A HAZARD OF HEARTS

by Frances Burke

  Fuming, Pearl paid closer attention to talk around her, while she patched, repaired and dosed, absorbing the background to this new movement, awaiting events.

  One night, when asked to visit a sick man down on Madman’s Flat, Pearl set off with her escort carrying her bag while favouring her with his opinion of the doctor called in before they approached Pearl.

  ‘He wasn’t no more a doctor than I am,’ snorted the bearded miner. ‘A’course we’d already tried a handful o’Holloways’ pills and spread the ointment on his wound, after we dug out the bullet, that is.’

  Pearl shuddered for the unfortunate victim and hoped the knife blade had not been used previously for skinning a rabbit or cleaning out a pipe.

  ‘But this “doctor”,’ continued the miner, ‘he said as how he’d cup him. For a bullet wound! And he cuts into his chest with this little metal box full of blades, then heats these little bell-shaped glasses and lays them on to burn the man while all the blood’s sucked out and him screaming with the pain of the shattered bone, until we pulls off the glasses and throws them out the tent, along with the doctor. And then we thought of you.’

  So kind, thought Pearl, her sense of humour tickled. Third on the list after the national panacea and the medical impostor. She knew the more conservative miners regarded her as a cross between a native witch-doctor and a miracle worker, to be called upon only in the case of dire necessity. But her amusement vanished the moment she stepped into the tent and saw her patient – the man she knew as Cato, the villainous Redbeard’s partner in crime.

  She paled, and moved back a step. Her voice sounded like a stranger’s, harsh and discordant. ‘How was he shot? In an armed holdup?’

  Her escort looked at her curiously. But Cato’s eyes widened at the sight of her. His lips moved soundlessly.

  Pearl fought down the urge to run, to put the greatest possible distance between herself and this man who had taken part in her degradation. Dreadful memories began replaying in her mind. She dug her nails into her palms, feeling sweat break out on her forehead as she battled her emotions. Then, from some recess in her mind a voice emerged. She could hear Dr. Hsien Lo as clearly as if he stood beside her exuding calmness and detachment.

  ‘One of natural, integral virtue is good at helping all people impartially. Thus, no one is abandoned.’

  No one is abandoned.

  ‘He is good at protecting and preserving...’

  Protecting and preserving.

  ‘A centred being is placid... never loses his poise... If one’s root is lost, one’s self-mastery could go with the wind.’

  Pearl drew in her breath and said quietly, ‘Please place my bag there on the floor then fetch me a bowl of water that has boiled.’

  The man lying on the rough bundle of branches, thrown down directly onto the dirt floor, watched her, his expression haunted, grey, pain-filled. ‘What...what...?’ was all he could manage.

  ‘What am I going to do to you?’ Pearl knelt beside him putting all the assurance she could into her voice. ‘I’m going to help you, if I can. You need not fear me.’

  He watched her in obvious trepidation as she worked steadily over him, cleaning the terrible wound in his right shoulder as gently as possible and binding his arm to his body, then attending the smaller wounds inflicted by the self-styled doctor.

  When she had done all she could she washed and repacked her bag, then got up saying, ‘You must have realised your wound is serious. Your shoulder joint has been shattered and you will lose the mobility of your arm. However, if we can prevent infection, you should not lose the arm itself. I’ll return tomorrow. Rest now, and have your friends make a mutton broth for you.’ She picked up her bag and hurried outside. A few yards from the tent nausea overtook her. She bent over retching until physically and emotionally empty.

  Her guide waited at a decent distance, approaching only when she straightened up and wiped her face. He said awkwardly, ‘You know Cato, then? You know what kind of man he is?’

  When she didn’t answer he pulled at his beard, obviously choosing his words. ‘He was on the duff and got caught. He’s my brother. When he come to me for help I couldn’t turn him away. I know he’s no good, but there it is. He’s my kin.’ He hesitated. ‘Will you inform on him? It was only a few head o’cattle.’

  Pearl couldn’t see his face. Little moonlight penetrated the streamers of cloud and he held his lantern low. However, he didn’t resemble his brother in silhouette, nor sound like him. She didn’t fear this man.

  ‘Once I would have called your brother scum and had him thrown into gaol. But I now think he’s had his punishment. He’ll never steal cattle again, or anything else, with that arm. I’ll see to him until he’s recovered, but I want no payment. This is something I must do in my own way.’

  Surprisingly, Cato’s brother seemed to understand, or at least was prepared to humour her. ‘Right. Then I’ll take you home. You’d never find your way alone,’ as she shook her head. ‘And men with rotgut in their bellies mightn’t reckernise the Chinese Witchwoman flitting without her broomstick.’ He gave a grunt of amusement, then sobered. ‘Whatever Cato done to you, I’m sorry for it, and I thank you for helping him. Come along then.’ He hefted her bag and set off with the lantern swinging by his knee.

  Pearl slept very little. Instead, she lay pondering the changes in her life and in herself since she’d left her homeland. In a wider world she had come across so many kinds of people, of belief, of attitude, and been enlightened in many ways; never could she have envisaged a complete about-face that would see her abandoning vengeance to succour her enemy. It was contrary to all she had ever been.

  Her western mother had known and deplored the nature which demanded an eye for an eye, had gently tried to inculcate the Christian ideal that Pearl could only see as feebleness and lack of spirit. But it had taken Doctor Hsien Lo’s vision of the Way to shed a revealing light on her religious teaching. In a moment of epiphany she saw the truth: that to be sufficiently centred and self-reliant to forswear vengeance was not a weakness, it was actually strength in disguise. Pearl could have hugged herself with pleasure at her deduction and pride in her new-found strength. Neither emotion typified the humility encouraged by the Tao, but she decided to be lenient with herself. No one could achieve perfection in a few weeks, or even in a lifetime.

  ~*~

  ‘Powdered seahorse,’ Pearl muttered, shutting the drawer of her herb cabinet. ‘Where can I get some without going to Melbourne?’

  A voice behind her made her jump. ‘Have you tried the China Sea? What’s it for, anyway?’

  Pearl turned. ‘Goitre,’ she said, automatically, and then, ‘J.G.!’

  ‘In the flesh, girl dear.’ J.G’s grin faded slowly as his gaze travelled over her ruined face. ‘Jesus, God! What happened?’

  Pearl’s welcoming smile trembled, although her voice remained steady. ‘An accident. It’s healed. Don’t fuss, J.G.’ She couldn’t stand the shock in his eyes and moved away to continue restoring various herbs to their places in the cabinet. ‘What are you doing here?’ For one fraction of an instant her heart had leapt at the sight of him, and she had hoped he had come for her sake. Then he’d seen her face, and the fantasy collapsed at birth.

  He turned her firmly to face him. ‘This was done with a knife. Who did it, Pearl?’

  ‘A stranger, a devil. I killed him.’ Her gaze didn’t flinch.

  Nor did his. ‘I’m glad, or I’d have done it for you. Are you all right now?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  His hands shifted to cup her face, the long, mobile fingers holding her steady while his thumb moved over the scar, tracing the line from her curved lip to her temple.

  ‘Your face was perfect. Now it’s a work of art with a small imperfection.’ His voice roughened. ‘God curse the hell-hound who did this to you. May he fester in an unhallowed grave for eternity.’ His hands dropped and he moved away, idly pulling out one of the drawers in the herb cabinet the
n pushing it in again.

  Was his emotion centred on her, personally, Pearl wondered, still feeling the touch of his warm thumb on her cheek? Or was it simply an obvious reaction to any such outrage?

  He turned back to her. ‘You asked why I’ve come. Simple curiosity, girl dear. Rumours abound concerning the rebellious miners’ fight with authority. I happen to think it’s coming to a head, and I want to be here to report on the outcome.’

  Pearl thrust personal matters aside to give this her attention. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if you were right. There has been an increase in disturbances, meetings at night down in the gullies with firebrand speeches. It began with the new twice-weekly licence searches ordered by the Governor. The traps seem to regard it as a new sport, hunting men instead of foxes, and they treat their prisoners abominably.’

  ‘Hotham’s a fool heading for trouble. Is it true the men are chained like common criminals?’

  Pearl flushed with the memory. ‘Too true. Some of them have died of mistreatment.’

  ‘But not if you get to them first, eh? Little Chinese Witchwoman. I’ve heard the term in the town. It’s how I found you so easily. Didn’t you come up with your brother, after all, girl dear?’

  Pearl became busy again. ‘Oh, yes. I stayed with him awhile, then decided to set up my clinic in a more central position.’ She knew he had seen through the careful words to the truth, yet he simply commented, ‘And a great thing it is, your clinic, from all I hear. Have you a cure, now, for a case of starvation? What do you prescribe?’

  ‘Whisky and dinner. You will be my guest J.G. Tell me how you performed the miracle of getting through to Ballarat when the roads have been closed since June.’

  He accepted the invitation with alacrity. ‘I’ve set up a tent not far from here, with the basics, but no food as yet. As to my miraculous arrival, the coach service has re-opened from Geelong so I took a place on the first one. I won’t pretend I enjoyed the journey. Still, one suffers for one’s art.’

  Arguing happily over J.G’s claims to artistic representation of the truth in his news columns, Pearl knew the initial barriers between them had fallen. She felt more comfortable with J.G. than she had in the past, and intensely thankful for his presence. She hadn’t realised how lonely she had been for news of friends and the sense of support he gave just sitting across the packing-case table. They had finished their meal and J.G. settled himself with his pipe before beginning a faithful account of events back in Sydney, including his belief that Elly and Paul cared deeply for one another, without admitting it.

  ‘Something divides them. It might have to do with the Honourable D’Arcy Cornwallis.’

  Pearl’s eyes kindled. ‘Evil lies hidden in that man.’

  ‘You think so? There are enough rumours about him, to be sure.’

  ‘He is the octopus hiding under his rock, his tentacles reaching out to trap others, to devour them.’

  J.G. gave an exaggerated shudder before turning the talk to his interest in the brewing storm on the goldfields. He wanted to hear everything Pearl knew, plus her conclusions, then gave his own.

  ‘I might not have been here long, but I’ve followed the reports since last year’s little flare-up. It’s more than the licence row, you know. There’s a strong political upsurge, fanned by the republican element, while plenty of diggers have come from direct experience of revolution in Europe. They want representation in the Legislative Council so they can have the laws changed.’

  ‘They have a right, when you see the contemptuous way decent men are treated by Commissioner Rede’s bullies. There’s no justice in these camps, except when the men take the law into their own hands.’

  ‘Which only gives the enemy more ammunition. They can point to such lawlessness then come down in force on the protest meetings.’

  Pearl was indignant. ‘What other form of protest can the miner’s make? How else can they be heard?’

  J.G. shrugged and knocked out his pipe before getting up. ‘I’m going to one tonight over at Eureka. You heard about the murder of a man called Scobie ten days ago at the Eureka Hotel?’

  ‘Yes. They spoke of charging the proprietor. However, the magistrates found there was no case.’

  ‘Well, Scobie’s digger mates think the court of enquiry smells and they’re to hold a meeting about it. This could be the spark to set off the conflagration. He grinned slyly. ‘Care to come along with me?’

  Pearl responded at once. This was exactly what she wanted, to be on the spot, to see events for herself. ‘I’ll take my bag. There is bound to be a fight, so stay well to one side, J.G. You don’t know these diggers as I do.’

  ‘Are they so belligerent?’

  ‘With the drink in them, they are. And the goldfields are awash with liquor, whatever the law may say.’ She damped down the fire then picked up her bag, which J.G. promptly took from her. He looked around.

  ‘Is it safe to leave all your goods unguarded.’

  Pearl laughed. ‘I’m the Chinese Witchwoman, remember? No-one wants to touch anything in case they turn into a frog. Of course, they don’t really believe it, but there’s just sufficient element of doubt to keep light fingers out of my tent. You have the lantern, so lead the way.’

  Over the past two days the weather had changed. A hot dry wind blew over the camp, fraying nerves already strained by the situation. In the road approaching the Eureka Hotel they found a milling mass of men, many of them armed, and most of whom had oiled their throats well with liquor and were in a reckless mood.

  A speaker mounted a tree trunk to address the crowd, pleading with them to stay within the law while using all possible means to have the case against Bentley, the hotel proprietor, and his men, brought before a more competent jurisdiction. The diggers seemed amenable and began to disperse. J.G. showed his disappointment.

  ‘Where are the hotheads? Are they all reasonable men here?’

  Pearl pointed out a new man climbing up on the trunk. ‘I know him. He’s Henry Westerby, a notorious stirrer of trouble and riot. He’s drunk.’

  Westerby began to bawl at the remainder of the crowd that the government camp was a hotbed of corruption and bribery, the magistrates in collusion with Bentley and his like. Shouts of approval urged him to greater heights of oratory. Bottles passed from hand to hand while the crowd’s mood grew hotter.

  ‘This is more like it.’

  J.G’s satisfaction disgusted Pearl. ‘You want trouble, don’t you? All newspapermen are the same, encouraging exciting incidents for them to report, whatever the consequences.’

  ‘That’s not quite true, girl dear. We go where trouble’s expected and always to be found, mankind being what it is. And you can’t deny the excitement in standing at the heart of things. Don’t you feel it?’

  ‘Yes, I do. But I don’t think I like it, after all. These men are being deliberately inspired to throw off restraint when they’re not sober enough to know what they are doing.’

  Westerby’s shout of ‘We’ll have the bugger Bentley out,’ was met with a roar from a hundred throats, and cries of ‘We’ll smoke the bugger out. We want Bentley. We want Bentley!’

  A detachment of troopers arrived to parade along the outskirts of the crowd, clearly hesitating to tackle such a number. Minutes later Westerby with two other men raced over to the canvas bowling alley attached to the hotel, their arms full of paper and rags which they rammed against the wall. A flame spurted and the hot north wind did the rest. A gout of fire rushed up, followed by an explosion of sparks which drove the men back. The wall of the hotel had caught alight and the diggers hailed this with glee, passing their bottles of rum freely while spreading out around the building in the hope of catching Bentley on the run.

  Pearl grasped J.G.’s arm. ‘What will happen to Bentley? Those troopers won’t stop them.’

  J.G. concentrated on the burning hotel. ‘When it reaches the liquor she’ll go to Glory. Don’t worry about the proprietor. I saw him scuttle off while the firebran
d preached his message.’

  ‘Then let’s leave. If there’s a riot we can’t do much except get caught up in it.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Sheets of fire devoured the wooden walls, turning the verandah posts into flaming torches. An orange light played over the gleeful watching faces, while owners of nearby stores ran with buckets and billy-cans and any other available utensils to fling water over their canvas and timber shanties. The crowd had grown quiet as the voice of the fire rose from a crackle to a roar, while plumes of smoke and sparks shot into the sky to be blown like a comet’s tail out into the dark. With the crash of a thousand tin kettles the roof fell in on the heart of the holocaust. The windows blew out like shotgun blasts and, as J.G. had predicted, the liquor bottles exploded.

  Anguished howls greeted such waste and men began stamping on the flames, beating at them with branches or sheepskin waistcoats torn from their own backs, finally daring the burning embers in a bid to save the kegs. Despite J.G’s hopes for more action, little else happened beyond the ransacking of the ruined hotel by the mob, while Westerby and his crew fell down dead drunk. The troopers marched away to their barracks and J.G. and Pearl administered to a few broken heads then went home, agreeing that it had been a mere flash in the pan - not at all indicative of the true diggers’ spirit. There would always be wild men, brawlers and destroyers for the fun of it, but it would be a pity if they were to spoil the chances of those seeking compromise with the Government.

  J.G. saw Pearl to her tent before he retired to his own modest shelter nearby.

  ‘We’ll see what tomorrow brings,’ he said. ‘Commissioner Rede is not the man to take this tweaking of the nose and say “thank you”. Meanwhile, I’m for my bed. It’s been a long, full day. Good-night, girl dear. Angels guard your dreams.’ He lightly kissed her scarred cheek and closed the tent flap behind her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Spring had invaded Sydney Town, launching itself on a fresh salt breeze blowing up from the harbour, scouring away winter’s residue of stale odours. Spring rains had washed down streets, rooves and gutters, carrying away refuse and freshening buildings and yards, while blossoms burst from trees and bushes to scent the new-rinsed air. Housewives aired out mattresses and rugs, maidservants polished doorknobs and whitened doorsteps, street-sellers and delivery boys whistled at their work.