Eureka - The Unfinished Revolution (61 page)

And then comes the rain . . . torrents of it.
Torrents
of it, soaking them to the skin and through their belongings. It is more rain than most of the men have ever experienced in their lives – a thunderstorm for the ages with enough rain to make Noah start calling the animals in.

It dampens their ardour somewhat, as deep within the wilderness, without shelter, the sheer madness of what they are doing hits them. Some men turn back for good, some turn back to try again on the morrow, some find shelter where they can stop for the night.

Late evening, 30 November 1854, Government Camp

As soon as Father Smyth has left, once more the alarm goes up that the diggers will shortly attack the Camp. Even more quickly now, as they have practised, every man in the enclosure either takes his own weapon or is given one, along with ammunition, and goes to his appointed post. Key buildings within the Camp – the officers’ mess, the hospital, the Commissioner’s quarters and the barracks – are further fortified. They have further stacks of firewood, trusses of hay, bags of oats and bran put against them to better protect those inside from flying bullets.

Alas, no sooner have the fatigue parties finished this exhausting work than the violent storm that had so recently broken over the poor, sorry heads of the Creswick diggers now hits them. Certainly, some of the men can take shelter, but not the police troopers and their still saddled horses, as they must remain at their posts, exposed to the downpour, ready to move at a moment’s notice. All the troopers can do through the sodden night is lie on the ground, wrapped in their cloaks, using their horses for what shelter they can.

Late evening, 30 November 1854, in Father Smyth’s presbytery, Victoria St, Ballarat

Now back in his own quarters, a completely distraught Father Smyth, certain that catastrophe is now inevitable, writes a letter of last resort in his elegant hand:

To His Excellency Sir Charles Hotham HCB and Governor General of Victoria

Sir,

I have the honour to address Your Excellency, and most respectfully beg here to state what, in the opinion of many, is best calculated to allay our present excitement. The present emergency is a pressing one, and requires all the consideration and indulgence Your Excellency can extend us. Should Your Excellency so far favour us as to suspend the operation of the License Law here for some definite period – say till the coming Commission close their enquiries – I, at least, would feel certain of our being more than partially restored to law and order. May I assure Your Excellency that my only motive for being so bold, is my concern for those who are entrusted to my care.

I have the honour to be

Your Excellency’s Very humble and obedient servant

Patrick Smyth

Catholic Priest

Hotham, when he receives the letter, writes upon it ‘Put away’, and so a clerk does.

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘AUX ARMES, CITOYENS!’

I am convinced that the future of this Colony depends on the crushing of this movement in such a manner that it may act as a warning . . . I should be sorry to see them return to their work . . . We may be able to crush the democratic agitation at one blow, which can only be done if we find them with arms in their hands and acting in direct opposition to the laws
.

Commissioner Robert Rede writes to the Chief Commissioner of the Goldfields on Saturday afternoon, 2 December 1854

The government of the day, schooled in the highways of Imperial tradition, when aroused from repose on the sudden discovery of gold, proved unequal to the emergency.

Samuel Douglas Smyth Huyghue, Chief Clerk to Commissioner Robert Rede, in his diary

Friday morning, 1 December, on the Eureka, the word is out

In a community as tight as that of the goldfields, it does not take long for news to travel – from digger to digger, tent to tent, diggings to diggings – particularly when the news is so alarming. That bastard Rede has refused to budge an inch, and the seven diggers arrested yesterday will be feeling the full weight of the law. He wouldn’t even guarantee to our blokes that there’ll be no further license-hunts! Such news galvanises the men not yet fully committed to the cause, and by mid-morning all of them have downed tools and upped arms. This is not through any command from Lalor’s Council for the Defence, but from the pure desire of the broad mass of men – there will be no digging done this day and few businesses open.

In the Stockade, Lalor gives the order for the military drills to recommence in earnest, and the 1000 men now inside the fortifications set to with a will, engaging in exercises that lift in intensity when word arrives that heavily armed Redcoats are heading this way!

No matter that this proves to be a false alarm. Even if the troopers are not attacking now, it is obvious to all present that it is only a matter of time. Fortunately, more and more diggers keep pouring into their Stockade, particularly those who have been able to lay their hands on firearms and the homemade pikes that they now set to sharpening with great enthusiasm. The new arrivals form new divisions, the ranks of the pikemen becoming particularly strong. Drilling proceeds apace.

Even if the Redcoats haven’t come yet, it can’t be long before they do come – perhaps as soon as the first day after the Sabbath – and it is important to be ready for them. The orders ring out once more.

‘Present . . . arms!’

‘Shoulder . . . arms!’

‘Right . . . face!’

‘Quick . . . march!

Yes, in some ways they are like an army, but in one key way they are different. This nascent army has men from all over the world, most particularly Europe, the Americas and Australia itself – men of entirely different cultures and levels of education. As later described by Carboni, ‘We were of all nations and colours.’ One of them, in fact, in Carboni’s own company, is John Joseph, a black man from America who some say is an escaped slave. With large intelligent eyes, he is as passionate as any of the diggers-cum-soldiers in his troop, and Carboni is glad to have him.

The men are also of a wide variety of ages, with everyone from such young’uns as the 15-year-old Monty Miller from Van Diemen’s Land and William Atherden, a 16-year-old English lad who deserted his ship at Geelong the year before, to 54-year-old John O’Neil from Cork, Ireland. Their points of unity, however, far outweigh their points of difference. Together, they are diggers; they are mates. They have worked together, suffered together, rejoiced together, and now they are united in their common disgust with an iniquitous government and a corrupt police force that have attempted to crush them. They want democracy. They want the right to buy land. They want a
fair go,
mate. And they will simply no longer be denied. This far and no further . . .

Only for lunch, as the heat of the day starts to gain a real grip, do the men in the Stockade finally take a breather. One man who has no time to stop, however, is swarthy German blacksmith, John Hafele. With his bulging biceps and glistening brow, he keeps working feverishly before his roaring furnace, pounding his hammer, making vicious-looking pikes – sharpened metal spikes secured to eight-foot poles – which he promises will most definitely ‘fix red-toads and blue pissants especially’. And he is serious in this claim. Some of the pikes are especially designed and constructed with a kind of razor-sharp, cruel hook on the end, potentially fulfilling three functions. Firstly, once stabbed into an abdomen it will pull half of the contents out again. Secondly, it is perfect to cut the bridle and saddle girth of any charging cavalry. Thirdly and even better, it can simply be used to hook a trooper out of the saddle.

Carboni is personally not convinced. As a veteran of real battles, he feels that the pikes will struggle to dispatch an opossum, let alone a man, if it comes to that. In fact, the diggers are so desperate for anything that even looks like real weaponry that they gratefully accept the offer of Sarah Hanmer, the American owner of Ballarat’s Adelphi Theatre, to take over her entire stock of swords from the props department.

What is needed, of course, is real weaponry and real ammunition.

One solution, as pushed by Captain Ross in recent days, is to simply take what is needed from those stores that have them. Lalor is pressed to give the order but for the moment refuses, even going so far as to issue a warning: ‘Any man, who is found stealing, or in any way interfering with private property, may look to himself, for as sure as death my gun shall find him out.’

For the moment, the redoubtable Vern, perhaps the most visibly active man in the Stockade – his long, flowing hair and jangling sword in motion as he strides back and forth, shouting guttural commands at whomever will listen – tells them not to worry, for he is certain that his fully armed and provisioned German Rifle Brigade will be arriving shortly. And yet the troop that turns up is not what he is expecting at all . . .

———

Far and near and low and louder . . . On the roads of earth go by. Dear to friends and food for powder, Soldiers marching, all to die . . .

On this occasion, the soldiers in question are actually the foot-slogging diggers from Creswick Creek, some 300 to 400 strong. Exhausted perhaps as much by Kennedy’s rhetoric as by the storm-interrupted journey, they arrive in Ballarat from their diggings some 10 miles to the north, expecting to be provided with the ‘arms, ammunitions, forage, and provisions’ that had been promised.

Alas, this is not the case. The rebels of Ballarat have neither arms to spare, nor alms for the poor, which these men clearly are. It is one thing to have reinforcements, but the truth of it is – as quickly becomes apparent – it is also a great inconvenience when the new arrivals bring so little with them. Nevertheless, arrangements are quickly made, with Edward Thonen organising for the local butcher to provide meat, the stores to provide bread and the men to gather wood. In short order a large fire is burning right in the middle of the Stockade and the Creswick men are fed.

This is good enough to get them through one meal, but it is now obvious that what was promised them is non-existent. While some remain and are quartered with friends both inside and more often outside the Stockade, most of them are soon dispersed across the Eureka.

Tim Hayes, for that matter, is also nowhere to be seen within the Stockade, and John Basson Humffray, whose ‘moral force’ philosophy has now been so completely run over by events and men of violent disposition, has also entirely disappeared. Raffaello Carboni hears from John Manning that the moral Chartists are continuing with their ‘hallucinated yabber-yabber’ at the Star Hotel, and he is only glad that he is not present.

There are plenty of new arrivals, too. Among them are the Nicholls brothers, who have honoured their commitment of the evening before to Captain Ross and now turn up with their guns, while still being far from convinced that they want to join the cause. The first thing they see is Captain Nelson, the likeable, energetic American carpenter, drilling his men – all of them armed with guns – and getting them into some kind of military structure the best he can. Many of these men are carrying powder flasks, some are making cartridges by ‘rolling powder with shot in paper’ – which they can later empty down the barrel of their gun before ramming it and firing – and still others are having to make do with swords and even
sticks.
Clearly, however, they are deadly serious as they go through their drills and, with no real choice, the Nicholls brothers nominally join this company.

And there, of course, in the middle of the Stockade, is Peter Lalor.

‘I was keenly observant to discover what kind of man he was,’ Nicholls would later recount, ‘and I quickly reached the conclusion that he hardly knew what he was doing. He seemed to me to be letting things take their own course. It did not appear to have occurred to him that he was taking a step which meant loss of life or liberty to many and that he had embarked on an enterprise from which there was hardly the possibility of retreat.’

A brief conversation with Lalor confirms for Henry Nicholls that the Irishman does not even contemplate the possibility of retreat. For when Nicholls asks him what he wants from this rebellion, Lalor’s words are explicit and exact: ‘Independence!’ Nothing less than independence and a complete break with all things British, just as his father and brother had been actively agitating for in Ireland. And there is something about the way he says it that can make a man believe.

‘Then I am with you,’ promptly answers one of Nicholls’s friends who is with him, before picking up a pike and proceeding to ‘manifest warlike symptoms at once’.

And he is not the only one. John Manning himself is heard to say ‘We have ten against one of them. It will be very easy for us to take the Camp.’

But neither Henry Nicholls nor his brother Charles are truly consumed with the same passion, though neither wishes to say so, as they both want to hold on to their guns. (In Henry Nicholls’s words, ‘I was not for independence . . . I was for the abolition of the licenses, as was everybody else, angry, ready to do almost anything to get rid of the degradation of being hunted, but not for independence in the fashion proposed.’)

For the moment, though, they bide their time and continue with the drills under Captain Nelson. They have no trouble seeing why their guns are so urgently required. By now the issue of the lack of supplies and munitions is becoming so critical that on the strength of it Lalor comes to a decision. Scribed by his newly installed Minister of War, Alfred Black, he issues the first of his ‘Orders of War’ – handed over to a trusted posse of armed men under the direct command of Lalor – for merchants to hand over the arms, ammunition and victuals needed for the Stockade. Lalor is insistent that the storekeepers be given receipts for everything, along with the assurance that they will be repaid.