Eureka - The Unfinished Revolution (55 page)

Father Downing, truly alarmed at the rising anger of the meeting, speaks strongly against Vern’s motion and proposes a moderate amendment to the effect that the licenses specifically should
not
be burned. Even though the diggers hear him out with barely restrained silence, he cannot get even a single one to second the motion. Another digger proposes that instead of burning the licenses, the men should simply refuse to show them, meaning they would have to go en masse to the Camp lockup, overwhelming the government’s legal processes. This, too, is howled down as being nowhere near aggressive and forthright enough.

The fierce debate goes on under the blazing hot sun, and Carboni notes ‘a peculiar colonial habit’ taking place as a sly-grogger plies his trade, selling swigs from his black bottle to all present – even to those on the podium.

Father Downing could be forgiven for swigging deeply, so alarmed is he by what is being said. After the clergyman has finished, a person by the name of Fraser is granted leave to speak by Chairman Timothy Hayes. Alas, when this fellow also waxes moderation and the virtues of British law – unprotected by the clerical collar as Father Downing is – the mob reacts with a rage so strong that
The Ballarat Times
notes, ‘Were it not for the influence of the chairman and his numerous supporters, the man would have been torn limb from limb by the infuriated people.’

The diggers have had enough and now they really do want to give the government a ‘lick in the lug’, and Fraser the same in the short term, but he is hurried away for his own safety. It is time for Chairman Hayes, thus, to put Vern’s original motion to the vote, and he chooses his words carefully, a man who has slowly come to the conclusion that it really is time to move beyond mere speeches.

‘Gentlemen,’ he says in stentorian tones, ‘many a time I have seen large public meetings pass resolutions with as much earnestness and unanimity as you show this day; and yet, when the time came to test the sincerity, and prove the determination necessary for carrying out those resolutions, it was found then that “the spirit, indeed, is willing, but the flesh is weak”.

‘Now, then, before I put this resolution from the chair, let me point out to you the responsibility of it will lay upon you. And so I feel bound to ask you, gentlemen, to speak out your mind. Should any member of the League be dragged to the lockup for not having the license, will a thousand of you volunteer to liberate the man?’

‘Yes! Yes!’ the diggers roar.

‘Will two thousand of you come forward?’

‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’

‘Will four thousand of you volunteer to march up to the Camp and open the lock-up to liberate the man?’

‘Yes! Yes!’ they roar even louder, some firing their pistols into the air to signal their wild approval.

‘Are you ready to die?’ he shouts, stretching forth his clenched right fist.

‘Yes, yes! Hurrah!’

Dozens more take their guns and revolvers, point them skywards and fire deafening volleys of joyous shots. Others start two bonfires, into which they hurl their licenses, even as – in classic Chartist fashion – they pay two shillings and sixpence apiece and take proffered membership tickets for the Ballarat Reform League.

And so it goes. The mood of the miners is now one of sheer, eyeballs-rolling fury. As noted by Thomas Pierson, they are so upset that ‘formal declaration for Independence in consequence was made and nearly all determined to pay no more License’.

But some of the men are contemplating taking even sterner action. Combined action.
Armed
action, if necessary. All of it is noted carefully by the journalists present, and even more carefully by those whose job in life it is to report back to the Government Camp just what the diggers are up to so it can be passed along to Sir Charles Hotham from there. Commissioner Rede will have the report within the hour.

But in the meantime, oh, how those licenses blaze, as the symbol of the diggers’ subservience to this government is now no more . . . no more . . . it is now
no more
. . .

Watching it all from the podium with giddy satisfaction, Hayes is moved – as he is often wont to be – to shout out some lines from one of his favourite poems:

On to the field, our doom is sealed,

To conquer or be slaves;

The sun shall see our country free,

Or set upon our graves.

There is revolution in the air, an intoxicating headiness. Together they are going to overturn an unjust regime, or at least the writ of that regime, in this part of that world. Had there been a bastille handy, the crowd might well have stormed it; a harbour nearby, and throwing crates of tea into it would have been a definite possibility. Oh, yes, many of the men on the field had been part of such rallies before, with the Chartists in Europe, replete with equally high-blown rhetoric. But then the Chartist movement had come to nothing. Then, in the face of government troops with glistening bayonets thrust forward, people had all backed down. But now it is different! In this land, far away from their homelands, the men are gathered once more to fight against the same injustice as before . . . but this time they’re not going to back down.

In their dozens now, they push to the bonfires and throw their licenses in. In typical fashion, it is not enough for Tom Kennedy to simply follow suit – he must do it in the most dramatic fashion possible. Opening his shirt to expose his chest, he dramatically cries, ‘Here’s my breast, ready for the bullets’, and then and only then, he throws his piece of paper into the flames.

The fires roar and so do the diggers. The bonfire smoke billows into the otherwise clear, blue sky.

‘It was at this time or thereabouts,’ digger John Lynch later astutely observed, ‘that the [moral-force Chartist and physical-force Chartist] chiefs separated. Mr Humffray wanted to still further try the efficacy of soft flattery and hard words in alternate doses. Mr Lalor, finding that there had been too much talk already and that more of it would only bring ridicule, resolved to try conclusions by the only means left when all others had failed.’

And indeed, throwing their licenses into those bonfires was one of the only means left.

From the Camp, an arrival to the diggings just the afternoon before, Captain Charles Pasley watches closely. From his vantage point high above Bakery Hill three-quarters of a mile away, he can see everything. Should the diggers leave the meeting and attempt to storm the Camp, or behave in any threatening manner, he has troops positioned in the gully below, ready and waiting to advance on his signal. All about him at the Camp, the men are under arms. Pasley has no doubt that in the event he gives the order to attack, the Camp is secure and the diggers atop Bakery Hill are ‘in a position convenient for military operations’. So important does he judge this precaution that he has no hesitation in rejecting the diggers’ request, passed on by Father Smyth and Tom Kennedy at the request of the committee, that ‘the military be withdrawn from the sight of the meeting, as there was no real use for the display, and that many felt irritated at such an open parade of power’. Pasley wants precisely such a display, to demonstrate to the diggers just what they are facing if things get out of hand, and to move quickly if that happens.

But there is no need.

Not long after three more resolutions are passed, a wild man comes onto the stage wielding a double-barrelled shotgun and interrupts John Basson Humffray, who happens to be in full flight. Hayes announces, amid all the shouting and continued small-arms fire from the crowd, that he hereby dissolves the meeting.

Amazingly, despite such an irregular and potentially violent ending, the miners quietly head back to their diggings and their tents. As John Manning reports for the next edition of
The Ballarat Times
,
‘Nothing could exceed the order and regularity with which the people, some 15,000 in number, retired.’ (Not that Manning truly pretends to be a neutral observer, for all that. Like his boss, Henry Seekamp, he is involved. He is a
believer
.
‘Of all the men who took part in the struggle of those times,’ John Lynch would say of him, ‘not one surpassed John Manning in earnestness of feeling or singleness of purpose.’)

This order and calm is not matched in the Government Camp, however, where Commissioner Rede is soon in earnest discussions with captains John Wellesley Thomas and Charles Pasley about the military situation and, most particularly, how the Camp could be better protected against a full-blown attack. One thing they all agree on is that further reinforcements from Melbourne are essential.

Pasley has no doubts: steps must be taken to bring the matter to a head.

In this way, Pasley reasons, by having justification to crush the rebels and doing that in such a resounding manner as to demonstrate the futility of resistance, the authorities would be quickly able to bring the other diggers – the majority of them, who have had no part in the rebellion – to their side.

And what better way to bring on a crisis than by instituting the very thing that the diggers are complaining most strongly about? That is, conduct another license-hunt, but this one on a massive scale? It makes a certain amount of sense, and Commissioner Rede, who is infuriated by the burning of licenses and the defiant firing of pistols, pushes this strategy particularly strongly.

Before retiring for the evening, Rede and Pasley take time to write reports to their superiors in Melbourne to keep them fully informed. Ballarat is now balanced on a razor’s edge, with two opposing forces, two bodies of armed men, both calling for more men with more guns to come to their assistance. All voices of moderation have been either howled down or cowed from speaking up.

10 o’clock, Thursday morning, 30 November 1854, mayhem on the diggings

Let a man but sleep for a few hours and he will frequently look upon the decision reached the night before as so much madness that could only live by the light of the moon, and he will immediately alter course once the sun shines upon it. At other times, of course, the rising sun only illuminates the conviction that the decision was well made and will be followed through.

In this instance, it is the latter case that applies.

In the wake of the monster meeting of diggers upon Bakery Hill, a more cautious man than Commissioner Rede might have chosen upon reflection to let things settle a little, to do nothing that would unnecessarily provoke men who are clearly spoiling for a fight.

But no. Notwithstanding that in the silent watch of night Rede has enduring misgivings about the lack of fairness of the whole licensing system, he has come to the conclusion that the law has to be upheld. This issue must be settled, once and for all – and it is his job to settle it. It is no small achievement to have risen to be the highest civil authority in an important town, able to call on assistance from a force of 500 armed men, with more on the way. If only they could see him now, back in old England, as he gives the order for the men –
his
men – to move out and for yet one more license-hunt to begin.

———

In the Star Hotel, meanwhile, on this same morning, Timothy Hayes is convening a meeting with several other committee members of the Ballarat Reform League, and they decide they need to send emissaries immediately to their fellow diggers on other goldfields. None other than Tom Kennedy and George Black must head off, within the hour, to the closest major goldfield, which is at Creswick, around 11 miles north. Henry Holyoake has already left for Bendigo. On those goldfields they can detail to the other diggers the resolution of the meeting on this day and tell them they need help. They need men,
armed
men, to come to their aid, immediately. Even as they speak, however, they become aware of a commotion outside. Men, many men, are rushing past. Something is going on out there.

———

And so it is that at 11 o’clock on this hot, blustery day, where the wind itself has both menace and malice, the Commissioner – following ‘instructions from the highest authority to this effect’ – is intent on demonstrating that it is he and his men who are in charge of these goldfields, and their authority will be respected. It is with this in mind that he has sent out Commissioner Johnstone and a party of police to conduct a license-hunt on the Gravel Pits diggings, which lie nearby to the Government Camp.

‘Let there be no addition to your force,’ Rede tells Johnstone, eager to make the point to the diggers that they are not
expecting
a confrontation. ‘Go out in exactly the same manner, and with the same number of police you have been in the habit of going out with.’

Johnstone follows orders and heads off towards the Gravel Pits with a body of 30 police on foot carrying batons, accompanied by mounted troopers, carefully watched from on high by Commissioner Rede.

———

‘Joe!
Joe
! JOE!’

Again the cry goes up at the very sight of the hated Johnstone – the perfidious wretch who was so arrogant and inflammatory in his treatment of Father Smyth’s servant – and his force of mounted troopers and foot police with drawn swords, fixed bayonets and threatening glares drive the diggers to distraction. And Johnstone is infuriated in turn and even less inclined to forbearance than usual, for these cries of ‘Joe!’ are nothing less than damned insolence.

The calls have no sooner begun than Johnstone orders his men to surround the party of diggers cajoling them in the vicinity of the Gravel Pits. The response is a flurry of stones and curses so jointly powerful – injuring his men physically and outraging them morally – that the shocked Johnstone immediately withdraws the troops just far enough away to be safe and sends a messenger on the gallop to inform Commissioner Rede, who sends down mounted troops as reinforcements. Similarly treated, it is not long before Rede himself appears on the Gravel Pits while Captain Thomas is left in charge of the Camp’s defence.