Eureka - The Unfinished Revolution (59 page)

Carboni describes him, ever-colourfully, as, ‘Shrewd, yet honest; benevolent, but scorning the knave; of deep thought, though prompt in action; Thonen possessed the head belonging to that cast of men whose word is their bond.’

The affection that Carboni has for Thonen, as a matter of fact, is only matched by the extreme dislike he has for Thonen’s rough compatriot, Friedrich Vern, who is also at the meeting and clearly itching to
‘
meet zer Tyrann mit der Pistole in der Handt
! ‘

The oldest among them, at 40, is the Irishman Patrick Curtain, who, like Timothy Hayes and Tom Kennedy, is a family man and father of four. That afternoon, Curtain was impressive in the way he handled his newly formed pikemen division and is clearly a man of some military experience.

It is time to get to grips. As a result of a previous quick meeting in Carboni’s tent, John Manning now hands over to Lalor a proposed motion – seconded by Carboni – to properly get the meeting underway, calling on Peter Lalor to be formally elevated to the position of ‘Commander-in-Chief, by the majority of votes’. (No, they do not live in a democracy in Victoria, as none of them has the right to vote for those in the Legislative Council, but there is, by God, a democracy in the Stockade.)

Now, being careful about such things – after the bitter experience of his family in Ireland – Lalor is careful to tear up the piece of paper after reading the motion for fear that it will fall into the wrong hands. Not that he is remotely nervous or lacking in confidence.

It is at this point that Lalor rises and proceeds to choose his words carefully.

‘Gentlemen,’ he begins in his rich Irish brogue, ‘I find myself in the responsible position I now occupy, for this reason. The diggers, outraged at the unaccountable conduct of the Camp officials in such a wicked license-hunt at the point of the bayonet, as the one of this morning, took it as an insult to their manhood, and a challenge to the determination come to at the monster meeting of yesterday. The diggers rushed to their tents for arms, and crowded on Bakery Hill. They wanted a leader. No-one came forward, and confusion was the consequence. I mounted the stump, where you saw me, and called on the people to “fall in” into divisions, according to the fire-arms they had got, and to choose their own captains out of the best men they had among themselves. My call was answered with unanimous acclamation, and complied to with willing obedience. The result is that I have been able to bring about that order, without which it would be folly to face the pending struggle like men.

‘I make no pretensions to military knowledge. I have not the presumption to assume the chief command, no more than any other man who means well in the cause of the diggers. I shall be glad to see the best among us take the lead.

‘In fact, gentlemen, I expected someone who is really well known,’ he says, referring to the notably absent John Basson Humffray, ‘to come forward and direct our movement! However, if you appoint me your commander-in-chief, I shall not shrink; I mean to do my duty as a man. I tell you, gentlemen, if once I pledge my hand to the diggers, I will neither defile it with treachery, nor render it contemptible by cowardice.’

It is an impressive speech, with John Lynch recording, ‘The delivery, pregnant with manly sentiment, and modest withal, depicts the man – for sincerity and courage, worthy of a place in the rank of heroes.’

Still, one man does not obviously agree.

For his part, Friedrich Vern also feels qualified to lead and steps up to actively campaign for the position. In an accent so thick it’s like wading through springtime mud on the diggings, Vern unburdens himself of every ounce of military knowledge he has in him. At least that is what those at the meeting suppose he is talking about, through the few bits and pieces of phrases the listeners can decipher.

There is no doubt Vern really is a man with military nous and has overseen the efficient construction of the Stockade with that keen eye. He writes clear, concise instructions in the military manner that are well thought out and easy to follow, the lack of grammatical English notwithstanding. He is totally committed to the diggers’ cause and generous – all remember his £100 contribution to get the legal defence campaign started for the three diggers accused of burning down the Eureka Hotel. And yet, having a foreigner as their formal leader would make it very difficult to get many of the Irish and British diggers to follow them, just on principle.

One thing the meeting can make out, however, is that he claims to have a rifle brigade of 500 German diggers ready to roll at his command, a welcome piece of news, if any of them could bring themselves to believe it. Where is this mysterious brigade? Certainly there are quite a few Germans among the diggers – but hardly 500 of them.

And even Lalor’s personal questioning on the subject does not prompt the German to reveal the tiniest clue as to where these men might actually be. In short, while Vern’s martial ardour is never in doubt, it is obvious to them all – with the exception of Vern himself – that he is not the man to lead them overall. (None is more opposed than Carboni, who actively dislikes Vern from the beginning and records his own view that nothing the German says is ever anything more than a particular English-like word he has invented for the occasion: ‘blabberdom’.) After Vern has finished his speech, Carboni speaks up and promptly and formally proposes that Lalor should be elected Commander-in-Chief.

The motion is quickly seconded by Edward Thonen, and the vote in the Irishman’s favour is carried by the crushing majority of 11 to one, with only Vern voting against, and there is immediately warm acclaim from the other members of the Council.

A grave and committed Lalor now stands to thank the Council for the honour of leading them and to state once more that he will do his utmost to lead the diggers so they can successfully resist the force of the authorities with their own, superior force. And he is also gracious to Vern, quickly installing him as his second-in-command to be, effectively, in charge of all things military.

When the Council adjourns – as the sun begins to sink on the eve of the first day of summer, shining strongly through a few scattered clouds with golden fringes above, while on the northern horizon some dark clouds have suddenly appeared – everyone understands that under Lalor’s leadership they are committed. The authorities can do their worst, but they will be met by armed resistance, so long as the diggers can get the weaponry and ammunition they need. Their grim course is set.

Early evening, 30 November 1854, on the diggings, put up your arms

And now in the deep shade thrown by the quartz-strewn ranges across the diggings, the fires are being lit and the billies boiled as the men prepare to have an evening pot of tea. Outside one of these tents, Henry Nicholls is sitting with his brother Charles and others, including the exhausted editor of
The Diggers
’
Advocate,
George Black, waiting for their brew. They look up to see a man familiar to Henry – the very good-looking and ardent Canadian, Charles Ross. With his piercing blue eyes, tousled hair, fine features and barrel chest, Ross is known as a firm favourite with the ladies on the diggings, but now he looks
commanding.
He has with him nothing less than a file of men, lined up in rough military formation. What is going on?

Could Ross have a quick word with Henry and Charles?

Certainly. Come into the tent.

Now, ‘Captain Ross’, as the men outside refer to him, is very gentlemanly about it and practically statesmanlike – even if he does refuse their offer of a cup of tea – but is also clear and determined. He wants their guns. Because Ross has been friendly with the Nicholls brothers, he happens to know that they possess two very valuable double-barrelled guns made in London.

‘We have embarked on a perilous enterprise,’ he says of the afternoon’s events, ‘and must protect ourselves the best we can, and as we are acting for the general good, if you do not choose to join us, it is at least fair that you contribute your arms.’

At first blush Henry Nicholls thinks this a very fair argument. And even if it isn’t, it is fairly obvious that Captain Ross does not have to ask – the men outside are the best argument of all that the Canadian can just take their guns if he so chooses. And yet, those guns are particularly valuable, together worth in excess of £30, and Nicholls is reluctant to just hand them over. But he has an idea . . .

‘How do you know we will not join you?’ he asks Ross reasonably.

‘That’s all I ask,’ Ross replies. ‘I’d sooner have you with the guns, than the guns without you.’

‘I can’t promise to join you until I see what you’re doing,’ Henry Nicholls says, ‘but perhaps I can come and have a look tomorrow, and if I approve, my brother and I will join, not to mention others.’

A reasonably happy Ross agrees to this – at least more happy than his men are when he emerges from the tent sans guns – and they all take their leave. The Nicholls brothers are happy to see them go. While they are both sympathetic to the aims of the diggers to abolish the license fee – Henry has, after all, written as much many times in
The Diggers
’
Advocate
– neither is convinced that taking up arms against the Redcoats is wise. The main thing, for the moment, is that they still have their precious guns.

7 pm, 30 November 1834, inside Diamond’s Store at the Stockade, the priest presses for peace

The Council for the Defence is being quickly reconvened, this time with a non-Council member in attendance – Father Smyth. Upon consideration, it has been decided to attempt, one more time, to avoid the bloodshed that now seems inevitable.

George Black puts forward to the meeting a proposal, which is instantly seconded by John Manning, that they should this very evening send a deputation to the Camp, to demand the immediate release of the diggers who had been dragged to the lockup that morning, and to also demand that Commissioner Rede make a pledge to stop the license-hunting.

In return, the diggers would agree to disarm, disperse and get back to work, allowing the time necessary to see if this could be sorted out peacefully. Ideally, they would again petition the Lieutenant-Governor and this time he would see reason.

All those in favour, say ‘Aye’.

Aye!
Aye!
AYE!
Si! Jawohl!

Father Smyth proposes – speaking up a little now, as a sudden rainstorm on the roof has begun to make a din – that George Black himself should go, while Peter Lalor insists that Raffaello Carboni be the second man of the delegation. For one thing, the fact that the Italian has a slight personal acquaintance with the Commissioner cannot hurt. This, too, is agreed to unanimously. Father Smyth promises to accompany both gentlemen into the Camp that evening to provide safe passage.

7.30 pm, 30 November 1854, the Government Camp girds its considerable loins

Fie, fie,
the battle is nigh. Rumours swirl, tension rises. The strong feeling among the officers, soldiers and police inside the Camp is that an attack is imminent, perhaps within hours. After all, they reason, the armed diggers are outside in their thousands, while inside the walls of the Camp they are in their mere hundreds, waiting for reinforcements. Strategically, it would make a lot of sense for the diggers to attack immediately.

Around the perimeter of the Government Camp all the sentries have their guns loaded and capped – putting a percussion cap atop the weapon’s nipple, thus requiring only the hammer to drop for it to fire – and all are on full alert. Inside, the soldiers and police keep their guns by them at all times and speak in that roaring whisper in order to be heard above the heavy rain that has suddenly broken upon them. They are in near darkness, the order having been given to douse all lights to make everyone less visible targets should there be an attack. Because some soldiers, in the British military tradition, have their families living with them in the barracks, all of those women and children have been placed inside one secure storeroom with walls so thick they will be safe from bullets and musket balls alike. Other buildings within the compound have everything from bags of corn to piles of firewood stacked around to enable them to better withstand whatever is fired at them. The troopers’ horses have saddles on, ready to be ridden out at a moment’s notice. The soldiers and police sleep in their uniforms, guns by their side, ready to move.

8 pm, 30 November 1854, on the Ballarat diggings

Music in the distance. Rough, raucous music. These are not songs to soothe the savage breast, but to rally it, whatever the mood. It is coming from the blaring band of Row’s Circus, playing up a storm in the cold moonlight now that the rain has stopped and the clouds have cleared, and yet it would require far more than the musical abilities of the ragtag musicians within the tent to lift the mood of the three men on a mission, who now make their way past and barely glance in their direction. For from the diggings, George Black, Raffaello Carboni and Father Smyth are on their way to the Government Camp to meet Commissioner Rede in an attempt to avert disaster.

As they pass the circus, they hear the drunken cursing and shouting of the revellers, and an old meditation pops into Carboni’s head,
‘
Unde bella et pugna infer vos?
’
‘Whence come wars and fights among you?’ Proceeding, they come across various groups of men anxiously discussing the day’s events. Some, of course, are aware of just where the Father and two men are going. Those who aren’t are duly informed.

As the men reach the bridge that leads to the Camp, they find it heavily guarded by stern police who block their free passage. No matter, it is for this precise purpose that Father Smyth has come. No man on earth, no matter the rank, has the authority to stop a man of God, and the Father is allowed in to arrange the meeting with Commissioner Rede.