It took three attempts, but finally I caught the jacks on the back of my hand—two of them. I was very pleased. I tried the next part, to toss the bone and sweep up another from the ground but that did not work. Well, at least I am able to catch them now.
‘Gotta go,’ Jeremy said in a panic. ‘Been gone too long already. Will try and get back tomorrow. See ya!’ And in a flash he was gone and over the mound, saluting in his military-style farewell.
Our meeting was so fast that I forgot to ask Jeremy more questions.
Sunday, January 27
Where am I? I do not know, except that I am not at the camp in our Gully. There are more trees, more rocks and a few hills. There is sand. There is dirt. There is dust. There is heat—much heat. It is early evening, and the sun is lowering in the sky and nearing the horizon. This is the worst heat I have been in. I am writing these words while Uncle is talking with the Bosses and the other elders. How many are here? I think nearly all Chinese from our Gully are here or very nearby. Once more we Chinese have been thrown off our field. Once more no-one is protecting us.
Monday, January 28
I must write down what I saw yesterday. I hate what I have seen.
Chow Ping came running through the camp telling us to move fast, ‘fie dee lah, fie dee lah’, and warning us that the Big-Noses were coming, they were attacking. He had been in town to gather supplies from Mr Greig, who had heard of a gathering of Big-Noses at Golden Point. Chow Ping left Mr Greig to fill the order and—even though he is Chinese—went out to where all the Big-Noses were gathered. He didn’t understand much of what they said, for they were speaking too fast, but there were lots of speeches and flags fluttering in the wind, and he knew by the cheering and the waving of sticks and weapons that it was not a peaceful gathering. And when he heard the words ‘moon-face’ and ‘celestial’, he—like every Chinaman who hears these words—knew that he needed to be wary.
When a band started playing, the talking stopped and the marching started. Chow Ping said that there was even a drum made out of a tin case bashing a rhythm for marching. The Big-Noses marched on to Little Spring Creek to do their damage. Chow Ping’s flying feet ran to us at the Gully. Stupidly, he stopped to gather his supplies as he ran through the town, so by the time he arrived at the Gully the band was not far behind.
Uncle said that we should be thankful that the mob was making so much noise as they approached that most of us were able to gather our possessions and run ahead of the attackers. Had they been trying to injure us severely they would have done so, he said. They were forcing us out of town, ‘Shepherding us like when they move sheep through a paddock,’ he explained. I don’t like being treated like a farm animal. I am a human, just like them. We Chinese deserve respect too. Uncle is too kind. I cannot see how we can be thankful for having our items stolen, our tents destroyed and Chinese miners injured.
It is later this day, but still I cannot write the worst part of what I have seen. It makes me sick to the pit of my stomach. I am resting beneath this tree, watching the sun fade and the deep shadows cover the hills and us also. I am trying to write the words of what I have seen, but the memory of it is too real.
Tuesday, January 29
I am feeling so sick tonight, but not because of bad food. I saw Ng Man Kwang, who has blood streaming from his head where part of his queue used to be. The Big-Noses have torn his hair away from his head. They have scalped him. Uncle has treated Ng Man Kwang with ointments from his medicines. He is resting now, but I hear him moaning. I cannot sleep.
Su San Ling returned to the diggings with a small number of men. It seemed as though they were away for hours and hours. He told the Bosses that a few tents were burnt. He said that there were about twenty European miners clustered around his tent, and it looked like his goods were all gone. He is very unhappy. He wants the Bosses to attack the miners and get back our Gully, but we are not strong enough in numbers and the miners have weapons.
Wednesday, January 30
My stomach still tumbles when I think of Ng Man Kwang and his bleeding head. He has not told anyone what happened. Not even Uncle or the Bosses. He is greatly ashamed.
Ah Goh says that without a queue a Chinaman will never get to heaven when he dies. Maybe I will keep my queue tucked inside my blouse so I don’t have it stolen.
Is this the gods’ way of punishing me for deceiving Uncle and insulting my family in sneaking away to meet with Jeremy? I need to know.
I am wilting, standing outside in the heat. Uncle says to stay under shade.
Thursday, January 31
‘Two days,’ is what Chow Ping heard these hating people say. Two days we had to quit the fields, but instead they chased us away right then. At their meeting they were in a frenzy. They wanted action right away and so they marched, first to Little Spring Creek and then to our Gully. We still would not have left happily, but at least everyone would have been able to gather their possessions and leave peacefully, without being hurt. And Ng Man Kwang would still have his queue.
And we have the Miner’s Right too. The law says that we are allowed to mine here, yet the troopers do not help us. Those troopers, Chow Ping said, were standing and watching the crowd. They did nothing to protect us. They are as bad as the evil hating miners who do this.
Friday, February 1
Today I walked around the place where we are. I climbed trees. I practised my Chinese and English words. I ate some food we gathered from the bush. At least I was able to wander further with the men to get the bush food. We picked berries and dug some roots, and there are even leaves that are supposed to be edible, but I declined those for eating. There is nothing else to do here away from our goldfields. I have never felt so hot, even at home in China after working all day. My clothes are saturated, not from rain or water, but from the perspiration that is pouring from my body. My body is aching from sleeping on the hard ground. We have tried to soften it with branches of leaves and bushes, but it is still hard.
Saturday, February 2
I practised my Chinese and English words today—again.
I walked around the place where we are—again.
I climbed the trees—again.
I ate some food—again.
I went to the toilet—again.
I did find six small stones, about the size of Jeremy’s jacks, and I practised the knucklebones game. I am not very good with the jacks, but I am much worse with stones. They roll off my hand; at least the knucklebones wobbled around before they fell off. Most times I only caught one stone, but if I get good with stones I will be better with the knucklebones, so I must keep practising. I could do Ones—eventually. It took me a long time to be good at throwing the stone in the air and then picking up each of the scattered stones from the dirt. I cannot do Twos. I must keep practising.
Sunday, February 3
There is nothing for a Chinese boy to do stuck in the middle of this land. It should not be called ‘New Gold Mountain’ but ‘Hating Gold Mountain’.
Monday, February 4
Some of us (Uncle, Mr Fung, Boss Chin Yee and his team) will be heading back to our Gully today. Su San Ling has reported that the miners who destroyed our camp have now left. The Bosses have agreed that we should be able to go back to the mining. But not everyone is ready to go back yet. Some of the new Chinese miners want to wait to make sure that everything has settled down, but Uncle says we are going. He says that it is important for the leaders to show the way. I am pleased about going back, because there has been nothing for me to do out here. But I am worried, too, that we will set up camp again, have all our tents erected and our mines back in operation—and once again we will be thrown out. I remember the eyes of the men who were herding us out of the camp—they were sharp eyes that hated us.
We have now arrived back in the Gully. As we walked, we passed small groups of Chinese men who have been waiting for instructions. Su San Ling had not seen them before, so they must have been hiding elsewhere. Some of these men ha
ve not eaten much for they looked very weak and required assistance.
I don’t remember the sun taking so long to set in China, or burning so hard, but here it does. The gods have been smiling on us, for we were able to set up our tents and beds when we arrived late in the afternoon. Uncle says that, judging by the time that it has taken to walk here, we were camped seven miles away in the bush.
The miners have left nothing here for us to use. All our tools are destroyed or stolen. Some of our mines have been filled in, and the piles of wash-dirt have been scattered. But straightaway Boss Chin Yee’s team (even Boss himself) started re-piling the dirt for the wash—even before they set up the tents.
I do not know how I am supposed to feel. Am I to be like Uncle and Boss Chin Yee, who accept this violence and still hope for peace? Am I to be like the men who gathered their gold and were running away from this field? When Uncle tried to tell them to remain with us, they did not even listen to him. Or am I to be like Ng Man Kwang, who tried to fight and protect what was rightfully his, and who ended up in deep injury? If we stay here we will need new tools and supplies. I am sure that the storekeepers will be pleased to see us. We will also need a fresh energy to sustain us against the hatred from the Big-Noses.
Tuesday, February 5
Mr Fung has once again begun to set up his tent with the foods and other goods. Today he was hard at work, setting out the rows and rows of greens once more. Uncle said that I would be more useful to Mr Fung today than to any of the miners or even himself, so I spent today tilling the ground and trying to recover any of the plants that remain. Part of Mr Fung’s garden was destroyed, with plants trampled upon, ripped out and tossed aside. I think the stupid Big-Noses did not even take these to eat them themselves. Luckily, some seedlings have survived without our attention.
Mr Fung knows much information. He is very smart in the gardening and says that we will soon have our vegetables again.
Wednesday, February 6
Some of us, about one hundred, are now back here at our camp in the Gully. Other men want to be certain that we will not be attacked again before they come back, so it might be a few days before everyone returns.
Uncle insisted that today I must make sure that I had the tent back in order. At least with only two of us in this tent, I don’t have much to put up again. Not like Boss Chin Yee’s men. All six men sleep in that tent. They are sleeping very close together; the snoring from those Chinamen keeps any animal intruders away from our camp. I am very thankful that the hating Big-Noses did not burn our tent; they slipped the rope and broke some of the cases we used as shelves, but the tent is not torn. Our storage baskets did not survive. They were smashed, but Uncle’s herbs and medicines that he purchased from the traders last time are still of use. He said that it was most important that I place the ancestors’ shrine in place today. I knew that.
Thursday, February 7
I saw Jeremy again today. Sometimes I think that I do not want to see any Big-Nose ever again, but as I was walking around to see which other Chinese had returned, my wandering feet walked me to our tree. He told me he has been to our tree many days. He’s been waiting to see if I would come, but like me he can’t wait too long. I wanted to shout at him and yell at him and even hit him because he is one of the Big-Noses. But I remembered Uncle’s words that not all Big-Noses hate us, and all I did was stand there and look at him.
After a while I asked him this question: ‘Why do your people treat us so badly?’
He didn’t want to tell me (I could see from the blank expression on his face), but I persisted. I had to know why we were so hated and treated this horrible way. I questioned him again, and this time he replied.
‘Father says that Chinese don’t know how to mine properly. He says that you Chinese waste water when you mine and that working in teams makes you get a lot more gold than when he and other miners work alone. He says that Chinese steal gold, ruin good digging grounds, spread disease and do secret things.’ He stopped, but I made him keep going. ‘He says that he doesn’t trust anyone who dresses the way Chinese do and has long plaited hair like a horse’s tail and strange shaped eyes. They sure don’t belong on a goldfield. He also says that Chinese have dirty habits, cook smelly food and have strange religious habits.’
While he was talking I sank to the ground and sat. I listened—I could not say a thing.
‘But Mother doesn’t think like that,’ he quickly continued. ‘When she heard Father saying all these things, she spoke right back at him. She was really mad at him—I’ve never seen her like that. She told him that she’d had enough of his foolish ideas. She said, “Chinese are people are just like us. Just because they look different and they wear different clothes doesn’t make them bad people. And if you went to church and listened to what the minister said, you’d realise that. You men like eating their food when it suits you, so you don’t have to cook. Well, I like the way they cook and I like their food.” She then told Father that any more words like that and she’d be on the nearest path out of town with us children, never to return.’
‘What do you believe?’
I asked him. ‘I think Mother is right.’
I agree with Uncle that not all white miners are hating people. Jeremy and his mother are not hating people, but there are too many that are. And I wonder, is Jeremy just saying these words to make me feel better or does he believe what he says? I wonder why he does not think the way his father does.
Uncle tells me to believe what I feel, so for the moment I trust what Jeremy says. I hope that I am right in doing so.
We decided that we would use the stones on the ground to mark our attendance. Each day we are there we would place a stone to let the other know. Jeremy places his stones in a large hole near the base of the tree, and I will place my stones beneath a big flat rock nearby. This is good for the knowing. We agree to try and meet in the afternoon, because Jeremy is often permitted to wander the Flat after his lunchtime meal and the afternoon is when I am often sent on messages. This would be the best time.
‘Hey, why do you bow like that every time I see you?’ Jeremy asked suddenly.
‘Like what?’ I asked.
‘You know, like this,’ he said, this time demonstrating my greeting, although he did it quickly and with barely a bow (more a tilt of his back). It appeared too hard for him and he looked very stiff.
‘Oh, kowtow,’ I said, stifling a giggle. ‘We do this when greeting another, to show respect. Uncle has taught me that you shake hands when you greet another person. We shake hands with the storekeeper and Uncle even shook hands with the Commissioner—even though he doesn’t do his job and protects only white people. Would you like to shake hands?’
‘No. This way,’ he said kowtowing to me.
Friday, February 8
Uncle still seemed anxious today. He nervously attended to his tasks and he seemed confused when he checked the Almanac. He even told one of the miners to come back another time to write the letter, which he only does when there are too many people around. There was no-one else requiring a letter. This was very strange.
I asked Uncle if I could accompany Boss Chin Yee and his men into the town. He sharply told me no.
I left a stone at our tree beneath the rock.
Saturday, February 9
Uncle demanded that I sweep out the tent according to our Chinese ways. He says that I am too slow and that this should have been done days ago. He said that even though we are not in China we still have to follow Chinese ways, and it is his responsibility to teach me so that I can go back to China and be the responsible elder son.
He’s never worried about my sweeping before but today he watched me like an eagle. I started sweeping out the door of our tent, but Uncle raced across the tent.
‘Wrong way,’ he yelled, snatching the broom from my hand. ‘You sweep dirt into the middle, not out the door. Sweep dirt out the front door and you sweep away one of the family—maybe even your father—and maybe you even s
weep away the good fortune of the family. Sweep into middle and then out the back.’
Later Uncle started hanging red paper banners that he made. I don’t know where he got the red paper, but it is here and Uncle has written the characters on it. Maybe we will be successful here in New Gold Mountain. I remember now that Uncle would not permit me to accompany Boss Chin Yee into town on Friday; he must have bought the red paper from Mr Greig. Mr Greig, I think, had better be careful that he does not let all the Big-Noses know that he has Chinese supplies as well as Big-Nose supplies. Otherwise he, too, might be in danger from the attacking Big-Noses.
‘Remember last year in your village at New Year, did you have blossoms and oranges for the celebration?’ I nodded, and he continued. ‘I have been trying to find them here, but Mr Fung, even he can’t grow orange trees quick enough for us. So the ancestors will have to be happy with what we can gather.’
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