The Colonial Kangaroo Hunt

This is number one hundred and ninety

in the second numbered series of the

Miegunyah Volumes

made possible by the

Miegunyah Fund

established by bequests

under the wills of

Sir Russell and Lady Grimwade.

‘Miegunyah’ was Russell Grimwade’s home

from 1911 to 1955

and Mab Grimwade’s home

from 1911 to 1973.

The Colonial Kangaroo Hunt

Ken Gelder & Rachael Weaver

THE MIEGUNYAH PRESS

An imprint of Melbourne University Publishing Limited

Level 1, 715 Swanston Street, Carlton, Victoria 3053, Australia

mup-contact@unimelb.edu.au

www.mup.com.au

First published 2020

Text © Ken Gelder and Rachael Weaver, 2020

Design and typography © Melbourne University Publishing Limited, 2020

This book is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968 and subsequent amendments, no part may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means or process whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Every attempt has been made to locate the copyright holders for material quoted in this book. Any person or organisation that may have been overlooked or misattributed may contact the publisher.

Text design and typesetting by Cannon Typesetting

Cover design by Pfisterer + Freeman

Printed in China by 1010 Printing International Ltd

ISBN 9780522875850 (paperback)

ISBN 9780522875867 (ebook)

Contents

Acknowledgements

Note on measurements

1Shooting the First Kangaroos

2Settlers, Aboriginal People and the Kangaroo Hunt

3The Kangaroo Hunt as Sport

4The Kangaroo Hunt Poem

5Dogs, Skins and Battues

6Colonial Kangaroo Hunt Novels and Fantasies

Notes

Bibliography

Picture credits

Index

Acknowledgements

Research for this book was made possible through the generous support of the Australian Research Council Discovery Grant Scheme. We also gratefully acknowledge the financial support we have received from the School of Culture and Communication and the Australian Centre at the University of Melbourne. We thank the librarians at the Mitchell Library, Sydney, and the University of Melbourne’s Baillieu Library, for their assistance with books and manuscripts; and we thank staff at the many galleries and museums who have helped us with image reproductions and permissions. Thanks go to colleagues in the School of Culture and Communication at the University of Melbourne for their encouragement and many useful suggestions along the way: in particular, Deirdre Coleman, Greg Lehman, Stephanie Trigg and Justin Clemens. Thanks to John Frow at the University of Sydney for encouraging us to think about the bildungsroman. We’d especially like to thank Tom Ford, from the Department of Creative Arts and English at La Trobe University, for drawing our attention to what is now this book’s epigraph. Thanks as well to Jane Brown from our school’s Visual Culture Resource Centre for her careful preparation of many of the images reproduced in this book; and thanks also to Giles Fielke for assisting with the purchase of some of the images in this book. We are particularly grateful to Alisa Bunbury, the Grimwade Collection Curator at the Ian Potter Museum of Art, University of Melbourne, for so generously sharing with us her remarkable expertise in colonial visual culture. Finally, we thank Louise Stirling, Katie Purvis, Klarissa Pfisterer and Nathan Hollier at Melbourne University Publishing for their enthusiasm and support for this colonial project.

Note on Measurements

Measurements in this book are generally imperial rather than metric. One mile is approximately 1.6 kilometres; one acre is 0.4 hectares; one pound (lb) is 0.45 kilograms (450 grams).

‘And lo! a transport comes in view

I hear the merry motley crew,

Well skilled in pocket to make entry,

Of Dieman’s Land the elected Gentry,

And founders of Australian Races.—

The Rogues! I see it in their faces!

Receive me, Lads! I’ll go with you,

Hunt the black swan and kangaroo,

And that New Holland we’ll presume

Old England with some elbow-room.

Across the mountains we will roam,

And each man make himself a home …’

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ‘The Delinquent Travellers’, 1824

George Raper, Gum-Plant and Kangooroo of New-Holland, 1789

1

Shooting the First Kangaroos

Who shot the first kangaroo? Aboriginal people hunted kangaroos with spears and clubs for thousands of years, of course, either alone or in groups. Penny Olsen and Lynette Russell note the wide variety of Aboriginal hunting methods, ‘including pursuit with dingoes, spearing, ambush, encirclement, stockades, pitfall traps and battues, where beaters drive game towards the hunters’.¹ In Dark Emu (2014), Bruce Pascoe also notes the Aboriginal use of large nets and describes the ‘battue system of kangaroo and emu harvesting’ that involved driving many of the creatures into an enclosed site and killing them en masse.² The battue (from the French battre: to beat or hit) became important to white pastoralists after settlement too, and we shall see some examples of the large-scale extermination of kangaroos in colonial Australia later in this book. But the first shooting of a kangaroo—or rather, the first documented shooting—happened a few years before white settlement officially began.

James Cook’s first HMS Endeavour voyage around the world saw the ship grounded on a reef off the coast of far north Queensland in June and July 1770. The botanist Joseph Banks was on board, along with Daniel Solander, who had studied under the famous Swedish naturalist Carl Linnaeus; Linnaeus’s taxonomies for species classification were already profoundly influential. The Quaker artist Sydney Parkinson was also there, and Cook was assisted by a number of experienced naval officers, including Lieutenant John Gore, the Endeavour’s third in command. About ten months earlier, when the ship visited New Zealand, Gore had shot a Maori man for taking a ‘piece of Cloth’: ‘I must own it did not meet with my approbation,’ Cook reported in his journal, ‘because I thought the Punishment a little too severe for the Crime.’³ While carpenters worked to repair the damaged ship off the coast of Queensland, Cook sent some of his crew ashore to look for food. The men returned with some pigeons, and an account of a strange new species: ‘One of the Men saw an Animal something less than a greyhound; it was of a Mouse Colour, very slender made, and swift of Foot.’⁴ The next day Cook himself spotted a kangaroo for the first time: ‘it was of a light mouse Colour,’ he wrote, ‘and the full size of a Grey Hound and shaped in every respect like one, with a long tail, which it carried like a Grey hound; in short, I should have taken it for a wild dog but for its walking or running, in which it jump’d like a Hare or Deer.’⁵ Two weeks later—on 14 July 1770—Gore went into the bush with his gun. ‘Mr. Gore, being in the Country, shott one of the animals before spoke of,’ Cook reported; ‘it was a small one of the sort, weighing only 28 pounds clear of the entrails … It bears no sort of resemblance to any European animal I ever saw; it is said to bear much resemblance to the Jerboa, excepting in size, the Jerboa being no larger than a common rat.’⁶ Soon afterwards, Cook noted that local Aboriginal people seemed to refer to the animal as a ‘Kangooroo, or Kanguru’.⁷

For John Simons, the first documented shooting of a kangaroo on 14 July 1770 ‘contains in itself the microcosm of the settlement of Australia’.⁸ In fact, he goes on to compare Gore’s shooting with the famous ‘shot heard round the world’ fired five years later at Concord, Massachusetts, that literally triggered the American Revolution. Perhaps this is making too much of the reflex action of the man Tim Flannery has called ‘the Endeavour’s most accomplished hunter’.⁹ Even so, Simons is right to note that this event had much larger and more long-lasting ramifications both for native species and for Aboriginal people—who were also fired upon with muskets by the Endeavour’s crew. It is certainly a foundational moment in the violent European settlement of Australia.

The first shooting of a kangaroo happens simultaneously with the naming of the species, as if the two things are inevitably tied together. Markham Ellis has noted that the Endeavour’s naturalists were also interested in ‘collecting vocabulary’ and drew on local Aboriginal names for the kangaroo: for example, the Guugu Yimidhirr word ganguru, ‘which signified one of the five kangaroo and wallaby species indigenous to Endeavour River’.¹⁰ There is a common view that the naming of the kangaroo was also a misnaming based on Banks’s misunderstanding of his Aboriginal interlocutors (or vice versa). Ellis suggests that ‘the adoption of an Indigenous name was not accorded to other species where Banks was more confident of his classification’; but he adds that the word kangaroo ‘was an unstable Anglophonisation … of an Indigenous word’.¹¹

To shoot a native species and to name that species are both colonising acts. Soon afterwards, naturalists would compete with each other to give the kangaroo its scientific name. It was the English zoologist George Shaw who eventually succeeded and, as Danielle Clode notes, ‘the full taxonomic designation of the species’ is now in fact ‘Macropus giganteus Shaw 1790’.¹² But something interesting happened with Cook’s earlier Aboriginal-derived naming of the kangaroo that, for a moment at least, placed this creature outside the developing taxonomic framework of Western scientific classifications of species.

In Cook’s descriptions above, the kangaroo is perhaps surprisingly compared to a greyhound. Banks kept a greyhound on the Endeavour that soon afterwards joined in the hunt for kangaroos. In his journal of the expedition, the botanist has a running title for this earliest of encounters—Kill Kanguru—that both names the new species and immediately sentences it to death.¹³ The kangaroo, Banks writes, ‘hops so fast that in the rocky bad ground where it is commonly found it easily beat my grey hound, who tho he was fairly started at several killd only one and that quite a young one’.¹⁴ Banks’s greyhound in effect becomes the first imported kangaroo dog, killing the creature to which it is also descriptively connected in these early explorer accounts. This particular event takes place on 29 July in Banks’s journal and sets an early size limit on the greyhound’s capacity to kill: ‘we saw few and killd one very small one which weighd no more than 8½ lb. My greyhound took him with ease tho the old ones were much too nimble for him.’¹⁵ Banks goes on to record and confirm the Aboriginal name for the creature, kangooroo. The ‘largest we shot’, he adds, ‘weighd 84 lbs’.¹⁶ This is the third kangaroo killing recorded in the early journals. It happened on 27 July, two weeks after Gore’s first shooting and two days before the greyhound kills the juvenile. Cook himself gives a functional, understated account of the event, rounding down the weight prior to the kangaroo’s dismemberment: ‘Mr. Gore shott one of the Animals before spoke of, which weighed 80 lbs. and 54 lbs., exclusive of the entrails, Skin, and head; this was as large as the most we have seen.’¹⁷ Banks also devotes a brief entry to the 27 July killing, lending the kangaroo a kind of feral anonymity: ‘This day was dedicated to hunting the wild animal. We saw several and had the good fortune to kill a very large one which weighd 84 lb.’¹⁸

Cook’s journal entry for 27 July goes on to provide a sense of just how quickly the body of the kangaroo was dismantled into its component parts—for scientific analysis, but also to provide meat for an expedition low on provisions. His blunt account of the stripping-down of the animal contrasts with Banks’s comments on the treatment of the one Gore had shot two weeks earlier, which was much smaller, at 28 pounds. ‘The Beast which was killd yesterday’, Banks writes, ‘was today Dressd for our dinner and provd excellent meat.’¹⁹ This is an expression of refined culinary taste by an English, Eton-educated soon-to-be-baronet, an immensely wealthy landowner—the complete opposite of Cook, who was the son of a Scottish farm labourer. The Endeavour’s crew were hunting and eating a number of native species: pigeons, turtles (which Banks also relished) and shellfish. But the kangaroo is the first native species to be placed in an aristocratic, epicurean register. Having stripped the creature down, they perform the civilising ritual of ‘dressing’ (the word is capitalised) it for dinner; they then value the taste of this new form of game meat accordingly. They do the same with the 84-pound kangaroo shot two weeks later, but this time Banks’s culinary tastes are disappointed: ‘Dind today upon the animal, who eat but ill, he was I suppose too old. His fault however was an uncommon one, the total want of flavour, for he was certainly the most insipid meat I eat.’²⁰

As we shall see, shooting the kangaroo is the first in a chain of reactions to species that works to secure colonisation in the New World: skinning, butchering, cooking, preserving and eating; but also culling, clearing, managing and trading; and scientifically recording, dissecting, classifying and stuffing (taxidermy); and producing along the way an immense amount of commentary, a great many sketches, poems and novels, and a number of significant works of art.

Sydney Parkinson was one of two artists or ‘draughtsmen’ on the Endeavour; he is best known for the extensive collection of botanical drawings and watercolours he completed on the journey, now held at the Natural History Museum in London. Parkinson died of dysentery and malaria on board the Endeavour on 26 January 1771 but kept his own journal of the expedition, which was published posthumously in 1773. This was the same year John Hawkesworth published a commissioned edition of Cook’s journal that notoriously took a number of liberties with the text, mixing up details from Cook and Banks, adding some of Hawkesworth’s own observations, ‘weaving together an imagined, composite point of view’,²¹ and incorporating some of Parkinson’s sketches without acknowledgement. Parkinson’s grieving brother, Stanfield, was keen to publish Sydney’s journal himself and argued bitterly with Banks and Hawkesworth, who both took legal measures to try to stop his publication going ahead. Most commentators have been flatly unsympathetic to Stanfield’s role here;²² but Noah Heringman has offered a different perspective, arguing that Stanfield’s claims to his brother’s intellectual property (drawings, notes, collected items) were perfectly reasonable under the circumstances.²³ Stanfield’s preface to the eventual 1773 publication of Sydney’s journal certainly gives an aggrieved, often downright furious account of Hawkesworth’s and Banks’s various threats and transactions. The journal entries themselves, on the other hand, quietly bask in the abundance and complexity of the natural world, offering vivid, colourful descriptions of the various examples of native flora and fauna that Sydney was seeing for the first time. His account of the kangaroo is the most detailed and keenly observed of any of the Endeavour journals, although it echoes Cook and Banks in several ways, not least through that peculiar tendency to compare the kangaroo to a greyhound. The kangaroo is, he writes,

an animal of a kind nearly approaching the mus genus, about the size of a grey-hound, that had a head like a fawn’s; lips and ears, which it throws back, like a hare’s; on the upper jaw fix large teeth; on the under one two only; with a short and small neck, near to which are the fore-feet, which have five toes each, and five hooked claws; the hinder legs are long, especially from the last joint, which, from the callosity below it, seems as if it lies flat on the ground when the animal descends any declivity; and each foot had four long toes, two of them behind, placed a great way back, the inner one of which has two claws; the two other toes were in the middle, and resembled a hoof, but one of them was much larger than the other. The tail, which is carried like a grey-hound’s, was almost as long as the body, and tapered gradually to the end. The chief bulk of this animal is behind; the belly being largest, and the back rising toward the posteriors. The whole body is covered with short ash-coloured hair; and the flesh of it tasted like a hare’s, but has a more agreeable flavour.²⁴

Banks and Parkinson were active participants in what Peter Macinnis calls ‘evidence-eating science’,²⁵ which saw naturalists routinely consume the species they killed and examined. The taste of the meat becomes one more way of classifying, and distinguishing between, different species. Kangaroo meat, for example, is ranked in relation to other examples of game more familiar to Europeans: for Parkinson, the kangaroo has ‘a more agreeable flavour’ than, say, hare.

But before it can be eaten, each part of the kangaroo must be carefully described and detailed. This was as important to the naturalists as it was to the artwork that gave visual representation to their scientific, classificatory interests. Parkinson produced at least two pencil sketches of a kangaroo, one of which shows the animal in motion with hind legs outstretched, the other of which is still and upright (or perhaps, from another perspective, lying on its side: already dead).

These sketches and the mathematically precise descriptions in Parkinson’s account accompany the various physical specimens that Banks took with him back to England. It has been difficult to establish the precise species of kangaroo killed and drawn here. The Australian zoologist Geoffrey Sharman concluded in 1970 that the first, smaller animal Gore had shot was ‘almost certainly, an eastern Wallaroo’, while the second, larger one was an eastern grey.²⁶ Thirty years earlier, the prominent American zoologist Henry Cushier Raven had tried to give a definitive statement on the species identity of what became known as ‘Cook’s kangaroo’, drawing on Daniel Solander’s notes and looking in detail at teeth, ear size, skin colour and facial appearance. There was some suggestion that Cook’s kangaroo may have been a whiptail wallaby, which has distinctive facial colouration and a longer tail. But Raven has faith in the descriptive accuracy of the Endeavour’s ill-fated artist: ‘it is inconceivable’, he writes, ‘that the draughtsman Parkinson … would overlook those characteristic markings if he had been depicting a whiptail’.²⁷

Sydney Parkinson, Macropus sp., Kangaroo, 1770

Sydney Parkinson, Macropus sp., Kangaroo, 1770

Even so, there seems to be no definitive determination about the species identity of Cook’s kangaroo. This is DJ Carr’s conclusion in a later, detailed investigation of the issue: ‘Unfortunately, we are still left with the apparently insoluble problem of the identity of Captain Cook’s kangaroo.’²⁸ One reason for this indeterminacy is that the kangaroo’s removal from its original locale or habitat led almost immediately to its transformation into a reproducible image elsewhere. Bits and pieces of kangaroo—including a couple of skins and skulls—were taken back to Britain by Banks along with Parkinson’s sketches. Banks then commissioned one of the most famous English artists of the day, George Stubbs, to paint the kangaroo. Stubbs had made his reputation as a painter of horses, but he was fascinated by anatomy and had taught himself how to dissect and analyse both animals and humans. His groundbreaking book The Anatomy of Horses was published in 1766; it gives an elaborate and detailed catalogue of the horse’s body parts, with lifelike and anatomically exact illustrations. By this time, as Andrew Cunningham notes, ‘the horse was being given new roles by the aristocracy and gentry, for it was the beginning of fox-hunting on horse-back, of horse-racing on a large scale, of the selective breeding of animals, and particularly the specialised breeding of hunters and racehorses’.²⁹ Stubbs capitalised on the coincidence of these things, gaining the support of wealthy patrons who commissioned portraits of their thoroughbred racehorses. He also depicted aristocratic English sporting pursuits, such as fox and stag hunts, in paintings famous for their visceral action scenes (for example, Hound Coursing a Stag [1762]) and vivid rendering of the kill (for example, The Grosvenor Hunt [1762]).

The combination of Stubbs’s anatomical skill and aristocratic connections through hunting and sport would have made him an obvious choice for Banks and his (or Cook’s) kangaroo. It is generally agreed that Stubbs worked from Parkinson’s sketches as well as a skull or skulls; he also used one of the ‘stuffed or inflated’ kangaroo pelts to produce a three-dimensional model.³⁰ The result was an oil painting of a slender, upright creature with its head turned back to look over its shoulder that was exhibited at the Society of Artists of Great Britain in 1773 under the title Portrait of the Kongouro from New Holland, 1770.³¹

George Stubbs, Portrait of the Kongouro from New Holland, 1770

John Simons wonders if the kangaroo ‘is turning to notice the approach of Banks’s greyhound and reacting to the report of a musket and the distant puff of smoke which might be fascinating it in that brief moment before the lead ball arrives’.³² If this is true, Stubbs’s portrait is created out of bits of dead kangaroo in order to show a live kangaroo anticipating its own death. Certainly, the portrait was never going to be anatomically correct: more informed contemporary commentators have noted that the hind legs are ‘misrepresented’, the ears are ‘too big’, and so on.³³ Perhaps this kangaroo, assembled out of a few remains and the barest of line drawings—all that survived after the long journey back to England in the Endeavour—is inevitably much more about affect than anatomy. There is indeed something poignant in the soft, curious gaze Stubbs’s kangaroo casts back, as if it registers what is coming after it and what has been lost.

Not long afterwards, an engraving of Stubbs’s painting was used to illustrate Hawkesworth’s bestselling 1773 journal of Cook’s voyage. Further engravings were made, the image began to circulate, and within a couple of years, as Des Cowley and Brian Hubber put it, ‘the kangaroo had entered the European popular imagination’.³⁴ We can give one example of just how quickly the kangaroo became familiar to British readers in particular at this time. Samuel Johnson had corresponded with Banks in 1772 and greatly respected the botanist and his work. Hawkesworth was in fact a friend and occasional collaborator of Johnson, although Johnson reportedly dismissed Hawkesworth’s 1773 edition of Cook’s Endeavour voyage because the crew had ‘found very little, only one new animal’.³⁵ Nevertheless, that ‘one new animal’ must have made quite an impression. In