Humffray was absent today as a new leader, a commander-inchief, stood alongside chairman Hayes now, holding the muzzle of his own rifle at his side. It was Peter Lalor, strong and stern. The mask of rebellion in place.
Many of the thousands gathered were armed now, although few could afford rifles. Mostly they sported handmade weapons or gold-digging implements, but it was enough for Kieran to know that this would be the last time he would come. He could no longer ignore the fact that the miners weren’t holding ‘meetings’ anymore. This was a declaration of independence from the Crown. This was war.
Lalor didn’t waste time with speeches about legalities; it was too late for such talk now. Instead he began a ceremony.
‘It is my duty now to swear you in, and to take with you the oath to be faithful to the Southern Cross. Hear me with attention. The man who, after this solemn oath, does not stand by our standard is a coward in heart. I order all persons who do not intend to take the oath to leave the meeting at once.’
Kieran tried to walk away but his drumming Irish heart wouldn’t let him. Just a few more words; just to always remember that he was here this day to hear them. That that heart swore in if not his voice.
‘Let all divisions under arms “fall in” in their order round the flagstaff.’
Several hundred men in freshly formed divisions came forward with their captains who now stood as one to offer the military salute to Lalor. They wore no unifying clothing, no signature motif to mark their kinship, yet there was no need for such distinction; their loyalty to one another was written in the strained lines of their collectively determined countenance. Lalor knelt then and raised his right hand towards the flag and his next words carried firmly across the thousands present.
‘We swear by the Southern Cross to stand truly by each other and fight to defend our rights and liberties.’
‘Amen,’ said the throng, and right hands were raised to the silk stars that seemed to fairly blaze in the glorious sunlight. Kieran looked out across them all, at the sea of different coloured hair, skin, shaggy beards or no. Dave’s hand was raised, as was Striker’s who’d even removed his much-treasured cap. Betty held it, watching him with pride. Macca and Jock were making their oath too and it took every emotion Kieran felt for his bride and his unborn child not to raise his own hand as well.
Dave looked over at him, disappointment in his eyes, but Kieran would have defended his stance if the silence didn’t feel quite so sacred. For there were other stars to follow, ones that would lead him to true freedom. Love had chosen where his real loyalties lay.
Thirty-Five
3 December, 1854
It was his wedding day but he was alone that morning. Dave would be unable to attend as best man, in fact none of his friends would have been able to come, even if Kieran could have talked the Cartwrights into inviting them. The violence had escalated even further these past few days with Kieran now hearing cracks of gunfire echo across the bush, a sickening and terrifying sound as the traps actually shot at fleeing unlicensed miners. It further justified the sight of Lalor’s makeshift ‘troops’ training in fierce fashion under Hayes.
They were still barely armed but they’d certainly become increasingly more formalised as a military unit, even physically removing themselves from the diggings to form a base or ‘stockade’ as they’d taken to calling it. It was at a formerly quiet mining spot nearby called Eureka, but Kieran imagined it was, by now, a crowded den of industry as the miners barricaded themselves inside as best they could. Dave was over there, along with the rest of their mates, awaiting the law who would surely come to strike them down, and Kieran had spent the past few lonely nights sleepless with nausea and worry over their fate.
They were his last here on the goldfields, and the place felt eerie and empty with so many gone and facing such danger. Everything lay waiting: sluices, carts, ropes and pans, all left to sit in the dust and mud, idle as the diggers turned their hands to darker, more desperate pursuits. Kieran’s own things were mostly gone now, with his wagon packed up, and he and Eve would move into their home tonight, which was now partially completed, enough for them to be protected from the elements at any rate. It should have been the happiest day of his life but, with the threat of bloodshed on the horizon, he couldn’t consider it so. Maybe the government would see sense and negotiate. Surely they wouldn’t stoop so low as to massacre hundreds, if not thousands, of poorly armed miners in cold blood.
It was no use in trying to sleep in with that in mind so he got up, deciding to take his belongings to the house and get ready for the day instead. It seemed strange to leave his and Dave’s dwelling after so long, and looking around at the now bare bunks, the worn table, the empty barrel of rum that stood pride of place on their only shelf, Kieran felt concern for his friend swell into sadness that these times would never come again. He’d spent most days and nights in Australia in Dave’s company and now he was choosing a woman over his mate when he needed him most. You’re choosing a family, Kieran reminded himself, and a home on Clancy land, Clancy owned.
He sighed, putting on his coat and stepping out into the stilldark morning to place his remaining belongings on the wagon and begin his journey towards his new life. To a beautiful wife, a baby. That was true freedom, better than any brand of rebellion. And looking up at the stars he knew, despite his inner conflict, he was following the right cross.
It was a quiet journey, the wagon wheels and the horse the only sounds aside from insects and birds, the kookaburras making quite a racket. He spied a koala in the lamplight too, moving along the side of the track to climb a tree, its joey clinging to its back. It made a scratching noise as it went, moving faster than Kieran would have supposed, but then he saw a couple of emus running by, making a racket of their own, and understood the koala’s desire to get out of the way. Emus liked to peck. They liked to march too, in their funny ungainly way; it even sounded like human marching. Kieran paused, pulling the horse to a halt. That was human marching and it definitely wasn’t emus making the sound.
He turned off the lamp and pulled the wagon over to the trees, managing to hide it in a track that led to a homestead across the way. The sound of boots became louder and Kieran peered out to watch as soldiers began to march by. Hundreds of them, all in red coats, followed by rows of traps. This was no small contingent, this looked like an army, all carrying rifles and meaning business. Sent on a bloody errand, Kieran well knew: to wipe out the miners at the Eureka Stockade.
Looking up to where their stars were now fading in a rising mist, Kieran sent out an apology to Eve because he knew he would probably be late to their wedding today. But it was no flimsy excuse: the redcoats were coming to kill the best friend he’d ever had. And he didn’t need to have sworn an oath to know he owed allegiance to that.
His horse was tiring but Kieran pushed him on as hard as he could, knowing he would beat the on-foot troops but not by long, and he needed to give as much warning to the diggers as he could. The stockade was up ahead, a makeshift, roughly constructed affair consisting of wooden planks and overturned carts with sharp pikes at the edges, and Kieran noted there weren’t as many miners inside as he had supposed. Then again it was Sunday and a lot of the Irish Catholics would have slipped off to attend Mass. It was a crude, dilapidated affair but the Eureka flag fluttered proudly above it, the stars shining in the pre-dawn and firelight.
‘Who goes there?’ called out one man and Kieran told him who he was before dismounting and leading his horse over.
‘Kieran?’ called out Dave, coming out of the crowd and staring at him, incredulous. ‘You came!’ he exclaimed, rushing forward to shake one hand and clap him on the shoulder with the other. ‘I knew you would, brother, I knew it.’
‘I’m only here to…warn you,’ Kieran said in a rush, still panting from the exertion of the ride. ‘The redcoats…and the traps… they’re on the way in their hundreds. They’re heavily armed,’ he finished, looking over at Peter Lalor and Raffaello C
arboni who were approaching them now.
‘Look,’ called out Jock as he came over too, and he pointed to the horizon where the soldiers could be glimpsed, eerie and menacing in the pale, misty light, as they amassed with the traps to attack the stockade. Kieran knew his window to escape was closing fast.
‘I have to go, Dave,’ he told his friend.
‘It’s my wedding day…’
‘Aye,’ Dave said. ‘I suppose you do.’
Striker had come forward, and now Macca and a few others Kieran knew well, and he looked around at them all, terrified as the sound of marching could be heard once more.
‘God be with you,’ Kieran told them, unable to restrain himself from giving Dave a quick embrace.
‘Aye, mate,’ Dave said, his voice breaking, ‘and with you too.’
Kieran went then, running off behind the stockade and making his long way around back to the road, leading his horse then mounting. The miners were scurrying now, preparing for battle, and Kieran felt like the rat leaving the sinking ship but there was nothing else for it, especially today of all days. He’d been a loyal enough friend to warn Dave and the others but he needed to be a loyal husband and father now. Other vows needed to be made today.
But then the crack of gunshot sounded and Kieran closed his eyes as a cry of pain echoed among it.
‘God be with you,’ he whispered again, unwilling to open them and witness what was unfolding, knowing it would sear his mind and shadow his days. But then he found himself pulling the reins and turning to do just that. Something inside reasoned he could give them that much, at least.
It was difficult to even conceive what greeted him as the impossibility of the scene slammed into his senses, yet there was no denying the sight of uniformed soldiers and police advancing in orderly lines towards the ill-equipped miners in the fogged glow of early morning. They were fighting as best they could behind their flimsy barricades, but it was futile, and man after man began to fall, like toys being toppled over in a child’s game from here, and yet they were flesh and blood. Being torn and ripped, to lie deathly still on the cold bush floor.
The gunfire was thick, and deafening now, but it couldn’t quite drown out the cries of injured and dying men. The terrible cacophony jarred and assaulted in turn.
Sickeningly, the bullets found more marks and blood quickly stained shirts and jackets, draining the life from their wearers, too easily, too fast. Kieran tried to blink the images away as men he recognised, worked with, drank with, hardworking men as honest as the day was long, fell in defence of what was only their right to be able to exist, after all. But that right was being denied in fatal, violent fashion today.
The redcoats were trained to kill and doing a professional job of it, methodically mowing the miners down, who were hopelessly outclassed. Striker’s big form was clearly visible, even from a distance, and Kieran watched in paralysed horror as the big man fell, still trying to wield his pickaxe as he went. Then, terrifyingly, Betty ran over from the trees, begging them for mercy, but they struck her too and Kieran’s eyes flickered with shock as they beat them both to death. Pitiful, cold-blooded murder.
‘Oh dear God...no…’
Another man was caught straight in the chest and flung across Striker and Betty’s forms, adding to what was becoming an impossibly tragic pile of bodies, and the sight sent Kieran’s focus reeling about now as he searched frantically for Dave. He found carnage wherever it landed, recognising far too many of the casualties, including Jock who was writhing on the ground holding a tattered leg. Perhaps he would survive, Kieran thought with a numb kind of desperation.
It should have been over in minutes. The miners soon surrendered, but many of the redcoats and traps ignored their capitulation. Hands were raised in the golden sunlight as dawn finally ignited the scene but they soon fell as merciless troops marched into the stockade, to bludgeon and stab at will.
‘Stop it! Stop!’ Kieran heard himself screaming, tears pouring down his face as arms and legs were maimed, stomachs cut open and finishing shots fired. Then he recognised Dave at last, cornered with his hands on his head, a bayonet at his throat. ‘No,’ Kieran yelled, pushing his horse into a canter towards him, all vows evaporating as his loyalty-torn heart finally seemed to explode in a wave of terror and grief.
Then there was a shot, just a final single one, and everything in Kieran Clancy’s world suddenly turned dark.
Thirty-Six
It was warm in the little church as the small party assembled inside waited in a strained hush, pocket watches sporadically checked as the endless minutes slipped away. Eve stared at the door, desperate for Kieran to materialise, her entire body rigid as fear mounted and spread, a small bouquet of Arthur’s roses clenched in her hands. Her simple navy dress too tight.
Amanda broke the silence, asking if they should find out if anyone had seen him along the road, had he been robbed? Attacked? How could he not turn up? Her ivory gown rustled as she paced, cream roses bobbing as they poked through her tiara, and the priest asked if the bride would like a drop of church wine to calm her nerves. He was talking to Amanda.
Suddenly someone did appear at the door, only it wasn’t who they all hoped for. It was Barney, the local delivery man, and he was white-faced as he told his news.
‘There’s been a battle…over at the Eureka lead.’
The captain came immediately forward. ‘The miners?’
‘Aye. They ne’er stood a chance though. The soldiers ’ave arrested plenty but there’s many more who’ll no’ see the light o’day again.’
Eve simply stared at him as the words began to swim in her mind. Around and around. Incomprehensible.
‘How many souls?’ the priest asked.
‘Dozens, I’d say, and a whole lot injured too, poor blighters.’
‘Traitors to the Crown,’ the captain reminded him.
‘Maybe so, sir, but the bastards went in and butchered the injured and surrendering men, which is a mongrel act, if ye ask me. Pardon me French,’ he added.
‘B…butchered?’ Eve said, dropping to a church pew now.
‘Now, now, Eve. Kieran wouldn’t have been involved, I’m sure of it. He’ll come soon, love, you’ll see,’ Arthur reassured her, coming over to her side.
‘Oh no! Kieran would never do such a thing – especially today of all days,’ Amanda agreed, fanning her flushed face.
‘He’d no’ risk marrying you for anyone or anything,’ Arthur said firmly.
But Eve knew with sudden, devastating certainty it was exactly what he’d done; it was too much of a coincidence that the battle had occurred at the same time as Kieran not turning up for their wedding. There was only one reason on earth he would do this, something even bigger than his love for her.
‘To do what is right,’ she muttered vaguely.
The others began to whisper among themselves although their worried eyes followed her as she moved to the church entrance to gaze out at the empty path. It was a glorious day as the world welcomed the first Sunday of summer in stunning sunshine but it just looked grey to Eve. It was as if all the colour had been stolen from the earth and, as she stared at the small cemetery nearby, a terrible dread came to the fore.
‘I need to…to know…’
Arthur came to stand next to her. ‘What was that, love?’
‘I need to know, Arthur,’ she said, urgently now. ‘Please,’ she begged him and he looked over at the captain who nodded his permission.
‘Aye, I’ll go see what I can find out. Why don’t ye go home and wait…’
‘No,’ she said, immediately shaking her head. ‘I’d rather stay here.’
Arthur nodded in understanding. ‘To pray?’
‘No,’ she admitted, looking back outside. ‘It’s just where he’ll come if he…if…’
If he’s still alive, the unspoken words rang between them. But as he limped away a murder of crows called plaintively from the tower above, a death knell where wedding bells should rig
htly have been ringing.
It was late in the day when the wagon could finally be heard. The captain and Amanda had long returned home but Eve had been allowed to stay. In truth, they seemed relieved to let her do so. The captain had told her to ‘hold fast’ but no-one seemed capable of looking her in the eye.
But now one man was: Arthur, slumped in his seat, his countenance telling a story of devastation and now heartfelt pity. Eve’s chest constricted in an unbreathable vice as he stepped down to take her hands in his.
‘It’s no’ good news, Eve.’
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But he did, the next sentence uttered with impossible finality.
‘I saw the list of the dead, love. His name was on it.’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I refuse…I refuse to believe it…’
‘Eve…’
‘He cannot…be…’
A suffocating pain surfaced then as she choked on her words and Arthur gently held her as wrenching sobs began to escape; wave after wave of them as she heaved with unbearable grief.
‘He cannot be.’
‘Aye,’ Arthur said, wiping tears too, ‘I’m afraid so. I’m so sorry, Eve; he was such a good lad.’
Was. People would ever talk of him as something in the past now. The late Kieran Clancy. Her wonderful, charming, handsome fiancé. The kindest man on earth.
‘I want to see him,’ she whispered brokenly.
‘They’ll no’ let anyone near, probably because o’ the way they…’ He didn’t finish the sentence and she tried not to imagine how it would have ended. ‘Anyway, they did give me his cap.’
Eve took it from his hand, stroking the worn rim where his name was written with shaking hands. ‘I…I never saw him wear this one.’
‘Perhaps it was only fer best. It was his wedding day after all.’
She raised her face to Arthur’s red-rimmed eyes and shook her head brokenly. ‘How could he have done this, Arthur?’
In a Great Southern Land Page 25
