The Trouble With John Macarthur

John Macarthur was declared a lunatic in 1832, in the presence of 30 or so Parramatta citizens, under the direction of his sons James and William. As a result, he was stripped of all involvement in family business and politics and sent back to Elizabeth Farm where he lived for a year or so, imprisoned in his bedroom and overseen by servants who were required to sleep in the same room. People are surprised to learn that John Macarthur was disinherited by his sons, physically restrained to minimise family embarrassment and neutralise a serious image problem.

As psychotic episodes grew increasing worse it was decided to send him to Camden.

Along the way, he shouted from his carriage that his family had plotted against him and that he wasn’t mad.

He died at Camden, alone, in 1834.

It is equally surprising to learn of Macarthur’s desperate, and impoverished, circumstances a few months before sailing for Australia – a man without any means of supporting his new wife and child, facing court marshal for being absent without leave from his regiment stationed on the Rock of Gibraltar… his fate was truly uncertain.

A BIOGRAPHICAL SNAPSHOT

John Macarthur was born in Plymouth and arrived in Australia as a young Lieutenant with his wife and son in 1790. Between 1792 and 1799 he was promoted to Captain and held numerous important public positions based around the settlement at Parramatta, including Inspector of Public Works, Superintendent of Convicts and Regimental Paymaster. During these years, his role as a military officer, a local trader, farmer became intertwined, bringing him and fellow officers into a succession of conflicts with the colony’s governors. It was also during this period that army officers formed a tight cooperative monopoly, using public money to speculate on incoming cargoes and trading these on for profit.

By 1800, this monopoly was dismantled, as new operators (mostly ex convicts) entered the colonial trade. For Macarthur, an involvement in trade was hampered by the possibility of court marshal, following a duel with his commanding officer Colonel Paterson in 1801. Paterson was badly wounded and Macarthur was sent to London to face charges of insubordination. These charges were dropped for lack of evidence.

During his 4 years in London Macarthur was busy developing contacts and ‘talking up’, among many other things, the benefits of colonial wool production. A reluctant Joseph Banks, eventually authorised Macarthur to purchase a small mob of Spanish Merinos from the King’s flock, for breeding and experimentation in the colony. Macarthur sold his commission in the army, purchased a trading boat ‘The Argus’ and returned to the colony as a ship owner, businessman, sheep breeder and futurist. Much to the anger of local governors, he was also promised 5000 acres of ‘the best land he could locate’, at no cost, to develop his plans for sheep production. Macarthur took up his grant in the Cowpastures, south west of Parramatta, naming it Camden. In coming years vast landholdings were added to this estate, creating one of the country’s most famous properties, remaining in Macarthur ownership to the present day.

Macarthur’s home and property ‘Elizabeth Farm’ was started in 1793 – a simple rural cottage on a government grant of 100 acres. With plenty of fresh water and fertile soil, land was quickly cleared for pasture and planting. Doubled in size within a year, the farm was cropped with corn, wheat, potatoes and vegetables and well stocked with cows, goats, hogs and poultry. The cottage was surrounded by acres of fruit trees and vines. In coming decades, the cottage was enlarged and refined, reflecting the growing prosperity and dominant social position of the Macarthur family. The most ambitious and complicated building program of the late 1820s saw the house transformed into an Indian Bungalow. Further plans were to remain unfinished, or scrapped, when John Macarthur died in 1834. His wife, Elizabeth Macarthur, continued to live at Elizabeth Farm until her death in 1850.

A TROUBLED BACKGROUND

On the eve of his departure to Australia in 1788, John Macarthur was in desperate straits – financially and socially. He lacked family connections and influence – the two most important pieces of survival equipment in the late 18th century backpack. His recent marriage to a timid, penniless villager from Devon and the arrival, a few months later, of their newborn son, threw a cold new light on his prospects.

John Macarthur was born near Plymouth in Devonshire, Devon. His father, Alexander Macarthur, travelled to Plymouth from Scotland, via America and the West Indies – a young man in search of opportunity and the prospects offered by an expanding empire. In Plymouth (a maritime doorway to the world) he ran a drapery business from the main street, just up from the Docks, selling slop clothing to the Navy till the 1780s.

Alexander had lost his wife in 1777. In less than a decade he’d hand over the drapery business to his eldest son. It is not clear what plans he had for his only other son John, (our John) who left school at 14 and entered the army in 1782. Plans, it appeared, were John’s business. He was just short of 16 years old and now an Ensign – a junior officer. With peace being settled in America, the regiment was disbanded, leaving Macarthur on half pay for the next 5 years. He lived at unknown locations, probably in the country around Holsworthy. His annual pay of 33pds must have been supplemented with other earnings, as there was no wealth from his past to sustain him. His Ensign commission alone cost 400pds, money probably borrowed from his brother’s new ‘in laws’, the Hawkins. This would not be the only useful connection Macarthur would employ in the future.

In 1788, after 5 years ‘off the radar’, Macarthur exchanged his position for a more senior posting as lieutenant on full pay in a regiment stationed on Gibraltar. War with Spain had also ended in 1783. He had no intention of joining the dismal outpost, but appeared to covet the seniority and, of course, the salary.

Back to Holsworthy and Macarthur’s 5 years in the ether. Family versions paint Macarthur as living a fairly bucolic life of hunting parties, horsemanship, the study of history the classics and even the contemplation of a career in law. There is a suggestion that Macarthur had falling into debt – was living beyond his means. Curiously, the marriage records show him as John Macarthur Esquire, a compliment usually reserved for gentry and land owners.How did he support himself? His transfer to the Gibraltar regiment alone cost him another 100 pds – the equivalent of three years pay.

So what was he doing…? Its most likely that Macarthur was teaching at a local grammar school. This would explain his ability to support himself on half pay, his practical interest in reading history, his ‘acquaintance’ probably as a teacher with the 10 year old Thomas Kingdon and, through this, his contact with a local family, the Kingdons around 1785, as mentioned later by Elizabeth Macarthur.

In 1788, Macarthur resurfaced on record, along with Elizabeth Veale, together as god-parents at a baptism service for the youngest Kingdon child. They were probably engaged, as less than a month later Elizabeth was pregnant with their first child.

The importance of meeting the Kingdons (a local clergy family of some wealth) cannot be underestimated. In many ways it was highly fortunate that John met and taught the young Thomas Kingdon, who enabled several critical connections to occur in coming years, one of which was Elizabeth, although others were soon to prove equally useful.

Once again, I will digress, to highlight the possible influence of John Macarthur’s mother. Don’t panic, all these threads will come together. Whilst history has made much of Elizabeth Macarthur’s farming background and the way in which her origins might have prepared her for life in Australia (a tale riddled with inaccuracy), the legacy of John’s mother Catherine remains virtually untouched. In a surprisingly under-rated article penned in 1979 historian Alan Atkinson draws together sketchy details as follows: she died in 1777 (when John was 11), both her maiden name and date of birth are unknown although its likely she was Scottish, she was regarded as a Lady of ‘beauty and accomplishment’ who married Alexander against her family’s wishes, possibly below her social level. Atkinson wonders whether Catherine inspired in John a sense of superiority against the odds, or the courage to overcome the loss of social dignity, through education, self-confidence and grit. Years later John Macarthur advised his own son Edward what to look for in a good marriage…and writes:

do not make money an object of the first consideration – character, connection and education are in my estimation infinitely more important

Certainly John went on to make a huge improvement on his father’s social standing and was certainly well known to be ‘a little too proud’.

Nonetheless, putting pride aside for the moment, lets look at his prospects…

Its October 1788. The 21 year old army officer John Macarthur is standing at the alter with a women the same age. Neither party brought family wealth, land or inheritance to the marriage. Each was similarly fixed to the lowest rungs of respectability. The fact that she was at least 4 months pregnant, suggests she led a life without chaperones and therefore moved outside the orbit of ‘polite’ society. She was no lady according to the codes of her day. She had no experience in farming or animal husbandry, having left the countryside at the age of 7 when her father died. Since the age of 11 she lived apart from her family with carers. Her teenage years were spent in the town vicarage at Bridgerule, semi-orphaned from her mother (who married again twice) and taken in by the parish vicar as a charitable measure. As it happened, both Elizabeth and John grew up reasonably well educated, highly literate and articulate. Nonetheless, she had no dowry, he had no influence. Their options were not so much limited as nonexistent. There was nothing to lose.

On the horizon however, was a dark cloud, with John’s reputation, and therefore the prospects of his young wife and child, soon to hit desperate straits.

Shortly before his marriage, John swapped his Ensign commission, along with the half pay, for a lieutenant posting on full pay. This meant more money and status, although he was now under serious pressure to join the regiment in Gibraltar – something he had no intention of doing. He may even have been planning to leave the army entirely and win back the 400 pds outlaid 5 years ago. The series of events that followed is complicated and confusing although eventually resulted in Macarthur taking up a new posting, as a trade off, possibly to save face, with a regiment being assembled for the remote prison settlement of Sydney Town. The first few months of 1789 were frantic with correspondence and travel between London and Bridgerule. Elizabeth suffered a difficult coach ride, in her final days of pregnancy, and giving birth to a son five months into their marriage, at a travellers pub in Bath. Reinforcing their dire circumstances there were no family or friends present at the birth of their first son Edward.

Their lives must have felt stripped bare at this point – outsiders with uncertain futures.

Six months later (11 months into their marriage) the Macarthurs were on board the squalid Neptune, awaiting orders to pull out from Gravesend, along with a fleet of transports, the new colonial regiment and around 1000 prisoners locked below decks. Elizabeth was again pregnant – Macarthur may have been expert at co-opting his superiors but his timing was terrible. The 6 month voyage to Sydney left 278 prisoners dead, almost a quarter of those who boarded.

On landing at Sydney Cove in 1790, the Macarthurs found a ramshackle settlement on the brink of collapse. Authority was dispirited and stores were almost totally gone. Governor Phillip’s vision of an orderly and planned agricultural settlement had crumbled due to an absence of farmers, appropriate crops, fertilisers and farming implements. The Marines were close to mutiny – they were reduced to sharing the same rations as convicts…so was the Governor.

So looking back on Macarthur’s story so far…He’d joined the army for one thing alone – to rise up, out of a world of uncertainty and open doors otherwise locked to a man of his background and breeding. He had no intention of fighting in America – he was neither brave nor patriotic – his regiment was only ever intended to defend England on home soil.

Considering the great bulk of Macarthur family papers, it is remarkable that we have to go elsewhere (ie Public Records Office, London) for any details about Macarthur’s early life. His relationship with his own children is said to have been close, but it is clear that he never told them much about his boyhood or his parents. Everything suggests a desire to make a clean break with his youth, a striving towards independence. And think about this…none of his children were given names of his parents.

INTRODUCTION

‘The Trouble with John’ is really the trouble with history. Its love of fiction, myth, black and white characters and a good yarn. The trouble with John Macarthur is that the ripping yarn is full of holes. When people mention the name John Macarthur, its common to attach some form of negative quality to him. He was a scoundrel, an opportunist, a political schemer, cheat, villain …even a bad husband.

A recent biography of John Macarthur, Man of Honour by Michael Duffy, portrays him differently and far more objectively…soldier, pioneer, farmer, trader, amateur lawyer and architect, shipowner, family man, duellist, administrator, rebel, plutocrat, political thinker, founding father, man of honour.

This program will cover 3 main areas of John Macarthurs story – beginnings and origins, the world of colonial trade, and finally his strange demise into insanity and very sad death. Macarthur was what might be termed a ‘big gun of history’ and his story is vast and in many ways too complicated to unpack in a short presentation like this. We have chosen these 3 areas and exclude others because they have generally been the most poorly treated by historians and popular culture. These are the areas most deserving of attention – origins, honour and insanity – an hopefully will provide a far more accurate, and interesting, picture of this most extraordinary person.

DUELLING PISTOLS

John fought at least 3 duels in his life…probably a few more.

The first was fought in 1789 with Captain Gilbert, on the Docks at Gravesend. The dispute appears to have arisen over the poor treatment of his family and the foul accommodation they were expected to travel to Sydney in. No other officer seems to have been living in these conditions. Macarthur called the Captain a scoundrel for his ‘ungentlemanly’ conduct towards Elizabeth and himself, and so, of course, they dueled. When eventually their accommodation was changed John conceded that the Captain’s behaviour was that of a gentleman and man of honour. We don’t know who challenged who …although once an accusation of this kind was made between gentlemen, a fight was inevitable to clear the matter up, as quickly as possible.

John’s second duel was fought with Colonel Paterson, his commanding officer. John had tactically boycotted Government House after a number of disagreements with Governor King. Paterson had refused to support Macarthurs boycott and continued to visit Government House, as did most of the other officers. Macarthur’s response was to orchestrate a very messy series of insults aimed at Paterson and his wife, using innuendo and revealing private conversations in public. To be fair, this was very poor form. And so Paterson demanded a duel. Once again, John was not the challenger, though he clearly provoked it. The duel was fought on 14th September 1801 at 1 pm.

John fired first and hit Paterson in the right shoulder. The injury was so severe that they didn’t know if he would survive! John was put under house arrest; presumably because Paterson was his commanding officer and his life hung in the balance. Paterson’s second also accused John of yelling out something like “gotcha”, which would have been incredibly bad form. It appears that John favoured a court martial in this instance, possibly to further assert his position, so King sent him off to England. A stroke of good luck occurred on the way – the only witness to the duel died when his ship disappeared. John’s name was cleared for lack of evidence.

Just before leaving for England in 1809, John dueled again. This time it was with Major Joseph Foveaux who was relieving Macarthur of the position of colonial secretary after the Bligh Rebellion. Foveaux’s accusation was that Macarthur hadn’t accounted for 500 pounds in the accounts. Macarthur was obviously insulted when asked to repay the money, leading him to challenge Foveaux to a duel. John actually repaid the money, so clearly the duel was more about manners.

After a coin toss John shot first, standing 10 paces from his target who was quite fat. Foveaux’s second said of the duel that Macarthur “took a very deliberate aim and was perfectly cool, yet missed his object which was of no small magnitude”.

Foveaux then declined to return fire and the duel was concluded. Perhaps he didn’t wish to echo Paterson’s fate?

We can understand Macarthur’s behaviour…by briefly looking at the history of this strange, but very useful practice.

Dueling was introduced in Britain in the late 16thC as one way a gentlemen might deal with a disagreement. They may have been reckless and barbaric, but the duel was as an improvement on earlier methods of settling differences, where assassinations and vendettas sometimes placed a whole family at risk of retribution, Romeo and Juliet style. The duel was a way of localizing or containing violence. It was also neat, private, bound by rules and carefully administered. It seemed quite humanitarian and progressive at the time. The British preferred to use pistols rather than swords, believing this to be fairer and perhaps even less dangerous. Until the early 19th century courts were reluctant to prosecute men charged with wounding or killing someone in a duel.

So what actually happened in a duel? Once gentlemen fell out or felt insulted, a challenge was laid down. They would first of all appoint an assistant, called a second. It was the job of the second to coordinate the show. This included contacting the other gentleman and communicating key details…time, place, etc. The two gentlemen would then meet with their seconds at the appointed place, with a doctor. They would stand quite close to each other, ten to twelve paces. They would either shoot simultaneously or toss a coin and take it in turns. They would have 2 shots each.

People were rarely ever hit and hence very rarely killed. The aim of the duel was to allow men to defend their reputation, in an open display of bravery, beyond question. In a world dominated by the military, valor, courage and integrity were not just badges of approval – they went to core of one’s identity. To be a liar, or a coward, or corrupt, threatened social fabric.

The men would also stand side on, meaning there were less of them to hit. In fact, duelling pistols were not rifled so that they were deliberately less accurate. So a bloodless outcome seems to have been encouraged. Clearly the purpose of a duel was not justice, but rather a method of making a dispute strategically, perhaps even politely, go away.

HONOURABLE TRADE

Commerce meant 2 things in the antipodes.

It was both the key to economic and social prosperity and an honourable pursuit for gentlemen of the military. This intertwining of business and an individual’s sense of honour and duty is rarely understood by observers of the early years of colonial life. Military officers were merchants in India, Canada, the American colonies and the West Indies. This was a time honoured practice. In the Australian context, the trading monopolies developed by Military Officers like Macarthur actually laid the groundwork for economic security, by concentrating capital in the hands of those whose interests were bigger than day to day survival. Saving and a long term vision, not consumption, is necessary for investment. The colonial military in Australia also enjoyed access to land – unlike the other colonies.

After 1793, the gentlemen officers ‘on the make’ quickly lost interest in the hard, time consuming business of agriculture, turning instead to commerce and grazing. As merchants they speculated, using regimental funds at their disposal, on incoming ship cargoes, and persuading the government store to buy goods they could then trade back into the colony. Later they used agents in London to divert their salaries into trading ventures, filling up entire ships with goods for local consumption, at huge mark up rates. They amassed great wealth in land and stock and invested in large scale grazing estates.

Self-interest aside, had there not been a visionary class of traders, and instead, as Phillip saw it, a self sufficient, small scale economy of yeoman farmers, the colony’s future would have been grim indeed. When challenged Macarthur always argued his economic activities were a public service, curbing the power of ships captains to externally control colonial prices. In any case, there was no other coherent socio-economic group capable of concerted action.As for the use of government money to speculate on goods, and line the pockets of officers, this too has been misunderstood. The 18th century didn’t differentiate between private and public money. As long as the initial sum was accounted for, any profits were the legitimate property of the individual. In fact, profits made through clever speculation were upheld as honourably gained. And equally, an officer may be embarrassed by a poor commercial decision, but his honour clearly stopped him behaving corruptly.And trade itself was a greedy pursuit. Monopolies and trading blocs were common practice, especially in situations where government control was limited. Macarthur would have been familiar with monopolies in Plymouth Dock where drapers and other ship suppliers and boat builders and artisans combined to push up prices. He was well acquainted with clashes between the state and tightly organised commercial interests. Throughout his career, Macarthur’s activities were never outside the law – it wasn’t his fault the law was inadequate to control him. That he exploited loop holes, at every turn, said one thing about his tenacity. His honour, and the sense of himself as fulfilling the role of a gentleman, was never in doubt.

The arrest of Government Bligh in early 1808 and the installation of an unauthorised, rebel administration, has been mistakenly represented as a conflict over local trading monopolies and in particular the business interests of John Macarthur and the colonial corps. Looking freshly at the so-called Rum Rebellion, historians now generally agree that a dispute between officers and Governor Bligh, carefully coopted and inflamed by prominent colonists (such as Macarthur) festered into insurrection around matters of protocol, behaviour, respect and honour. And that Bligh himself, conducted his office in an ungentlemanly manner. Of course, there were a vast range of differences between the way in which the officers and traders saw the colony managed and Bligh’s vision of an agriculturally diverse, small scale settlement.

The name Rum Rebellion was a term created in the 1850s by a tee-totalling Quaker historian whose mission was to combat the scourge of alcoholism. Rum was barely mentioned in trial proceedings, even by Bligh’s supporters. Whilst Bligh referred in general terms to the problems of a monopoly in spirits, others claimed any such monopoly was a thing of the past by then, having petered out in the late 1790s. Its truly extraordinary that Major Johnston was not hung for forcibly toppling and illegally arresting a representative of the King. Much of his defence however was based on the claim that Bligh was unfit to govern and that his behaviour, as a governor was inappropriate. He had behaved dishonourably.

So what was the ‘code of honour’? It was actually several things combined… a kind of blueprint of beliefs, responsibilities, behaviours, loyalties and a way of conducting oneself. Most of all, it underlined the notion of the gentleman. In Britain, unlike on the continent, the archetype of the gentleman was not structured around birth, breeding or even wealth. An English gentleman could overcome being poor, having no land and occasionally even having no family. A gentleman could not survive without honour, or put differently, conducting oneself honourably. Uppermost in the minds of gentlemen, and those aspiring to be regarded as gentlemen, were thoughts of gentility, proper conduct and social duty. This is easily dismissed today as a kind of redundant or arcane relic, spoken of but not applied – like modern manners.

But quite to the contrary, ‘honour’ informed everything John Macarthur did during his heyday of colonial trading and political agitation, during his 2 important visits to London and later as a politician and advocate for economic development in the colony.

And unlike on the continent, British social strata was more porous, with openings for those with means and aspirations to rise up from below. A convenient entry point into the league of gentlemen was through the Navy or Military as an officer – a continuous cycle of renewal and rebirth. Macarthurs rise from a 16 year old Ensign to a Captain stationed in New South Wales can be read as both a continual striving for acceptance as a gentleman as well as a desperate attempt to uphold the value of this notion against those who would demolish it. Its demolition spelt his demolition.

LUNACY

So far we’ve looked at certain aspects of John’s life that have often been misinterpreted. We’re now going to look at the last few years of his life.

Since this room has such a dramatic feel I want you to try and picture this room in the year 1832. It is Monday, March the 26th, five minutes to midnight. The room is cloaked in darkness. The shutters and doors are closed. The house is eerily still. Its occupants are still coming to terms with the death of John, the Macarthur’s second son. Illuminated by a single candle, Macarthur is bent intently over his desk, quill in hand. To his eldest son Edward he writes…

…I sit down, to write to you at five minutes before midnight, and after a day of considerable exertion…at four O’clock in the morning I arose after a sound and refreshing sleep of four hours and spent the time until daylight in sound reflection on the important affairs both public and private, which have for some weeks occupied my mind – as soon as I had sufficient light I sallied forth on foot to inspect the work of the preceding day and to give orders for the execution of other improvements… The evening was afterwards spent in conversation, sometimes sportive sometimes argumentative, with Dr Anderson (a plain sensible worthy man who generally visits us every Evening)…By these means I keep in subjection many melancholy thoughts, which in spite all my Philosophy at times bear very heavily upon me. Poor dear John. How often do I suffer when alone undergo a bitterness of grief which no language can describe – and this is perhaps more intense, because I find it necessary to conceal from your dear Mother what I feel.

Picking up again on Tuesday morning at 4 a.m., he continued…

You will not be surprised when I tell you that the subject into which I unintentional launched last night disqualified me from proceeding with my Letter and constrained me to desist. – after a burst of grief which the world will never suspect me of giving way to I retired to my solitary Bed, for intending to write all night Your dear Mother slept alone. – thank God I was soon enabled to recover myself possession, and I have slept soundly about two hours and feel much refreshed – still however I must make this Letter short and endeavour to withdraw my mind from the subject of its secret grief by active occupation…

So you can see John, sleeping very little (between 2-4 hours), obviously grieving for his son yet keeping himself busy. He is also being visited frequently by Dr Anderson, who was in charge of the hospital at Parramatta.

A month later, Elizabeth also wrote to Edward but presents quite a different picture about her husband. She has left Elizabeth Farm because of the constant alterations which are keeping the family in a constant state of worry. She wrote,

We cannot attribute this excitment (sic) to any one particular cause he bore the shock of our lamented dear Johns death with becoming fortitude – & certainly he grieved at heart deeply.— I cannot but consider that he labours under a partial derangement of mind and views many objects through a distorted medium…

So, what was really going on with John? Was he simply a grieving father? Or an eccentric personality, a brilliant mind that needed little rest? Or was he suffering from a derangement of the mind as Elizabeth suggested? 3 weeks after John wrote that letter he was declared insane. Instigated by James and William, his youngest sons, the Supreme Court declared that John:

was a lunatic and did enjoy lucid intervals but not so that he was sufficient for the government of himself his Lands, Tenements, Goods and Chattels…

John’s symptoms, his thoughts and experiences are not known…and in any case weren’t described in modern terms. This is the trouble with John – what did it mean to be a lunatic or insane at the time?

Well, in the early 1800s a lunatic, idiot or mad person could be someone mute, incoherent, or even someone crazed on strong drink. In many ways mental illness was understood in terms of its impact on others, whereas today we focus more on internal processes and chemical imbalances. One was social the other medical. The key question seemed to be – was the person fit to manage themselves and their property?

So why did think John was incapable of managing himself and his property?

Three sources of documentation: Family Letters, Supreme Court documents held in the archives and Macarthur Papers, Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales (access is currently restricted).So lets look a little closer at the records…

Traveling from England on the 2nd Fleet, John was struck by a fever, which immobilized him for the remainder of the journey. It seems to have been a rheumatic disease. Perhaps his mental illness stemmed from this, but we don’t know. The next major mention of disease is in John’s letters written in England during 1809-1817. He wrote that he was in a state of “mental despondency” since the trial, an acute melancholy and depression of spirits.

To Elizabeth he lamented that his depression was so much increased…

That I often pass weeks, without one cheerful moment, and I am seldom relieved from this dreadful gloom, except by the return of an acute pain…

His reflection on past events, his poor bodily health, his exile from his family and uncertainty about his future were clearly distressing to him, in a way he described as the “malady of the mind”. From the 1820s the theme of illness and suffering runs regularly through the Macarthur’s correspondence. Elizabeth often wrote to her sons of John’s great depression of spirits. Then in 1831 terrible news reached Elizabeth Farm. Their beloved son John had died, and John’s melancholy seemed to deepen, as we heard in his letter.

This then brings us back to 1832. In June of that year Elizabeth wrote…

I left Parramatta which was at your poor fathers most persevering and earnest desire nay even command he had taken a most unaccountable dislike to our friend Mrs Lucas inasmuch as it caused her to isolate herself altogether to the Cottage after I came here one dislike close followed upon the heels of another until your sisters were discovered and the House thrown into confusion Pistols swords and offensive weapons in his hands!

So Elizabeth and the others are banished from the house under the threat of pistols and swords! John occupied this room, the small bedroom and dressing room attached, attended to by one of their old servants. Was this the last straw for the family?

It was in the following month that James and William applied to have John certified as a Lunatic. The affidavits attached to their petition offer a fascinating insight into John’s behaviour at the time.

Donald McPherson: This Deponent further saith that on or about the 29th day of June he called on the said John Macarthur…that the said John Macarthur had read the draft of a letter…to his Excellency General Bourke in which letter it was stated that the said John Macarthur had been poisoned and that his sons with a formidable band of adherents had taken possession of a strong position in some remote part of the Colony from which it would be necessary to dislodge them by force of arms.

That the said John Macarthur stated in the presence of this Deponent that there had been a conspiracy of some months past to poison him…and that his sons were under the influence of similar poison which had completely deranged their intellects but that the poison had not in the slightest degree affected the intellects of him…although it had produced the most grievous effect upon his bodily health as an instance of which he showed this Deponent a sore upon his hand…the conversation and behaviour of the said John Macarthur on the above occasion was so wild and incoherent throughout that this Deponent can have no doubt his mind is completely deranged.

So we get to see much more of a picture of what was really going on with John. Intrigue, paranoia and poison attempts!

As we’ve heard, the court considered John to be a Lunatic. Importantly, the Court also had the power to appoint guardians to protect the property of the lunatic. The appointment of guardians was not for the purpose of securing the person but rather their estate. So we can see that property played a large role in their understanding of lunacy. Was it then mostly wealthy men who were declared to be insane? Certainly this process seems only to have been used for men of property. Did insanity have more to do with Estate ownership than physical health? Should our question be then, how much was John worth?

According to the Court documents he owned 24,380 acres of land, mortgages worth 2,908 pounds, livestock worth 30,000 pounds, Plate worth 500 pounds and Furniture and Library Books worth 1,250 pounds. So Edward his eldest son stood to inherit a lot! But wait…wasn’t it James and William petitioning the Court? Where was Edward in all of this? This seems to be an interesting twist to the story. Edward is off in England, so James and William petition to become the heirs at law instead. Much of the court proceedings seem to be tied up in this issue – James and William are humbly petitioning the Court for the Estate to be granted to them. Were they perhaps securing their inheritance, worried John was going to waste it away?

A further complication appears in May 1833. A number of newspapers at the time suggested that John seemed quite well, and that he should be able to regain control of his Estate. Such a commotion was caused that the Chief Justice wrote to James advising him to present a petition to consider whether John had been unnecessarily restrained, and that it should be a petition from someone outside the family. James replied to say that he and his brother decided not to apply. He blamed the malice of others who were attempting to injure their reputation. It was then around this time that John was taken out to Camden, or as some newspapers suggested he was removed. Perhaps away from prying eyes or the influence of others? He died, of unknown, or at least unrecorded, causes.

And here ends the story of an extraordinary individual, who rose from nothing, with no more than grit and determination, who prospered and was destroyed and whose legacy remains endlessly open to question… we hope this examination throws new light on his story and helps to correct centuries of bad press.

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