ALTHOUGH the history of what is now Queensland consists, as regards the period which intervened between the establishment of free settlement and the separation from the mother colony, principally of a record of interior exploration, which has been already dealt with in this work, and of individual enterprise by the pioneers of pastoral occupation, there were episodes distinct from these which deserve to be recounted. Sir George Gipps himself had visited the Moreton Bay district shortly before Captain Wickham’s appointment as Government Resident, and had reviewed the surveys for the towns of Brisbane and Ipswich. The first sale of lots in the former took place at Sydney shortly after, and resulted in a number of town lots being sold at an average rate of about three hundred and fifty pounds per acre. The total receipts were four thousand six hundred and thirty-seven pounds.

The upset had been fixed at one hundred pounds per acre, so that the result bears testimony to keen competition at the sale. The first private residence built in Brisbane was erected by Captain Coley, a seafaring man, who after separation was appointed usher of the black rod in the legislative council. This modest structure still stood in 1887 in George Street, a humble weatherboard, low-ceiled cottage, the shingled roof partly covered with creepers. Simultaneously with Captain Wickham’s installation as Government Resident, two commissioners of crown lands were appointed —Mr. Rolleston to the Darling Downs and Dr. Simpson to the Moreton Bay district. A report by the latter to the governor, for the year 1843, concerning the aborigines, has been preserved, and affords, when contrasted with recent observation, direct and unimpugnable evidence as to the terrific devastation which contact with the white man has wrought amongst the doomed aboriginals since that date. At the present time the blacks in the Moreton Bay district are but a handful; in a few years there will be none left. Yet in 1843 Dr. Simpson estimated the numbers at about three thousand coast blacks, fifteen hundred wild hill blacks, some two hundred hanging about Brisbane, and one hundred and fifty around Ipswich. In the whole district he reckoned the native population to be about five thousand all told. It was in this year that the first attempts were made to operate upon the seams of coal on the banks of the Brisbane River at Redbank. Mr. Andrew Petrie had discovered the existence of this coal as early as 1837. Artificial difficulties had been interposed in the way of developing the mining industry by the pretensions of the Australian Agricultural Company, which claimed to hold a monopoly of the right to work coal, apparently over the entire continent, as they equally protested against others operating at Moreton Bay and at Port Phillip. Happily, the claims of the company were disallowed by the Secretary of State. Among the pioneers of the coal-mining industry of the Brisbane and Bremer Rivers, which has since assumed extensive proportions, was one of the Scotch Radicals, transported for participation in the Bonnymuir affair. No better class of colonists has ever landed in Australia than some of these political convicts-victims of an effete system, and almost invariably the very cream of the labouring class, as regards intellectual capacity and unflinching moral courage. In 1844, the limit of pastoral occupation towards the north appears to have been fixed by the Mary, or Wide Bay River, the native name of which, much more euphonious, Numabulla, is preserved in a despatch by Commissioner Simpson, dated 1843. Towards the close of the year 1846, a visitor —who subsequently exercised more influence upon the destinies of the settlement than either Governor Gipps or any of the subsequent rulers prior to separation —arrived at Moreton Bay from Sydney. This was the Rev. Dr. Lang, whose comprehensive and commanding intellect enabled him to appreciate the natural advantages, and to forecast the future importance, of the territory. The impressions confirmed by this visit are embodied in his work on "Cooksland," which was the name he suggested for a new colony, of which he thus early advocated the creation. The book was written on board ship during the course of a voyage to England, was published in London in 1847, and constitutes up to the present day the most interesting and sagacious contribution to the history of Queensland colonisation. It has hitherto had but one significant addition, viz., the single volume, by Mr. William Coote —a useful but unequal work, in which the style fluctuates between eloquence and slovenliness. Some statistical information relating to the period under notice, and derived from these and other sources, is interesting as affording a basis for comparison with the present condition of the colony. Dr. Lang prints a table of exports from Brisbane to Sydney during the year 1844, and as the entire oversea trade of what is now Queensland was then conducted through that single channel, the significance of the figures is unmistakable. The vehicles of transfer appear to have been limited to one steamer, of which the name is not stated, and two schooners, the "Piscator" and the "William." Their freights for the year aggregated one hundred and fifty tierces of beef, four hundred and forty hides, one thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight and a quarter bales of wool —averaging three hundred pounds each —two hundred and ninety-six casks of tallow, two thousand four hundred and fifty-eight sheepskins, and three thousand four hundred and eighteen pine boards.

From a return comprised in an invaluable collection of documents relating to the early days of the settlement, which has recently been gathered and copied from the State Record Office, the British Museum, and other, repositories, by the veteran Australian author, Mr. Bonwick, in pursuance of a commission from the Queensland Government, it appears that in 1844 the number of squatting stations was —in the Moreton Bay district, seventeen; in the Darling Downs, twenty-six. The stock is stated at —horses, six hundred and fifty; cattle, thirteen thousand two hundred and ninety-five; and sheep, one hundred and eighty-four thousand six hundred and fifty-one. There is, however, reason to believe that some omission mars this return, as Dr. Lang prints a return for January 1st, 1846, in which the quantity of stock in the "County of Stanley, including the vicinity of the settlement at Brisbane Town, Brisbane river, "the Darling Downs district, and the Moreton Bay district, are given as —horses, one thousand one hundred and twenty-eight; horned cattle, twenty-nine thousand seven hundred and ninety-five; pigs, one thousand one hundred and fifty-eight; and sheep, three hundred and thirty-nine thousand seven hundred and fifty-three, an increment greatly transcending what might reasonably be attributed to natural increase, and scarcely admissible even by allowing for extensive additions by pioneers’ flocks and herds from the south. Mr. Coote, quoting a census taken in March, 1845, states the number of houses in the county of Stanley, which comprised all the settlement except the Darling Downs, at two hundred and fifty-five. The population of Brisbane, which now claims, within a five-mile radius, upwards of seventy-five thousand inhabitants, was then eight hundred and twelve; of Ipswich, now exceeding eight thousand, was then one hundred and three; and the squatting stations were peopled by four hundred and fifty-two souls, while the military and government officials numbered one hundred and eighty-five. On the Darling Downs there were six hundred and fifty-eight inhabitants, a number which is not equal to that of the births during 1885 in two of the principal towns in that district. Dr. Lang, a man of sanguine temperament, remarks, with some empressement, that the estimate of persons well qualified to Offer an opinion in New South Wales was, that "the exports from Moreton Bay for the year 1846-7 would considerably exceed one hundred thousand pounds in value." It seems more than questionable whether even Dr. Lang, far-seeing as he undoubtedly was, would have regarded as well qualified to offer an opinion any person who should, at that time, have ventured to predict that forty years later the exports from his "Cooksland" would exceed five millions sterling annually, as has actually been the case.

To revert, however, to the statistics of the early years, the Moreton Bay Courier, which came into existence as a four-page weekly in 1846, stated in that year that there were in the settlement but two clergymen-one a Roman Catholic, the other belonging to the Church of England. These were probably the Rev. J. Kavanagh and the Rev. I. Gregor. There had earlier been a Church of England clergyman at the settlement the Rev. Mr. Handt. That gentleman originally came to the station almost simultaneously with the German Moravians, and with a similar intention —to carry on a mission to the aborigines; but he seems to have early perceived the hopelessness of that enterprise, and to have established himself at the convict settlement a tolerated intruder, and even allowed some slight stipend. But when the establishment was broken up he remained at Brisbane, and his situation became intolerable. His remuneration ceased, and the reverend gentleman was reduced to such straits and plunged into so pitiable a condition, lacking the necessaries of life and the means of decently clothing himself, that a special grant was made by the government to enable him to leave the settlement and seek occupation in more favourable fields.

A community so small could scarcely be expected to make materials for history. Its situation was, however, so exceptional that incidents frequently occurred fraught with romantic interest. Dr. Lang’s book derives much of its value from the word pictures and narratives of the conditions of existence as he saw them among the early settlers. He gives a description of the bush home on the Pine River, within a day’s ride from Brisbane, of a stout old sea captain and family, formerly members of his congregation in Sydney. Mention of the name of the Rev. Mr. Gregor suggests a sequel to Dr. Lang’s account of the happy, peaceful domesticity, the rural felicity, and the Sabbath calm of Captain Griffin’s homestead. The story will serve to illustrate the conditions under which the settlers wrung a living from the wild bush country, not merely at that epoch, but even up to the present hour, on frontier settlements.

ON the Pine River, the nearest neighbour to the Griffins was Mr. Gregor, brother to the clergyman at Brisbane town. In Mr. Gregor’s cottage lived Mr. and Mrs. Shannon-the latter attending to the housekeeping-and two little girls, the Shannon family. Mr. Gregor was on good terms with the blacks, and habitually employed them in such odd jobs as they cared to undertake, such as chopping firewood, stripping bark, and the like. One Sunday morning, a neighbour, John Healy, who had passed the night at Griffin’s, started on his way, which led him past Gregor’s place. The Griffins were all at home on account of the day, and were surprised a little later to hear the tramp of a galloping horse approaching from the same direction. It was John Healy returning at a furious pace, his horse covered with foam and reeling with fatigue. As he approached he shouted out his evil tidings," The blacks are killing Gregor!" The Griffins had their horses up from the bush and saddled in hot haste, and, armed to the teeth, they were soon dashing along the track, accompanied by Healy on a fresh horse. About two miles from Gregor’s they met Shannon and a little black boy coming along the track. There was no time for a long story. In a trice Shannon was mounted behind one of the horsemen, and the pace was renewed. Just as the last ridge which hid the road from the homestead was being ascended, Gregor’s mob of horses came clattering along, scared from their home pastures. A brief discussion ensued whether to halt and shift the saddles from the blown nags on to these fresh ones, or to proceed without delay. It was decided that every moment was of vital importance, and rescue more important than pursuit. So the ridge was surmounted, and the horsemen dashed down to the homestead. No blacks were visible at first, but as they closed up with the cottage, two rushed out and made a break for the creek-bed close at hand. Healy, John and Frank Griffin spurred after the fugitives, but these reached the steep bed before they could be overtaken. One seemed to turn up the creek, and instantly disappeared. The other turned down, with worse fortune. John Griffin fired at him; but both barrels of his gun missed fire. Healy had a flying shot at close quarters, and the bounding savage gave a quick flinch as the bullet, entering his back, traversed his body and came out at his belly. But still he dashed along with undiminished speed, almost brushing against Frank Griffin’s stirrup. There he was received with another shot which broke his shoulder. Stooping, with a stagger, he disappeared among the bushes and seemed to vanish. Reluctantly the avengers relinquished the quest and returned to the hut. Here they found a heart-rending sight. In front of the hut lay the body of Mrs. Shannon; a gash from a tomahawk had laid bare the skull on one side and divided the ear. She was dead, a spear sticking in her groin, and her unborn child was coming into the world. The men, hot from pursuit, wept at the piteous spectacle. But the overburdened horse which carried Shannon besides its own rider was approaching. They rushed to intercept the unfortunate husband. He read something of the truth in their faces, leaped down, crying, "Where’s my wife?" in a tone of penetrating agony, thrust aside the kindly interposing figures, caught one glimpse of the spectacle on the ground, and fell beside it, convulsed in a dreadful fit. Poor Shannon! He never properly recovered. It was not long before his reason become hopelessly deranged, and the asylum for the insane at Tarban Creek received him. The two children were unhurt. Had they been boys they would have been brained at the first moment. Being girls, they were spared to witness the struggles and murder of their mother, and were rescued before any harm befell them. The corpse of Mr. Gregor was found a few score yards away by the stockyard, extended face downwards on a sheet of bark. His skull was smashed into a pulp. It was conjectured that he had received the sheet of bark from his murderer, had stooped to flatten it on the ground, and had been smitten down while in that attitude. Shannon had been at the creek to get a bucket of water. The little black boy, who was domesticated, and of another tribe, ran to him telling him the "myalls" were killing everyone, and he fled with the boy, unnoticed. There was no mystery relative to the offenders. The eldest child told who some were, the little black boy knew others. One was a well-known black named "Constable," another was Milbong (or one-eyed) Jimmy, another was equally well known. Commissioner Simpson hastened, on being apprised of the tragedy, to the scene. There he could do nothing; but continuing his rounds once in the district, he halted one night at Durundur station, where "Constable" coolly made his appearance, neatly attired in a shirt and trousers of Gregor’s, stolen at the time of the murder. He was seized, and sent to Sydney to stand his trial. The period being that succeeding Attorney-General Plunkett’s exploit in hanging seven whites for killing blacks, people were chary how they dealt with native offenders. As no witnesses were forthcoming at the trial, "Constable" was discharged, and some timbergetter’s craft conveyed him to Moreton Bay. For the apprehension of Milbong Jimmy a reward of ten pounds was offered. Whether the words "dead or alive" were part of the proclamation may be doubted, but some timber-getters in the Pine River scrub so understood it. When Milbong jimmy presented himself at their hut, and demanded bread, the hutkeeper, in order to detain him till the other two returned from work, said he had only the damper there cooking in the ashes. Jimmy waited. The men returned to the hut at even, and, watching their chance, tried to grab the murderer. But it is no easy matter to hold a naked man. Jimmy wriggled himself free, and made for the scrub but a bullet was quicker than he. The timber-getters brought his head into the settlement, and, it is said, had a narrow escape of being hanged for their trouble.

No official had a second chance of dealing with "Constable." After his return to Moreton Bay he took refuge in the blacks’ camp at Brisbane town under the guns of the law, as it were. The camp was situated in what was known as Yorke’s Hollow, now the Victoria Park. One night, shortly after "Constable’s" presence was known, a party of white men visited the camp, pounced upon "Constable," and put an end to him, without troubling the authorities about the matter. How a third murderer fared has been already narrated in another portion of this work.

Of old Captain Griffin’s sons, one who took active part in the management of the station, and remembers Dr. Lang’s visit, and Leichhardt’s visit earlier, and all the incidents of those days, still resides in Brisbane, having passed the latter part of his life in seafaring pursuits. Crippled by the effects of a night’s exposure to snow and bitter cold while lying wounded after an action in the war with China, he is, in other respects, a hale and hearty man. "Yes," said Captain Griffin, "we had three men killed on our own place. Not at the head-station, you know, but out on the run. The blacks were shy of tackling the head-station. You see, my father being a seafaring man and used to armed ships —he served ‘Exmouth’ Cochrane at the bombardment of Algiers —didn’t leave the place undefended. He had brought up a ship’s swivel-gun, and mounted it on a stump in front of the house, and he built a frame over it, and covered it on top; and once or twice, when there were a lot of blacks about —gathering for the bunya season, it might be —he loaded up with grape and canister, and just banged her off to give them an idea of what she could do. It scared them, I tell you. But outside it was different. The first of our men they tackled was old man Campbell. He was a prisoner of the Crown, and as fine a man, every way you took him, as ever was. Sent out for killing a sheep to feed his starving wife and children in Lancashire. He was at the back of his hut, banking up the earth against his chimney to keep out the wet from the hearth inside, when he heard a whistling behind him. He lifted his head and turned round to see what it was, when a tomahawk struck him just where the nose joins the forehead, split the bone of the nose, and knocked both his eyes out of their sockets."

Being in a crouching position at the time, the old man did not fall, but reeled over against the wall, along which he swiftly felt his way till he made the open door. Slamming this to, he groped around till he found his musket, and began blazing away through the chinks between the slabs, necessarily at random, being stone blind. This fusillade was heard at the head-station, which was not more than a mile and a half distant. The Griffins immediately saddled up, armed themselves, and rode out, ready for anything. On coming in view of the hut, they found it unsafe to approach. A rapid and it seemed maniacal fire was being maintained by the inmate from uncertain directions, and to go close was to risk being shot down. At length one of the brothers made a circuit to the crest of the ridge behind the hut, and, dismounting, rolled down to it. When, after some trouble, he succeeded in making the defender hear him, and the hut being entered, a tragic spectacle presented itself. The unfortunate old fellow stood excitedly ramming home a fresh charge, a frightful gash on his frontal bone, his face covered with blood, and his eye-balls, started from their sockets, protruding on to his cheeks. He was conveyed to Brisbane in a ship’s cot slung in a dray, and attended in the hospital by Dr. Kearsey Cannan, a respected surgeon who still practises in that city. The result was extraordinary. The eyes, replaced in their sockets, recovered their functions. In two months the old fellow was about again as good as ever. He used even to boast that the sight of one eye was better than it had been before the injury. He returned to his service, and undauntedly took up his old quarters at his hut. But he brought a little arsenal of guns from town, and a desperate vendetta against the aborigines began. Some time after, one of the Griffins, visiting the hut, saw something there which led him, on returning to the homestead, to remark to his father: "The old man has got a sign up. Going to set up a public-house, likely." The old captain fired up. He was not going to allow any public-houses on the run. His son egged him on till he rode out to see what was up. It was a grim joke. The old man had shot a black, skinned him, stuffed the hide with dry grass, and swung the horrid object to a sort of gallows by the hut door. Thenceforth no blackfellow would approach within miles of the place.

On another occasion, a blackfellow came in to the station, and warned the Griffins that mischief was afoot. "You look out," he said." To-morrow blackfellow altogether kill ’um shepherd and crammer sheep." To "crammer" is to eat. Thus cautioned, the three young men started out betimes, each to a different shepherd’s out-station, and spent the whole day in guarding the threatened men. But no natives appeared. Not a sign of their propinquity could be discovered. At evening, the brothers having seen the shepherds safely within the protecting walls of their huts, returned home. A little before sundown, they saw a man coming up from the direction of Harrison’s Pocket. He was red all over-literally drenched with blood. They rushed down to him. In the name of God, what is the matter? It was this. He with two mates were timber-getters in the scrub. They had a saw-pit there. This man and another were sawing, the latter being top-sawyer. Suddenly the man in the pit felt the saw "come home" on him. Looking up, he perceived his mate running away. He grasped the situation, and made a dash to get out of the pit, but was clubbed the moment he poked his head above. Darting to the opposite end of the pit, he scrambled out before the blackfellow got round, and he ran for his life to the hut which his mate had already reached. The latter had got the gun, and had seated himself at the door with the weapon across his knees. The runner, believing the savages to be at his heels, cried out, "Why don’t you shoot?" I’m blind, Jim!" was the reply. A spear had struck him in profile, tearing, across both eyes through the nose-bone. The other man seized the gun. The blacks were now all round-behind every tree, clump, and log. He levelled the piece and pulled the trigger; it snapped without exploding. In his haste, the other had either omitted the powder or else put in the bullet first. A parley was tried. "What did the blacks want? Was it tucker? They could have all the rations in the hut." "No; they were going to kill them." Quoth the seeing man to his blinded mate, from whose wounds the blood was pouring fast, "We must try to get out of this." Keeping his mate behind him and his face to their assailants, the plucky fellow menaced them with his useless gun, and thus keeping them at bay, backed through the scrub about three-quarters of a mile. The cowardly wretches, intimidated by his resolute attitude, relinquished the pursuit once he got clear of the scrub. Then as the injured man had become too weak from loss of blood to walk further, the other took him up on his back, although he was a stone weight heavier than himself. Thus burdened, he forded the river up to his waist in water, an struggled on for a quarter-mile further. Then exhausted, he let his burden slip off. The man was stone dead —dead from the loss of that blood which had steeped his comrade in a dreadful red. "I have seen," said Captain Griffin, when narrating this deed, "many a brave man in my day, but braver than that man I never heard of."

There was still one man unaccounted for when this blood red man had gasped out his story. The brothers were in the saddle and off at a gallop at once, but ere they arrived at the scene of the attack darkness had fallen, and they had to wait until morning. Then they began their search. It was long in vain. At length the missing man’s dog ran out from the dense foliage of a cedar-tree which, recently felled, lay in the scrub, and to which he returned. The searchers followed. There in that leafy retreat sat erect the missing man, his back supported by the trunk of the prostrate tree, his face white as fresh-fallen snow. A spear had passed clean through his neck, severing the jugular vein, and there seemed to be not a drop of blood remaining in his corpse.

It would be an error to imagine that these are stories of an exceptional character or their incidents only possible at a remote period. With respect to the first point, an official report by Captain Wickham is alleged by Captain Coley, when giving evidence before a select committee of the Queensland Parliament, to have stated the number of white men killed by the blacks, from the time when he took charge of the settlement in 1842 up to 1852-3, at one hundred and seventy-four; and Captain Coley estimated the number who had thus perished up to 1861 that is to say, in nineteen years —at two hundred and fifty. As regards the antiquity of such tragedies, that idea is equally intenable. The mortality due to the treachery and hostility of the natives continues at the present day on frontier settlements, There has been no intermission. There is scarcely a station which has not its graves of murdered men. It is only the other day that within a few miles of the northern town of Cairns a solitary resident on an outlying selection was brained by the natives. But these incidents will be touched in their chronological order. The experiences of the Griffins serve merely as illustrations of the character of the tragedies.

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