And even Lalor’s personal questioning on the subject does not prompt the German to reveal the tiniest clue as to where these men might actually be. In short, while Vern’s martial ardour is never in doubt, it is obvious to them all - with the exception of Vern himself - that he is not the man to lead them overall. (None is more opposed than Carboni, who actively dislikes Vern from the beginning and records his own view that nothing the German says is ever anything more than a particular English-like word he has invented for the occasion: ‘blabberdom’.)36 After Vern has finished his speech, Carboni speaks up and promptly and formally proposes that Lalor should be elected Commander-in-Chief.
The motion is quickly seconded by Edward Thonen, and the vote in the Irishman’s favour is carried by the crushing majority of 11 to one, with only Vern voting against,37 and there is immediately warm acclaim from the other members of the Council.
A grave and committed Lalor now stands to thank the Council for the honour of leading them and to state once more that he will do his utmost to lead the diggers so they can successfully resist the force of the authorities with their own, superior force. And he is also gracious to Vern, quickly installing him as his second-in-command to be, effectively, in charge of all things military.
When the Council adjourns - as the sun begins to sink on the eve of the first day of summer, shining strongly through a few scattered clouds with golden fringes above, while on the northern horizon some dark clouds have suddenly appeared - everyone understands that under Lalor’s leadership they are committed. The authorities can do their worst, but they will be met by armed resistance, so long as the diggers can get the weaponry and ammunition they need. Their grim course is set.
Early evening, 30 November 1854, on the diggings, put up your arms
And now in the deep shade thrown by the quartz-strewn ranges across the diggings, the fires are being lit and the billies boiled as the men prepare to have an evening pot of tea. Outside one of these tents, Henry Nicholls is sitting with his brother Charles and others, including the exhausted editor of The Diggers’ Advocate, George Black, waiting for their brew. They look up to see a man familiar to Henry - the very good-looking and ardent Canadian, Charles Ross. With his piercing blue eyes, tousled hair, fine features and barrel chest, Ross is known as a firm favourite with the ladies on the diggings, but now he looks commanding. He has with him nothing less than a file of men, lined up in rough military formation. What is going on?
Could Ross have a quick word with Henry and Charles?
Certainly. Come into the tent.
Now, ‘Captain Ross’, as the men outside refer to him, is very gentlemanly about it and practically statesmanlike - even if he does refuse their offer of a cup of tea - but is also clear and determined. He wants their guns. Because Ross has been friendly with the Nicholls brothers, he happens to know that they possess two very valuable double-barrelled guns made in London.
‘We have embarked on a perilous enterprise,’ he says of the afternoon’s events, ‘and must protect ourselves the best we can, and as we are acting for the general good, if you do not choose to join us, it is at least fair that you contribute your arms.’38
At first blush Henry Nicholls thinks this a very fair argument. And even if it isn’t, it is fairly obvious that Captain Ross does not have to ask - the men outside are the best argument of all that the Canadian can just take their guns if he so chooses. And yet, those guns are particularly valuable, together worth in excess of PS30, and Nicholls is reluctant to just hand them over. But he has an idea …
‘How do you know we will not join you?’ he asks Ross reasonably.
‘That’s all I ask,’ Ross replies. ‘I’d sooner have you with the guns, than the guns without you.’
‘I can’t promise to join you until I see what you’re doing,’ Henry Nicholls says, ‘but perhaps I can come and have a look tomorrow, and if I approve, my brother and I will join, not to mention others.’39
A reasonably happy Ross agrees to this - at least more happy than his men are when he emerges from the tent sans guns - and they all take their leave. The Nicholls brothers are happy to see them go. While they are both sympathetic to the aims of the diggers to abolish the license fee - Henry has, after all, written as much many times in The Diggers’ Advocate - neither is convinced that taking up arms against the Redcoats is wise. The main thing, for the moment, is that they still have their precious guns.
7 pm, 30 November 1854, inside Diamond’s Store at the Stockade, the priest presses for peace
The Council for the Defence is being quickly reconvened, this time with a non-Council member in attendance - Father Smyth. Upon consideration, it has been decided to attempt, one more time, to avoid the bloodshed that now seems inevitable.
George Black puts forward to the meeting a proposal, which is instantly seconded by John Manning, that they should this very evening send a deputation to the Camp, to demand the immediate release of the diggers who had been dragged to the lockup that morning, and to also demand that Commissioner Rede make a pledge to stop the license-hunting.
In return, the diggers would agree to disarm, disperse and get back to work, allowing the time necessary to see if this could be sorted out peacefully. Ideally, they would again petition the Lieutenant-Governor and this time he would see reason.
All those in favour, say ‘Aye’.
Aye! Aye! AYE! Si! Jawohl!
Father Smyth proposes - speaking up a little now, as a sudden rainstorm on the roof has begun to make a din - that George Black himself should go, while Peter Lalor insists that Raffaello Carboni be the second man of the delegation. For one thing, the fact that the Italian has a slight personal acquaintance with the Commissioner cannot hurt. This, too, is agreed to unanimously. Father Smyth promises to accompany both gentlemen into the Camp that evening to provide safe passage.
7.30 pm, 30 November 1854, the Government Camp girds its considerable loins
Fie, fie, the battle is nigh. Rumours swirl, tension rises. The strong feeling among the officers, soldiers and police inside the Camp is that an attack is imminent, perhaps within hours. After all, they reason, the armed diggers are outside in their thousands, while inside the walls of the Camp they are in their mere hundreds, waiting for reinforcements. Strategically, it would make a lot of sense for the diggers to attack immediately.
Around the perimeter of the Government Camp all the sentries have their guns loaded and capped - putting a percussion cap atop the weapon’s nipple, thus requiring only the hammer to drop for it to fire - and all are on full alert. Inside, the soldiers and police keep their guns by them at all times and speak in that roaring whisper in order to be heard above the heavy rain that has suddenly broken upon them. They are in near darkness, the order having been given to douse all lights to make everyone less visible targets should there be an attack. Because some soldiers, in the British military tradition, have their families living with them in the barracks, all of those women and children have been placed inside one secure storeroom with walls so thick they will be safe from bullets and musket balls alike. Other buildings within the compound have everything from bags of corn to piles of firewood stacked around to enable them to better withstand whatever is fired at them. The troopers’ horses have saddles on, ready to be ridden out at a moment’s notice. The soldiers and police sleep in their uniforms, guns by their side, ready to move.
8 pm, 30 November 1854, on the Ballarat diggings
Music in the distance. Rough, raucous music. These are not songs to soothe the savage breast, but to rally it, whatever the mood. It is coming from the blaring band of Row’s Circus, playing up a storm in the cold moonlight now that the rain has stopped and the clouds have cleared, and yet it would require far more than the musical abilities of the ragtag musicians within the tent to lift the mood of the three men on a mission, who now make their way past and barely glance in their direction. For from the diggings, George Black, Raffaello Carboni and Father Smyth are on their way to the Govern
ment Camp to meet Commissioner Rede in an attempt to avert disaster.
As they pass the circus, they hear the drunken cursing and shouting of the revellers, and an old meditation pops into Carboni’s head, ‘Unde bella et pugna infer vos?’40 ‘Whence come wars and fights among you?’ Proceeding, they come across various groups of men anxiously discussing the day’s events. Some, of course, are aware of just where the Father and two men are going. Those who aren’t are duly informed.
As the men reach the bridge that leads to the Camp, they find it heavily guarded by stern police who block their free passage. No matter, it is for this precise purpose that Father Smyth has come. No man on earth, no matter the rank, has the authority to stop a man of God, and the Father is allowed in to arrange the meeting with Commissioner Rede.
Shortly thereafter, the good Father returns with Rede’s second-in-command, Sub-Inspector Taylor, complete with ‘his silver-lace cap, blue frock, and jingling sword, so precise in his movement, so Frenchman-like in his manners, such a puss-in-boots’,41 as Carboni would later describe him. Yet Taylor is remarkably friendly, shaking the Italian’s hand as soon as he has recognised him, saying in a forthright manner, ‘We have been always on good terms with the diggers, and I hope we may keep friends still …’ 42
Taylor ushers them into the presence of ‘King Rede’, as Carboni thinks of him.
In the shadow of the moonlight, beneath a massive gum tree in front of the Police Magistrates’ Court just outside the Camp - for the Commissioner does not want the diggers’ delegation to see up close the fortifications that are being readied for the Camp’s defence - Rede momentarily looks like an antipodean Napoleon Bonaparte, with such a bearing does he stand, complete with his right hand buried deep within his military jacket. This imperial effect is exacerbated by the two men immediately behind Rede - Taylor standing silent sentinel off his right shoulder; Police Magistrate Charles Henry Hackett, who is suddenly not so friendly while in the presence of Rede, off his left shoulder. Hackett, at least, gives Carboni some sense of confidence. ‘His amiable countenance is of the cast that commands respect, not fear,’ he would record.43
Speaking of whom …
The Commissioner begins by explaining that he could not take them to his own residence within the Camp, as his men are preparing for an attack from men looking just like them - diggers - and it would therefore not be safe. And then, after rather officiously asking their names, he advises that everything they say will be reported to his superiors in Melbourne. Black quickly makes clear, while Father Smyth hovers anxiously, that their business is firstly to express digger exasperation over that morning’s license-hunt.
‘To say the least,’ says Black pointedly, ‘it was very imprudent of you, Mr Rede, to challenge the diggers at the point of the bayonet. Englishmen will not put up with your shooting down any of our mates, because he has not got a license.’44
‘Daddy Rede’, as Carboni now has him, is affronted. ‘Now Mr Black, how can you say that I ever gave such an order as to shoot down any digger for his not having a license?’45
Black does not back down. Does the Commissioner not understand that the diggers were only responding to the insults of the soldiery; that, good men that they are, they simply refused to be bullied in such a fashion over their licenses, and that is how the whole thing has come to this pass?
Which brings Black to the point of their visit: ‘We demand the immediate release of those diggers who had been dragged to the lock-up in the morning hunt, for want of the license.’46
‘Demand?‘ the Commissioner bursts back in a manner that would have made Lieutenant-Governor Hotham proud. ‘First of all, I object to the word, because, myself, I am only responsible to government, and must obey them only: and secondly, were those men taken prisoners because they had not licenses? Not at all. This is the way in which the honest among the diggers are misled. Any bad character gets up a false report: it soon finds its way in certain newspapers, and the Camp officials are held up as the cause of all the mischief. Now, Mr Black, look at the case how it really stands. Those men are charged with rioting; they will be brought before the magistrate, and it is out of my power to interfere with the course of justice.’47
It is at this point that Hackett utters his first words, noting in his judicial capacity that the approach of the Commissioner has his full support.
With the chance of a full release thus disappeared, Black tries a new approach. ‘Will you,’ he asks, ‘accept bail for them to any amount you please to mention?’48
After a brief consultation, Rede and Hackett agree that would be acceptable. Father Smyth would bring the money on the morrow and bail would be accepted for two of the prisoners - which is at least one concession. This leads Black to his second demand.
‘We demand that you, as Commissioner, make a pledge not to come out any more for license-hunting.’ 49
Again, the Commissioner is nonplussed and not shy about expressing it. ‘What do you think, gentlemen, Sir Charles Hotham would say to me if I were to give such a pledge? Why Sir Charles Hotham would have at once to appoint another Resident Commissioner in my place! I have a dooty to perform, I know my duty, I must nolens volens (willing or not) adhere to it.’50
Yes, Black acknowledges, the Commissioner does have a duty and many responsibilities, but a key part of those responsibilities is to act in a manner that will prevent bloodshed.
Again, Commissioner Rede is more than firm in his reply: ‘It is all nonsense to make me believe that the present agitation is intended solely to abolish the license. Do you really wish to make me believe that the diggers of Ballarat won’t pay any longer PS2 for three months? The license is a mere cloak to cover a democratic revolution!’51
It is true, Black acknowledges carefully, that the license fee is not all of it.
‘You yourselves very well know,’ says the Commissioner, ‘that if the license fee was abolished tomorrow you would have some other agitation.’52
‘Well,’ Black replies, ‘we should agitate immediately for the franchise.’
‘Yes,’ says Rede, ‘and after the franchise what next?’53
Funny he should ask. Does the catchcry ‘unlock the lands’54 - so the diggers can own and work their own properties nearby the diggings - ring any bell in the good ear of the Commissioner? But, for the moment, no issue is so important as stopping the license-hunts and the ongoing brutalisation of the diggers.
Raffaello Carboni now speaks his first words: ‘Mr Rede, I beg you would allow me to state, that the immediate object of the diggers taking up arms was to resist any further license-hunting. I speak for the foreign diggers whom I here represent. We object to the Austrian rule under the British flag. If you would pledge yourself not to come out any more for the license, until you have communicated with Son Excellence, I would give you my pledge-‘55
‘Give no pledge, sir,’ Father Smyth interrupts. ‘You have no power to do so.’56
Rede, noting this curious stifling of the Italian, puts his hands together as in prayer, tapping together his forefingers, and says to Carboni, ‘My dear fellow, the license is a mere watchword of the day, and they make a cat’s-paw of you.’ Smyth then chips in to Rede, ‘You must also release the prisoners.’57
‘I shall not do anything of the kind,’ replies Commissioner Rede with a sense of outraged dignity at the Father’s presumption.58 ‘As for giving any pledges or assurances, in the face of an armed mob, that is the last thing I will do. But if the people go quietly back to their work at once … I will not do anything further until I have received instructions from Melbourne.’59
Meeting concluded, the three visitors are escorted back to the bridge by Sub-Inspector Taylor, where the password is given and they are allowed to leave. As the disappointed group heads back, threading their way past the circus once again - now more raucous than ever - the road is busy and they are frequently stopped by groups of anxious men wanting to know the news. Will the authorities cede to their demands, or will t
he diggers have to fight for their cause?
Not an inflammatory man by nature, Black tells the inquirers as calmly as possible that while it appears to be out of the question that the seven men will be released, the Commissioner has at least promised to cease the license-hunts, so it is possible they are making some progress. This is wonderful news! No more license-hunts means no more confrontations, means it is highly unlikely that the government will be attacking them any time soon.
Alas, Carboni begs to differ, and says so. While he allows that the Commissioner might indeed consider holding off on the hunts, his own impression remains that ‘the Camp, choked with Redcoats, would quash Mr Rede’s “good judgment”, get the better of his sense, if he had any of either, and that he would come out license-hunting in an improved style.’60
As the three continue to make their way back, Carboni is distracted by the fact that the good Father and Black keep whispering to each other, just as they have done on the way to the Camp, though what they are saying, he knows not. It just seems very rude.
Returning to the Stockade, where they quickly report their lack of progress to Lalor, each man heads off in search of some grub. And yet if the others are of heavy heart as they make for their tents, Lalor’s is surely heavier still. He did not ask for this. He did not seek leadership of this affair just as, back in Ireland, he stood back from the fulminations of his father and brother about the rule of Britain. There, they were more passionate and better equipped to take the lead, and he was happy to let them do so.
But here? Here the leadership had been thrust upon him, and he had simply not resiled from it. For how could he?
He’d be damned if he would leave the iniquities of British rule in Ireland to make a new home in a new land, only to have the same oppressors follow him here. At some point a man has to make a stand, and that point has now come. And yet, he also knew what he was risking. All this and more he now tries to explain to the love of his life, Alicia Dunne, who awaits news in Geelong, where the 22-year-old is living with her uncle, Father Patrick Dunne, and continues to work as a schoolteacher:
Eureka: The Unfinished Revolution Page 42