not let pass so wicked an utterance. ‘‘That was honourable payment for noble and perilous work,’’ I told him coldly, ‘‘and it does you no credit to try and belittle a man whose achievements are so much greater than your own.’’ With that I strode on. The incident continued greatly to upset me, however, and when I reached the school, which was empty, as was often the case in these days of dwindling classes, I sat at one of the desks, preparation work lying unheeded before me, and my eyes filled with tears. Thus I remained for I do not know how long. Finally, greatly to my dismay, I heard the door creak open. The arrival, I knew from the sound of his tread, was Mr. Robson. Though I lowered my head in an effort to hide my distress, I regret to say this was to no avail.

‘‘Mrs. Price. What is distressing you?’’ he demanded, full of concern.

I could not tell him. How could I when it was he himself and the poisonous remarks concerning him that were the reason? ‘‘It’s nothing,’’ I insisted, ‘‘I’m quite all right.’’ Ever the gentleman, good Mr. Robson offered to get me some water, but for some reason I cannot explain, this caused me only to become more greatly affected. I rose to my feet. ‘‘I’m sorry. I must go.’’