Consider two passages (more or less quoted directly) from two disparate sources, each coming to their own conclusion completely independent of the other. The first is from the 2003 book The Fatal Shore: A History Of The Transportation Of Convicts To Australia, 1787-1868, by Robert Hughes (pp.120-127):
The second passage is taken from The Handbook Of Linguistics (2003), edited by Aronoff and Rees-Miller (pp. 30):
Van Diemen’s Land had been occupied to forestall the French who, to the alarm of New South Wales’s tarpaulin Governor King, had been nosing about in the ill-chartered waters of south-eastern Australia. Bass Straight, which separates Van Diemen’s Land from the mainland, was discovered in 1797-98. Its weather was bad and its waters were strewn with islands whose vast colonies of wildlife would support the future seal trade of Australia, but which were a peril to ships. … But to go through Bass Strait, avoiding the long southern route below Van Diemen’s Land, clipped weeks off the passage from England to Sydney. The strategic importance of this sea lane was obvious, and King strongly felt there had to be a settlement to secure it. In august 1803 a little party of forty-nine souls sailed from Port Jackson. Their leader was a twenty-three-year-old lieutenant from Devon, John Bowen (1780-1827). Meanwhile, King’s pleas for settlement at Port Phillip Bay, protecting Bass Straight from the questing French, had reached London. The [arranged] expedition was under the command of (marine officer) David Collins. The bay proved a miserable disappointment: sandy sterile ground, little water, a persistently hot northerly wind, swarms of biting flies, and great difficulties of access by sea. So there was general relief when dispatches arrived from Governor King in Sydney authorising Collins to abandon Port Phillip and move his settlement down to the Derwent, to join Bowen’s tiny band. The English invasion of Van Diemen’s Land was by higher imperial standards a muddled and squalid affair. How many Tasmanian Aborigines died while the invading whites readied this cavity is not known, because no one knew how many there were to begin with. The best guess at present is 3,000 to 4,000 people, hunting and gathering in small bands of 30 to 80—a population density roughly equal to that of the Aborigines of coastal New South Wales. But die they did—shot like kangaroos and poisoned like dogs, ravaged by European diseases and addictions, hunted by laymen and pestered by missionaries, “brought in” from their ancestral territories to languish in camps. It took less than seventy-five years of white settlement to wipe out most of the people who had occupied Tasmania for some thirty thousand years; it was the only true genocide in English colonial history. By the standards of Pol Pot, let alone Josef Stalin or Adolf Hitler, this was a small slaughter. But not to the Tasmanian Aborigines.
No Australian language has a large number of speakers, the most viable languages having at most a few thousand. The records of the extinct Tasmanian languages are sparse, and Dixon (1980) concludes that they are insufficient to exclude the possibility that they may have been related to Australian languages, though equally they are insufficient to establish such a relationship (or any other). Speakers of the Tasmanian languages must have been separated from the rest of humanity for about 12,000 years, from the time rising waters created the Bass Strait to the first visits by Europeans, making them the most isolated human group known to history; the genocide visited upon the Tasmanians in the nineteenth century is thus also a scientific tragedy of the first order.
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