An intimate glimpse into the dappled world of the Swann sisters at Elizabeth Farm, a few years before they sold up and left. The film was funded by Ampol, commissioned by the National Trust and directed by John Kingsford Smith. There are copyright restrictions on the commercial use or distribution of this production.

An ambient and dreamlike montage of photographs taken in the mid 1970s during investigations by Public Works Department staff and Heritage Branch specialists, leading up to the protection of Elizabeth Farm under the state government’s first Permanent Conservation Order, listed in 1977.

Macarthur’s bride, Elizabeth Veale, a timid 23 year old villager from Bridgerule in Devon, was over 4 months pregnant. Elizabeth’s father had died when she was 7. Her mother remarried shortly afterwards and then once again in later life. Elizabeth was raised almost entirely on charity.

In the anxious months following the marriage, Macarthur settled on an alternate posting with the New South Wales Corps and the hope of saving his military career and reputation. The company’s mission was to protect the remote prison settlement, although its officers soon found opportunities in trading, farming and land ownership hard to resist.

The Macarthurs arrived in Sydney, two years after their wedding, in 1790. It was another three years before a house was built at Parramatta, 23 kilometres upstream from Port Jackson. By the late 1820s, this small, solid 3-roomed brick cottage was transformed into a smart country house, surrounded by ‘pleasure grounds’, orchards and almost 1000 acres of semi-cleared lands. From nine births, seven children survived infancy.

During these early years, the Macarthurs’ trading and farming interests, along with John’s political conflicts, ambitions and affairs, came to dominate colonial society. Elizabeth Macarthur, not always content, remained in Australia for the rest of her life, while John returned twice to England forging contacts and directing his sons’ education.

Towards the end of his life, John Macarthur’s work focused entirely on developing and promoting trade in colonial wool – the backbone of Australia’s economy for the next century. As a result, Elizabeth Farm is stamped on the national consciousness.

By the 1830s, having enlarged and refined his Regency Bungalow, Macarthur’s health was in serious decline, along with his grasp on politics, business and family affairs. His death in 1834 brought renovations to a halt, leaving the homestead unfinished. His handsome library, drawing and dining rooms, though newly formed and plastered, were still unpainted. Cedar joinery was yet to be fitted. A much needed wing of bedrooms was never built.

ESTATE

John Macarthur’s Elizabeth Farm estate once stretched from present day Good Street, to the start of Duck Creek; from the Parramatta River to Granville. His farmhouse sat on a small hillside, facing north across grassy fields and tidal flats flanking Parramatta River. From this position, his house was visible from the north, east and west for miles beyond. No doubt aided by army surveyors, the best in the business, this slightly elevated knoll gave Macarthur an unbroken line of sight all the way to Pennant Hills.

Increased to nearly 1000 acres by the 1820s, much of the estate remained uncleared and unsuitable for European farming, particularly the swampy mangroves along Duck Creek. The industrial plants and refineries, built from the early 1900s, were first to make use of land in the east. The western areas close to town, between the river and Parramatta Road, were cleared and fenced for grazing, orchards and feed crops although the Macarthurs quickly realized that tilling the soil was tough and unprofitable.

Elizabeth Farm was sold in 1881, over burdened with debt, its owners overseas. A few years later, sections of the estate were back on the market divided into housing blocks. Bounded by railway, town and river, interlaced with new roads and a racecourse opened in 1885, the subdivisions of Rosehill were soon a sea of building sites. The land around the house, auctioned in 1906, was slow to attract buyers with only 2 blocks sold by 1914. However, ten years later, most blocks were built on, with town water, gas and sewerage.

The ‘frontage’ of Elizabeth Farm was reversed with the creation of Alice Street in 1923.The survival of 1920s street trees reflect the area’s inter-war character while about half the houses built on these early subdivisions remain intact. After 1940, the concrete channelling of Clay Cliff Creek encouraged further concentration of housing, particularly to the north of Elizabeth Farm. Post-war migrants moved favoured heavier brick and tile constructions, while the 1970s saw large flats, often poorly designed and poorly built, begin to dominate the area.

THE IMPORTANCE OF CURTILAGE

The term ‘heritage curtilage’ is generally defined as: the area of land surrounding an item or area of heritage significance which is essential for retaining and interpreting its heritage significance. It can apply to land immediately surrounding an item or, more broadly, to a precinct which includes associated buildings, works, relics, trees or places and their setting. This might seem comprehensive but its also obscure and far too overwhelming, leading to a claim to include everything or nothing.

In a recent ‘Curtilage Study’ of Elizabeth Farm, consultant town planner Robyn Conroy reminds us that ‘the heritage significance of Elizabeth Farm does not stop at its boundary fences’. [Robyn Conroy Curtilage Study Elizabeth Farm for Historic Houses Trust, June 2006]

At Elizabeth Farm, the historic curtilage spreads outwards covering several hundred acres, owned both privately and publicly, under domestic, commercial, recreational and industrial use. The portion of land occupied by the homestead represents less than 1% of the former estate. The conservation of Elizabeth Farm might be said to include, or even depend upon, the protection of land owned and controlled by others.

So lets approach this from a different perspective … Conroy goes on: if the significance of Elizabeth Farm is dependent upon the maintenance of the existing, or surviving landscape (the oldest and perhaps most important colonial landscape in Australia) and where change can only be accepted as inevitable, then we need to combine consciousness raising and community awareness with planning controls and creative urban solutions.

PROPERTY

From June 1793, John Macarthur’s grant of 100 acres, Elizabeth Farm, was cleared for pasture and planting. A second grant in 1794, named after his first son Edward, doubled the estate in size. Within a few years, having purchased a number of neighbouring farms along the Parramatta River, Macarthur’s estate was cropped with corn, wheat, potatoes and vegetables. By 1798, three acres of fruit trees and vines surrounded the cottage along with European trees and a rambling ornamental garden. The Macarthurs stocked 130 goats and 100 hogs along with a horse, 2 mares, 2 cows and a wide variety of poultry.

Despite some land under cultivation, large areas of bush remained uncleared. The Darug landscape was thriving with wildlife, from river banks and wooded gullies to the open grassy ridges. People of the Burramuttagal, Wangal and Wategora groups continued to maintain long and complex connections with this place. Nonetheless, to supplement foods grown and grazed, the Macarthurs hunted native fauna – ducks, wallaby, fish and eels – aided by dogs, rifles and traps.

Periodically repaired and mended, though increasing ramshackle, Elizabeth Farm remained in Macarthur family ownership for another 5 decades. The homestead garden grew wild while paddocks, fields and fences were neglected. Tenants, forever complaining, occupied cottages on the estate. Finally, debts and complications in winding up the 40 year lease of a woollen mill forced the sale of Elizabeth Farm in 1881.

From 1904 to 1968, Elizabeth Farm, on less than 5 acres, was owned by the Swanns – a large family of Quakers, whose appreciation of the old farmhouse led to its preservation. The property was acquired by the State Government in 1979 and, after several years of restoration, was transferred to the Historic Houses Trust of New South Wales in 1983. The current museum was launched in 1984.

PURCHASE NURSERY 1870s

From the earliest years of colonial settlement, land adjacent to the river upstream from the Queens wharf was set aside for small scale agriculture. From as early as 1790, Governor Phillip’s instructions were to set aside this area as ‘grounds for cultivation’ of maize or corn. Later maps describe lands east of Harris street as ‘Marines’ gardens’.

In the 1870s, an area bounded by George, Hassall, Harris and Purchase Street contained a vast commercial garden, The Somerset Nursery, selling exotic plants, trees and shrubs, organized into pots, beds and glass houses, with water tanks, winding avenues, trellised walkways and scenic vistas across the Harris estate and up to Elizabeth Farm.

The nursery business was run by Samuel Purchase and his family and continued to operate until 1902. Its believed the death of Purchase led to its closure, although actual details remain unclear.

Traces of the grand 19th century Somerset Nursery survive in the form of mature trees scattered across Robin Thomas Reserve. The recreational grounds in this area are currently managed by Parramatta City Council.

GARDEN GATE COTTAGE 1823

Looking closely at Joseph Lycett’s painting of 1823, a small rustic cottage can be seen huddled within scrub to the left of the homestead. This is probably the building mentioned in the Elizabeth Farm Day Book when payment of 1 pound is recorded in 1823, for ‘repairing the shingling on the back of the kitchen and at the cottage by the garden gate’. Probably a servant’s or gardener’s cottage, connected to the vast kitchen garden that stretched from Arthur Street across present day James Ruse Drive, a small yard, unusually positioned, tucked in behind Oak Street, appears in water board plans of the late 19th century.

In 1865 the Macarthur sons James and William considered if the small dwelling known as ‘White’s Cottage’, should be demolished or repaired. In the same year, a series of watercolour views of Elizabeth Farm, each viewed from the eastern verandah, show this building through trees to the north east. The series was painted by John Macarthur’s grand-daughter, shortly before her marriage, probably to record the old house and fond memories of her grandmother.

Ten years later, a coachman named Joseph Jenkins occupied this cottage under a lease from the Macarthur family. Jenkins worked as a coach driver for William Billyard, a tenant living in the main homestead in the 1870s.

This cottage (or possibly its replacement) appeared on water board maps dating from 1893 to 1915. Oral history recordings provided by the Jenkins daughters in the 1970s give details of their old house along with fascinating memories of the 19th century estate, including the old driveway running up to the farmhouse, this gatehouse, bridges and surrounding paddocks.

NEALES COTTAGE 1854

In 1831 George and Bridget Neale and their young daughter Elizabeth Mary, moved into a small timber cottage, built between Hambledon Cottage and the creek. Over the next 23 years twelve more children were born and raised there. George Neale, a wheelwright, worked for the Macarthurs for most of his adult life.

When Elizabeth Farm was finally vacated by the Macarthurs in 1854, the eldest son Edward and his agents the Allports distributed or sold off the family’s old furniture and fittings. Around this time, a foundation stone was laid for a new brick cottage for Neales family – along with a generous lift time lease, on minimal rent, in recognition of their long and loyal service to the estate.

Following Edward’s furniture clearances, a dining room table from Elizabeth Farm was purchased or given to the Neales. This campaign style mahogany table remained in Neale family ownership until recent years when its existence, along with a substantial amount of Neale Family documents and records, finally surfaced.

Several new photographs found amongst these records, confirm the location and form of the new cottage, built by Edward Macarthur in the mid 1850s.

These show a single fronted cottage facing east, enclosed by a semi-circular picket fence, with stables and outbuildings to the south. The well established garden and coach house of Hambledon is seen to the north across a three railed hardwood fence.

In 1882, the widower George Neale surrendered his lifetime leasehold and the cottage passed through various owners. The last glimpse of Neales’ Cottage appears in an aerial photo of the 1950s showing a small derelict feature at the rear of a mostly vacant site a few years before the construction of the Wyeth Pharmaceutical factory.

GATE LODGE COTTAGE 1860

The main entrance to Elizabeth Farm was at the southern end of George Street, sweeping past the Military Barracks. The present alignment of George Street, swerving off slightly to the south past a stand of eucalypts, records the original course of the Macarthur’s driveway, as it led to the homestead past a vast kitchen garden and orchard, taking in panoramic views of the property and river. An early gatekeepers house probably existed somewhere in this vicinity, although no trace or reference to such a building exists.

From the late 1850s, a small house, referred to as the Gate Lodge, stood in an enclosed yard, overlooking the estate entrance and driveway. Its location is roughly in the old bowling greens, now car parks of the Parramatta Workers Club, at the corner of Purchase and George Streets. In 1858, Edward Macarthur specified that ‘the cottage should have a verandah at least on one side, if not two, and the pillars might be framed out of trees on the farm’.

Between 1859 and 1899 its occupants were Robert and Mrs Farrance and their daughter Sarah, who worked for Emmerline Macarthur and her husband Henry Parker, Edward Macarthur and with later tenants of the estate. The Farrances purchased the cottage outright from developers carving up the estate in the early 1880s. The gate lodge survived intact until the 1970s when it was demolished for construction of the club and bowling greens.

The cottage appears on an1895 drawing prepared by the Water Board, now Sydney Water, showing a short verandah on either side of a T shaped dwelling. The north facing verandah provides surveillance for the entrance gates into the estate, presumedly across George Street to the old Barracks wall.

HAMBLEDON COTTAGE 1824

Hambledon Cottage was commenced in November 1821 on the western boundary of the Macarthur estate, close to town and river. A fashionable bungalow, built of brick, with smart Doric columns, trellised verandah screens and French doors, Hambledon was clearly intended to promote the tastes and sensibilities of a well established and worldy family.

The first occupants were visiting Macarthur family members and later the Archdeacon Thomas Hobbes Scott, the newly arriving head of church in the colony and former secretary to Commissioner Thomas Bigge. Scott was responsible for building the coach house and planting the earliest garden.

It wasn’t until late 1826 or early 1827 that ‘Mrs’ or ‘Aunt’ Lucas moved in, eventually renaming the cottage ‘Hambledon’, after the township of Hambledon in Hampshire, England. With John Macarthur’s descent into madness in 1832, the cottage was occupied by his daughters Elizabeth and Mary. Penelope lived on at Hambledon until her death in 1836. John Macarthur had left her a small annuity in his will and the use of Hambledon during her lifetime. A memorial in the chancel of St John’s, Parramatta records her involvement in the congregation and her charitable interests in the community.

The cottage and a small acreage was sold as part of the Elizabeth Farm estate in 1883, renamed Firholme, and used as a family home until 1947, when it was purchased by the Wyeth Pharmaceutical Company for factory land. The cottage was resold a few years later to the Parramatta Council and placed under the management of the Parramatta and District Historical Society.

Built of rendered sandstock brick, the design resembles the Macarthur’s cottage at Camden, both of which are attributed to the architect Henry Kitchen, who died before either building was completed. The main eastern wing was later connected to a detached kitchen wing, forming an unusual L shaped footprint. The shallow pitched shingled roof was covered by vertically seamed iron sheets in the 1850s, about the same time changes were made to Elizabeth Farm’s eastern verandah. The broad ‘bungalow’ roof covers the building and verandah in one swoop. The verandah, with French doors opening onto it, has a stylishly vaulted ceiling. The narrow glazed doors have internal cedar screen shutters which fit into the reveals as panelling when not in use.

BYRNES CLOTH MILL 1847

In 1841, on Macarthur land, a flour mill was built on the riverbank, just to the east of the Queens wharf. In 1844 construction began on an ambitious 5 storey, steam driven cloth factory, alongside the flour mill, opening in 1847.

It was named the ‘Australian Steam Mills and Cloth Factory’ and run by the well known Byrnes brothers until 1881 when the lease expired. Complications arising from the end of this lease eventually left the Macarthurs of Elizabeth Farm in serious debt, ultimately leading to the forced sale and subdivision of the estate. In 1889, the old mill was purchased by the government for additional wards and offices of the Benevolent Asylum.

In addition to the main factory structure, there were several smaller buildings to the east, providing rooms for weavers, a warehouse and workers accommodation. The warehousing and distribution of goods worked well with the company’s existing interest in wharf and ferry activities on Sydney harbour and an exemption from wharfing fees at Parramatta.

With the convict system in its final years, and the Female Factory (on the other side of Parramatta) soon to close, the Byrnes saw an opportunity to capture a ready market for woollen goods – mainly tweeds and tartans. One of their fabrics, a blend of black wool and cotton named the ‘Parramatta Cloth’, gained unexpected fame when Queen Victoria adopted it as part of her mourning dress in the 1850s. Remnants of ‘Parramatta Cloth’ have been identified on clothing found under floorboards at the Hyde Park Barracks, linked to its period as an immigrant depot and destitute asylum.

The site was initially leased in 1840, for a term of 40 years at an annual rent of 200 pounds. An agreement was reached whereby the Macarthurs, as lessors, at the end of the lease term, would recompense the Byrne’s business for the value of the Mill. This ended in court in 1881 with the Macarthurs disputing the amount claimed by the Byrnes, which included a dam and loom machinery fixed to the premises. The court’s decision to favour the Byrnes represented a substantial, and for the Macarthurs an almost crippling, amount of money – approximately 7000 pounds.The sale of Elizabeth Farm was considered the only means of recovering losses.

COMMISSARIAT STORE 1825

The 4-storey Commissariat was built in 1825. This was the second ‘Government Store’ on the Queens Wharf. Until the construction of the neighbouring textile mill in the late 1840s, slightly closer to the river, this was the most dominating structure on the Parramatta skyline.

A roadway clearly shown in Augustus Earle’s drawing of 1827, led behind the Commissariat, running directly into the Macarthur estate. Its possible a small gatehouse was situated here, at the eastern end of a long timber paling fence. During the 1820s several other buildings were located around the commissariat, including a storekeeper’s cottage, boatsheds and a small tavern, later known as the Emu Inn, only demolished in the early 20th century.

Recommissioned and fitted with dormitories, mess halls and parade areas, the building served as a Military Barracks from 1828 to 1848 and briefly operating into the early 1850s as a dormitory, depot and clearing house for immigrants. In 1862, the old commissariat building was again ‘re-purposed’ for use as an asylum for old and destitute men – mirroring, exactly, uses made of the Hyde Park Barracks.

During its operation as a military barracks, a long triangular compound was created running back towards Parramatta, enclosed in a brick wall. At the extreme western point was an entry gate, guarded by a gatehouse.

In later years, around the early 1880s, an overhead passageway connected the building to the Byrnes Brothers Mill on the riverbank, after it was absorbed into the asylum complex.

After 1883, a tramway ran between the two buildings, parallel with the river.

Both buildings were demolished in 1937, when the inmates were moved to Lidcombe.

In 1946, the newly established Housing Commission resumed the land for flats and ‘commission’ housing, making this one of the first government housing scheme projects in New South Wales.

WHARVES 1790-1880s

The half submerged retaining wall is all that survives of a busy wharf built in 1834. Stretching back from this wall was 5 metres of hard stone surfacing, for loading and unloading heavy cargoes. To the east of this platform was a boundary fence delineating government land from the private wharfing facilities of Byrnes Mill.

The first wharf facility was situated upstream from here, constructed around 1790 from timber logs. It was from here the Parramatta High Street (later Macquarie’s George Street) commenced, to run for roughly one mile due west, lined on either side with regulation sized convict huts, past the town markets and the site pegged out for Town Hall, past the stocks and log bridge crossing over to the government farm buildings in the vicinity of present day Parramatta Stadium, to terminate at the gatehouse to Government House, on the low rise known as Rose Hill.

Back behind us somewhere, on original Macarthur land, an early 4 storey stone Granary, or grain store, was built in 1809. The land was offered to the government in exchange for land given to him elsewhere. This original Granary was served by a landing then known as Kings Wharf. It was demolished in the 1840s after a devastating fire.

The wharves along this section of the river provided landing facilities for goods and people traveling between Sydney and the headwaters of the Parramatta River. In addition to the manufactured textiles from the Byrne’s Mill, there was timber and farm produce heading into Sydney.

Travel between Sydney and Parramatta was provided by a succession of steam powered vessels including the first to operate in Australia – a paddle steamer named ‘the Surprise’ – launched in 1831. By the 1880s, modern screw-powered vessels dominated the ferry trade. As one newspaper described the 15 mile ferry commute between Circular Quay and Parramatta in the 1890s, ‘A boat excursion from one town to the other is one of ever changing scenes of beauty’.

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.

uf4340 child’s shoe heel

Nine year old errand boy John Dwyer faced 7 years in New South Wales for stealing a watch. He sailed on the Norfolk and arrived at Sydney in 1832. He was assigned to the Carters Barracks and described as “three feet eleven and a half inches, complexion ruddy freckled and pock pitted, hair brown, eyes grey”. He was flogged on 4 separate occasions in April 1833 for 4 separate attempts to escape. After five attempts that month, he was placed in the cells on bread and water. In August he was sent to the Phoenix Hulk for transfer to Port Macquarie. He was described as a ‘notorious runaway’. In January 1835, while still on the Hulk, he was flogged for destroying a blue cloth jacket. He died at Port Macquarie during July 1836. He can’t have been more than 13 years old.

John’s second duel was fought with Colonel Paterson, his commanding officer on 14th September 1801, at 1 pm. Following a number of disagreements with Governor King, Macarthur drew fellow officers into a plan to boycott government house.

When Paterson continued to visit the governor, Macarthur’s response was to orchestrate a messy series of insults and personal slurs aimed at Paterson and his wife. On the basis of ‘revealing private conversations in public’ Paterson demanded a duel. Once again, John was not the challenger, though he had clearly provoked it. Macarthur’s first shot hit Paterson in the right shoulder, leaving a severe and potentially fatal wound. Paterson’s second, or assistant, later accused Macarthur of yelling out a phrase like ‘gotcha’, which would have been highly disrespectful. Demanding the matter be handled in court Macarthur was put under house arrest until a decision was made to return him to London to face a military hearing.

Having recently had samples of his wool forwarded to London for appraisal, Macarthur may have tacitly forced the governor’s hand. A stroke of good luck occurred on the way – the only witness to the duel died when his ship disappeared. Macarthur’s name was cleared for lack of evidence while his plans as a colonial trader and grazier found unprecedented support.

Just before leaving for England in 1809, John duelled 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.

Duelling 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, valour, 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.

Commonly misrepresented as a period of exile, John Macarthur’s first return visit to London is best understood as a business trip: to consolidate patronage, forge links with traders and merchants and escort two of his children, whose education in England would bridge the colonial void in coming decades.

Thanks to the advance warning – the samples of Sydney wool – Macarthur arrived in London in 1802, a minor celebrity. Its worth noting that Macarthur, not Paterson, demanded this matter be resolved in court.With Governor King’s arrival in 1800, the rules had changed, forcing Macarthur and others to seek alternative ways of generating wealth and sustaining power. Contrary to popular belief, the ongoing ascendancy of Macarthur business during these years was neither managed nor influenced by Elizabeth Macarthur. Far away in London, with an eye on allies, opportunities and potential patrons, John kept close control of his family’s financial affairs, his trading ventures and business dealings carefully recorded by army agents Cox and Greenwood. (1)

The recent discovery of a series of ledgers, held in the archives of Lloyds Bank, have thrown new light on the commercial activities and accounting practices used in the early years of the colony, in particular the financial affairs of the New South Wales Corps 1789-1810.

The ledgers were kept by the firm ‘Cox and Greenwood’ a London firm of army agents, or accountants, responsible for the management of Officer’s personal accounts as well as crediting salaries and allowances, conducting business transactions and even the sale of commissions. Government allocations of money to the British Army were provided to the War Office, which in turn distributed payments to various agents like ‘Cox and Greenwood’ who handled the affairs of individual officers, as recorded in their ledgers.

The ledgers show that the commercial life of the colony prior to 1800 was not centred around the commissariat in the way historians had previously assumed. Until now, it was believed that rum and other desirable goods were monopolised by a powerful few (the NSW Corps) who exchanged these with grain and crops from local producers and then on sold this to the commissariat – being paid in Treasury Bills drawn on the British government.Their wealth, supposedly, was based on the control of rum and other goods and their ability to influence purchasing decisions of the commissariat.

However, it appears that most Treasury Bills were paid to ships captains, and not to local entrepreneurs. This suggests the Commissariat purchased cargo from incoming ships and then distributed these with local officers, in exchange for local produce, on a crude barter basis. The Officers might still have influenced the commissariat’s purchasing decisions although did not generate wealth in the form of Treasury Bills or otherwise hard currency. They were asset rich and cash poor, having their wealth embodied in land and buildings and hence unable to be taken back to England.

After 1800, Governor King sought to restrict the influence of NSW Corps officers on the Commissariat, together with the Commissariat’s ability to speculate on incoming cargoes, by ordering stores directly from Britain. Traders like naval lieutenant John Palmer (the Commissary), John Macarthur and others were forced to seek alternative schemes to generate capital. Consequently in the period 1800-1805 a significant expansion in colonial trade began. Suddenly appearing on the docks in Sydney were a wide range of export goods, including whale oil, whale bone, seal skins, cedar, coal and sandalwood. Private schemes to bring goods into the colony also commenced, with the army agents ‘Cox and Greenwood’ making payments to London trading houses on behalf of officers from their personal accounts.

The ledger account of John Macarthur, covering the years 1802-1804, shows a wide range of business transactions, including a large amount of payments made to London businessmen and trades-people. Macarthur’s main business agent in London, W. Thomas Thompson of Castle Street of Leicester Square, was one such recipient. As with the ledger more generally, the size of these transactions were well above personal needs and clearly implies the purchase of goods for sale abroad. A single large amount received by Thompson on 2 June 1804, for £236.5.5, might well have been to fund Macarthur’s purchase of rams at the sale of Royal Merino at Kew in August 1804. Two months later, Macarthur had sealed a deal with Lord Camden, Colonial Secretary, to claim 5000 acres of premium land, in an area of his choice, along with ample convict assistance, to ensure his new flocks a promising start.

In general, the ability to purchase lower priced goods in London and coordinate their shipment to the colony, rather than purchasing these in the colony from entrepreneurial ship captains, gave individuals like Macarthur an enormous advantage in generating wealth. As prudent, or obedient, as Elizabeth Macarthur appears to have been, her inexperience in agriculture and livestock and the sheer scale and distribution of Macarthur interests in the colony, meant that her leadership role was symbolic. With 3 children under the age of 10 and the crudest of living conditions at Elizabeth Farm, her days would have been demanding enough at home.

While the new evidence outlined above reveals Macarthur’s financial and business affairs, it was surely his wit, persistence and timing, applied during those busy years abroad in London that saw the family survive and prosper through this period of colonial expansion and change. Having left Sydney a disgraced middle ranking officer of an outpost regiment, John Macarthur returned five years later with patronage, land and connections, on his jointly owned trading ship, the aptly named Argo.

footnotes

1. The Cox and Greenwood ledger of the New South Wales Corps 1801 – 1805: the account of Captain John Macarthur, RJ Craig and SA Jenkins, Journal of the Royal Australian Historical Society Vol 82 Part 2, December 1996

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 Ensign posting, on full pay in a regiment stationed on Gibraltar. War with Spain had ceased and he had no intention of joining the dismal outpost. He appeared to covet the seniority and, of course, the salary. He was also able to gain an income from the recruitment of soldiers.

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, we’ll digress, to highlight the possible influence of John Macarthur’s mother.

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 horison 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.

Elizabeth Farm sits on a bed of highly flexible clay that expands and contracts as ground-moisture levels change. Typically, clay tends to swell as it becomes wetter, causing overlying foundations and walls to rise. As John Macarthur’s farmhouse was constructed and extended in stages between 1793 and 1830, it straddles unevenly placed footings. And because clay soils ‘behave’ differently depending on their depth, density and porosity, foundations resting on one deposit, or dug to a certain depth, are likely to react differently to another, causing the building to literally rock and roll. Cracks are merely an indication that the building is dancing in different directions.

The conservation of Australia’s earliest European house therefore faces a formidable challenge. How to weather changes in ground moisture and minimise damage. More to the point, how stop the 1820s extensions from ‘rolling away’ from the older, inner sections of the homestead. While its impossible to stop such a building from cracking, a traditional method with an innovative twist is being used to combat nature. Unlike the more ‘hit and miss’ approach of watering clay soils around your house, a management system now operates at Elizabeth Farm combining soil moisture probes, soil analysis, building surveys and sub-surface irrigation.

Surveyors use highly precise theodolites to record vertical and horizontal building movement, while ‘moisture measurement’ technology borrowed from viticulture (wine production) tracks changes in ground water levels. Based on the study of building movement and soil moisture, the management team of engineer, conservation architect and curator determine if additional moisture is required. As required, in a world first for heritage conservation, a drip-feed irrigation system running the length of the eastern verandah releases controlled amounts of underground water to ‘even out’ the moisture deficit and reduce damage caused by building shifts and shrinkage.

While routine maintenance continues – the care of gutters and drains, paint and plaster, services and security equipment – specialist research pursues other leads. An archaeologist investigates anomalous underground features, like remnant drainage channels, trenches and pits. In laboratories at Sydney University, Engineering students are currently conducting shrink/swell and mineralogy tests to plot ‘behavioural’ changes in clay soils across the property. The likelihood of a latrine, pump and well under the asphalt of Alice Street and a brick cistern, long un-used in the western garden, point to future research opportunities.

So as present and future visitors to Elizabeth Farm will no doubt wonder why cracks spoil and dislodge historic plaster – while the building continues, albeit less vigorously, to dance – behind the scenes and indeed ‘beneath’ their feet lies a unique and sophisticated approach to an age old problem.

EQUIPMENT

Surveyors use highly precise theodolites to record vertical and horizontal building movement, while ‘moisture measurement’ technology borrowed from viticulture (wine production) tracks changes in ground water levels. A ‘smart valve’ system regulates and records the exact amount of water released into the ground via sub-surface drip-feed irrigation tubes.

Leica Surveyors Theodolite

Sentec ‘Diviner’ moisture probe

Smartvalve irrigation controller

The management of building movement at Elizabeth Farm combines 3 integrated processes: the monitoring of building movement, the measurement of soil moisture and the introduction of water, as required, via an underground irrigation system.

BUILDING MOVEMENT

The plan below shows the location of surveyor pins, fixed to stone thresholds, fireplaces and footings throughout Elizabeth Farm. Regular (3 monthly) readings provide comprehensive record of building movement.

Surveyor pins at Elizabeth Farm

MOISTURE MANAGEMENT

The plan below shows the location of soil-moisture monitoring stations at Elizabeth Farm. Data logged monthly by a Diviner probe provides accurate and ongoing record of moisture levels at 100mm intervals, to a depth of 1600mm.

Soil moisture monitoring stations at Elizabeth Farm

UNDERGROUND DRIP-FEED IRRIGATION

The plan below shows the location of an underground irrigation system, installed along the eastern verandah of Elizabeth Farm. A solenoid driven smartValve unit operates to control the amount of water drip-fed into the ground. A metred mains valve, with back flow prevention, provides accurate record of water passing through irrigation system.

Underground drip-feed irrigation system at Elizabeth Farm

State Library of New South Wales

Between these two buildings – the homestead and stables – was a work yard and service area containing among other buildings, a well, a pump and a privy, or toilet block. These 3 structures appear on maps drawn by government field surveyors between 1893 and 1913.

Long since demolished, overlaid by roadway and housing, these features provide important clues to plumbing and sanitation technology operating in the early decades of colonial development.

In order to plot their location and to ensure any archaeological remains are undisturbed, curators at Elizabeth Farm commissioned new plans to be drawn combining historical and contemporary surveys.

Once their location was determined, the ‘footprints’ were marked out in white paint and carefully photographed.

WC

Here is the privy, referred to as ‘WC’ or water closet, or otherwise the toilet block, located slightly south west (to the left) of the servants wing.

WELL

Here is the Well, located a metre, or so, south east of the small entrance gate.

PUMP

And here is the Pump, located a few metres to the south of the well, which continues to reveal itself as a recurrent indentation in the ashpalt surface of Alice Street. Options are currently being investigated to interpret (and possibly even periodically reveal) these important archaeological features.