tever they leave tranquil and beloved; but there was an intense
realisation of this hazard, in those parts of the colony where
protection was least accessible.

Death, by the hands of a savage, is indeed invested with the darkest
terrors: it was rarely instantaneous--it was often the effect of
protracted torment, and of repeated blows: often, after a long pursuit,
in which hope might occasionally gleam for a moment, to render death to
the exhausted fugitive more distinct and terrible; or, perhaps, at once
wounded mortally and prostrate, when the rush of early affections and
long forgotten truth and brief supplication would come with that swoon,
by which nature sometimes ushers in the fatal moment; the dying man
would be roused by infernal shouts, and there would swim before him
brandished clubs, and horrid visages distorted with demoniac rage. Such
were the recollections of some who recovered; and such, we may be
assured, were the emotions of many that died.

Comparatively, the natives did not frequently injure women and children;
partly, perhaps, that they were less exposed, and partly from natural
compassion. Thus, when the house of Clarke was destroyed by the Big
River tribe, and its owner perished in the flames, the woman with him
escaped with her clothes ignited--ran to the savages, and fell down upon
her knees, imploring their pity. One of their number extinguished the
flames, and bade her be gone. It may be doubted, if this instance of
compassion always found a parallel in the conduct of the white. About
the same time, a wretch boasted to Mr. O'Connor, that he had thrown a
native woman on the fire, and burnt her to death. The equity of
Providence seems vindicated by the fact, that he perished by the spears
of the race, who watched him continually, until he fell into their
power.

Long after the pacific mission of Robinson, it was found necessary to
restrain the wanderings of the women, to prevent their sacrifice to
white vengeance. But, on the part of the natives, there were not wanting
fearful examples of implacable and treacherous violence. Such was the
murder of Mrs. Gough and her children. In 1828, about twenty men,
unattended by their families, had re-appeared in the centre of the
island, and approached the neighbourhood of Oatlands: they attacked the
cottage of one Moor, as a feint, and thus drew off the husband of the
unfortunate woman, to the assistance of his neighbour. On returning, he
met his daught