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’.27 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the diggers’ request, passed on by Father Smyth and Tom Kennedy at the request of the committee, that ‘the military be withdrawn from the sight of the meeting, as there was no real use for the display, and that many felt irritated at such an open parade of power’.28 Pasley wants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.’29 (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.’30)
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.31
In this way, Pasley reasons,32 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’33 - 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.’34
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.
Upon arrival, Rede - his gold lace shining brightly, the very personification of government authority on these goldfields - strains to keep things under control.
‘Nothing would grieve me more than to have to recourse to violence,’ he tells the diggers. ‘But as long as the license fee is the law it is my duty to maintain it, and I will do so.’35
When the diggers argue, he returns doggedly to his theme: ‘I must do my duty … and do it I will.’36 He asks them to disperse, to return to their diggings and their tents and not to engage in this riotous assembly.
Need he remind the
m, he goes on, that on the reckoning of their own delegation - as they were informed just yesterday - the Lieutenant-Governor himself had told them that if they properly petitioned him they would get their rights! Furthermore, as they know, one of their most public supporters, Mr Fawkner himself, had been selected as ‘one of the number to inquire into the grievances of the goldfields’.37
At this point, three cheers ring out at the mention of Fawkner’s name. But the goodwill does not last for long. When the Commissioner calls - no fewer than three times - for the law-abiding among them to retire and disperse, they do not. Worse, by way of emphasis that they are not backing down, some of the diggers even throw stones at the Commissioner, one large chunk of quartz only narrowly missing his head. (At this point, he could be forgiven for viewing with fond nostalgia the days when they only threw eggs at his head.) The situation is now truly out of hand.
He must take action, and so he does, crying out, ‘My lads, I must read the riot act.’38
‘Read it! Read it!’39 the diggers roar back.
Again, standing in the saddle, Rede now reads out the Riot Act from the large piece of paper he holds in his right hand: ‘Our Sovereign Lady the Queen chargeth and commandeth all persons, being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves, and peaceably to depart to their habitations, or to their lawful business, upon the pains contained in the act made in the first year of King George, for preventing tumults and riotous assemblies. God Save the Queen!’40
At this point, many of the diggers do indeed disperse, knowing that Rede has now set up a legal situation whereby, because there are 12 or more of them gathered in ‘riots and tumults’, he and his men have the right to fire upon them if they don’t follow instructions. But many stand their ground.
As described by digger John Lynch, Rede’s whole license-hunt and reading of the Riot Act ‘was meant for a challenge, and as such was accepted. The gauntlet was thrown down with the recklessness of malice; it was taken up with solemn decision, amidst cheers, every wave of which reverberated defiance’.41
Shocked that so many diggers have indeed picked up the said gauntlet thrown down, Rede plays for time and attempts to ride away from the confrontation. But he is immediately stopped by one enormous digger, who simply stands there, roaring abuse at him. With this, Commissioner Rede can tolerate no more and decides to personally make an example of him.
‘Have you got your license?’
‘No,’ says the bear of a man.
‘Then,’ says Rede, ‘I will arrest you …’42
And Rede would have done exactly that. Alas, as soon as he and the troopers take the man in hand, other diggers rush them and free the recalcitrant digger, running off with him.
‘Very well,’ says Rede, ‘since you have resisted me in the execution of my duty, both as a Commissioner and a Magistrate, if you do not disperse I will clear you off with the military.’43
With great reluctance, Rede sends for armed troops, and he is not long in hearing that the diggers have sent their own runners to alert the Tipperary mob on the Eureka what is happening and relay their need for support. Fortunately for Rede, his own troops arrive first. Captain Thomas, who has also been watching closely, has immediately sent the same infantry of the 40th Regiment under the command of Captain Pasley that had been ready to break up the meeting the day before had it got out of hand.
Again, the sight of these heavily armed men inflames the diggers even more, and now they call out, ‘We will not have drawn swords or fixed bayonets.’ ‘Where is the Governor?’ ‘Send up Sir Charles Hotham.’ ‘We want justice, and we will have it.’44
Upon such cries, Commissioner Rede declares he is determined to check licenses whether anyone likes it or not, which sets the diggers off once more:
‘We haven’t got them; we can’t give them,’ the grubby diggers cry at the familiar figure in the always impeccable blue uniform. ‘We have burnt them.’45
Despite the tall forest of long bayonets glinting in the sunlight above the heads of the massed infantry behind Rede, many of the diggers still stand their ground. Having gone this far, the intoxicating whiff of rebellion momentarily in their nostrils, after whole months of suffering in rough silence, they decide to go still further and unleash another volley of rocks on Rede and his men. In for a penny, in for a pound … To be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb … Let the devil take the hindmost and prudence be damned …
Now, as the mob thickens, rather in the manner of the filthy dust storm that is rolling in with a sudden violence from the north, the cry goes up: ‘To the Camp, boys, to the Camp!’46
To the alarm of Rede and his forces, it really looks as though the diggers are going to storm the Government Camp. Some of the foot soldiers and police instantly fall back to protect it, helped by the fact that soldiers of the 40th and 12th Regiment have now formed up at the bridge, ready to shoot any digger who tries to cross it, in exactly the same manner as the Houses of Parliament had been protected in 1848 from the Chartists who would cross the Thames. However, a new cry rings out: ‘Not to the Camp, boys, not to the Camp. Back to our own ground on Bakery Hill!’47
Confusion reigns supreme with carnage riding shotgun, ready to fire at just one more provocation.
What to do now? There has been a partial dispersion of the mob, giving Commissioner Rede enough time to consult with his commanding officers. Between them, they decide that the important thing now is to do what they came to do: conduct a license-hunt on the Gravel Pits!
Rede, infuriated by this affront to the Crown, by this appalling treatment of his men, stands in his saddle and gives his men instructions. ‘The licenses must be shown. We must apprehend all who have not their licenses.’48
And what do we do, Assistant-Commissioner Johnstone asks, if the diggers show violence to us?
The order from the officer in specific command of the police is clear: ‘If a man raises his hand to strike, or throws a stone, shoot him on the spot.’49
And so it begins.
The sweaty police begin the chase, both on foot and on horseback, and all those diggers who are without licenses - which is the better part of them - race madly for their holes. Safety lies underground, where the infernal soldiers cannot get at them. But not all of the diggers scurry. Some of them are so enraged or emboldened or tired of running away that they continue to throw stones, bottles, chunks of hard clay, pieces of wood and, generally, anything other than nuggets at the troopers. A whole rain of debris pelts down upon the men in uniform, the bottles sometimes exploding in cruel shards, even as the general insurrection spreads.
The universal cry is heard: ‘We will not pay the license. We WILL have our rights!’50
Some of the diggers who had been running stop and join in the furious fracas instead. This is too good an opportunity to miss.
Shouts of anger from troopers now mingle with shouts of anger from the diggers, interspersed with the odd thunk as rock meets skull or body and the increasingly loud neighing of frightened, bucking horses which are sometimes throwing their riders to the ground. The first violent digger caught is put under the guard of two troopers, who are harshly ordered to take him back to the Camp lockup. And if he makes any attempt to escape, ‘blow his brains out’.51
For his part Commissioner Johnstone gives direct orders to his men: ‘In the event of any outbreak the whole of the tents and stores on the flat are to be burnt to the ground.’52
In short order, in a separate movement, the Redcoats form up in a tightly packed line, bayonets fixed, with some mounted troopers in the prow of the attack while the remainder form up on both flanks.
And … forward!
They march ahead in the military formation called ‘line abreast’ - with their skirmishers forward and their bayonets levelled - clearing the Gravel Pits as they go.
Serious and sustained resistance is obviously out of the question. At least for now. Those diggers who are above ground and without a license run every which way, trying to escape. The digg
ers below ground stay there or head off into the tunnels, daring the troopers to try to follow them. It is one thing to have bravely burned their licenses the day before and quite another to face the painful consequences now. Much better to scarper, Arthur.
The troops continue their advance, with Captain Pasley riding tightly behind, back and forth between the several detachments as he keeps them all co-ordinated. ‘I had consequently an opportunity of observing the feeling of those assembled in the neighbourhood,’ he would subsequently report, ‘which did not appear to be very much in our favour.’53
And there is one not in their favour now. Seemingly from out of nowhere, ‘a swarthy ruffian sprang out of the crowd and struck a policeman a ruthless blow across the face with an axe handle, which felled him.’54
The policeman behind brings his musket to his shoulder and fires, missing the miscreant and wounding another digger nearby, which draws another outraged digger from his tent, who fires at the second policeman and … mercifully misses. Bullets fly, stones are hurled. So many, from so many angles and places, it is impossible to determine just who has done what. But the result is the same - shouts of anger and pain fill the air from both sides.
Amid all of the chaos, Commissioner Rede at one point recognises the figure of John Basson Humffray, and shouts at him, ‘See now the consequences of your agitation!’
Humffray, however, is equal to the occasion and replies with dignity, ‘No, but see the consequences of impolitic coercion.’55
The madness goes on.
Those few diggers who have not only paid for their licenses but still have them on their person, present them to whichever soldiers ask. Most of the soldiers’ attention, however, is focused on the openly rebellious diggers. When one digger without a license decides to make a run for it, instead of pursuing him on foot or horseback, the soldiers are given the clear order: ‘Fire on him … shoot him down.’56
Eureka: The Unfinished Revolution Page 39
