We were much struck during our stay by the contrast between the natives here, and those we had seen on the Beagle’s former voyage at King George’s Sound.  The comparison was wholly in favour of those living within the influence of their civilized fellow-men:  a fact which may surprise some of my readers, but for which, notwithstanding, I am quite prepared to vouch.  A better quality, and more certain supply of food, are the causes to which this superiority ought to be attributed:  they are indeed exceedingly fond of wheaten bread, and work hard for the settlers, in cutting wood and carrying water, in order to obtain it.  Individually they appear peaceable, inoffensive, and well-disposed, and, under proper management, make very good servants; but when they congregate together for any length of time, they are too apt to relapse into the vices of savage life.  Among the many useful hints, for which we were indebted to Mr. Roe, was that of taking a native with us to the northward; and, accordingly, after some trouble, we shipped an intelligent young man, named Miago; he proved, in some respects, exceedingly useful, and made an excellent gun-room waiter.  We noticed that, like most of the natives, he was deeply scarred, and I learned from him that this is done to recommend them to the notice of the ladies.  Like all savages, they are treacherous—­for uncivilized man has no abstract respect for truth, and consequently deceit, whether spoken or acted, seems no baseness in his eyes.

Anecdotes of the natives.

I heard an anecdote at Perth that bears upon this subject:  A native of the name of Tonquin asked a settler, who lived some distance in the interior, permission to spend the night in his kitchen, of which that evening another native was also an inmate.  It seems that some hate, either personal, or the consequences of a quarrel between their different tribes, existed in the mind of Tonquin towards his hapless fellow lodger; and in the night he speared him through the heart, and then very quietly laid down to sleep!  Of course in the morning no little stir took place.  Tonquin was accused, but stoutly denied the charge.  So satisfied, however, was the owner of the house of the guilt of the real culprit, that had he not made his escape, he would have been executed red hand—­as the border wardens used to say—­by the man, the sanctity of whose roof-tree he had thus profaned.  Tonquin afterwards declared that he never slept for nearly A fortnight, being dogged from place to place by the footsteps of the avengers of blood.  He escaped, however, with his life, though worn almost to a shadow by constant anxiety.  When I saw him some years afterwards, I thought him the finest looking native I had ever seen, but he was apparently, as those who knew him best reported him to be, insane.  If not the memory of his crime, and the consequent remorse which it entailed upon him, perhaps the fugitive life he was compelled to lead in order to avoid the wrath of human retribution, had been used to make manifest the anger of Heaven for this breach of one of those first great laws of human society, which are almost as much instincts of our nature as revelations from the Creator to the creatures of his will!