Caroline Chisholm

by Sarah Goldman

  The logistics were certainly daunting. From her travels around New South Wales, Caroline had a list of some 211 abandoned children, more than 160 of them under 14 years of age. Just locating the children was an enormous challenge. They were from poor families whose literacy levels would not have been high, thus making communications by mail problematic. Then there was the difficulty of extricating them from the families with whom they had been living since they were abandoned. Not every child would have wished to make the journey, nor was every host family ready to give a child up. Some children had spent years with these unofficial foster parents, and now they were being sent to the other side of the world, to mothers and fathers they barely remembered. It must have been a painful emotional rollercoaster for many of them. Another obstacle was that almost all of the children were living in Ireland, scattered over twenty counties. At that time, there was “very little if any, shipping from Irish ports to New South Wales” so the youngsters had to be brought to London for embarkation, along with a handful living in England and Scotland.18

  Then there was the issue of how many of the youngsters would actually survive the arduous voyage to the colony. The death rate on long sea voyages was still considerable, although, to the commissioners’ credit, there had been some recent improvements. In 1838, the year that Caroline and Archibald took their two young sons from Madras to Sydney, almost five per cent of immigrants died whilst travelling from Britain to Australia, or, described in actual human terms, 679 men, women and children were buried at sea that year, on that one route alone. Children and the elderly made up the largest percentage of the deaths amongst the susceptible bounty passengers, who travelled huddled together, prey to disease and fever, in the badly ventilated bowels of the vessels. By 1845, albeit on the less travelled emigration route to South Australia, that rate had dropped significantly to just 0.62 per cent; of more than “641 souls, the only deaths were of three children and one infant”.19 The commissioners, though, did not give the figures for the busier route to New South Wales. Indeed, with a typically callous nineteenth-century disregard for the value of working-class life, they stated: “We believe that the passage to Australia may now be made by large bodies of the labouring classes, with less risk of death by disease than amongst the same number of persons living on shore in England.”20 Revealing something of a paradox though, they then went on to ascribe the improvement on the South Australian route to the reduced numbers of children making the journey.

  The commissioners therefore had some justification for fearing the outcome of sending so many young people on a four-month journey across the oceans. To give the commissioners their due also, they did consider how best to keep a boatload of children safe, saying each ship would need to engage a matron, with proper assistants, a surgeon and a schoolmaster. The cost of the expedition was rising all the time, but between Caroline’s urging and the governor’s promise, there was not much that the commissioners could do except attempt to retard the process by insisting that Caroline and Archibald be responsible for finding the children.

  For a variety of reasons, less than half the children were discovered or were available to travel. Nonetheless, near the end of 1847, the Sir Edward Parry set sail with a youthful cargo plus a few families and single women. It arrived in Port Phillip on 24 January 1848, before sailing on to Sydney. At the end of the voyage, some seventy-five children were reunited with their parents. The immigration agent in Sydney, Francis Merewether, described the boat as being in good condition on arrival, although two lives had been lost on the journey, a young woman and an infant.

  During the next few years, when possible and as she discovered them, Caroline sent many more children to parents who had been desperate to retrieve them. One widow wrote back to Caroline, “They have arrived safely, all well; the eldest girl got well married; two of the boys I have got apprenticed; you have my most heartfelt thanks for your kindness in sending out my children, and you have my prayers night and day.”21 Whatever the rights and wrongs of the children’s reunion programme, and those would have varied from case to case, the youngsters who arrived in Australia came to a land of plenty where there was little fear of starvation, unlike famine-stricken Ireland, which most of them had just left behind. Seen in that light, Caroline’s efforts had clearly saved many young lives.

  There was still more work to do, however, and fortunately Caroline was an avid multi-tasker. Whilst concentrating on these reunion projects, she was still pushing forward with her other objectives: to send a higher proportion of women to Australia and help poor families emigrate. She followed her meeting with Earl Grey in late 1846 with a letter to him dated January 1847, describing the “frightful disparity of the sexes, (men being out of all proportion in number to women)”,22 and requesting that respectable women be offered bounties to emigrate to the colony to rectify this problem. She then went on to detail what she saw as the three main effects of this inequality: “the gradual but certain extermination of those unfortunate tribes, the Aborigines of New Holland; . . . the solitary and cheerless Hut of the unfortunate Emancipist living alone, or at times find two young men associated together”.23

  What is so revealing about this letter is not only her understanding and empathy with the plight of the Indigenous Australians — as mentioned earlier, nineteenth-century attitudes to non-whites were either barbarically indifferent or insensitively patronising; either way, it was highly unusual for a woman of the era to consider the effect of colonisation on Indigenous peoples — but also her total lack of offensive morality when apparently referring to possible homosexuality between “young men [who] associated together because they could not meet with respectable females to whom they could offer otherwise a comfortable home”. Even appearing to reference homosexual behaviour would have been highly irregular in the conservative environment of the mid-nineteenth century, particularly for a woman. The fact that she recognised, and seemed to comprehend (albeit with a flawed belief that any homosexual behaviour by the young men resulted from lack of feminine companionship rather than natural preference) and even excuse the practice, confirms her as being a person more than a century ahead of her time. Until 1899 gay sex was punishable by execution in Australia; after that year it was commuted to life in prison. It was not until 1973 that South Australia became the first state or territory to decriminalise homosexual acts between consenting adults. Tasmania, the last state or territory to comply, was eventually forced to follow suit in 1997. There is a slightly euphemistic coyness in Caroline’s writing, but certainly no embarrassment, and this in a letter not just to a peer of the realm but to a highly influential figure, whose opinion of her would be vital to her work. It argues an almost breathtaking self-belief.

  Earl Grey’s reply did not delve into the issues of either the Indigenous population or homosexuality; he ignored both. His answer, written by a minion, was highly appreciative of Caroline’s suggestion for increased female emigration but inconclusive, passing her on to the Colonial Land and Emigration Commissioners. They did not pursue the idea.

  Despite this setback, Caroline’s experience and opinions were still highly valued in official circles. More than eighty years before British women were granted the vote, Caroline became only the second non-royal female to be invited to present her case to the government and its agencies. (Her predecessor, Elizabeth Fry, had campaigned to improve conditions in prisons, particularly for women; she had died in Kent in 1845). Though she was a lone woman in a man’s world, Caroline was surprisingly successful. It was during 1847 that she was invited to give evidence before two select committees of the House of Lords considering the issue of emigration. In answering the questions posed to her, Caroline was able to give an accurate description of the work that she had been doing in New South Wales, including such detail as the types of contracts she had drawn up and wages and conditions for new settlers — business-minded as ever, she had obviously brought documentation with her. When appropriate, she also gave her views on, amongst other sub
jects, female emigration, the bounty system, availability of land for new settlers and transportation. One hundred and seventy years later, the written records of both committees show that she gave her responses in a reasonably succinct, unemotional style, with no signs of nervousness. For their part, the lords conducting the inquiries paid her the unusual compliment of not pandering to her sex, but treated her as they would any other expert witness.

  The first committee, in April, was inquiring into “The Execution of the Criminal Law, especially respecting Juvenile Offenders and Transportation”, whilst the second, in July, was on “Colonisation from Ireland”, not just to Australia but also to the North American Colonies and the West Indies.24 Caroline seems to have been something of a star of the second committee: her testimony was substantial, transcribed onto seventeen closely typeset pages. Her suggestion that an agency be established to augment the distribution of labour in the colony was taken seriously enough to be noted in the preface of the report. At least two other witnesses referenced her and there were two appendices extolling her work in Australia: one from 1842, by the immigration agent Francis Merewether, and the other from 1843 by the Legislative Council of New South Wales.

  It was heady stuff. Caroline had won massive official recognition. Even if it didn’t translate into government action, it still empowered her by emphasising her credibility on all questions of emigration to the Antipodes, and turning her into something of a minor celebrity. Without doubt, her sex was an advantage to her in this, as she was conspicuous: a man may have remained faceless amongst so many, but everyone knew Caroline. Following her modus operandi from Sydney, Caroline subscribed to the theory that the more public attention she gained, the more she could achieve, and she knew that meant keeping her name before the public. It seems also that she revelled in the publicity she received on its own account; she had never been shy about expressing her views. Her lack of reticence and willingness to court publicity made her an extremely unusual nineteenth-century woman (and Archibald possibly an even rarer man to allow his wife so much licence). Doing all this in the colonies was one thing, but now Caroline was making waves in London.

  In the middle of 1847, Caroline published an open letter “Dedicated, by permission, to Earl Grey”, titled Emigration and Transportation. It was priced at 3d a copy, or 15s per 100. She and Archibald paid for the printing themselves, and she later regretted that because of the high cost, the print-run had to be quite small.25 This is a far more elegant piece than her Female Immigration Considered, written five years earlier, suggesting to some that Archibald may have helped with the actual wording. Whether or not she had a ghostwriter, the ideas encased within this twenty-seven-page public letter belonged entirely to Caroline, even to her custom of self-promotion. She reminded Earl Grey that his predecessor, Lord Stanley, had, back in 1844, thanked her for her services to the emigrants; only six months earlier, in her private letter to Earl Grey, she had said exactly the same.26 The rest of the open letter covered many of her pet issues, such as female emigration. The main thrust, however, was an attempt to convince the Colonial Secretary that the British Government should pay to relocate destitute people from the United Kingdom to New South Wales, rather than consider reverting to convict transportation. Transportation to New South Wales had been effectively halted in 1840, but some wealthy landowners, such as Archibald Boyd and William Charles Wentworth, wanted it reintroduced because it provided free labour. (In the end, another 1400 male convicts were transported before 1850, when the practice was finally discontinued altogether.27) One of Caroline’s main arguments encouraging the poor to emigrate was that they provided a better source of labour than did the convicts.

  Her language in this letter is emotive, but it is undercut by sound economic theory:

  The demand for labour in New South Wales, Port Phillip, and South Australia, is urgent and increasing. Is it not a lamentable thought, then, my Lord, that deaths should daily result from starvation among British subjects, while in this valuable colony good wheat is rotting on the ground for the want of hands to gather it in . . . that tens of thousands of fine sheep, droves after droves . . . of fat cattle are annually slaughtered there and “boiled down,” in order to be rendered into tallow for the European market, while the vast refuse is cast into the fields to be devoured by dogs and pigs, and yet no effort is made by England to provide for her struggling people by a humane system of colonisation?28

  Maybe she had read something of early eighteenth-century economic philosophers on the benefits of rational self-interest. In effect, Caroline was suggesting a neat solution to the labour market shortage in Australia and the human catastrophe in Ireland.

  Caroline was very aware of the distress in Ireland, both through her work finding the reunion children and through her correspondence with people who were desperate to emigrate but lacked the funds to do so. She quoted one man: “There is nothing here but hunger, misery, and death; all I can earn gives me only one meal a day, and the little ones would starve but for English charity.” Another claimed, “It is easier for a gentleman to get into the House of Commons, than for a poor man to obtain 8d a day.”29 She contrasted that with a couple with four children in the colony, the man working as a farm labourer or shepherd, who could easily earn £25 per year plus rations and board, giving the family effectively £57 per year, enough to live on and save a little also. In monetary terms the colonial family was almost five times better off than its Irish counterpart, and that was supposing that an Irishman would have found employment for a full year. Caroline contended that the colonial working man could eventually turn his labour into capital and employ others: “Labour, it may be seen, will create capital; that capital will bring out emigrants, and find employment for them; thus, a self-creating and a co-operating system would, in a shorter time than is calculated upon, provide for hundreds of thousands.”30 She had a big vision. To Caroline, Australia was a vast blank canvas ready to be painted, and she was intent on choosing the correct pigments. As she went about her work, her interest in the cost of labour and its power to effect change would increase.

  At the end of the open letter to Earl Grey, Caroline included eighteen of the “Voluntary Statements” that she and Archibald had collected across New South Wales during 1845–46. These promoted the idea that the paupers of England, Ireland and Scotland could become the yeomen of Australia. Never one to waste good material, particularly when it had taken substantial time and money to collect, Caroline used the statements again later that year when once more espousing the benefits of the colony in another short publication, Comfort for the Poor: Meat Three Times a Day! Voluntary Information from the People of New South Wales, collected in that Colony by Mrs Chisholm in 1845–46.

  Despite her open letter to Earl Grey, and her previous welcome from the Colonial Office and the commissioners, however, Caroline’s plans stalled. Her suggestion to both Colonial and British Governments for a system of “land-tickets” to help immigrants buy property in the colony was discussed briefly but then ignored. The powerful landowners in New South Wales were against it, as were the politicians in Westminster. The government was respectful and polite to Caroline, even at times encouraging, but not forthcoming. Caroline would need to find private support to bring her other schemes to fruition.

  As the short European summer collapsed into the frosty days of autumn, Caroline had other concerns too. She was pregnant again with her sixth child, due in the summer of 1848. However, that would not stop her writing letters, contacting powerful supporters, publishing more material or forging ahead with her new pet project, the Family Colonization Loan Society.

  CHAPTER 12

  Cultivating Fame

  1848–54

  Charlton Crescent, Islington, London, 26 February 1850

  He was beginning to regret that he had come. She asked him to sit, so he perched on the edge of a tattered, ancient couch covered in dark green cushions. The whole room smelt musty, in need of airing; his nostrils twitched. Yet, there
was something about Mrs Chisholm. She seemed to accept his condescension as her due, but also had her own conceit, as if by having him in her home she was conferring some honour on him, rather than the reverse. If nothing else, there was character here. He might yet harvest more from this visit than he had expected.

  The old woman who had opened the door to him edged herself into the apartment. Resting her hands for a weary moment on the back of an armchair, she asked if he would take tea. Her familiarity suggested she was something more than a servant. As though reading his mind, Mrs Chisholm smiled and said, “My mother.” Then, “Mother, this is the famous author, Mr Dickens.” And turning back to him: “Mother does enjoy your stories. We await each week’s instalment of David Copperfield, and read it avidly. When we have time.”

  The mother murmured something in agreement. As he strained to hear her, there was a crash from above, a splintering of broken glass, followed by a penetrating squeal. The mother gave a tired nod and shuffled from the room. “She looks after the little ones so that I can do my work,” Mrs Chisholm said. “The older boys are away at school.”

  Abandoning domestic matters, she leant across her desk — an island of order and cleanliness amid the chaos — to pick up a bundle of letters tied neatly with blue ribbon, and carefully freed them from their bonds before passing them across to him. He watched her, his writer’s mind absorbing every detail. He took her likeness: she was a pretty, very diminutive, plump woman of from forty to fifty, with handsome eyes, though they had a curious habit of seeming to look a long way off.1