Eureka: The Unfinished Revolution

by Peter Fitzsimons

  For have you heard?

  Once again, they say that the whole of the Melbourne Road is swarming with Redcoats. Hundreds of them, coming this way. The word spreads. The situation is changing. An attack really might be imminent. The response is not one of panic - certainly not from Vern, who tells anyone who will listen to just let the Redcoats attack - he and his riflemen, the very ones who are still expected any time, will make short work of them. But certainly many a man does become anxious.

  In the face of such rumours, Carboni leaves the Stockade to see for himself the state of the Melbourne Road, and he does indeed sight a mass of 200 Redcoats stationed at Black Hill, under arms and clearly spoiling for some kind of action. Worse, he hears that they are intent on massacring the lot of them! (In truth, it later came out that the Redcoats marching up from Melbourne had indeed been overheard while camping at Ballan, making jokes about ‘ripping’63 the rebels on the points of their bayonets and how they would shoot even their own brothers should they find them amongst the ‘revolters’.)64

  Of course, Carboni must get this information to Lalor as quickly as possible, but therein lies a real problem. With the arrival of the Californians, the Council room has been placed under the strict security imposed by Captain McGill - for fear of spies, which would be the worst possible thing. Since the Italian does not know the password that has been instituted that afternoon, they won’t let him in. And no, the newly installed Californian sentries have no idea who Captain Raffaello Carboni is and don’t care to discuss it. Move on.

  It is in vain for the aggrieved Italian to protesta that - Madonna! - he is part of this Council. The Americans, as Americans are wont to do, refuse to bend, insisting that the formula is simple: no password = no access.

  Move on, fella.

  He moves on.

  And yet even in the short time he has been away it is obvious that the word of the approaching Redcoats has spread and unleashed a kind of manic energy about the place - the first wisps of wind from the coming storm, causing men to charge to and fro, back and forth, getting ready for come-what-may. All round and about, the Stockade old-fellows, with the weather-beaten visages and squinty eyes of men who have lived long in a land of glaring sun, are carrying guns and boxes of ammunition, canisters of gunpowder and bags of shot. Others are doing what they can to strengthen the Stockade against any full-on charges that might be coming.

  Look there, for example, as a sly-grog seller with no less than a small keg of brandy hanging around his neck is moving among the diggers, offering them a nobbler in return for just a few coins. Many diggers are availing themselves of it, some knocking it back like water. Appalled, Lalor gives an order to kick the sly-grog seller out - the last thing they need in this situation is drunkenness.

  And now two diggers on horseback are seen crossing the gully that, crisscrossed by small streams, lies below.

  At one glance, Secretary of War Alfred Black decides the opportunity is too good to miss to purloin the steeds for the war effort and immediately orders Raffaello Carboni to take some men and confiscate the horses. In the urgency of the moment, the mood abroad to simply take whatever is needed in the name of the uprising is strengthening.

  But Carboni is appalled. While it is one thing to take munitions and the like from the government, it is quite something else again to take from fellow diggers, and he has no hesitation in telling this upstart Black - who to this point has not even been in the Stockade, let alone the committee room - exactly that.

  ‘I won’t do the bushranger yet,’ says he, flatly refusing.65

  Others from within the Stockade are not so reluctant, however, and in short order men entirely unknown to Carboni rush upon the horsemen, draw their revolvers and order them to bring their fine steeds within the Stockade. The Italian is even more appalled, and there are other things amiss.

  When Carboni spies Vern shortly afterwards and asks, ‘Wie lautet das Passwort?‘ - ‘What is the password?’ - Vern is quick with his accented reply: ‘Winegar Hill.’66

  ‘Ne,’ Carboni says to himself, appalled. ‘Nein … eine solch’ eklige Wirtschaft hab’ ich noch nie geseh’n.’ 67 No … I have never seen such a disgusting thing before.

  Such a password is madness. This has been an uprising of diggers from all nations, united in their desire for justice. Yes, about a third of those diggers are Irish, but it has not been an Irish uprising, so why - nome di Dio, in the name of God - have a password that recalls the most famous Irish uprisings in both Ireland and Australia? No matter that the Australian uprising had been crushed like the previous battle of Vinegar Hill in Ireland 56 years before that … Among the Irish it is still revered, the first time the people of their race had truly asserted themselves in this new land. Yes, Lalor and other Irish might find it inspiring, but for the men of other nationalities it is exclusionary. And Carboni is not the only one who feels it.

  In the words of Lalor’s friend, William Craig, who would write his own account of the reaction of the non-Irish rebels, ‘They concluded that Lalor’s object was more to strike a blow for Ireland than at official despotism …

  ‘Bendigo, Forrest Creek, and Creswick contributed contingents to assist in the struggle. From the latter place alone a thousand men were on the march to Ballarat; but when the news circulated that Irish independence had crept into the movement, almost all turned back.’68

  Even allowing for a likely exaggeration here - the figure is probably closer to 500 - there is no doubt that the Stockade is denied many strong-armed men because of the feeling that the Irish have taken over.

  While it is one thing to be ready to die for a cause, it needs to be our cause. Die for an Irish cause, under Irish leadership? Nein, non and be damned, sir! The lower the sun falls, the more the ranks within the Stockade thin.

  What Carboni most needs right now is a stiff nobbler, and he heads off to the Prince Albert Hotel, near Bakery Hill, to meet up with a couple of friends. When he arrives he is appalled at the looting that has gone on, as roaming gangs of diggers have claimed the authorisation of the ‘Council of War’69 for taking what they like from the stores and fearfully beating all storekeepers brave enough to resist. It is a drink he certainly needs.

  Late-afternoon, 2 December 1854, Commissioner’s outpost on the Eureka, Assistant Amos amiss

  It is an outrage. One moment the distinguished graduate of the Royal Military College of Sandhurst, Assistant-Commissioner Gilbert Amos, is attending to paperwork in his large tent, and the next he looks up through the flaps to see 100 rebel diggers storming his camp. Their leader is a startlingly good-looking, well-armed man who introduces himself as Captain Ross - indeed, the most unlikely looking brigand Amos has ever seen - who explains in his rather fetching Canadian accent that they have come for his fine horse. And while they’re at it, they decide to take his two double-barrelled pistols, his dray, his dignity and his good self as prisoner. Many of the rebels are menacing as they even cock and uncock their pistols in Amos’s face - he is terrified that one of them might go off by mistake - and though Captain Ross manages to keep them in check, it is not as if the Canadian wants him to go free.

  In fact, Captain Ross decides to lead Commissioner Amos back to the Stockade. As he is led away, Amos must suffer the humiliation of a man who in his august person represents the authority of Her Majesty the Queen - the QUEEN! the Queen … the Queen … - his silver braid shining in the sun, no match for Ross’s musket at his back. He is taken right to the portals of the Stockade, where the Captain and his men are greeted with shouts of joy by the rebels when they arrive with the horse and new supplies.

  Commissioner Amos is staggered to see, up close, just how formidable a defence the barricades of the Stockade present. He realises, for the first time, what the Redcoats will be up against if they try to storm it.70

  And other things worry him. As an afternoon drizzle begins - it looks very much like a big storm is on its way - almost as one, the insurgents ‘secure arms’, protecting the firel
ocks of their guns from getting wet with their hands, sleeves and hats. Amos is amazed. As a man who has spent some years in the army as an officer, he knows this manoeuvre to keep gunpowder dry is one that drill sergeants do not typically teach new recruits. Whoever these particular men are, they are not without experience. There is something about the calm, controlled manner in which they perform this act that bespeaks a real military force, not just the mob of ruffians he imagined them to be.

  Amos is about to be ushered through the portals proper of the Stockade, swallowed whole, when a man who is not a mere ‘Captain’ but is referred to by the others as ‘Colonel’ - and is, in fact, the just-arrived James McGill - stops them and says to Captain Ross, ‘We do not wish to have any prisoners.’71

  And with that, Amos, whom the diggers like and respect as an honest man, especially after he gave evidence in defence of McIntyre - is set free and soon reporting the whole affair to his outraged superior, Commissioner Rede.

  But let’s all gather in now, for McGill has been busily working out the strengths and weaknesses of the Stockade, and he is ready to institute some changes. From now on, the ‘night-watch patriots’,72 those on duty as night sentries, need to be properly organised to ensure that they are there around the clock and positioned so that all angles of approach are covered. And they must be on the lookout for spies.

  After consultation with Lalor, McGill also has Secretary of War Alfred Black draw up a ‘general order for the night’,73 which is read out to the diggers. Part of this order is for McGill and Nelson to take their men out once more onto the Melbourne Road, well after dark, and then ‘march to intercept reinforcements’74 to see if they can stop the troops that are now known to be on their way. Apparently, the Lieutenant-Governor himself, Sir Charles Hotham, is commanding them, and they are bringing artillery!

  As the sun sets on this long, exhausting day, there is no sudden flurry of cheery lanterns and fires to illuminate the Ballarat night - orders have been put up earlier banning such lights. All is quiet. From the Government Camp, the troopers are seen bringing long lines of troop horses down to the watering place on Yarrowee Creek, where they can have their thirsty fill in the cool of the evening. (The general cessation of business in Ballarat has even affected the Camp’s own delivery of water and other much needed supplies.)

  At this time, Commissioner Rede is in his relatively well-appointed private quarters right in the heart of the Government Camp - in one of the buildings that actually has solid walls - writing a letter to the Chief Commissioner of the Goldfields, where he makes clear that he is under no illusions as to just what is at stake:

  I am convinced that the future of this Colony depends on the crushing of this movement in such a manner that it may act as a warning … I should be sorry to see them return to their work … We may be able to crush the democratic agitation at one blow, which can only be done if we find them with arms in their hands and acting in direct opposition to the laws.75

  It is for this reason that Rede now convenes his own, very intimate ‘Council of War’, consisting of himself, Captain Thomas and Captain Pasley, together with Assistant-Commissioner Gilbert Amos, since the latter knows the district in which the Stockade is situated very well and has seen up close the Stockade itself, albeit only from the outside. The meeting is held in strictest secrecy, because in Rede’s view they have ‘every reason to suppose the enemy had spies’76 in the Camp, and their voices remain hushed as they review what they know of the situation. Of greatest and most immediate concern is the fact that the rebels have, according to Thomas, the ‘avowed intention of intercepting the force under the Major General’s command en route from Melbourne’.77

  The diggers have no more fear, no respect whatsoever for authority.

  With the meeting of the Reform League due to be held on the morrow at 2 pm, with well over 10,000 disaffected diggers expected to turn up, anything might happen. If the diggers are brazen enough to raid Assistant-Commissioner Amos’s camp, take him prisoner and take his horse, then they are surely brazen enough to do anything. If those 10,000 men and more decided to storm, en masse, the Camp, there would be nothing that could stop them. Even failing that, if the Ballarat Reform League falls fully into the hands of those who have raised the rebel army beneath the Southern Cross, the whole thing could turn into the very revolution the authorities fear, one that could sweep the entire colony.

  Captain Thomas has been receiving reports for most of the day and all of them are troubling. ‘Complaints were coming in from all directions stating that the stores were being stuck up - that people were afraid for their lives - that men were being pressed into a stockade and armed against their inclination.’78 He also knows that a significant number of armed American diggers has just arrived.

  And Rede is equally troubled. As he would subsequently report, they concluded that, ‘To put an end to this state of anarchy and confusion it would be absolutely necessary to turn the rebels, or rioters, or whatever you call them, out of the stockade, and that the stockade must be pulled down, and we were determined to use all means in our power to that end.’79

  But when?

  According to intelligence, with the setting of the sun on this hot Saturday, the diggers are apparently beginning to relax, convinced that nothing would ever happen on tomorrow’s Sabbath. Many of them are either starting to return to their own tents outside the Stockade to be more comfortable or marauding out on the fields. However, Captain Thomas, as he would later report, does ‘not consider it prudent to attack them [at this time], as they were not collected in any one spot; and the safety of the Camp would have been risked had a large portion of the force been withdrawn’.80

  What better time to strike? Surely, it must be ‘at dawn the following morning’81 when, crucially, the heavily armed Americans are expected to be absent once again, attempting to intercept the military force marching north from Melbourne.

  Yes, moving into position at night would be difficult, but attacking at dawn on Sunday would be when the diggers least expect it, when their forces would be depleted and yet most of the ringleaders and their hard-core followers would be in the one place at the one time, relatively unprotected by a mass of armed men.

  So the troops have to move - tonight! With that decided, it is Captain Thomas who takes the lead. He is, after all, the only true military man with experience.

  The first thing he insists on is that the men from the Camp do not move against the Stockade via the Melbourne Road - even though that would be far and away the easiest approach. No, just as they are moving against the rebels at the least expected time, so too must they appear from the least expected direction.

  The War Council goes over endless details and even when completed the plan is kept secret amongst the four of them, until the moment for action shall arrive.

  Late Saturday evening, 2 December 1854, Ballarat, anarchy abounds

  There is madness in the air. A high, frenetic energy all over, with men rushing hither and thither, shots ringing out, yells, imprecations. For out and about on the diggings an ugly mood is abroad. Yes, those within the Stockade have embraced the prospect of challenging the law for the higher virtue of justice, but there are many others who love lawlessness for its own sake, as it allows their baser instincts full rein.

  Late Saturday evening, 2 December 1854, on the Eureka, on the grog

  Again the word is passed that the government troops from Melbourne are on their way, and again it is the judgement of the Committee for the Defence that the best thing is for McGill and Nelson to take about 200 of the best-armed insurgents - most on foot and some on horseback - and position themselves four miles away at Warrenheip, so as to ambush them.

  In the meantime, pickets have been posted at a distance from the Stockade to ensure that those inside will receive plenty of warning should any attack emerge. On this night the job falls to the Nicholls brothers, Henry and Charles, to check on several of them. It is not easy. In fact, the pickets are not at their app
ointed positions and instead are found in a sly-grog tent, according to Henry, ‘playing cribbage and drinking, and, apparently, in the best of humours with themselves’.82

  Both brothers remonstrate with the pickets heavily, persuading them to return to their posts, but once the nightwatchmen are gone they can’t help but notice the ‘young lady, decidedly good-looking who presided over the grog’, and decide to stay for a few drinks themselves. Indeed, there is a good deal of drinking going on this night, both inside and outside the Stockade.

  By the time the two brothers return to the Stockade, it is nearing midnight on this unseasonably freezing night. They find two enormous Irishmen with gigantic pikes taking great pleasure guarding the place of exit, while of the 120 or so men who are present within the Stockade, those few who are awake are gathered closely to a large fire, trying to warm themselves in the chill night air.

  Nearing midnight, 2 December, inside the Stockade, Carboni is on a mission

  Appalled by the widespread looting that is going on all over the diggings, Carboni heads back to the Stockade in the hope of telling Lalor that something must be done.

  ‘Vinegar Hill’, the Italian says to the American sentries, the very words grating once more, and he is soon inside the Stockade. It is just before midnight and, here at least, all is relatively quiet.

  And there is Thonen. Speaking in German, he briefly tells Carboni the situation. The ranks inside the Stockade have dwindled rapidly, and what is left is little more than a skeleton force of what had been there in the afternoon.

  But to the point.

  ‘Kann ich Lalor sehen? - Can I see Lalor?’83 Carboni asks.

  ‘Nein,’ Thonen says flatly.

  Lalor is severely exhausted and snatching a couple of hours sleep for fear of dropping. He cannot be woken until the morrow. He will need all his strength for whatever that day will bring, including the important meeting at the Adelphi.