Page:Last of the tasmanians.djvu/237

 the close of 1841, I was introduced by the Aborigines' friend, Mr. George Washington Walker, Missionary of the Society of Friends, to the studio of the Hobart Town artist, Mr. Duterreau. There I was surrounded by figures of Tasmanian Natives. The venerable painter was enthusiastic in his story of the fate of those whose portraits he had taken. But the grand tableau upon which he was then engaged was the scene of Mr. Robinson's great moral conquest. The old gentleman pointed to the figure on the canvas, and exclaimed, "There is a real hero, though not one of your world's heroes."

The worthy artist then introduced me to the celebrated companions of the Conciliator—the members of his Mission. I saw the massive form of Wooreddy, the magnificent head of Manalagana, and the sparkling features of Truganina. I had the story of the black man's wrongs and sufferings fresh from the lips of an ardent sympathiser. But again and again would the enthusiast turn with glowing face toward the portrait of Robinson, and once more rehearse his noble deeds.

It was on that occasion I formed the secret resolution to gather up fragments of the sad story, and some day write of the "Black War," and the work of George Augustus Robinson.

Mr. Robinson's career had a humble commencement. He was employed as a bricklayer in Hobart Town. His education had been neglected in youth, and his official communications in after years needed the pruning hand of a scholarship better than his own. But though unpolished and rude, his intellect was vigorous and healthy, and his common sense and powers of observation placed him far above the average of working men.

In his physique, he was about five feet seven inches in height, with a thick-set frame, and a florid complexion. His nose was