Launceston, must come to me, and request me to put them across
the water in my boat, which is the only boat on this side. So,
you see, it is all right ; you can stay here in perfect safety.
O'K declared he could not see how this made all right ; for
said he, " If our journey in this direction comes to be known, as it
must be in a few days, your next visitor will be another express
constable."
" The very thing," said Miller, " that we want. The fellow
can't go over without my help : I can make him drunk here,
and take the despatch from him, or bribe him to return and say
he delivered it ; or drown him, if you like, in the passage."
This did not appear a very satisfactory prospect ; yet, as we
must separate, and as the Don Juan may still appear to-morrow
or next day, I have resolved to stay with Mr. Miller, and keep a
look-out for it. All my escort are to go to their several homes
to-morrow, and Burke is to communicate with Nicaragua
Smith.
Miller is an Englishman, long resident in London ; but, like
all the other honest people in this country, he cordially abhors
Sir William Denison and his government, and will go any length
326 JAIL JOURNAL
in my service ; not, perhaps, that he loves me more, but that he
loves Sir William less.
zjth. Before sunrise this morning, I went with O'K , took
an excellent telescope of Miller's, and went over the sand hills to
get a view of the sea. Not a sail in sight. Wind steady from
the north-west, and likely to remain so. This is a fair wind for
the Don Juan, coming from Emu Bay towards Port Sorel ; but
I begin now to despair of her.
After breakfast, all my friends went off all promising to return
if required. They leave me Burke's horse, the same that I rode
from Westbury.
They had gone about four hours, and Miller and I were sitting
on the sand-hills smoking, when a sail came in sight, from the
westward ; we watched her eagerly, but she turned out to be a
barque. Here, then, I remain, within a mile of a police barrack ;
Miller's land forms a point which runs out far to meet the opposite
shore of the inlet : the point is well wooded ; and immediately
on the shore the hills of sand are thickly fringed with a dense
shrubbery of boobialla, a small, beautiful tree, rising to a height
of. seven or eight feet, and forming a close screen with its dark
green leaves, which greatly resemble the leaves of the arbutus.
From behind this shelter I can see the sleepy-looking village,
which seems to be peopled mostly by constables, sauntering
about with their belts and jingling handcuffs.
July ist. Four days at Miller's. No Don Juan : no news from
Launceston, or from Nicaragua Smyth. Though my host is well-
informed and agreeable, I begin to execrate this lurking life. The
suspense and terror at Nant Cottage must be grievous. I despise
myself as I sit here behind my boobialla fence, and am very much
inclined to cut short the business by some coup. Mr. Miller pro-
poses a plan. He says there is a vessel in the mouth of one of the
rivers, fourteen miles west, taking a cargo of sawn timber on
board for Melbourne. " She will be cleared," continued Miller
" by our friend over the way, the chief constable. Now, I have
a brother in Melbourne, lately arrived from England. I have
been expecting him here to visit me ; and Mr. Nicholls, the police
magistrate, and the chief constable are aware of it. If you choose,
I will bring you over to the village, the day before the ship is to
sail ; introduce you as my brother to the worthy magistrate ; he
JAIL JOURNAL 327
will ask us to dine ; he will give you a certificate ; in the evening,
you and I will go along with the clearing officer himself, across
the country to the river Forth. You will be put on board in due
form of law, as Henry Miller, and proceed upon your travels
respectably. Does the magistrate, or any of the constables,
know your appearance ? "
" How can I tell ? You know they are always changing the
constables from one district to another. However, I think my
disguise is complete." Miller ran to his boat, sculled across, and
within an hour returned, laughing " I have told Mr. Nicholls
that you are here ; and I think he will feel that it is only civility
to come over and visit you. I also mentioned you to the chief
of police, telling him that, although you have been so short a
time here, you are tired of the country (which is true) v and want
to go to Melbourne. I told him you did not much like the idea
of travelling back to Launceston, to take your passage in one of
the steamers, and asked him if there were not a good vessel shortly
to sail from some of these rivers. ' There is the Wave ' said he
' the very thing for your brother.' '
" Well," I asked, " what more ? "
" Why," said Miller, " he is going over to the Forth to-morrow,
will go on board the ship, and will bring us back full particulars
as to the accommodation, fare, etc. Then you and 1 are to dine
with the police magistrate, on our way ; and the clearing officer
will have an interview with you in the police office, and will make
all smooth for my brother. This thing will do. You must come."
" I agree to everything but the dinner party at the police magis-
trate's. I will not sit down at any man's table under a feigned
name ; but let us impose on him otherwise, if you like."
" You agree, then, to go as my brother ? "
" Certainly ; I am tired of skulking about ; though your
society and conversation, my dear fellow, are ."
" Hurrah ! " said Miller, running to tell his wife of our plan.
He seems rejoiced beyond measure that he is to have the whole
credit of taking me off, when all my Irish friends had failed, and
swears he will go with me to Melbourne. To-morrow he goes
across to the village again, to learn all the particulars about the
cabin of the Wave, " for we must pretend to be very fastidious
about our accommodations."
328 JAIL JOURNAL
2nd. To-day he pushed his boat over again. " It is all right,"
he said, when he returned " everything arranged. We sail on
the 8lh. The police magistrate will come over in the meantime to
visit you."
So the matter stands, then. If I do not hear of some better
arrangements made by Nicaragua Smyth or my friends in Laun-
ceston, before the Wave lifts anchor, I shall sail as Henry Miller.
Miller has two magnificent kangaroo dogs. His son George
and I rode out to-day upon Badger Head, taking the dogs with
us ; and, in the scrubby hollows of the promontory, we raised
two kangaroos ; but, I grieve to say, lost them both. The " scrub,"
was too close for the dogs to run. We saw, on our return, three
superb eagles, poising themselves on moveless wings, high in
the air. The lambing season has commenced ; and these three
murderers have come down from the mountains to keep an eye
upon Miller's young lambs.
5th July. About eleven o'clock to-day two horsemen were
seen approaching through the trees, from the direction of Badger
Head. An unusual sight ; for the last eight days no human
being has appeared on this side of Port Sorel, and it happened
that the foot-prints of one solitary man had been seen on the
sand, the very day we came here, which kept Miller's family
speculating and wondering ever since. So there was commotion
in the house, when one of the boys ran in to tell us of the approach-
ing horsemen. Miller locked me up in my own room, having first
warned me to look to my pistols. He walked out to meet the
strangers. Presently I heard well-known voices, and came out
the two Burkes have come, to bring me to Launceston. My in-
defatigable friend Dease, a merchant in that town, has bargained
it seems, with Capt. , of the steamer , to bring me from
Launceston to Melbourne ; and my passage has been secured on
board the steamer, in the name of Father Macnamara. I must be
in Launceston to-morrow evening ; go on board at once, and
remain there all night. Next morning the steamer sails. They
tell me no time is to be lost, for it begins to be rumoured that I
am still on the island, and the police have a nose like the nose of
the behemoth that pierceth through snares.
Launceston is fifty-five or sixty miles off ; and the country is,
in this season, altogether execrable. They have only ridden
JAIL JOURNAL 329
to-day from the Tamar mouth (about fifteen miles), and propose
that I start at once, and go so far this evening as a certain hut
they know. To-morrow to Launceston.
Farewell, then, to my kind English host and hostess ; and once
more in the saddle. Miller says that I had better go by the
Wave, and be his brother Henry.
8th. On the 6th we slept (the two Burkes and I) at a hut in
the woods. On the yth, a wet and stormy day, we made good
our way, thou'gh with great labour and fatigue, to Launceston.
Went to the house of , and got rigged up instantly as a
Catholic priest shaved from the eyes to the throat ; dressed in
a long black coat, with upright collar, the narrow white band
round the neck, and a broad black hat, I waited for Mr. Dease
to come and bring me on board. Dease came, accompanied by
Connellan of Hobart Town.
This plot also miscarries ; and they all fear the case is almost
desperate. Capt. says positively that he dares not take me
on board at Launceston, nor even anywhere along the river on his
way down, at least until after his ship has been cleared at George-
town, forty-five miles below Launceston : says the rigour of
searching has been greatly increased since I left Both well, and
that the police magistrate at Georgetown has got very special
orders : so that he (the captain) cannot take me, even concealed
in his own cabin that retreat, which used to be a sanctuary,
being now subject to the narrowest scrutiny. In short, he said,
I must go down in an open boat this night so as to find myself
below Georgetown, between the very capes of the river's mouth,
to-morrow about three o'clock. There he will take me up.
Dease had come to tell me that a boat was ready for me, and
that I must start at once. It was a dreadful night, wet and
stormy. I had ridden fifty miles, mostly through rain, rivers,
and morasses, and was thoroughly tired. I declared I would
go on board in the morning openly at the quay, as Father
Macnamara, and run all the risk ; but my friends overruled
this, and almost carried me down to the river.
It was profoundly dark. Two boatmen were waiting for us at
the water side. Dease and Connellan came with me. I threw my-
self along the bottom of the boat, in ten minutes was fast asleep ;
and so we started on our nocturnal expedition of about fifty miles.
gth July Launceslon, V. D. L. We have come back here.
Baffled again.
To resume the story of our almost desperate attempt to get out
of the river Tamar in an open boat : We were rowed nearly all
night after leaving Launceston, and a little before dawn arrived
at a point of the river (or rather estuary), where it is above twr
miles in width. On the right bank, just here, lives a worthy
colonist, named Barrett, to me unknown, but for whom my com-
panions vouch as well affected. We put the boat ashore, and
walking up to the house, in the dark, thundered at the door with-
out ceremony. Barrett came down. We asked him for his boat
(a good gig), and people to pull it, intending to leave the little
skiff that had brought us down at his place, until my friends
should be returning up the river, after depositing me on board
the steamer at the river mouth. The boat, the men, everything
was at our service. We stayed an hour or two, breakfasted, and
then Mr. Barrett volunteered to go with us himself, and to see
me fairly at sea. There was good daylight when we started, and
we had only sixteen or seventeen miles to go to Georgetown. So
we dropped down the river at our leisure. It is a most winding
and dangerous estuary, varying in breadth from a quarter of a
mile to three miles, bordered by hills, all covered with unbroken
forest, except where a small farm has been cleared here and
there.
Before coming quite opposite to Georgetown, Mr. Barrett put
me and Connellan ashore for a while in the woods on the western
bank, and went himself over to the village, in order that he might
see the chief of police, and give him some account (a false account
of course) of his errand down there with his boat. Unless this
precaution were taken, he said, the police would assuredly take
notice of the strange boat, and send an armed police boat to
question us.
We remained an hour in the woods ; Barrett was to return to
33
JAIL JOURNAL 331
our side at a point two miles lower down the river than the place
we landed, to take us up there whenever the steamer should
appear. He had scarcely pushed across to Georgetown before the
black funnel and its streamer of smoke came round a wooded pro-
montory within three miles. The usual custom is to delay these
steamers about an hour at Georgetown, while they undergo a
thorough and final search, so that we calculated on having
abundance of time. The captain had directed us to be in the
middle of the river in the boat, after he should have got rid of
the searchers, and he would lie to and take me on board. I had
my priestly garments and broad-brimmed hat along with me, so
as to enable me to act the character of Father Macnamara with
proper dignity and sanctity.
But while Connellan and I were making our way to the point at
which Barrett was to take us up again, and just after we had seen
the police boat come out to overhaul the ship, we saw, to our utter
dismay, that the boat left her again instantly, and she, without
stopping, steamed away down towards the Heads. Barrett's
boat had not yet left Georgetown to come over for us ; half an
hour passed, and the boat did not come. The steamer was now
four miles down the river, and there, close by the light-house,
we saw her stop.
Now, we thought all was right. Barrett's boat at last ap-
proached, pulled with desperate energy by four men. We
jumped in, and put off, still keeping our eyes on the steamer,
when, at that moment, up went the steam again. The captain
evidently had come to the conclusion that something must have
happened to prevent me from keeping my appointment ; and he
had waited full fifteen minutes. We were too far off to be
visible from the ship, close under the shore as we were ; and, just
as our rowers were stretching to their oars with all their force,
the steamer moved slowly off before our eyes, swept round the
lighthouse, and away on her straight course for Melbourne.
The chance was lost. The sun set in a red and angry sky ; it
was certainly to be a stormy night ; and there we were, far from
shelter, opposite one of the strongest and most vigilant police
stations of the island. Back to Launceston we must absolutely
make our way, and that before morning. Moreover, as Mr. Dease
one of our companions, had been left in Georgetown, Barrett
332 JAIL JOURNAL
must call for him. I objected to go in the boat to Georgetown ;
but said I would go on shore again with Connellan, on the
west bank, and let Barrett come for me, after taking up
Dease.
We accordingly went into the woods again, and watched the
boat going across. Half an hour, at the utmost, would suffice to
bring her back. Half an hour passed, but no boat came. It was
now dark. An hour went by, two hours, still no boat came. We
knew that something was wrong, and conjectured that some of
the boatmen had got drunk, and let out the secret. " In that
case," said Connellan, " the first boat that comes over will be a
police boat." Another hour elapsed, and we had made up our
mind to spend the night in some very secret part of the forest, and
walk next day, by West Head and Badger Head, back to my
friend Miller, when we heard in the darkness the sound of oars
working in their rowlocks. Presently the prow of a boat ran up
against the gravelly beach ; but it was impossible to see anything
at one yard's distance. I told Connellan to go down towards the
place where he heard the sound, and if all was right to sing out
" Coo-ee " ; but, if it was a police boat, then to make no sound,
but try to rejoin me instantly. In the meantime I put caps on
my pistols.
" Coo-ee ! " It was Barrett's boat ; the delay was caused only
by two of the boatmen getting drunk ; but there had been no
blabbing, so far as Barrett knew. To my surprise, I found also
Dan Burke, of Westbury, in the boat. He had taken his passage
in the steamer, and was to have gone with Father Macnamara to
Melbourne. Says that the steamer did not delay an hour, as
usual, only because the chief of police at Georgetown, called the
" clearing officer," had happened to be in Launceston, had come
down on board the steamer, and had made his researches on his
way ; so, when the police boat came alongside, he had nothing to
do but drop into it, and go ashore. Burke says that the captain
had then no pretext for delay that if he had stopped anywhere
nearer to Georgetown, he would be sure to be visited again by
the police that when he did stop, down at the Heads, he had
anxiously kept looking out with a glass, to see whether our boat
appeared ; and at last had given us up. The failure, therefore,
was not the captain's fault, but is due to the " Fates and Destinies,
JAIL JOURNAL 333
the Sisters Three, and such branches of learning." Burke him-
self had left the steamer at the Heads, and had come back in
the pilot-boat.
We had a weary pull up the river again. The night came down
in a horrible storm, and we were twice on reefs. Reached
Barrett's about one o'clock : took our Launceston boat and
boatmen again ; bade adieu to poor Barrett, who is very despond-
ing about my fate these repeated failures being, as he thinks, a
pronouncement of heaven against me and then we set out for
Launceston. I was now iully resolved to stay no longer on the
north side of the island, but to make my way to Hobart Town
and put myself in the hands of some ship-owner to be smuggled
away like contraband goods, as he in his wisdom should think
best. The storm roared and raged more furiously every moment ;
in the windings of the channel we were several times driven ashore;
yet, as the wind was with us we kept the sail set, hoping to get
up to the town before morning. The rain came down in torrents ;
the woods groaned and even shrieked ; and, through the blackness
of the night, we could see nothing but the glimmer of the white
foam. When we were yet sixteen miles from Launceston a
dreadful squall came down upon us, and before the men could
drop the lug-sail we were driven violently ashore. The boatmen
declared that they would not go to Launceston till the storm was
over. We were in a perfectly trackless wood ; the earth was
soaked, the trees were dripping ; but we did not care for that,
having been drenched to the marrow of the bones some hours
before. Five or six hours we spent in those dismal circum-
stances, deriving an imperfect consolation from smoking ; but so
thoroughly exhausted were we, that every one of us lay down
md slept, under the pouring rain.
Embarked again this morning ; and of course, reached Laun-
ceston in broad day. I was put ashore a mile from the town, and
was to walk up, accompanied by Dan Burke, and proceed openly
to the house of Father Butler, behind the Catholic Chapel,
where the others were to meet me. There is nothing like cool-
ness. We walked quietly into and through the town : and the
man of five feet ten, dark hair, and so forth, passed quite un-
challenged, through the streets probably, because there are so
many men whom that description fits. In truth, if my wife had
334 JAIL JOURNAL
met me in that walk, she could not have suspected me. So
I reached the worthy priest's house safely.
When Connellan, Dease, and his brother came, they all agreed
with me, that the north side of the island has grown too hot to
hold me. The two Launceston boatmen, who have just brought
us up, though my name was never mentioned before them, must,
at least, suspect. Barrett's men knew me well enough. Besides,
the long journeys of the Burkes, to and fro, must have been
noticed ; and I, therefore, tell my friends that I am resolved to
go straight to Hobart Town, and by the public coach. The
distance is 120 miles, the coach road passes through seven or
eight townships, and by a dozen police offices. Yet, still relying
on my clerical character I think this safer than any other mode of
travelling.
Connellan has gone to take two places in the night mail, for the
night after next, one for himself, and one for the Rev. Mr. Blake.
In the meantime, the good Father Butler proposes to conceal me
in the belfry of his church. How can I ever acknowledge the
great services rendered to me by all these kind people ?
I2th July Hobart Town. The Rev. Mr. Blake has accom-
plished his perilous journey. The night coach started from
Launceston at half -past five p.m., when there is still daylight,
and Father Butler would by no means hear of my going to the
coach office in the most public part of the town. He, therefore
lent me a horse, and rode with me out of town, to wait for the
coach at Frankland village. As we rode on we approached a
turnpike gate. " Here," said Mr. Butler, " you can test your
disguise. Clergymen, of all denominations, are privileged to pass
the toll-gates free in Van Diemen's Land. If the man has no
doubt about your being a priest, he will politely touch his hat
to us both. But if he does not believe in your holy orders, it
will cost you threepence." I saved the threepence, and my
dignified nod was as good as a blessing to the gate-keeper.
When I bade adieu to Father Butler, and got into the coach, I
found, besides Connellan, two other passengers inside, one of
them, a man whom I had met and talked with, at least once
before, and who certainly would have known me, had I been less
effectually disguised. He is T. MacDowell, late Attorney-
General for the colony a dangerous neighbour. Not that I
JAIL JOURNAL 335
believe it would have been running any risk to confide the
matter to him, but there was another stranger. Mr. MacDowell
tried to draw me into conversation, asked me about " my bishop,"
but I was shy, unsatisfactory, Jesuitical.
Towards morning, we passed the point of the mail road nearest
to Bothwell ; within sixteen miles ; and I gazed wistfully up at
the gloomy ridge of the Den Hill. Beyond that hill, embowered
among the boscages of Bothwell, lies my litvle quasi-home, which
my eyes will never see again, with all its slopping inmates lulled
by the murmuring Clyde.
The coach changed horses at Greenponds, as usual ; and every-
body at Greenponds knows me by sight. Several men were about
the coach ; they looked into it, and all over it, as if expecting to
see some traveller. I took no note of all this, till Mr. MacDowell
said to one of them, " Ah, you are up early " (it was about four
o'clock in a winter's morning). " Yes, sir," was the answer, " on
special duty." I now looked more sharply at the man ; it was the
chief constable of Greenponds, with some of his force. If it was
for my sake, however, they had risen so early, it was in vain, for
not one of them recognised me. 1 looked as calm and mild as
if Deus vobiscum were on my lips ; but I was preparing to open
the coach door farthest from the hotel, at a moment's notice,
with one hand, and with the other took hold of a pistol in the
pocket of my clerical soutane.
We passed on. It was clear day this morning before we
reached Bridgewater ; and it would have been madness to pro-
ceed with the coach to the door of the Ship Inn, at Hobart Town,
where there is always a crowd of detectives ; so I left the coach,
and went into the hotel to remain there all day, and take the
evening coach into town. Connellan remained in his place, and
bade farewell very respectfully to Mr. Blake. He says Mr.
MacDowell looked somewhat keenly after me, and observed,
" Your reverend friend, Connellan, does not carry any luggage."
I spent the day walking along the Derwent, and amongst the
woods ; dined at the solitary inn, and in the evening took a place
outside on the coach which was to reach Hobart Town at eight
o'clock. Six miles short of Hobart Town we stopped a moment at
a hotel. St. Kevin O'Doherty climbed the coach, and sat down
directly in front of me, looking straight in my face. A flood of
336 JAIL JOURNAL
light from the house was upon us at the moment. He had come
out expressly to meet me ; he knew I was to be dressed as a priest,
yet I was a total stranger to him. Before going down into the
centre of the town, I made the coa hman pull up, left the coach,