The Far Horizon

by Gretta Curran Browne

  And on that, he left them … wondering if he had meant even one word of it.

  Chapter Nine

  And as the weeks passed, he began to prove to them that he had meant it, every word he had said.

  A sense of new life quickened in the colony as Lachlan Macquarie was quickly seen to be very different from his previous Governors. Gone was the gouty impatience of Gidley King, the aloof attitude of Hunter, the blasphemous rages of William Bligh. Lachlan Macquarie was down to earth, possessed a great deal of common sense and fairness, and showed clear signs of very real goodness.

  He was also full of energy and zeal for practical reforms, and lost no time in getting down to work. He now viewed the colony not as a cesspit for the wicked, but as the greatest challenge of his life. Every day he was to be seen out riding with his staff, viewing his territory and noting its virtues and problems.

  A fact which irritated him most of all, was that not one of the streets in Sydney town was straight. Their crookedness offended not only his eyes, but also his natural sense of order. Houses had been built in haphazard fashion, not neat, but higgledy-piggledy beside each other, some high, some low, some back, some forward ... ‘What a mess!’

  The biggest eyesore was St Phillip's Church, the ugliest house of worship he had ever seen, and not helped by the fact that only half of it had been constructed and the rest left unfinished.

  ‘Check the records,’ he said to Captain Antill, ‘and see if there are any transported architects amongst the emancipists or convicts.’

  On a ride to the outlying country districts, Lachlan’s spirits brightened. Here he found well built houses, not all of just wattle and daub, but of white-washed stone; and all were surrounded by trees and neatly-kept gardens. Occasionally he found an impressive mansion that belonged to an Exclusive.

  ‘All this land,’ Lachlan said. ‘Just think what could be done with all this land.’

  He turned to George Jarvis who was riding beside him. ‘What do you see, George? Tell me, what do you see when you look around you?’

  George was looking at a roadside shack that had been nailed together haphazardly without care for detail or anything other than the provision of a shelter. A hole in the top provided a chimney and a hole in the wall served as a window. A ‘no trespasing' sign was nailed to the door.

  ‘Well,’ George replied, ‘apart from a few rough houses, and a few ostentatious mansions, I see a tiny and shabby settlement surrounded by wilderness and mountains.’

  ‘I see more,’ Lachlan said. ‘Oh not yet – it's too young yet, still in its infancy. But everything needed to turn this colony into a beautiful country is here, just waiting to be developed. The advantages are numerous, George. Did you notice the fine grazing lands that lie all around Sydney? And in other places the country is so thinly timbered it would take no time to clear it and erect essential buildings. A hospital would come in very handy for a start. And that eyesore of a church could be completed. And why, I wonder, is Sydney devoid of a post office? Even the smallest town in Scotland has its own post office.’

  ‘A post office?’ George smiled. ‘Lachlan, this is not Tobermory or Edinburgh, this is a convict colony!’

  ‘Yes, and one that still depends on its every need being shipped out from England, like a baby dependent on the milk from its mother's breasts. It's time that Sydney grew up, George, and started seeing to its own needs.’

  *

  Of all the inhabitants, George Jarvis was the only one who was not at all surprised when Lachlan immediately put into operation his plans to give Sydney the appearance of a regular town.

  A transported architect named Francis Greenway was found, interviewed, and immediately signed up to work with the Governor and help him to bring some sort of architectural order to the crooked town of Sydney.

  Patiently, George Jarvis wrote down all the orders that were then sent out to be printed and distributed for the information of all.

  Any house that encroached onto the street was to be moved back at the government's expense.

  Each house was to be numbered at the cost of sixpence to the owner.

  Neat fencing four feet high must front and guard all dwellings.

  Footpaths for the convenience of pedestrians were to be laid on every street.

  Any person found casting rubbish into the roadway would be fined.

  Any pigs found wandering through the streets without a drover would be taken and slaughtered.

  Any drover who brought his cattle or sheep into town then let them roam the streets while he nipped into a grog-shop would be fined. If such fine was not paid, he would be jailed.

  By the time three months had passed a post-office had been established. The printing or use of promissory notes was prohibited, thereby stamping out the settlement's long habit of forgery.

  Every aspect of the town was to be regulated, as was the lives of the inhabitants. Although no puritan, the new governor attempted to bring religion back to the colony. A respect for the Sabbath must be restored. Sunday was declared a day of rest. No person, either free or convict, would be allowed to perform any labour on a Sunday.

  The convicts, understandably, cheered – although not quite so loudly when they learned they were to be paraded to spend one hour of that free day in church attending the morning service.

  Brothels using young girls – brothels of any kind – were no longer to be tolerated, and all proprietors of such houses would be prosecuted.

  Lachlan next gave his attention to their dress. Convicts undergoing special punishment were assigned to the chain-gangs and wore regulation suits of yellow broadcloth and straw hats, but the majority, those assigned to the factories or farms, wore their own clothing. Many of the female convicts who did not possess their own clothes, and most did not, also wore government-distributed frocks of convict yellow, unless the mistress of the house they had been assigned to as servants provided them with other clothing to wear.

  And since Lachlan Macquarie firmly believed that a bad appearance rarely accompanied a good life, he entreated all to pay particular attention to the neatness of their dress and personal cleanliness.

  Within a week he was delighted to see a conspicuous number of female convict servants in the streets of Sydney, looking as clean and tidy as their mistresses – in some cases cleaner – with a shiny show of freshly scrubbed complexions.

  *

  Elizabeth and George were both beginning to worry that Lachlan was taking on too many projects and working too hard for his own good. Every hour of his day was allocated solely to the service of the colony and its people.

  After two hours private work in his office after breakfast, at ten o’clock every morning he received the reports of various civic officers, followed at eleven o’clock by military reports from his officers. Between twelve noon and two o’clock he was available to any gentlemen of the colony who wished to speak to him. Applications for Land grants would be handled on Mondays – although, as he made it clear in an announcement in the Gazette – he was agreeable to hear and discuss very serious or urgent matters at any time, on any day.

  To Lachlan, his new position as supreme ruler of New South Wales was nothing more than a job he had been given to do to the best of his ability – a job he was eager to get on with.

  And as the children of the colony seemed wholly neglected in their education, he decided that a school free to pupils would be opened immediately at Kissing Point. All parents would be expected to give it their support by the regular attendance of their children.

  ‘And if they don’t?’ George asked, pen in hand, waiting.

  Lachlan paused. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ He shrugged impatiently. ‘Oh well, if the settlers are not interested in educating their children, then their children are condemned to be fools … I ask you, George, what sensible parent would not want to have their child educated?’

  George sat in reflection for a moment. ‘I think we must emphasise that the children’s schooling will be
free.’

  ‘Yes – emphasise that it will free – what parent could refuse that? So, George … what’s next on the list?’

  George glanced over at the clock. ‘Bed, I hope. It’s after midnight.’

  ‘Is it?’ Lachlan looked at the clock, amazed. ‘Is it my imagination, or does time actually move quicker here?’

  George smiled. ‘I would not be surprised if it did.’

  *

  Before retiring to his room, George decided to take a stroll in the gardens of Government House – not that there was much of a garden – no flowers at all, just dry grass paled by the sun and the salt air from the sea, and some anaemic-looking trees with thin grey boles and skimpy foliage.

  ‘Well, the settlement is only twenty years old,’ Lachlan said the following day when George mentioned the lack of colour in the garden. ‘A wilderness, George, which had to be cut back by the strength of many men before this house could even be built, let alone make a space for a garden. Still, it’s a big garden in size, and the flowers can come later.’

  ‘Come from where?’

  Lachlan thought about it. ‘From India, I suppose, it’s much nearer than Britain … Yes, get your pen, George, and send a letter to the British Governor in Bengal to send as many seedlings as he can on the next ship that docks in Bengal harbour on route to this colony. Tell him to also include as many potted flowering plants as he can spare. India is saturated with flowers, like most of the East.’

  As soon as George started writing, Lachlan gave him another instruction. ‘Write the same letter to the British Consul in Cape Town, they have a good botanical variety there too. Then make sure it goes on the next ship that docks in Sydney heading north-west.’

  George paused and looked at him, a small cryptic smile on his lips. ‘And so we wonder why people assume I am your servant.’

  ‘What … oh, to blazes with what anyone thinks or says. You are part of my family, George, you know that, and they know that – they just don’t know how or why. And how could I do all this without you? Even a lot of my officers are not as well educated as you are.’

  ‘John Campbell is your new personal secretary, why employ him and then not use him?’

  ‘I do use him, George, and he’s a fine and amiable man. Tough, worldly, and he’s been a great help to me so far in many ways … but dammit, George, why should I wait an age for him to write a letter or a dispatch when you can do it for me in a few minutes? All I want is to get on with the bloody job!’

  ‘Yes, my father.’ George sighed, and continued writing. ‘But I think you should know …’ he dipped his quill in the inkpot … ‘that the editor of the Gazette has been complaining to me and John Campbell and everyone else that you are killing his printing machine with all your orders and instructions.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake,’ Lachlan replied impatiently. ‘Why else do we have a newspaper if not to use it to inform the inhabitants of what needs to be done? Surely it’s not mere gossip he wants to print?’

  ‘Yes, gossip is what he wants to print,’ George said, ‘because he says this colony thrives on gossip. Taking away their gossip, he says, is like taking away their food.’

  Chapter Ten

  In the shabby printing office of Sydney's Gazette newspaper, Mr George Howe, the paper's editor and printer – better known to one and all as ‘Happy Howe' – felt himself sinking with fatigue under the pile of proclamations that the new Viceroy wanted printed for the benefit of the population.

  And Happy Howe was not the only one sinking under the weight: his beloved printing press was also creaking towards a collapse.

  Happy finally put on his hat and set out boldly for Government House to lay his problems directly before the colony’s new ruler.

  It's my printing press, Your Excellency,’ Happy said glumly. ‘She's old and infirm, d'you see? Not up to running with the energy of a youngster anymore.’

  Lachlan's immediate response was curiosity. ‘May I come and take a look at it, Mr Howe? Your printing press?’

  Happy Howe was utterly taken aback. No Viceroy had ever visited the office of the Gazette before. He paused, not sure if he liked the idea. A printer's press was like his beloved, something he cherished and something he didn't like other men touching. But how could he refuse the new governor of the settlement?

  Half an hour later Lachlan was running a finger over the old printing press and examining it carefully. ‘Oh, yes, I see what you mean, Mr Howe.’

  Happy nodded glumly. ‘She's a good old thing. Never lets me down. But she's been here almost as long as myself, since Governor Phillip's day, and she can't cope with modern times no more. Not now Sydney needs all these new rules and proclamations.’

  Lachlan considered. ‘You need a new one.’

  Happy sighed, blinked his eyes rapidly. ‘A new one, Your Excellency? A new printing press?' He sighed again, stirred the papers on his desk, hummed a sob under his breath, and swallowed emotionally at the very idea.

  Lachlan was highly amused by the expressions on Howe's face.

  ‘Smile if you will, Governor Macquarie, smile if you must, but the sad fact is that the Gazette cannot afford a new printing press.’

  ‘Then we shall just have to pay for it out of the public purse,’ Lachlan decided. ‘If the Gazette is to be the government's main line of communication to the people, then the government must financially support it.’

  Happy's usual glum expression changed to one of stupefaction, his blue eyes staring with incredulity as Governor Macquarie sat down at the desk, lifted a quill, dipped it in ink and began to jot down notes for the order of a new printing press which would be immediately dispatched to England.

  ‘One printing press … ’ Lachlan said as he wrote, and then looked up at the publisher questioningly.

  ‘With three composing sticks,’ said Happy in a shaking voice, ‘two of common length, with fourteen lines Long Primer...’

  Happy couldn't believe this was happening. ‘Governor Macquarie … are you sure you have not lost your wits?’

  Quite sure,’ Lachlan said as he wrote; then again looked at Howe questioningly.

  ‘And 400 weight of Long Primer, with a double comp of Capitals,’ added Happy. ‘I've become very addicted to Capitals,’ he confessed.

  ‘Personally, I rather like italics,’ Lachlan replied. ‘Italics are far more impressive, do you not agree?’

  ‘Italics!’ Happy sang ebulliently, holding up his palms in worship. ‘Oh, sir, italics are the very art of the printer! The sheer force of drama on the printed page! Many's the night I've actually dreamed in italics ... but not having any, I'm forced to come down to earth and make my point in Capitals.’

  ‘Then we shall make even finer points with the use of italics in future,’ Lachlan said, ignoring the rapturous little cries that came from the printer, ‘... with an equal number of italics,’ Lachlan said as he wrote.

  ‘And double primer,’ Happy added, delirious. ‘I don't believe any of this!’

  He patted and plucked delicately at the Governor's arm to make sure he was not dreaming.

  ‘And hackle-tooth bodkin blades with six handles.’ He pointed with his finger for the Governor to write it down. ‘And don't forget the quotes and exclamations!’

  All written down, Lachlan sat thinking for a minute, and Happy's face returned to its normal glumness, certain that the Governor was now thinking of the cost ... having second thoughts about the cost of the wonderful new printing press with sloping italics.

  ‘Why don't we have a new emblem to head the front page?’ Lachlan suggested.

  ‘A new emblem?’

  ‘Something solid and impressive.' Lachlan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. ‘How about the Royal Arms of the United Kingdom?’

  Happy almost swooned. He clutched for his handkerchief and began to mop his brow.

  ‘Governor Macquarie … before I came to New South Wales almost twenty years ago, I worked on The Times in London...’ His voice began to shake wi
th emotional little tremolos. ‘And The Times, as you know, has the Royal Arms on its front page.’

  ‘And so shall we!’ Lachlan said, repeating as he wrote, ‘Royal Arms of the United Kingdom, in brass, supporters couchant, about the size and form that head His Majesty's speeches to Parliament.’

  Happy Howe was in a daze. Here before him, he decided, was a man who saw New South Wales as something more than just a convict colony. Here was a man with vision!

  By the time the meeting had ended, the Gazette was also to have asterisks to divide its paragraphs, as well as flowers to decorate its social and gossip pages.

  Turning to leave, Lachlan put his hand on the door handle, and then paused and looked over his shoulder. ‘You say you worked on The Times in London, Mr Howe?’

  ‘I did, Your Excellency.’

  ‘So why did you leave such a fine newspaper to come to New South Wales to establish the Gazette?’

  ‘I was transported,’ Happy replied glumly.

  ‘Ah.’ Lachlan nodded his head thoughtfully – the crime had to be forgery, probably of bank notes.’

  ‘So, newspapers are not the only things you have printed, Mr Howe?’

  For a time Happy seemed unable to speak, then he looked honestly at the governor and said with a croak of nostalgia in his voice, ‘In my time, Your Excellency, I have printed works of pure art.’

  *

  In the hot summer months of February and March, all the new regulations were enough to make anyone dizzy, but Happy Howe no longer complained. In his view, Lachlan Macquarie's impact on the settlement was not only fresh and healthy; it also filled everyone with a new community spirit.

  ‘No aspect of our previously unimportant lives has failed to engage the Governor’s interest,’ Happy declared in the Gazette’s gossip column, ‘And never before have we had such a PATERNAL ruler.’

  Mr Hassall, a missionary, immediately wrote a letter to the editor of the Gazette in agreement: