Eureka - The Unfinished Revolution (75 page)

From the first, Sir Robert is a different sort of man. Instead of staying in the heavily defended Government Camp or being aggressive, the day after arriving he heads out on foot, without even a mounted escort, something that greatly impresses the diggers under the circumstances. He asks questions as he proceeds and even – and this is the most astonishing thing –
listens
to the diggers and their plaints. When something of a crowd gathers round him, however, Sir Robert is equally quick to make his own remarks. He is not talking down to them, however, but
to
them, man to men.

To begin with, do they not realise that these laws they are fighting against are works in progress, experimental only? Do they really want to give their lives against something that would likely not last long anyway?

And you English and Scots, he says, you are from the land where they respect law and order the most. How can
you
be lining up on the side of the foreign anarchists? It is
they
who have caused this terrible loss of life and we British who must restore order.
All
of us British. Yes, those foreign anarchists who have abused the hospitality this country has extended them might choose to go on with their fight, but Sir Robert is here to tell them that if they do, he will round them up and have them deported to some uninhabited South Sea island.

But now to the Irish. What to say to the men who had clearly been at the forefront of the fight? He chooses his words carefully. Do they not realise that it is because they are such fine fighting men that the foreign agitators want to stir them up? They must know that if those agitators are ‘not kept under vigilant control, they would ultimately not only have the principal voice in the government of the colony, but would draw thither hordes of aliens, who would take complete possession of their rich goldfields’.

At this point, a cry of ‘Hear! Hear!’ from somewhere deep within the throng clearly encourages Sir Robert, for he concludes his remarks with a little oratory that is as inspired in choice as it is inspiring to his audience. Referring to the current war Great Britain is having with Russia, he finishes, ‘I wish, that instead of you fellows making targets of yourselves for the bullets of your countrymen, I had you enrolled and trained as a troop of the Connaught Rangers, and that I was leading you in a tussle with the Russians at Sebastopol.’

Beyond mere oratory, however, Sir Robert is not long in restoring a sense of stability to the goldfields by sheer force of arms. With so many men and supplies, there can be no further doubt as to who is in control, a point underlined by the fact that Sir Robert immediately enforces Lieutenant-Governor Hotham’s declaration of martial law, meaning that the entire administration of the law moves from civil to military jurisdiction. Major-General Nickle immediately supersedes Commissioner Rede as the most important authority on the diggings.

Sir Robert’s first command under this new regime is that all those who possess firearms must bring them to the Camp and turn them in or face the consequences. But there is more – much more. No firearms or munitions are to be brought into the area, and anyone found with the same on their premises or engaging in violence or insult to a soldier or policeman ‘would be subject to a General Court Martial’. And be told, you diggers – if a shot is fired at the Camp, then any tent in the neighbourhood’ of the shot will be burned down unless the owners can prove they were not involved. There is to be a continuation of the policy of ‘no lights within gunshot of the camp after 8 pm’, which had been initiated prior to the Stockade – effectively a curfew in that limited area.

This last measure troubles most particularly the diggers doing deep-shaft mining, as the only way they can operate is around the clock, pulling out the water at the bottom of the shaft that continues to flow in. When the plaint is put to Sir Robert, however, he immediately softens that part of martial law, and allows them to use lanterns so long as they are well sheltered.

Though it is clear that Sir Robert is in firm control, it is not as if the diggers themselves are eager to throw in their lot with the authorities. When, for example, the Major-General puts out a call for interested diggers to present themselves at the tent on the lawn just to the south of the Camp to be sworn in as special constables, seconded to keep the peace, not a single volunteer actually signs up. Rather, the small crowd listens to his patriotic speech politely then moves off quietly.

Nevertheless, bit by bit, tension dissipates as the reign of Sir Robert on the goldfields continues. He has obviously given instructions to his men to be restrained in their actions. There are no more license-hunts, and suddenly the soldiers and police are even
polite.

The Melbourne Morning Herald
’
s
correspondent, for one, is impressed: ‘Had Sir Robert Nickle arrived here a few days before, the bloodshed of last Sunday would have been avoided.’

Not that all dissent has been extinguished, for all that. One such dissenter is Commissioner Amos, a decent man who has always had the respect of the diggers. He was so shocked by what occurred on Sunday morning, that ‘owing to some expressions which had lately fallen from him’ he was placed under arrest. While he is released within days, he quickly resigns and heads to Melbourne, and his departure is just one more sign that the previously united facade of the government and its minions is crumbling.

Another man instantly placed under arrest shortly after appearing at a public meeting is John Basson Humffray. His time of incarceration is even shorter, as he is released within minutes of pointing out that he resigned from the Ballarat Reform League the previous Wednesday and played no part in the Stockade. (In fact, at that public meeting he had been outspoken once more as ‘the strenuous advocate of constitutional agitation, as opposed to armed resistance’, which sentiment had been cheered to the echo.)

Wednesday, 6 December 1854, Melbourne, Foster falls on his sword

All across town there remains only one topic of conversation, as even more horrifying details emerge from Ballarat. On this day it is
The Argus
that sets the tone, with its headline ‘Massacre at Eureka . . . cowardly massacre’ above one more Samuel Irwin story.

In Government House, Sir Charles receives first a formal delegation of squatters, who affirm that they support him entirely and wish to help him maintain law and order, then members of the Legislative Council, who also want to personally express their loyalty. Sir Charles, with his high officials, receives both delegations dressed in the full regalia of the highest servants of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, and in gracious language thanks them for their patriotic support. This is a time when all Englishmen must remain true to each other and to Her Majesty.

Hear, hear. Hear,
hear!

Despite such fine words, the truth is that in the face of the enormous public outcry, the whole edifice of the previously rock-solid government continues to crumble. In the Legislative Council in the early afternoon, an ashen-faced Colonial Secretary John Foster asks for the indulgence of the House while he refers to a matter personal to himself.

‘I am aware,’ he says, ‘as the House doubtless is also, that a great personal dislike is entertained towards me in certain quarters, and from the public expression of this feeling, I have been induced to . . . resign.’

Before formally leaving, however, he is happy to record his views to the Council that in reference to what happened at Eureka, he is ‘truly happy to say that the majority of the prisoners, as well as those killed, were foreigners’.

The mood of the meeting is heavy – sorry, in some measure, to see Foster resign, while also understanding that his departure may help salve some of the growing public outrage. The main thing now is to rally to Sir Charles, and John Pascoe Fawkner goes so far as to support a resolution of sympathy for the Lieutenant-Governor.

The one serious voice raised in opposition to any suggested motion vindicating the government, however, is Councillor John Myles, who defends the course pursued by the diggers, and denounces the recent engagement as ‘a shooting down of the people for refusing to comply with a mere fiscal regulation’.

‘After all,’ Myles thunders, ‘they were only banding together to save themselves from being hunted down like wild animals. In the meantime, every step taken by the authorities had been on the spur of the moment, and without thought, clearly showing that the men at the head of affairs are totally incompetent for the government of the colony.’

This last sentiment is certainly one shared by the broad mass of people.

After the debacle of the meeting the day before, on this late afternoon another meeting has been called on the large grassed area outside St Paul’s Church, ‘for the assertion of order and the protection of constitutional liberty’. This time no fewer than 7000 people turn up. And there are a few more besides – they, however, are not participants in the normal sense.

Sir Charles Hotham was disturbed to hear how that meeting the day before had ‘been borne down by a turbulent section, and adverse resolutions carried’. And yet, even in that short time the level of public alarm has risen still more, and there have been further reports of diggers on the march from the disturbed districts, heading their way and determined to seek revenge on the government forces.

Immediately after the news of Ballarat had hit, the call Sir Charles put out for special constables was answered, and the first of a flood of what will be 1500 men have already been sworn in. But for this job he is taking no chances with amateurs and orders 300 armed police and 100 warders from Pentridge and Melbourne gaols to surround the meeting, while the last available seamen and marines of HMS
Electra
and
Fantome
guard the powder magazine and Treasury.

No matter. Entirely untroubled by their presence, the crowd is quick to vent its anger, particularly once the rumour spreads that Colonial Secretary John Foster has resigned. Far from placating them, the effect is the reverse – like a lion that has the whiff of blood, it now wants to go in for the kill.

‘Bring him to justice!’ the cry rings out.

But to the business at hand. Again with the likes of Fawkner, Embling and Frencham taking the lead, three resolutions – most of them drafted earlier by the passionate Scottish journalist Ebenezer Syme – are passed. They blame the tragedy at Ballarat squarely on ‘the coercion of a military force . . . [and] the harsh and imprudent recommencement of digger hunting during a period of excitement,’ and seek a guarantee that steps will be taken such ‘that a military despotism will no longer be required’. They demand that a Commission be established to work out the differences between the government and the diggers, but also call for the immediate ‘withdrawal of the military from the diggings’.

As to John Pascoe Fawkner, he is strong and getting stronger . . .

‘I will tell you why you are being misgoverned,’ he says. ‘It is because you are governed by the squatters, who have held 60,000,000 acres of the land for thirteen years, for which they had only paid to the government a quarter of a million of pounds! There are in the Council not less than a dozen of squatters so that their interests are always well represented whether the interest of the colonists at large are so or not!’

But one thing he does wish to make clear is that while he and one or two others will represent the interests of the people in Council, he would not take up a musket – Fawkner is a proponent of moral force and moral force alone. ‘If you support your members,’ he insists, ‘you will get your rights. Petition the Council and you will soon get all you want and . . .’

‘We want the troops out of Ballarat!’ a voice rings out. They should have it. For now, however, Fawkner is obliged to leave them for the purpose of attending to their interests in another place. The tone for the rest of the meeting is less angry than united – a terrible thing has occurred, and they are unanimous in the view that the government must change its whole approach. And perhaps it has an effect: that same afternoon a Victoria
Government Gazette
is issued announcing the revocation of martial law on Ballarat.

Thursday, 7 December – Saturday, 9 December 1854, Government Camp, charges are laid

Of all the prisoners, the one in the worst shape is a fellow by the name of James Powell, known to the diggers as ‘New Zealand Jamie’. He had been cut to pieces by sabres and stabbed with bayonets, and it is amazing he is alive at all. This once-vibrant man is now little more than a breeding site for the ‘hundreds of maggots . . . crawling in and out of the festering sores, which were disgusting to behold’.

There is no help for him and, though the others do what they can, it is obvious he does not have long.

On this morning, however, there is at least some respite for the others as – sweet mercy – they are to be let out of the cell. This is not through any sense of mercy, but simply because it is time for the legal process of the committal hearings to begin. The short shuffle from the lockup to the courthouse in fetters is awkward and, once inside, the prisoners stand in line and make their way towards the bench. After magistrates Evelyn Sturt and George Webster read the statements already made about the accused by the Redcoats and the police, they then question the prisoners about their actions on the day, what they saw and what they were doing in the Stockade in the first place, to try to determine whether each man has a case to answer and whether he should be formally charged. In a process that will go on for the next three days, the prisoners are particularly encouraged to make statements about what they witnessed other diggers do in the Stockade so that all the statements can be cross-referenced to determine the most guilty. In building a case against the accused, various troopers, soldiers and other government witnesses are there to give their own account of the events, and the entire proceeding is observed by two journalists from
The Melbourne Morning Herald
and two from
The Argus.