Mr Woolman thinks that maybe one day Uncle could go to Sydney and establish his own shop—an emporium, he calls it—just like the stores here on the Flat, but bigger and with more customers. ‘You could also bring in all the things that Chinamen like. I reckon there would be plenty of white folks that would buy it, too. I would, you can bet your gold mine on that one! I’d much rather wear a Chinaman’s jacket than this old scratchy shirt. I just love that silk!’
Now that would be grand.
Tuesday, June 11
I could not sleep last night. I was filled with excitement and with dreams of the city. And now I am writing my dream, for I fear it may never be and I would like to remember it.
I dreamt of Uncle in his shop in Chinatown, in Sydney. It had firecrackers and books. There was an altar to the ancestors, where we placed fresh fruit from Mr Fung’s vegetable store, and we burned incense too. Uncle’s emporium had all the papers and inks needed for writing Chinese letters and messages. At New Year’s time there were Chinese people from all over the city, and even from here in the Flats and other goldfields, coming to Uncle’s store to have their messages written on the red paper. And I was writing messages for people and Uncle was very happy with me. Uncle spent much of his time consulting the Almanac for the people—Big-Noses and Chinese—who wanted to find the most auspicious dates for their tasks.
I dreamt that I would go down to the wharf in Sydney town and meet a new ship from China filled with silks and furnishings. I would put these on display in our emporium. Uncle and I would have people from all over coming to our store.
I dreamt that my Mama came from China with my fourth brother and first and second sisters to stay in Sydney. I had earned enough gold and money to bring them to New Gold Mountain. They were very pleased to see that I was successful. And at the back of the store, we planted a Tree of Heaven for Baba. His family is here, so here he should rest. This was a good thing.
It was only a dream. I asked Uncle about dreams and told him about mine. ‘Dreams are good,’ Uncle told me, ‘but remember that the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.’
Wednesday, June 12
Today Uncle has given me a smaller copy of the Almanac and has told me to start copying it, character for character. Is this punishment for dreaming?
I also did gardening with Mr Fung again, and preparing the meal, and washing the dishes, and cleaning the tent.
Thursday, June 13
I will ask Mr Woolman to tell me more about the city and the Chinamen in the Americas. I wonder what other things they do there. It would be so good to know what we can do.
Saturday, June 15
Mr Woolman was here again tonight, talking to Uncle and me. He says that there is very little happening in the town on Saturday nights now that many Big-Noses and storemen have left. Tonight he played fan-tan with Uncle, but not for gold. And I was so surprised—Mr Woolman won! Mr Woolman beat Uncle at a Chinaman’s game.
He still is talking to Uncle, but I have been told to leave them to talk alone. I would like to hear what they are saying, but I fear that I will be greatly reprimanded if Uncle discovers me listening to their conversation.
After listening to Mr Woolman again, I now want to go to Sydney Town even more, or maybe to the Americas. The Chinaman there does not seem to have the problems that we have had, even if now we are much more at ease. But I am still worried about the trouble that could happen, especially since the military have left. I wish more Big-Noses were like Mr Woolman … but I do not think that they are. I have to leave the Gully.
Sunday, June 16
Last night I did not write down some of the things that Mr Woolman told us, so I will do so now.
I asked Mr Woolman what the miners in the town do at night. I knew a little from writing the letters for the miners, but it was better hearing it from Mr Woolman. I think that when I was writing for some Big-Noses they were not telling about these happenings. He told me that some nights in the Flat, although not so much now because many have moved on, they had entertainers and sideshows, and a boxing circus (‘displays of pugilism’, Mr Woolman called it). Uncle says that boxing is a barbaric activity, not a sport or entertainment. Drinking still goes on in town, but there is not as much happening of that either now. Mr Woolman said that there are fewer fights, too, although I do wonder how he knows, because he is with us most evenings.
But I was really interested in what he told us about Sydney Town, the harbour and the stores, the stone houses, and even the Chinese quarter where all the Chinamen gather. The Societies are there too, and they are very important. Mr Woolman even knows of a Chinese temple in the city—a real temple, not like our temple made from tent material. This one is made of stone and tiles. It is coloured red, and has statues and writings and creatures guarding the doorway. There are altars, priests who read the fortune sticks and incense so strong that you can smell your way there. That sounds just like the temples back in China.
Wednesday, June 19
I am furious with Chin Yee. He is not Boss anymore—just Chin Yee. He left camp today. He did tell me, so he did not break his promise. He even asked me if I would like to go too, but it was so fast and I could not decide right away. He should have told me that he was going in one day or one week—then I could make the right decision. I could pray to the ancestors and the gods for the knowledge to make the correct decision. But he cannot ask me if I would like to leave with him and then leave within the hour. I am furious with him, and with Uncle. It is his fault, I think. He wants me to stay with him, to remain trapped in this land.
I don’t know whether I would go back to China, not with Baba still here. But sometimes I think that I can—the family would not be very shamed if I returned, I think. I am still a boy. But it would not be what Baba would want me to do. He would want me to earn the gold that he and Third Uncle would have earned, and then return to the village to share the wealth. I wish that the gods would help me to decide.
Chin Yee has earned much gold and is going back to China, so the men who were working for him are now free to dig gold for themselves. But now they have a difficult decision to make: Do they leave the Flat, and the Chinese men they know? Or do they try their luck on other goldfields with men who they do not know? They could have to go through all the fighting and the hating that we have gone through if they went to some new field—especially if there are not many Chinese there to support them.
Thursday, June 20
I am still annoyed with Chin Yee for leaving. At least he could have waited for me to write a letter for my family. I would have then sent them the gold that I have already earned. Even Uncle said that he wasn’t sure when Chin Yee would leave. He knew it would be soon, but not yesterday. Not when he was still earning so much gold with his team.
Fu Hin is very pleased that he has gone. He has taken over the claim and has already found some gold flakes, but he cannot keep them. He already owes much from his fan-tan losses. Uncle says that some men are unable to control their habits and will never learn when to stop gambling. They will never leave New Gold Mountain. It is strange to think that Fu Hin has paid his debt to his sponsor in China but that now he has another debt to pay. I wonder if he will ever mine for gold that he can keep.
There is not as much letter-writing for me to do anymore. There are not as many Big-Noses coming to our camp for letters or to visit Mr Fung for his vegetables. Every day it seems that one or two more Big-Noses leave the Flat. They will probably go to other diggings or back to their families in the cities. I think many of them came here with gold in their eyes but have left with only tears and dirt.
When I leave, I will not be ashamed and I will have gold.
Friday, June 21
Mr Woolman brought some of his food over to our camp for us to eat tonight. He cooked it himself. Tonight I ate mutton. It has a strange taste that I do not like, but out of respect for Uncle and for Mr Woolman, I ate my portion. I prefer the way Uncle prepares the meat.
&nb
sp; Mr Woolman has heard from the Big-Noses that many new Chinese have landed in Sydney. There are rumours, he says, that they are going to walk here to the Flat to join us, or maybe go to other goldfields. And that news, Mr Woolman says, has not been well received by the Big-Noses in town. He told Uncle that he does not think there will be any trouble. The miners were just talking, and most of it was ‘through the bottom of the glass’. Still, Uncle was concerned and has told me not to wander away from the camp. I could tell from the tone of his voice that he meant it, so once again there will be no more wandering for me without other Chinese. No more roaming, looking for empty mines and watching the bush. Maybe my feelings were right. Maybe the unease that I felt with the departure of the military was not my imagination. I must make sure that all my important items are tightly in the satchel.
Saturday, June 22
I waited by the pathway, hoping to meet Mr Woolman before he came to our camp. He didn’t come. This is very unusual because he has been for our evening meal nearly every night this week. I want to ask him so much more about the city, what else happens, what do the people do, what do his boys and girls do, does he know where the Chinese are in Sydney (he told me they are there, but not where they are) and especially how to get there. But my biggest question has two parts: Is he going to Sydney soon? And, will he take me? He could take me there, I know, but he would not do so without Uncle’s permission. Of this I am sure. Maybe he could convince Uncle that it would be best for him to come as well. He has said already that Uncle would do very well in Sydney. It would be so good to go to the city.
Monday, June 24
Maybe the rumours that Mr Woolman heard are just rumours. And maybe my fear of once again being attacked is not right. Some of the men decided to walk from our Gully around the Flat and into town, and said that all seemed peaceful. They were not troubled in any way; the miners were all mining and the stores were selling their wares, and every person, both Chinese and Big-Nose, seemed to be happy with what they were doing. They did get a few bold looks, but nothing more than we are now used to. There has been no trouble now for several moons.
I am writing all the letters for Uncle and some of Mr Henley’s too. He still is writing the government letters and petitions. He also visits other areas too, so sometimes he is not here at all. Maybe they both want to do less letter-writing altogether. But even letter-writing does not occupy all my time like it would have done a few moons ago. Now that I am more proficient at writing English words, I could do this in Sydney. I am sure that Mr Woolman would think so. But not Uncle. He says we are not going to Sydney, that we don’t belong there. To go there, I would have to leave Uncle secretly, and I don’t know if I could do that. It is not the respectful way of behaving. I must have permission to leave, and Uncle won’t give me permission to go.
Tuesday, June 25
The town does not make noise like it used to. There is still some cheering and music in the stores (and digging in the mines), but there are not as many people around. A few moons ago, some stores would have men and women standing out the front, teasing the Chinese to come inside, but today these same stores are not as busy (and even more have closed since my last walk here with Chin Yee).
We realised this when Uncle and I and some other men went for supplies. After Mr Woolman’s warning, we are once again wary visiting the main street.
I suggested to Uncle that we visit Mr Woolman at his mine, but Uncle said that we are to buy supplies and then leave—nothing more. It would not have been a long way from our path, but Uncle was adamant that we could not. He does not want to cause trouble for Mr Woolman or for us. Better not to tempt the snake in the grass, he said. Everywhere we walked, he looked around carefully.
Wednesday, June 26
I cannot dismiss from my mind the thought of going to live in Sydney. All last night I was thinking of being there. Today, while I was gardening with Mr Fung, I suggested that he could go to Sydney and establish his own market garden.
‘Just think of all the people that would be able to eat your freshest of vegetables,’ I said. ‘All the Chinese people would come, and some of the Big-Noses too. You could have more space and not be worried about your gardens being destroyed. You could even have people working for you.’
‘This has been thought of, Shu Cheong. I have Second Brother coming from China soon. He is even better than me at growing the vegetables. We could work together.’
‘And you could have me work with you, too. I would be able to do this all the time for you,’ I said, as I slopped another ladle of water onto the vegetables and onto my pants. I shall regret this lack of concentration later, but I wanted him to take me too.
‘Ah, but what would Uncle say? You are his responsibility. The Society has deemed it so. He would not easily let you go with another,’ Mr Fung said.
I said that Uncle would surely let me go with Mr Fung, for he knows that I work hard for him and that he needs me. (I hope that if Mr Fung’s second brother does come then he will still need me.)
‘That is so. That is so, Shu Cheong,’ he replied, stroking his long wispy beard, ‘That is so. We will see what eventuates. If the gods smile on us, then it may be so. Now, stop spilling the water onto your pants and pour it on the plants. Your trousers are not going to grow, even if you are.’
After that, I started asking Mr Fung questions about ways of plant propagation, the best way of storing seeds, other plants that could grow, wanting to show that I am really interested in market gardening. I have planted the seed in Mr Fung’s mind, and hopefully his plans will now include taking me. Now only Uncle remains to convince.
Thursday, June 27
I have a quiet afternoon, so (because I am not permitted to roam the Gully) I am writing now. I am making extra effort to make sure that all my tasks are done to perfection and with speed. I want to leave this place, and this will only occur if I can go with another Chinaman whom Uncle trusts, like Mr Fung.
Mr Woolman, where is he? Neither Uncle nor Mr Fung knows, or if they do they are not saying. Uncle did talk to him without me there when we ate our last meal together. Maybe Mr Woolman wanted me to go to Sydney with him. Maybe that was his plan and Uncle refused—but had this been so, I am sure that Mr Woolman would have told me. I do not believe he has left without telling me.
It is now evening and I know that Mr Woolman has definitely left the Flat. One of the diggers who came for a letter told me, but he has no knowledge of where Mr Woolman has gone. His tent was removed, as were all his tools.
Friday, June 28
When I get to Sydney, I will find Mr Woolman and ask him why he left without telling me. I have his address memorised in my head from the letters that I wrote for him to his family.
Saturday, June 29
It is a very strange night. Usually we can hear some noise from the miners in their camps or in the town on a Saturday night, when they drink too much and they stay up late. But tonight the loudest noise is coming from our tents where there is fan-tan in progress, and from an animal that came and rustled through the food that was thrown out after the evening meal. The night air seems much different tonight.
I don’t think that it is very good when the unusual is happening.
Tuesday, July 2
I do not want to write anymore—not now, not ever. I wish I was still back in my village in China and we had never heard of New Gold Mountain. I wish that I had never travelled here with Baba. I wish I had never started this diary, but Uncle is making me write. He says that he is not leaving this shelter until he knows that I am writing down all of what I have seen and what I have been told. He says that of all the words I have written, these are the most important, and so now—for Uncle—I will write in this book. His heart is hurting—this I know, for I can see it in his teary eyes and in the sudden slowness of his ways. Right now Uncle is sitting in the corner of this tent that we are in. We are the lucky Chinese. Some have been squatting beneath trees trying to shelter from the cold rain. Uncle is watching
me write.
It was close to the middle of the day, (on Sunday) when I first heard it.
I could hear a brass band playing, faintly at first, and mixed with the sounds around our Gully: the Chinese miners talking (and yelling), the mining sounds, and the trees and bushes rustling in the wind. But gradually the sound of the band increased, and I knew they were coming towards us. Uncle and many miners heard the playing too. We know what the sounds of the miners marching is like: pumping notes being forced out of the instruments (not flowing out like a real musician makes), drumming and thumping sticks beating the march, and cheering and calling and yelling. They were not marching to sing, like they did when they had their race day or their parties or their religious meetings. They were marching to destroy.
Some Chinese miners, because they had arrived since the last attack, or did not remember, did not recognise this sound of warning and they resumed their activities.
Uncle rushed from the tent where he was preparing another reading and called me. He was yelling to run, ‘Fie dee lah, fie dee lah.’ I heard the fear in his voice and then I realised that the music was the sound of hate. He grabbed my arm at the same time as I grabbed my satchel. Uncle was right to tell me always to have this packed with my treasured possessions.
New Gold Mountain Page 13
