In a Great Southern Land
Page 29
I am the liar. I am the rose by any other name. And now the greatest of terrible truths cannot be told because of my deceit.
Suddenly the room felt stuffy and she rose from her chair. ‘I think I may have a little lie-down,’ she mumbled.
‘Are you alright…?’
‘Yes, yes,’ she managed, barely making it to her bedroom before collapsing on the blankets heavily to stare at the ceiling in shock and disbelief. This was Kieran’s family. They would have been her family if those ill-fated stars hadn’t stolen her new life away. And now she’d tried to trick those stars, to steal someone else’s fate, but that curse of an unnatural life had found her. Once more.
The weight of her new sin was unbearable now; life with Kieran’s family would be impossible to endure. Especially when they still believed he could be alive.
And especially when Clancy blood ran inside her too, in the form of his unborn child.
‘Where’s Amanda?’ Liam asked Eileen.
The trial was starting in Melbourne in a few days and he was keen to get on the road, although he wasn’t keen to leave the woman he loved. For he did love her now, hopelessly, for he doubted she returned it. She was fond of him, he was certain, but not in love, he knew. Perhaps when the baby came it would seem a more natural thing to her and she would see something in him too. Eileen said it wouldn’t be long before the birth now, perhaps a matter of weeks. She certainly looked a good way along, in as much as Liam knew about these things; he just hoped he wouldn’t be called upon to help with the event itself when he got back, an old pain echoing at the thought.
She was down by the gate, picking wildflowers awkwardly and putting them in a basket for Eileen.
‘Here now, you shouldn’t be doing that,’ he said, taking the basket from her and holding her steady as she rose up.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, puffing. ‘Eileen wants them for me actually. Something to help when…’ She blushed then and his heart leapt a little at how beautiful she looked, even when she was feeling embarrassed.
‘I wanted to talk to you before I went.’
‘Oh,’ she said, frowning. It was a relief that she knew about Kieran now but she’d become even more preoccupied than usual since she’d found out and she always lowered her eyes or left the room whenever his name was mentioned. Liam suspected she didn’t approve of the rebels in general, despite what Eileen said to the contrary.
‘We need to keep looking, Amanda,’ he said gently, trying to help her to understand and more than a little disappointed that she didn’t seem to. ‘He is our brother after all.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said; however, she was still frowning.
‘You think he’s some terrible criminal, don’t you?’ he said, deciding to be frank, but to his surprise her eyes filled with tears.
‘No…’
‘What is it then? What’s wrong?’ he said, daring to take her hand.
She was fighting against quite a lot of emotion now and he wondered at it. ‘Are you worried for us, lass, is that it?’
She said nothing but gave a small nod.
‘There now, don’t take on so. If we still believe he’s out there somewhere then you can trust that he is. Kieran does this to us on occasion; goes missing and leaves us thinking the worst but there’s always a good story behind it in the end. Besides, I know…I’d feel it in here if he were gone,’ he said, letting go of her hand and pointing to his chest.
Amanda shook her head but still didn’t speak, looking so concerned for him he couldn’t help but steer the subject towards his original, intended topic of conversation.
‘It will all turn out fine, you’ll see, and…and well, when I get back I was hoping, I mean after you have the baby and all, I thought it might be nice if we perhaps…’ Liam paused, hating how bad he was at this but knowing he needed some sign of encouragement to take with him on this trip, however small. Anything to hold on to when he lay down his head at night. ‘Would you allow me to take you out for a walk or a picnic or something…some time? We could go into one of the larger towns to dine if you like. Do it in style.’
Her tear-filled eyes were wide now. ‘You…you mean, like courting?’
‘Aye,’ he said, relieved he’d at least made his point.
‘Liam, I…I don’t think it would be a good idea.’
It landed like a crush against his chest but he nodded as manfully as he could.
‘It’s not that I’m not fond of you, I just…I don’t think this is the life for me here. I’m thinking I might go, I mean once the baby is a little older.’
‘But…but you said you had no family, no-one to inform that you’d even survived, so where…?’
Amanda shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Don’t you,’ he began, then paused to clear his throat, ‘like us?’
That brought a fresh onslaught of tears. ‘I think you’re the kindest people I’ve ever known, but you deserve much, much better than me.’
He gazed at her lovely face and shook his head in bewilderment. ‘How can there possibly be anyone better than you?’
She touched his hand then, lightly, and it took his breath.
‘It’s more than possible, Liam,’ she said, tears falling once more. ‘I don’t deserve you all and this isn’t my fate.’
‘But how can you know such a thing?’
She shrugged sadly. ‘It seems to be written in the stars.’
He was confused by that but as she walked away he vowed he would change her mind, even though right now it seemed as if he’d need to reach up and rearrange the sky.
Forty-Three
Melbourne, 22 February 1855
The crowds could be heard through the window bars and Kieran figured they numbered in their thousands as the rebel trials began. The prison patients were restless as they listened, those who were well enough to be aware of what was going on anyway, their only source of information the chatting they could hear among the guards and staff. At least they could all manage that much now that the wailing man had been released.
The Eureka prisoners were charged with high treason and Kieran recognised a few of the names, in particular Raffaello Carboni and Timothy Hayes. Kieran doubted the latter would be found not guilty considering his role overall. Rumour had it Peter Lalor was injured and hiding out, and so far the police had failed to find him and charge him too, which gave Kieran some satisfaction, at least.
The miners had paid a terrible price for their right to exist. Twenty-four of them were dead and now these thirteen charged faced execution, with many more missing or hiding out. The trials would soon show whether anything had been gained from all the bloodshed in the end. It seemed unlikely, yet Kieran liked to dream that justice would prevail and that laws would be changed. That this fractured population from all the ends on earth could find a way to leave foreign oppression behind; to find freedom in this land that held such hope. Such potential.
Sitting behind bars, Kieran knew the truest value of that precious word ‘freedom’ now, understanding at last that it really resided inside. If you were free to just exist, to be happy, to love, then you needed little else. Except physically being able to do that, of course. To be with the people that fulfilled those needs, those who fed your heart until it overflowed with the wondrous stuff. All the choices in life that had directed his fate; all the games he’d played, the adventures he’d undertaken, the risks he’d exposed himself to, were really in search of that internal freedom.
Images flashed through his mind as the crowd outside stirred, moments when he’d grasped it. Galloping under an Irish moon with a stolen horse and a stolen bride, getting beaten up then saved because he’d doffed his cap, rescuing a girl by a river who was in a spot of bother, daring to cast a stone. Riding unarmed on a horse straight into a war. It was all to be free to exist, to be happy and to love, and without Eve he doubted any of the three would be possible because she was more than the woman he loved now. She was, essentially, his freedom.
I am Kieran Clancy…and I’m innocent.
You are my freedom.
I love you.
I do.
And all the while, as Kieran dreamed his dreams, the swell of a greater freedom rumbled in the streets of Melbourne below.
‘Liam!’
He’d never seen such crowds and, as he made his way towards Dave people jostled against him, the atmosphere alive with passionate yelling and animated conversation. Few would be here by accident and, by the looks of things, few would be silent today.
‘How are you, Dave?’ he asked, shaking the miner’s hand. His beard had grown even longer than last time Liam saw him, almost as long as his waistcoat, and Liam remarked on it.
‘Badge of honour, me friend,’ Dave told him. ‘Come on, let’s grab an ale before we go in.’
The pub was busy to the point of overflowing but they managed to get a drink and find some standing room near the door.
‘Do you know many who are on trial?’ Liam said, practically shouting over the din then looking about self-consciously.
‘Aye, a few,’ Dave told him, drinking his beer thirstily. ‘Hayes is the one they’ll be hunting first, I’m reckoning, and that Italian bloke, Raffaello. He’s the one who organised a lot of the Europeans to fight; speaks a ton of languages. Hey, Macca!’ He paused to wave and a lanky, fair-haired man waved back from across the packed room, a few other heavily bearded men with him. ‘There’s a couple of us here but we best lay low.’
‘You’re not thinking they’ll still make more arrests, are you?’
Dave shook his head. ‘You never know but I doubt it. They’re keen to find Lalor though, make no mistake. Did you hear they had to amputate his arm? Woke up in the middle of the operation and told the doctor to have more courage! That’s guts.’
‘Aye,’ Liam said, shocked.
‘Anyway, apparently he’s alright and the Governor’s put four hundred pounds on his head, but no-one’s turned him in.’
‘I’d heard that,’ Liam said, thoughtful now. ‘You don’t suppose…’
Dave shook his head again. ‘I’ve already looked into it. Got it on good authority Kieran’s not with him.’
Liam sighed and nodded, drinking his beer.
‘There’re thousands of people here today,’ Dave reminded him, ‘and I’m betting someone knows something. Let’s see if we can’t talk our way into that courtroom, start at the heart of things like.’
It seemed like the best idea to Liam, to hear every detail of that day from those who witnessed it first-hand, because some tiny clue might come out that could shed light on Kieran’s disappearance, however small.
‘Aye,’ he agreed, ‘let’s hear the entire tale,’ and so they drained their glasses and made their way down to the Victorian Supreme Court.
The crowd was enormous now, filling the heart of town in their thousands, and the noise was deafening as many called out in support of the miners. Some even held placards and Liam read a few: Australians against tyranny, We all deserve the vote, Fighting for freedom isn’t a crime. They came from all walks of life too, with workmen shouting alongside businessmen, well-dressed women next to bearded miners and students clutching satchels, their youthful faces impassioned. Hundreds of them were trying to get through the doors but Dave used pure deviancy and bribed a guard to let them through.
‘No wonder you’re friends with Kieran,’ Liam said and Dave laughed.
‘Come on.’
They sat behind the press and family members, far enough away to be inconspicuous yet close enough to hear the banter up front.
‘Thousands of people trying to get in today, Ebenezer,’ called out one.
‘Aye, I guess they’ll just have to read all about it in the papers,’ came the reply.
Liam knew at once who the two men were: Ebenezer Syme and David Blair, journalists from The Age newspaper that Liam particularly enjoyed reading. They were known to be sympathetic to the rebels’ cause and were a good part of the reason the public were getting behind the miners.
It was a mark of just how serious the case was considered that the Attorney General himself, William Stawell, had been appointed prosecutor. Not only was he against democratic reform, he was a close friend of Governor Hotham and Liam knew he would be doing everything he could to convict the miners and squash the rebellious spirit that was spreading throughout the colony. This trial had moved beyond the diggers now; this was political warfare.
The defence was led by Richard Ireland and, as he spoke to the other lawyers nearby, Liam noted his thick Irish accent matched his name. Ireland was reported to be defending the miners for free, which gained him Liam’s admiration in advance.
The jury took their seats then the thirteen miners were led through and Dave swore under his breath at the state of them. Each and every man was filthy and bruised, their hair and beards matted, and they stood shoulder to shoulder from countries all over the world. Hayes was Irish, as were a few others, and Raffaello was of course Italian, but Liam had read in the papers that there was also an American, a Scotsman, a Dutchman, a Jamaican and a native Australian on trial.
‘All rise for Chief Justice William à Beckett,’ came the call and they stood as one as the judge entered.
Stawell began his opening address then and the seriousness of the case silenced the room. ‘The charge is that you did on the 3rd December, 1854, being then in a warlike manner, traitorously assemble together against our Lady the Queen, and that you did, while so armed and assembled together, levy and make war…’
Looking across at the countenances of the miners Liam could feel their fear. It was terrifying even witnessing thirteen lives on trial.
‘…and attempt by force of arms to destroy the Government constituted there and by law established, and to depose our Lady the Queen from the kingly name and her Imperial Crown.’
The fact that this had become a trial of treason and sedition seemed ludicrous to Liam. None of these men could possibly have been thinking to overthrow the Crown with their few hundred men and poor weaponry, they’d simply wanted to be able to live affordably and in peace without getting beaten up or shot at.
Stawell concluded reading out the charges then called for Timothy Hayes to stand trial first, as most people had expected. He had the most notoriety and, if convicted, the others would surely follow suit.
‘Your Honour, we have a plea of abatement for Mr Hayes,’ Ireland informed him, pausing proceedings. ‘There is an affidavit that states an omitted reference in the charges to my client’s place of abode.’
‘Your Honour, this is just an objection in order to stall,’ Stawell protested.
The judge agreed. ‘Yes, it is insufficient, Mr Ireland.’
Stawell looked pleased but Ireland was unruffled. ‘I am afraid, then, that we cannot proceed with Mr Hayes’s trial as we did not anticipate he would be standing today. We have no witnesses.’
‘But if Your Honour would allow us to delay…’ Stawell blustered.
‘The court will do no such thing. Who’s next?’
There were looks of amusement passing around the press now and Liam was impressed with Ireland’s clever strategy in using a small personal detail to bring about such a big advantage. The defence stood a far better chance in acquitting a less prominent man early, and Liam wondered who the first one would now be. Then one of the prisoners stood up and dared to speak himself. ‘Please, Your Honour, I am Raffaello Carboni and I…’
‘Oh, be quiet!’ the judge said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.
There was general chuckling around the court at the reputedly eloquent and theatrical Carboni being so swiftly shut down.
‘Your Honour,’ Ireland said apologetically, ‘er…we actually ask for abatement for Mr Carboni in that his witnesses are also not available today.’
Stawell ga
ped at that. ‘I just saw one of them outside!’
‘Well, go and call them in,’ the judge said.
The bailiff went and called the names but no-one came forward and Stawell marched about, furious now.
‘Who’s next?’ the judge said again.
Another man’s name was suggested but Ireland informed the court that his counsel was unwell and couldn’t be here today. That was enough to make Stawell so frustrated his wig was beginning to topple but then one of Ireland’s associates suggested another name: John Joseph. The Jamaican.
Convicting an Irish rebel was a far safer bet for Stawell but he was left with little choice now, and so the task began for him to convince the jury that condemning a runaway slave to death for being involved in the stockade was a justifiable thing to do. The man looked particularly vulnerable, standing and holding his hat close against his heart, his eyes huge in his dark face.
The first witness was a soldier, a redcoat, who swore he saw Joseph at the stockade from fifty yards away, firing a shotgun that felled the soldier alongside him. Stawell made a good job of painting Joseph as a murderous rebel but Ireland’s associates soon tore a hole in his testimony.
‘Were there any other coloured men present that day?’ the defence’s lawyer asked.
‘A few.’
‘How many?’
‘I’m not sure…ten maybe.’
‘Well, with other dark-skinned men present, how can you possibly be sure it was this man you saw?’
It was a good ploy to undermine the man’s credibility but the answer unravelled its effectiveness.
‘I arrested him.’
Liam groaned inwardly. Still, this was far from over. The next soldier told the same story but this time the defence lawyers made better work of trapping him.
‘So you’re telling us that you could see a coloured man from fifty yards away in the near-dark? And that, with hundreds of bullets flying about, you can be sure his bullet was the one that hit the man next to you?’
‘Yes.’
There were murmurs in the court and a few people laughed with derision. Better, Liam decided.