Indy crossed the little creek into the busy campsite where the Irish diggers lived. Somewhere a tin whistle played a jaunty tune and Indy let a genuine smile cross her features. She was home.
‘Now, there’s a smell to warm a working woman’s heart,’ she said, as she reached the tent she shared with another Irish woman and her son.
Not a day after she’d arrived in Ballarat with Annie and Sean in the early days of the strikes, she’d bought her gold mining licence and gone into partnership with Sean. Together they had staked a claim and spent long days working their small patch of Victorian soil, hoping that one day they too would find their slice of wealth.
She’d made some good finds already. But unlike others who’d struck, Indy had kept her good fortune to herself. It was too easy to find yourself looking down the barrel of a gun in the middle of the night, whilst thieves rustled up your hidden riches and ran off into the bush with it. If you were lucky you got to keep your life, but never your gold. Bragging was a bad idea and she rolled her eyes to heaven whenever she heard the gunfire celebrating another strike. It was akin to advertising to bushrangers and thieves that you were a mark to be taken.
In those first few months, Indy had sent much of the gold she’d found back to Melbourne. It had been hard to leave her mother in the city and make the journey to the goldfields, but the lure of striking it rich and providing a better life for them was too strong. Mary now lived only a thirty-minute walk from Ballarat, just off the Melbourne Road. The proceeds from Indy’s first big strike of gold had gone towards renovating a little shepherd’s hut she’d discovered in the bush. She visited her mother as often as she could, but it had been more than a week since she’d last been out to the little cottage. Perhaps it was time for another visit home.
She took a hefty inhale of the wallaby stew that simmered in the pot over the fire.
‘I’m fully starved.’ But when she went to dig a spoon in for a taste, she felt the swift rap of Annie’s wooden spoon across her knuckles. ‘Hey!’
Annie’s auburn-coloured hair was swept back in its customary bun, giving her a school marm look about her, especially with the current glower she aimed at Indy. As she stirred the stew, her cheeks glowed red from her exertions over the campfire, working hard to provide dinner for them all. Annie was like a surrogate mother to Indy, a wonderful friend and an even better cook.
Making a show of it, Indy opened the little box she carried and watched her friend’s face light up.
‘Pies?’ Annie gushed. ‘Oh, but they must have cost a fortune, Indy.’
‘Mrs Murphy got her hands on some figs. She was experimenting with recipes and had some spare so she gave them to me.’
‘She just gave them to you?’
‘Yes,’ Indy lied. Her friend didn’t need to know she’d spent on a few sweet tarts the equivalent of what Annie earned in two weeks doing washing for miners. Annie carefully placed the pies by the fire to keep them warm.
‘Find any gold today?’ It was the same question Annie asked every day when Indy and Sean returned from the mines. And Indy gave her the same response she did just about every day.
‘Not today. But I have a feeling we’ll strike it tomorrow.’
Sitting down on a long log, she took off her boot and emptied her sock, handing Annie the remaining shillings she’d won at dice.
‘Been gambling again, missy?’ Annie raised an eyebrow full of disappointment. How a woman’s eyebrows could say so much, Indy would never know, but Annie’s eyebrows could depict many emotions.
‘Me? Gambling? No, of course not,’ she denied, feigning insult, but had to chew on her lip to suppress the grin that threatened. ‘I got that money selling my body to the butcher man in town. We had a right cracking time of it behind the store until his wife found us.’
‘What?’ Annie’s horrified look had Indy chuckling, killing all pretence that she’d been serious. ‘Oh, Indy, the devil will take your tongue for speaking so.’
Indy laughed as she pulled her boot back on. ‘I love how you see gambling as such a sin when there are so many other more colourful sins going on under your nose here every day.’
‘I choose to turn the other cheek to certain goings-on,’ Annie said. ‘But you are in my care here, young missy, and I will not have you breaking the law. Sean! The stew is on the table!’
Sean stepped out from the flap in the tent and grinned at Indy. He was a tall and gangly lad. Although, hardly a lad anymore at nineteen years of age. His bright red hair, fairer than his mothers, was long over his ears and sat on the collar of his working man’s blue shirt.
‘What table, Ma?’ he asked, his Irish brogue as strong as his mother’s. ‘We’ve eaten dinner in our laps since the day we got here.’
‘Don’t sass me, my boy. You’re not too old for me to take a strap to your backside.’
Sean sat beside Indy and they playfully dug elbows into each other like proper siblings. Indy loved living with Sean and Annie, but she was reminded again how much she missed her own mother.
‘It seems the new Governor Hotham and his wife are a big hit,’ Annie said. ‘Came wandering through the camps this afternoon, they did. Melly Jones’s husband told her the new Governor actually listened to the miners’ concerns and promised to see what he could do.’
‘Really?’ Indy tried to hide the cynicism in her voice.
‘And Mrs Hotham had all the men removing their hats and helping her through the fields,’ Annie went on as she served the stew into bowls. ‘Her expensive dress was all muddied at the hem but she seemed so unconcerned about it, laughing even when her boot got caught in a mud-puddle.’
Indy ate heartily, dipping a hunk of bread into the thick gravy and taking big bites as she listened to Annie talk on about the new Governor and his wife.
‘Do you think they’ll drop the licence fees?’ Sean asked Indy.
‘I doubt it,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Why would they? They’re making a fortune off us.’
‘But maybe this Hotham fellow will make some changes,’ Sean said with all the naivety of youth on his side.
Indy smiled. He was such a positive boy, always seeing the good in people and situations. She only wished she were more hopeful that things could change for the better.
Chapter 3
Having escorted the Governor and his wife safely back to Melbourne when the time came, Will found himself making the trip to and from the city frequently over the next month. The journey was always hazardous. Thieves would often try to attack the convoys of supplies coming from town or gold being sent to Melbourne. More than once, he’d had to enter battle with highwaymen on the road. Most were poorly armed, and even less capable of fighting, but occasionally men with guns would try their luck. He had heard they sometimes got away with goods or money. But not on his watch.
By luck or good management, he sustained no injuries in any scuffles he’d been involved with. It could not be said for several of his comrades. One soldier took a bullet to the leg and was left in Melbourne to recover while Will and Timmons made their way back to Ballarat with the supplies for the government camp.
A terrible late winter storm pelted as they traversed the ravine, and the trip to reach Ballarat took them hours longer than it should have, as the road became waterlogged and muddy.
‘Still loving the weather in this land, Timmons?’ Will yelled over the thunder and teeming rain, as they walked their horses back into camp in the early evening.
Timmons glared across at Will, a waterfall of rain running down his shako and onto his face. ‘I’ll thank you not to toss my own words back at me. This place is the soggy armpit of hell.’
‘I don’t believe hell to be soggy,’ Will returned with a laugh. ‘I fear you might enjoy the weather there wholly better.’
‘At least it would be warm,’ Timmons responded through chattering teeth.
They handed off the dray full of supplies to other soldiers to unload into the storage tent and were then dismissed of
duty for the rest of the evening.
‘I need a brandy,’ Timmons insisted sulkily.
‘But how sad, there is no liquor in camp,’ Will teased as they stood by a fire to dry off. The rain had finally slowed to a sort of misty spittle.
‘I’ll bet there is in the Commissioner’s tent.’
‘Come, Timmons.’ Will slapped his friend heartily on the back, forcing water to spray out of Timmons’s sodden jacket. ‘I shall shout you a brandy at the Eureka Hotel.’
He brightened instantly. ‘I say, you make my day.’
The men changed out of their sodden uniforms and into dry ones before mounting their horses and heading into town. Braking in front of the hotel, they hitched their horses and headed inside.
Stepping into the front bar, Will noticed the mood had most definitely changed since the last time they had set foot in the Eureka Hotel. He was all too aware of their red coats. When they had visited a few weeks before, there had been many other soldiers in the bar. This time all of the men wore the miner’s uniform of the blue or checked flannel shirt and hard-wearing trousers of corduroy or moleskin. Even without the army uniform, Will and Timmons would have stood out for their shocking lack of facial hair.
Will scanned the room. He had been too tired the last time they’d been here to take much notice of the décor. The green wallpaper shot with gold and the bright red velvet cushions in the booths gave the room a regal look that felt in complete contrast to its less than royal patronage. The sconces were painted gold and an elegant chandelier hung overhead, its glowing candlelight softening what was essentially a working man’s pub. The long wooden bar was masterfully carved and polished to such a high sheen, Will found himself staring at it between the legs of the men who leaned against it. He had only ever seen the like of it in the more fashionable hotels of London. It seemed very much at odds here in the mud and dirt of the Ballarat goldfields. Through a nearby door, an elegant dining room hosted ladies and gentlemen at long tables set with gleaming silver cutlery and tall brass candlesticks. The Bentleys were clearly doing very well for themselves.
Following Timmons up to the bar, they were greeted with more scowls and turned backs. One man even spat on the floor near Will’s boot.
There were many hotels licensed to sell liquor around the town. In fact, Will had read a military report to Governor Hotham stating there were more hotels per person in this small settlement of Ballarat than anywhere else in the world. Commissioner Rede had concerns about the effect of alcohol on an already discontented population.
In hindsight, Will thought they perhaps should have chosen a pub that was a little more hospitable to soldiers. But they were here now, it had been a long day, and he was thirsty. The barman didn’t seem to care who he served as long as they had the shillings to show for it.
Will lifted his beaker to Timmons. ‘What shall we drink to?’
‘Mother England?’
Will rolled his eyes and surveyed the room full of miners who were still sending them looks of abject disdain. Then he raised his glass and his voice with it. ‘Good luck to you, gentlemen. May you find the wealth and prosperity you seek.’
A cheer went up from some of the men and they drank, accepting of Will’s toast. Others continued to scowl and grumble and there were even a few insults tossed their way.
Like the rain outside, it was all water off Will’s back. He’d grown up in the boys’ home where antagonism was the national sport. There he’d developed a thick skin and an even thicker head thanks to numerous beatings—and not only by the other boys.
But his keen eyes continued to scan the room. It had become habit for him from a young age to study any place he walked into. To know where the exits were, to understand where the threats may lie. A good portion of these men would hate him simply because he was a soldier in Her Majesty’s army.
He hadn’t been in Ballarat long enough to understand the full extent of the reason for the dislike of all government officials by miners. Only that they were unhappy about the mining licence fees. But he did know that wherever disgruntlement and alcohol shared space, no doubt there would be some form of disturbance.
Catching sight of a face amongst the crowd, he thought it familiar. But when he looked for it again it seemed to have disappeared.
‘You aren’t wanted in here,’ a voice grunted from behind him.
Will sighed, but didn’t turn around to face his challenger.
‘Ten minutes,’ he said to Timmons. ‘I believe that to be a new record.’
‘Indeed, it usually takes at least twenty minutes for someone to get up enough front to take on the uniform.’
‘Now, don’t you go starting anything, McCracken.’
Will glanced at the barman who had moved in to try and settle things before they got going.
‘You start another fight in here and I’ll ban you for life, you hear me?’ the barman threatened, before turning to them. ‘That goes for you two as well.’
‘I have no desire to begin a brawl in your fine tavern, sir,’ Will assured him and turned to face McCracken. However, he found himself having to tilt his head back to see into the eyes of the giant who stood before him. ‘We shall finish our drink and be gone in one moment.’
‘You’ll go now,’ McCracken said and cracked his knuckles, making Will wonder if McCracken was indeed his real name, or just a moniker given thanks to his exceptionally loud joints. He was about to try to placate the fiery McCracken, when to the left of the big man’s shoulder, he once again saw the face he recognised.
It was the girl. The tough young girl from the dice game out the back of the pub all those weeks ago. Her hair was piled under the hat again, but he could not mistake those large blue eyes looking out from under the brim of her hat and directly at him. Yes, he was sure it was her. Miss Indigo Wallace.
Distracted, he made a move to cross the room and approach her, although he had no idea what he was going to say. An apology perhaps for the first time they met? Or maybe he’d ask why a young woman should be in a pub full of men. A bar was no place for a girl. As though his thoughts of danger foretold the future, his forward movement was misunderstood as one of attack and he caught McCracken’s defensive elbow in his cheekbone.
Timmons moved in to avenge him, despite his yells not to, and then it was on. Men jumped them from all sides, punches were thrown, kicks were doled out and Will found himself face down and crawling along the filthy, stinking, wooden floor of the pub. A forest of fast moving legs were laid out before him, their owners fighting above him. Receiving a few kicks to his ribs, he somehow made it to the wall where he was able to stand upright again, only to come face to face with the girl.
‘Miss Wallace,’ he said with a cheeriness that belied the situation. ‘I thought that was you. How do you do?’
‘I do quite well, sir,’ Indy said, dodging a pannikin that was thrown her way. It bounced off the wall and back into the crowd. ‘And how do you do?’
‘It seems my friend and I are rather unpopular in this tavern,’ he answered with a sheepish grin. ‘You should not be in here, Miss Wallace.’
‘Neither should you,’ she said. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him out of the way just as a chair smashed against the wall where he’d been standing, showering them both with splinters of wood.
Will dusted off his coat. ‘Thank you. Now leave.’
‘Absolutely,’ she said without question. ‘After you.’
‘No, I must get back in there and help my friend.’
‘Then I’ll help you.’
‘Like hell you will,’ he argued, and taking her hand, he pulled her towards the bar where he put her behind the relative safety of the long wooden bench top.
‘Stay here.’
‘Like hell I will,’ she threw his own words back at him.
Will just scowled at her and rushed off into the fray to assist Timmons. Finding his friend being held by two men while another laid into him, Will managed to drag them all off his comrade, landi
ng a few punches before together they fought their way through the throng of humanity, who seemed as intent on fighting each other as they did at fighting them.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Timmons suggested, but Will surprised him by heading back into the thrashing mass of bodies and up to the bar. ‘Where are you going? I think our drinking here is done, Will.’
‘I have to get the girl!’ he called back over the noise.
‘What girl?’ Timmons yelled.
Standing before the bar, Will couldn’t see Miss Wallace anymore. He was grabbed from behind, and struggled to fight the unseen attacker before the hold was suddenly removed. Turning, he found McCracken sprawled unconscious at his feet and Miss Wallace standing on the bar with a broken bottle in her hand.
He smiled up at her, impressed. ‘Again, I thank you.’
‘Again, you’re welcome,’ she replied, grinning as though she were having the time of her life. ‘And just whose neck do I continue to save, sir?’
‘I’m sorry. How remiss of me. Lieutenant Will Marsh at your service, Miss Wallace.’ He gave a quick formal bow.
‘I think it is I who is at your service. That’s twice I’ve saved your neck now.’ She held up a full bottle of brandy she’d collected from behind the bar. ‘Want to buy me a drink, Willy?’
‘Perhaps at a more opportune time.’ He lifted her off the bar by her legs and threw her over his shoulder, before rushing through to a rear room of the hotel, a kitchen it seemed.
The Girl From Eureka Page 3