Yagan’s Pride

by Andrew J Harvey

Submitted to the monthly Vignette competition held on the Sea Lion Press Forum June 2025

Government House, Perth Western Australia, 1861

Robert Lyon took a moment to admire once again the statue the Governor had unveiled that morning before settling himself back into a more comfortable position on the bench, closing his eyes to better enjoy the scent of the freshly mowed grass and the eucalyptus trees overhead.

The new bronze statue of Yagan showed him wearing his favourite kangaroo coat over a waistcoat, linen shirt, and stiffly starched cravat, and was an excellent likeness, Robert admitted. Which wasn’t that much of a surprise given that had been sculpted by the renowned English sculpture Thomas Woolner, and had cost the public purse over two thousand pounds. The artist had insisted on titling the statue ‘Yagan’s Pride’, despite Yagan being one of the least prideful men Robert had ever met.

“Captain Lyon?”

Robert cracked one eye open and peered up at the figure blocking the sun. “Just Mr. Lyon, son,” he said. “I gave up the title of Captain too many years ago to remember.”

The young man bobbed his head. “I apologize, Mr. Lyon, the Governor’s Aide-de-Camp suggested I talk to you.”

“Of course, George did,” Robert said, glaring toward of the official party and the tall, almost skeletal figure of George towering over the Governor. Seeing Robert looking in his direction, George gave him a cheery wave before turning back to the Governor.

“And what do you want to talk about Mr…?” Robert asked.

“Yagan, Patrick Yagan. I’m a cadet reporter for the West Australian newspaper.”

Of course he was, Robert thought, giving George’s back another glare. “If you want to talk to this old man, though, you better pull up a seat. You’re blocking the sun.”

Patrick looked around uncertainly, but this area of lawn was seat free.

Robert sighed and levered himself upright. “Here, sit,” he said, patting the bench next to him. He jerked his head at the statue.“He one of your relatives?” he asked.

Patrick nodded. “My great-great uncle.”

Robert nodded thoughtfully. He could see the resemblance now and wondered if Yagan had ever been as young as Patrick. “So, what did you want to know?”

Patrick pulled out a notebook. “I’ve got some questions,” he said and opening the notebook promptly dropped it on the ground. Flushing, he picked it up, trying to brush the dirt off its cover with his sleeve.

No, his warrior friend Yagan would never have been so young, Robert thought.

“I was hoping you could tell me about your relationship with Yagan?” Patrick said.

Robert winced as Patrick pressed his pencil against the paper  so hard the lead promptly snapped. For a moment, Robert watched Patrick freeze and then his eyes teared up.

Shaking his head, Robert gave him a reassuring smile. “Shall we start again?” he suggested, passing him his pen knife.

Patrick nodded, avoiding the older man’s eyes.

“First interview?” Robert asked.

“Second,” Patrick admitted.

“Deep breaths,” Robert told him.

For a moment it seemed Patrick might simply get up and leave, but then closing his eyes he took six deep, slow breaths.

“Better?” Robert asked.

Patrick nodded.

“First question,” Robert suggested when the young reporter hadn’t said anything for a minute.

Patrick flushed and checked his notes. “I’m interested in knowing why you took Yagan back with you to England in 1833? None of your writings actually explain it.”

Robert leaned back, and considered the question for a moment.

“You are aware of my advocating on behalf of the Aboriginals in the settlement?”

Patrick nodded.

“And I presume you are also aware that Yagan had been found guilty of murdering a laborer and sentenced to death? I’d been following the trial and decided that it was clear to me that Yagan had merely been defending his land and that he should therefore be tried as a prisoner of war. The Surveyor-General, John Septimus Roe, accepted the argument, and exiled Yagan and his men to Carnet island. Ever visited?”

Patrick shook his head.

“Nasty place, Carnet, nothing but sand flies and tiger snakes. Anyway, after he’d been there a month, he and his fellows absconded. For whatever reason, the authorities showed no inclination to return him to prison. Unfortunately, while Yagan remained free, neither he nor I were exactly popular amongst the general population. It was suggested to me, I think by Roe, that it might be prudent if I were to return to England until tempers had a chance to cool, and given that it seemed unfair if I ran out and left Yagan to face the music by himself, I offered him the chance to accompany me. Which, to my surprise, he accepted.”

“And you met the Queen! How did you arrange that?”

“A bit of a fortuitous accident – or perhaps not an accident as such. I had been corresponding with Prince Albert regarding the situation of Aboriginals in the colonies and when he heard I was in England with Yagan he invited the two of us to Balmoral to meet his wife. I suspect the invitation may have had something to do with the plant samples I had brought with us. You are aware that Albert was a passionate gardener?”

Patrick gave a nod.

“On the trip back to England, I had taken the opportunity to improve Yagan’s English, as well as teaching him how to read and write. Your Great Uncle was always a fine figure of a man, tall, well muscled and with, as it turned out, an excellent sense of humor. Queen Victoria, bless her, always appreciated a good-looking young man. Not that there was ever anything improper in their relationship,” Robert hastened to reassure the young reporter. “But Yagan’s sense of humor appealed to the queen, and coupled with his gift for mimicry the two struck up a friendship. The queen was always concerned for the welfare of her subjects rich or poor, whether or not they recognized her as a queen and Yagan proved remarkably eloquent.”

Patrick nodded. “And then Yagan and you eventually petitioned for permission to return to Perth.”

“He was homesick. And I must admit that even to me, the stench of the perfumes used to cover the stink of the Thames whenever we were in London was becoming tiresome. And of course Captain Stirling’s tenure as Governor was coming to an end, and in the Queen’s eye the decision to appoint Yagan as Governor had already been confirmed.” He stopped, engrossed in memory, before laughing. “You should have seen the faces of those on the pier waiting to welcome their new governor when they realized who it was.”

“And Yagan was Governor for 10 years?”

“Nine years, eleven months,” Robert corrected him. “And it was a hard fight all the way. He faced significant resistance from settlers and squatters, all of which had to be resolved without much in the way of enforcement capacity, particularly in remote areas.

“And yet somehow he brought the colony along with him. By the time he retired, he had ensured that all Aboriginal clans kept legal ownership of their ancestral lands unless explicitly ceded by treaty, and that settlers could only lease land from Aboriginal owners or negotiate shared use.

“And somehow, don’t ask me how, he ensured that Aboriginal customary law applied to Indigenous people within their territories in matters of family, property, and community disputes, and established a Dual Court System where both Aboriginal and British legal principles coexisted and informed judgments.

“More importantly, his efforts in Western Australia influenced both English and the other Australian state’s colonial policies, ensuring that the concept of ‘terra nullius’, or ‘land belonging to no one,’ could not be used to justify the dispossession of Indigenous populations and the seizure of their land. In addition to shaping New Zealand’s Treaty of Waitangi.”

“Now, I have a question for you,” Robert said. “Why did you want to do this interview?”

Patrick froze.

“Come on, fair’s fair. I answered your questions, just tell me the first thing that pops into your head. It’s obvious you wanted to do it.”

Patrick pretended to study his notebook.

“Patrick,” Robert prompted.

Patrick took another deep breath. “Because my uncles and aunties are always talking about him as some sort of perfect person. It’s always Patrick, why can’t you be more like your great-great uncle. Or Patrick, your great-great uncle would never have lost his temper like that.”

Robert snorted, and nodded at the statue on its pedestal of white and red granite that symbolized the joining of the Colony’s two races. “And you thought I could give you a more rounded picture. Perhaps prove that your Great Uncle had feet of clay.” He shook his head. “Your family, your clan, are right to be proud of him. But I assure you he would have been extremely proud of you.”

Robert levered himself to his feet.  “Come and see me tomorrow and I’ll tell you of the time we were in London and Yagan lost his temper and demolished a bar. It took four police officers to detain him and a visit from Prince Albert’s own Equery to get him released. Now scat.” And smiling, he headed off to refill his glass.