Published: 25 Mar 2021

The trip home was a as bumpy and dusty as the journey to Melbourne and by arrival the boys felt as if all bones had come away from their joints. In their private bathroom Chance drew a steaming bath and called to Logan.

“I’ll be with you soon,” Logan replied while in conversation with Tom. It appeared during their absence Rose had left, she had, in her words, met her man and decided to go with him to the goldfields at Bendigo to try their luck there. Seeing Rose had only departed the preceding day Tom managed the bar that night.

“What was Melbourne like?” Tom asked as Logan checked their supply of spirits.

“Big and busy and we saw the progress of the very first locomotive.”

“What’s that?”

Logan spent the following minutes attempting to explain the workings of a locomotive, his best attempt being a steam boiler on wheels but even he knew little more.”

“It all seems dangerous to me, what if it went amuck and ran into the crowd.”

Logan explained the iron tracks.

“What’s it for?”

“It’s for carrying people and goods from one town to another.”

“I don’t think I’d like to ride on it,”

Once again Chance called and sounded impatient.

“I should go and see what he wants, I’m a little whacked from the journey could you open.”

“No worries but I promised Stan O’Shea a swig of that new Irish whiskey you have special.”

“Alright but no free samples, it is expensive, I better go and see what is making Chance impatient.

“Now that’s a tempting sight.” Logan exclaimed from the bathroom door, noticing the large oak barrel tub as chance tested the water.

“I’ve drawn a bath, how about joining me.”

“Why not,” Logan bolted the door.

“Where is Tom?” Chance asked.

“He is going to open up.”

“Will he be alright?”

“He said so and was alone last night, besides if he has trouble he only has to shout.”

The water was hot and relaxing and there was much back scrubbing and giggling and fiddling, then it became serious. “I’ve never done it in the bath before.” Chance admitted.

“Nor have I, well there is a first for everything.”

Later that evening after their meal it was Tom’s turn to relate the previous days and the many meetings and demands. Oddly all appeared somewhat subdued, no hell-raising, no attacks on the military and even fewer licence hunts. Once Tom had exhausted his news, Chance brought out a package wrapped in brown paper and neatly tied with green twine.

He passed the package to Tom.

“What’s this?” Tom asked as he accepted the package.

“A present of sorts,” Chance said.

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Then an early Christmas present.”

Tom opened the package, “Pants,”

“Two pairs, the arse is through the pair you are wearing.” Chance reckoned.

“And in no time that hole in the front will expose your dick.” Logan attached.

“Already does if I squat down.”

“Lovely sight,” Logan said somewhat discouragingly.

“Thanks, I’ll wear them at tomorrow’s meeting.”

“We met an American, Freeman Cobb, on the coach and he suggested using the hotel as a staging stop for his new coaching service,” Logan recollected.

“I saw him at the meeting hall some time back, he was in conversation with some other Americans but didn’t appear much interested in their cause.”

“Who is running the meetings these days?” Logan asked.

“Mostly Tim Hayes and Peter Lalor; Peter manages to keep the pot boiling without bubbling over, or that is what Tim said.”

“Lalor is a fine man, tis’ a pity he isn’t in the government.” Logan praised.

“He has his hands full with the Irish, there seems to be hundreds of them and all are ready to let blood” Tom related the opinion that circulated among the group.

“What about you Tom, if it comes to it will you join in with the fight?” Chance asked giving him a glance of disapproval.

“Sure will,”

“Then we can only hope it comes to nothing, you are too young to die.” Chance warned.

“I won’t die.”

A number of days after the boys arrived back from Melbourne, Peter Lalor, Tim Hayes and others returned from visiting Governor Hotham, believing being in person may give more credit than their earlier failed demands in the form of petition. Hotham did believe in reform but was set back by their rough attitude and quickly dismissed them further. On return a meeting was called for the following morning on Bakery Hill.

After the meeting Tom arrived home bubbling with primeval excitement. “It’s on,” he shouted from the door on entry.

“What’s on?” Logan asked.

“Hotham refused our demands.”

“What do you expect, rowdy miners bursting into his offices with demands he had no jurisdiction to execute.”

“He is also going to increased the monthly licence fee again,”

“It was levied to protect the city from loosing its workforce.” Logan attempted explanation.

“They are his troopers who are firing at us,” Tom was becoming most forceful.

“Settle lad, Logan and I agree with you but take it steady,” Chance cut in.

“Too late for that.”

“Your meal is warming on the stove,” Logan diverted from an argument he couldn’t win.

The meeting on the following day the twenty-ninth of November was well attended and one and all raised their hand and swore allegiance to the flag of the Southern Cross. Firstly there was a renewal of their support towards those arrested and imprisoned for the burning of the Eureka Hotel and a vote was taken to set up a committee to continue further with their push against the miner’s right and how the police went about their demand to view the document at will.

Once again there was the symbolic burning of licences but again the majority fed other than their licence to the flames. Once done there was renewed alliance given to their flag, while suggesting they march directly to the military camp and do them in. Lalor managed to calm their intent with another meeting designed for the first of December, giving the authorities more time to reconsider.

Tom returned as the hotel was closing the afternoon session, to be questioned by Logan about the meeting.

“There was another burning of licences and a pledge to the flag.” Tom proudly announced.

“What did you burn this time?” Logan gave a mocking grin.

“Nothing but a page out of a book I found in the cellar.”

“Not the one on wine making I hope.”

“It had a drawing of a bird on it,” Tom answered.

“What about the others?”

“Most did the same but it was suggested they march up to the military camp and do them all in.”

“Did they agree?” Logan displayed concern.

“No Peter talked them out of doing so but there is to be a general meeting on the first, giving the Joes time to respond.”

“Joes?” Logan asked not hearing the terminology before and quite amused with the lad’s developing vocabulary of vernacular.

“Joe is the miner’s name for the troopers.”

“I do wish you would rethink your association Tom,” Chance gave a deep and worrying sigh while believing his warnings were becoming repetitious.

“No way, I’m a republican.”

“Do you know what it means?” Logan asked.

“Hank Wilson told me, he is from San Francisco and said America is a republic and has no queen.”

“You do realise all you are doing is taking a hat of one head and placing it on another, or in this case swapping a crown for a top hat.” Logan attempted to influence the lad but there wasn’t any use, the American and Irish element in the league had found their way deeply into the lad’s head.

“Come enough of rebellion, your tea is ready,” Chance invited Tom to join them in the kitchen, “are there many American?”

“Quite a few some hundreds but most of the push is Irish.”

During their meal Logan remembered he had something to share with them. “I found a barmaid.”

“Is she from the diggings?” Chance asked.

“No from town but she did work at a Melbourne hotel and came to the diggings with her husband. He cleared out and left her penniless.”

“About time you found someone,” Tom growled as he didn’t much like bar work but did enjoy doing the rounds of the tables in conversation.

“She can cook as well, so we can again prepare meals for the dining room.” Logan offered as a relief from Chance’s cooking.

“What’s her name?” Chance asked and ignored the slur against his culinary achievements, or to point lack of such.

Logan released a grin and looked across the table to Tom.

“What?”

“She is Irish; you should get along with her. Kathleen O’Brien,”

“Why should I?” Tom asked.

“She is young, pretty and Irish; you like the Irish don’t you?”

“I never said that!” Tom protested.

“Never mind she is starting tomorrow, so treat her well we don’t want to lose here in the first week.”

The sun was only above the stark treeless hills before the commotion began. Chance called Logan to their bedroom window. “Come have a look at this.”

“What’s going on?” Logan joined him at the grimy glass with his morning erection pressing against Chance’s arse.

“You’re up early,” Chance laughed.

“I need a piss, what’s going on?”

“It appears that members of the Reform League are becoming quite serious.”

Logan focused his eyes and observed a good number of miners wearing green coloured armbands, carrying arms and drilling while a number of the military stood by without interfering but obviously bemused by the display. The drilling was quite ragged and appeared to be performed in good spirit but where they were drilling was more a statement; it was on the cleared land where once stood the Eureka Hotel.

“Do you see who is with them?” Chance pointed.

“It’s Tom and what is he carrying?” Logan became anxious as Tom appeared to be armed.

“It looks like the broken handle of a long shovel,” Chance assumed.

“May as well be a musket as it puts him in the first line of fire if the military get jumpy. At the moment the soldiers are standing about and appear somewhat humoured but it’s but a short straw from there to engagement.”

The drilling lasted for a time and after a few words from their leader they departed for their camps. Tom returned home and found the boys already dressed and about. “Did you see me?” he exuberantly asked.

“We did,” Logan grumbled as he prepared their breakfast.

“Did you see the men with the red, white and blue arm bands?”

“They were too far to see the colours clearly; I did see some wearing what appeared to be green.

“They were with Hank Wilson and he has a six-gun, he brought it with him from California, it is even better than that belonging to Jim McGill.” Tom’s excitement level remained high; “he let me hold it.

“Did you shoot it?” Logan asked.

“No he said he has only a small supply of ammunition and can’t get more unless he travels to Melbourne.”

“Good,” Logan growled.

During breakfast Tom held to his excitement, “they are going to build a stockade and declare the colony a republic.”

“Who is?” Logan questioned.

“Hank Wilson and his lot.”

“When will this happen?” Logan asked.

“Well more if than when; if the governor doesn’t agree to their demands.”

“Demand is too strong a word,” Logan suggested.

“Why,”

“Your mates are pushing the governor into a corner leaving him only one option and that is to come out fighting. They need to give him a way out, a way around the situation so he doesn’t lose face,” Logan explained.

“I don’t see why?”

“You do realise Mr. Hotham is not his own man, he is answerable to London and it is months away and months back again, if he makes the wrong decision he will be replaced or disgraced.”

“Good,”

“Oh well I guess you all know what you are doing.” Logan then cleared the breakfast table and left the conversation to continue between Chance and Tom.

With the drilling miners back on their claims and bolstered by their morning’s work there was commotion around the diggings. The police heavily backed by the military were on a digger hunt to inspect the December’s licences and acting with renewed force. Anyone found without their licence on their person was immediately arrested and marched away, while those who resisted arrest found they were in for a severe beating. There was a fine of five pound for not holding a current licence or without it on person when questioned, of which half was given to anyone who was willing to snitch on their fellow diggers, adding to the general mistrust of authority and the nervousness about the Lead. Even so there were few who would stoop to the depths of collaboration with authority.

On seeing the arrival of the police some diggers threw down their picks and bolted but were quickly followed and as they weaved through the camps, the military fired upon them. One digger fell on his face in the mud but on inspection he wasn’t wounded, only tripped in his haste to be away. Although he held a current licence he was quickly restrained and taken under the pretext of evading lawful arrest.

By late morning all was again quiet on the diggings and the military returned to camp. There was still a small police presence but without the backing of the troopers they cautiously went about their business while receiving much torment and stone throwing from the miners. As the resistance grew the military was once again called out.

Peter Lalor was working down his shaft when Tim Hayes came by at some haste. Hayes climbed onto the windlass and shouted down to Peter, “the military is firing on the diggers. Lalor quickly surfaced and joined a number of armed men. On reaching Hunt’s store on Specimen Hill they noticed the military had taken up position behind logs on Bakery Hill yet for the moment didn’t show intent in escalate the situation. Lalor now realised that moderation would be useless but decided it wasn’t the time to start a fight. With a little encouragement Lalor convinced the miners to put away their weapons and disperse to meet elsewhere and consider their situation.

The miners then moved on to meet at Diamond’s store where, although Lalor hadn’t any military experience, he was elected to lead whatever was to eventuate. During the meeting some hundreds of diggers assembled on a rise overlooking the road from Melbourne and commenced to improve their rough defensive stockade. As soon as the barricade was completed a flagstaff was erected and the Southern Cross flag was given pride above their defences.

Lalor advanced to the stockade where he spoke to those gathered, “It is my duty to swear you in and take the oath to be faithful to the Southern Cross he shouted as the diggers milled around and cheered the suggestion, then as each and everyone there knelt Lalor proclaimed the oath.

Later on at their council tent Lalor agreed to give diplomacy one last chance so he sent Father Smyth to speak with the Gold Commissioner. Rede agreed to allow those arrested for the burning of the Eureka Hotel out on bail but would not agree to put an end to the licence hunts. As soon as the meeting with Smyth was over Rede sent a message to Hotham declaring the developing insurrection should be put down as soon as possible. Hotham’s reply was quick and affirmative.

A few days earlier Captain Henry Wise of the fortieth regiment had arrived from Geelong with fifty fresh troopers to bolster the strength at the military camp, with instructions that if there was even the slightest chance of rebellion he was to quickly put it down and those responsible were to be apprehended and taken to Melbourne and charged with treason.

Wise was a young man with some ability and a strong sense for order, British order, therefore he was quick in surveying the situation and soon realised there was but one way to end the trouble on the goldfields and that would be with military action, so he soon went about preparing for what he considered to be inedible.

By the second of December the atmosphere was electric, the stockade was completed and the standoff apparent. Wise soon had notification of the digger’s action from a loyal miner, while at the same time those in the stockade were well aware of the military’s intention but when and where could not be decided.

The waiting game commenced.

Captain Wise had surveyed the stockade during that morning while receiving insults and the hurling of projectiles as he did so. He examined the stockade’s strength and its weaker points and came to the decision an early morning charge would be best, as doing so would find the rebels asleep and unprepared. It was decided that the charge would be executed the following morning being the third of December and a Sunday.

During the Saturday afternoon a group calling themselves the Californian Rangers Revolver Brigade, about a hundred in strength, was doing reconnaissance under the leadership of James McGill who, in his words, had been educated at West Point in New York State and considered himself to be well skilled in warfare. McGill’s so called card had been marked by authority as a spy for the United States and his activities closely watched but with the building crisis the surveillance of McGill and his Rangers had become negated, giving them a free hand to support the rebellion.

McGill had heard that Hotham was sending more troopers up from Melbourne to bolster those at the camp, so he and his men were waiting for their arrival some distance from the Lead along the Melbourne road but had strict instructions not to interfere unless fired upon, even then to withdraw to the stockade.

Some time previously McGill had been in Geelong at a party held by the American Consulate James Tarleton, only returning on the Friday. Tarleton was also at dinner in Ballarat on the twenty-eighth when McGill rushed into the gathering and whispered a password in Celtic,

Faugh-a-balagh, meaning clear the way. The diners then knew the army was on the move.

What was said at that gathering was never recorded but there had been much merriment and discharging of firearms, with unqualified support for the insurgency and issuing of a Victorian Republic under the influence of the American constitution.

It was believed that nonofficial support for the uprising was given by Consulate Tarleton, being, if the goldfields managed to fight off the troopers and they could march on Melbourne, then America may support the newly declared Republic. Although such an offer was believed to be genuine by many on the goldfields it could not be substantiated, nor could anyone with a miniscule of wit perceive how the American republic at such a distance, with the British swarming all over the South Pacific and Asia, could lend assistance in any form excepting moral support.

Towards the close of day Father Smyth visited the stockade and noting that a number of the men there in were Irish reminded that as good Catholics, they would need to attend church the following morning being Sunday. Not long after Smyth’s visit many at the stockade drifted towards the hotels and bowling alleys, leaving no more than a hundred and fifty to guard their stockade.

For a Saturday night the hotel was quiet, except for some regulars who showed little interest in the workings of the Reform League. The new barmaid, Kathleen, had arrived during the morning and was given a room close to that of Tom. She was a pleasant girl who appeared to know her way around a hotel bar as if it were second nature. Immediately Tom took a fancy to her, finding her soft Irish accent like sweet music to his ears.

Kathleen had retired as she would need to be up early to make the daily bread. She had noted the last batch made by Chance and released a cheeky smile. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Chance but he accepted his shortcomings and was pleased to hand over the dining room and cooking to Kathleen.

It was a dark night with a storm approaching but like many at that time of the year, skirted the hills before passing to the south towards Geelong. Logan was seated on the hotel’s front step enjoying a cooling drink when Chance joined him.

“Solitude,” Chance spoke.

“Yes it is very quiet tonight and not many lamps around the camp.”

A dog howled at distance, almost immediately another answered from the direction of the stockade and a third then they all fell silent.

Chance sat close by, his head lifted towards the heavens, “stars,” he simply said.

“The clouds have passed for now,” Logan answered.

“No storm,”

“No storm,” Logan answered.

“The moonlight isn’t very bright.”

“Hasn’t risen properly as yet, you can just see it over Bakery Hill if you look.”

“I love the stars; I could watch them for hours,” Chance admitted.

Logan laughed.

“What?”

“I was remembering when we were boys we would lie down on the river bank watching until the sun took them away, or Hamish came shouting for us.”

“I remember well,” Chance agreed.

“And the singing from the native camp,” Logan added to his evening’s reminiscence.

“Some called it that.”

“Sometime it was quite entertaining,” Logan admitted.

“Sometimes – and sometimes we swam across and joined in with their dancing.”

“Like when the old men hurled stones at us and told us to go home and called us sons of ghosts.”

“Private men’s business,” Chance recollected.

“What was their word for ghosts?” Logan asked.

“Wasn’t it migallo?”

“That was it, there were other words they used against us but would never translate those, only laugh when we asked.”

Logan gave a sigh then fell silent.

“You appear concerned, what is the matter?” Chance asked.

“That lot up at the stockade, it will do no good you know. They haven’t a clue how to regiment a defence; they are nothing but a rabble with a cause – possibly a just cause but a rabble all the same.”

“Yes shovels and pick handles against cannon from the military camp.”

“I hear there is a substantial supply of arms up at the camp but in my opinion the military have enough firepower without using cannon.”

“I feel for them as they do have real grievances,” Chance related in their defence.

“I do as well but I don’t believe they have a snowflake in hell’s chance to succeed. Think about it, if they lose the push, life will more than likely continue the same until the gold runs out. If they win what then, they are miles from anywhere. Melbourne holds the supplies and there are two British navy ships in port. They will be left on this scarred scrap of bare earth until they eventually give it up.”

“Still the stars are pretty.” Chance digressed from the futility of the digger’s plight.

“Where is Tom?” Logan asked turning to peer into the dull lighting of the hotel.

“He is about to go up to the stockade.”

Logan released a deep sigh as Tom approached.

“Righto,” Tom said but instead of leaving he sat with the boys.

“You are going to continue with this damn silly game you are playing.” Logan asked.

“Night watch that is all.”

“What’s that band you are wearing?” Logan asked.

“It represents Tim’s regiment.”

“Red – isn’t Mr. Hayes Irish?” Logan remarked.

“That he be;”

“You know Tom you have been hanging around the Irish so long you are beginning to sound like them.”

“I’ll be off then, see ya’ in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” Logan spoke.

“Goodnight,” Tom answered.

“Tom,” Logan simply said as his voice fell away.

The lad turned about.

“Yes,”

Logan didn’t continue.

“Goodnight and be careful,” Chance followed.

They both watched as Tom’s dark shadow faded into the darker shadows of the night.

“I don’t know,” Logan all but whispered as Tom’s footsteps faded from hearing.

“What don’t you know?”

“It doesn’t matter, how about another beer, I’m too comfortable would you get me one.”

Chance returned with two he passed one to Logan while rejoining him in the dark. Both sat for some time without speaking as the moon commenced to show its face from behind Bakery Hill. It was a full moon in yellow and so large it was possible to see outlines on the surface.

“Do you think anyone lives up there?” Chance asked but was knowledgeable enough to doubt his question but the silence was getting to him and he worried much about Tom being at the stockade.

Logan laughed.

It had least broken the brooding silence.

“I was thinking of home,” Logan said.

“Are you becoming homesick?”

“Not as such but I should think Hamish is a dad by now and I wonder how Scatter is, he would be nine and too old for working sheep.”

“Maybe he is dreaming of doing so, I remember the noise Scatter made and the leg kicking while he slept, you said he was chasing rabbits,” Chance warmly reminisced.

“Doggie dreams – I wonder if Hamish has a boy or a girl,” Logan finished his beer and placed the bottle aside.

“It would be one or the other,” Chance gave a gentle laugh, “did you ever think of having children?”

“When I was a kid I had the inclination towards having a dozen or so – but.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“I can remember even at an early age, maybe eight;” a thoughtful pause, “possibly a little older. When I had those thoughts you came to mind and something deep within put a barrier between dreams and reality.”

“Even then?” Chance said meaning Logan had notion of his sexuality at such an early age.

“Even then you were my one and thus died the thought of having kids,” another pause and a reversal of Chance’s question, “what about you?”

“Even then,” Chance simply said.

“Continue,”

“Even then it was you for me. Strange isn’t it?”

Chance lifted from his seating and walked onto the dark surface of the road avoiding a large pothole right outside the hotel’s main door, his eyes cast through the night towards the direction of the stockade. His thoughts were on Tom and how the lad had taken the developing rebellion to heart.

For a moment Chance believed he should go up to the stockade with some excuse for Tom to return but there wasn’t any reason for doing so, besides knowing Tom, he would refuse and Chance would be considered somewhat controlling. ‘Don’t mother him,’ Logan’s words came to mind. Chance smiled at the thought.

“What are you thinking?” Logan enquired.

“How peaceful it is; how beautiful the stars for there to be so much turmoil in such a remote corner of the world.

“You are thinking of the kid,” Logan assumed.

“True but only for his future.”

“You can’t mother him, Tom is a free spirit.”

“I realise so but I wish he would tone down his bravado a little, that is all.”

“What will out, will out, no matter what you think and wish – come on bed is calling.”

The only payment our authors receive are the emails you send them. Let Gary know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

28,007 views