Esty's Gold

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Esty's Gold Page 14

by Mary Arrigan


  Grandpa suddenly seemed older. He gave one last despairing look at John Joe.

  ‘No matter what happens tonight,’ he said to Mama, May and me, ‘you must stay in the tent. Things are bubbling up to a dangerous level and there’s no turning back.’

  We were too scared to ask what he meant, or perhaps we didn’t want to know, so we retired quietly to our tent.

  ‘Esty,’ May whispered to me later. ‘What do you think will happen?’

  ‘I don’t know, May,’ I replied. ‘I don’t really know what’s going on, but it sounds serious.’

  Later, we heard shouting that spread like a rising wave all around the camp. There were loud voices close by. Pausing only to pull on our boots and throw our shawls around our shoulders, Mama, May and I ventured out. Others were coming out of their tents, as puzzled as we were.

  Then someone shouted.

  ‘Fire!’

  Sure enough, in the distance, flames were rising into the sky.

  ‘Dear God!’ exclaimed Mama, looking around desperately. There was no sign of Grandpa.

  ‘It’s the Eureka Hotel!’ someone shouted. ‘They’ve set fire to the Eureka!’

  They? Did that include John Joe?

  Mama came closer to me and clutched my arm. ‘I’ve no doubt that John Joe is in on this,’ she said, as if reading my mind. ‘But where’s your grandpa?’

  ‘You know Grandpa,’ I said, patting her hand. ‘He’ll be all right. Grandpa doesn’t do dangerous things.’

  We all jumped at the sound of shots.

  ‘The police,’ someone said. ‘It’s the police!’

  ‘Oh, God,’ said May, her hands to her face. ‘If John Joe is part of this, I’ll kill him.’ Then she realised what she’d said and shook her head. ‘If the police don’t kill him first.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  People were racing past in confusion. Mama said it was important that we three stay together.

  ‘With all this going on,’ she shouted above the clamour, ‘there could be some whose intentions are less than honourable, people who would take advantage of the situation.’

  ‘Well, at least our money is safe now,’ whispered May. And so it was. And so was the next lump of gold that Grandpa found. It wasn’t much, just slightly larger than our first find, but our excitement was somewhat dampened by events going on around us. John Joe said it would be better to hold on to the gold until things settled. So he and Grandpa buried our dinner money and the gold in the ground under our bedding. We weren’t taking any chances.

  We felt safer inside our tent. But the noise continued with frightening intensity until I could bear it no more. I got up and grabbed my shawl.

  ‘Where are you going, Esty?’ asked May

  ‘I’m just going to have a look,’ I replied.

  ‘Please, Esty,’ said Mama. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘I can’t just sit here, Mama,’ I cried. ‘I have to know where Grandpa and John Joe are.’

  Before she could say anything else, I slipped out of the tent. Although the shouting had subsided, there were still diggers rushing past, their faces looking troubled in the light of the lanterns they carried. I was caught up in the running, and carried along towards the scene of the fire. Everyone came to a stop a short distance from the inferno. Flames were shooting from the windows of the hotel, sparks flying into the night sky like an explosion of orange stars. By now the police had arrived, some of them mounted, and they were trying to round up the nearest diggers. Their silhouettes were terrifying, as they charged about with batons, hitting out at anyone in sight.

  ‘Keep back!’ someone shouted.

  The crowd shrank back, some falling over with the force of the bodies. Half-running and half-falling, I tried to push my way back. I could hear the thudding hooves of horses behind me. Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me into the crowd. I recognised a digger who was one of our customers.

  ‘Don’t look back!’ he yelled, pulling me roughly.

  But of course I did glance back, and was just in time to see Grandpa among the stragglers. With a heave, I pulled away from my rescuer and ran back towards Grandpa. His face was contorted with pain.

  ‘Grandpa!’ I screamed.

  As I ran towards him, a mounted policeman galloped towards us. He stooped down to strike Grandpa. But another rider cut across his path and allowed us to run into the crowd. When I looked back I saw, in the light from the blazing building, that the rider who’d helped us get away was the young trooper from the hotel. He gave me a brief nod and rode away.

  Grandpa and I held on to each other as we were swept along by the retreating diggers. When we reached the safety of the tents, we felt more at ease. The mounted police would not risk their horses by galloping in the dark over land pitted with mine shafts.

  ‘Esty, lass,’ he gasped, pausing to catch his breath. ‘What were you doing? I told you…’

  ‘I know what you told me, Grandpa. But how could I sit in our tent knowing you were out here? Besides, if I hadn’t turned up when I did, you’d probably have been dragged off to jail.’ I didn’t add that it was my young trooper who’d come between Grandpa and his would-be captor. I hoped the trooper wouldn’t get into trouble, though the instant was so fleeting that I believed his action would be considered just part of the general mayhem. The look he’d given me gave me a warm feeling inside.

  Grandpa smiled. ‘Is there anyone born who can control you?’

  ‘No, Grandpa,’ I laughed.

  Mama was all fuss and bother when we got back. Grandpa gently shushed her questions.

  ‘It’s all right, Kate,’ he said, lowering himself on to the bench. May had stirred up the fire again and was looking anxiously at the faces as they passed. ‘We’re safe,’ Grandpa added. ‘Let’s rest a while, eh?’

  Mama looked worried. But her anxiety was cut short by the arrival of John Joe. His face was blackened and he was out of breath. May went over and put her hands on his shoulders.

  ‘Are you all right, John Joe?’ she asked.

  He nodded, and sat beside Grandpa.

  ‘It was a close call,’ he muttered.

  ‘Were you one of the…?’ May began, but Grandpa caught her eye and shook his head. I knew what that meant. Whatever John Joe had been up to, it was best if we didn’t know about it. Then, if questions were asked, as no doubt they would, we would know nothing.

  ‘There’s no turning back,’ John Joe said later, as we sipped tea. ‘All hell will break loose now.’

  He said it in a tone of satisfaction. But what could be good about the promise of more violence?

  Chapter Thirty

  Sure enough, shortly afterwards we heard that the Commissioner had requested reinforcements of British soldiers from Melbourne. They would arrive soon. The diggers were fearful and angry. Despite my original resolve not to become embroiled in their grievances, I found myself listening to the diggers around us and making notes in my journal. Not only that but, ignoring Mama’s concern, I went along to the meetings before the reinforcements arrived. Grandpa came with me. I was surprised at the number of women who also came along and raised their voices.

  ‘All we want,’ Peter Lalor said, holding up his hands for calm. ‘All we want is fair representation and the abolition of the licence tax.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Grandpa whispered to me. ‘If we diggers had a vote, then matters would be dealt with in a civilised manner. Why can’t the powers-that-be realise that?’

  As May and I travelled back and forth from mine shaft to creek, I also listened to what the diggers were saying up on Sovereign Hill. I listened to them as we served them stew in the evenings. And I knew that despite Peter Lalor’s call for restraint, many were now too angry to be peaceful.

  ‘Will there be more trouble, Esty?’ May asked me one evening, as we cleaned up. ‘Do you think all of this will end in a bloody battle?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. It frightened me to see that Grandpa was now as involved as John Joe. I
knew he would normally shun anything that might end in violence, but his sympathies were with the miners. As I wrote, I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if all our hard work and dreams were to dissolve in war between the military and the diggers. What would become of us? We would lose everything

  ‘May,’ I said one night, ‘Do you think we should have stayed in service? All those nights when we looked at the pictures of the Australian goldfields in The Illustrated London News and I told you about the gold – do you think I was living a dream? You’d be safe if you’d stayed with the Burgesses.’

  ‘Will you shush,’ May said, pulling me close. ‘This country is – how can I say it, Esty? It’s more than I could have imagined. You’ve opened my life, Esty Maher, opened up a whole world beyond that stuffy estate back home. I love this country, and I’ll cope with whatever life sends us. And so will you. We’re here, we’re alive and we’re going to stick together through thick and thin. We’re as good as – no, better even, than a family – you, me, your mam, your grandpa and John Joe. So, no more of your daft doubts.’

  I took some comfort from her optimism, but underneath I feared the outcome of the miners’ simmering rage. The nightly meetings grew bigger as more and more diggers gathered to air their grievances. Along with Peter Lalor and other rational people, Grandpa tried to calm the frustrated men, but they’d become too angry to listen to reason any more.

  And I felt myself siding with them. Many of these men had come from the other side of the world and had invested all they had in the goldfields. If they didn’t keep up with the crippling licence fees, they were doomed to penury – just like ourselves. All that money going to England. It didn’t seem fair.

  ‘It’s not just the licence fee, Esty,’ Grandpa said to me one evening, as I was writing my journal. ‘It’s to do with our rights. There are some blackguards among us who are up to all kinds of mischief, but that’s no reason for all of us to be treated as criminals. Most are like ourselves – good people who have come to this new country in search of a decent living. All we want is to be treated with respect and have the right to vote – to have our say.’

  Matters came to a head one night in November. Grandpa told me that something big was about to happen as we set out to a place called Bakery Hill. I was amazed at the number of diggers massed there. A big flagpole was erected and, in an act of defiance after several heated speeches, the diggers burnt their licences. I gasped. I couldn’t believe they’d do such a foolhardy thing.

  ‘What will happen now?’ I whispered to Grandpa.

  He squeezed my arm. ‘I don’t know, Esty lass,’ he sighed. ‘I just don’t know. But, for better or for worse, there’s no turning back now.’

  Amidst loud cheers, a flag was raised. It fluttered up the flagpole and caught the breeze at the top. In the light of the many lanterns I could see the design as it billowed in the night breeze.

  ‘The Southern Cross!’ I exclaimed. ‘It’s the Southern Cross!’

  ‘It is,’ said Grandpa. ‘The stars of the Southern Cross – the symbol of the miners.’

  Peter Lalor stood under the flag and voiced the now-familiar requests of the miners. Fair representation, abolition of the licence tax and votes for all were the main demands, just as Grandpa had told me. That sounded reasonable. I couldn’t understand why these requests would provoke such a reaction from the authorities. After his speech, Peter Lalor swore allegiance to the Southern Cross and, with one voice, so did every miner at the gathering, including Grandpa.

  Then he too burnt his licence. ‘The die is cast, Esty,’ he said.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Friday, 1st December dawned with a promise of sweltering heat. I felt I’d never get accustomed to the upside-down seasons here in Australia.

  ‘December,’ May said to me later, as we fought off the flies that even managed to squeeze under our veils. ‘At home we’d be scraping the frost off the windows in our attic, Esty. Don’t you remember? Pulling back the blankets while it was still dark to face another day pandering to Miss Emma and her ma. And the cold! God, I can still remember the cold in that Big House. So cold that your fingers would be numb. I used to envy the kitchen maids down there in the heat of the big stove.’

  ‘Oh, frost, beautiful frost,’ I gasped. ‘What I’d give for just a handful of that frost right now.’

  ‘And Christmas,’ May went on. ‘Mrs Casey would be making the puddings.’ she added. ‘And cakes. She made the best Christmas cakes in Ireland. She told me so herself. She’d be soaking the fruit in brandy and smacking the hands of anyone she’d catch taking a handful.’

  ‘I wasn’t there in the days of plenty,’ I reminded her. ‘I came during the Hunger, remember?’

  We fell silent.

  There was an undercurrent of excitement around the diggings that morning – a feeling of something about to happen. As we took our barrow to the creek, May looked around with a frown.

  ‘Is it my imagination, or are there fewer workers around?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s your imagination,’ I laughed.

  ‘No, May’s right,’ said John Joe, his bare torso glistening with sweat. ‘Lots of the diggers have gone off to the stockade.’

  ‘What’s a stockade?’ asked May.

  ‘A big fence made of spiked stakes to protect us from the military,’ said John Joe. ‘We’re expecting trouble.’

  ‘Pah! We’re always expecting trouble,’ May retorted. ‘What’s so different about now?’

  John Joe just shook his head as he started to work on the gravel we’d brought. His silence frightened me. As we made our way back towards the digging, I too, noticed the absence of many of the miners.

  ‘They’re building a fence thing, Mr Maher,’ May said to Grandpa, who’d come up to the surface of the shaft for some fresh air and a puff on his pipe. ‘John Joe says there’s more trouble. Always trouble. You’d think they’d all be fed up with trouble by now, and just get on with things.’

  Grandpa gave me a worried look. ‘A stockade,’ he muttered, giving a great sigh. ‘A useless gesture against the might of the Crown.’

  I’d wanted him to say something more comforting. But that was just me seeking the reassurance I’d always got from him.

  That evening, a great many customers for Mama’s stew were missing. The talk among those who had come was of the stockade.

  ‘Let them try their dirty tricks now, those militia men,’ someone said. ‘We’ll be ready for them.’

  ‘Listen to them,’ whispered May. ‘Like small boys playing war games, they are.’

  Away from the firelight, I could see Grandpa and John Joe talking earnestly. Then John Joe went towards the wagon. Was he leaving?

  ‘What are you doing, John Joe?’ I asked. ‘Are you taking the wagon? Are you going somewhere?’

  John Joe smiled. ‘I’m going to have a sleep, Esty,’ he said.

  A sleep? That was not like John Joe. He could go for days without a proper night’s sleep and still be full of energy. I felt that the whole order of life had been stirred into an unreal blend of fact and fantasy, and I could make no sense of any of it. Grandpa went over and sat under a tree. I sensed that he wanted to be alone, so I tried to concentrate on cleaning the stew-pots.

  We were surprised and delighted later on when Adam turned up unexpectedly in his cart. May blushed, and almost spilled her precious bag of sixpences in her attempt to get her apron off.

  ‘Adam,’ said his mother, as surprised as the rest of us. ‘What are you doing here? How is Father managing…?’

  ‘It’s all right, Ma,’ he replied, jumping from the cart. ‘A couple of customers are helping watch the sheep.’ He went over to May and, like a true gentleman, kissed her hand. Here we were in the midst of impending violence, and May’s beau was coming to court her!

  John Joe appeared from inside the wagon. I expected some awkwardness, but he simply nodded to Adam.

  ‘Adam,’ he said.

  Rose laughed. ‘Come t
o see his lady love,’ she said, in her usual forthright way.

  ‘Not quite, Ma,’ said Adam, going around to the back of the cart. I gasped, when he produced his rifle. What was this all about? I’d read about lovers fighting over their sweethearts – surely this was not about to happen!

  But Adam simply handed John Joe the gun.

  ‘Take it,’ he said. ‘You’re better with this than I am. I know what might be ahead and I want you to have it.’

  John Joe took the gun. The sight of that terrible weapon in his hands made me gasp.

  ‘No!’ I cried out. ‘John Joe, don’t…’

  John Joe looked at me. ‘It’s all right, Esty,’ he said. ‘It’s just to scare the enemy. A few shots in the air will be enough to frighten them off.’

  May had her hands to her face, her eyes wide with fear. ‘What are you doing, Adam?’ she said. ‘Do you want John Joe to be hanged for shooting at the military?’

  ‘No,’ replied Adam.

  ‘Thank God,’ Rose murmured. ‘At least you won’t be using it yourself.’

  ‘No, Ma,’ said Adam. Then he reached back into the cart and took out a billhook. ‘I’ll make do with this.’

  ‘Adam!’ began Rose. ‘This is the miners’ fight, lad. Let those who are involved deal with it.’

  ‘I am involved, Ma,’ replied Adam. ‘All of us here are involved. Whatever happens here in Ballarat affects my life too.’ Then he looked at John Joe. ‘Are we ready?’ he asked.

  Mama put her hand on Grandpa’s arm. ‘Stop them, Father!’ she said. Grandpa gently lifted her hand away.

  ‘There’s no stopping it now,’ he said.

  ‘Foolhardy!’ exclaimed Rose, wringing her hands. ‘What chance have a few miners against trained troops?’

  Without looking back, John Joe and Adam went off together. May clutched my hand. Mama and Rose drew closer together and Mama looked at me, her face tense.

  There was nothing I could say to comfort her.

 

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