Land of Golden Wattle

by J. H. Fletcher

  The John o’ Groats seemed if anything rougher than the old Eureka but they didn’t care; they could look after themselves.

  Chops and steak and tumblers of a drink called Blow Your Skull Off. They’d asked the waitress about it before ordering.

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘Rum, opium, spirits of wine and cayenne pepper.’

  ‘Kill many, does it?’ Richard said.

  The waitress, well endowed around the chest but with not too much between the ears, gaped. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Rascal.

  Alice decided she’d had enough danger for one day.

  ‘I’ll stick to water.’

  ‘The water’s horrible,’ Richard said.

  Even so…

  They were halfway through the meal when Alice saw a face she recognised on the far side of the crowded room. She put her hand on Richard’s arm.

  ‘Look over there. It’s William.’

  ‘What’s he doing here? I wouldn’t have thought it was his sort of place at all. I’d have said silk sheets and a silver service were more his style.’

  ‘I doubt there’s one silver service in the whole of Ballarat,’ Alice said.

  Richard studied William with a mixture of contempt and dislike – having money in his pocket made that easier – but he wasn’t really interested and soon went back to sawing at his saddle-tough steak.

  Alice continued to watch and wonder. Richard was right; the John o’ Groats wasn’t William’s style. Neither was the whole goldfields scene. But there he was, large as life and twice as ugly, as her mum would have said. And there was something else that was interesting: William was not alone.

  They’d heard that William had married Cynthia Mason shortly after their own wedding – needless to say, they hadn’t been invited – yet there he was in Ballarat with a woman who clearly was not his wife. Paying her a fair bit of attention too.

  Alice continued to watch. The woman was about the same age as she was, with black eyes and black hair, thick black brows in a face as white as bone. She had a strong rather than lush figure but was still showing most of what she had above the deep cut of her dress, and there was an air about her that said watch out.

  A whore? Alice doubted that; she had more the tight mouth of someone who’d cut a man’s throat before she’d sleep with him, and not think twice about it.

  A chance acquaintance? Not likely, Alice thought, the way she was clinging to William’s arm.

  It was no business of hers but what had happened between her and William in the woodland at the back of Barnsley’s house – never mind what might have happened – seemed somehow to make it so. It gave her the strangest fellow-feeling with the sabre-sharp woman, which was nonsense, of course.

  So she continued to watch. She couldn’t hear what they were saying over the hubbub, but everything William did made his feelings for the strange woman clear. He can hardly keep his hands off her, Alice thought. And the way she was lapping it up showed she had no problem with that, either. Brother Willy had best look out for himself, Alice thought.

  At that moment William looked her way. She held her gaze and saw shock smooth his face as he recognised her. Then his expression cleared. He said something to the woman. She turned and stared at Alice across the rowdy, smoke-hazed room, a stiletto stab of the black eyes and Alice saw that this woman would regard the whole world as competition.

  William got to his feet and strolled across the room towards them.

  ‘He’s coming over,’ Alice said to Richard.

  ‘We are honoured,’ Richard said.

  He leant back in his chair. He took a few sovereigns out of his pocket and turned them casually but obviously as William reached their table. He took note of what Richard was doing.

  ‘You must be doing all right. Well done.’ Smiling, patronising.

  ‘Not bad. And you?’ Smiling between equals.

  William laughed lightly. ‘I’m not here to dig holes in the ground. I leave that to tough men like you, people used to manual labour. The family owns a lot of the land. Uncle bought it when he was over in fifty-one. Pays to keep an eye on it, don’t you know? And to keep in with the powers that be.’

  ‘How’s your wife?’ Alice said.

  William smiled easily. ‘Very well, the last I heard.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?’ Alice asked.

  ‘I’m afraid Maria’s over-particular of the company she keeps,’ William said.

  ‘What’s she doing with you, then?’ Rascal Jones said.

  William turned with exaggerated slowness. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Rascal Jones.’

  ‘Appropriate, I’m sure.’

  ‘You’d better believe it,’ Rascal said.

  ‘Your friend’s coming over,’ Alice said.

  Close up Maria looked even more dangerous than she had at a distance. She had a scar on her left cheek and her voice was harsh enough to break glass. She stared at Alice and the two men as though taking possession of them.

  ‘Richard and Alice are old friends of mine,’ William said. ‘The gentleman with them tells me his name is Jones.’

  ‘I heard of you lot,’ Maria said. ‘Struck it rich, people are sayin’.’

  ‘People say all sorts of things,’ Alice said.

  Maria smiled. Her teeth were sharp and Alice knew she had seen the coins in Richard’s hand.

  ‘Sometimes they’re right, an’ all.’ She flicked a glance at Alice but spoke to Richard. ‘You with this one?’

  ‘Alice is my wife,’ Richard said.

  While Alice’s eyes would have killed the dangerous woman where she stood.

  ‘Just askin’,’ Maria said. She turned to William. ‘We gunna eat or what?’

  Friday 1 December 1854 was notable for two things: a marked increase in the aggression of the goldfields police and a visit to Wheal Alice by William Tregellas and Maria Hack.

  Very picky with her boots was Maria Hack as she winced her way through the mud left by the late spring rain yet Alice would have been prepared to bet she’d waded through a lot worse, her looks saying she’d packed more into her years than most people did in a dozen lifetimes. Not much of it good, either.

  Maria wore a magenta and orange dress – enough to poke your eyes out, Alice thought – but expensively styled, discreetly bustled and more modest about the throat than she’d been in the John o’ Groats. She carried a silk parasol. She was the epitome of smart although Alice thought how putting a gold collar on a viper did nothing to milk its venom.

  Maria gave a delicate shudder as she eyed the gaping mouth of the shaft.

  ‘Is it very deep?’

  ‘Hundred and eighty feet, give or take,’ Alice said.

  ‘Blimey…’

  Alice saw Maria was trying to play the part of Lady Muck on a visit to the peasantry but making a hard job of it. She suspected Maria’s voice would smash rock if she ever decided to raise it.

  ‘And your two mates go down there?’

  ‘I been down myself.’

  ‘To the bottom?’

  Alice nodded. ‘Nothing to it.’ Not for quids would she admit how terrified she’d been.

  ‘So you’ve seen the gold?’

  ‘More or less. It doesn’t look like much. It’s not just lying there; it’s in rocks. You got to crush the rocks to get it out.’

  ‘And now you’re rich?’

  ‘We’re getting by.’

  Maria flashed an avaricious gleam. ‘People I’ve spoken to say you’ve made one of the best strikes in Ballarat.’

  ‘Better than some, I suppose.’

  ‘By luck.’

  ‘Luck and hard work,’ Alice said.

  ‘What you do with it?’

  ‘With the gold? Stick it in the bank,’ Alice said.

  She was lying. She’d banked some but not most of it. It was a bone of contention between her and Richard, but Richard
didn’t trust banks and said they’d be better off looking after it themselves. The unbanked portion was locked away in a steel box under the bed they’d bought now they could afford some of the comforts they’d had to do without for so long. Alice had been all in favour of the bed, which was a lot kinder to her back than the hard ground had been whenever Richard had felt in a loving mood, but she was certainly not going to tell Maria Hack there was the best part of three thousand quid hidden not ten feet from where they were standing.

  ‘You gotta keep some of it back, though? For living expenses, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Ain’t you afraid someone will steal it?’

  ‘We keep our eyes on it,’ Alice said.

  ‘Just as well, I’d say.’

  Maria walked away, her knowing smile like a trophy.

  Alice watched her back and did not think she had much to smile about because she had seen something in the other woman she had not expected.

  ‘Has William been here long?’ she asked Richard.

  ‘He said about two weeks. But he told me he’s been coming over regularly for about six months. Not just here. Bendigo too, seems like. Uncle Barnsley has been buying land all over.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because he’s smart. Everywhere gold’s been discovered the price of land has gone through the roof. Five times, ten times the price they paid. Sometimes more.’

  ‘And without having to work for it,’ Alice said.

  ‘That’s right. William was saying Uncle sends him over every few weeks to keep an eye on things.’

  ‘Not all he’s been doing, either,’ Alice said.

  Richard looked questioningly at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘That woman’s pregnant,’ Alice said.

  ‘Are you saying…?’

  ‘Who else?’

  Not that it was Alice’s problem; there were more important things to worry about than Maria Hack.

  Everyone knew the district was on the edge of trouble. Tempers were raw since the commissioner had raised the licence fees yet again – and the authorities seemed to think the situation serious enough to order more troops into the area. The word was that General Nickle was on his way from Melbourne with eight hundred men.

  Talk, more talk and black looks by the bushel.

  After the business of the stoning, the soldiers kept out of the way but everyone knew they were there and their presence, seen or unseen, ripped holes in what little remained of the diggers’ patience. Everywhere there was talk of resistance, even of rebellion, and the nagging presence of the bully-boy police did nothing to cool people down.

  ‘The police haf always behaved like the bastards they are,’ said Karl Leipzig, ‘but recently they’ve become even worse. As I said they would. Now it’s every day or two, sometime more than once a day. Is it any wonder diggers are burning their licences? These are free men; they vill not be treated like slaves.’

  For once Willy McNab had nothing to say.

  ‘You know Father Smyth is telling us to lay down our weapons and pray for peace?’ Karl said. ‘I ask you: pray for peace? Vith the authorities trying to take avay our freedom?’

  Later that day Wheal Alice had a visitor.

  Alice had been washing clothes and her arms were suds to the elbow when she saw Police Corporal Jenkins with a couple of troopers and the load of trouble that always seemed to travel with them.

  Jenkins had greased-back hair and blue eyes so pale they were almost white. He had a bad reputation: a bully who people said enjoyed causing as much trouble as he could. He was carrying a pistol holstered on his belt, an iron-bound baton in his fist, and his heels bruised the ground.

  ‘Jenkins,’ the man said. ‘Goldfields police.’

  ‘Again,’ Alice said.

  ‘Again,’ he agreed. ‘So you know what I want, ducky.’

  Alice couldn’t abide being called ducky. ‘What’s that then?’

  Tap, tap went the baton.

  ‘Looker like you, you shouldn’t be askin’ a red-blooded man that sorta question. Might take it as an invite: know what I mean? Now, show me your licence. An’ quick about it, ducky, if you don’t want me to run you in.’

  ‘Pardon me for breathing,’ said Alice, but knew she had no choice. She showed him her licence.

  ‘There you go! That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now: where’s the rest of your mob?’

  ‘My husband’s sleeping.’

  ‘Then you better wake him up.’

  ‘He’s been working all hours,’ Alice said. ‘He needs his sleep.’

  ‘You do it or I will,’ Jenkins said. ‘Your choice.’

  Alice went into the tent and shook Richard’s shoulder. ‘Those police bastards want to see your licence.’

  ‘Easy with the language, missus.’ Jenkins had followed her into the tent. ‘Wouldn’t want me to run you in for non-cooperation, would we now?’

  ‘In my pants pocket,’ Richard said.

  Alice turned to pick them up from where an exhausted Richard had dropped them but Jenkins beat her to it. He picked up the pants, held them upside down and shook them. The licence fell and a couple of coins.

  ‘Doin’ well, are we?’ he said. He looked around him. ‘Ain’t there supposed to be another bloke with you?’

  ‘He’s down the shaft,’ Alice said.

  ‘Tell him to get up here,’ Jenkins said.

  ‘No way of getting hold of him down there,’ Alice said. ‘You want a squint at his licence, best you climb down and ask him yourself.’

  ‘Sassy little bitch, ain’t you?’ Jenkins said. ‘No worries; we’ll be back later. You can bet the farm on that.’

  ‘You’re worse than the plague, you lot,’ Alice said.

  ‘Best you don’ forget it, neither,’ Jenkins said.

  He went out of the tent with Alice following him.

  ‘You planning on keeping that coin?’ she said.

  ‘Coin?’

  ‘The one you took from my husband’s pants.’

  ‘Dunno what you’re on about,’ Jenkins said.

  A well-dressed man was walking towards the tent. Jenkins straightened at once and threw a smart salute.

  ‘Morning, sir!’

  William flipped a finger to his hat brim. ‘Morning, Corporal.’

  Jenkins mounted his horse and rode away, the two troopers clattering behind, all three of them figures of upright and honourable men.

  ‘How come that bastard treats me like dirt but hands you a salute?’ Alice said.

  ‘Friends in high places,’ William said. ‘You should try it sometime.’

  ‘Since when are people in high places gunna take a spit of notice of me?’

  ‘Introductions, that’s what you need.’ He gave her his best remember-what-good-times-we-might-have-had-together smile. ‘I can arrange it, if you’d like.’

  Another sassy article, Alice thought. Not one who would ever learn, either. She looked at him scornfully. ‘Wearin’ clothes like I got and stinking of sweat? You’re dreaming.’

  ‘Never hurts to dream. But I’m sorry to disappoint you, dear, I came to have a word with your husband.’

  ‘He’s sleeping.’

  ‘We’d best not disturb him, then.’ He gave her a warm smile and Alice didn’t trust him an inch. ‘As you know, there are strong feelings all over the goldfields,’ he said. ‘People are getting really worked up. And now there’s talk of another increase in the licence fee.’

  ‘A lot of the miners are battling to survive as it is,’ Alice said.

  ‘I know.’ William shook his head, Mr Sympathy himself. ‘There’ll be trouble any day now. Serious trouble.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Today? Tomorrow? Nobody knows. All it needs is a spark. The only thing we know for sure is that when it comes it’ll be ugly. You won’t want to get involved in that.’

  ‘We can’t do anything about it.’

  ‘I think perhaps you can.
You know they’ve been building a stockade to keep the troops out? I hear they’re even making their own flag. Might be best if you went there. It’d be safer.’

  ‘Why should you care?’ Alice said. ‘You’re not a miner. It doesn’t affect you.’

  William opened his eyes wide. ‘Of course I care. You’re family, aren’t you? I came to warn you.’

  ‘Warn us of what?’

  ‘The dangers of staying put. Can you see the soldiers firing on their own people? I can’t. But the police are a different story. You know what they did to that priest’s assistant? There’s been talk of rape too. You’re so vulnerable here. You want to get out while you can.’

  ‘And go where?’

  ‘The stockade. Where else? There will be a lot of people there and you know what they say about safety in numbers. Besides, the more people we have there, the more likely the authorities will be to listen to what we’re telling them. Think about it: licence fees cut, that’d be a start. And maybe – who knows? – we might even be able to get the police off our backs. But I am sure of one thing: when the shooting starts you’ll be a lot safer there than you are here.’

  ‘You told us you didn’t have no interest in the miners or the gold. It was the land that interested you. That’s what you said.’

  William waved a vague hand. ‘Somehow one gets sucked in.’

  Alice looked at him uncertainly. He was a nasty bit of work – she knew that better than anybody – but he was nobody’s fool and she thought his words made sense.

  ‘Mind you, there’ll be some rough characters there too. If you do decide to go it might be wise to take a weapon with you, so you can protect yourself if you need to.’

  ‘We don’t know nothing about weapons,’ Alice said.

  ‘I brought a gun for you,’ William said. He spoke softly, glancing this way and that, and took a pistol from under his coat. ‘Here. Take it.’

  She looked at it as though it might bite her. ‘Will you be there? In the stockade?’

  The warm smile returned. ‘In the front line. You can count on it. It’ll be good if you’re there to support me. Darks and Tregellases shoulder to shoulder? That’ll be something to tell your grandchildren! And if you need to find shelter – not that you will! – the John o’ Groats will be the place.’