In the ongoing controversy over the celebration of January 26 as Australia Day, it has been suggested by opponents of the day that it is a recent invention. In my childhood in Hobart in the 1950s, it was very much celebrated – we had a long weekend holiday on the nearest appropriate dates, and a re-enactment was staged at the Sandy Bay regatta which was always held on that weekend. Men in red-coats would come ashore from a rowing-boat challenged by other men in black make-up shaking spears who would retire when a volley of musket fire was discharged and a flag would be raised. At this distance in time, I cannot remember exactly what flag was raised, but most probably the Union Jack, which was in common use at the time in Australia. In retrospect, I was witnessing a perfect enactment of dispossession by force.
What happened on January 26?
January 26 is celebrated as Australia Day by many non-indigenous citizens of Australia, but called Invasion Day by many indigenous citizens and their supporters. In the light of the increasing controversy and conflict over the day, I think it is worthwhile to have a look at just what happened on January 26, 1788.
Was it a pivotal moment in the occupation of Australia, and therefore worthy of celebration by those who choose to? Or, were there more notable days in the first month of occupation?
I think it is worth chronicling what actually happened in the first month of the occupation of New South Wales (not, I stress, Australia) by the British. So, what follows is an account of the events of the first month of the occupation of a small part of the east coast of New Holland in January and February, 1788, by the “First Fleet”, a party of about 1,100 souls.
This was not, by any means a homogenous group. There were more than 750 convicts, of which about a quarter were women, and more than 300 free people: naval officers, military men, and some wives and children of these, as well as a few free settlers. Most of the convicts were from the British Isles but there were also representatives from other continents, notably African American ex-slaves who had received their freedom for fighting on the British side in the American War of Independence. Taken off to Britain after Washington’s victory, some had fallen on hard times and become convicts.
The expedition
Australia Day is obviously associated with the arrival of this First Fleet in January 1788 near where Sydney is now. The fleet of 11 ships set out from Portsmouth in May 1787, called at the Canaries, at Rio and at the Cape before, in an extraordinary feat of navigation and naval organisation, all 11 ships arrived in their prescribed destination, Botany Bay, within two days of one another from January 18, 1788 – after a voyage of eight months.
So well organised and managed was the expedition, that of about 1,100 persons embarked only 36 had died (about 3 per cent – an astonishingly good result for the times), and some supernumeraries had been born.
The navigational feat was doubly remarkable when you realise that Botany Bay had only been visited from the wider world on the expedition led, navigationally, by James Cook and, scientifically, by Joseph Banks, 17 years before. They had stayed for just one week at Botany Bay in a southern autumn. No European had been there since, nor did anyone other than the local people of the Eora nation have any idea of the year-round conditions. Botany Bay had been chosen as a place of settlement largely because of Banks’ political influence: he was staggeringly rich. One could call this a mission to Mars crewed by convicts: that a colony was established, and eventually thrived, is nothing short of astonishing.
All ships having arrived in Botany Bay by January 20, the expedition was not fully disembarked of its human, animal and plant cargo until February 6, when the last of the (female) convicts came ashore. This was not at Botany Bay, but at Sydney Cove in Port Jackson, some miles up the coast. The colony was then founded on February 7 when Arthur Phillip read out his letters patent and claimed about half of the continent that we now call Australia, and its off-shore Pacific islands, for the British crown. (Norfolk Island was important, as we shall see.)
What happened in those 18 days in the country of the Eora nation? And, why is Australia Day January 26? It may help to first look at what the fleet was trying to achieve.
Why were they here?
There are two venerable theories. The first says the driver behind the settlement of NSW was the critical need to re-settle convicts from over-crowded gaols and hulks. This is the view strongly expounded in Manning Clark’s seminal narrative A History of Australia. (Vol I, 1962). Clark maintains that any stated economic or strategic objectives of the settlement were tacked on as window-dressing to justify the extraordinarily expensive convict exodus project.
However, Clark calls his magnum opus “A” history of Australia, not “The” history of Australia, and, by doing this he allows that there is more than one way to look at an historical event – especially one as complex as the occupation of Australia.
A different view-point was put by Professor Clark’s one-time student, Geoffrey Blainey, in his The Tyranny of Distance (1967). This equally seminal but economic, rather than narrative, history emphasises the geo-political thrust behind the occupation of New South Wales and just how important perceptions of Norfolk Island were to that strategy.
That there was a problem with over-crowded gaols in the 1780s is not in question. The criminal law was particularly savage and income distribution extraordinarily unequal, and there was a drug problem in the form of extremely cheap gin. (The famous inn sign, “Drunk for a Penny, Dead-drunk for Tuppence, Clean Straw for Nothing,” sums it up.)
The return of the army from America and its demobilisation put more desperate men on the streets, particularly of London. The loss of the American colonies also meant that convicts who had been subject to exile across the Atlantic were now being housed in disused war-ships known as hulks. These were terrible places, feared by the general populace as subject to disease, vice and, most fearful of all, break-outs.
But, as a solution to a crime problem, sending a little over 750 people out of custody just about as far as possible to a place barely glimpsed 17 years before, seems – let’s face it – a bit silly. This was possibly the most expensive, limited, and uncertain solution to the problem that could have been conceived. One opponent of the scheme suggested that housing all the convicts in the Ritz would be cheaper. If the object of the First Fleet was to rid Britain of its “criminal classes”, as they were becoming known, it does not seem, to use a modern phrase, a very sustainable venture. Surely a British or even African site, such as an island, would have done the job at half the cost? Portsmouth to the east coast of New Holland and back entailed a round trip of about 18 months in the late 18th century, and in 1787 there were only 17-year old reports that there was a good harbour somewhere around what we now call Sydney. Remember, also, that Banks spent just one week in autumn at Botany Bay. No European had any notion of conditions over a calendar year – and yet, about 1,000 souls were to start a society there, or at least establish a penal colony.
. . .
When the amazingly successful expedition arrived at Banks’ favoured spot for a settlement, Botany Bay was immediately found to be unsuitable, and the whole fleet quickly moved up the coast to Port Jackson. Then, half the expedition’s naval resources were deployed to a tiny island 750 nautical miles away (at least two week’s sailing) that had no harbour. This really does look like a mission to Mars without computers. I think it is fair to ask, what was going on here?
Blainey’s answer is naval stores, or the potential to develop them. By the end of the 18 century, as the Industrial Revolution started to gather (and, soon, use) steam, Britain was becoming the world’s greatest political and military power, but this position was hotly disputed by France. What we call the American War of Independence is called by some scholars the “first world war” because it involved Britain and France in conflict on three continents and, most importantly – because of the sugar – the islands of the West Indies. Some historians say that Britain lost that war (which it did) because of a deficiency in naval stores. This is analogous to economic historians arguing (as they do) that ultimately Hitler lost World War II because his armies failed to reach the Caspian Sea and secure oil resources sufficient to their needs – an equally plausible interpretation.
The Royal Navy was, of course, wind-driven, and completely reliant on a supply of masts, spars, cordage and sailcloth to maintain operations. The First Lord of the Admiralty at the time of Cook’s expeditions, John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich, laboured mightily, but usually unsuccessfully, to maintain three years’ supplies of essential naval stores in order to keep Britain’s maritime ascendancy over France. When Cook saw Norfolk Island on his second voyage in October 1774, the local (Araucaria) pines impressed him, and his ship’s carpenter, as very possibly useful for masts and spars. As well, a type of flax was found there which was thought to be capable of producing good sail-cloth and cordage.
If you are trying to achieve world hegemony with a navy that relies on wind power, this is like finding a naval stores depot in the South Pacific – or at least a resource capable of being developed into such a depot. So, following specific orders, Phillip sent Supply to Norfolk Island as soon as he possibly could with both free and convict settlers.
Judging these two theories by what eventually happened does not actually reveal what was the intention of the British authorities planning the expedition in 1786-7, but New South Wales and, especially, Tasmania did become a dumping ground for British convicts in the first half of the 19th century. This happened particularly between 1820 and 1850 when first, post-Napoleonic War economic depression, and then the Irish Famine, created a large rise in crime. Sydney did become a focal point for the projection of British power into the Pacific, and French colonies were kept to just a few Pacific islands. But Norfolk Island resources never played a part in that naval hegemony of the southern oceans. It was soon realised that the pines were useless for masts or spars: they “snapped like carrots” and despite great efforts being made in cultivating the flax and turning it into sailcloth – over two decades – a viable manufactory was never established.
The first week – Botany Bay
By January 20, 1788 all 11 First Fleet ships were safely at anchor in Botany Bay. There had been very few deaths on the voyage, but now there was some sickness and worries about scurvy. Having been ashore reconnoitring the country, Phillip and his officers decided that Botany Bay was not a suitable place for settlement principally because of a lack of a reliable source of fresh water. Remember that Cook and Banks had been in Botany Bay in autumn, not in a hot summer – which 1788 was – and water flows were, presumably, quite different. Watkin Tench reported of the stream at which Cook had watered, “We did not think the water very excellent, nor did it run freely.”
Apart from water supply, there were other disadvantages of the Botany Bay site which had been visited so briefly all those years ago. Given the lack of a good water source, Watkin Tench’s report that the ground was unhealthily swampy seems somewhat paradoxical, but swampy ground and a lack of clean water are by no means incompatible. More importantly to the naval mind, all contemporary commentators agree that the Bay was an uncomfortable, if not dangerous, anchorage in a south-east blow, when ships could be caught on a “lea shore”. It might seem strange that the great navigator, Cook, would have recommended such an anchorage as a place for a settlement, but it must be remembered that it was Banks’ advice that led to Botany Bay being chosen. He was no mariner, and Cook could not be consulted when the expedition was planned in 1787 – he had died from a head wound received in a melee on a beach in Hawaii in 1779.
While the recce party was away, the people left behind, under Lt Hunter, busily went about digging a saw-pit and cutting down trees. They also encountered the locals – almost certainly the Kameygal people of the Eora nation. Tench reported several “interviews with the natives which ended in so friendly a manner that we began to entertain hopes of bringing about a connection with them”. Phillip also reported cordial relations with the people he encountered at Port Jackson on his foray.
The recce party returned on January 23 and Phillip ordered the removal of the whole expedition to Port Jackson, specifically, to a cove with a good stream of water, which he named Sydney “in compliment to the principle secretary of state for the home department”. In other words, the bureaucrat in charge of prisons. The rivulet which was so important to the site of what has become one of the world’s great cities became known, equally prosaically, though less obsequiously, as the Tank Stream.
Supply sailed on January 25 and the rest of the fleet got under way on 26th, passing a bemused La Perouse whose ships, La Boussole and L’Asrolabe, were entering the bay, using Cook’s charts.
The first month – Sydney Cove
The Supply arrived in Port Jackson on the evening of the 25th and anchored near the heads. On the morning of the 26th, the ship moved up the harbour to the chosen cove, and a party of officers, marines and convicts went ashore. The convicts cleared some ground and a flagpole was erected by the evening. After that, the union flag was raised, a volley was fired by the marines, and the officers drank a toast (in porter – a strong ale). Please note that the flag that was raised was not the present Union flag or “jack”. Ireland was still a colony, and so the flag only combined the crosses of St George (representing England) and St Andrew (Scotland). So, despite the colony, when it was proclaimed, being called New South Wales, Wales was not (and is still not) represented on the union flag. No proclamation was made, no-one else was ashore, and the other 10 ships of the fleet had not yet arrived in Port Jackson. Not one woman was present. In fact, most probably, there was no European woman in Port Jackson when the flag was raised and the toast was drunk.
When Supply came up the harbour that morning, the local (again, almost certainly) Cadigal people, also of the Eora nation, had made hostile demonstrations, but they did not disrupt the evening’s proceedings. On Phillip’s previous visit to Port Jackson, a few days earlier, the Aboriginal people had been reported to be “friendly” but now they called out “Warra, Warra,” which Watkin Tench had perceived, earlier at Botany Bay, to mean “Go away”. Some time after the evening flag-raising, Sirius, leading the rest of the fleet, arrived in Port Jackson and came up the harbour. Tench reported “enjoying the luxuriant prospect of its shores, covered with trees to the water’s edge, among which many of the Indians were frequently seen, till we arrived at a small snug cove . . . on whose banks the plan of our operations was destined to commence”.
That is all that happened on January 26, 1788. It was one day in a continuum of days in which the British colony of New South Wales was established, and by no means the most important. And, as we shall see, when the colony was proclaimed (on February 7), nothing remotely resembling the geographic or political bounds of modern Australia was claimed.
. . .
Writing as a provincial Australian, one thing that has to be said is that the whole January 26 celebration is very Sydney-centric, starting with the idea that Captain Cook discovered Australia. Cook did not (even in European terms) “discover” Australia. Western Australia had been bumped into by the Dutch often in the 17th century and they had mapped northern Australia and southern Tasmania more than a century before Cook and Banks saw Botany Bay. This is apart from January 26 being, basically, a celebration of the British Empire, given that the only substantive thing that happened that day was the raising of a (now outdated) flag.
I wonder if the people who fly Australian flags on January 26 would like to know that they are celebrating a class-ridden English occasion when only the officers got a drink.
Over the next fortnight, first the military and then the convicts were progressively disembarked. “The confusion that ensued will not be wondered at, when it is considered that every man stepped from a boat literally into a wood . . . the stillness of which had then for the first time since creation, been interrupted by the labourer’s axe. . . . As the woods were opened and the ground cleared, the various encampments were extended, and all wore the appearance of regularity”. So wrote David Collins, who ignores the fact that the Eora had their own axes with handles, and in this passage he is also ignoring their prior occupation of this forest which the British must tame – by the labour of the convicts. According to Tench, “The Indians for a little while after our arrival paid us frequent visits, but in a few days they were observed to be more shy of our company. From what cause their distaste arose, we never could trace.” Tench writes a deal more about relations with the Eora, and, though seemingly sympathetic to them, seems not to grasp that they might object to the occupation of their country.
When all were ashore (the female convicts last of all) on February 7, Phillip addressed the whole party, claiming New South Wales for the crown and establishing British law in that territory, which was defined as all the land east of 135°E Longitude from the latitude of Cape York in the north and to the South Cape of Van Diemen’s Land in the south. (Van Diemen’s Land, now Tasmania, was thought to be contiguous with New South Wales.) Significantly, the Pacific off-shore islands were also claimed – another indicator of the perceived importance of Norfolk Island. What was not claimed was about half of present-day South Australia, two-thirds of the Northern Territory and all of Western Australia – which continued to be known as New Holland. Phillip then asked “the officers to partake of a cold collation at which, it is scarcely necessary to observe, many loyal and public toasts were drunk in commemoration of the day”. The convicts also got drunk.
Scarcely a week later, on the 15th, Supply – representing half of Phillip’s naval resources – sailed for Norfolk Island, two weeks sailing away and no harbour. That is how important those pines and that flax were seen to be.
So, of all the days that could have been chosen to celebrate the foundation of the modern Australian state, the one chosen was January 26, the day when British officials raised the Union flag at Sydney Cove, ignoring the protests of the local inhabitants, but not the one when New South Wales (then about half of Australia) was claimed for the Crown. This, and the way the day has been celebrated since (especially in my youth) gives one pause, and also sympathy for those – especially indigenous people – who find the date inappropriate.
A final thought: if we see Australia Day as a celebration of modern Australia, it is worth pointing out to the present partisans of the Australian flag that it was a Union flag that was raised at Sydney Cove on January 26, 1788, and it was the King, Queen and Prince of Wales that were toasted in “four glasses of porter” – not any idea of an Australian nation. Like Gallipoli, the “settlement” of New South Wales was an imperial project – the men at Gallipoli also fought under a Union flag.
James Parker is a Tasmanian historian (but with deep connections to Sydney), who writes and talks on mainly colonial subjects – especially convicts, women and the Tasmanian Aboriginal people.