The Far Horizon

by Gretta Curran Browne

  Such a stigma, however, would not be suffered by Lachlan Macquarie.

  *

  Portsmouth harbour was bustling with activity. Two ships, the Hindustan and Dromedary had been loaded with water and supplies for the long voyage to New South Wales.

  The 73rd Regiment, comprising of a thousand soldiers and their officers, filled both ships. Well-furnished cabins had been reserved for General and Mrs Macquarie on the Dromedary.

  Accommodation had also been found for the Macquaries' entourage of new servants, which included a cook with the appropriate name of Mrs Ovens, and a sturdy carriage-driver who stood six-feet-six-inches tall, named Joseph Bigg. The latter had been sent with personal compliments to General Macquarie from the service of Lord Harrington.

  HMS Dromedary was a first rate ‘Man-of-War’ according to her commander, Captain Pritchard. ‘Made of the best English oak, fine Welsh copper, and stout enough for anything!’

  In the chill wind Elizabeth's eyes stared up at the towering masts of the ship, and then her eyes finally settled thoughtfully on the bowsprit as she wondered what lay ahead.

  Seasickness.

  A fierce wind astern blew them swiftly down the English Channel, the white topsails of both ships billowing and banging gustily.

  Two days after leaving Portsmouth, Elizabeth was unaware that the Lizard had been passed and England left behind. She lay in her cabin sicker than she had ever been in her life, listening to the woodwork creaking all around her as the ship rolled on the swells and dipped the troughs.

  She prayed for calmness, for mercy, but two more weeks of rough weather lay ahead. Occasionally the shouts of the crew penetrated the slight lulls. ‘Move it, you bugger! Where d'ye think you are? Strolling in Hyde bloody Park!’

  It was not until the weather calmed as they approached Madeira, that Elizabeth finally emerged from her cabin, pale and dazed.

  On deck she saw her husband and George Jarvis, both looking as calm and relaxed as if they had spent the last three weeks on dry land.

  Lachlan stared at her white face. ‘My God,' he said, you look as pale as a corpse.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said with mock sweetness. ‘I do love your compliments.’

  ‘General Macquarie!’

  Lachlan turned his head to where Captain Pritchard stood by the quarterdeck rail and called down, ‘A moment, sir, if you please!’

  Lachlan nodded to the captain, and then assured Elizabeth. ‘I'll be straight back.’

  Now that she had left her cabin, Elizabeth met the other civilian passengers on board ship. Only two. A young couple, Mr and Mrs Bent, who seemed very eager to acquaint themselves with the newly-appointed Viceroy of the colony in which Ellis Bent hoped to secure a good living as an attorney or a magistrate.

  In the evenings Mr and Mrs Bent often stayed up to join General and Mrs Macquarie in an after-dinner game of whist. A game which Captain Pritchard also enjoyed, except when his partner – which was usually Elizabeth – made a mistake, and he found himself forced to severely reprimand her.

  ‘That man makes me so cross!' Elizabeth complained one night on the way back to their cabins. ‘Who does the old sea dog think I am? One of his midshipmen!’

  Smiling, Lachlan confessed that he found Captain Pritchard a likable sort of man. It was the captain of their companion ship, the Hindustan, who was beginning to wear his patience near the limit.

  From the day they had cleared England, Captain Pascoe of the Hindustan had been unable to prevent himself from tearing off-course in pursuit of every strange ship he spied, convinced the ship was French, and determined to capture her and claim the prize money. All had turned out to be merely trading vessels, but thanks to Pascoe's wild pursuits they had lost many a good breeze, causing a number of delays in the process.

  ‘Pascoe's a Merchant man,' Captain Pritchard said with a grunt when Lachlan brought up the subject, ‘not Royal Navy. That's why he is mastering an Indiaman and I am commanding a King's ship.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Lachlan said, ‘the Hindustan is carrying half a regiment of my soldiers. And if any of those ships had been French, it would have been my soldiers who took all of the blows and none of the profit.’

  He looked through the stern window of the cabin in the direction of the trailing merchantman. ‘My orders, Captain Pritchard, are to proceed to New South Wales with all possible speed.’

  ‘As are mine,' Pritchard said, then after a thoughtful pause. ‘We could, of course, leave the Hindustan to sail its own undisciplined course and join up with us later in New South Wales.’

  Lachlan looked at him coolly. ‘Would you ever, under any circumstances, desert your ship?’

  Pritchard responded as if insulted. ‘No, sir, never.’

  ‘And neither will I desert my soldiers.’

  Pritchard nodded. ‘Aye, aye, I understand, my apologies, sir.’

  Half an hour later the Dromedary had hove to, and sailors were dropping a boat over the side. Captain Pritchard stood by the entry port looking down as General Macquarie climbed into the longboat, but it was his own sailors that his eyes watched carefully as the boatswain shouted orders.

  ‘Shove off! Give way all!’

  Captain Pritchard watched the twin line of oars rising and falling in a strong and regular rhythm as the boat pulled swiftly across the sea towards the Hindustan, a quarter of a mile away.

  He was still watching when the longboat and its passenger returned, the oars pulling steadily until the boatswain ordered, ‘Easy all!’ and the two lines of dripping oars rose up in the air like the two wings of an albatross; and the bowman swiftly hooked the boat on to the chains of the ship.

  Captain Pritchard called down his approval to the boatswain, his voice deliberately loud. ‘Expertly done, Mr Hawkins. Expertly done!’

  It was praise meant for all the boat's crew, but it had to be addressed to their petty officer, Mr Hawkins, who was making sure that General Macquarie did not slip between boat and ship as he climbed up the side steps, acknowledged the praise with a smile but without lifting his eyes. ‘Thank you, Captain.’

  Pritchard greeted Macquarie as he stepped back on board. ‘You spoke to Pascoe?’

  Lachlan nodded. ‘I spoke to Pascoe.'

  And as Macquarie walked away, Pritchard had a feeling that that, too, had been expertly done.

  *

  The journey went on, over miles and miles of empty sea with never a view of land. Elizabeth and Mrs Bent spent their days in the manner of most seafaring passengers on their first long voyage: when the weather was hot and becalmed, with no wind to aid their progress, they got in a bad mood and blamed the captain, attributing to him at least twenty faults which he probably did not possess.

  When a fair breeze finally arrived, permitting the ship to sail speedily and steadily, their good humour was instantly restored, and the captain forgiven.

  Captain Pritchard, meanwhile, was becoming very impressed with the care and attention General Macquarie constantly gave to his troops. Not the smallest detail relating to their comfort and health was overlooked.

  Macquarie personally ensured that all provisions served to the men were of the best quality and well cooked. Each day he inspected those parts of the ship that housed his troops, insisting their decks be kept as clean as possible, and stressed the importance of all hammocks being kept dry.

  ‘In warm weather,’ Captain Pritchard heard Macquarie instructing his officers, ‘all hatchways must remain open so as much air as possible can be allowed inside.’

  Oh no, Captain Pritchard thought to himself with certainty, no soldier on the Dromedary would be allowed to die of pneumonia or pleurotic fever or catch even the smallest infection, not if their commanding officer could prevent it.

  And now, of the three hundred and seventy soldiers aboard the Dromedary all remained very healthy.

  Not so on the Hindustan.

  All Lachlan's fears came to fruition when Captain Pascoe sent a cutter to the Dromedary to inform Gen
eral Macquarie that there was a severe outbreak of dysentery on board his ship, and the sick list of soldiers was increasing by the day. Some were now so ill they needed the care of a hospital.

  Nor could Captain Pascoe hope for a favourable change in the condition of the soldiers, having nothing but salt provisions, and his supply of water had run so short he had insufficient to carry them to the Cape of Good Hope.

  Lachlan said to Captain Pritchard. ‘Now you see why it was so important that the two ships should never part company! The Hindustan needs vegetables and water and we can supply them immediately.’

  ‘That would reduce our own supplies drastically.’

  ‘Our own supplies can be supplemented at the nearest port,’ Lachlan replied impatiently. ‘And many of those men on the Hindustan are so ill they will die if they don’t receive water and medical help soon. So tell me – which is our nearest port?’

  ‘The nearest port is miles off our charted course.’ Captain Pritchard was already peering at the chart on his desk, finally stabbing it with his finger. ‘Rio de Janeiro … miles off in the opposite direction. We would lose a lot of time.’

  ‘Or we could save that time and lose a lot of decent young men instead. Which would you prefer?’

  Pritchard looked up, alerted by the undertone of anger in Macquarie’s words.

  ‘Well,’ he said, turning his gaze back to the map, ‘I would prefer to carry on to the Cape … but, in view of the sick men, I suppose I have no choice but to veer way off course and head southwest to Rio.’

  *

  The spectacular beauty and grandeur of the harbour of Rio de Janeiro on a fine clear evening was enough in itself, without the extra splendour of the red sun slowly setting behind the Sugar Loaf.

  Elizabeth stood at the ship's rail beside Lachlan and stared at the scene in awe. A good wind had carried them in, and the town of St Sebastian could clearly be seen. Church spires pierced the skyline and perched on her hills the town of St Sebastian was surrounded on all sides by the magnificent houses of noblemen. Here, at last, was the architectural art of the Portuguese.

  If there's one thing the Doms do well,’ Lachlan said, ‘it's building beautiful houses.'

  ‘Let go!' a voice yelled, followed by a thundering crash as the ship's anchor plunged into the water.

  Now steady in her anchorage, Lachlan left the Dromedary to be rowed across in a gig to the Fondroyant, a Portuguese flagship of 80 guns.

  As soon as Admiral de Courcy heard about the sick soldiers on the Hindustan, all were lifted off the ship and placed in the hospital at St Sebastian. The hospital had once been a nobleman's house, the rooms spacious and airy.

  Every day Lachlan visited the soldiers in the hospital. All were comfortable, all spoke favourably of their treatment by the Portuguese, but none were well enough to return to ship.

  ‘Another week,’ Lachlan told them. ‘That is all the time we can spare you. After that, we must continue our journey to New South Wales.’

  *

  New South Wales, and the mutiny that had taken place there, was a subject that occupied most of Lachlan's thoughts in the following days. The only information he possessed regarding the state of the colony was the same as that known in London. He had not expected to discover any further information until reaching the Cape of Good Hope. And even there, he thought the prospect of any news was doubtful.

  But now a trading vessel from Sydney, en route to England, had docked at Rio de Janeiro. It carried two passengers, a Mr Jameson and a Mr Harris.

  Admiral de Courcy provided a small boat and sent both men over to the Dromedary to report to General Macquarie.

  Mr Harris, a short, pompous-mannered man, talked the most, eager to impress, but it was Mr Jameson who gave all the information.

  Governor Bligh, who was supposed to be under military house arrest, had managed to escape and board his own ship, the Porpoise, and set sail for England.

  Two of the leaders of the rebellion, Major Johnston and John McArthur, had also sailed for England, determined to lay their version of the mutiny alongside those of Captain Bligh.

  Jameson then told Lachlan something else about New South Wales – something very important. The officers who had instigated the mutiny against Governor Bligh had proved to possess little experience of organising a settlement on any practical or economic level. The government storehouses were almost empty, all forms of price restraint had collapsed, and a flood from the Blue Mountains had destroyed the crops.

  A new Governor and a new regiment might restore control, but what good was that when the colony faced the possibility of starvation? Many of the convicts were indeed starving. And since the mutiny, England had sent no money to support the Government of New South Wales.

  ‘The reason for that, Mr Jameson, is because there is no official Government in New South Wales, only a band of mutineers.’

  ‘Who have proved to be very bad managers,’ Jameson said. ‘The soldiers are almost in as bad a state as the convicts. With no Government money, no cloth could be bought to replace old uniforms. And the shoes that are usually handed out from the Government store to the soldiers and convicts are long gone now. All used up and no money to buy more. It's a disgraceful sight, sir, uniforms in tatters and shoes held together with string.’

  Lachlan sat back in utter dismay. How could soldiers in ragged uniforms ever command authority or respect!

  He looked intently at Jameson. ‘And you, sir? Why are you leaving New South Wales?’

  ‘Me?’ Jameson seemed taken aback at the question. ‘Why, I'm doing what most free settlers eventually do. I'm returning home – back to a civilised country where a gentleman doesn't have to breathe the same air as felons. Five long years I've been in that country of thieves, and that's enough.’

  After a pause, Jameson went on, ‘Five years is longer than any Governor has stayed. Bligh lasted less than two. Even Governor King –’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Jameson,’ Lachlan said, his tone making it clear that the subject of past governors was now closed.

  *

  It was almost evening the following day when Jameson’s name was mentioned again, this time by George Jarvis, who had been ashore to deliver a letter from Lachlan to Sir James Gamlin, the British Consul.

  Lachlan was standing on deck watching the trading vessel with its two passengers from Sydney sailing smoothly out of the harbour of Rio de Janeiro, bound for England.

  ‘Mr Jameson,’ said George, handing Lachlan a letter. ‘Is he the one who told you about the starving convicts and soldiers in bad shoes?’

  Lachlan opened Sir James's letter of reply. ‘Yes, Mr Jameson.’

  ‘Yes, it was him I saw.’ George said. ‘The one who left your cabin as I entered, the one who said it was his pleasure as a gentleman to be of help to you.’

  ‘George, speak sense.’

  ‘Him – Mr Jameson,’ George explained. ‘I saw him this morning in the market at St Sebastian. He was selling crate-loads of merchandise to the traders. "From New South Wales," he told them. The money they paid him was very good.’

  ‘Selling?’ Lachlan looked at him curiously. ‘What was he selling?'

  ‘Shoes,' George answered. ‘Two crate-loads of men's new shoes.’

  Lachlan stood in silence, his eyes distant on the departing trading vessel, cruising away with all sails full, bound for England, and carrying a handsome profit made by two gentleman from New South Wales.

  George continued: ‘I don't know if it was Mr Harris, but a second man later joined Jameson. A small man who acted like a nabob, and he too began selling – boxes of men's “colonial-made boots and stockings – from New South Wales”.’

  Lachlan remained silent. He turned slowly and gazed over the decks of the Dromedary. Most of his own soldiers were on leave ashore, but the ship's sailors were to be seen everywhere aboard. He looked up, head back, and watched a figure skimming fearlessly up the mainmast, probably to carry out some small repair.

  Finally, h
e looked aft at the blue and white uniforms of the officers on the poop deck, then said, ‘See those officers there, George, they also claim to be gentlemen. They enter the Navy as gentlemen and they live and mess as gentlemen. Their duties and responsibilities are far different to the common seaman. And they have a saying ... “We officers are gentleman, we never pull a rope.”'

  He looked at George. ‘So it's odd, isn't it, that two men who loudly profess to be gentlemen should spend their morning selling shoes in the St Sebastian market. Crates of shoes and boots that must have come from the Government stores in Sydney, intended for provision to soldiers.’

  ‘So, you are saying – ’

  ‘I am thinking, George, that the line in New South Wales might not be so clearly drawn. If our two visitors are an example, I may find it hard to know where a felon ends and a gentleman begins.’

  *

  Captain Pritchard had been unwell for days. At dinner the following evening he appeared unable to eat.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said finally, ‘if you will excuse me...’

  Lachlan rose from his seat. ‘Do you need a doctor?’

  Pritchard shook his head. He had never trusted doctors, and wasn't about to start now. ‘Useless drunkards most of ‘em!’

  ‘Surely someone should escort you to your cabin,’ Elizabeth said, but all offers of help were brushed aside.

  ‘When I am unwell,’ the captain said irritably, ‘I prefer to be left entirely to myself.’

  He returned to his cabin and his bed, leaving his passengers very uneasy about his condition. As each hour passed the change in his personality was a revelation. From a solid, calm and pleasant man in health, Captain Pritchard metamorphosed into a cantankerous old goat when sick.