The Dog Guard: An Australian Story

There are lonesome places upon the earth That have never re-echoed a sound of mirth, Where the spirits abide that feast and quaff On the shuddering soul of a murdered laugh, And take grim delight in the fearful start, As their unseen fingers clutch the heart, And the blood flies out from the griping pain, To carry the chill through every vein; And the staring eyes and the whitened faces Are a joy to these ghosts of the lonesome places. But of all the spots on this earthly sphere Where these dismal spirits are strong and near, There is one more dreary than all the rest,— 'Tis the barren island of Rottenest. On Australia's western coast, you may— On a seaman's chart of Fremantle Bay— Find a tiny speck, some ten miles from shore: If the chart be good, there is something more,— For a shoal runs in on the landward side, With five fathoms marked for the highest tide. You have nought but my word for all the rest, But that speck is the island of Rottenest. 'Tis a white sand-heap, about two miles long, And say half as wide; but the deeds of wrong Between man and his brother that there took place Are sufficient to sully a continent's face. Ah, cruel tales! were they told as a whole, They would scare your polished humanity's soul; They would blanch the cheeks in your carpeted room, With a terrible thought of the merited doom For the crimes committed, still unredrest, On that white sand-heap called Rottenest. Of late years the island is not so bare As it was when I saw it first; for there On the outer headland some buildings stand, And a flag, red-crossed, says the patch of sand Is a recognized part of the wide domain That is blessed with the peace of Victoria's reign. But behind the lighthouse the land's the same, And it bears grim proof of the white man's shame; For the miniature vales that the island owns Have a horrible harvest of human bones! And how did they come there? that's the word; And I'll answer it now with a tale I heard From the lips of a man who was there, and saw The bad end of man's greed and of colony law. Many years ago, when the white man first Set his foot on the coast, and was hated and cursed By the native, who had not yet learned to fear The dark wrath of the stranger, but drove his spear With a freeman's force and a bushman's yell At the white invader, it then befell That so many were killed and cooked and eaten, There was risk of the whites in the end being beaten; So a plan was proposed,—'twas deemed safest and best To imprison the natives in Rottenest. And so every time there was white blood spilled, There were black men captured; and those not killed In the rage of vengeance were sent away To this bleak sand isle in Fremantle Bay; And it soon came round that a thousand men Were together there, like wild beasts in a pen. There was not a shrub or grass-blade in the sand, Nor a piece of timber as large as your hand; But a government boat went out each day To fling meat ashore—and then sailed away. For a year or so was this course pursued, Till 'twas noticed that fewer came down for food When the boat appeared; then a guard lay round The island one night, and the white men found That the savages swam at the lowest tide To the shoal that lay on the landward side,— 'Twas a mile from the beach,—and then waded ashore; So the settlers met in grave council once more. That a guard was needed was plain to all; But nobody answered the Governor's call For a volunteer watch. They were only a few, And their wild young farms gave plenty to do; And the council of settlers was breaking up, With a dread of the sorrow they'd have to sup When the savage, unawed, and for vengeance wild Lay await in the wood for the mother and child. And with doleful countenance each to his neighbor Told a dreary tale of the world of labor He had, and said, ' Let him watch who can, I can't;' when there stepped to the front a man With a hard brown face and a burglar's brow, Who had learned the secret he uttered now When he served in the chain-gang in New South Wales. And he said to them: ' Friends, as all else fails, These 'ere natives are safe as if locked and barred, If you'll line that shoal with a mastiff guard!' And the settlers looked at each other awhile, Till the wonder toned to a well-pleased smile When the brown ex-burglar said he knew, And would show the whole of 'em what to do. Some three weeks after, the guard was set; And a native who swam to the shoal was met By two half-starved dogs, when a mile from shore,— And, somehow, that native was never seen more. All the settlers were pleased with the capital plan, And they voted their thanks to the hard-faced man. For a year, each day did the government boat Take the meat to the isle and its guard afloat. In a line, on the face of the shoal, the dogs Had a dry house each, on some anchored logs; And the neck-chain from each stretched just half way To the next dog's house; right across the Bay Ran a line that was hideous with horrid sounds From the hungry throats of two hundred hounds. So one more year passed, and the brutes on the logs Had grown more like devils than common dogs. There was such a hell-chorus by day and night That the settlers ashore were chilled with fright When they thought—if that legion should break away, And come in with the tide some fatal day! But they ' scapod that chance; for a man came in From the Bush, one day, with a 'possum's skin To the throat filled up with large pearls he'd found To the north, on the shore of the Shark's Bay Sound. And the settlement blazed with a wild commotion At sight of the gems from the wealthy ocean. Then the settlers all began to pack Their tools and tents, and to ask the track That the bushman followed to strike the spot,— While the dogs and natives were all forgot. In two days, from that camp on the River Swan, To the Shark's Bay Sound had the settlers gone; And no merciful feeling did one retard For the helpless men and their terrible guard. It were vain to try, in my quiet room, To write down the truth of the awful doom That befell those savages prisoned there, When the pangs of hunger and wild despair Had nigh made them mad as the fiends outside: 'Tis enough that one night, through the low ebb tide, Swam nine hundred savages, armed with stones And with weapons made from their dead friends' bones. Without ripple or sound, when the moon was gone, Through the inky water they glided on; Swimming deep, and scarce daring to draw a breath, While the guards, if they saw, were as dumb as death. 'Twas a terrible picture! O God! that the night Were so black as to cover the horrid sight From the eyes of the Angel that notes man's ways In the book that will ope on the Day of Days! There were screams when they met,—shrill screams of pain! For each animal swam at the length of his chain, And with parching throat and in furious mood Lay awaiting, not men, but his coming food. There were short, sharp cries, and a line of fleck As the long fangs sank in the swimmer's neck; There were gurgling growls mixed with human groans, For the savages drave the sharpened bones Through their enemies' ribs, and the bodies sank, Each dog holding fast with a bone through his flank. Then those of the natives who 'scaped swam back; But too late! for scores of the savage pack, Driven mad by the yells and the sounds of fight, Had broke loose and followed. On that dread night Let the curtain fall: when the red sun rose From the placid ocean, the joys and woes Of a thousand men he had last eve seen Were as things or thoughts that had never been. When the settlers returned,—in a month or two,— They bethought of the dogs and the prisoned crew. And a boat went out on a tardy quest Of whatever was living on Rottenest. They searched all the isle, and sailed back again With some specimen bones of the dogs and men.