On 16 January 1806—the day of nephew Hannibal Macarthur’s eighteenth birthday—the Macarthurs were finally granted their land along the Nepean River at Cow Pastures. King made certain stipulations limiting the length of river frontage for the grant but John slipped around these by taking his land in two parts, with Walter Davidson’s grant in between.37 It was, according to one historian, ‘a fine piece of geometric jobbery’.38 From the very beginning Walter Davidson gave John the free use of his property, receiving from the Macarthurs an agreed share of the estates’ earnings. Decades later, after Davidson had long left the colony, the Macarthurs bought him out.39
If January was a time of celebration for the Macarthurs, it was tempered by the foul weather of February and March. A wet summer resulted in terrible flooding and in late March 1806 the Hawkesbury River burst its banks. Families were rescued from rooftops and rafts of floating debris. Trees and animals were washed away. Elizabeth and her family were safe: the Hawkesbury flows along a convoluted path well to the north and east of Parramatta. The settlements along the river were largely populated by convicts, ex-convicts and small-scale farmers growing hogs, wheat and corn and producing sly grog. The floods destroyed the farms and reduced farm families to sodden poverty. Over 85,000 bushels of grain and 4000 head of stock, mostly pigs, were lost leaving little seed for new crops and soon rendering the whole colony desperately short of bread, meat and home-brewed alcohol.40 The Parramatta River did not flood, and the officer farmers along its banks were soon benefitting from soaring grain and livestock prices. In a letter to Captain Piper, John Macarthur described the floods as ‘a calamity that threatens the very existence of the colony’ and he and Elizabeth feared that many families would be ruined.41 He blamed Governor King for lacking the foresight to secure the colony’s grain supplies. The Hawkesbury settlers blamed, and envied, the wealthy farmers who profited from their misfortune. It certainly wasn’t the first time the officers had done so.
In the first years of the colony the regimental officers regularly purchased the whole cargo of visiting ships, to prevent the ships’ captains from profiteering. Unfortunately, the officers quickly turned to profiteering themselves, keeping the best of the cargo and selling the rest. Any emancipist who complained faced retribution from the troops. In time, some of the officers also drew goods from the public stores, and sold those for a private profit too. The officers also initially obtained a monopoly over the sale of all imported spirits. They did not usually sell the spirits themselves, but used agents to sell the liquor on their behalf. In the absence of hard currency, by 1795 rum became the standard unit of exchange. Even labour could only be purchased with sprits. It was a practice that resulted in immense profits flowing to the officers of the New South Wales Corps. Although there is no direct evidence to involve Captain John Macarthur, the circumstantial evidence is clear.42 Elizabeth apparently turned a blind eye, but, to be fair, the dubious entrepreneurial activities of the officers in New South Wales were commonplace in English colonies around the world. Elizabeth is not likely to have tried to dissuade her husband from taking part, given the very real benefits that flowed to her family. The profiteering continued for several years, although the officers’ initial very lucrative trade diminished as other entrepreneurial folk invited themselves to the party.
Now, with the floods ensuring that the colony was once again at the edge of ruin, the emancipists and small-scale farmers were beginning to speak up and complain. Governor King, who like his predecessor Hunter had failed to halt the illegal rum trade or to substantially reduce the colony’s expenses, was recalled to England. The arrival of the new governor, Captain William Bligh, was daily expected. Bligh was well known as an excellent sailor and navigator. But he seems to have been one of those men who found technical skills easy and the effective management of people very hard. And this was the man appointed to oversee a colony which, in the aftermath of the floods, seethed with rancour and heat.
John’s safe return to New South Wales had relieved an anxious Elizabeth of many of her cares. Maybe she even relaxed, for a time, enjoying the company of her daughters and their new governess. But John was a man who could not step back from an argument, who thrived on controversy and debate. If Elizabeth could not prevent him starting a fight, she certainly couldn’t stop him from finishing it. The relationship between the poorer settlers, most of them ex-convicts, and the New South Wales Corps was never going to be cordial. The gaoled cannot love his gaoler. Tensions had simmered between the two groups for a long time and looked set to boil over. The Bounty was Bligh’s first mutiny, but it would not be his last. There was trouble to come—and Elizabeth’s husband would be at the heart of it.
13
Malignant Falsehoods
[Bligh] has already shown the inhabitants of Sydney that he is violent, rash, tyrannical. No very pleasing prospect at the beginning of his reign.
ELIZABETH MACARTHUR TO ELIZA KINGDON, 29 JANUARY 1807
In early August 1806, William Bligh arrived in New South Wales aboard the Porpoise. Also on board was Edward Macarthur, the eldest of Elizabeth’s sons, having finished his schooling in England. John Macarthur may have hoped his son used the opportunity to forge a diplomatic alliance with the new governor but no such relationship had developed. With Bligh came news of the outside world or, more particularly, of the English world. To many it was much the same thing. Elizabeth, along with the rest of the colony, learnt of the glorious death of Lord Nelson. Ten months previously, in October 1805, he had destroyed the French and Spanish fleets, but was killed in action. ‘These particulars we have’ the Sydney Gazette noted ‘collected from the various details given in the London papers; and are therefore to be depended on.’1
William Bligh was officially sworn in on 13 August 1806—John Macarthur’s birthday. The ladies weren’t present at the official ceremonies, but Elizabeth’s social circle was joined by Bligh’s daughter, Mrs Mary Putland. Mary’s husband served both as Bligh’s aide-de-camp and one of Porpoise’s officers. The men of the Sydney Loyal Association (a volunteer militia company) and the New South Wales Corps all turned out and Bligh was presented with an address of welcome, signed by Johnston for the military, Atkins for the civil authorities and by John Macarthur for the free inhabitants.2 However the majority of free inhabitants, those emancipists from the flooded Hawkesbury, were horrified to be represented by Macarthur.
They promptly wrote to the new governor, pointing out that John Macarthur had taken a liberty they bitterly resented; he was not their representative; and if they had deputed anyone John Macarthur was the last man to be chosen as they considered him ‘an unfit person to step forward’ and attributed ‘the rise in the price of mutton to his with-holding the large flock of wethers he now has to make such price as he may choose to demand’.3 It is unlikely that Bligh took much notice of their complaint. He and former governor King swiftly made a series of land grants to each other, all illegal, but by the standards of the day not unusual. One of the properties, granted to Mrs King, was given the name ‘Thanks’.4
It was surely a happy time for Elizabeth Macarthur, with five of her six children back under her own roof (son John remained at school in England). It wasn’t a large roof however, and it now had to accommodate John’s nephew Hannibal and family friend Walter Davidson, as well as the seven Macarthurs. The cottage at Elizabeth Farm had grown very little, if at all, from the four humble rooms first erected in 1793, and the expanded family made for a lively household. It was a time for readjustment and compromise. Elizabeth was no longer in charge, and while she might have been grateful to hand over the worries, it was perhaps difficult to submit gracefully to the authority of her husband. The added presence of Hannibal and now Edward did little to make things easier.
Edward Macarthur didn’t warm to farming life and he was not as ‘strong in constitution’ as his mother could wish.5 His father attempted to teach him about running the farm but—according to William, many years later—young Edward was ofte
n heard to remark upon how ‘distasteful’ he found it all.
It is unlikely he said so within his father’s hearing. John was, after all, a former army officer and ‘the tones of command’ came naturally to him.6 As an adult Edward would write letters to his father that verged on the obsequious. Even when John Macarthur was an old man, unwell and in his bed, William only disagreed with him ‘as much as I dared.’7 James Macarthur found his father a delightful companion, albeit only when he was ‘in his happier moods’.8 Yet the boys’ love and respect for their father also shines very clearly. Edward would soon, for example, write a letter in which he hoped that his father would ‘enjoy health and happiness with every other blessing which ought to befall so good a Father.’9 This was Elizabeth’s gift to her children, to be the peacekeeper and mediator who, to the extent possible, ensured the household remained harmonious. The children revered and feared their father, but they were able to take the love and consistency of their mother for granted.
At first the Macarthurs welcomed the new governor and his daughter. In October 1806, Bligh toured Parramatta and the Cow Pastures district. In honour of the visit the Macarthurs threw a ‘splendid entertainment’ for a ‘large party of Officers and Ladies’.10 John broached the subject of government support for a fine wool industry and further Macarthur land grants on the Cow Pastures lands, but Bligh was having none of it. The friendly visitor rapidly turned nasty. ‘What have I to do with your sheep, sir?’ shouted Bligh. ‘What have I to do with your cattle? Are you to have such flocks of sheep and herds of cattle as no man ever heard of before? No, sir, I have heard your concerns, sir. You have got five thousand acres of land, sir, in the finest situation in the country but by God you shan’t keep it!’11 This is John Macarthur’s account. Bligh, questioned later, had no memory of it. But clearly he had said something to put the Macarthurs offside. Within two months Elizabeth was writing home to England about Bligh, saying he ‘has already shown the inhabitants of Sydney that he is violent, rash, tyrannical. No very pleasing prospect at the beginning of his reign.’12 She recognised that Bligh would be an obstacle to her ambitions for the family, and she was right. As Bligh wrote in his letters, he considered that with the colony’s food shortages, the immediate advantages of growing cattle for meat far outweighed any future benefits of growing sheep for wool. He was certainly not inclined to offer government assistance to build the Macarthur empire. In fact, he brought about several changes which angered the officer class.
Almost immediately, Bligh regulated the importation of wine and spirits, bringing it back into government administration and so out of private hands. He required that all transactions in the colony were made in hard currency and he strictly controlled the allocation of Crown land, food and livestock. He put limits on the use of convict labour by settlers. No one was to be arrested without a warrant, and suspects could no longer be tortured in order to obtain a confession. The poor were fed from government stores and smaller farmers were supported and encouraged. One of those farmers was Scotsman John Turnbull. So grateful was he to Governor Bligh that he gave his newborn son the middle name of Bligh. Every eldest son has since also carried that name, including Australia’s twenty-ninth prime minister, Malcolm Bligh Turnbull. The officer class found themselves embarrassed, frustrated and incriminated at every turn.13
And yet the Macarthurs and Bligh maintained a cordial relationship, at least on the face of it. John regularly dined at Government House, and Bligh was apologetic that there was no spare bed at his Sydney house to accommodate Macarthur family members when they visited town.14 Perhaps, then, Bligh was invited to the party held by John and Elizabeth a week or so before Christmas 1806. According to a somewhat overwrought piece in the Sydney Gazette:
A select party of ladies and gentleman, twenty-one in number exclusive of attendants, made an aquatic excursion from Parramatta to Captain McArthur’s estate in Cockle Bay, being highly favoured by the uninterrupted serenity of a salubrious atmosphere and after examining with inexpressible satisfaction the picturesque beauties which that romantic scene afforded, a handsome collation ushered in the evening’s festivity beneath the shelter of a spreading fig tree, whose waving foliage whispered to refreshing breezes.15
At this party the Macarthur’s new estate was officially named Pyrmont; the native beauty of the place was duly admired; and at five in the afternoon the company took their leave, being ‘much gratified with the rational festivities of the day’.
In February 1807 the Kings finally left the colony and, on the same ship, so did the Reverend and Betsy Marsden. The Marsdens were planning to sort out some family business in England before returning once more, but Betsy privately hoped they might never come back. Her husband had other ideas and his baggage contained samples of his own Merino-cross wool. In England he had the wool spun, woven and made into a suit which he wore when he was presented to King George III. The king was so impressed that he asked for a suit of his own and, after the gift was duly made up and delivered, he presented Reverend Marsden with a ram and four ewes from his Spanish flock. The Marsdens returned to Sydney with the sheep in 1810 and for a brief period surpassed even the Macarthurs in fine wool production.
Elizabeth likely attended the farewell dinner party held aboard the Buffalo the night before the Kings and Marsdens sailed, and the next day John and Edward Macarthur were among those on small craft accompanying the ship through the heads of Sydney Harbour and out into the ocean beyond. Perhaps Elizabeth was there too. As a squall approached, the boats retreated and Mrs King wrote later in her diary that she felt the parting very much.16 Elizabeth, too, farewelled several friends all at once. No wonder then, that in a letter to her goddaughter in Bridgerule she wrote that ‘I have great hopes of again being permitted to see “Old England”. Mr Macarthur has promised I shall go in a year or two, whether he can or cannot accompany me.’17 John is painted as the decision-maker here, albeit a decision-maker at pains to please his wife, but Elizabeth is also providing excuses for failing to return to Bridgerule. If the decision were her husband’s, she could not be held responsible for the subsequent disappointment of her family and friends. But now and into the future Elizabeth was more than capable of making and contributing to important decisions, and it seems likely she had more say in the matter than she was prepared to state in writing.
Just a few months later, though, all thoughts of travel were forgotten. In May 1807 the Macarthurs’ eldest daughter, Elizabeth, just turned fifteen, fell gravely ill.18 Letters imply that she lost the use of her legs, which suggests polio and if the disease followed its typical progress, young Elizabeth would first have suffered fever, pain and vomiting. Elizabeth was by now intimately familiar with the sick room. Her first experience of nursing may have occurred aboard the Scarborough when John and baby Edward were so unwell but, as mother to eight children so far, it certainly would not have been her last. At the beginning of her daughter’s illness, Elizabeth may not have been particularly concerned. Cool flannels and tepid baths for the fever, and perhaps some tisanes prescribed by the doctor.
But the next stages of polio were far more terrifying—increasingly severe muscle aches, loose and floppy limbs often worse on one side of the body.19 It was any mother’s idea of hell, but at least Elizabeth had some support. Penelope Lucas, the nominal governess and Elizabeth’s friend, was there to help, and daughter Mary, now going on twelve, was old enough to assist too. But there was little anyone could do except to keep young Elizabeth comfortable and coax her to drink and eat. Months passed, and Elizabeth watched her daughter fail to improve. She also watched her husband’s behaviour grow increasingly erratic.
John channelled his nervous energies into initiating or contesting an escalating series of civil suits and litigation. In one instance he tried to enforce payment of a promissory note where the value was set in bushels of grain. The note had been written before the Hawkesbury floods caused grain prices to skyrocket and the debtor was unwilling to now pay what amounted to ten times
more than the original note was worth. Macarthur sued, lost in the lower court and took it to Bligh in the court of appeal. In July 1807 Bligh ruled firmly against John, further salting the wound by awarding the original debtor £5 in costs. In October there was more trouble when Bligh insisted that a copper boiler—part of an alcohol still that had never been assembled—be seized from John Macarthur, without a warrant. Macarthur was furious at Bligh’s appropriation of his private property and contested the seizure. This case was decided in Macarthur’s favour. By now Macarthur and Bligh had more or less declared war.
Governor Bligh, meanwhile, determined to lay the foundations of a proper city at Sydney Cove and proceeded to regularise the township’s haphazard leasehold arrangements. However his implementation of the new policies was cackhanded and impolitic. Most Sydney dwellings sat on Crown land. Officers and civil servants held fourteen-year leases but few of the lower orders had any sort of formal arrangements. Most people simply presumed they owned the land on which their modest homes stood. So they were shocked when Bligh decreed that all buildings on informally occupied allotments had to be pulled down. Convict chain gangs began to demolish buildings on Crown land, and the Sydney community was appalled. Formal lease-holders were also affected. John Macarthur had a vacant acre block in Sydney, which under the new regime was deemed to belong to the new St Phillips Church. Other targeted lease-holders included John’s comrades and brothers-in-arms. Bligh was attempting to reinstate Governor Phillip’s original agrarian vision (that all the land surrounding Sydney Cove remain Crown land) without seeming to realise that even Phillip himself had abandoned it. 20
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