Stranger in Dixie

by James Fearn

  The difficulties of life on the goldfields sometimes came in the most unexpected forms. The lack of some of the necessities of life such as toiletries was to be expected by those who chose to live so far from civilisation. But it was the unexpected trials that tested not only the pioneers’ capacity to adapt, but also their resolve to keep going.

  And what a trial this one turned out to be? When the first one appeared, Anna thought that the little creature was part of the local fauna that had seemed so quaint when they first arrived at the diggings. When she discovered, however, that they were English mice that had come uninvited on the migrant ships her ardour cooled dramatically.

  At first, they were no more of a problem than she had known in their little house in Sheffield. But when they started to swarm she began to worry. Within two weeks, the rodents were everywhere—in boxes, in shoes, in pockets, and under blankets.

  They destroyed everything that was edible. One digger lost the only book in his library—a copy of the recently published novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. The mice shredded it to make a nest. At night, they annoyed the diggers who were trying to sleep by running over their hands and faces. Those few prospectors who owned cats were the only ones to escape, at least for a while. Eventually, even they were so full of mice that when more waves of the vermin overran the tents the cats just lay there exhausted.

  When walking outside Anna had to be careful not to step on mice. If she lifted a piece of wood the whole woodpile was suddenly alive with the little creatures scurrying hither and thither in a frenzied search for food. Reaching the end of her tether, Anna made a special trip to the store to buy some traps, but was too late. Every mousetrap in Forest Creek was already in action, but even these were no match for the millions of mice that swarmed over the small community.

  Several months passed before the mouse plague abated, and the community of Forest Creek returned to normality. John and Anna had become a well-known couple in the district in a relatively short period of time. They attended all of the organised entertainments as well as the political rallies and tried to set a good example with their observance of the Lord’s Day. Sunday observance was, in fact, one of the conditions of the issue of a gold license. As was to be expected, few of the miners attended church, and Sunday was used principally as a day for housekeeping.

  Most of the churches on the goldfields, like the banks and stores were tents. Services were often conducted in very discouraging circumstances. For example, there was the time when a Bendigo vicar visited Forest Creek to conduct a service in the Episcopalian tent. Prior to worship, he had marched up and down the rows of tents, bell in hand urging the diggers to come to God’s house. The result of his effort was to draw a congregation of three, including one digger who was still suffering from an over-indulgence of the spirit on Saturday night and who snored intermittently throughout the sermon.

  On one particular Sunday, however, John and Anna made their way to the store where a noted preacher from Melbourne was advertised as holding an outdoor service at 11.00 a.m. When they arrived, a crowd of thirty or so had gathered, some standing, some seated on logs in front of a large bifurcated tree, which had grown in such a way as to provide a natural pulpit between the two trunks. The preacher, dressed in black with a white dog collar and carrying a large black Bible in his right hand began to pray. A respectful hush fell over the congregation broken only by the occasional call of a magpie. At the conclusion of the prayer, the people made themselves comfortable in readiness for the sermon.

  ‘My text today comes from the book of Titus, chapter three, verse one.’

  Put them in mind to be submissive to rulers and authorities.

  ‘My dear brethren’, the preacher began, ‘The scripture speaks directly to us all of the importance of obedience to the law of the land and of giving due authority to those whom God in his wisdom has decreed shall rule over us.’

  ‘As we travel through life, there are two possible courses that confront every man. We may graciously accept what the Lord knows is best for us. Or we may resolve to fight, to agitate, and to revolt against properly constituted God-ordained authority,’ he added. ‘Constantly, we want to assert ourselves and to say that what we have has been won by our own hard work and effort, and therefore, we have rights.’

  Holding his Bible high above his head, the preacher cried, ‘But the Lord has said, “Be submissive to those in authority! Obey the law of the land without question!”‘ There was a murmur amongst the congregation. He went on. ‘There are those in our midst, brethren, who are urging you to rebel against the law and not to pay your legitimate license fees. Take care, lest you be led into sin, putting yourselves at risk of punishment on Judgement Day. Listen, these are not my words. These are the words of the Lord,’ he cried with conviction.

  John had listened carefully whilst the preacher, whom he could see was little more than a stooge of the government, railed on the men, pointing out that eternal damnation awaits unrepentant sinners. Finally, John could stand it no longer. Rushing forward he leapt up into the tree and stood in front of the preacher.

  ‘I’ve listened to this parson for half an hour.’ He spoke with conviction and authority. ‘I can listen no longer!’ John’s resonant voice commanded the attention of all in earshot. The displaced preacher stood open-mouthed in astonishment.

  ‘The reverend gentleman tells us only half the truth,’ he cried. ‘Let me give you another scripture.’ He opened the Bible, which had been given to him years ago in the Methodist Chapel in Yorkshire. ‘Let me tell you what St. Paul had to say to the bosses of this world.

  Masters, treat your slaves justly and fairly, knowing that you also have a master in heaven.’

  John snapped his Bible close. ‘We diggers don’t mind paying a fair tax for our right to mine gold, but most of us won’t even earn enough to pay the fee let alone feed and clothe our families.’

  A roar of support for John’s words rang out. It was not his intention to disrupt a service of worship and prayer, but like it or not John had turned it into a political rally. He had realised for the first time that God’s Words to his people had very significant implications—that politics and Christianity cannot be separated.

  But perhaps John’s finest speech was made before a great assembly of about three thousand miners who had gathered to hear speakers from the Red Ribbon League one evening in Bendigo. Tensions had been running so high that many miners in the nearby gold digging communities had come, most wearing a red ribbon as a hat band or a lapel badge. One business woman was selling them at six pence each at a little stall she had set up on the side of the track leading into Bendigo. A makeshift platform illuminated by one hundred kerosene lamps supported the speakers in full view of the assembly.

  John now held office as assistant secretary of the Red Ribbon League and was gaining a reputation for his oratory on the goldfields. His was the first speech of the evening.

  ‘Men and women of the goldfields!’. A mighty cheer greeted his opening words, giving John a great feeling of confidence that he had never felt before. ‘Raise your hand if you were born in England!’ he said at the top of his voice. About half of the crowd responded with a shout of national pride. ‘And who of you are Welsh? How many Scots are here? Irish? The roars grew louder with each call.’

  John paused dramatically, and raised his hands in the air. ‘Ladies and gentlemen: I see before me people of many different countries. Many of us are British, but others of you have come from other nations. But whatever our origins, we are now brothers and sisters together in this great new land. What has brought us together?’ he called. ‘Have we come seeking wealth and fortune alone? For some of us that hope has already been fulfilled. For others, it remains tomorrow’s dream.’

  ‘My fellow diggers, I believe that there is a deeper and more abiding reason for our presence in this colony. Here we have a new frontier. Here is a place untouched by the systems of t
he old world. This is virgin soil where we have an opportunity to build a nation of truly free men and women—free of poverty, free of ignorance, and free of oppression. This is the time for us to lay the foundations of a society where all men are equal, not only in God’s sight, but also in the eyes of all of their fellows.’

  The crowd stood motionless. The silence in John’s dramatic pauses was broken only by the occasional crack of a whip bird. ‘The task is ours,’ he went on. ‘We must not stand by while the future of this new land is forged by those who can work the system to their own advantage. We need a government that will truly represent us—a real democracy. Such a government will levee taxes and charges in a fair and equitable manner—where those with capital are not the only ones to reap the benefits of this country’s rich resources.’

  The excitement in John’s voice was building as he described his vision of the future.

  ‘I speak to you today as a member of the Red Ribbon League. We can achieve our goals if you will support us. We say to this government, “Give us fair representation and we will pay our taxes without compliant. Give us respect and we will give you our loyalty and hard work. Give us hope, and together we will build a great and enduring nation”.’

  Sweeping dramatically from the makeshift platform, John resumed his seat. For a moment, there was a stunned silence. Not a head moved. Not an eye flickered.

  ‘Three cheers for the Red Ribbon League!’ rang out a voice from the crowd. The whole place erupted with the cheers of three thousand voices like a great ‘Amen’. John knew in his heart that the spirit of this community had been marshalled that evening. Anna knew it too. She was full of pride at the thought that she was married to this man.

  As the time of the birth of their child drew near, John began to work a new claim just a mile or so upstream from their home. One evening when the sun was still quite hot, he began the tiring trudge home. The summer temperatures were returning and the twilights were lengthening as the festive season approached. It seemed so long since he had left England. He thought of the happy days that he and Eliza had spent playing together around a decorated tree in Christmases past. But what do you use for a Christmas tree in the Australian bush? And what should he give his wife for a present? A ring of pure gold made from one of the nuggets maybe? Or perhaps she would appreciate a bolt of silk for a nightdress. Or even new boots.

  John had reached the crest of a small hill and had begun the gentle descent to his tent. His shoulder muscles ached from the day’s digging. Perhaps Anna would rub them for him if she felt up to it. He was just about twenty yards from home when he heard cries of distress coming from his tent. Dropping his shovel, he ran for all his might and burst into the tent to find Anna lying on her back on the bed with a look of agony on her face.

  ‘Oh, John! Thank God, you’re home!’ she gasped. ‘The baby’s coming. Quick, fetch Beatrice and the midwife!’

  Forgetting his stiffness and tiredness, John sprinted down the hill to get help. Beatrice gathered some old sheets she had been keeping for the occasion and made off up the hill to Anna’s assistance. Without hesitating, John ran on the midwife’s tent. ‘Are you there Mrs Mc Cubbin?’ he called. There was silence. Opening the flaps of the tent, John saw to his dismay the old midwife asleep on her bed with an empty brandy bottle in her hand. Realising that she would be useless in this emergency, he ran frantically back up the hill.

  By the time, John reached home Beatrice had assumed control of the situation. She had boiled some water and was busy attending to Anna who by this time was crying out with pain as the contractions progressed.

  John was promptly ordered out of the tent. This was women’s business. Men were definitely not tolerated. How useless he felt. ‘It’s the men who start the whole process, but when the action begins, we’re thrown out,’ he mused. He paced up and down for the next hour and a half, wincing every time Anna cried out. With one last exhausted cry from Anna, the baby emerged into Beatrice’s receptive hands. Quickly, she cut the cord and gently wiped the baby’s face.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Beatrice froze with horror as she realised that the baby was lifeless. It’s a blue-black colour told the whole story. The little one had been dead within its mother for some time. Beatrice held the little mite close to her and turned to face Anna. Tenderly, she passed the lifeless form to its sweat-drenched mother. There was a dreadful moment of silence as she gazed upon her little one. Anna’s horrendous cry of anguish was too much for John. He burst into the tent and fell upon his knees beside the bed. When he realised what had happened, he took his wife in his arms, put his head on the pillow next to hers, and the distraught couple wept bitterly.

  Beatrice lifted the little body, respectfully, wrapped it carefully in Anna’s knitted shawl and cradled it in her arms while John and Anna struggled with their tragedy.

  It was at least thirty minutes before John released Anna from his embrace and slowly rose to his feet. His eyes were red from weeping and his body quivered with shock. He crossed the tent to Beatrice put his arm around her and led her outside. Disconsolately John dug a little grave for his stillborn son. Beatrice laid him reverently to his eternal rest, and John placed a little cross fashioned from a gum tree twig at the head of the grave. John and Beatrice knelt on either side of the mound as John prayed that God would receive the little one into his loving care. His words came haltingly as he struggled to speak through his emotion.

  As the days passed, the sympathy of the Forest Creek community flowed from the most unexpected sources. Anonymous wreaths were laid on the grave and bunches of wild flowers were left at the door of the tent. It was a long time since John and Anna could remember such an outpouring of warmth towards them.

  Anna was slowly regaining her strength and composure, but John often spent long periods lost in silent contemplation. He pondered the fragility of life and the purposes of the Almighty. How could a loving omnipotent God allow this to happen to an innocent little soul? The eternal questions turned over and over in his mind, and there seemed to be no satisfying answers.

  On some days, the little town would come to life at the news that a travelling company of entertainers was on its way from Ballarat to Bendigo. Such was the case a week later. Advertisements appeared everywhere nailed to tree trunks, announcing the arrival of the international star, Lola Montez, and her entourage to give one performance at Forest Creek. The critics in the Gazette, however, were not sympathetic to Ms Montez, claiming that she was no artist and would not have achieved stardom had her love-life been less colourful and her dancing less provocative.

  For the performance at Forest Creek, a wooden platform was erected at the bottom of a natural amphitheatre. More than a hundred kerosene lamps were assembled to illuminate the stage. Although lacking real talent as a serious dancer, Lola had the gift of showmanship and worked the audience into a frenzy with her sensuous performances such as the Spider Dance. The women in the audience were obviously offended by her erotic performance and referred to her as a blatant hussy. But the men adored her.

  John and Anna sat next to a middle-aged Texan. ‘How y’ll’, he said in a deep southern drawl as he took his seat. ‘Ah’m Josh Emory. Born an’ raised in God’s own country—Texas. Sure glad t’ meet yer.’

  After the show, John and Anna stayed to talk with Josh about their experiences on the diggings. ‘Ah’ve bin in these parts the better part o’ four years,’ said Josh. ‘And Ah’ve barely made enough t’ keep body an’ soul together. For some, it’s a real El Dorado. But not for me!’

  ‘That’s true,’ said John. ‘It’s not been easy for us either. We came here a little later than you, but it seems that all the good strikes had been made before we got here. You’ve got to be pretty lucky to make good these days.’

  ‘I’d hoped to make enough to buy some acres here in Victoria and run a few sheep,’ John continued. ‘But there’s little hope of that now.’

  ‘Sheep, e
h? Now, they’re the hope o’ this ’ere country,’ said Josh with an air of authority. ‘Ah wouldn’t mind a bunch o’ them critters m’self. At least, their wool grows ol year round.’

  ‘What ah cain’t understand’, Josh continued ‘is why this colony’s government don’t do what they did back in the States. Open up the country an’ sell it dirt cheap t’ those willin’ t’ work it. They offered folks a hundred acres each t’ develop the country, instead o’ keepin’ it ol in the hands of a few. Jus’ look what happened in the Mississippi valley. A few years ago, it was just bush like this ’ere place. Now there’s a million folks livin’ there, and they figure it’ll take eight million.’

  ‘The problem here’, said John ‘is that they are trying to foster the British class system of haves and have-nots. You’ll never get American democracy here, at least not in the short term. Those that make the decisions are steeped in the colonial mentality.’

  ‘I’ve been pushing the idea of universal voting through the Red Ribbon League,’ John added. ‘But the authorities scoff at it. The masses are illiterate and could not make intelligent decisions, they argue. The rights of the aristocracy and the squattocracy would be trodden underfoot if that were to come about,’ said John with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

  ‘You’d make a great politician, John, wouldn’t ’e, Anna?’ said Josh, admiring the conviction of the young man.

  ‘I’ve spent countless hours, negotiating with government officials over this business of the gold taxes, but I get nowhere.’ John’s frustration was beginning to show in his voice. ‘Is there any wonder that there’s talk of rebellion?’