“I think we shall soon be in the resurrection,” whispered a member of Robinson’s little party.

“I think we shall,” answered Robinson; then plucked up heart and began his persuasions—­in the tribe’s own dialect, which surprised and pleased the chief.  Presently there was an interruption by the chief: 

“Who are you?”

“We are gentlemen.”

“Where are your guns?”

“We have none.”

The warrior was astonished.

“Where your little guns?” (pistols).

“We have none.”

A few minutes passed—­in by-play—­suspense—­discussion among the tribesmen—­Robinson’s tamed squaws ventured to cross the line and begin persuasions upon the wild squaws.  Then the chief stepped back “to confer with the old women—­the real arbiters of savage war.”  Mr. Bonwick continues: 

“As the fallen gladiator in the arena looks for the signal of life or death from the president of the amphitheatre, so waited our friends in anxious suspense while the conference continued.  In a few minutes, before a word was uttered, the women of the tribe threw up their arms three times.  This was the inviolable sign of peace!  Down fell the spears.  Forward, with a heavy sigh of relief, and upward glance of gratitude, came the friends of peace.  The impulsive natives rushed forth with tears and cries, as each saw in the other’s rank a loved one of the past.

     “It was a jubilee of joy.  A festival followed.  And, while tears
     flowed at the recital of woe, a corrobory of pleasant laughter
     closed the eventful day.”

In four years, without the spilling of a drop of blood, Robinson brought them all in, willing captives, and delivered them to the white governor, and ended the war which powder and bullets, and thousands of men to use them, had prosecuted without result since 1804.

Marsyas charming the wild beasts with his music—­that is fable; but the miracle wrought by Robinson is fact.  It is history—­and authentic; and surely, there is nothing greater, nothing more reverence-compelling in the history of any country, ancient or modern.

And in memory of the greatest man Australasia ever developed or ever will develop, there is a stately monument to George Augustus Robinson, the Conciliator in—­no, it is to another man, I forget his name.

However, Robertson’s own generation honored him, and in manifesting it honored themselves.  The Government gave him a money-reward and a thousand acres of land; and the people held mass-meetings and praised him and emphasized their praise with a large subscription of money.

A good dramatic situation; but the curtain fell on another: