Eureka - The Unfinished Revolution (52 page)

From the beginning, and despite their obvious exhaustion at the end of such a long journey, the Redcoats have the manner about them of British men who are just
spoiling
for a battle – let the diggers make just one wrong move. This feeling is further exacerbated when their commanding officer, Captain Henry Wise, has his men load their muskets even as they unlatch the cartridge boxes that they have on their right hips attached to a shoulder belt, and
fix bayonets
,
even as they march through the diggings. It is an aggressive move, calculated to demonstrate that a serious military force is now on the ground.

And so, of course, the diggers greet the arrivals in the now traditional manner . . . and the cry goes up.

‘Joe!’
‘
Joe
!’ ‘
JOE!’

Like a strange breed of rabbit, digger after digger pops his head up from his hole, or from behind a pile of earth beside it, or from out the flap of his tent, and spies the new arrivals and echoes: ‘Joe!’
Joe
!’
‘JOE!’

Such calls arouse other diggers to take a look, and soon it has gone from the odd cry to an outcry: ‘JOE!’ ‘JOE!’ ‘JOE!’

Yes, the calls come in nigh on as many accents as there are diggers, but the common feature is taunting insolence. For it is not yelled by way of cheery greeting, but spat out with venom – a release of disgust that it has come to this, that the government is sending whole armed regiments to quell their legitimate plaints.

For their part, the troopers stare balefully back at these uncouth, rude and positively insolent mud-men from the mining shafts. The tension between the mounted and the miners is indeed so great that it is the opinion of
The Ballarat Times
that had the diggers themselves been armed at the time, ‘nothing could have saved a collision’.

Just as it is truly falling dark, the unmistakable sound of men approaching on horseback is heard once more . . .

———

Only a couple of miles away at this time, Ballarat is being visited by the Melbourne-based Consul of the United States, James Tarleton, a personal friend of no less than US President Franklin Pierce, who had taken up his posting some six months earlier. As Tarleton is representative of a nation whose birth was marked by the throwing off of British shackles under the cry of ‘No taxation without representation’, there is more interest than usual in his presence at such a tense time, by both the diggers in general and the authorities, not to mention the roughly 600 American diggers on the Ballarat goldfields.

That evening there is a reception in honour of Thanksgiving Day to be held at the Victoria Saloon, and both Commissioner Rede and Acting Police Magistrate Charles Prendergast Hackett – who had earnt his law degree from the prestigious Trinity College in Dublin – are sure to attend in their finery, together with other officials, the leading burghers of Ballarat and representatives from the
Geelong Advertiser
,
The Ballarat Times
and
The Melbourne Morning Herald
.
Despite the fine clothes and wine, and the best silver on the goldfields set on the table, the tensions in the outside world, including the world far beyond Ballarat, do not abate.

Given that Great Britain is at war with Russia in the Crimea at this time, the former is more keen than usual to have close relations with its former adversary and increasingly important trading partner, the United States of America. The British fear that the Russians will invade Port Phillip Bay is so great that fortifications at the head of the bay are already being built on that contingency – just as they are in Sydney Harbour – while an armed steam sloop,
Victoria
,
is being constructed. It is time for English-speaking countries to strengthen their ties, not loosen them.

So the delicate task at hand then is to persuade the Americans to cease and desist beating the republican drum while in Australia without antagonising them. At least, it appears that Tarleton is aware of his diplomatic responsibilities as he notes to the gathered Americans in the audience how important it is ‘to obey the laws and instructions of this country’ and how sure he is that his countrymen will ‘abstain from interference in the present agitation’. It is heartening that both such sentiments are greeted with great applause from the Americans present.

Against that, quietly, Commissioner Rede has his suspicions, as he would subsequently report to his superiors ‘that the Americans are playing a deep game’ and ‘without appearing to take any part in the [protest] meetings . . . they are in a most insidious manner urging on the mob without showing themselves, and I can only suppose it is with the view of Americanising this Colony’.

Even as James Tarleton is making his speech, there is the sound of shots being fired in the distance. Tarleton soldiers on, but then one of Rede’s underlings whispers something in the Commissioner’s ear, something that visibly upsets him. He rises to respond to Tarleton when the time is right – congratulating the Consul on dispensing such wise advice to his countrymen – but excuses himself shortly thereafter as he must away on urgent business un-named, heightening the sense that not far neath the seeming normality a crisis is building to its climax. The likelihood that this crisis involves a person or people breaking the law is apparent in that Magistrate Charles Hackett, who has been seated just to the right of the Consul, is in close attendance on Rede as he leaves.

The sound of more gunshots in the distance does nothing to dispel this sense. Conversation invariably ceases for seconds at a time . . . All strain to hear if there are any follow-up shots. No? Then it is only an isolated act of anger, and perhaps not worth worrying about for the moment.

The evening’s proceedings continue with a very well-cut and obviously intelligent young American digger by the name of James McGill, who claims to have been trained at the United States Military Academy at West Point, rising to graciously respond to a toast that has been made to the US Army, in which he says he has had the great honour to serve. And yet, soon afterwards, when another aide comes in and whispers into the ear of James Tarleton, the Consul, too, presents his excuses and heads away to troubles unknown.

But enough of that for now . . .

It is time for the chairman, the venerable and impressively named Dr William Beauclerk Otway – an Englishman who served in the US Army before becoming a digger – who now stands for a toast.

‘Gentlemen,’ he says, lifting his glass, ‘to Her Majesty, the Queen.’ . . .

There is no response!

Protocol would have deemed it proper for Commissioner Rede to respond to the toast to Her Majesty Queen Victoria. In his absence, alas, not one of the Queen’s loyal subjects steps forward to do the honours and an exceedingly awkward silence falls upon the room.

For Otway is joined by . . . no-one? Yes, no-one.

Unable to bear it a second longer, Otway, appalled at this affront to Her Majesty, says if no British subject will volunteer, then he will toast her alone.

Not to be outdone, at this point the chief correspondent for
The
Ballarat Times
,
Samuel Irwin, leaving behind all notions that a journalist should be a chronicler of events and not a participant therein – he is, after all, a fully paid-up member of the Ballarat Reform League – jumps to his feet. ‘While I and my fellow Colonists claim to be, and are thoroughly loyal to our sovereign lady the Queen, we do not, and will not respect her men servants, her oxen, or her asses.’

With these last words he gestures towards the recently vacated chairs of Rede and Hackett and is rewarded by ‘tumultuous applause’ from seemingly all present, including, of course, many of the American diggers.

The Americans have been in quite a sensitive position on the diggings as the situation has become more and more unstable. They have always been regarded with a gimlet eye by the colonial authorities for their revolutionary leanings, and for that reason have been careful not to push themselves to the fore in the protests.

‘But the time had now come,’ American digger Charles Ferguson would later recount, ‘when we were compelled to act or stand neutral. Others complained that we were doing nothing . . . and began to accuse us of cowardice . . . [though we] were in full and hearty sympathy with the miners . . . We told them that if they went on they would have our sympathy, and if they made a stand they would not find us wanting, but we were not going to have it thrown upon our shoulders that we were the instigators of the outbreak, which it would be if it failed, and which, I ventured to add, it would; for which remark I was called a coward.’

The time is indeed coming fast, bearing down upon them, when every man will have to choose between standing neutral and acting.

———

Back out on the goldfields, no-one challenges the capricious rule of cruel chaos in the moonlight. The latest arrival has been a company from the 12th Regiment, which is the 40th’s brother regiment. And while there are ways to get to the Government Camp that do not involve marching right by the diggings, the soldiers do not take that sensible option and are soon in the thick of diggers who suddenly feel invaded. This provocative move proves to be even more unwise because this time the soldiers march without muskets loaded or bayonets bared, making themselves easy targets. And to make matters worse, they then get lost in the thin light.

It is an opportunity too good to miss. The diggers around Eureka – where the more hot-headed of the Irish are thicker than fleas on a stray dog – perhaps regretting that they had let the 40th through relatively unscathed, are even more aggressive in their hooted derision. This time they press in even closer, demanding to know if the drays bear any weapons to be used on the diggers in coming days?

The commanding officer of the 12th, Captain Richard Atkinson, who is appalled at their presumption, draws himself high on his remarkably high horse, and says he wishes to hold ‘no communication with rebels’.

It is not just his haughty words, however, but the manner in which the Englishman delivers them that infuriates the mob, and what little remains of their self-control suddenly evaporates in an outpouring of heated emotion.

Of an instant, they suddenly rush the Captain, crying ‘JOE! JOE!’, whereupon, as reported by
The Ballarat Times
, ‘The gallant officer galloped away as fast as possible across the ranges leaving his men to do the best they could in his absence!’ That best, alas, was not very good at all.

To the cries of ‘JOE!’ is soon added a flurry of bottles, rocks, sticks – anything the diggers can get their hands on to demonstrate their complete contempt – all of which trace perfect arcs in the dusky twilight to land on and around the soldiers and startled horses in a rain of rebellion.

In the face of it, many a Redcoat are visibly shaken, and some of the soldiers respond by firing wild shots in the direction that the missiles are coming from. Just what kind of a place is this? What have they let themselves in for?
What are they facing
?

As it happens, this last question is still being decided, but the outcry is not quite as spontaneous as it seems. In fact, there have been rumours all over the goldfields just in recent hours that the three representatives they have sent to Melbourne have been arrested and the government, intent on massacre, is now sending cannon to the goldfields to train upon the meeting the following day. So neither the question, nor the diggers’ response to the government’s answer, is particularly surprising.

The diggers fall upon the last two carts they fear might contain cannon. In the melee, groups of soldiers become separated from each other and therefore vulnerable. Some have been shot at, and a handful savagely beaten, while a drummer boy, John Egan, a ‘favourite with the men’, is shot in the thigh. Two officers, Police Sub-Inspector Samuel Furnell and his boss, Senior Sub-Inspector Thomas Langley, are shaken as bullets have passed so close to their heads they have heard them. (The diggers, too, have sustained damage. Brenden Hassell, a co-owner of the London Hotel, was standing in the doorway of his establishment shortly after giving an officer of the 12th Regiment directions to the Government Camp when the first shots were fired. One bullet came from out of the dark and shattered his shin.)

Not all the diggers are pleased with the affair. Watching the whole thing, Samuel Lazarus would shortly record in his diary:

It was a lovely moonlight night and the soft placid beauty of the sky was strangely at variance with the scene below where hootings groans curses the clatter of horses feet and the rattle of swords made up a horrible din which it would be difficult to describe. It is some relief to the feelings of Englishmen to know that the row was commenced and principally carried on by the worst portion of the digging community – old Convicts and Tipperary men, for no man however well disposed towards the diggers interests can disguise the fact from himself that it was a cowardly affair.

———

Back at the Camp, Captain Wise of the 40th bursts through the main entrance, caught between outrage at what has just occurred and joy at being back on the premises. The previous year he had spent time stationed here in charge of the pensioner force, and the beaming young officer is soon awash in handshakes from old friends and acquaintances who are equally delighted to see him. Wise and his regiment were overdue and those at the Camp were worried. And yet there is little time for such hail-fellow-well-met, under the circumstances. Suddenly, coming from the far distance, everyone is startled to hear the distinctive notes of a bugle from the distant realms of the Melbourne Road.

In this man’s army, every bugle call has a different meaning, and this is one of alarm. Their troops – probably the follow-up 12th Regiment – are under attack! This is confirmed an instant later by the sound of gunfire, followed by a police officer bursting into the Camp a few minutes later in nearly as much of a lather as his horse, babbling something of what has happened. It is time for a bugle call of their own in the Camp, and when that call goes out the result is instantaneous as the mounted troopers quickly assemble and gallop away – the cavalry to the rescue.