The Far Horizon (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Lachlan turned away and tried to think rationally. As always, he only wanted the best for George Jarvis.

‘
She
is the best for me,’ George insisted. ‘For so long I have been sure of it, but now I am positive, convinced, definite
,
certain. How many more words must I use to assure you?’

‘But she is
a convict,
George.’

The argument in the room brought Elizabeth to the door. She had heard it all, and had never before seen George Jarvis lose his calmness and appear so irate.

Elizabeth looked at her husband. ‘May I join in this argument?’

‘No,’ Lachlan replied tersely. And it’s not an argument, it’s a discussion.’

‘Mary may be
a convict,’ Elizabeth went on, undeterred, ‘but her only crime was to borrow a mirror without asking her mistress’s permission. And apart from that small misdemeanour, for which she has already been more than severely punished, she is still a nice and decent girl in every way. You have said so yourself.’

Lachlan looked at his wife. ‘So? What are you saying?’

‘He is saying that Mary is not good enough for me,’ George snapped.

‘No, George, he is not saying that,’ Elizabeth responded steadily. ‘He is saying that Mary is a convicted felon, and there are laws concerning free persons and convicts entering into marriage. Laws that must be upheld, especially by the man who heads the government here.’

‘Exactly,’ Lachlan said, ‘that’s what I’ve been
trying
to tell him.’

‘No, you didn’t say it like that,’ George argued. ‘You just kept saying she is a convict.’

‘Because you would not allow me to say anything further before interrupting. And George, whether we like it or not, she
is
a convict, and there lies the problem.’

‘Of course,’ Elizabeth interjected coolly, ‘there is a very simple solution to the problem.’

Lachlan looked at his wife even more uncertainly. ‘Which is?’

‘To grant Mary a free pardon. You
are
still the Governor here, Lachlan. You hold the law in your hands. And you
have
granted pardons to other convicts for lesser reasons than Mary’s monumental achievement of finally making George, in his personal life, content and happy. You could free Mary with a stroke of your pen … if you truly wanted to.’

Lachlan and George stared at Elizabeth, and then at each other.

‘Well …’ Lachlan said slowly and thoughtfully, ‘Mary did save my son from breaking his neck in what could have been a fatal fall down the stairs, twisting her ankle badly and risking her own life in doing so … I suppose that
could
be considered an act of dedicated bravery way beyond her call of duty. Would you say so, Elizabeth?’

‘Oh, I would definitely say so. If she had not saved our son, well … dare we even think about it?’

‘And you, George, would you say so?’

George Jarvis was smiling. ‘Yes, my father, I would.’

*

One month later, George Jarvis and Mary Neely were married before Reverend Cowper in St Philip's Church in Sydney.

Later that night, when the wedding party was over and the household at Government House had retired to bed, only Mrs Kelly and Mrs Ovens remained up in one of the kitchens.

‘Did you see what she did in the church?’ Mrs Ovens asked. ‘Right there in front of Reverend Cowper? I think it was George who made her do it, and in the church too.’

‘I wasn’t in the church to see anything, remember? I was over in your kitchen helping to get the food ready. What did she do?’

‘Well, it was a good thing there was only Governor and Mrs Macquarie and myself and Joseph Bigg there, if there had been more people looking on it would have been very discomforting to say the least. Things like that don’t usually happen at weddings.’

‘What things?’ Mrs Kelly was getting impatient. ‘What did she do?

‘Well, after they had made their promises, she then opens her little silk purse that was hanging from her wrist, and from it she takes a pack of cards, and then right there, in front of the alter, she silently tears each card up, one by one, and each card she tore she handed over to George, and then when we came out of the church, George threw the torn pieces up in the air, and Mrs Macquarie laughed and thought it was very funny.’

Mrs Kelly might have thought it funny too, but she was feeling too sad in herself to laugh or find joy or amusement in anything now, because a week previously the news of the Governor’s resignation and return to Britain had also been announced and made official.

‘When he goes, will you be going too?’ she asked Mrs Ovens moodily. ‘Back to Britain?’

‘Back to dear old London?’ Mrs Kelly looked nostalgic for a moment, and then sipped some more of her rum.

‘Well now, I’ve been thinking about it, I have, and what I keeps thinking is this … if I go back with Governor Macquarie, I’ll probably have to live in Scotland, which is a cold place they say.’

‘Oh, aye, very cold they say,’ Mrs Kelly agreed.

‘Mind you, he’s got his own big house and estate in Scotland has Governor Macquarie. Jarvisfield it’s called, the estate. And so once he goes back there, he’ll be the laird of Jarvisfield again.’

‘God in Heaven,’ Mrs Kelly sighed sadly. ‘I wish he’d just stay and carry on as the laird of Sydney.’

‘Me too, m’ducks, me too.’

‘So will you just go back to London?’

‘And then again, I keeps thinking…’ Mrs Ovens continued, ‘if I goes back to Lord Harrington’s in London, I can see them all now … a starched housekeeper and her assistant and then her assistant, and the stiff butlers with their white gloves and high noses … and then when I goes outside its to the crowded and wet London streets with their puddles of rain underfoot and the stenches and urchins and noise which never really bothered me before …’

She took another sip of rum, a bigger one this time, while Mrs Kelly hung on to her every word without drinking a drop herself.

‘And, of course, being older and away for so long, I’d not be given the position of head cook. I’d be one of the assistant cooks under orders. And then at night, in the kitchen … there’d be the head butler, sitting silently reading
The Times
no doubt, while the parlour maids and chamber maids sat doing their sewing and the like, and it would all be very nice and respectable … and every night I’d be sitting there by the fire thinking to myself – what the blazes am I doing here sitting staring into a smoky fire when I could be over in the fresh air of sunny Australia having a good gossip and a laugh and a nice glass of rum with my dear friend Mrs Kelly?’

There was a momentary silence before Mrs Kelly, her voice and face suddenly transformed and glorified with joy, cried out, ‘You’ll not be leaving then? You’ll be staying here with us?’

Mrs Ovens laughed. ‘I am, m’ducks, I’m staying right here where I am, and so is Joseph Bigg – he don’t want to leave Australia and go back to London neither.’

Chapter Thirty-Six

The Colonial Office had finally allowed Lachlan Macquarie to leave the country he had named Australia after having ruled it as Governor-General for twelve years. In December 1821, Sir Thomas Brisbane arrived to replace him.

Once again Lachlan was aboard a ship looking back – and before him lay all the testimony of his work. The colony of New South Wales, upon his arrival, had been no more than a small shabby settlement around Sydney Cove, the population less than ten thousand, including the regiments. Now it was almost forty thousand.

The land under tillage had increased from 7000 acres to 33,000 acres; and the penetrated area of the country expanded from 2000 square miles to more than 100,000 square miles, all connected by nearly three hundred miles of serviceable roads up and beyond the Blue Mountains.

He had built the townships of Liverpool, Richmond, Bathurst, Campbelltown, Wilberforce and Newcastle, amongst others. He had laid the foundation stone of St Mary’s Cathedral, the first Catholic Church in Sydney, and also two Protestant ones. He had established the first Bank of New South Wales, and opened the first public library.

A home had been erected for the blind. He had opened an orphanage for girls, another for boys. The first school for Aboriginal children had been his pet project at Parramatta – although there had been a small degree of embarrassment when a number of the Aboriginal children had passed their exams with greater skill and higher marks than some of the Europeans.

On Macquarie Street he had built a second large and commodious home for young female convicts who had earned their ticket of leave.

True, the Exclusives had been outraged at the handsome house which offered such comfort, but the house was more than just an elegant building and respectable residence – it was a home and safe haven for those girls who had served their time, and it saved them from the necessity of turning to prostitution in order to earn the money to provide a roof over their heads, or earn their boat fare back to Britain.

And for every change he had made, every law he had legislated, every necessary building he had built – the same had been done for the people of Van Diemen’s Land also.

And then there were the Aboriginal people of this land.

Four days previously, on the 11th February, he had performed his last public service in New South Wales, when he finally succeeded in settling King Bungaree and his people in the village he named ‘George's Head’. It was a pretty place, with a romantic road leading from the beach to the village. And King Bungaree, against all expectations, had been delighted with the farm that Governor Macquarie’s team of workers had put in order for the exclusive use of the Aboriginals.

A celebration dinner followed, attended by three hundred and forty Aboriginals, during which King Bungaree had shed tears appreciatively at Governor Macquarie's assurance that he and his people had been strongly recommended to the kind protection of the new viceroy, Sir Thomas Brisbane

And today Bungaree displayed his gratitude in the greatest way he knew how, by leading his people down to Sydney harbour to say farewell to ‘
Massa Mawarrie
’ fully dressed as a chief – in the white breeches and red coat of a general's uniform that Lachlan had given to him.

But now, all but one last farewell was over.

*

The harbour was crowded, not only with the people of Sydney, but numerous others who had travelled far and wide from all parts of the interior just to say their farewells to Lachlan Macquarie, the man they later declared to be: ‘
The greatest Governor New South Wales has ever known.
’

Every rock on Bennelong Point, and every rock on the western side of the harbour was covered with men, women and children, watching him leave. The entire population, except the Exclusives, were deeply sad to see the end of the Macquarie Era.

Walking past the scarlet lines of soldiers at the harbour, Lachlan finally paused and turned to the crowds to give them his last speech, and final farewell, his voice strong, ‘
My fellow citizens of Australia –
’

The crowds roared their cheers and it was some minutes before he could continue, cutting his speech short and giving them one last promise:

‘I shall not fail, on my return to England, to recommend in the strongest manner to
my Sovereign and to His Majesty’s Government, to give their attention to this valuable rising country, and to extend to it their paternal support and fostering protection.’

The cheers roared again, and Lachlan and his entourage chose that moment to wave farewell and climb aboard the embarkation barge that would take them out to the ship.

*

‘
The shores were lined with innumerable spectators,’
reported the
Gazette
, ‘
but on each face was an indication of an emotion too big, too sincere, for utterance.’

And now, on the deck of the
Surry
, Elizabeth stood next to her husband, clutching the hand of eight-year-old Lachlan who was dressed as a Highlander for the first time, in a suit of tartan.

And by the side of Lachlan senior, as always, stood George Jarvis, with his wife Mary, who was six months pregnant.

As the
Surrey
prepared to set her sails to the wind, all nineteen guns on the Dawes Point Battery thundered out salutes of honour. While in the harbour vast numbers of boats were either sailing or rowing furiously out to the
Surry
to say one more last farewell, surrounding the ship and shouting ‘
Lachlan Macquarie!’’
repeatedly, until Elizabeth dissolved in tears and the ship's commander, Captain Baine, became apprehensive.

‘General Macquarie, we must get out to sea before the wind changes,’ Captain Baine said anxiously. ‘I fear the people will not leave while they still have sight of you. So I think it advisable that you retire to your cabin and remain there until we are out at sea.’

Lachlan lifted his hand to the people in a brief salute, and then turned away and went below deck.

‘
Australia
,’ reported the Gazette, ‘
saw her benefactor for the last time, and felt it too!’

*

For six months after the ship’s departure, Happy Howe and his son Robert of the
Gazette,
constantly rushed down to the harbour whenever a new ship came in, to see if any reports or letters had been sent back from the various ports on the route to England from Governor Macquarie.

Only one report came back, in a letter sent by Mrs Macquarie to Mrs Ovens, a report which made Mrs Ovens and Mrs Kelly celebrate with joy, before Joseph Bigg passed the news on to the
Gazette –
when the
Surry
had docked three months earlier at St Salvadore in Brazil, Mary Jarvis had given birth to a daughter, and the ‘
beautiful baby girl’
had been named Elizabeth.

*

It was the only good news the
Gazette
could report, because by the time Elizabeth Jarvis was three months old, and by the time the
Surry
had reached England, a new song had entered Australian folklore.

Emancipists found that the government of Sir Thomas Brisbane had swiftly removed all the rights they had been given by Lachlan Macquarie.

Under the new
Transportation Act
, the emancipist land settlement policy was thrown out. All Pardons given by the former Governor were now invalid, as until a felon's name appeared in a General Pardon sealed with the Great Seal of England a felon had no rights at law.

Mr Justice Field, in Sydney's High Court, made the announcement that a Governor's Pardon, as distinct from a Royal Pardon, did not restore a convict to any civil rights, save the right to remain on earth.

And once again, convicts experienced the relentless lash of Botany Bay law.

Exclusives fumed as the emancipists in the towns and the convicts in their chain gangs, continually sang out their new protest song:

‘Macquarie was a Prince of men!

Australia's pride and joy!

We ne'er shall see his like again!

Bring back our great Viceroy!’