Published: 8 Apr 2021

That year Christmas arrived and passed without much cheer on the goldfields, the thirteen arrested, including Timothy Hayes remained languish in Coburg’s recently completed Pentridge prison waiting to be tried for treason and a reward of two hundred pounds was offered for the capture of Peter Lalor, while Hotham gave a solid promise to review the Miner’s Right.

James McGill had escaped to Creswick dressed as a woman. Later he was taken to Melbourne and hidden on a friend’s ship of the White Star Line, the Arabian. It was said while dressed as a woman he appeared so young and convincing a man proposed marriage. Later he was presented to Governor Hotham who believed one so youthful and handsome could not have been involved and he was pardoned as long as he left the colony. McGill was to remain in Victoria and settle into married life.

After the combat, Peter Lalor was found by his associates and taken to Father Smyth’s residence where a doctor, friendly to the cause, performed amputation of his shattered left arm at the shoulder. A second bullet was later discovered lodged in Peter’s side but that wasn’t attended to until he was taken to Geelong where again he went into hiding.

With an uneasy peace returning to the Eureka Lead the police were instructed to tread lightly while in scrutiny miner’s rights, as there was to be a change of regulation later that year, also another victory for the miners was announced. During the pending colonial election to be held in fifty-six, all males over twenty-one who owned property would be franchised, also the establishment of a second house of government would be formed being the Legislative Assembly.

The boys went about their business as they had before the stockade but there was always something missing from their day. It was the cheeky disposition of Tom, his coming and going as he ran errands for the diggers and his wacky sense of humour, that if analysed was never funny.

Kathleen remained working at the hotel until late January before being reunited with her husband and they left for Melbourne. Chance had learned much about cooking in the short time Kathleen was at the hotel and had again taken over the dining room, while totally foregoing his mining claim. When asked why he simply said he would never become rich with what he found but in truth, being there reminded him too much of Tom, Peter Lalor and Scobie.

Late January Logan received a second letter from Hamish, it was a boy and named Hamish being third in that line of Scottish names while not being Scottish.

So Logan was an uncle and when in conversation with Chance advised his friend he was also the lad’s uncle by association. Chance liked the title but wondered if they would ever meet the boy, Logan simply shrugged it way by saying “possibly some day.”

After the uprising the goldfields became subdued and of the hundred and seventeen taken from the stockade only thirteen were chosen to be made an example of, their trial commenced in Melbourne on the twenty-second of February but gradually the sentiment was drifting towards the miners and as it did so the mood and health of Governor Hotham deteriorated, he was a sick man and becoming isolated.

The crown prosecutor wished to try Tim Hayes first, believing with his conviction the others would be formality but with some clever manoeuvring the defence managed to have John Joseph an escaped slave from the American plantations called to the bar. More manoeuvring and he was acquitted and cheered through the streets after leaving the court. It was then decided by the attorney general to sack the jury pool, taking three weeks more to find a new jury.

One of the arguments used by the prosecution against Tim Hayes was it had been treason to gather and pay homage to any flag other than that of colony of Victoria. The return argument being, even the prosecutor had but three years earlier given allegiance to another flag, that of the anti transportation league. It was suggested by the prosecutor doing so was for good of the community and different than for rebellion but the defence declared that the stockade was erected to protect against being shot by the police, not for the purpose of insurrection. Also it could not be proven that miners had burnt their miner’s right being a second lever of prosecution.

Logan had been at the general store and on returning appeared quite stoked as he waved the latest copy of the Age newspaper above his head.

“Why so excited?” Chance asked.

“They have acquitted the black man.”

Logan passed the paper to Chance who quickly read the article, “It says here they are still going ahead with the others and Sir William Stawell is assured of success.”

“Even so that gives some hope and by what the paper reports it is swinging in favour of the remaining twelve.”

“I didn’t think you were for the rebels.” Chance admitted.

“I always said their cause was correct and right, my only complaint was they went about it the wrong way.”

“So what was the right way?” Chance asked.

“I now believe they didn’t have another but I still error against rebellion.”

“So possibly young Tom didn’t die in vain,” Chance proposed.

“I still hold Peter Lalor responsible. Tom was but a kid and Peter should have sent him home.” It was a harsh comment from Logan but he also realised Tom wouldn’t have agreed in being sent away.

“Where is Peter Lalor now?” Chance asked.

“Under the circumstances it is better not to know there is still a price on his head.”

Early March and the trial of the twelve remaining diggers recommenced but now even David Syme of the Age newspaper had fallen in behind their cause and publicly attacked Governor Hotham. The trial of the runaway black American slave had gone well by making him appear simple and unable to understand rebellion or taking up of arms. As for the trial of Tim Hayes it developed for the prosecution until the defence used the flag against the prosecutor William Stawell and that the stockade was to defend against being shot at by the military, not a declaration of independence.

During the summing up and before the jury retired to consider its verdict Judge Sir Redmond Barry added a new and unexpected twist to his summery by giving his opinion that a not guilty verdict should be reached. It was and the twelve were free men. Hotham took it badly while obvious to all he was a broken man and offered his resignation. He remained in his position for a number of months and died in December of that year.

A short time after the failed trial the reward offered for Peter Lalor and others was lifted, with Peter and Tim Hayes returning to the goldfields to a hero’s welcome. Hayes remained for a short while then left for Europe; his wife remained behind.

Although Peter Lalor had often protested against standing for government, he considered doing so in the approaching election for the new Legislative Assembly.

“Why don’t you stand for the Assembly?” Chance asked Logan on reading the news of Lalor’s return in the local gazette.

“I don’t think so,”

“It’s open to all males over twenty-one who own property,” Chance put aside his newspaper while amused with his friend’s negative reaction.

“You’ve seen how those standing tare their opposition to shreds. What would they say if our relationship got out?”

“True, it is dog eating dog but I think you hold enough esteem to ride it out.”

“Why don’t you?” Logan reversed.

They both laughed.

Chance returned to his reading, “I see there has been a permit given to establish a hardware store on the Eureka Hotel site.”

“In some ways the issues of the past six months are as if they never happened,” Logan envisaged.

“Life is a little like that, one walks upon the earth, leaves a footprint then before you can say hallelujah someone else overprints it.”

“Astute,”

“Maybe so but this isn’t getting the work done, want the paper?” Chance offered.

“No, it’s full of gloom,”

“There is also an article about the soldiers who died at the stockade,” Chance said as he finished with his reading.

“What does it say?”

“There is to be a monument erected in their honour.”

Some months had past since the uprising and the Eureka Lead had settled, as for the Golden Shovel it became quite profitable, enough for the boys to extend its accommodation. With the extension there were more rooms to service so it was necessary to hire a housemaid and cook. This time it was left to Chance and finding a flood of applicants even before he had canvassed for filling the positions, he decided to take care in his choice.

It was midweek, hump-night, or Wednesday, depending on your preference. Now with the extensions completed the Shovel, as most preferred to name the establishment, it had two bars, one for the travelling guests, and the other for the more rowdy locals.

Logan was attending to the less civilised bar and in conversation with Peter Lalor who had only recently commenced to canvass for the coming election of the colonial assembly. Lalor’s return to Ballarat came with much sympathy, not only for his support in defending the stockade but his injury, losing an arm at the shoulder. None of which appeared to slow the man, or take away his sense of justice. This night he was doing the rounds of the drinking houses to promote his cause.

As Lalor conversed on his principles for the colony a shout rose and the name Von Bismarck was clearly heard. What followed was but a squabble of German accents. For some reason the Shovel had become favoured by the German miners on the Eureka Lead and this night there were many. For now the row was kept to voice.

“What’s that all about?” Logan asked Lalor.

“I don’t speak German but by its sound possibly about Otto Von Bismarck’s attempts to unite Germany and I guess everyone is jockeying for leadership.

Logan had heard of the German States and read a little on the defeat of Napoleon almost half a centaury previous in Edward’s books. Back then Germany was a rough federation of waring tribes. What he did know, if he didn’t cool the atmosphere in the bar there would be a brawl.

The argument then exploded over which principality of the federation should, like cream, rise to the surface of the predicted United German States. There was Prussia to the right, Baden on the left and thirty or more other states between and was fast becoming a right Germanic row.

As the furniture began to fly Logan called on his regular heavies, a selection of strong men who he paid a small retainer of free grog, to clear the bar. Chance hearing the row joined Logan and Peter Lalor.

“What’s going on?” he said as the bar was cleared of rabble.

“A right German war,” Logan said as a bottle whizzed past his head, smashing on the wall behind. Chance ducked as a chair met the bar. Then the Germanic squabble flowed out onto the street where it was soon cooled by a number of police constables doing their rounds.

With the bar once again civilized, the furniture righted and breakage cleared, Logan returned to his conversation with Peter Lalor.

“You would think those who come here to get away from the trials and poverty of Europe would leave their arguments behind,” Logan suggested.

“Sometimes they find the same oppression here,” Lalor quietly disagreed.

“I think Peter you are referring to the Irish problem,”

“It isn’t a problem Logan but a reality,” Lalor was cautious with his selection of language.

“I do understand the oppression but I believe in England the people have the same oppression.”

“Same possibly but it is by their own and not by foreigners.”

Logan drew a deep breath and not wishing for an argument on the English Irish divide diverted away from the subject.

“So Peter you are to stand for the Assembly – you have my vote.” Logan promised.

“Also mine,” Chance added to Lalor’s hopes.

“I believe now many have been franchised we may be able to change the direction for the good of all, English, Irish and German,” Lalor suggested as with the extension of franchise many from the goldfields would not only have the vote but could also stand for the lower house.

“A bold new country,” Chance said

“Not yet but there is talk of uniting all the colonies, like what they are about to do in Germany,” Lalor offered.

“Another battle,” Logan sighed, his mind back on the earlier moment in the bar.

“I think not my friend and being Irish I don’t like to admit so but the English are becoming more democratic and as it was once said, democracy is the worst kind of government on earth,” Lalor paused with a smile while waiting for one of the boys to query.

“You say the worst?” Chance questioned somewhat confused by Lalor’s utterance.

“Yes the worst, except for all the rest,” Lalor concluded.

“Monarchy hasn’t proven much,” Logan said referring to all he had read about two thousand years of European wars, “and as for religion, more people have died in the name of god that one can wonder.”

“England is constitutional,” Chance offered.

“Maybe so Chance but the government is still run by lords and those with money and land,” Lalor explained.

“If farmers and squatters ran the government, wouldn’t they only do for their own?” Chance asked.

“Possibly but there would be a mix of representation, farmers, miners, builders and workers and in my opinion it is the simple worker who needs the most protection. What we need is a true worker’s party.”

“And all this coming from a man who only recently wasn’t interested in politics,” Chance recollected.

“Enough of politics you two, we have a bar full of thirsty miners.” Logan protested.

“I’ll be off then, don’t forget to vote.” Lalor gave a slight head nod and departed, many patting him on the back and wishing him well as he passed.

Ballarat was in flux. The alluvial gold was all but run out but there remained plenty for those who wished to dig for it. As for the town, it was no longer a tent city but one of fine stone and brick buildings, supporting business of every kind from stock exchange to sweet maker and outgrowing even Melbourne.

Day by day, week by week Ballarat reached into the goldfield even into the Eureka Lead until the Lead was but part of it. As the alluvial gold ran out many of the diggers commenced to turn away from the country for the city and port, or move on to newer fields and Ballarat became gentrified, others took up farming leases and moved onto the land growing wheat or running sheep.

As the election for the Assembly drew near there was much excitement on the goldfields with the candidates again doing the rounds of the hotels and bars. Peter Lalor’s popularity was ever increasing and although most thought he was a certainty he still spruiked for votes at every opportunity.

One such evening had Lalor Canvassing in the Spade’s bar and after he had done the round of the drinkers he was invited into the back room for conversation with the boys.

“You have it in the bag Peter.” Logan assured but Lalor as ever remained uncertain.

“I’m not so sure,”

“What worries you?”

“It’s those in Spring Street and the landed lot, the rebellion is still raw with them and although nothing is said directly they whisper behind hands and become quiet as I pass.”

“Still the diggers outnumber them a hundred to one.”

“True Logan but at present only those with land or property worth more than a hundred pound have the vote and I only qualify by marrying Alicia earlier this year through her property in Geelong.”

“Even so there is still many among the miners who would qualify. What is your main issue?”

“I thought I would speak about limiting the Chinese as that will sit well with the diggers and Cockies alike, as during the past five years more than thirty thousand have arrived in the colony.”

“Cockies, Chance repeated and gave a grin.”

“Farmers,” Lalor explained.

“I guessed that to be so.”

“What about the Chinese?” Logan asked; “whisky Peter?” he offered holding up the bottle for scrutiny.

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

“True but the whisky is Irish, I had four crates imported especially for the Irish clientele. You Irish and your religion is what got you into all this bother in the first instance,” Logan suggested.

“If it wasn’t for your Henry we would all still be of one religion.” Lalor complained as he passed his tankard across, “and Logan don’t be English with the whiskey, fill the bloody thing this time.”

“Fill?” Logan questioned on the container size.”

“Well more than a moisture.”

All laughed as Logan became serious, “now about the Chinese.”

“The way its going they will soon outnumber us and although Spring Street has put a stop to them coming in like fleas on a dog to Victoria, they are now landing in Adelaide and walking the almost five hundred miles across to here.” Lalor forcefully explained.

“That’s irony in spades,” Logan said.

“Your point being?”

“We concern about the chinks overrunning the country while forgetting it was we who took it from the blacks in the first place and still not a sixty years hence. I wonder if somewhere in the not so distant past, a group of natives sat around their camp fire uttering those very words about us.”

“That isn’t ironic my friend but true and there is nothing any of us can do to change the past but we can with the Chinese and the future.” Lalor argued.

“Another thing Peter I blame four hundred years of European colonisation to be the cause of most of the world’s bother. In doing so it destroyed the natural way of things.”

“A point Logan but invasion has been going on since forever. Take you English as an example, a more bastard breed of people there never was.”

“Ah but now Europe has spilled out to the rest of the world which isn’t ready for Europe’s god and expansionist policies.”

“They appear friendly enough, the feller’ who does the hotel laundry is a Chow and he never stops laughing or working,” Chance related bringing the conversation back to the yellow invasion.

“That’s it they work in groups, never stop for a break and send what money they make back to China. Most work for syndicates back there and give nothing back to the local community.” Lalor was becoming more serious with his complaint by the moment.

“You don’t have to convince me Peter, only yesterday I passed their opium den up the top end of Eureka Street, the stink that was coming out was almost overpowering,” Chance agreed and lifted a finger to advance further his argument, “and there was all but a riot down past the west tailings.”

“There you go Logan, even Chance agrees with me,” Lalor enforced.

“Only in principal Peter, I wouldn’t do anything brutal towards them.” Chance disagreed.

“What about putting them on a ship and sending them home?” Lalor suggested.

“Two Wongs don’t make a white,” Logan lampooned what he had heard that very day.

“Two Wongs don’t make a white,” Peter repeated and laughed, “I like that maybe I can use it in my inaugural speech.”

“When elected and that you will be,” Chance offered.

“Yes when elected.”

“Enough of politics Peter, you have our vote and we have posted your ugly mug all over the bar, now about the whisky, is it as good as you remember from back home?”

“Tis’ fine lad, what about your taste?”

“Beer in the most,”

“Being of English descent I thought gin would be to your liking,” Lalor laughed while stealing back Logan’s sling on his religion.

“Being English?” Logan paused.

“Is that not so lad?” Lalor asked.

“Being English, now that puts me in a difficult position,” Logan continued somewhat thoughtfully.

“Why so?”

“My father was from Berwick in the north of England and was always accused of being a Scot and hated so. He was a convict and transported by his own, was given a ticket of leave, then he became a free man – a very wealthy free man in truth. He had three boys, all considered to be Currency which was designed to be offensive but turned towards pride. That leaves me in a quandary.” Logan again paused to allow digestion of his point.

“Go on,”

“You ask if I am English.”

“There is a saying; if a sparrow was born in a Barn it wouldn’t make it a horse.” Lalor said, translated although Logan was born in New South Wales, he was still considered to be English.

“I’ve heard that said but I’m not a sparrow or a horse. I am a New South Wales man and secondly, when you politicians pull your collective fingers outa’ your collective arses and unite this southern rabble, I will be an Australian as you Irish should also become.”

“Well spoken lad and with that said, I’ll have one more fill of your whiskey and be on my way.”

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