The Contrasting Landscapes of Two Colonies
The early 19th century saw New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land (modern-day Tasmania) develop along starkly different trajectories. While New South Wales struggled with dispersed settlements, arid conditions, and violent frontier conflicts with Aboriginal peoples, Van Diemen’s Land enjoyed fertile soil, concentrated farming communities, and a subdued Indigenous population following the brutal Black War of the 1830s. These environmental and social differences shaped the colonies’ economic foundations, labor systems, and cultural identities.
New South Wales, founded in 1788 as a penal colony, faced persistent challenges. Its vast inland expanses lacked navigable rivers, forcing settlers into isolated pockets. Droughts exacerbated tensions between pastoralists and the Indigenous Eora, Dharug, and Wiradjuri nations. By contrast, Van Diemen’s Land—settled in 1803—boasted lush grasslands reminiscent of England’s countryside, enabling prosperous agriculture. The near-eradication of the island’s Aboriginal population by 1830 further cemented white dominance, allowing settlers to focus on economic growth rather than frontier warfare.
The Convict System and Social Divisions
The two colonies also diverged in their reliance on convict labor. By the 1840s, New South Wales was transitioning to free immigration, reducing its convict population to a marginal presence. Assisted migration schemes attracted skilled workers, while former convicts (emancipists) integrated into society, blurring the line between bond and free. Governor Richard Bourke’s reforms, including jury rights for emancipists, signaled a shift toward liberal governance.
Van Diemen’s Land, however, remained shackled to penal transportation. In 1840, convicts still comprised 40% of its 45,000 inhabitants, with many more descended from convict ancestry. The British government’s annual £500,000 investment in penal administration fueled the economy, creating a society deeply invested in maintaining the system. Elite landowners like Thomas Archer of Panshanger relied on convict labor for their estates, while officials, clergy, and merchants benefited from the status quo. Critics like Alexander Maconochie, Franklin’s private secretary, condemned the colony as a “sink of wickedness,” arguing that slavery-like conditions bred mutual suspicion and moral decay.
Sir John Franklin: A Governor Adrift
The appointment of Sir John Franklin as Lieutenant-Governor in 1836 marked a turning point. A celebrated Arctic explorer, Franklin was ill-suited to navigate Van Diemen’s Land’s political quagmires. His wife, Jane Franklin, a domineering figure with intellectual ambitions, exacerbated tensions by meddling in governance and alienating officials like Colonial Secretary John Montagu.
Franklin’s tenure was defined by contradictions. He promoted education and science, founding Christ’s College and supporting the Tasmanian Journal of Natural Science. Yet his evangelical idealism clashed with the colony’s entrenched interests. When London abolished assignment in 1840, settlers panicked over losing cheap labor. Franklin’s suspension of Montagu in 1842—after the latter publicly undermined him—backfired when the Colonial Office rebuked him, leading to his humiliating recall in 1843.
Legacy and Modern Reflections
The colonies’ fates diverged further post-1840. New South Wales embraced self-governance and economic diversification, while Van Diemen’s Land—renamed Tasmania in 1856—struggled with its penal stigma. Franklin’s disastrous governorship became a metaphor for the colony’s identity crisis. His later disappearance during an Arctic expedition (1845–47) ironically restored his heroic image, immortalized by Tennyson and Swinburne.
Tasmania’s convict legacy lingers in its architecture, place names, and cultural memory. The ruins of Port Arthur stand as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, forcing reckonings with colonial violence. Meanwhile, New South Wales’ early pivot to free settlement allowed it to frame its history as a story of progress.
Ultimately, these contrasting paths reveal how geography, policy, and individual leadership shaped Australia’s colonial identities—one looking forward, the other haunted by its past.