Thylacine (13 page)

I would have kept these young tigers as specimens of animated nature if I had not found that they would not live on the rough food which alone I had to give them. From what I know of the Tasmanian tiger, I believe that whenever it finds itself menaced by superior force it retreats for its den, and if it succeeds in this it faces about, and being secure from attack except in front, it defends itself with the utmost ferocity, inflicting severe wounds on any assailant that ventures to close with it. I have only heard of one contest between a sheep dog and a large tiger, and in that the former prevailed, though not without being fearfully lacerated by the teeth of the tiger. With a kangaroo dog I do not think that any tiger would be able to contend long owing chiefly to the superior mode of fighting of the former. I have never known a tiger to attack a man—although I once knew one to walk up to two in the bush, but in this case the intruder was knocked on the head, before he had shown any aggressive intentions. I have also known a tiger to follow a man for a considerable distance at night, though not attempting to molest him.

Embellished or not, the clear inference is that thylacines were better off dead. The size of this piece, relative to the newspaper's news and features pages, indicates that it was of importance as a Tasmanian story, and the tone clearly shows that it was written for an uncritical, even admiring audience.

But that is not to say that all Tasmanians were of like mind on the subject (just as many native-born settlers did not hark after Merrie England). The Reverend John West, historian and a leading Launceston citizen until he moved to Sydney, might not have read J. S. of Forth's tiger encounters, but would certainly not have been one of his admirers. Ten years before that piece, in his 1852 history of the island, West included this piece, written by Ronald Gunn, in his ‘Zoology' section:

The Thylacine kills sheep, but usually confines its attack to one at a time, and is therefore by no means so destructive to a flock as the domestic dog become wild, or as the Dingo of Australia, which both commit vast havoc in a single night. High rewards have always, however, been given by sheepowners for their destruction; and, as every available spot of land is now occupied, it is probable that in a very few years this animal, so highly interesting to the zoologist, will become extinct; it is now extremely rare, even in the wildest and least frequented parts of the island.
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The English naturalist John Gould, whose mid-nineteenth century descriptions and illustrations of Australian mammals and birds are unsurpassed, also foresaw the extinction of the thylacine:

The destruction it deals around has, as a matter of course, called forth the enmity of the settler, and hence in all cultivated districts the animal is nearly extirpated; on the other hand, so much of Tasmania still remains in a state of nature, and so much of its forest land is yet uncleared, that an abundance of covert still remains in which the animal is secure from the attacks of man; many years must therefore elapse before it can become entirely extinct.
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Gould's prediction applied to the last frontier, the west, which had remained untouched since the closure of the Macquarie Harbour penal settlement in 1831. The sheer difficulty of getting through the mountains, valleys and dense forests was rewarded when metals, especially tin and gold, were discovered. Surveying and exploration soon covered most accessible areas as gold rush fever took hold. In the Mount Heemskirk area alone (that peak named after one of Tasman's ships in 1642), some 300 gold mining companies had formed by 1882.
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In that same year, the
Hobart Mercury
of 19 September ran an even more lavish tiger feature, written by ‘Oscar', who had been lured west in search of metal wealth:

THE NATIVE TIGER—Having finished a prospecting tour in the southern part of the West Coast of Tasmania, I returned northwards, following the rugged coastline that has so great attraction from a geological point of view. I also experienced that this out-of-the-way place has other interest besides that of inanimate Nature, even in the absence of all human beings, of those dusky forms once belonging to the soil, whom the pale-faced lords of creation have long ago used their superior civilisation to blot out of existence . . . By degrees the evening would become hushed to an almost oppressive stillness, the distant surf, with its monotonous murmur, making the night seem only the more solemn; while resting in the soft ferns with my companions by my side, who are already in the land of dreams, my dog sleeping in a bush of cut grass a short distance from the tent, the fire had burnt down so as to make it only just visible in the darkness. Some undefined noise keeps me wakeful, with my sense of hearing strained to the utmost to make out the meaning of a peculiar creaking sound. At last I felt certain that I heard the breaking of a dried stick coming into contact with a moving body. Gently lifting up the side of the tent, and thrusting out my head and arm, in the low position, as I am lying on the ferns, I can soon make out in the pitchy darkness the appearance of two phosphorus-like orbs, which slowly approach. In a few more seconds I can dimly discern by a light shooting up from a few leaves on the almost expiring fire, the long round body of the native wolf or tiger. I get a tighter grip on the handle of my tomahawk, ready to give a warm reception to my night visitor. I remain motionless, [a]waiting the monster sneaking towards me, expecting every moment that it will take a leap and commence battle; but this seems not to be their general tactic in the night. By inches it is coming nearer; now, surely, it is within reach of my arm. Just then it seemed to perceive me lying under the tent, and gave vent to a low angry snarl. I raised my weapon, and with a swift blow down, as I thought, on the brute's head. But the darkness misled me, and the blow fell short of doing any execution, but near enough to draw a few drops of blood, and thus to stop the brute's further progress. My companions were awakened by the disturbance, and gave vent to some rather unpolite expressions. The dog got the scent of his great enemy and set up a furious barking, and with this salute from bipeds and canine, the feline gentleman made himself scarce, and, unluckily, we had no firearms to persuade him to stop and make a nearer acquaintance. However, the dog rushed after him into the scrub, but soon came back, apparently he did not see the fun of a night attack. Up to the time that this adventure occurred, I was under the common impression that the native tiger would not kill its own food, but was a mere cowardly scavenger. But now I think that this idea can hardly be true, as his aggressive movement in this instance was too decided to be mistaken. Afterwards, in the course of many weeks, we had ample opportunities to learn the habits of the native tiger in this respect, and we observed that it hunts animals with the pertinacity of a pack of wolves on the steppes of frozen Russia. This native tiger is not swift, and is very awkward in turning, but it follows the trail by its never-erring scent, and in the long run is sure of its prey. While travelling one day over some rocky points we quite easily caught a kangaroo, well-nigh run to the ground by the tiger. After despatching the hunted victim we had a sharp look-out for the enemy. In a little while he came along with his nose following the trail. When within some hundred yards he took the alarm, turned tail and escaped into the jungle. My dog, a courageous and very strongly built animal, followed the tiger into the dense scrub. Slowly I made my way through the obstructions, and at last heard the baying signal of ‘Wrangel' a long distance off, too far for me to penetrate during the short time the battle lasted. In half an hour's time he came to me bleeding, and with his tail down, showing in his dejected appearance, as plainly as words could tell, about the lost engagement with the enemy. A few kind words had the effect of restoring his wounded feelings, and a good feed from the meat of the killed kangaroo made him all right again. But this constant disappointment in coming to close quarters made me even more determined to be the owner of a striped skin if a chance offered, before I left the coast. I had noticed that the tigers followed our trail, and often when travelling, I would leave my knapsack, and turn back a mile or more, with the object of surprising the animal on the open ground. But he was too wary, and always made for the dense forest. My dog seemed cowed, and never made an attempt to attack by himself. On one beautiful afternoon, I was travelling towards our camp from a trip made that morning, for carrying stores to a newly formed depot. I was returning without any weapon, except my large sheath knife. The road led along the beach, the dog trotting peacefully by my side, or making a playful dart at the pretty little sand larks. But why does he stop the play so suddenly, and pick out one of the many tracks that are so plainly visible on the soft surface of the sand? Impressions of footprints are numerous of all the quadrupeds found on the West Coast. Those of native tigers, Tasmanian devils, and kangaroos are seen everywhere, and many native cats, etc. With a zeal I had not lately noticed, ‘Wrangel' giving out a deep bloodhound note, was off and on the warpath. I followed as fast as possible, leaving the sandy beach behind, and turning round a rocky point, there was a glimpse of the dog in full pursuit of some large animal, which took to the scrub. Directly the signal from ‘Wrangel' sounded at bay. I rejoiced to know for certain that his enemy had made a stand. The noise came from behind some close, horizontal bushes. Taking in at a glance the position of the surroundings, one could see that no other means existed to come on to the battlefield, except by crawling on hands and knees, under the interlaced bushes. The angry growling of the tiger decided me to push to the assistance of my gallant ‘Wrangel' at once, and thus dragging my body over the ground, and under the bushes, I came pretty near running my head against the tiger, who was now placed between the dog and me. No attack had as yet been made from either side. I tried to rise to my feet, but could not, on account of the close branches above; the tiger made an attempt to fasten on to me, with his ugly row of teeth. The dog's courage did not fail me at this critical moment. He made a snap, and fastened on to his opponent's chest, for one instant only; but that served my purpose, to get a chance to make a stab with the bowie knife, and thus I succeeded in cutting the big brute's jugular vein, and his life blood streaming out settled the matter in a few seconds. Nevertheless he had time to make a desperate effort to yaw me as I was quite close up to him. However, I took a short stick in my left hand, and thrust it into his mouth. He chewed it up like pulp. In the meantime I came out from the bushes, and once more stood on my feet, thankful that the encounter had come off so well, and making a promise to be prepared with a better weapon in the next engagement with a native tiger. In a few minutes the body was dragged out on to the beach, and I found it to be that of an old male of very large size, measuring 8ft. in length, including the tail, and weighing about 1cwt. I took off the skin, which shows 16 stripes. A young full grown animal rarely shows more than seven or eight. As I had brought no firearms into the bush, I did not succeed in ‘bagging' any more tigers. In fact, I did not care to venture again so close after them. But I often saw them, though never had the temptation to risk another close encounter. The dog, ever after the first night attack, had been very watchful, and would with his furious barking often wake me up, and on one occasion I saw, on a moonlight night, a big tiger making a hasty retreat from close to the tent, and then take to the water in a broad and deep river, and disappear on the opposite shore. But we never had another actual battle with one of these brutes.

Such heroics, so publicly displayed, must have been appreciated by those sheep farmers who now fixed their sights on the thylacine. The island's urban and rural divide was becoming increasingly marked—in the former through improved health, education and working hours, and amenities such as a public library system
,
museum, botanical gardens, tramway—while in the rural sector wool and other primary production exports developed steadily. It is tempting to consider that in the boom period of the 1880s, at least urban attitudes towards the thylacine might have been changing for the better, from fear and loathing to indifference to interest. After all, it had long since ceased being the terrible Vandemonian panther, being now displayed in zoos as far away as London. Conditions were favourable for public attitudes to become more benign. Alas, powerful rural interests ensured that would not happen.

Despite the leap in wool production, achieved largely through better control of intestinal parasites, the wool industry remained troubled. Disease, drought, competition from rabbits, predation and duffing (stealing) contributed to significant stock losses. Some averred that stealing was the biggest problem. Poor farm management was also a feature. Flocks properly tended and enclosed in paddocks were far better off than those left to themselves in scrubby, awkward, unsighted hill runs. Losses and the causes of those losses could generally only be estimated, yet despite a clear lack of evidence or proof that the thylacine was a major culprit, in the early 1880s groups of sheep owners in the midlands and in the east began to form anti-thylacine stock protection associations.

Historian James Fenton, writing at the time, made no mention of the thylacine but stated that:

The ‘rabbit plague' (as it is termed) has of late years become a formidable evil on the pasture lands of the island. The midland districts are overrun by this little pest in countless thousands. The sheep and cattle bearing capacity of the runs has consequently been greatly reduced . . . Little short of £100,000 per annum is lost in wool from this cause alone. [Even so,] by the exercise of patient care and skill on the part of the breeders, Tasmanian sheep have been brought to remarkable perfection, and have been eagerly sought after by Australian graziers for the improvement of their flocks.
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