Tag Archives: Sydney Cove

NSW History Week – Day 5

This is my last post for NSW History Week 2022. In this post, I focus on Australia’s harsh environment that the European settlers were faced with. Today, we battle bushfires with modern technology. Back, more than two hundred and thirty years ago, fires were fought with hessian sacks and branches from trees and shrubs. What a challenging world they found themselves in.

A land of drought and fire

How could early European settlers foresee how challenging it would be to grow crops and ensure the survival of livestock in the new penal colony—especially using techniques employed in the northern hemisphere. How would they know how difficult it would be to even live in this country? The settlers of New South Wales battled with flooding rains, drought, humidity and scorching heat, as well as fires started either by lightning strikes or from hunting or land management practices of First Nations people.

Lieutenant Watkin Tench in his journal makes mention of the practices of setting fire to the grass: “The country, I am of opinion, would abound with birds, did not the natives, by perpetually setting fire to the grass and bushes, destroy the greater part of the nests; a cause which also contributes to render small quadrupeds scarce: they are besides ravenously fond of eggs, and eat them wherever they find them. — They call the roe of a fish and a bird’s egg by one name.”

And

“When the Indians in their hunting parties set fire to the surrounding country (which is a very common custom) the squirrels, opossums, and other animals, who live in trees, flee for refuge into…holes, whence they are easily dislodged and taken.”

The effect of heat and fire on the country and its inhabitants is well recorded by Lieutenant-Colonel David Collins, Lieutenant Watkin Tench and Mrs Elizabeth Macarthur.

Fire threatened the settlement of Sydney Cove in December 1792 as Lieutenant-Colonel David Collins noted: “The weather during December had been extremely hot. On the 5th the wind blew strong from the northward of west ; and, to add to the intense heat of the atmosphere, the country was everywhere on fire. At Sydney, the grass at the back of the hill on the west side of the cove, having either caught or been set on fire by the natives, the flames, aided by the wind which at that time blew violently, spread and raged with incredible fury. One house was burnt down ; several gardens with their fences were destroyed, and the whole face of the hill was on fire, threatening every thatched hut with destruction.

The conflagration was, with much difficulty (notwithstanding the exertions of the military) got under, after some time, and prevented from doing any further mischief. At different times during this uncomfortable day distant thunder was heard, the air darkened, and some few drops of rain fell. The apparent danger from the fires, drew all persons out of their houses and on going into the parching air, it was scarcely possible to breathe, the heat was insupportable; and vegetation seemed to suffer much, the leaves of many culinary plants being reduced to powder. The thermometer in the shade rose above one hundred degrees. Some rain falling toward evening, this excessive heat abated.

At Parramatta, and Toongabbe, also, the heat was extreme ; the country there too was every where in flames. One settler was a great sufferer. The fire had spread to his farm; but, by the efforts of his people and neighbours was got under, and its progress supposed to be essentially checked, when an unlucky spark from a tree, which had been on fire to the top most branch, flying upon the thatch of the hut where his people lived, it blazed out, and the hut, with all the out-buildings, and thirty bushels of wheat just got into a stack were in a few minutes destroyed : the erecting of the hut and out-houses (were made) a short time before. We are prepared for the smile which will follow the detail of this loss; a house,with out-houses which cost fifteen pounds, and thirty bushels of wheat to be deemed of sufficient consequence to find a place in the history of a country. Recollect, however, gentle reader, that country was not Great Britain; it was the infant, the distressed settlement of Port Jackson; and circumstances are great or small only by comparison. The man who lost his few pounds, his little all in New South Wales, deplored it as much as he who in a happier land had lost his thousands. This poor man was made a beggar by his calamity; and the man of wealth could not have suffered more.”

Used to the temperate climate of Great Britain, the colonists were in for a rude shock at the intensity of the sun blazing in the new country—blighting their efforts at using timber:

“The timber that had been cut down proved in general very unfit for the purpose of building, the trees being for the most part decayed ; and when cut down they were immediately warped and split by the heat of the sun.”

And during the summer months of the new country soaring and sustained temperatures rendered the crops to dust. David Collins makes a note of this in March 1791:

“At Rose Hill, the heat on the tenth and eleventh of the month, on which days at Sydney the thermometer flood in the shade at 105º was , so excessive (being much increased by the fire in the adjoining woods), that immense numbers of the large fox bat were seen hanging at the boughs of the trees, and dropping into the water, which, by their stench, was rendered unwholesome. They had been observed for some days before regularly taking their flight in the morning from the north-ward to the southward, and returning in the evening. During the excessive heat many dropped dead while on the wing ; and it was remarkable, that those which were picked up were chiefly males. In several parts of the harbour the ground was covered with different sorts of small birds, some dead, and others gasping for water.

The relief of the detachment at Rose Hill took place on one of those and the officer, having occasion to land in search of water, was compelled to walk several miles before any could be found. Sultry days ; the runs which were known being all dry: in his way to and from the boat, he found a number of birds dropping dead at his feet. The wind was about north-west, and did much injury to the gardens, burning up every thing before it. Those persons whose businesss compelled them to go into the heated air declared, that it was impossible to turn the face for five minutes to the quarter from whence the wind blew.”

In November 1791, David Collins noted the number of hospitalisations from the heat had increased and a convict died of sunstroke:

“The mortality during the month of November had been great, fifty male and four female convicts dying within it. Five hundred sick persons received medicine at the end of that time. The extreme heat of the weather had not only increased the sick lift, but had added one to the number of deaths. On the 4th, a convict attending upon one of the gentlemen, in passing from his house to his kitchen, with-out any covering upon his head, received a coup de soleil which at the time deprived him of Speech and motion, and, in less than four-and-twenty hours, of his life. The thermometer on that day stood at twelve o’clock at 943/4º and the wind was N.W.”

And in December 1792, Collins noted the reduction of working hours due to the heat: “The convicts had more time given to them, for the purpose not only of avoiding the heat of the day, but of making themselves comfortable at home. They were directed to work from five in the morning until nine; rest until four in the afternoon, and then labour until sunset.”

In 1796, the high temperatures made wheat a crop with an uncertain future:

“Cultivation was confined to maize, wheat, potatoes, and other garden-vegetables. The heat of the climate, occasional droughts, and blighting winds, rendered wheat an uncertain crop : The harvests of maize were constant, certain, and plentiful; and two crops were generally procured in twelve months.”

In January 1797:

“The Governor, on reaching Toongabbe, had the mortification of seeing a stack containing eight-hundred bushels of wheat burnt to the ground, and the country round this place every where in flames: unfortunately, much wheat belonging to Government was stacked there. The fire had broke out in the evening ; the wind was high, the night extremely dark, and the flames had mounted to the very tops of the lofty woods that surrounded a field called the Ninety Acres, in which were several stacks of wheat. The appearance was alarming, and the noise occasioned by the high wind, and the crackling of the flames among the trees, contributed to render the scene truly awful.

It became necessary to make every effort to save this field and its contents. The jail-gang, who worked in irons, were called out, and told, that if the wheat was saved by their exertions, their chains should be knocked off. By providing every man with a large bush, to beat off the fire as it approached the grain over the stubble, keeping up this attention during the night, and the wind becoming moderate towards morning, the fire was fortunately kept off; and the promise to the jail-gang was not forfeited.

Although at this season of the year there were days when, from the extreme heat of the atmosphere, the leaves of many culinary plants growing in the gardens were reduced to a powder, yet there was some ground for supposing that this accident had not arisen from either the heat of the weather or the fire in the woods. The grain that was burnt was the property of Government, and the destruction made room for as many bushels as should be destroyed, which must be purchased from the settlers who had wheat to sell. If, however, this was the diabolical work of designing selfish villains, they had art enough to baffle the most minute inquiry.”

And in February 1797:

“Erecting a granary, completing a wind-mill, and repairing the public roads, formed the principal works during January; in which the weather had been most uncomfortably hot, accompanied with some severe thunder storms, during one of which both the flag-staff at the South Head, and that at the entrance of the Cove, on Point Maikelyne, were shivered to pieces by the lightning.

The vast blazes of fire which were seen in every direction, and which were freshened by every blast of wind, added much to the suffocating heat that prevailed.”

And

“The weather was now becoming exceedingly hot ; and as, at that season of the year, the heat of the sun was so intense that every sub-stance became a combustible, and a single spark, if exposed to the air, in a moment became a flame, much evil was to be dreaded from fire. On the east side of the town of Sydney, a fire, the effect of intoxication or carelessness, broke out among the convicts’ houses, when three of them were quickly destroyed ; and three miles from the town another house was burnt by some runaway wretches, who, being displeased with the owner, took this diabolical method of shewing their ill-will.”

In January 1799:

“The wheat proved little better than chaff, and the maize was burnt up in the ground for want of rain. From the establishment of the settlement, so much continued drought and suffocating heat had not been experienced ; the country was in flames, the wind northerly and parching ; and some showers of rain which fell on the 7th were of no advantage, being immediately taken up again by the excessive heat of the sun.

March 1799:

“The great drought and excessive heat had affected the water. Such ponds as still retained any were reduced so very low, that most of them were become brackish, and scarcely drinkable. From this circumstance, it was conjectured, that the earth contained a large portion of salt ; for the ponds even on the high grounds were not fresh. The woods between Sydney and Parramatta were completely on fire, the trees being burnt to the tops ; and every blade of grass was destroyed.”

And the last word comes from Elizabeth Macarthur, in one of her letters dated 7 March 1791

“…in spite of Musick I have not altogether lost sight of my Botanical studies; I have only been precluded from pursuing that study, by the intense heat of the Weather, which has not permitted me to walk much during the Summer, the Months of December, and January, have been hotter than I can describe, indeed insufferably so. The Thermometer rising from an 100 to an 112 degrees is I believe 30 degrees above the hottest day known in England – the general heat is to be borne – but when we are oppressed by the hot winds we have no other resource – but to shut up ourselves in our Houses and to endeavor to the utmost of our power to exclude every breath of air – This Wind blows from the North, and comes as if from a heated oven. Those winds are generally succeeded by a Thunder storm, so severe and awful, that it is impossible for one who has not been a Witness to such a Violent concussion of the Elements to form any notion of it. I am not yet enough used to it, to be quite unmoved, it is so different from the Thunder we have in England. I cannot help being a little Cowardly, yet no injury has ever been suffer’d from it, except a few sheep being kill’d which were laying under a Tree, that was struck by the Lightning, a Thunder storm has always the effect to bring heavy rain, which cools the air very considerably. I have seen very little rain, since my arrival, indeed I do not think we have had a Weeks rain in the whole time: the consequence of which is, our Gardens produce nothing, all is burnt up, indeed the soil must be allow’d to be most wretched and totally unfit for growing any European productions tho’ a stranger would scarcely believe this, as the face of the ground at this moment, where it is in its native state is flourishing even to Luxuriance; producing fine Shrubs, Trees, and Flowers, which by their lively tints, afford a most agreeable Landscape. Beauty I have heard from some of my unletter’d Country Men is but skin deep, I am sure the remark holds good in N: S: Wales.”

European settlers persevered and learnt many lessons in how to live and thrive in the harsh environment that is Australia. Today, we still battle with raging bushfires and devastating drought. Science and technology is more important than ever to enable Australians to grow food and thrive in an increasingly hostile and unreliable environment, but we take some comfort in realising that our environment today is not so very different from that more than two hundred years ago.

**

‘More Than I Ever Had’ is based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill, who came to Sydney Cove in 1790 as part of the Second Fleet as a private in the NSW Corps. The book is available from independent booksellers in Sydney and Amazon.

NSW History Week – Day 4

Perspectives on a spearing

On 7 September 1790 (two hundred and thirty-two years and one day ago – I am posting this blog on 8 September 2022), on a beach in Manly Cove, the Governor of New South Wales, Arthur Phillip, was speared through the shoulder by a First Nations man. I had written a chapter for my book (‘More Than I Ever Had’) on this event, but as it didn’t make the final version I have uploaded it to my website as an additional chapter. Elizabeth Macarthur (the long suffering wife of John Macarthur), Lieut.-Gov David Collins, Lieut. Watkin Tench and a master’s mate from the Sirius, Mr Southwell, each provided their perspective on the incident in letters and journals. Following, is a compilation of their reports of events leading up to, during and after the incident.

Lieutenant Watkin Tench notes in his journal on 7 September, 1790:

WT “Captain Nepean, of the New South Wales corps, and Mr White[1], accompanied by little Nanbaree[2], and a party of men, went in a boat to Manly Cove, intending to land there, and walk on to Broken Bay. On drawing near the shore, a dead whale, in the most disgusting state of putrefaction, was seen lying on the beach, and at least two hundred Indians surrounding it, broiling the flesh on different fires, and feasting on it with the most extravagant marks of greediness and rapture. As the boat continued to approach, they were observed to fall into confusion and to pick up their spears; on which our people lay upon their oars: and Nanbaree stepping forward, harangued them for some time, assuring them that we were friends. Mr. White now called for Baneelon[3]; who, on hearing his name, came forth, and entered into conversation. He was greatly emaciated, and so far disfigured by a long beard, that our people not without difficulty recognized their old acquaintance. His answering in broken English, and inquiring for the governor, however, soon corrected their doubts. He seemed quite friendly. And soon after Colbee came up, pointing to his leg, to shew that he had freed himself from the fetter which was upon him, when he had escaped from us.

When Baneelon was told that the governor was not far off, he expressed great joy, and declared that he would immediately go in search of him; and if he found him not, would follow him to Sydney. ‘Have you brought any hatchets with you?’ cried he. Unluckily they had not any which they chose to spare; but two or three shirts, some handkerchiefs, knives, and other trifles, were given to them, and seemed to satisfy. Baneelon, willing to instruct his countrymen, tried to put on a shirt, but managed it so awkwardly, that a man of the name of M’Entire, the governor’s gamekeeper, was directed by Mr. White to assist him. This man, who was well known to him, he positively forbade to approach, eyeing him ferociously, and with every mark of horror and resentment. He was in consequence left to himself, and the conversation proceeded as before. The length of his beard seemed to annoy him much, and he expressed eager wishes to be shaved, asking repeatedly for a razor. A pair of scissors was given to him, and he shewed he had not forgotten how to use such an instrument, for he forthwith began to clip his hair with it.

During this time, the women and children, to the number of more than fifty, stood at a distance, and refused all invitations, which could be conveyed by signs and gestures, to approach nearer. ‘Which of them is your old favourite, Bar-an-gar-oo, of whom you used to speak so often?’ — ‘0h,’ said he, ‘she is become the wife of Colbee! but I have got Bul-la Mur-ee Dee-in [two large women] to compensate for her loss.’

September, 1790. It was observed that he had received two wounds, in addition to his former numerous ones, since he had left us; one of them from a spear, which had passed through the fleshy part of his arm; and the other displayed itself in a large scar above his left eye. They were both healed, and probably were acquired in the conflict wherein he had asserted his pretensions to the two ladies.

Nanbaree, all this while, though he continued to interrogate his countrymen, and to interpret on both sides, shewed little desire to return to their society, and stuck very close to his new friends. On being asked the cause of their present meeting, Baneelon pointed to the whale, which stunk immoderately; and Colbee made signals, that it was common among them to eat until the stomach was so overladen as to occasion sickness.

Their demand of hatchets being re-iterated, notwithstanding our refusal; they were asked why they had not brought with them some of their own? They excused themselves by saying, that on an occasion of the present sort, they always left them at home, and cut up the whale with the shell which is affixed to the end of the throwing stick.

Our party now thought it time to proceed on their original expedition, and having taken leave of their sable friends, rowed to some distance, where they landed, and set out for Broken Bay, ordering the coxswain of the boat, in which they had come down, to go immediately and acquaint the governor of all that had passed. When the natives saw that the boat was about to depart, they crowded around her, and brought down, by way of present, three or four great junks of the whale, and put them on board of her; the largest of which, Baneelon expressly requested might be offered, in his name, to the governor.”

Elizabeth Macarthur, recalled what she’d been told:

EM “On the 7th of Septr Captn Nepean, and several other Gentlemen went down the Harbour in a Boat; with an intention of proceeding to Broken Bay to take a view of the Hawkesbury River, in their way they put in at Manly Cove (a place so call’d from the Spirited behaviour of the Natives there at the Governors first landing). At this time, about two Hundred Natives were assembled, feeding on a Whale: that had been driven on Shore, as they discover’d no hostile intentions our party having Arms went up to them. Nanberry was in the Boat, and was desired to enquire for Bannylong[4], and Coleby when behold, both Gentlemen appear’d: and advancing with the utmost confidence ask’d in broken English, for all their old friends at Sydney. They exchanged several Weapons for provisions, and Clothes – and gave some Whale bone as a present for the Governor. Captn Nepean knowing this news would be very pleasing to the Govr. dispatch’d a Messenger to inform him of it, and proceeded on towards Broken Bay – The Govr. lost no time, but as soon as he was acquainted with the above circumstances order’d a Boat and accompanied by Mr Collins (The Judge Advocate) and a Lieut Waterhouse of the Navy; repair’d to Manly Cove, he landed by himself, unarm’d, in order to shew no Violence was intended.”

In David Collins’ account:

DC “Anxious to see him again, the Governor, after taking some arms from the party at the Look-out (which he thought the more requisite in this visit, as he heard that the cove was full of natives), went down and landed at the place where the whale was lying. There he not only saw Bennillong[5], but Cole-be also, who had made his escape from the Governor’s house a few days after his capture. At first his Excellency trusted himself alone with these people ; but the few months that Bennillong had been away had so altered his person, that the Governor, until joined by his companions[6], did not perfectly recoiled his old acquaintance. This native had been always much attached to Captain Collins, one of the gentlemen then with the Governor, and testified with much warmth his satisfaction at seeing him again. Several articles of wearing apparel were given to him and his companions (taken for that purpose from the people in the boat, but who, all but one man, remained on their oars to be ready in case of any accident) ; and a promise was exacted from his Excellency by Bennillong to return in two days with more, and also with some hatchets or tomahawks.”

EM “Bannylong approach’d, and shook hands with the Govr. – but Coleby had before left the Spot, no reason was ask’d why Bannylong had left[7] as he appear’d very happy, and thankful for what was given him; requesting a hatchet and some other things which the Govr. promised to bring him the next day, Mr. Collins, and Mr Waterhouse, now join’d them; and several Natives also came forward, they continued to converse with much seeming friendship untill they had insensibly wander’d some distance from the Boat and very imprudently none of the Gentlemen had the precaution to take a gun in their hand, This the Govr perceiving, deem’d it provident to retreat; and after assuring Bannylong that he would remember his promise; told him, he was going.”

WT “They[8] discoursed for some time, Baneelon expressing pleasure to see his old acquaintance, and inquiring by name for every person whom he could recollect at Sydney; and among others for a French cook, one of the governor’s servants, whom he had constantly made the butt of his ridicule, by mimicking his voice, gait, and other peculiarities, all of which he again went through with his wonted exactness and drollery. He asked also particularly for a lady from whom he had once ventured to snatch a kiss; and on being told that she was well, by way of proving that the token was fresh in his remembrance, he kissed lieutenant Waterhouse, and laughed aloud. On his wounds being noticed, he coldly said, that he had received them at Botany Bay, but went no farther into their history.

Hatchets still continued to be called for with redoubled eagerness, which rather suprized us, as formerly they had always been accepted with indifference. But Baneelon had probably demonstrated to them their superiority over those of their own manufacturing. To appease their importunity, the governor gave them a knife, some bread, pork, and other articles; and promised that in two days he would return hither, and bring with him hatchets to be distributed among them, which appeared to diffuse general satisfaction.

Baneelon’s love of wine has been mentioned; and the governor, to try whether it still subsisted, uncorked a bottle, and poured out a glass of it, which the other drank off with his former marks of relish and good humour, giving for a toast, as he had been taught, “the King.”

Our party now advanced from the beach; but perceiving many of the Indians filing off to the right and left, so as in some measure to surround them, they retreated gently to their old situation, which produced neither alarm or offence; the others by degrees also resumed their former position. A very fine barbed spear of uncommon size being seen by the governor, he asked for it. But Baneelon, instead of complying with the request, took it away, and laid it at some distance, and brought back a throwing-stick, which he presented to his excellency.”

EM “…at that moment an old looking Man advanced, whom Bannylong said was his friend, and wish’d the Govr. to take notice of him, at this he approach’d the old Man, with his hand extended…”

WT “Matters had proceeded in this friendly train for more than half an hour, when a native, with a spear in his hand, came forward, and stopped at the distance of between twenty and thirty yards from the place where the governor, Mr. Collins, lieutenant Waterhouse, and a seaman stood. His excellency held out his hand, and called to him, advancing towards him at the same time, Mr. Collins following close behind. He appeared to be a man of middle age, short of stature, sturdy, and well set, seemingly a stranger, and but little acquainted with Baneelon and Colbee. The nearer, the governor approached, the greater became the terror and agitation of the Indian…”

EM “when on a Sudden the Savage started back and snatch’d up a spear from the ground, and poiz’d it to throw the Govr seeing the danger told him in their Tongue that it was bad; and still advanced: when with a Mixture of horror, and intrepidity, the Native discharg’d the Spear with all his force at the Govr, it enter’d above his Collar bone, and came out at his back nine inches from the entrance; taking an Oblique direction…”

DC “..but Bennillong, who had presented to him several natives by name, pointed out one, whom the Governor, thinking to take particular notice of, stepped forward to meet, holding out both his hands towards him; The savage not understanding this civility, and perhaps thinking that he was going to seize him as a prisoner, lifted a spear from the grass with his foot, and, fixing it on his throwing-flick, in an instant darted it at the Governor. The spear entered a little above the collar-bone, and had been discharged with such force that the barb of it came through on the other side.”

EM “the Natives from the Rocks now pour’d in their Spears in abundance; so that it was with the utmost difficulty, and the greatest good fortune: that no other hurt was rec’d in getting the Govr into the Boat.”

WT “Instant confusion on both sides took place; Baneelon and Colbee disappeared; and several spears were thrown from different quarters, though without effect. Our party retreated as fast as they could, calling to those who were left in the boat, to hasten up with fire- arms. A situation more distressing than that of the governor, during the time that this lasted, cannot readily be conceived:-the pole of the spear, not less than ten feet in length, sticking out before him, and impeding his flight, the butt frequently striking the ground, and lacerating the wound. In vain did Mr. Waterhouse try to break it; and the barb, which appeared on the other side, forbade extraction, until that could be performed. At length it was broken, and his excellency reached the boat, by which time the seamen with the musquets had got up, and were endeavouring to fire them, but one only would go off, and there is no room to believe that it was attended with any execution.”

EM “As soon as they return’d to this place[9], you may believe an universal solicitude prevail’d as the danger of the Wound could by no means be asertain’d, untill the spear was extracted and this was not done before his Excellency had caus’d some papers to be arranged – lest the consequence might prove fatal, which happily it did not, for in drawing out the spear, it was found that as no vital part had been touch’d. the Governour having a good habit of Bodily health – the wound perfectly heal’d in the course of a few weeks.”

WT (Regarding the party that had gone on to Broken Bay) “On reaching Manly Cove, three Indians were observed standing on a rock, with whom they entered into conversation. The Indians informed them, that the man who had wounded the governor, belonged to a tribe residing at Broken Bay, and they seemed highly to condemn what he had done. Our gentlemen asked them for a spear, which they immediately gave. The boat’s crew said that Baneelon and Colbee had just departed, after a friendly intercourse: like the others, they had pretended highly to disapprove the conduct of the man who had thrown the spear, vowing to execute vengeance upon him.

From this time, until the 14th, no communication passed between the natives and us. On that day, the chaplain and lieutenant Dawes, having Abaroo with them in a boat, learned from two Indians that Wil-ee-ma-rin was the name of the person who had wounded the governor. These two people inquired kindly how his excellency did, and seemed pleased to hear that he was likely to recover. They said that they were inhabitants of Rose Hill, and expressed great dissatisfaction at the number of white men who had settled in their former territories. In consequence of which declaration, the detachment at that post was reinforced on the following day.”

And, finally, an extract of a letter to home from a youngster named Southwell, a master’s mate on the Sirius:

“I cannot sufficiently express my approbation of your good sense in forbidding those who perused it to publish my insignificant narrative; or my chagrin at their improper conduct who have, notwithstanding, taken the liberty to do so. I saw it, being the concluding part, in the Hampshire Chronicle and Portsmouth and Chichester Journal, Sept’r 7, 1789. Mr Morgan, since we were at sea, came across it, and from peculiarity of stile immediately recognized it, as did most of our principals on board. I add that I am vexed at it for several reasons, and pray you to take care who you honour with a sight of my cobweb productions, if this is the way they honour them. Apropos, that date is the anniversary of the Governor’s misfortune of the year 1790, when he was speared by a native in Manly Bay, in a manner which savours much of imprudence next to folly. Bennilong, as I said in my letters, had made his escape, and this was the first interview since that incident. It, however very near fatal, proved by no means so, as he soon recovered, and it was followed by the fullest intercourse with these people, insomuch that they eat, drink and sleep in the camp with the most perfect sangfroid; and some of their dames, like too many of ours, gladly forego that dear pleasure of nursing their own bratts, and leave them in perfect security to the care of several of the convict women, who are suitably rewarded by the Governor.”

**

Historians have conjectured whether the governor was lured to Manly Cove for the very purpose of spearing him, as a payback for his capture and detention of Benelong and Colebee: the governor had to ‘pay’ for this injustice in order for the First Nations people to forgive him. But then again, it could just have been a case that the person who speared the governor was alarmed from the governor’s actions.

From Watkin Tench: “…the nearer, the governor approached, the greater became the terror and agitation of the Indian. To remove his fear, governor Phillip threw down a dirk, which he wore at his side. The other, alarmed at the rattle of the dirk, and probably misconstruing the action, instantly fixed his lance in his throwing-stick.”

In any respect, relations with Benelong and other First Nations people became cordial again following the spearing.

**

‘More Than I Ever Had’ is based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill who enlisted in the NSW Corps in 1789 in Birmingham. The book is available from independent booksellers in Sydney and from Amazon.

[1] Surgeon John White

[2] Nanbree or Nanbarry, nephew of the Cadigal leader Colebee, was brought into the Sydney settlement in April 1789, seriously ill from smallpox, which had killed his mother and father. He recovered after treatment by Surgeon John White, who adopted him.

[3] Also known as Benelong

[4] Also known as Benelong

[5] Also known as Benelong

[6] The governor was accompanied by David Collins and Lieutenant Waterhouse.

[7] Assume Mrs Macarthur is referring to why Benelong and Colebee escaped from their capture by the governor.

[8] Governor Phillip, Benelong and Colebee

[9] Back to the governor’s home

NSW History Week – Day 3

Military mayhem in 1796

In support of NSW History Week 2022, here is the third of five stories that formed the basis of my research for my novel More Than I Ever Had. This book is based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill, who enlisted in the New South Wales Corps in 1789 in Birmingham.

In February 1796, Theophilus Feutrill was one of four people whose name was on an arrest warrant issued by the Governor of New South Wales, John Hunter. If found guilty of the charges, the men named would be “obliged to answer for it, most probably with their lives.”

What were the circumstances that lead to this arrest warrant being issued? And, could Theo Feutrill, and the three other privates whose names were on the arrest warrants, really be the masterminds behind what happened, or where they just the scapegoats?

When John Hunter took over as Governor of New South Wales in September 1795, he knew he had a tough job ahead of him. The settlement was largely dependent on rum as currency and much at the mercy of the monopolistic trading practices of the military hierarchy and other officials. He complained in harsh terms to the Duke of Portland (one of the three Secretaries of State, who Hunter reported to) about the quality of the military members:

“…I should feel myself deficient in that duty which I owe to his Majesty’s service in this part of the world were I not to take a liberty which I have no reason to believe your Grace will be offended at—I mean, in remarking that the manner in which this corps has, since employed upon this service, been recruited does in a great measure weaken the effect or service which we would expect to derive from the assistance of the military. Soldiers from the Savoy,* and other characters who have been considered as disgraceful to every other regiment in his Majesty’s service, have been thought fit and proper recruits for the New South Wales Corps, which, in my humble opinion, my Lord, should have been composed of the very best and most orderly dispositions. They are sent here to guard and to keep in obedience to the laws, when force may be requisite, a set of the worst, the most atrocious characters that ever disgraced human nature; and yet we find amongst those safeguards men capable of corrupting the heart of the best disposed, and often superior in every species of infamy to the most expert in wickedness amongst the convicts. Our stores, provisions, and granaries must be intrusted (sic) to the care of those men: what security can we have in the hands of such people?”

*The Savoy was the name of the prison which housed military offenders.

At the time, Governor Hunter was approaching the age of sixty. Those who supported him were significantly younger: Captain Paterson, the commander of the Corps was forty; Captain John Macarthur, Inspector of Public Works, was twenty-eight. No others were older than Paterson. In the absence of a free press where independent commentary might have reached those back in London, the Duke of Portland relied not only on dispatches from Hunter, but he was also being petitioned by the likes of the ambitious John Macarthur, who held little back in his criticisms of the administration.

Governor Hunter’s leadership was tested following an event which occurred on 5 February 1796, and is considered to be the catalyst for the Duke of Portland to eventually recall him to England and replace him as Governor. In a letter from Governor Hunter to the Duke of Portland dated 10 August 1796 (which was not acknowledged by Portland until more than a year later on 31 August 1797), Hunter outlines an event which he describes as an ‘outrage’. An abridged version of his report is below:

“Statement of the Case of John Baughan.

John Baughan…foreman of the carpenters working at Sydney, and a private soldier of the New South Wales Corps, (also a carpenter), had some dispute when formerly working together… This dispute, it appeared, had not subsided in the min of the soldier, and was probably not wholly forgot by the other.

…One day when sentinel over a storehouse, knowing that Baughan was at work in a house some distance from his post, (the Private) set his arms down against the wall of the store, and seeing a man whom he knew standing on the outside of the building in which Baughan was at work, entered into a conversation with him, of which Baughan was the subject, and which much abuse was bestowed, (and)… meant for Baughan (to) (over)hear.

Baughan went out at the back door unperceived, and seeing the soldier without his arms, went to his post, where he found the musquet, which he took up and carried to the guard-house, and delivered to the Serjeant (sic) of the guard. The soldier was, of course, taken notice of and relieved, being without his arms.

The next day, 5th February, at half-past nine o’clock in the forenoon, the whole of the corps off duty at this place assembled, and in the most public and tumultuous manner proceeded to the dwelling of John Baughan, broke open his gates, doors, and windows, entered his house, chopped the corner-posts of it, broke his bedsteads and bedding, chairs, window-frames, drawers, chests, and, in short, completely demolished everything within his possession to a considerable amount, for the man had, by great labour and industry, built himself a neat house, and had it well furnished.

Upon their first approach, having had a few minutes’ notice, he armed himself with a loaded gun and defended himself by threats for some time, but their numbers were so many that they surrounded his paling which inclosed (sic) the house, which some tore down and entered on the opposite side to that which he endeavoured to defend, came behind him, secured and threw him down, with his face to the ground, whilst one held an axe over his neck, and swore if he offered to stir he would chop the head from his body. During the time he remained in this situation they completed the ruin of his whole property, to the very great terror of the man’s wife, after which they went off cheering, as if something meritorious had been effected, and marched in a body cross the parade before their commanding officer’s house.

After so daring an attack, in the open day, upon the dwelling-house of an inhabitant, and in direct defiance of all law, civil or military, they could only be considered as in a state of mutiny. I immediately issued in Public Orders the paper No. 2.”

Public Orders Paper #2 is reproduced below:

Government and General Order.  5th February, 1796.

“The very riotous manner in which the soldiers have conducted themselves this morning, and the very unwarrantable liberty they have thought proper to take in destroying the dwelling-house of John Baughan, is so flagrant a crime against the laws established in this colony that nothing but the want of proof to substantiate who the principal actors in this disgraceful business were could possibly prevent their being immediately tried for so glaring an offence against the peace of the colony.

The Governor thinks it necessary to assure the soldiers that he considers their conduct upon this occasion to have been disgraceful to the character of a British soldier, and that he did hope to have found men amongst them who would have had pride enough to have stood forward and pointed out the ringleaders of so mutinous a conduct, for in no other light can it be considered than that of mutiny when the military assemble in such numbers unknown to their officers, who are at all times ready to listen to any complaints they may have to make, and to see that agreeable to common justice they are redressed. If the soldiers expect that the Governor or any of the officers in this settlement can hereafter consider them as…meriting the honorable appellation of British troops, it must be by their bringing forward the ringleaders or advisers of this disgraceful conduct, in order that the stigma may be wiped away by such worthless characters being brought to trial for this shameful conduct.”

The reception of the Public Orders and mood of the soldiers is indicated by Governor Hunter in his letter to the Duke of Portland:

“But as an alteration in the ration had at that very time been ordered, I think it necessary to observe that their temper at the moment was so violent that they positively refused to take it unless they were served all flour, instead of part flour and part corn, a desire which could not be complied with without manifest injustice to others, and also insisted upon being paid short-allowance money for the time they were on short ration, which they say Governor Phillip had promised them. This last demand I must request your Grace’s instructions upon.”

Governor Hunter met with the commander of the Corps, Captain William Paterson on 6 February and wrote to him the next day advising his change of heart (wisely) in wanting to address the soldiers directly. He couched his decision that to address them directly “would be a condescention on my part which their violent and unsoldierlike conduct does not entitle them to from me.” He goes on to say to Paterson: 

“I must declare to you, sir, that the conduct of this part of the New South Wales Corps has been,…the most violent and outrageous that was ever heard of by any British regiment whatever, and I shall consider every step they may go father in aggravation as rebellion against his Majesty’s government and authority, of which the most early notice shall be taken, and those concerned be in due time obliged to answer for it, probably with their lives.”

As previously mentioned, the Duke of Portland did not respond to Governor Hunter on this matter for more than a year, leaving the governor to deal with this without his support. The governor did, however, have the support of Doctor William Balmain who (without legal training) held the position of Judge-Advocate. From the military side, Captain John Macarthur represented the interests of the NSW Corps.

After the attack on his home, John Baughan, fearing further retribution, declined to identify those involved or to pursue the matter. Dr Balmain ‘proffered’ legal advice (some historians considered Balmain threatened Baughan with obstruction of justice should he not progress the matter ). After some days, four names were eventually given up. When the governor issued the arrest warrants, the military was further enraged at Balmain’s “shamefully malevolent interference in the affairs of the Corps”. One of the warrants was for the arrest of Theophilus Feutrill.

As the military were responsible for enacting the arrest warrants, Captain John Macarthur approached the governor and stalled the process. Thus began a test of strength between the civil and military authorities. As Theophilus fretted over his fate—he was facing potential execution if found guilty—a series of letters was exchanged between Judge Advocate Balmain (representing the civil authority) and Captain John Macarthur (representing the military). Tempers frayed and insults given to the point that Balmain told Macarthur he was “a base rascal and an atrocious liar and villain”. Balmain then challenged Macarthur to a duel, which was subsequently withdrawn.

Captain Macarthur approached the Governor in the name of the Corps and was “expressive of their contrition, their sincere concern for what had happened, promising at the same time that they would endeavour by their future conduct to wipe away the odium which this recent instance of disorder and want of respect for the laws, the peace, and order of the settlement had brought upon them; they also agreed to indemnify the sufferer for his loss.” Upon receiving this message from Macarthur, and by the personal petition of the sufferer, John Baughan, the governor ordered the warrants to be withdrawn as “the consequences would otherwise most probably have been fatal to some.”

Peace was restored, but the Duke of Portland saw Hunter’s capitulation as weakness in his leadership.

John Hunter was recalled to London in a stern dispatch from Portland dated 5 November 1799. The withdrawal was acknowledged by Hunter on 20 April 1800, and he handed over the government to Lieutenant-Governor King on 28 September.

Why was Theophilus Feutrill’s name included on the arrest warrant? The Governor wanted the members of the military to come forward and give up the names of the ring leaders. But it appears unlikely that a private soldier would have the compelling presence or authority to whip up “all off-duty military members” to such an action. Was he, and the other privates listed just scapegoats, or were they more involved? The records are silent, but it is easy to imagine the relief he and his wife Ann would have felt upon hearing the warrants were withdrawn.

**

‘More Than I Ever Had’, based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill, is available from independent booksellers in Sydney and Amazon.

NSW History Week – Day 2 part III

Duelling personalities: Part III

In support of NSW History Week 2022, here is part III of the second of five stories (presented in three parts) that formed the basis of my research for my novel More Than I Ever Had. This book is based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill, who enlisted in the New South Wales Corps in 1789 in Birmingham.

Duel number three: Paterson v Macarthur 1801. Petty grievances

An article published in the Australian Star in September 1896, recounts a long-winded story about Sydney’s “first duel”*. It says “The whole affair is contained in the correspondence, official and private, and the tediousness is entirely due to the childish tetchiness, the elaborate slyness and the queer prolixity of many of the persons concerned. These were almost every individual of any station in the little community in the year 1801 of the occurrence.”

I’ll boil down the story as much as I can, but the whole issue begins with a drowning enroute to New South Wales. The drowned man’s effects were taken by the naval agent, Lieutenant Marshall, who replaced them with inferior products. Lieutenant John Macarthur—who was the temporary officer commanding the New South Wales Corps, in the absence of Colonel William Paterson—became aware of the swindle and took the matter up. The Governor severely reprimanded Lieutenant Marshall and sent him back to England on the next whaler. The article writes: “Marshall, resenting Macarthur’s action in the matter, thereupon found means to insult Captain Macarthur, who promptly sent Captain Abbott, of his corps, with a challenge. Lieutenant Marshall accepted.”

The problem was that Lieut. Marshall named a Mr Jefferies (purser of the Cornwallis) as his second. Macarthur was “up to his eyes in trade in spirits and every other commodity” so he ‘loftily objected’ and he would “by no means recognise (Jefferies) as second to his adversary.” Marshall duly attended the duel at the specified time and place, but Macarthur kept away. Enraged, Marshall “provided himself with a cudgel and went in search of (Macarthur).” Marshall found Captain Abbott in the doorway to Macarthur’s office, and he “dealt Captain Abbott a lusty thump on the ribs” then went in pursuit of Macarthur. When approached, Macarthur “(drew) his sword, (and) threatened to run the angry lieutenant through the body.” Marshall was arrested and taken to the guard-house.

Governor King then ordered that Lieut. Marshall should be tried by criminal court for assault against Abbott and Macarthur. By this time, Colonel Paterson had returned and “the court was property constituted with him, four other officers of the NSW Corps, Lieut. Grant and the Judge Advocate.” Whilst the case against Marshall for his “shady transaction with respect to the personal effects of the (drowned person)”, was straightforward, “Macarthur’s refusal to meet Lieut. Marshall in a duel appears to have been…impertinent, inasmuch as according to Governor King, he subsequently entertained at dinner at his own house, in company with Captain Abbott, the very man on whose selection as second to Lieutenant Marshall he alleged his disinclination to appear in the field.” Marshall “took objection to the constitution of the court” being made up of NSW Corpsmen, which was denied. Whilst Governor King did not intervene during the trial (Marshall was found guilty and sentenced to 12 months prison), he was provided with a record of the proceedings where there was “little doubt that the proceedings were conducted with distinct animus against the prisoner.” The Governor considered the appeal of the prisoner rested “on grounds solid enough to require serious attention. He instructed the court reconvene to investigate the allegations “not only to defend its own integrity, but to afford the most unequivocal justice to the prisoner…” The members of the court met, but refused to comply and “immediately dispersed.” The Governor said that he would “bring the business under the notice of the Secretary of State, and ask for support of his authority.” The five military members of the court wrote a letter asking for a copy of Marshall’s protest. The Governor refused, as the five military members were only a part of the seven member court. This pitted the five military members against the two others, and the officers “got savage and rather desperate. They agreed amongst themselves to cut the Governor socially. But this course proved too compromising (for) Colonel Paterson (who) quietly seceded. He resumed his ordinary relations with the Governor. Macarthur was furious.”

And this is where things become petty and dangerous.

Macarthur “threw the obligations of military discipline to the winds. He cast aside the obligations of a gentleman. He divulged private conversations with the colonel, he disclosed confidential communications. He stooped so low as to exhibit a private and familiar letter from Mrs Paterson to Mrs Macarthur. The fact was that the colonel had not been at all guarded in his demeanour and acts with relation to the Governor. He had criticised. He had sneered. He had even …(written)…to Sir Joseph Banks and General Brownrigg attacking the Governor’s public character and transactions. Macarthur had participated in these indiscretions. There are indications that he had instigated them. He now threw the burden of them on his colonel.” Colonel Paterson responded by doubling-down on his relationship with the Governor, and sent Macarthur a challenge.

The duel took place—Colonel Paterson chose Captain McKellar as his second, Macarthur chose Captain Piper. A scandal occurred when contrary to “all the proprieties” Macarthur was permitted to load his own pistols, rather than his second, which was the proper course of action. Macarthur asserted “there was something the matter with the locks (on his) pistols (and) it wasn’t safe for anyone unacquainted with their peculiarities to wad them…” Captain Piper, Macarthur’s second, won the toss for first shot.

The combatants stood at a distance and side-on, to make themselves as small a target as possible. Macarthur had first shot and “it took effect in the Colonel’s right shoulder. He was disabled and could not return the fire. A week later, his life was not out of danger. The Governor, of course, heard of the affair” and arrest warrants were issued to all those involved (except for the wounded man, Colonel Paterson).

The pettiness continued.

The Governor ordered Macarthur to Norfolk Island, but Macarthur refused to be released from prison. He demanded “reasons for being put under arrest…and for being ordered out of arrest.” Correspondence “hailed on everybody and from everybody, and a regular devil’s brew of cavils, assertions and explanations bubbled in a joint stock pot. Surgeons, adjutants, chaplain, judge advocate, surveyor, ensigns, lieutenants, captains, all had a finger in the mess. The Governor, while yet the pot was in full boil, got rid of Lieutenant Marshall…(by) shipping him off to be dealt with in England. As Macarthur positively would not be ordered out of arrest, he was got rid of in the same fashion, fighting tooth and nail to the last hour, and very nearly managing to bring about a small insurrection by treating his detachment of New South Wales Corps to a dinner and grog, such grog being removed from store without a permit, intercepted and seized by the officer of the guard, and all but violently rescued by the soldiery for whose benefit it had been intended.”

Whilst Macarthur was shipped off to England, he returned and was embroiled in the Rum Rebellion of 1808, but that, of course, is another story 😊

*Sydney’s first duel was, of course, between Captain William Hill and Major Robert Ross, fought on Sydney soil on 12 December 1791.

**

‘More Than I Ever Had’ based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill is available from independent booksellers in Sydney and from Amazon. Link to Amazon Australia site here.

NSW History Week – Day 2 – Part II

Duelling personalities: Part II

In support of NSW History Week 2022, here is part II of the second of five stories (presented in three parts) that formed the basis of my research for my novel More Than I Ever Had. This book is based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill, who enlisted in the New South Wales Corps in 1789 in Birmingham.

Duel number two. Ross v Hill 1791. A fight for justice

Whilst this duel was fought in Sydney in December 1791, the fuse was lit in Norfolk Island. But, first, you need a bit of background on the combatants. Major Robert Ross was appointed lieutenant-governor of New South Wales in 1786 and he arrived in Sydney Cove with the First Fleet in January 1788. At the time Major Ross was the commander of the New South Marines and he had very firm views as to the establishment of the settlement—often at odds with those of Governor Phillip. Phillip endured this for over two years, but in March 1790, he saw an opportunity to remove the key source of friction from Sydney Cove, and sent Ross to take charge of Norfolk Island. Whilst this finally gave Phillip some breathing space, the British government had already decided to recall the fractious Major Ross and his New South Wales Marines, and a replacement military presence was already on its way—the New South Wales Corps—which included Private Theophilus Feutrill as part of the Second Fleet.

Now, over 1,000 miles away from Sydney Cove, Major Robert Ross was finally free to show everyone how a settlement ought to be developed. But, after the Sirius was dashed on the rocks, Ross declared martial law on the island, and removed the convicts from the government’s food stores—instead they had to grow their own food in the limited time available to them. Ross requested extra resources come to the island to ramp up development, and Captain William Hill was instructed to take a detachment of twenty-six men with him to Norfolk Island—and that included Theo Feutrill.

Once there, Captain William Hill clashed constantly with Major Ross, about the brutality of his punishments and his inhumane policies (all of which were abolished by Ross’s successor). He wrote numerous reports back to Governor Phillip. When Captain Hill and his men’s tenure was over at Norfolk Island, a replacement detachment arrived, but also onboard was a replacement for Major Ross as commandant of the Island. Captain Hill and his men boarded the Queen, as did Major Robert Ross and his second-in-command Ralph Clark (Quartermaster General and Keeper of the Stores). Whilst they awaited favourable winds to take them back to Sydney, Captain William Hill seized an opportunity to call Major Ross to account. Ralph Clark’s journal tells his side of the story:

“Wednesday, 16 November 1791

Captain Hill taken an unfair advantage of Major Ross by examining Convicts on Oath before the Revd. Mr. Johnstone and Mr. Balmain who are prejudice like himself against Major Ross fore these Said Convicts there are not greater rascals under heaven than they are and would Sell there fathers life if the[y] could get any thing by it.

Thursday 17th

The Queen in the Bay ——In her was Examined on Oath by Major Ross before Mr. Johnson and Balmain respecting a message which Mr. Hume Superintendant of the Convicts brought some time back to Major Ross from Chas. Gray Convict, which message he, Mr. Hume, said Major Ross forced him to Sign and Swear contrary to his inclination and wish, and that Mr. Faddy, Sergeant Kennedy and myself were present when he was forced ,which he informed Captain Hill and Swore Yesterday in Court —— also that he was forced when Faddy, Sergeant Kennedy and myself declared on Oath that he was not forced but on the Contrary was desired by Major Ross and myself repeatedly not to Sign or Swear to it if he did not like it or if there was any thing in it which was not as he had Related to Major Ross in the presence of Faddy and my Self —— he made answer to that there was not any thing contained but what he had Related and was perfectly Save in Signing it —— what a Rascal this Hume is.”

At this inquiry, Captain Hill had in his possession a report which was signed by a convict, Charles Gray. Gray declared under oath that Ross forced him to sign and swear the accuracy of the details in this report, which was contrary to his inclination and wish. Gray testified he was allocated to work at Queensborough, formerly known as Charlotte Field, and that he and many others made representation to (convict overseer) Mr Hume that they were not able to keep up, what they describe as ‘an impossible and punishing’ workload – a workload which had been set by Lieutenant Clark in his ambitions to complete the construction of the village.

Gray believed that word got back to Lieutenant Clark about what was said to Mr Hume, and that the Lieutenant ordered for his rations to be withheld, in punishment. But, not only his rations, but also the rations of his fellow workers, Thomas Strich and William Jones. Gray, Strich and Jones believed with no food they had no option but to leave the area to hunt for food for themselves.

Gray and Jones returned the same night, but Thomas Strich remained absent. Gray became a targeted man. On 23 May, a convict called James Thompson was cutting down a pine tree, when it fell onto him and broke his leg. Mr Gray and another convict, Michael Dennison, who were working nearby, attended to Mr Thompson, and carried him to the hospital for treatment. Lieutenant Clark punished Gray and Dennison’s absence with 200 lashes for Mr Gray and 25 for Mr Dennison. Then, on a further occasion, in October, Mr Gray received another 100 lashes for disobedience of orders and neglect of duty. It was at this point that Mr Gray lodged a formal complaint against Lieutenant Clark to Mr Hume—the basis of which that he had been singled out for special attention and unfairly punished.

Thomas Strich decided to return in June 1791. The reason for not punishing Strich upon his return was that Major Ross considered that the trouble and hardship Strich must have suffered in mind and body from the weather when he was away, and want of clothes, was a sufficient punishment for him in running away. Major Ross had forgiven him his crimes. At the inquiry, Captain Hill suggested that Major Ross struck a deal with Strich, that he would be saved the lash, if he informed on his fellow convicts.

Captain Hill suggested that when Mr Hume came to Major Ross with the formal complaint from Charles Gray, Ross called Gray to his office. As Gray could not read or write, Ross called Lieutenant Clark into his office, and Ross dictated Gray’s complaint for Clark to write down. Although, what Ross had Clark write down, put a different view on the complaint, and put both Ross and Lieutenant Clark in a more favourable light. Gray was then forced to swear to the accuracy of the report and sign it.

Clark said that he and Major Ross told Gray not to sign or swear to the report if he did not like what was said, or if there was anything in it which was not as he had related to Major Ross. Before Gray signed the report, Ross also called Lieutenant William Faddy into the room—a lieutenant with a reputation that the convicts fear. Gray felt he had no option but to sign the document Ross and Clark had constructed.

Ross was furious with Captain Hill’s interference, and saw it as an attempt to besmirch his reputation. He challenged Hill to a duel upon their return to Sydney Cove. Captain Hill received a message on 11 December 1791 which read:

0600 tmrw. Field nth of Marine Camp. Bring a 2nd. signed by Major R. Ross.

Following is a deleted scene of the duel from More Than I Ever Had, which I couldn’t fit into the printed version:

On 12 December 1791, Major Robert Ross and Captain William Hill—accompanied by their seconds and an impartial observer—gathered in the field just north of the Marine Camp at 6:00 am. Theo and James Bannister stood in amongst the other onlookers. Theo hadn’t slept, tossing in his cot with worry for his captain. William Douglas joined them, hair askew from his pillow.

The crowd shared low, expectant chatter as to the outcome. The air was still, and the odour of the men mixed with the fresh eucalypt from the bush. Grass crunched under foot, bone dry from lack of rain. The sun had already risen in a clear blue sky, and the trees were alive with birds busy finding their breakfasts. A kookaburra laughed.

Captain Hill and his second stood apart from the onlookers. If the captain was nervous, he didn’t show it. His second wiped down the pistol and checked it again.

Standing with his second, at the opposite end of the field to Captain Hill, Major Ross took a swig from a hip flask. The major’s second had his head bent over the task of preparing the pistol; the process more elaborate than the preparation undertaken for Captain Hill’s. Theo chewed his lip, and despite the early morning being warm, he shivered.

The seconds had already measured and marked out the ground showing at which point Ross and Hill would stand—at a distance opposite and facing each other. Ross and Hill checked their pistols, walked to their appointed places and waited. Their eyes locked on each other. Arms by their sides. Whilst Hill appeared calm but determined, Ross’s face coloured with hatred. Theo wanted to look away.

The independent observer held aloft a handkerchief for a moment before it fluttered from his grip. At this signal, Ross and Hill raised their pistols and stepped toward each other.

Theo’s fingernails dug into his palms.

Ross fired first. A misfire! Theo flinched at the dull click. His eyes darted from Ross to Hill, flooded with relief the captain was spared. Hill moved his aim left of Major Ross and fired. Surprised murmurs came from the crowd. Many disappointed to be denied the blood they’d hoped to see, but for Theo he couldn’t be happier.

Major Ross, his face now drained white, recovered his composure and drew himself to full height.

“I am satisfied,” he said, before striding off with his second in close pursuit.

**

‘More Than I Ever Had’ based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill is available from independent booksellers in Sydney and from Amazon. Link to Amazon Australia site here.

NSW History Week – Day 2

Duelling personalities: Part I

In support of NSW History Week 2022, here is the second of five stories (presented in three parts) that formed the basis of my research for my novel More Than I Ever Had. This book is based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill, who enlisted in the New South Wales Corps in 1789 in Birmingham.

In eighteenth century England, duelling—that is an arranged shooting between two people for the sake of honour—was against the law, and to kill in the course of a duel was judged as murder. However, it was widely practiced by the male members of ‘nobility’ and the upper classes where one’s honour needed to be restored. The conduct of a duel is at the combatant’s discretion and mutal agreement—they could stand back to back and walk ten paces and turn and shoot; they could start at opposite ends of a clearing and walk towards each other with pistols held in arms outstretched and shoot, or they could stand at a prescribed distance and toss for who gets to shoot first. A constant requirement is that the combatants must have seconds, whose job it is to load the pistols, and confer with each other as representatives of the combatants. A neutral person makes a signal for the duel to commence.

In Bilston, the west-midlands of England, where Theo was raised in the mining and manufacturing community, he would not have witnessed any duels. But he didn’t have to wait long after he boarded the Neptune to watch his first. In fact, the Neptune hadn’t even left English waters before tempers spilled over and someone’s ‘honour’ needed to be restored. And, there were at least two more held in Sydney in the very early days of settlement, one involving the ambitious and fiery John Macarthur (he was also involved in the first one), and one involving Theo’s captain, Captain William Hill.

Duel number one: Macarthur v Gilbert 1789. Tempers on board

Ambitious and newly promoted, Lieutenant John Macarthur boarded the Neptune, with his wife and young son, to sail to New South Wales as part of the NSW Corps. As the ship pulled away from Woolwich Wharf, he, and other members of the military, soon realised they had no status on the ship, being under the complete control of the ship’s captain, Captain Thomas Gilbert, and his crew. And, worse, Captain Gilbert and his crew had little regard for the comfort and welfare of the passengers. Macarthur’s bitter complaints to the captain about the quarters provided to him and his family were disregarded, which led to a blazing confrontation. The Sydney Morning Herald published an article, in February 1945, which recounted the following story:

“The casus belli between Macarthur and John (sic) Gilbert, the captain of the ship, arose from the former’s complaints regarding the location and fittings of his cabin, and ‘the stench of the buckets belonging to the convict women of a’morning.’ Gilbert threatened to write to the War Office and have Macarthur and his wife turned out of the ship. Gilbert gave Macarthur a punch on the breast. Nepean interfered and patched up the quarrel temporarily…..On the seven days trip round to Plymouth there was another flare-up, Macarthur accusing the captain of ungentlemanly conduct towards himself and his wife, and calling him publicly on the quarter-deck—he had a fine capacity for vituperation—‘a great scoundrel’. In retaliation, Gilbert told Macarthur that he had ‘settled many a greater man than him’, and that he was to be seen on shore, whereupon Macarthur named 4 o’clock at the Fountain Tavern, Plymouth Docks. They met, a duel was fought—apparently a bloodless one—honour was satisfied and both parties agreed to live in harmony thereafter.”

Theo and his brother soldiers would have gathered nearby to watch the duel, hoping ‘their’ Macarthur would prevail, but wondering whether they were about to witness someone being shot dead.

Despite Macarthur and Gilbert declaring a truce, the harmony was not to last, with both parties continuing to quarrel. Whilst the ship was laying over at Plymouth, Captain Nicholas Nepean took the opportunity to write to his brother Evan Nepean who was Under Secretary of State in the Home Department, complaining about the ship’s captain. By the time the ship docked at Portsmouth, a replacement for Captain Gilbert was waiting. Whilst the replacement captain was a welcome sight for all on board, he proved to be even more heartless, causing Elizabeth Macarthur to write in her diary that Captain Gilbert was a “perfect sea-monster.” The situation onboard became intolerable for the Macarthur family to the point where they arranged to be transferred mid-ocean to the Scarborough. Theo wasn’t as fortunate.

**

‘More Than I Ever Had’ based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill is available through independent booksellers in Sydney and from Amazon. Link to Amazon Australia site here.

NSW History Week 2022 – Day 1

The Arrival of the Second Fleet

In support of NSW History Week 2022, I will share five stories that formed the basis of my research for my novel More Than I Ever Had. This book is based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill, who enlisted in the New South Wales Corps in 1789 in Birmingham.

British settlement of Sydney Cove was eighteen months old, when Private Theo Feutrill, member of the newly formed New South Wales Corps, arrived in Port Jackson on the Neptune as part of the Second Fleet. At the time, Sydney Cove had a settler population of just over 1,000 people (including 736 convicts). When the six ships of the Second Fleet arrived in June 1790, the passengers (including the military and convicts) more than doubled the population number.

But before Theo arrived on the Neptune, the settlers, which arrived in 1788 (eighteen months earlier) had long been expecting to receive supplies from Great Britain. A great deal of frustration and anxiety was felt in the growing absence of ships, as supplies dwindled and precious food rations were reduced. Upon sighting the first ship to arrive since the First Fleet, on 3 June 1790, Lieutenant-Colonel David Collins wrote it was “to the inexpressible satisfaction of every heart in the settlement (that) the long-looked-for signal was made for a ship at the South Head. Every countenance was instantly cheered, and wore the lively expressions of eagerness, joy and anxiety.”

Captain Watkin Tench went a bit further in his journal: “At length the clouds of misfortune began to separate, and on the evening of the 3rd of June, the joyful cry of “the flag’s up,” resounded in every direction. I was sitting in my hut, musing on our fate, when a confused clamour in the street drew my attention. I opened my door, and saw several women with children in their arms running to and fro with distracted looks, congratulating each other, and kissing their infants with the most passionate and extravagant marks of fondness. I needed no more; but instantly started out, and ran to a hill, where, by the assistance of a pocket glass, my hopes were realized. My next door neighbour, a brother-officer, was with me; but we could not speak; we wrung each other by the hand, with eyes and hearts overflowing.”

Their joy was to be short-lived, however, to be replaced with “wonder and mortification” that the ship they saw (the Lady Juliana) contained not livestock and supplies as they had been expecting, but female convicts. The colonists soon learnt the sorry tale that a supply ship had been sent earlier, but had struck an iceberg just off the coast of South Africa. Three days after the sighting of the Lady Juliana near South Head in New South Wales, the passengers disembarked and it was “a little mortifying to find on board the first ship that arrived, a cargo so unnecessary and unprofitable as two hundred and twenty-two females, instead of a cargo of provisions.” When the women landed “many of them appeared to be loaded with the infirmities incident to old age, and to be very improper subjects for any of the purposes of an infant colony.” And “instead of being capable of labour” they appeared to be “never likely to be any other than a burthen to the settlement.”

However, the situation appeared to improve somewhat on the 20th when, at last, a storeship came in sight. The Justinian was the second ship in the Second Fleet to arrive, and it was greeted with great joy, but this welcome news was tempered as the colonists learnt “that three transports might be hourly expected, having on board (one) thousand convicts …. together with detachments of a corps raised for the service of this country.”

After the Justinian arrived, the full food ration was reinstated to be “issued weekly”, and “the drum for labour was to beat as usual in the afternoons at one o’clock.” With replenished stores, Lt.-Col. David Collins wrote: “How general was the wish that no future necessity might ever occasion another reduction of the ration, or an alteration in the labour of the people.” With our telescope looking back through the years, knowing what is ahead for these people, we realise it is a futile wish.

Nearly three weeks later, the transport ships Surpize, Neptune (with Theo Feutrill onboard) and Scarborough arrived and from that point onward, the Second Fleet was to be forever known as the worst fleet ever to arrive in Australia—and the Neptune was regarded as the worst ship of them all. As the colonists gathered to watch passengers and convicts disembarking they were in a for a shock. Lt.-Col. David Collins wrote that two hundred people arrived sick, but Capt. Watkin Tench had the number closer to five hundred. As the condition of the passengers and convicts became obvious, Lt.-Col. David Collins wrote “the west side (of Sydney Cove) afforded a scene truly distressing and miserable; upwards of thirty tents were pitched in front of the hospital (the portable one not being yet put up); all of which, as well as the adjacent huts, were filled with people, many of whom were labouring under the complicated diseases of scurvy and the dysentery, and others in the last stage of either of those terrible disorders, or yielding to the attacks of an infectious fever.”

As months passed, the devasting numbers of deaths became known. History records show if you measure passenger survival of those who sailed on the Second Fleet from the time they left England and to within eight months of arrival in Sydney, the convict mortality rate was around a shocking 40 per cent. Much outrage was expressed to the Home Secretary back in Great Britain, and contracts for convict transportation were immediately changed. The story of the Second Fleet is the subject of my blog The Scandal of the Second Fleet, which can be found on my website.

Despite the horrors passengers and convicts experienced sailing to New Holland on the Neptune, the landing of this notorious ship in Sydney Cove on 28 June 1790, began Private Theo Feutrill’s association with the land to become known as Australia. His efforts, and those who came out on the First, Second and subsequent fleets, forged a country which has been home to at least eight generations of his family.

The novel, based on Theo Feutrill’s life called More Than I Ever Had, is available from independent booksellers in Sydney and also from Amazon (link to Amazon Australia site here.)

Additional scene: ‘More Than I Ever Had’ by Rae Blair

Have you finished More Than I Ever Had and want more? Or have yet to read the story? Here’s an additional scene that I couldn’t fit into the book. Enjoy!

The spearing of Governor Phillip

Port Jackson, September 1790 (three months after landing)

The strangeness of this new land was becoming more familiar as the days passed. Duty devoured Theo’s daylight hours, and night time meant supper, socialising and sleeping. Since leaving the tent hospital, his body grew stronger, responding to long treks in the woodlands to supervise land clearing and planting, breathing fresh, cool air under endlessly high skies. The cold months—mild in comparison to home—seemed to be passing.

The sun had not long risen when Theo made his way to Captain William Hill’s tent. He’d received a summons last night, which was unusual. Normally, Theo’d report to the registrar for his daily duty, or his sergeant, who’d give specific orders. He wondered why the captain wanted to see him?

Theo paused outside the open flap of the captain’s tent. Captain Hill sat behind his desk, finishing signing a document before glancing up at Theo. A mug of steaming tea sat within hand’s reach. The captain noticed Theo and was about to speak when another private appeared by Theo’s side—a short, dark-haired soldier with narrow-set eyes and aged in his late twenties—someone Theo had not yet met.

“Franks, Feutrill, please come in,” Hill said.

The captain folded his hands over the paperwork as the privates entered the tent and assembled before him. “Governor Phillip is heading to Manly Cove this morning to meet with the native called Bennelong and some of his tribe. It is crucial this meeting go well. I’ve selected you both to assist the governor.” The captain sipped his tea. “See the storemaster now, as the governor will take some supplies with him. Get these onto the boat. Also ask the convict overseer to select six men to row the governor and his party—you’ll both be responsible for them. The governor wants to leave in two hours. Is anything unclear?”

“No sir,” Theo responded. Franks shook his head.

“Good, you are dismissed.”

After they’d seen the convict overseer, they headed to the store house. There, Theo signed with his mark for several hatchets, some bread, salt pork and wine. Franks swept up the food and left the heavier bundle for Theo to carry. On their way to the boat, Franks broke off a piece of bread and put it in his pocket.

“Is there a problem?” Franks said, when Theo threw him a look. “You gotta look out for yourself here, mate.”

Theo ground his teeth and adjusted the weight of the supplies he was carrying. This wasn’t a good start. “Let’s just make sure we do our job.” Theo strode ahead. This was the first opportunity Captain Hill had given Theo, and he wanted to make sure the captain would not be disappointed.

Down at the wharf, Theo stepped into the rowboat, balancing himself to receive the supplies from Franks, before he also boarded. Six convicts were already seated at their oars, chatting amongst themselves and ignoring Theo and Franks. The boat’s coxswain sat at the stern, picking at some dirt under his fingernail.

As Theo stowed the supplies, two officers arrived and stepped onto the boat; the more senior-ranked, and older of the two, had his dark hair pulled back in a pony tail—his good looks marred by a pock-marked skin. The other was a young officer with brown wavy hair. Governor Phillip strode up with a third officer, who appeared to be in his late-thirties with a long thin face and a head topped with salt-and-pepper curly hair. The officers exchanged pleasantries amongst themselves and found their seats.

“Are the supplies I requested on board?” The governor directed his question to the privates.

“Yes sir,” Franks replied.

“Let’s get underway, shall we?”

At the coxswain’s instructions, the men found their oars, then dug them into the water, negotiating the boat away from the wharf.

As the rowboat pulled away, the governor took a flask from his pocket and took a drink. Recapping it, he said, “Captain Lieutenant Tench, perhaps you can give the others some background to our mission today.”

The officer with the pock-marked face turned so all the officers could hear him. “As I told Governor Phillip, Captain Nepean found Bennelong and Colebee at Manly Cove two days ago with a sizeable group of natives, hacking a dead whale to pieces for food.” He paused to settle in a more stable position as the boat lurched. “The natives asked for hatchets, but Nepean’s group could only give them a few things of little use. Before they left, Bennelong gave Nepean three or four great hunks of whale as a gift for the governor.”

“You all know of my desire to improve relations with the natives here,” the governor said. “Bennelong’s made the first move. This is an opportunity for us to show good will and further cement our relationship.”

“He appears to be in friendly spirits,” the officer with brown curly hair said. “I was with Captain Nepean’s group. Bennelong was larking about and kissed me!” Theo stifled a laugh. The man looked like he had just sucked a lemon.

“That must have been a surprise, Lieutenant Waterhouse,” the governor said, smirking. “These people can be hard to read. So I urge caution. We will need to assess the mood with care when we arrive, and I ask that you follow my lead.”

As they pulled further away from the port, the calmness of the water changed and the rowers had to pull harder to negotiate the swells of the harbour. From the journey’s outset, the comfort of land remained visible. The stunning coastline was rugged with tall cliffs and sandstone rocks, with the occasional white sandy beach fringed with bushland. Now, they had large tracts of water surrounding them on all sides. The crystal clear water turned now to a bruised purple, as the waves picked up.

“Sir, we are just coming past the heads, so I suggest you all hold on tighter,” said the officer with the curly salt-and-pepper hair. “The harbour can be rough between the south and north headlands.”

“Thank you, Collins,” the governor said.

Theo clamped his hat more firmly on his head and adjusted his hold on the musket. He braced his feet the best he could against the hull and gripped his seat with his free hand. His stomach rolled as the rowboat crested each wave. Briny air filled his nostrils as spray from the sea splashed his face with salt.

The group remained silent until they were past the heads, where the water calmed again as they continued northward toward Manly Cove. The rowers were tiring. Soon, a large expanse of sand appeared, punctuated in the middle with a black whale carcass, half submerged in the water. The shape grew larger as the boat approached. Surrounding the carcass and spread along the beach were at least one hundred natives.

“Sir, the wind is coming from the south-east, so I suggest that we put the boat in to the right of the carcass,” Lieutenant Waterhouse said.

“Coxswain?” the governor looked at the man managing the boat, who acknowledged the request with a nod.

“Privates, you and the rowers remain with the boat,” the governor said to Theo and Franks, as the boat slid up onto the sand, jolting everyone forward when the hull dug in.

The governor jumped over the side and strode off. His officers gathered the supplies and scrambled to follow. Groaning with relief, the oarsmen sat back in their seats and rubbed at blisters that were forming—their shirts glued to their backs with sweat.

As the governor and the officers approached the group, a chill ran up Theo’s spine as all of the natives stopped what they were doing to watch the white men approach.

“I’ve got to take a piss,” John Franks announced as he prepared to get off the boat.

“Franks!” Theo said, alarmed. “We were told to stay put.” It wasn’t ideal to be left alone to manage seven convicts, and what would happen if things turned ugly on the beach? If Franks left, Theo’s musket was their only means of defence.

“I won’t be a moment,” Franks said. He slipped over the side of the boat furthest from those on the beach and disappeared into the bush.

Things were happening now on the beach. The natives split into two groups and moved to the left and right of Phillip and his men, as if to surround them—they were vastly outnumbered. The sight of the dark-skinned men, many holding sticks or spears, made Theo’s palms sweat. How vulnerable we are!

Governor Phillip held his hand up, signalling to his party. He and the three officers stopped and retreated a few steps. This seemed to appease the natives as they reassembled back into a single group.

Theo let out a quiet breath. For those in the boat, their focus remained on the scene playing out on the beach. But Theo kept glancing into the bush wondering what was taking Franks so long? Whilst Theo was distracted, one of the older oarsmen took this moment as his opportunity to flee. Being farthest from Theo, he could not grab hold of the fleeing man before the he jumped over the boat’s edge and darted into the bush. Christ!

Theo raised his musket and aimed, but in a split second decided not to shoot the escaping convict, for fear of startling the natives. Where’s bloody Franks?!

Watching the back of the escaping convict, frustration burned in Theo’s chest. He had to stay in the boat to secure the remaining convicts.

“Anyone else have the same thought, I will not hesitate to shoot you” he said, lifting his musket. His scalp prickled. It was madness that a convict would choose to escape, and Theo didn’t like his survival chances, but still—it happened, and on Theo’s watch.

On the beach, the governor beckoned for Bennelong to come forward, and he did so holding a long wooden-barbed spear. The governor motioned to swap the spear for the supplies the officers were holding. Bennelong walked to the bush edge and put the spear down, replacing it for a stick, which he then presented to the governor. The native Colebee also came forward, and he helped Bennelong take the supplies from the officers.

Bennelong and Colebee appeared to chat in a friendly manner with the governor, who had stepped apart from the officers. Bennelong appeared to introduce different natives to the governor. The natives stood back in separate groups, many watchful. It seemed to be going well.

Theo jumped as Franks reappeared and climbed back into the boat with a smug grin, which faded when he saw Theo’s face and the missing oarsman.

“What happened?” he said.

“This is on you,” Theo said.

Bennelong pointed out a native to the governor’s right. Governor Phillip held out both his hands and called to him, then stepped towards the native, with David Collins close behind. Theo didn’t like the look of what was happening. The closer the governor approached, the more agitated the native appeared.

Collins said something to the governor. The governor reached under his jacket and withdrew a dagger from the sheath at his side and dropped it onto the sand.

But this had the opposite of the intended effect on the native man, who stepped back, eyes wide. In a swift motion, the native kicked Bennelong’s spear out from the grass. Both the governor and Collins stopped dead in their tracks—the governor held up his hands, and Theo’s breath caught in his throat.

Appealing to the man, the governor spoke a few words in a native language which floated back to the boat. In response, the native stepped one foot back and released his spear with such force that it pierced the governor’s right shoulder. The governor staggered back, Collins reaching to catch him.

Everyone on the boat inhaled with surprise. Theo’s mind whirled as his body went cold—they’d attacked the governor, what now?

“Get ready,” he instructed the rowers, who all scrambled for their oars.

As the governor collapsed to his knees, the native who threw the spear dashed into the bush. Bennelong and Colebee also fled, along with most others from the beach. As Collins rushed to the governor’s aid, several natives launched spears in the general confusion that followed, with none finding their mark. Tench and Waterhouse raced forward and helped Collins drag the wounded governor to safety, taking care to avoid the wooden barb of the spear piercing through his back. With every step, the governor screamed as the pole end of the spear hit the ground. Tench tried to steady it. Once out of reach of the natives’ spears, they laid the governor on his side. Captain Lieutenant Tench yelled at Theo and Franks to cover them. By this stage, Theo and Franks had jumped out of the boat, their muskets aimed just above the heads of the natives. Theo got a shot off. Franks’ musket jammed. The remaining natives scattered, emptying the beach save for the whale carcass, the wounded governor and the officers trying to save him.

Lieutenant Waterhouse knelt by the governor and attempted to break the spear’s pole, so they could move the governor into the boat. With each attempt the governor moaned, and it took several tries with much effort from Waterhouse before it snapped. Blood soaked the governor’s shirt, front and back, yet he remained conscious. They hoisted the white-faced governor back to his feet and loaded him onto the boat, laying him down. Theo and Franks pushed the boat off the sand, then jumped in once it floated.

Lieutenant Waterhouse noticed the missing oarsman. “Where is he?!”

Theo swallowed. “He escaped, sir.” Theo and Franks found their seats. The five oarsmen got ready to row.

“How?” Fury tinged Waterhouse’s words.

“With only one of us to guard the convicts, I couldn’t leave the boat to chase him, sir,” Theo said.

“And where were you, private?” Waterhouse rounded on Franks.

“I, er, well, I needed to relieve myself, sir. He had scarpered before I came back.”

“This is a shambles,” Collins said, taking off his jacket and folding it under the governor’s head. “We’ll be taking this up with your captain.”

Theo cringed inside. The one time Captain Hill trusted him with an important mission, not only was the governor injured, but a prisoner escaped!

“You private,” Waterhouse indicated to Franks, “take the sixth position on the oars. Let’s get back to Sydney Cove as quick as we can.”

Franks removed his jacket whilst giving Theo a thunderous look. He sat in the vacant seat and bent his back to pick up the oars.

The five mile trip back seemed twice as long as the trip over. The wind had picked up and the rowers struggled in the choppy water. Theo was anxious to be back at the wharf, for the governor to get medical aid. He glanced at the ashen face of the governor, who had not moved since the officers laid him down. Could he die? What would Captain Hill think of all this?

Back at Port Jackson, they lifted the governor out of the boat and the officers carried him to his home for treatment. Theo climbed out the boat and Franks followed, bumping his shoulder against Theo as he brushed past. “You dog, Feutrill,” he said. “I won’t forget this.”

*

Theo and Franks reported immediately to Captain Hill, whose face was pulled down as he received their report. He expressed his “abject dissatisfaction” with the acquittal of their duties, and “deep dismay” at the turn of events on the beach. He strode out to see to the governor’s health and learn first-hand what actually happened, leaving Theo and Franks behind in his tent, like naughty children.

News of the attack on the governor spread around the settlement, and the military issued instructions for all soldiers to be on high alert in the event of reprisals—from either the settlers or the natives—though the governor made it clear he did not wish for any retaliation.

Over the following week, Bennelong and Colebee, who were previously regular visitors—were not seen at the settlement. Ten days following the incident, during which the governor continued to heal, Theo was submitting his daily report when Llewellyn caught up with him in the soldier’s mess tent.

“Feutrill, you saw the governor speared, didn’t you?”

In the days since it happened, it was all anyone would talk about. What had Theo seen? What was his role? But for Theo, it was something he wanted to forget. He didn’t know at the time whether they’d all be attacked or how close he was to losing his life? Whether he’d have to shoot someone to save themselves? He just wanted it behind him now. The governor was on the mend, and the escaped convict eventually returned to the settlement, near starvation.

Llewellyn didn’t wait for Theo to answer. “Did you hear Bennelong and Colebee are back? Met with the governor today?”

Theo’s ears pricked up. “How’d that go?”

“From what I’ve heard, it was a man called Willemering who speared him. But the governor has accepted that he did so out of impulse and self-preservation. He wants no further animosity—from either side. I think they’ve agreed to a truce of sorts.”

Theo huffed out a breath. “I think that’s good news.”

Llewellyn saw another person he wanted to share the gossip with, so clapped Theo on the shoulder and raced to catch up with him.

Impulse and self-preservation? As Theo headed back to his tent, he mulled that over. Located near the settlement is a clearing where the Cammeraygal tribe gathered for their rituals, and they welcomed the settlers to watch proceedings. He recalled a gathering from last week where a Cammeraygal called Carradah was the centre of a ritual—he’d apparently stabbed another member of the tribe, but not killed him. Theo learned that the tribe demanded Carradah receive payback before his crime could be forgiven.

Over two brutal nights, Theo and others gathered to watch the ritual, as Carradah used his bark shield to defend himself from the spears being thrown. Eventually one found its mark, pinning his lower arm to his side. Bright crimson blood oozed from the wound. Despite the injury, Carradah continued to avoid the remaining spears until the tribesmen exhausted their supply.

Theo thought it would be over then, but men, women and children of the tribe rushed forward to pick up the broken bits of the spears to piece them together, before resuming the attack. Carradah found a second wind and was quick on his feet as his shield took on further spears. Then, a spear pierced Carradah’s thigh, and the man sank to his knees. A tribal elder stepped forward and made an announcement. The attack stopped and the natives retreated into the bush, leaving just the European settlers to watch as Carradah’s injuries were attended to by a young native woman. Once he was patched up, they left the clearing.

Theo saw that the spear used on the governor was Bennelong’s. He wondered then, could the spearing have been a ritual punishment for the governor capturing Bennelong and Colebee when the First Fleet arrived? From the outside, Bennelong and Colebee appeared to get along with the governor since they were no long captives, but did they need to give the governor payback, so that they could forgive him? Did they lure the governor to Manly Cove for that very purpose? Surely, the governor must be contemplating the same thing. Whatever it was, Theo hoped it was now over.

##

More Than I Ever Had is available in paperback or eBook format from Amazon (world-wide). Link to the book on the Australian site here.

Main image:

From the collection of the Natural History Museum (UK). By a Port Jackson painter, ca. 1790.

The inscription reads:

‘The governor making the best of his way to the boat after being wounded with the spear sticking in his shoulder’

The Baughan Affair

In 1796, Theophilus Feutrill’s name appeared on an arrest warrant issued by the Governor of New South Wales. If found guilty, Theo could be executed. But will it be Theo or the Governor whose life is on the line?

**

What you need to know is that civil and military tensions in the new penal colony of New South Wales were high from the outset—right from the first days of Europeans arriving in 1788.

In those days, the key players were Governor Arthur Phillip on the ‘civil’ side—charged with responsibility for the new settlement—and Major Robert Ross on the ‘military’ side—who was appointed lieutenant-governor of New South Wales in 1786. Phillip and Ross arrived in Sydney Cove together in January 1788 on the First Fleet.

With Phillip making all the decisions about the location of settlement and the rules governing the new colony, Major Ross was responsible for the New South Marines under his command.

Think for a moment. You are located in unfamiliar bushland, in a far-away foreign country, with no buildings or crops, and only the livestock and supplies brought with you on the ship to sustain you. Someone else is responsible for deciding where you’ll live. How things will run. Another supply ship is not due for maybe over a year away. It would take enormous confidence in that person to blindly submit to all their decisions. Your life is certainly in their hands. Major Robert Ross with his military experience was not that person to put his life in another’s hands. Almost immediately, Phillip and Ross clashed. Historians note Ross’s long and detailed criticisms of Phillip’s decisions and his government. Amongst other grievances, such as settlement location, Ross opposed Phillip’s schemes for organizing the convicts and refused to allow the military officers to help supervise the prisoners.

Ross began to actively work against Governor Phillip, making his administration task more difficult. Phillip endured this for over two years, but in March 1790, he saw an opportunity to remove the key source of friction from Sydney Cove, and sent Ross to take charge of Norfolk Island. Whilst this finally gave Phillip some breathing space, the British government had already decided to recall the fractious Major Ross and his New South Wales Marines, and a replacement military presence was already on its way—the New South Wales Corps—which included Private Theophilus Feutrill as part of the Second Fleet.

A double-edged sword

Governor Phillip must have welcomed Major Ross’s replacement, Major Francis Grose, and the New South Wales Corps with a high level of optimism. Certainly, Grose was reported to have been unassertive and easy-going, and appeared to give Phillip little cause for complaint.

However, Governor Phillip had to return to Britain in December 1792 to receive medical treatment and never saw Sydney Cove again. In his absence, Major Grose assumed control of New South Wales. The military was now in charge of the new colony.

Upon assuming command, Grose, amongst other things, replaced civil magistrates with military officers and appointed Lieutenant John Macarthur inspector of public works. The steps he took appear designed to reduce his own burdens and align his supporters more closely with the administration of the settlement. Some historians have suggested that at this time Macarthur became the de facto ruler of New South Wales, such was his influence with the governor.

Under Grose, the lot of the military improved, with increased rations, improved housing and land grants, with convicts paid by the government to work ‘private’ land. Grose encouraged officer farmer pursuits, contravening orders from Britain that the land holders had to pay for convicts working their land.

Soon, many of the civil and military staff directed more of their efforts to improving their personal gains at the expense of their duties. Trade, especially in liquor which became like a currency, became substantial, and Grose’s policies enabled the military to secure a hold over the colony, to exploit it for their own interests.

But then, Grose returned to England in December 1794. It was at a time when New South Wales was still importing essential requirements, but the colony was more sustainable and the spectre of famine no longer hung over the settlement. With Grose’s policies improving the quality of the settlement, Captain William Paterson—who assumed the role of administrator—maintained the status quo until Governor John Hunter arrived (he assumed office in September 1795). By this time, policies entrenched from military rule, which were impacting on the Treasury’s purse back in London, were going to be difficult to wind back.

Governor Hunter had a job ahead of him if he was to bring the military to heel—and to protect settlers from exorbitant prices charged by officers for goods. Hunter didn’t have a loyal public service. He didn’t have an obedient military. Orders arriving from London were erratic and some could take over a year to receive and implement.

Hunter also had other forces working against him. In the absence of a free press, Hunter’s superior, the Duke of Portland (one of three secretaries of state in London), relied not only on Hunter’s reports, but correspondence from residents in the colony, such as those from Lieutenant John Macarthur, who had his own agenda. Macarthur, as inspector of public works, and as a recipient of significant land grants, was in a position of influence. While Macarthur had the governor’s ear, the supply of convicts to officer farmers on the government’s purse continued, as Hunter became convinced that government farming was wasteful and inefficient. But Hunter soon realised Macarthur’s ambitions and later told the Duke of Portland that ‘nothing short of the full power of the Governor’ would satisfy the man.

Despite steps taken by Governor Hunter and with the constant communication from John Macarthur, the Duke of Portland continued to be unimpressed by his performance, but it is Hunter’s handling of the ‘Baughan affair’ which sets the tone for the rest of his career—and Theophilus Feutrill is right in the thick of this.

A “most violent and outrageous” conduct

It all started from a long-running feud between two ex-convicts: John Baughan, carpenter by trade and millwright, and an un-named man, carpenter-turned soldier, who were both being transported to America on the Mercury when it was overtaken by a convict mutiny. They were both re-captured, and sent to Australia onboard the Friendship as part of the First Fleet. Baughan was described as ‘an ingenious man’ who built two fully functioning mills, which helped feed the colony. He was rewarded through a grant of a small lease near Dawes Point, and given the role of Foreman of carpenters. He was also described as being ‘sullen and vindictive.’

On 4 February 1796, the carpenter-turned-soldier in the feud with Baughan was on sentinel duty at a storehouse near where Baughan was working. The soldier set down his arms against the wall of the store and left his post, to speak with a man he knew outside of the building in which Baughan was working. Much abuse was said about Baughan, intentionally loud enough for him to hear. Baughan slipped away unseen to where the soldier was meant to be on duty, and found his abandoned musket. Baughan took this to the guard-house, delivering it to the sergeant of the guard. The soldier was arrested and relieved of duty as a result.

Baughan’s action caused an outrage with the military, and it was determined to exact its revenge. The next day, a large group of military members stormed John Baughan’s neat, well tendered cottage and the mob broke gates, doors, windows, entered his house, chopped the corner posts off it, broke his bedsteads, bedding, chairs, window frames, drawers, chests…demolished everything. Members grabbed Baughan and threw him down with his face to the ground, whilst one held an axe over his neck and swore if he offered to stir he would chop the head from his body. At the end of the rampage, the soldiers went off cheering, as if something ‘meritorious had been effected’ and marched in a body cross the parade before their commanding officer’s house.

While David Collins noted in his diary that mostly ex-convicts-turned-soldiers were involved in the mob, Governor Hunter wrote to the Duke of Portland that it was ‘all off-duty members’. Hunter considered from the military’s actions that they were in a state of mutiny, and issued in Public Orders the paper no. 2. In the paper, the governor hopes to have found men amongst them who would have pride enough to have stood forward and pointed out the ringleaders of so mutinous conduct, for in no other light can it be considered than that of mutiny when the military assemble in such numbers unknown to their officers and by their bringing forward the ringleaders or advisers of this disgraceful conduct, in order that the stigma may be wiped away by such worthless characters being brought to trial for this shameful conduct.

As a smart man, John Baughan just wanted the affair over, and refused to identify the perpetrators. His wife, who witnessed the destruction, was fearful for her husband’s life should he pursue it.

Perhaps if it ended there…

As magistrate, Dr William Balmain visited the Baughans when he heard of the rampage. He threatened John Baughan with ‘obstruction of justice’ charges if he didn’t pursue the matter, and offered protection to him should he give evidence. After some days, four names were eventually given up. When the governor issued the arrest warrants, the military was further enraged at Balmain’s shamefully malevolent interference in the affairs of the Corps. One of the warrants was for the arrest of Theophilus Feutrill.

As the military were responsible for the enacting of arrest warrants, Lieutenant John Macarthur approached the governor and stalled the process. Thus began a test of strength between the civil and military authorities. As Theophilus fretted over his fate—he was facing potential execution if found guilty—a series of letters was exchanged between Judge Advocate Balmain (representing the civil authority) and Lieutenant John Macarthur (representing the military). Tempers frayed and insults given to the point that Balmain told Macarthur he was a base rascal and an atrocious liar and villain. Balmain then challenged Macarthur to a duel.

Who would prevail, and will John Baughan persist with the charges? What of Theo’s fate? What does Governor Hunter do that has the Duke of Portland reaching for his quill to issue new orders?

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Learn the outcome of the 1796 arm wrestle between the civil and military authorities. More Than I Ever Had is a novel based on a true story by Rae Blair, and is available world-wide on Amazon Kindle in eBook and paperback formats.

Image: Joseph Millson as Major Robert Ross in Banished TV-series

The scandal of the Second Fleet

So much is known about the First Fleet that sailed to Botany Bay in 1788. But, less is known about the Second Fleet that followed it two-and-a-half-years later. My novel More than I ever had, tells the real life story of Theo Feutrill, a young Englishman who enlists in the New South Wales Corps in Birmingham, and is allocated a berth onboard the Neptune to sail to Sydney Cove as part of the Second Fleet. The Second Fleet became notorious for a reason, and when Theo steps onboard has no idea what’s ahead of him.

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Why was there even a First Fleet?

When America said a polite ‘no thank you, not any more’ to the British, refusing to take further convicts on their shores (I think the American War of Independence had something to do with it) Britain ceased transportation of its convicts from 1776 to 1788. As a result, the prison population in Britain swelled. Rather than overhaul the crime and punishment system, authorities made the disastrous decision to house prisoners in ship hulks anchored in rivers and along sheltered coastlines. Disease was rampant, and conditions so bad, about a third of the prisoners died. Something had to be done.

In 1783, the idea of using Botany Bay as the new penal colony was proposed, and by May 1787 a fleet of ships, the First Fleet, led by Governor Arthur Phillip, sailed from Portsmouth and arrived in Botany Bay on 18 January 1788. This fleet of eleven ships contained six convict transports carrying 751 convicts—but unfortunately it did little to alleviate the over-crowded conditions on the prison hulks.

Once word was received from Governor Phillip that the First Fleet arrived and a colony was in the process of being established, the decision was made to send a Second Fleet.

While the First Fleet had a low mortality rate (5.4%), it was very expensive at £55,000. The ships contractor, William Richards, was a humanitarian and devout Christian, so he ensured the ships stopped often and were well supplied. To make savings for the Second Fleet, the government put the contract out to tender for three ships to transport prisoners to Sydney Cove. After the bidding process, the lowest bid was accepted (less than half of the cost of the First Fleet). William Richards was unsuccessful in his bid, instead the contract was awarded to Camden, Calvert & King—the largest company in London involved in the slave trade. What could go wrong?

Camden, Calvert & King were contracted to supply three ships (Scarborough, Suprize, and Neptune) and would receive £17.7.6 for each convict embarked. They also had the ability to sell any left-over provisions at Sydney Cove. Also, in the contract, the ship’s captains had full control over their ships, the doling out of provisions, and the treatment of the convicts. Perhaps in the hands of a different contractor, this contract could have worked to the benefit of all. But the masters on these ships were later described as: low-lifed and barbarous.

Through a dispute with the military onboard the Neptune, its master was replaced before the ship even left English waters, and in his stead was a man later described as a demented sadist and by Elizabeth Macarthur as a perfect sea-monster.

To make up the Second Fleet, the three Camden, Calvert & King prisoner transport ships were joined by Justinian (storeship), naval warship Guardian (primarily transporting stores but scuttled by an iceberg near South Africa) and Lady Juliana (contracted by William Richards, which transported exclusively female convicts).

A naval agent was appointed to monitor the captain and crew of contracted ships, but the one appointed to monitor Camden, Calvert & King’s ships did a questionable job. The master of the Guardian wrote later:

…if ever the navy make another contract like that of the last three ships they ought be shot, and as for their agent Mr Shapcote he behaved here just as foolishly as a man could well do.

Captain William Hill who travelled on Suprize with half of his men (the other half were on Neptune) wrote after his voyage:

The slave trade is merciful compared with what I have seen in this fleet.

So, we have ship masters of dubious character who have full control over provisions and how the convicts are treated. The contracting company is paid a set fee whether the convicts arrive alive or not, and there’s an incentive to not only withhold supplies from both convicts and passengers but to have less mouths to feed, as the captain and crew were set for financial gain by selling the left-over provisions when they arrived at the new colony.

Of the nearly 1,000 convicts onboard the Second Fleet, 261 male and 16 female convicts died on the voyage (plus four children) and another 150 convicts were dead within months of their arrival in the colony. In other words, if you measure survival within eight months of arrival in Sydney, the mortality rate of Second Fleet convicts was around 40 per cent. Compare the death rates by ship:

  • Lady Juliana (5 women, 2 children)
  • Suprize (42 men)
  • Scarborough (68 men)
  • Neptune (151 men, 11 women and 2 children)

The shocking mortality rate of the Second Fleet was nearly ten times that of the First Fleet voyage, and Theo Feutrill—the main protagonist in my book—is right in the thick of it as a passenger onboard the Neptune.

Following the outrage that occurred after the Second Fleet ships landed at Sydney Cove, the British government changed the way it contracted transport ships in the future. Amongst other things, contractors were paid for each convict that arrived in Sydney Cove alive.

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More than I ever had More Than I Ever Had is a novel based on a true story by Rae Blair, and is available world-wide on Amazon Kindle in eBook and paperback formats.