THOMAS MITCHELL (1792–1855), explorer and Surveyor-General in New South Wales between 1828 and 1855, was a talented and competent draughtsman who was responsible for the original sketches and even some of the lithographs he used to illustrate his two journals of exploration, published in 1838 and 1848. In this paper, I will be concerned with the 1838 journal, entitled Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia; with descriptions of the recently explored region of Australia Felix, and of the Present Colony of New South Wales. On the whole, it is a detailed and lavishly illustrated account of the land Mitchell encountered, along with its inhabitants and natural history. My particular interest is in offering an explanation for differences between a sepia sketch depicting a cave at Wellington, NSW, that Mitchell prepared as one of the illustrations for geological material included in this journal, and the final lithograph.

Of special concern is his replacement of the one rapt figure gazing at a cave formation in the initial sketch by three figures in the lithograph. Not only did Mitchell modify this sketch; he also altered the terminology he used in referring to another of the Wellington caves. Whereas the name used in a list of planned illustrations related it to the Biblical Deluge, it becomes in the final version a cave characterized by a particular kind of stone, changing the emphasis from natural theology to geology. These classificatory changes have great significance. Overall, I use Mitchell's geological material and the modifications made during its production as a valuable index of changing attitudes towards science, in particular its relationship to religion and aesthetics, in the early nineteenth century.

Although the rest of Three Expeditions describes discoveries made in the course of exploration carried out between 1831 and 1836, the geological chapter (the final chapter of the two-volume work) is an interesting exception. It is primarily concerned with several caves containing unusual fossil material that, as Mitchell explains, had been discovered by George Rankin near Wellington in 1830 and subsequently investigated by Mitchell as part of his duties as Surveyor-General (Mitchell 2: 362; see 353–72). While Mitchell's initial terminology and pictorial approach suggest an unproblematic blend of science and religion, the removal of religious overtones from his final presentation is evidence, I suggest, of the influence of the most advanced scientific thinkers of his day. Furthermore, Mitchell's pictures, the cave interior and the other illustrations he used, highlight the difficulty of reconciling romantic aesthetics and the developing norms of professional science, in particular the sort of impersonal verbal and visual language that was considered to be appropriate in specialist scientific work with its quest for objectivity.

I commence with an overview of what was discovered and then discuss Mitchell's preliminary plans and final presentation of the material, setting this within the context of his journal and contemporary ideas about fossils and the history of the earth. This will be followed by an analysis of the pictorial material and its relationship both to pictorial traditions and new ways of depicting the earth that were in the process of being developed by the Geological Society in England. Increasing specialisation also impacted on the nature of the pleasure that could be gained from natural history information, a development that I trace in ideas surrounding the notion of “curiosity” and its relationship to a more exclusively scientific interest. After discussing the tensions generated by changing attitudes to science, religion, and aesthetics, I conclude the paper by briefly suggesting ways in which these nineteenth-century taxonomic developments still have an impact today.

Although (as I have already noted) the caves were first discovered by Europeans in 1830, Mitchell seems to have decided to include a discussion of the caves and their fossils (see Figure 18) in his published journal after the comparative anatomist Richard Owen (1804–92) re-appraised the fossil material in England in 1838 (see Foster 190–92; Moyal 62–63, 154; Branagan 95–102; Knight, Zoological Illustration 172–75). Owen's identification of the various extinct species as ancestors of present-day Australian fauna agreed with earlier findings made in 1831 when the bones were first reported to various scientific experts and the Geological Society of London. But he also provided a solution to the nature of large bones that earlier experts (William Clift of the London Royal College of Surgeons and Georges Cuvier [1769–1832] in Paris) had suggested belonged to either a dugong or a hippopotamus (Clift) or an elephant (Cuvier). Owen proposed that they were part of an extinct marsupial to which he gave the name Diprotodon (Holland 103–04). The finding and identification of these bones brought Mitchell close to the most advanced contemporary thought concerning the history of the earth and enabled productive continuing contact with the social circle of gentleman-geologists, men that Mitchell describes in his journal as his “scientific friends in England” (Mitchell 2: 353).

Scottish-born, Mitchell was an ambitious (and rather irascible) man who cultivated influential contacts in order to further his career, which began with service in the British army in the Peninsular War (1811–14). Between 1819 and 1827, while living in London and engaged in drawing up plans of the main battlefields of this war, Mitchell had actively pursued instruction in art (particularly landscape sketching) and science (especially geology) (Foster 81–110; Heckenberg 102–09, 164–65, 439–49). Shortly before his departure for New South Wales after his appointment as Assistant Surveyor-General in 1827, he became a Fellow of the Geological Society of London. It is thus noteworthy that Mitchell makes reference to the “geological reader” in the final section of his journal (Mitchell 2: 358) in contrast to the general reader for whom the rest of the text is intended.

Fossils were prized as records of the history of the earth (Stafford 233–35; Rudwick, Meaning of Fossils). They were important in casting doubt on the concept of the Great Chain of Being by suggesting that species changed or became extinct rather than belonging to an unchanging continuum (Knight, Zoological Illustration 96–99, 131). Part of the interest they aroused in the wider community at this time was due to the suggestion by Cuvier that fossils were evidence of dramatic events, “catastrophes,” which had extinguished various species (Knight, Zoological Illustration 129; see 125–35). Influenced by Cuvier, William Buckland (1784–1856) argued that fossils were proof of one particular catastrophe, namely the Biblical Flood;¹

and this is the idea that, at one stage, seems to have influenced Mitchell.

Mitchell cites Buckland and Cuvier in a paper entitled “An Account of the Limestone Caves 210 miles west of Sidney [sic] at Wellington Valley in New South Wales and of the situation near one of them where Fossil bones have been found” that is included among the Mitchell Papers. This was addressed to the geologist Dr. William Henry Fitton (Mitchell Papers F.148–F.176). In keeping with the influence of Buckland and Cuvier, in a “List of Illustrations to the Journal of Travels in Australia” (drawn up by Mitchell as he was planning his published journal) he refers to two caves. One is designated “recent cave” and the other as “Antediluvian cave” (Mitchell Papers F.20). However, in Three Expeditions they are distinguished by referring to one as “the largest cavern” and the other as “the cavern containing osseous breccia,” suggesting that Mitchell had rejected the Diluvial thesis. This change is indicative of the importance of the Wellington discovery in the history of geological thought.

Buckland's thesis is evident in the title of a book published in 1832: Reliquiae Diluvianae; or, Observations on the Organic Remains Contained in Caves, Fissures, and Diluvial Gravel, and on other Geological Phenomena, Attesting the Action of an Universal Deluge. Local clergyman-geologist John Dunmore Lang interpreted the Wellington caves fossils as proof of Buckland's arguments for a worldwide flood and perhaps influenced Mitchell's earlier approach. In a paper published in Edinburgh in 1831, Lang suggested that:

Buckland's idea, reflected in Lang's comments, was that later species were specially created anew.³ But the identification of the Wellington fossils as related to present-day Australian species actually provided much more compelling evidence for the continuity and succession of species; and this view prevailed, culminating later in Darwin's theory of evolution (Dugan 81–82). Indeed, the Wellington material influenced Darwin in formulating his theories (Butcher 3–5).

Buckland had himself abandoned his Diluvial thesis by 1836 when he wrote his Bridgewater Treatise.⁴

Charles Lyell (1797–1875) suggested an alternative approach when he published his influential Principles of Geology in 1830–33 in which the principal of Uniformitarian or gradual change in landforms and species was opposed to Catastrophism.⁵ This former theory necessarily involved a time span of millions of years for the history of the earth. In general, by the early nineteenth century there was little support in scientific circles for Biblical notions of the Earth's age (6000 years was the number suggested by calculations based on scriptural evidence) and Catastrophists also accepted that the Earth was very old. However, the passage of time was irrelevant in the Catastrophist account while it was essential to the Uniformitarian theory. Lyell particularly stressed the great age of the Earth. Another important difference between the two, one that had less effect, is that Catastrophism was a directed, progressive account of the history of the Earth while Uniformitarianism stressed slow, cyclic variation.⁶

Overall, Lyell's rhetoric against Catastrophism was influential and encouraged a shift away from this theory. One result of this was a challenge to natural theology, one of the major bases for the study of natural history in the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries. William Paley's Natural Theology; or, Evidences of the Existence and Attributes of the Deity collected from the Appearances of Nature (1802) summarized the arguments of this doctrine. Natural theology used the diversity of nature as evidence for the existence of God, and denial of the Flood (as a cause of fossil formation) helped to undermine the idea that nature could be read for what it revealed about God.⁷

While a flood may have been involved in preserving the Wellington fossils, it was a localized incident rather than a single, universal deluge. The more recent ideas are reflected in the change of name made by Mitchell in his final publication, when he replaced the term “Antediluvian cave” by a title referring to the type of rock (“osseous breccia”) found in it.

In the published journal, the picture of the other cave (Figure 19) is entitled as either “Large Cavern at Wellington Valley” (on the print itself) or “Interior of the Largest Cavern” (in the “List of Plates”). Here “large” or “largest” replaces “recent”: a size distinction is made rather than one based on Biblical notions of time. Also, differences between the preliminary sepia wash painting (Figure 20) and the final sketch have interesting implications for the change in approach I have discerned in Mitchell's terminology. Most previous commentators have concentrated on the sepia painting, describing the single figure in it as gazing reverently at the awe-inspiring work of God (Galbally 33; Hansen 22).⁸

Martin Terry situates the painting in relation to a tradition of “picturesque geology” and offers a similar reading. He also suggests that the introduction of two more figures in the lithograph results in a “somewhat lame” effect, “reduc[ing] somewhat the implication of danger and risk, qualities essential to the atmospherics of the sublime” (Terry 46–47).⁹ However, awareness of changes to Mitchell's knowledge that provide different background intellectual frameworks for the two images, together with a consideration of generic influences, suggest another, far more interesting, reading of the lithograph.

Both the sepia sketch and the lithograph show a view of the large cavern with the rocky roof arching overhead and stalactites hanging from the right-hand side. In the center is a large limestone formation with stalagmites, illuminated by a light source on the ground, in front of the figure or figures, creating a sharp contrast of light and dark. As earlier commentators have noted, this dramatic effect invokes the aesthetic of the sublime and the shape of the formation suggests associations with religious architecture. Such analogies were a commonplace of aesthetic commentary on cave formations (Shortland 120, 123).

This religious interpretation is quite specific in Mitchell's 1830 Field Notes: he likens the large cavern to a chapel complete with naturally constructed altar and font (Shortland 123 citing a personal communication with Julian Holland). The source of wonder is that nature can build forms akin to those made by man. In his more scientific journal commentary, Mitchell is much more restrained in his imagery and the reader is simply directed to the plate after a speculation about the probable cause of the form of the cave:

Although the stalactites are likened to the broken shafts of pillars, Mitchell's main interest is in the dynamic forces at work in the shaping of present geological formations.

The change in number of people in the lithograph can also be related to a change from a religious to a scientific interpretation by Mitchell. The single figure in the sepia print is shown sharply silhouetted with his back to the viewer, possibly in an attitude of prayer, as the earlier commentators have noted. As they also suggest, the use of one figure stresses the individual's confrontation with nature and its powers. Mitchell's debt to Buckland at this stage supports the idea that this is a natural theological demonstration. But this single figure has a further significance. He is shown enjoying the pleasures of nature, its solitude and seclusion, as promoted in the romantic literature of caves (Shortland 121–23). This geological fieldworker is thus also revealed as a gentleman; although he has ventured into the depths of the cave, he is not dirtied by this effort.¹⁰

Rather, he is transformed by an edifying aesthetic and religious experience.¹¹ I will return shortly to the importance of dirt and class in shifting Victorian notions about the study of geology as an avocation versus a profession.

The use of three figures in the lithograph distances the image from a religious reading. The concern here is not with private religious or aesthetic experience or a validation of the existence of God, but with a public examination of a geological phenomenon whose causes could be the subject of dialogue and speculation. The insistence on the gentlemanly status of the figures is maintained since they are shown standing, engrossed in thought or conversing rather than at work, dirtying their hands. But their interest in the formation they regard so intently is informed by geological knowledge about the vast age of the earth and wonder about the nature of the forces that have shaped it, what Mary Mackay has designated the “Geological Sublime” (432–49).

The development of the specialist scientist marked a change in the nature of interest in the natural world. The earlier attitude can be characterized by the term “curiosity,” but this term had a wide variety of meanings with different implications regarding its characteristics. One problem was whether curiosity was an attribute of the observer or of the object of interest (Thomas, Entangled Objects 127). If curiosity was an attribute of the observer, it could be manifested in two forms. There was an undisciplined curiosity of the sort that Edmund Burke described in his Philosophical Enquiry (1757) as energetic, but also as shallow and momentary, a type of interest characteristic of children (31; see Thomas, Entangled Objects 127). But curiosity could be more disciplined or scientific. It is important to understand that by the early nineteenth century, “curiosity” was an ambivalent term that could have connotations of superficiality and lack of intellectual seriousness.¹²

It was for this reason that the explorer George Grey declares in the introductory comments of his journal of exploration (1841) that he wishes to satisfy a certain type of interest on the part of the reader that he designates as “enlightened curiosity” (Grey 1: vi). This is curiosity of the disciplined variety. In his introduction in Three Expeditions, Mitchell describes the attitude that informed his approach to the exploration of Australia as “eager curiosity” (Mitchell 1: iii). Here he does not specifically distinguish the more disciplined scientific type of curiosity; however, this is his concern in the geological section of Three Expeditions where again he uses that term to describe the nature of the interest that the fossil remains aroused in him (Mitchell 2: 354).

This was particularly important because of complexities surrounding the development of geology as a specialized science in the nineteenth century. Although a more scientific attitude was concerned with research for its own sake (Stafleu 235), there were problems in the shift from the curiosity of the gentleman-amateur, part of the activity of a cultured individual, to a more specialized, scientific interest. The association of the latter with monetary reward could sully the idea of the professional pursuit of science (Ross 66). In contrast, the disinterested gentleman with an interest in science was considered to be a reliable source of information because he was not concerned with personal remuneration (Secord 384). As a result, in this area of science, the gentleman-geologist, an amateur who was also an expert, continued to play a role until late in the nineteenth century. It was only at this time that increasing specialization and technical developments contributed to his demise (Porter, “Gentlemen and Geology” 809–36; Cannon 137–65). In short, Mitchell had to juggle various competing demands relating to notions of class, integrity and objectivity as well as religion and science in his geological illustrations. The published journal was greeted with wide acclaim, which suggests that he did so successfully. A second edition was produced in 1839 and Mitchell received a knighthood in the same year in recognition of his achievements (Foster 307–15).¹³

Overall, he included ten lithographs in this section of his journal, four detailed fossil depictions plus six other illustrations of various types that span the complete contemporary repertoire of visual means of communication used in developing a geological understanding of an area. Here the influence of the Geological Society is evident. It was particularly important in developing conventions for visual representations in geology, such as showing cut sections through landforms and using different symbols to identify specific geological formations. It also encouraged the use of illustration in geological literature (Rudwick, “Visual Language”; Klonk 78–80). Nevertheless, Mitchell's series of plates reveals a variety of responses to contemporary developments. It commences with a depiction of the landscape surrounding the “entrance to the largest cavern” (Figure 21), drawn by Mitchell with Andrew Picken as lithographer. It shows a man wearing a distinctive broad-brimmed hat, seated on a rock beneath a tree and looking at the cave entrance. He seems to be enjoying the surroundings, an indication of the sort of pleasures that could be gained from fieldwork, constructing what Roy Porter terms “a romance of the field,” important in enhancing the gentlemanly status of geology (Porter, “Gentlemen and Geology” 820).

Also included are a “Geological Sketch of Wellington Valley” (Figure 22) and a “Section and Groundplot of two Caverns at Wellington Valley” (Figure 23), both lithographed by Mitchell. These plates are representations of three-dimensional structure, involving extrapolations from what is actually visible at the surface rather than a surface description of the landforms as in traditional landscape pictures. The former is noteworthy as the first Australian geological sketch (Clancy 38, 39–40). The convention of using different colors to represent different formations and arranging them in a key at the side had only recently been developed, in the second decade of the nineteenth century (Rudwick, “Visual Language” 159–72).

Further, two other cave interiors supplement the cave interior scene already discussed. One of these shows a detail of the formation in one cave (“Marks of subsidence in an inner portion of the breccia cavern”–Plate 50) while the other (Figure 24) is another scene with a figure, single in this case, probably Mitchell himself. He is shown casting light on the interior of the “Breccia Cave at Wellington Valley.” The plate shows how the breccia (colored red) “supported, as well as separated, several large blocks” of stone (Mitchell 2: 362). In other words, Mitchell depicts this figure as an active, questioning man who is endeavoring to elucidate the structure of the formations in this cave, rather than regarding with amazement the effects of a universal Deluge. He aims for knowledge of geological processes using practical, empirical evidence, not for a romantic or religious experience.

While the natural history material included in the journal shows an interest in classification, all these plates suggest a change to a more spatial and relational conception of the structure of the earth that involved various speculative theories about its history (Rudwick, “Minerals, strata and fossils” 266–86). The fossil and cave material is not only interesting, but also contributed to the development of new ideas about nature, ideas that undermined traditional notions about natural order. I have suggested that this is evident in changes between Mitchell's preparatory text and sketches of the Wellington Caves and the published versions. These show a dramatic change from a religious appreciation of geological features to a study of geology in which explanations were sought in a combination of scientific theory and empirical observation. Darwin's theory of evolution, published in 1859, contributed to the disassociation of science and religion.

However, although increasing scientific knowledge about nature and its processes meant the replacement of religious wonder or awe with a richer understanding of and imaginative response to such things as caves and fossils,¹⁴

the developing norms of professional science have tended to counter the imaginative response. While in Mitchell's day the inclusion of some reference to the pleasures of fieldwork was desirable because of particular social and class imperatives at stake in the developing science of geology, accounts of scientists at work increasingly tended to stress the rigors of the scientific approach. Self-discipline and self-sacrifice were emphasized as necessary in the practice of science in order to enhance claims of reliability and objectivity (see Levine; Paradis; Schweber; Yeo). The development at the same time of popular natural history literature and its accompanying illustrations as a genre distinct from the publications of specialist science exacerbated this tendency. A delight in a multiplicity of details (preferably accurate but not always), a lack of interest in general theories or explanations, plus an emphasis on aesthetic and subjective reactions are important features (Merrill), often appealing to an idle sort of curiosity. Scientists expunged any evidence of emotional response, individuality or humor from scientific productions, including illustrations, in order to make them count as properly “scientific,” an approach that continues to our own day, contributing to present-day distrust of and hostility towards science and its methods.¹⁵