Very enjoyable
Review from The Australian newspaper
He stamped his name all over Sydney and was the first to use the word “Australia” in official documents. But, while we may think we know Lachlan Macquarie, many have only a partial sense of who the man was.
We know the city builder. We know the administrator who brought prosperity after the fraught years of William Bligh’s governorship. We know the egalitarian who harboured the shocking notion convicts could be rehabilitated, and who made enemies among Sydney’s “exclusives” by giving magistracies to former convicts.
But we are less well acquainted with the soldier of fortune. With the profligate spender, the grifter, the scion of an ancient Scottish noble house brought low. And we avert our eyes from his orchestration of the shameful Appin massacre.
In his historical biography Macquarie, Grantlee Kieza gives us one of the most nuanced portraits to date of the fifth governor of NSW. It’s an engagingly written story that is told partly by Macquarie himself. Kieza makes extensive use of journals and correspondence, but stops short of weighing the book down with long passages from primary sources.
There’s an immediacy and vibrancy to Kieza’s writing, particularly apparent in the early chapters on Macquarie’s service in Bombay and elsewhere. Here, he met his first wife and, as regimental paymaster, hatched a scheme to withdraw money, invest it and keep the interest.
Later, he would concoct a more imaginative fraud. He and his brother signed up child relatives — the youngest was five — to receive payment as British army officers on half-pay as reservists. When the army ultimately tried to call the boys up, Macquarie responded that they had gone to the West Indies to start a plantation. But a local informant brought the scheme to light and only Macquarie’s past cultivation of those in authority saved his career.
Macquarie’s contradictions are adeptly framed by Kieza, and it bears noting that his fraud involved a far higher monetary value than the crimes of many of those he would one day govern.
Portrait of NSW Governor Lachlan Macquarie, 1822, by Richard Read Snr. Picture: State Library of NSW
Portrait of NSW Governor Lachlan Macquarie, 1822, by Richard Read Snr. Picture: State Library of NSW
Money, and how to make more of it, seems to have been one of Macquarie’s chief preoccupations, but he didn’t spend it all on himself.
Kieza highlights his desire for family advancement, and much of the money he accumulated went to family members, together with commissions for relatives who were genuinely of an age to accept them. At the end of his governorship, his nephew, Hector, was his aide-de-camp.
The earlier parts of the book are shot through with snapshots of the colony Macquarie would eventually reach. He also meets the man who will turn out to be his predecessor, the pre-mutiny William Bligh, on his way to India. He forms a less-than-favourable impression, and Bligh’s arrogant behaviour when Macquarie eventually arrives in Sydney does little to change his mind. For all his bombast and ego, however, Bligh is among the most vibrant sketches in the book.
Macquarie was not always averse to some bombast and bluster of his own, and Kieza’s portrayal of his relationship with his two wives — Jane Jarvis, who died of tuberculosis, and Elizabeth Campbell, who accompanied him to Australia — helps to humanise him.
When he fell, he fell hard, and his correspondence shows tenderness and admiration for the inner qualities of each woman.
Tugging against the doting husband, though, is the ruthless enforcer of authority, and here is another contradiction — the man whose ancestors were brutalised and dispossessed by the crown was now brutalising and dispossessing the inhabitants of a new land on that crown’s behalf.
As Kieza writes, “He regarded himself as a benevolent dictator offering an olive branch to its native people, (yet) he still sanctioned terror and cruel death for any Indigenous person who would not recognise his absolute authority.”
The blackest mark on Macquarie’s record is the massacre he ordered at Appin, in response to attacks on settlers. At least 14 Aboriginal men, women and children were killed.
Kieza recounts Macquarie’s instructions to his troops: “In the event of the natives making the smallest show of resistance — or refusing to surrender when called upon so to do — the officers commanding the military parties have been authorized to fire on them to compel them to surrender; hanging up on trees the bodies of such natives as may be killed on such occasions, in order to strike the greater terror into the survivors.”
While he tried to impose his authority on the indigenous population, Macquarie was having trouble holding any sway over the colony’s exclusives. Kieza deftly shows the opposition swirling around him from various parties. One of these, churchman Samuel Marsden, was particularly vitriolic, offended by Macquarie’s appointment of emancipists to positions of power. John Macarthur, who returned from exile after his role in the coup against Bligh in 1808, became another foe.
Vituperative attacks on Macquarie reached the ears of Earl Bathurst, secretary of state for war and the colonies, at a time when the government was growing increasingly concerned at how much the colony was costing. John Bigge was sent to investigate, and the end result was a report highly critical of Macquarie’s administration and particularly his liberal policies towards emancipists.
By this point, Macquarie, in ill-health and reeling from the constant attacks of his enemies, was ready to go anyway. In 1822 he and his family left a very different Sydney to the one in which they had arrived, perhaps taking a last look at the lighthouse that, like so much else, Macquarie had named after himself.
Kieza’s book is an affectionate but unstinting look at a complex figure. Macquarie’s character, his flaws, his decisions good and bad, and the enmities that blighted his time in NSW are all evident here, and the result is a man who is far more human, and more fascinating, than many would expect.
Meg Keneally is a writer and critic.
Macquarie
Grantlee Kieza
ABC Books, 576pp, $39.99