Elizabeth Macarthur

by Michelle Scott Tucker

  Within days of the overthrow of Bligh, Elizabeth, now five months pregnant, left John to it. She returned with her daughter to the relative safety of Elizabeth Farm. She was accompanied on the journey home by Captain Abbott who, although initially supportive of the rebellion, had rapidly come to believe that it was more a grab for power and retribution than anything honourable. Abbott advised Johnston to call Colonel Paterson back from Van Diemen’s Land, and then to travel to England with Bligh to account for his conduct. Doing so would show that Johnston had not deposed Bligh simply to obtain command.4 Johnston failed to heed Abbott’s advice, and put off contacting Paterson for as long as he could.

  Back in Parramatta, Elizabeth settled her daughter and then immediately wrote to her friends and family in Bridgerule. Mutiny, treason, overthrow. Whichever way she looked at it her husband was up to his neck in trouble—a neck that was suddenly very vulnerable to a noose via an English court of justice. Elizabeth needed to ensure that her English connections were on side. It was crucial that they heard about the rebellion from her, preferably before they read about it in the London papers. Elizabeth sent the letters to John in Sydney (so he could dispatch them to England), who replied to ‘My Dearest Love’ that they were ‘admirably written’. In the covering note, Elizabeth evidently complained of a severe headache, and of having to retire to a darkened room. This is the first, but not the last, mention of what sounds like migraine, perhaps the result of the stress she was under. John’s response was typically unhelpful. ‘Take care of yourself and be cheerful. Your headache will go off then.’5

  A euphoric John remained in Sydney and within a week of Bligh’s overthrow he wrote to Elizabeth: ‘I have been deeply engaged all this day in contending for the liberties of this unhappy colony, and I am happy to say I have succeeded beyond what I expected.’6 He had been working hard, writing almost every letter, proclamation and notice of appointment that went out under Johnston’s name. According to John ‘the Tyrant is now no doubt gnashing his teeth with vexation at his overthrow’.7 In reality the Tyrant was working equally hard to spoil things for the military, not least by refusing to sail for London. Bligh was to remain in Sydney, living comfortably but under arrest, for another year.

  John and his rebel colleagues, keen to ensure their activities displayed a veneer of lawfulness, returned to court, this time in a trial engineered to ‘prove’ Macarthur’s innocence. Macarthur’s trial that immediately preceded Bligh’s overthrow had never been resolved. Elizabeth only learnt of the new trial second-hand. She wrote to Captain Piper, who was still on Norfolk Island. ‘The Criminal Court is now sitting and he is before it as a prisoner, but I trust it will be for no serious offences.’8 The courts were the only forum available to the colonists to air grievances, resolve disputes or, indeed, to try criminal acts. The tiny pool of magistrates, almost all officers of the New South Wales Corps or Royal Navy, meant that conflicts of interest were inevitable. As well, few, if any, of the justices, including Judge-Advocate Atkins, had any formal legal training. The results were predictably shambolic, and Macarthur’s latest five-day trial was no different.

  Rather than address the confused and various list of the original charges, Macarthur used the opportunity to interrogate witness after witness about Governor Bligh’s plans, actions and intentions. As Bligh himself noted afterwards, ‘They were trying the Governor, and that Macarthur, instead of being prisoner at the bar, directed the prosecution.’9 Even Captain Abbott considered it a shameful, mock trial and believed that others also thought so.10 Macarthur was acquitted, and was carried through the streets by cheering soldiers. No doubt Elizabeth heard about that at second-hand too.

  Not everyone was cheering, though. On Monday 8 February John Macarthur was invited to a public meeting. It was every bit as staged as the trial but this time the script was written by those who wanted Macarthur gone. At the meeting it was proposed that a sword be purchased and presented to Major Johnston, and a silver dinner plate be given to the six officers who had supported him, by way of thanks for the overthrow of Governor Bligh. The motion carried. It was also proposed that an address of thanks be given to Macarthur ‘as having been chiefly instrumental in bringing about the happy change’.11 Again, the motion was carried, this time with sly smiles. Here were the inhabitants of Sydney clearly apportioning blame, setting it out in writing for the powers in London. But Sydney was not done with Macarthur yet. It was also proposed that a subscription be raised to send Macarthur to London as a delegate of the colonists, where he could spell out in detail their many grievances. Yet again, motion carried—this time with a roar of approval. If Macarthur was taken by surprise, he was careful not to show it. Instead he made an eloquent speech in praise of the idea, deprecating his own ability to fulfil it, and vowing to devote himself to the service of his fellow citizens. He would immediately settle his affairs in the colony and proceed to England.

  Actually, Macarthur went straight from the meeting to see Major Johnston. There was no chance that he would be beaten at his own game. Within days Johnston issued a general order: ‘John Macarthur, Esq, is appointed a Magistrate and Secretary to the Colony.’12 In effect, and drawing no wage, John was appointed as the most senior civil administrator. Johnston, having found the pressure of governing to be well-nigh intolerable, withdrew to his Annandale farm and placed Macarthur in charge. Presumably to Elizabeth’s great relief, there was no further mention of the delegation to London.

  In the following months John was frantically busy. He reassigned 300 convict workers, taking them away from public works and allocating them to the farming properties of his allies. This action was justified, he argued, as an act of economy. Those men no longer needed to be fed and clothed by the government. John’s allies also benefited from additional land grants as Macarthur, in Johnston’s name, allocated some 5660 acres (2300 hectares) of Crown land. He sold off much of the government cattle herd to the officers and soldiers, accepting IOUs that would never be paid. Bligh’s regulations against the importation of spirits were reversed and the cartel of officers again monopolised the sale of imported goods, purchasing ships’ cargoes in their entirety. Small farmers were once more forced to sell their grain to the government, to be paid only in wine and spirits.

  John’s high was followed, perhaps predictably, by a crashing low. The rebellion had not resolved any of the infighting among the officers. No one believed for a minute that the rebellion had been Johnston’s idea, and now, as the dust settled, John Macarthur was felt to have badly over-reached. Many if not all of his former allies fell away. Abbott had removed himself from the scene, and Johnston, too, tried to distance himself. The Hawkesbury settlers, who had never liked Macarthur, were still actively trying to bring him down. In May John wrote despairingly to his friend Captain Piper about his former allies’ multiple attempts to dislodge him from his position of power. His daughter Elizabeth, John told Piper, ‘still continues in a most melancholy state, with little or no chance of recovery’, and her pregnant mother was ‘by no means well’.13 John failed entirely to mention a further blow: his eldest son Edward had decided that farming was not for him and was returning to England to join the army. Elizabeth was forced to farewell her son once more, and in April 1808 Edward sailed, in a Macarthur ship called the Dart. Edward carried Johnston’s dispatches to the Colonial and War Offices.14 It was exciting for a young man to be a player in affairs of state. But Elizabeth would not see him again for sixteen long years, not until he returned to the colony in 1824.

  Elizabeth gave birth to Emmeline Emily in early June 1808 and, now with a newborn as well as an invalid, her focus was necessarily and wholly domestic. Her husband’s attention remained, however, in the public sphere. Major Johnston, despite taking upon himself the title of acting governor, was not the highest ranked military officer in the colony. That honour fell to the actual Lieutenant-Governor, Colonel Paterson—the man shot by John Macarthur in their duel of 1801. Paterson was still based in northern Van Diemen’s La
nd, where he was unsuccessfully attempting to establish an outpost, while (with rather more success) drinking himself to destruction. Paterson had been informed of the overthrow but was disinclined to sail to Sydney to sort things out. It was suggested around town that John Macarthur’s young friend Walter Davidson had quietly travelled to Van Diemen’s Land to dissuade Paterson from making the trip.

  The next most senior officer after Paterson was Lieutenant-Colonel Foveaux who, having taken sick leave in England, was expected back in Sydney any day. Bligh, still under house arrest, watched eagerly for Foveaux’s ship in the hope that on his arrival Foveaux would reinstate him as governor. When the signal flag at South Head went up on 28 June 1808 and the Sinclair sailed down the harbour, the colony held its breath. As soon as Sinclair’s anchors hit the harbour floor, Bligh sent out three emissaries to ask Foveaux to immediately meet with him in private. But it was too late. The emissaries reached the ship only to find that John Macarthur, Major Johnston and Nicholas Bayley were already there, deep in conversation with Foveaux. Bligh’s men, denied permission to come aboard, returned ignominiously to shore and within days Foveaux took over control of the colony, superseding Johnston and relieving John Macarthur of his role as colonial secretary. Foveaux continued with the rebel’s regime of import monopoly, land grants and spirits as currency.

  If Johnston was pleased to be rid of the cares of government, Macarthur most definitely was not. Once again he sent Walter Davidson south, this time to convince Paterson that he should return. Macarthur had decided that a weak superior officer would be easier to deal with than Foveaux, but Paterson again declined. It was nearly a year before he reluctantly agreed, and then only when Foveaux sent for him; Foveaux needed the colonel to legitimise the rebel regime. By then the rebels had worked out a plan. Poor Pat, as Paterson was widely known, would live at the governor’s country residence in Parramatta where he could drink in peace as Lieutenant-Governor, while Foveaux in Sydney ran the colony. Johnston, meanwhile, would return to London with Macarthur and other witnesses to explain the situation to the government and to lay charges against Bligh. John would be sailing to London after all, and in the wake of this decision the family was left reeling.

  Any hopes Elizabeth still held about returning to Bridgerule were thoroughly dashed. Once more she had to forgo a trip home and stay to take care of her daughters, as well as the farms and all the other Macarthur enterprises. Her two youngest sons were to travel to England with their father, to attend school. Her husband’s nephew Hannibal was also returning to England, but he was to go by way of the Spice Islands and China, trading sandalwood for John. Once again, John’s actions resulted in nothing but heartache and hard work for Elizabeth.

  The Macarthurs attempted to raise some cash to fund John’s trip and ran an advertisement in the Sydney Gazette:

  TO be disposed of by Private Contract, at Mr. M’Arthur’s farm, Parramatta; SEVERAL FLOCKS of CHOICE EWES and WETHERS of the Spanish race; A number of fine Cows, Heifers, Bulls, and Oxen, of the English breed; Some valuable Brood Mares, Stallions, and Saddle Horses. The whole to be sold at low prices, for ready money only. To be also Sold, a most desirable ESTATE, containing Two Thousand Acres, situate at the Seven Hills, contiguous to the Hawkesbury Road. If it be wished by the Purchaser, security will be taken on the Estate for two-thirds of the Purchase money.15

  The Seven Hills estate at Toongabbie was to be sold, but Elizabeth Farm and the newest lands at Cow Pastures would be kept. Perhaps the sale was also an attempt to reduce Elizabeth’s coming workload, but the advertisement was largely unsuccessful. No one who could afford the Seven Hills property was interested in buying it from the tainted John Macarthur.

  Even before Paterson officially assumed office, the infighting between the senior rebels could not be contained. Foveaux discovered a discrepancy in the official accounts. During Macarthur’s time as secretary to the colony, some £500 worth of goods had gone missing: appropriated by Macarthur for his own use, according to Foveaux. John reacted to this public slight with deadly predictability. He challenged Foveaux to a duel. On the morning of 19 January 1809, the combatants and their seconds faced off. In an unusual move, Foveaux’s second proposed that the duellists toss a coin for the right to shoot first, with the loser facing the incoming shot, defenceless. If Foveaux hoped this ploy would encourage John to back down, then he badly misjudged his man. Macarthur immediately accepted the condition, and won the toss. He ‘took very deliberate aim’ Foveaux’s second would later report, staring down the barrel at a very wide target—Foveaux was not a thin man.16 John fired. And missed. Foveaux insultingly refused to fire in return, instead lowering his pistol and handing it back to his second. The pair shook hands, briefly and without warmth. Whether Elizabeth knew about this duel, no one can say. If she did it was yet another worry to add to her ever-increasing inventory of cares. Foveaux was added to John’s own ever-increasing list of people to whom he never spoke or wrote to again. As for the missing £500? The discrepancy was found to be real and Macarthur was obliged to repay it.

  The pressure on the interim government was increased by the fact that a year after the rebellion, Bligh, like a stubborn stain, refused to budge. He and his now-widowed daughter, Mary Putland, remained holed up in Government House. When offered passage to London aboard the Admiral Gambier, the ship chartered by the rebel administration for Johnston and Macarthur, Bligh prevaricated. What he really wanted was to take control of HMS Porpoise, the naval warship anchored in Port Jackson whose captain was known to be a Bligh loyalist. Eventually an agreement was reached. Bligh solemnly swore on ‘his honour as an officer and gentleman’17 that if he could travel in the Porpoise he would return directly to England. In late February 1809 the Porpoise, with Bligh and Mary aboard, finally sailed down the harbour, while the inhabitants of Sydney variously watched on in pleasure, conjecture or dismay. Then, just inside the heads of the harbour, the Porpoise dropped anchor. Bligh had no intention of going anywhere.

  Bligh arranged for a hand-written proclamation to be given to the master of each vessel in the harbour, announcing a state of mutiny in New South Wales and forbidding anyone from assisting the rebels to leave the colony. The proclamation listed the officers of the New South Wales Corps and named fifteen civilians including, of course, John Macarthur but also his young friend Walter Davidson. Davidson’s well-placed London connections, when they found out that their young man had been named, were most affronted and Bligh would feel the ramifications for the rest of his life. The chartered ship Admiral Gambier was ready to set sail, but Johnston, Macarthur and the others delayed sailing for London, unwilling to take the risk of Bligh arresting them at sea.

  For nearly a month the Porpoise stayed there, taunting the rebel administration with Bligh’s presence, before she turned and disappeared over the horizon. The Admiral Gambier was finally free to leave. John Macarthur, accompanied by his two youngest sons and Walter Davidson, left the colony on 29 March 1809, bound for England via Rio. Elizabeth stayed behind to manage alone once more, this time with an invalid, a baby and thirteen-year-old Mary. John expected to stay in England only for a few months,18 but it would be more than eight years before Elizabeth saw her husband again.

  15

  Alone Again

  May the Almighty preserve and protect my beloved wife and girls…

  JOHN MACARTHUR TO ELIZABETH MACARTHUR, 30 JULY 1809

  Elizabeth’s first act, after John’s departure, was to take the Toongabbie farm off the market. She squared up to endure yet another lengthy separation where all the responsibilities fell on her shoulders. It was heartbreaking to farewell both her youngest sons at once, but at least the boys had each other. And John? He was again sailing towards danger: towards the ongoing Napoleonic War being fiercely fought at sea just as much as on land, and towards Major Johnston’s trial for treason. Johnston could well be hanged if things didn’t go his way. The noose was less likely for John, as a civilian, but nothing could be certain.
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br />   After finalising her business in town, Elizabeth travelled back to Parramatta. The familiar tree-lined western road from Sydney, wide enough in most places for three carriages abreast, was kept in good condition.1 With bridges across every stream and rivulet the journey only took an hour and a half with a well-matched pair of horses.2 The further Elizabeth travelled from Sydney, the more fertile the soil and the more verdant the passing scenery. Elizabeth Farm was located in what had become a most desirable location. The picturesque area around Parramatta was much preferred to the mercantile Sydney Cove or the rocks, swamps and dry forests surrounding the harbour, and the region had rapidly gentrified.3

  By 1809 the township of Parramatta consisted of about 180 houses forming a street that ran parallel to the Parramatta River. The population, including those on nearby farms, was estimated to be 1500. Along with the shops and alehouses there was a prison, a factory or ‘house of industry’ for female convicts, a church, and a public school for the young girls of the colony.4 A ‘brick hospital consisting of two wards’ (one for men, the other for women) was, according to an 1809 report, well regulated by the principal physician and former highwayman Mr Darcy Wentworth. But within ten years the place was decried as a sinkhole of iniquity with a leaking roof, broken windows, putrid meat, and ‘in the absence of a mortuary, the dead bodies had begun to be placed in the passage between the two wards’.5 A completely rebuilt hospital would not open until 1818.