Eureka - The Unfinished Revolution (62 page)

The problem, of course, is how to differentiate between the ‘authorised’ Lalor men and roaming bands of armed thugs taking whatever they want from storekeepers ‘in the name of the republic’?

It is not easy.

Lalor’s men do, indeed, hand over such receipts:

Received from the Ballarat Store 1 Pistol, for the Committee X. Hugh M’Carty – Hurra for the people.

The Reform Lege Comete – 4 Drenks, fower chillings; 4 Pies for fower of thee weight watch patriots. – X. P.

But there is equally no doubt that many men, mostly Vandemonians, simply take advantage of the crisis to help themselves to whatever they like at gunpoint. All over the diggings, roving bands of men are descending on stores and ‘in the name of the committee of the Eureka Stockade’ forcibly helping themselves first to munitions and then whatever else takes their fancy, from plump Yorkshire hams and coffee to wash them down with, right up to the cash-box containing the £20 of the day’s takings. Yes, Lalor has, as he would describe it, ‘promised to shoot the first man who took any property from another, except arms and ammunition, and what was necessary for the volunteers to use in their defence’, but neither he nor his men can be everywhere at once.

In such a situation, what Lalor most needs are good men whom he can count on, and one of them proves to be none other than James Esmond. As the acknowledged discoverer of gold in Victoria, Esmond has a certain prestige about him and, being the captain of his own company of men, proves to be very assiduous in doing everything he can to prevent looting. At one point when a particularly violent digger by the name of Moran points a gun at a shopkeeper, telling him to ‘hand over quick’, it is Esmond who steps in. The shopkeeper would later say, ‘I have very little doubt my life would have been taken that night only for Esmond. ‘

As a matter of fact, Esmond becomes known among the shopkeepers as one who pays for powder and shot from
his own pocket
, so
reluctant is he to take supplies in the name of a committee that actually has no funds to speak of. And yet, with Esmond’s attitude so rare, there continue to be many cases of outright theft by those inside the Stockade.

Upon finding that one of his valuable horses has been stolen, a digger by the name of James McDowall marches to the Stockade to protest and is soon presented to Friedrich Vern, who introduces himself – wrongly – as ‘the Commander-in-Chief’ (he is still having a little trouble accepting the ascension of Peter Lalor). Vern makes no apology, saying that he and his men need horses and that is that. But at least McDowall is able to get a written guarantee that if the animal is hurt in any way he will be compensated. The document is signed:

A. A. Black, Secretary of War.

By order of the Commander in Chief, Friedrich Vern.

This wildness coming from the Stockade is now threatening to run completely out of control. In the early evening, a digger rushes to John Basson Humffray’s tent and tells him that the Council of War had sentenced Humffray ‘to be hanged on the gum tree’ outside his tent.

The digger urges him to run for his life, but Humffray firmly refuses. It is true that he has been publicly denouncing the physical-force movement, knowing it to be ‘unnecessary, ill-advised, and ill-timed’, but he cannot resile from that, and nor does he actually believe that the Council of War would have handed down any such punishment. He stands his ground.

Nearby, Henry Nicholls has just been summoned by Lalor’s Secretary of War, Alfred Black, whom he knows well from sharing a tent together. Black has something to show him. It is nothing less than a Declaration of Independence that he has been working on, a document he hopes might be like the American Declaration of Independence that three-quarters of a century earlier had provided the framework by which America had severed its links with Great Britain. As Black regards Nicholls as a ‘literary character’, he asks if Nicholls would mind having a look at it?

Without waiting for an answer, but with a great deal of pride, Alfred Black begins reading it, and, as Nicholls would recall, ‘rounded out his words with unction, rolling them over his tongue as if he enjoyed their flavour’.

Nicholls, however does not. While the Americans had held in their precious document that ‘we hold these truths to be self-evident’, whatever truths are in this Australian version are rather less inclined to immediately present themselves.

‘It was long, very long, very flowery and decidedly verbose,’ Nicholls would later recall of it. ‘It was spicy, high-flavored, and I fancy that in it tyrants in general had a bad time of it.’ (Another witness would report it as rather ‘bombastic and incoherent’.)

When asked his opinion by Alfred Black on this occasion, however, Nicholls declines to criticise as he sees that Black really only wants an opinion if it is a positive one. It would be unwise to say what he truly thinks. Whatever he says is just noncommittal enough that Alfred Black is more convinced than ever that he has a masterpiece on his hands, one that Nicholls could probably not improve upon anyway. Before long, just as the sun is falling, Black stands on a stump – always the prop of first choice for diggers with something to say – and reads it out to the assembled armed diggers. Sure enough, he is cheered loudly at the whole idea of separating from Great Britain, if not necessarily at the words that he has chosen to express this view.

In the later words of Henry Nicholls, ‘Those who were in the Stockade at the time, and there were many . . . committed themselves to a fight for independence . . . as if they could carry the whole colony with them.’

Personally, Nicholls does not believe that for a moment, and nothing he has seen since he has entered the Stockade has changed his mind. It is total folly and he says so to his brother in the strongest terms as they return to their tent that night, there being no problem at this time with either entering or leaving the Stockade. They are expecting Alfred Black to return to the tent that evening, but he does not appear. They turn in, knowing that they must also turn up at the Stockade on the morrow or risk having their guns taken.

Early evening, Friday, 1 December 1854, Melbourne, time to move out

The situation in Ballarat now is judged to be so urgent that even on ten hours’ notice Major-General Sir Robert Nickle has been able to marshal his troops, and they now set off for the diggings. They include,
The Argus
reports, ‘twenty-four men-of-war’s men, and about twenty marines from H. M. ship
Electra
’
,
and those remaining companies of the 12th and 40th Regiments who had not yet been committed, together with 50 mounted troopers and the same number of foot police – a body totalling 800 men to bolster the 450 men already on site. They take with them no fewer than 57 baggage and ammunition wagons in a column a mile long with two six-pounder field guns and two twelve-pounder howitzers. And they are carrying specially selected ‘shrapnel shell ammunition’ to cause maximum damage. A single shot from one of the twelve-pounders would be capable of killing a dozen diggers at a time, not to mention grievously wounding many more – along with completely demolishing a section of the wall of the Stockade, should it come to that. It is not possible for such a huge body of men and munitions to move quickly, and it is for this reason that Sir Robert Nickle and his adjutant general, Colonel Macartney, plan to delay their own departure until three o’clock on the Sunday morning. Even that far behind, by travelling fast and light, they will still be able to catch their heavily laden men up in time to get to Ballarat sometime on Tuesday afternoon.

While some of the loyal burghers of Melbourne are pleased to see this major military force head out to put these wretched rebels down, it is not as if they don’t have qualms, also. There is no doubt that it also leaves Melbourne itself rather exposed, should trouble arise here . . . or, say, 25,000 armed diggers decide to march upon the city.

In fact, it is for this very reason that no sooner have those troops marched out – all of them desperately uncomfortable in their uniforms made to survive an English winter, replete with stiff leather shakos, red woollen coats, dark blue trousers and black leather boots – than 300 loyal civilians are quickly sworn in as ‘special constables’ to keep law and order in Melbourne, and more particularly, to protect it.

Early evening, Friday, 1 December 1854, on the Eureka it’s time to move out

After a report comes in that a large troop of reinforcement Redcoats is on the way from Melbourne and will soon be on Ballarat, the War Council inside the Stockade convenes. It is decided that Captain Ross and Captain Nelson will take a total of nearly 200 of their best men from their respective companies out to intercept the Redcoats. They are to set up an ambush near Warrenheip, some four miles away, at a spot where the ‘road’, such as it is, must skirt a hill, meaning the troops would be nicely concentrated for those attacking from the heights of that hill or from the nearby bush. Ideally, the attackers could launch a mounted raid on the wagons, and, if not stop them entirely, at least throw all the government’s plans askew and seize the weaponry and ammunition those in the Stockade need.

In his diary that evening, Samuel Lazarus sums up the mood on the diggings: ‘The crisis seems now hourly approaching, and all are waiting with a good deal of dread for the result.’ True, Lazarus is aware that he is himself prone to an ‘attack of the glooms’, but he has never been more gloomy than now.

Friday night, 1 December 1854, Government Camp, the Council of War resolves

It is time for the authorities to have their own Council of War, and on this evening Commissioner Rede is again in conference with his two top military officers, discussing what must be done. Personally, Rede has little doubt: they must move against the Stockade. Precisely
how
they should move against it is not a matter for him – it is a matter for these officers – but he has no doubt that it is the right course of action.

Rumours are still sweeping the goldfields that the diggers will attack the Camp first, and Rede is convinced that the ramifications of the success of such an offensive would be devastating. It is unthinkable what would happen if the men inside the Camp were overwhelmed and had to surrender. He is in no doubt that if the authorities lose this battle, they risk losing the entire colony – the stakes are that high.

But the same fear is felt by those within the Stockade. If the rebels lose control of the Stockade, they lose the diggings and the fight – and the rule of Her Majesty’s law will be re-established across the entire Colony of Victoria, not excepting one fly-blown bit of dirt at its heart.

It is a matter of who can, and will, move first. And when.

Rede feels strongly that it should be sooner rather than later. The Camp knows from its spies that the diggers seem to be getting stronger with each passing day. A meeting is also planned for this Sunday at the Adelphi Theatre, where the violent faction that seems to have gained control of the so-called Ballarat Reform League risks consolidating its power. So that means the military should make a move sometime within the next thirty-six hours.

How? When, precisely? It is a delicate matter. One key factor is the potential consequences if the troops sally out, as Captain Pasley would later recount: ‘We did not know but they might have a force ready to assault the camp when we left it, and to risk the camp was to risk the Colony.’

This is where Captain Thomas puts forward his own considered thoughts, as he has been working on a plan. Both Commissioner Rede and Captain Pasley like the plan, but it does not necessarily matter whether they do or don’t. Thomas is the senior military man – if an attack goes ahead, it will proceed under his direction. The three men finally finish their Council of War near midnight with no firm decision taken and head for their cold bunks. Before turning in, however, Captain Pasley does one last quick check on the Camp’s defences. He does not find a camp any more at ease in the curious Australian night air than a horse that hears thunder approaching.

For every man, following orders, has ‘to sleep as well as he could’, as Pasley would describe it in a subsequent letter to his father, ‘with his musket in his hand in the very place where he would have to fire in case of attack’. That means just about none of the men is in bed, and none has been able to wash for days. Rather, the smelly bulk of them sleep around the perimeter at their posts.

Pasley’s advice to the men is firm: if an attack comes, they must not immediately charge out at the attackers. Their success will be to keep themselves secreted and sheltered as best they can, so as not to allow the rebels to draw a bead on them. Then, once engaged, ‘stick to their posts to the last – unless they receive Captain Thomas’s orders to move’.

Most uncomfortable of all is the chain of mounted men secreted in pockets about half a mile out from the Camp in every direction, posted there to provide early warning of any approaching mob. No matter that some of these men are already shaken as, out of the darkness a couple of hours earlier, shots appear to have been fired just over their heads. They must stay by their horses, ready to react quickly. All such men, thus, must sleep on the ground with their bridles in their hands, ‘and if the disturbances had lasted another week, the mounted police and soldiers would have been
hors de combat
’
.

Another unit of armed troopers remains on call inside the Camp through the night, occupying ‘the position that a bastion does in a fortress, ready to sweep any front that might be attacked’.

This cannot go on – his men will soon be too exhausted to fight – and having seen their hollow-eyed gaze up close, Pasley is more glad than ever that it is they who are intending to move against the diggers first.