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Rh and knew anything of the habits of the Natives, who anticipated any other result than a failure of the expedition, so far as their capture was concerned. And I was led to believe, being present when the Lieut.-Governor was speaking on the subject, that few were less sanguine of success than His Excellency."

He thus closes: "I could not at the time suggest, nor have I since been able to surmise, how the forces could have been otherwise employed, which would have afforded a greater chance of success—nor did I ever meet with any of the fault-finders who could do so."

A year had passed, and one of their great jubilees was approaching for the Aborigines. This was the season of swans' eggs, so favourite a food with the people of the forest. It was a time of tribal reunion, the anniversary of family greetings and festive joy. A wooded, rocky point of land projected into the eastern waters; it was known as the Schouten Peninsula. Too barren and rough for colonization, too distant for a visit, it was a secure asylum for the feathered race—a fitting scene for swan-like love. This was the place, the period, the occasion, of annual pilgrimages to the Aborigines. A large party, a mingling of tribes, had taken advantage of the lull after the storm of war, and had ventured by stealthy steps to the old spot. But their tracks had been sighted, their destination guessed, and their extermination was at once resolved upon.

The alarm was sounded. Nothing seemed easier than their capture. Here was the proper locality for Line operations. A Cordon could be drawn across the narrow isthmus, and the Blacks would be secured at leisure.

Troops, constables, settlers, gathered in joyful confidence at the gateway of the Peninsula. It was at the close of October, 1831, the loveliest season of the bright little island, the spring of beauty and hope. The Neck was but a mile across, and upon this the Europeans took up their position. It was a highly romantic region. Five cones threw up their forest heads far above the gigantic Eucalypti of the valleys. They stood as guardian genii to protect the last home of the wasted people. Their bastion-like masses were strengthened by intricate scrub and pathless woods, whose black shadows fell upon the hostile band in front. The enemy sought to gain the barbican by fire