1853.]

BAFFLED ATTEMPTS TO EMBARK.

23

again. I told him you did not much like the idea of travelling back to Launceston to take your passage in one of the steamers, and asked him if there were not a good vessel shortly to sail from some of these rivers. There is the Wave,' said he; 'the very

thing for your brother.""

"Well," I asked, "what more?"

'Why," said Miller, "he is going over to the Forth to-morrow, will go on board the ship, and will bring us back full particulars as to the accommodations, fare, etc. Then you and I are to dine with the police-magistrate on our way; and the clearing officer will have an interview with you in the police-office, and will make all smooth for my brother. This thing will do. You must come."

"I agree to everything but the dinner-party at the police magistrate's. I will not sit down at any man's table under a feigned name; but let us impose on him otherwise, if you like." "You agree, then, to go as my brother?"

"Certainly. I am tired of skulking about; though your society and conversation, my dear fellow, are--"

"Hurrah!" said Miller, running to tell his wife of our plan.

But the plan was not fated to be carried out. Before the time arrived, special messengers came to bring Mitchel to Launceston, where another plan had been devised by his friends. This plan also proved a failure. They had a night voyage of some fifty miles down the Tamar in an open boat. It was a dreadful night, wet and stormy, and Mitchel was soaked through even before the voyage commenced, having ridden fifty miles during the day through rain, rivers, and morasses. The attempt had to be made, however; and they arrived at the mouth of the river just in time to see the vessel that was to have taken Mitchel on board moving from her anchorage and steaming off to Melbourne. Speaking metaphorically, and by no means climatically, the place had become too hot for her.

At one time he lay concealed at the settler named Burke for some ten days.

house of an Irish

During this time

The

he wrote letters to his wife, his mother, and others. following extracts are taken from a letter written to his mother :

Your most welcome letter arrived last Thursday, just as I was about to make an almost desperate attempt to regain my liberty. My letter to William will explain all the particulars. And as I am now forced to lie still in concealment for a little, I use my leisure to write to you. I am sorry to have to write in a state of such suspense, but perhaps an appendix to my letter may contain better news.

I may never see my poor Jenny again. I may never live to give her a peaceful home in America, and it is a horrible thought to me to think of this, for she has been a good and brave and affectionate wife to me.

Do not let any of my sisters suppose that I have ever abated in my regard for them. You may well conceive how fondly a captive in a distant land turns back to the home of his youth, and the scenes of his father's fireside. Do not, my dearest mother, think that I forget them. I often look back with remorse on the grief and anxiety I caused to you, and to my father, and on the almost incredible forbearance and indulgence you both showed me-forbearance that I believe I would not show to a son of mine who should act with such reckless disobedience. The feeling that these are perhaps the last words I shall ever address to you by tongue or pen forces me to say all this. And I entreat you to forgive my many faults and to bless me.

At last, after various adventures and various escapes, we find him, on the 12th of July, at the headquarters of the enemy-Hobart Town-disguised as a priest. Here he again met Smyth for the first time since they had parted near Bothwell on the 9th of June. Smyth speedily arranged a plan of escape. The Emma, a regular passenger brig, was to sail for Sydney in about a week. The plan formed was again a bold one, but this time it illustrated the truth that the boldest plan is often the wisest. It was decided

1853.]

SAILS AT LAST.

25

that Mitchel should go to Sydney by the Emma, and that his wife and children should sail by the same vessel. This last part of the plan may seem of doubtful wisdom; yet perhaps it was in truth the wisest course they could have devised. The authorities would of course be aware of the fact that Mrs. Mitchel and her children were leaving by the Emma; but it would hardly occur to them that Mr. Mitchel would sail by the same ship. They would be rather led to infer that he had already escaped from the island, and that Mrs. Mitchel was going to join him. On the day appointed, Mrs. Mitchel and the children embarked. They went on board the Emma at the wharf in regular form, before the vessel was cleared by the authorities. As for Mitchel, the friend at whose house he was concealed undertook to take him down the bay in a boat, and put him on board the Emma after dark, and after all searching by the authorities was over. Captain Brown, the captain of the Emma, was taken into their confidence, and proved himself entirely trustworthy. Mitchel of course preserved his incognito, and went by the name of Wright. The plan was entirely successful. Mitchel was put on board the Emma in the bay by moonlight. Captain Brown received him as a passenger he had been expecting, merely observing quietly, "You were almost too late, Mr. Wright." Mrs. Mitchel was sitting on the poop with the children. As may be supposed, she watched the process with anxiety but did not give her husband the least sign of recognition.

On July 20, 1853, John Mitchel took his last look of Van Diemen's Land :

This evening we are fast shutting down the coast of Van Diemen's Land below the red horizon, and about to stretch across the stormy Bass's Straits. The last of my island prison visible to me is a broken line of blue peaks over the Bay of Fires. Adieu, then, beauteous island, full of sorrow and gnashing of teeth;

island of fragrant forests, and bright rivers, and fair women; island of chains and scourges, and blind, brutal rage and passion! Behind those far blue peaks, in many a green valley known to me, dwell some of the best and warmest-hearted of God's creatures; and the cheerful talk of their genial firesides will blend for ever in my memory with the eloquent song of the dashing Derwent and deep-eddying Shannon.

During the voyage an incident occurred which very nearly betrayed the secret of Mitchel's identity. The two eldest boys knew who Mr. Wright was, but the younger children knew nothing about their father being on board. One evening the gentlemen were talking in the main cabin and the children had gone to their berths for the night. Mr. P. J. Smyth was sitting close to the door of the room in which the Mitchel boys slept. He suddenly heard little Willie Mitchel, then about eight years old, exclaim, “As sure as I am living, it was my papa said that." Mr. Smyth rose quietly and went into the boy's room. He managed

to make the little fellow understand that he must not mention his father at all during the rest of the voyage. The boy observed this rule strictly, but he followed Mr. Wright about on the deck until that gentleman turned and asked him, was he not one of Mrs. Mitchel's little boys? This puzzled the little fellow, and he did not pursue his investigations any further.

On the 23rd of July they arrived off the bay of Sydney. Here again there was risk of discovery. The Emma had to be searched by the police authorities, who no doubt had a description of "the man of five feet ten, with dark hair," etc. However, Captain Brown, who was an old friend of the chief officer's, took him down to the cabin, produced brandy and water, detained the official with some jocose conversation, and so got rid of him. Then the captain got ready his own boat and took Mr. Wright ashore before the

1853.]

AT SYDNEY.

27

other passengers. Mr. Wright was in search of a gentleman named McNamara, the owner of the Emma, to whom he had been recommended to go by friends in Hobart Town. Captain Brown did not leave him until he had conducted him safely to Mr. McNamara's house. Of a truth, John Mitchel, wherever and under whatever circumstances he found himself, had the faculty of making zealous and faithful friends.

Mitchel remained at Sydney a little over a week. During this time he stayed at Mr. McNamara's house; and deeming it advisable to again change his name, he went by the name of Warren. Mrs. Mitchel had lodgings for herself and the children at a place called Wooloomooloo, a suburb of Sydney. After a few days, Mr. McNamara ascertained that a barque named the Orkney Lass was about to sail for Honolulu, in the Sandwich Islands, and that she had just room for one passenger. It was deemed desirable to get Mr. Warren out of Sydney as soon as possible. It was therefore decided that he should go by the Orkney Lass to Honolulu, whence it would be easy to get transit to San Francisco. A few days after the day fixed for sailing of the Orkney Lass, an American ship, the Julia Ann, was expected to call at Sydney on her way from Melbourne to San Francisco. The family were to

come on by this ship if there was room.

There was some little delay about the sailing of the Orkney Lass. Some of the sailors left the ship, announcing their intention to go to the "diggings." Legal proceedings of some kind had to be taken, and the ship was for a few days infested with officials known as "water-police ❞—a class of men whose presence was not entirely agreeable to Mr. Warren. At last they got off. Under date of August 2, 1853, the "Journal" has this entry :

On board. The complement of our crew is made up. We