Eureka - The Unfinished Revolution (56 page)

Upon arrival, Rede – his gold lace shining brightly, the very personification of government authority on these goldfields – strains to keep things under control.

‘Nothing would grieve me more than to have to recourse to violence,’ he tells the diggers. ‘But as long as the license fee is the law it is my duty to maintain it, and I will do so.’

When the diggers argue, he returns doggedly to his theme: ‘I must do my duty . . . and do it I will.’ He asks them to disperse, to return to their diggings and their tents and not to engage in this riotous assembly.

Need he remind them, he goes on, that on the reckoning of their own delegation – as they were informed just yesterday – the Lieutenant-Governor himself had told them that if they properly petitioned him they would get their rights! Furthermore, as they know, one of their most public supporters, Mr Fawkner himself, had been selected as ‘one of the number to inquire into the grievances of the goldfields’.

At this point, three cheers ring out at the mention of Fawkner’s name. But the goodwill does not last for long. When the Commissioner calls – no fewer than three times – for the law-abiding among them to retire and disperse, they do not. Worse, by way of emphasis that they are not backing down, some of the diggers even throw stones at the Commissioner, one large chunk of quartz only narrowly missing his head. (At this point, he could be forgiven for viewing with fond nostalgia the days when they only threw eggs at his head.) The situation is now truly out of hand.

He must take action, and so he does, crying out, ‘My lads, I must read the riot act.’

‘Read it! Read it!’ the diggers roar back.

Again, standing in the saddle, Rede now reads out the Riot Act from the large piece of paper he holds in his right hand: ‘Our Sovereign Lady the Queen chargeth and commandeth all persons, being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves, and peaceably to depart to their habitations, or to their lawful business, upon the pains contained in the act made in the first year of King George, for preventing tumults and riotous assemblies. God Save the Queen!’

At this point, many of the diggers do indeed disperse, knowing that Rede has now set up a legal situation whereby, because there are 12 or more of them gathered in ‘riots and tumults’, he and his men have the right to fire upon them if they don’t follow instructions. But many stand their ground.

As described by digger John Lynch, Rede’s whole license-hunt and reading of the Riot Act ‘was meant for a challenge, and as such was accepted. The gauntlet was thrown down with the recklessness of malice; it was taken up with solemn decision, amidst cheers, every wave of which reverberated defiance’.

Shocked that so many diggers have indeed picked up the said gauntlet thrown down, Rede plays for time and attempts to ride away from the confrontation. But he is immediately stopped by one enormous digger, who simply stands there, roaring abuse at him. With this, Commissioner Rede can tolerate no more and decides to personally make an example of him.

‘Have you got your license?’

‘No,’ says the bear of a man.

‘Then,’ says Rede, ‘I will arrest you . . .’

And Rede would have done exactly that. Alas, as soon as he and the troopers take the man in hand, other diggers rush them and free the recalcitrant digger, running off with him.

‘Very well,’ says Rede, ‘since you have resisted me in the execution of my duty, both as a Commissioner and a Magistrate, if you do not disperse I will clear you off with the military.’

With great reluctance, Rede sends for armed troops, and he is not long in hearing that the diggers have sent their own runners to alert the Tipperary mob on the Eureka what is happening and relay their need for support. Fortunately for Rede, his own troops arrive first. Captain Thomas, who has also been watching closely, has immediately sent the same infantry of the 40th Regiment under the command of Captain Pasley that had been ready to break up the meeting the day before had it got out of hand.

Again, the sight of these heavily armed men inflames the diggers even more, and now they call out, ‘We will not have drawn swords or fixed bayonets.’ ‘Where is the Governor?’ ‘Send up Sir Charles Hotham.’ ‘We want justice, and we will have it.’

Upon such cries, Commissioner Rede declares he is determined to check licenses whether anyone likes it or not, which sets the diggers off once more:

‘We haven’t got them; we can’t give them,’ the grubby diggers cry at the familiar figure in the always impeccable blue uniform. ‘We have burnt them.’

Despite the tall forest of long bayonets glinting in the sunlight above the heads of the massed infantry behind Rede, many of the diggers still stand their ground. Having gone this far, the intoxicating whiff of rebellion momentarily in their nostrils, after whole months of suffering in rough silence, they decide to go still further and unleash another volley of rocks on Rede and his men. In for a penny, in for a pound . . . To be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb . . . Let the devil take the hindmost and prudence be damned . . .

Now, as the mob thickens, rather in the manner of the filthy dust storm that is rolling in with a sudden violence from the north, the cry goes up: ‘To the Camp, boys, to the Camp!’

To the alarm of Rede and his forces, it really looks as though the diggers are going to storm the Government Camp. Some of the foot soldiers and police instantly fall back to protect it, helped by the fact that soldiers of the 40th and 12th Regiment have now formed up at the bridge, ready to shoot any digger who tries to cross it, in exactly the same manner as the Houses of Parliament had been protected in 1848 from the Chartists who would cross the Thames. However, a new cry rings out: ‘Not to the Camp, boys, not to the Camp. Back to our own ground on Bakery Hill!’

Confusion reigns supreme with carnage riding shotgun, ready to fire at just one more provocation.

What to do now? There has been a partial dispersion of the mob, giving Commissioner Rede enough time to consult with his commanding officers. Between them, they decide that the important thing now is to do what they came to do: conduct a license-hunt on the Gravel Pits!

Rede, infuriated by this affront to the Crown, by this appalling treatment of his men, stands in his saddle and gives his men instructions. ‘The licenses must be shown. We must apprehend all who have not their licenses.’

And what do we do, Assistant-Commissioner Johnstone asks, if the diggers show violence to us?

The order from the officer in specific command of the police is clear: ‘If a man raises his hand to strike, or throws a stone, shoot him on the spot.’

And so it begins.

The sweaty police begin the chase, both on foot and on horseback, and all those diggers who are without licenses – which is the better part of them – race madly for their holes. Safety lies underground, where the infernal soldiers cannot get at them. But not all of the diggers scurry. Some of them are so enraged or emboldened or tired of running away that they continue to throw stones, bottles, chunks of hard clay, pieces of wood and, generally, anything other than nuggets at the troopers. A whole rain of debris pelts down upon the men in uniform, the bottles sometimes exploding in cruel shards, even as the general insurrection spreads.

The universal cry is heard: ‘We will not pay the license. We WILL have our rights!’

Some of the diggers who had been running stop and join in the furious fracas instead. This is too good an opportunity to miss.

Shouts of anger from troopers now mingle with shouts of anger from the diggers, interspersed with the odd
thunk
as rock meets skull or body and the increasingly loud neighing of frightened, bucking horses which are sometimes throwing their riders to the ground. The first violent digger caught is put under the guard of two troopers, who are harshly ordered to take him back to the Camp lockup. And if he makes any attempt to escape, ‘blow his brains out’.

For his part Commissioner Johnstone gives direct orders to his men: ‘In the event of any outbreak the whole of the tents and stores on the flat are to be burnt to the ground.’

In short order, in a separate movement, the Redcoats form up in a tightly packed line, bayonets fixed, with some mounted troopers in the prow of the attack while the remainder form up on both flanks.

And . . . forward!

They march ahead in the military formation called ‘line abreast’ – with their skirmishers forward and their bayonets levelled – clearing the Gravel Pits as they go.

Serious and sustained resistance is obviously out of the question. At least for now. Those diggers who are above ground and without a license run every which way, trying to escape. The diggers below ground stay there or head off into the tunnels, daring the troopers to try to follow them. It is one thing to have bravely burned their licenses the day before and quite another to face the painful consequences now. Much better to scarper, Arthur.

The troops continue their advance, with Captain Pasley riding tightly behind, back and forth between the several detachments as he keeps them all co-ordinated. ‘I had consequently an opportunity of observing the feeling of those assembled in the neighbourhood,’ he would subsequently report, ‘which did not appear to be very much in our favour.’

And there is one not in their favour now. Seemingly from out of nowhere, ‘a swarthy ruffian sprang out of the crowd and struck a policeman a ruthless blow across the face with an axe handle, which felled him.’

The policeman behind brings his musket to his shoulder and fires, missing the miscreant and wounding another digger nearby, which draws another outraged digger from his tent, who fires at the second policeman and . . . mercifully misses. Bullets fly, stones are hurled. So many, from so many angles and places, it is impossible to determine just who has done what. But the result is the same – shouts of anger and pain fill the air from both sides.

Amid all of the chaos, Commissioner Rede at one point recognises the figure of John Basson Humffray, and shouts at him, ‘See now the consequences of your agitation!’

Humffray, however, is equal to the occasion and replies with dignity, ‘No, but see the consequences of impolitic coercion.’

The madness goes on.

Those few diggers who have not only paid for their licenses but still have them on their person, present them to whichever soldiers ask. Most of the soldiers’ attention, however, is focused on the openly rebellious diggers. When one digger without a license decides to make a run for it, instead of pursuing him on foot or horseback, the soldiers are given the clear order: ‘Fire on him . . . shoot him down.’

The fact that the first flurry of shots misses the quickly retreating figure causes a very ill wind to blow upon Her Majesty’s peace. For just as man has ever been prone to fight fire with fire, so too is gunfire in one direction prone to be met with gunfire from the other direction, and so it proves on this occasion.

On this occasion, the fleeing digger is mercifully able to dive down a shaft and escape into the dark, labyrinthine netherworld. While the soldiers are restrained, the musket fire both from the troopers and diggers has now started, and it goes on as the sound of shot after shot rolls across the goldfields of Ballarat, arousing many miners deep in their shafts who had not previously been aware that the Joes are here.

One of those miners is Peter Lalor, working at a depth of 140 feet in a shaft at the Eureka, while Timothy Hayes stays above working the windlass. Lalor is just using his pick to break up the muddy clay beneath his boots before he shovels it into a bucket when he hears wisps of the first shots rolling over the open shaft above him.

He quickly surfaces just as the first of the retreating diggers runs past, shouting the news: ‘The Joes . . . They’re
shooting
us over at the Gravel Pits!’

Their rage is as incandescent as it is infectious, spreading right throughout the diggings. The government has abandoned all restraint and is openly attacking us!

At this moment, Raffaello Carboni is in his tent, writing a letter to a friend, and now quickly finishes it.

Just on my preparing to go and post this letter, we are worried by the usual Irish cry, to run to Gravel-pits. The traps are out for licenses, and playing hell with the diggers. If that be the case, I am not inclined to give half-a-crown for the whole fixtures at the Camp.

I must go and see what’s up.

Always your affectionate,

CARBONI RAFFAELLO.

Elsewhere on the diggings, the men do not take time to finish their letters or the equivalent, for the general reaction is fury all around. Actually shooting us!
Has it come to this
?
It has. And there can only be one response. They must fire back.

‘To arms!’ is the cry.

In Lalor’s later words, ‘All that could muster arms moved forward in great confusion towards the Gravel Pits.’

As to Samuel Lazarus, who had been so critical of the diggers in the way they had attacked the 12th Regiment two nights earlier, he is in no doubt now where the blame lies, as he writes in his diary: ‘A little forbearance on the part of the authorities and I believe all would have been well, but this morning’s disastrous policy has [raised] feelings of bitter animosity in the breasts of many who a little while ago were eager that the difficulties should be settled by moral means.’

Anyway, it is now obvious to most diggers that the time for moral persuasion has gone. From all over they grab whatever weaponry comes to hand and race towards the Gravel Pits in support of their brother diggers.

There are not enough men on either side for this to turn into a true pitched battle, but the diggers’ resistance is fierce. It is through good fortune alone that when the shooting stops and the skirmish is over, the casualties are mercifully light. One of the troopers’ horses has taken a bullet to its neck and is in a bad way, while a policeman has sustained a serious, but not life-threatening, wound to his head. (An axe handle will do that to you.) As for the miners, no fewer than seven of them have been arrested and taken prisoner for resisting the lawful authorities, and one of them has taken a bullet through his hand. Those criminals are now led away in chains. Beyond arresting the worst of the rioters, however, the authorities have gained some idea of just what they are up against, should it come to a major military confrontation.