A HAZARD OF HEARTS

by Frances Burke

  Pearl lurched mentally, as though she had missed a step. They’d captured his imagination, she thought, and he had thrown himself in with their cause. What would it lead to? ‘What did they say?’ she asked from a dry throat.

  ‘Everything! A German fellow named Vern exhorted them to burn their licences, so anyone arrested for being without one would be defended and protected by his united fellow diggers. Then a fine-looking Irishman, a Peter Lalor, took a stand under the Southern Cross flag, the sun blazing down on him as he called upon us all to unite against oppression and tyranny.’ J.G.’s eyes glowed and he spoke with increasing fervour. ‘I wish you could have heard him, Pearl.’

  Pearl snorted delicately, but he appeared not to notice.

  ‘He spoke of true democracy. Listen: “If a democrat means opposition to a tyrannical press, a tyrannical people, or a tyrannical government, then I have been, I am still, and will ever remain a democrat”. And I knew he was right. It’s time to change the balance in this Colony, to create a new society of equality. I always believed deep within that Paul and his friends chased an impossible dream, that the heavy guns of the squatters and their ilk would forever maintain the power. But here, on the goldfields, there’s only the power of the police plus one army regiment against thousands who believe we can prevail. If we do, what an example it will set to the world. Don’t you see, Pearl? It would mean the coming of a new era, such as civilization has never seen.’

  Where had she heard such words before? Pearl thought. ‘And did they burn the licences?’

  ‘Did they! The Chairman of the meeting got up – by that time we were half drunk on excitement, and some rum – and he shouted “Are you ready to die, men?” All replied “Yes,” drawing their guns and firing. Then out came the licences to burn like the flames in the hearts of those brave men.’

  ‘Those idiots, more like.’ Pearl was bitter. ‘You see what you’ve done, all of you? Rede will never take such a slight to his office. They’ll come for you, the mounted troops with their guns and swords and bayonets. They’ll trample you and shoot you down with no more compunction than they’d destroy vermin. And you will have died for nothing, an ideal, a figment which can never have any reality.’ She almost sobbed. ‘The world isn’t run on idealistic lines. It never can be. You fool, J.G. Oh, you fool.’

  He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, saying comfortingly, ‘It won’t come to that, girl dear. When the authorities see we’re in earnest, they will agree to compromise.’

  Pearl detached herself from his hold. ‘Have they ever done so before? This new Governor is not like La Trobe. He needs to be in control. Besides, Rede already has his police reinforcements. He’ll act before any word comes from Melbourne.’

  ‘Perhaps. But we’ll be ready. It’s gone too far, Pearl. The men are sickened by the treatment handed out to them. They want justice.’

  In the glow of the lamplight Pearl studied him, realising she had never really known what moved this man to action, beyond the obvious demands of his work. Why had he so suddenly joined the rebels, he, the cynic who had seen it all before, who believed nothing without irrefutable proof?

  ‘J.G. I didn’t know you cared so much for the rights of man. You sound more like Paul Gascoigne, thundering against tyranny on his box down in the Domaine.’

  He sat down on a packing case, as if suddenly weary, his face falling into lines that wiped away the illusion of blazing youth, fired with youth’s energy and enthusiasm.

  ‘I’ll be forty before long. Perhaps two thirds of my life are gone, and what have I achieved? I earn my living sniping at others, paid for my nuisance value and merely tolerated in society which has a wary respect for my tongue. My father, an unknown seaman, departed before my mother knew to expect me, and she contained her joy in my arrival sufficiently to hand me over to an orphanage as soon as she had strength to run off. I owe them nothing but an inherited streak of stubbornness, plus a body which sometimes falls ill and fails me at awkward moments. I am what I made myself and, lately, I haven’t been too pleased with the result.’

  Pearl held her breath, sure that she was hearing what very few people ever heard. Today’s events had had the remarkable effect of opening a channel to J.G’s well-camouflaged heart, and it was her privilege to see within.

  He looked up at her, but his gaze went into the distance, far beyond the enclosing canvas walls. ‘I suppose a time comes for every man when he takes stock and knows what imprint, if any, he’ll leave behind when he departs this world. I have a fancy to make a mark worth remembering. Just a small mark, mind you, yet one which says that J.G. stood up for something important. He might not have done any good, yet he tried.’ He sighed, then smiled and brought his attention back to Pearl. ‘It seems like this is my moment to make that imprint, girl dear.’

  Pearl could think of nothing to say. She wasn’t sure she wanted to comment. This was J.G’s decision and she had no right to try to influence him at such a time. ‘I’ll brew some tea,’ she said. ‘Planning a revolution is thirsty business.’

  Before she climbed into her bed she opened a small silk bag worn around her neck and took out her mother’s earrings. They winked on her palm like slivers of sunlight, more precious to her than any gemstone on the planet. She thought about the man who had returned them to her, shame-faced, inarticulately grateful for her care, and only able to mutter, ‘I’m sorry, terrible sorry.’ With the apology, some of the grief lessened, and she could look back on her attackers without hatred. Cato’s struggle with remorse had affected her deeply, more deeply than she would ever want anyone to know. There were places in the human soul that should not be touched by others.

  ~*~

  At ten o’clock the next day a troop of mounted and foot police, swords and bayonets at the ready, set out behind Commissioner Rede for a major inspection of licences. The Riot Act was read and imprisonment threatened for those who resisted, plus instant shooting of any man who raised his hand to strike or throw a stone. The diggers grouped behind their Southern Cross flag and marched out, gathering reinforcement as they went, although not before one man had been mysteriously shot down on the road, increasing resistance and firing the diggers with the need to take up arms in their own defence.

  Pearl stood beside her tent to watch them tramp past to their meeting place at Eureka, chanting slogans, flourishing weapons, from guns to pikes home-made from sharpened steel heads attached to poles. J.G. paused to say goodbye, his face alight with excitement and zeal, a pistol through his belt and a double-barrelled rifle across his arm.

  ‘We’ll win through, never fear,’ he said. ‘But just in case, I’d like you to hold this letter for me. If I don’t return, would you send it on to Sydney?’

  Pearl accepted the letter, her unmoved expression hiding the tumult of emotions storming through her.

  J.G. put down the rifle to cradle her face once more. His merry expression had disappeared, and the freckles stood out against his skin, giving him an almost bloodless pallor. But the blue eyes, shining with conviction, held a tender light Pearl could easily have mistaken for love. ‘Don’t forget me, Chinese Witchwoman.’ He kissed her scarred cheek then let her go.

  She saw him join the band of marching men and disappear between the hillocks of clay, on his way to a destiny he could hardly have foreseen when he set off from Sydney a few weeks earlier.

  ~*~

  The next two days passed in uneasy silence. All activity on the fields had ceased. Even the grog-shops were empty. Over in the troopers’ camp the men drilled, exhorted vigorously by their officers, and Pearl suspected councils of war were under way.

  On the night of the 2nd December, with the air hot and breathless as though in anticipation of the coming storm, Ezra Coffey rode up to Pearl’s tent and slid down from Polly Doodle’s back. He carried only the smallest amount of equipment and appeared stripped down for a rapid journey. When Pearl’s last patient scuttled off into the dark, not anxious to be away from home in these times,
she greeted her visitor with pleasure.

  But he grimly cut across her words.

  ‘Gal, you gotta get outta here. There’s big trouble coming, and you don’t wantta be caught in the middle. The troopers are near ready to move out against the diggers, who’ve dug in behind a palisade like they’re about to fight the Indian Wars all over again.’

  ‘Have you come from Eureka, Ezra? What’s happening?’

  ‘I told you. They’re readyin’ for war up on their hill. A couple wild boys tried to rope me in, telling me I wasn’t no patriot, but I give one o’them a close shave with a bullet and they changed their mind. But I decided to move on quick. Me and Polly Doodle like peace and quiet, so we’re headed back beyond the range. Come with us, at least part of the way.’

  In that moment Pearl made her decision. ‘I can’t, Ezra. I’m going to Eureka.’

  ‘What! Now look, gal, I just finished telling you – ‘

  ‘I know. But I’ll be needed there. I can save lives.’

  ‘Only if you hang onto your own.’ His old eyes peered at her shrewdly. ‘There’s more to it, isn’t there? Some man you’re worried about. Right?’

  ‘Right. He’s a fool to get involved. Still, I know why and I love him because of it. He won’t thank me for getting underfoot, but I’ve got my own path to follow in my own way. Thank you, Ezra, for thinking of my safety.’

  ‘Hmph. Wasted my time, didn’t I?’ However, he smiled as he climbed up on Polly Doodle and picked up the reins. ‘Good luck, gal, to you and your man. See you in Heaven.’ He kicked his heel in the mule’s flank and rode off.

  Pearl picked up her bag and lantern and set off north towards Eureka.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  It was still dark when Pearl arrived at the stockade, a crude palisade formed from pit props taken out of the mining shafts. The sentries who challenged her fell back amused at the sight of the Chinese Witchwoman with her bag of nostrums. She was a sight too well known to be suspect.

  ‘You’re early, dearie,’ quipped one. ‘No injuries yet. But you could have a squiz at me piles.’

  ‘I will when I’ve sharpened my knife,’ Pearl promised. ‘Can you tell me where to find a newspaperman named J.G. Patterson?’

  When the sentry shook his head, she moved on past figures clumped by the barricade, her path dimly lit by torches and a few camp fires with billies on to boil. Voices were low amongst the tents as the men discussed their chances in the imminent battle, although a few lay like logs, dead drunk and useless. Pearl wondered whether they had caroused to bolster their spirits, or simply didn’t believe they would be called on to fight. The first faint light glimmered below the horizon, enough for her to see how small the numbers were. What had become of the hundreds who had marched out past her tent two days ago? There couldn’t be more than two hundred here.

  A scuffle and a cry of pain made her turn. The sentries had a man pinned between them, his arms twisted behind him.

  ‘A spy,’ called a voice, and a torch shone on a sweating oriental face.

  Pearl dropped her pack to run back to the entrance, shouting, ‘Let him go. He’s no spy. He’s my brother.’

  One man shrugged and released his prisoner, but the other growled, ‘How do we know he’s not a spy?’

  ‘Because I say he’s not. You know the Chinese take no interest in the politics of the goldfields, while the troopers treat them worse than some of the miners. Let him go.’ The last words were spoken so fiercely, the man decided not to argue. Dropping Li Po’s arm, he returned to his position, still grumbling, while Pearl confronted her brother.

  ‘Why are you here? This is not your fight, Li Po.’

  He rubbed his sore arms. ‘It is not yours, either. But I am not surprised to find you here, ready to tend those who will be wounded. You must listen to me this time, Younger Sister. You will recognise my authority.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  He answered slowly, ‘There are only the two of us. I do not want you to risk being killed.’

  Dumbfounded, not sure she had heard him correctly, she said, ‘You mean you care what happens to me?’

  ‘You are Younger Sister. I care for my own.’ She could not read his face in the slowly gathering light, but she had detected a tremor in his voice.

  ‘Li Po, I am very happy that you cared enough to follow me, but nothing will persuade me to leave. There is someone here who means more than my life. I must watch over him if I can.’

  ‘A western man?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What can a woman do in a battle? Come with me and wait beyond the hill until the fighting is ended. You can return to seek out this man if you must, and tend the wounded, also. Be quick. The soldiers are coming. I heard them in the woods, moving silently, without drums and bugles. They will attack at full light.’

  ‘It’s too late.’ Pearl pointed to the sentries, sprung to life, shouting and gesticulating towards the north where a column of cavalry had appeared. Dust rose beneath the horses’ hooves. Behind them billowed an even greater cloud raised by the infantry and police on foot. The gap in the barricade was closed and people rushed to their defence positions. Pearl found herself jostled aside, while her brother disappeared into a group armed with ploughshares and reaping hooks. She gazed around frantically, with little hope of seeing J.G. in the melee. Finding herself increasingly in the way, she scrambled up on the jumble of boxes and barrels to the top of the stockade to peer at the oncoming force.

  The cavalry having reached a point about a hundred and fifty yards away, now wheeled to the left, while mounted police formed up on the right flank. Behind them the infantry deployed, with supports in the rear. From the stockade a volley rang out, followed by sustained fire from the defenders. In answer, a bugle sounded the ‘commence firing’. The noise was like a New Year’s celebration, with hundreds of fire-crackers exploding, and the same smell of gunpowder in the air.

  Pearl stared, mesmerised, at the army ranged against them. There must be four or five hundred, at least, she thought. What hope did the diggers have against such a trained force?

  Out in the open two men fell off their horses, their red jackets disappearing in the dust of a cavalry charge. All around Pearl men were hit, crying out as their weapons dropped from useless hands and they tumbled to the ground. A bullet whistled past Pearl’s head and someone dragged her down, thrusting her behind a barrel. A body fell on top of her, knocking her breathless. Her ears were filled with cries and gunshots. She choked on the smell of powder and smoke as tents were set alight, regardless of the drunken men within.

  Sudden loud cheers announced the taking of the rebel flag.

  ‘Kill the bastards, every one,’ a voice screamed above her head.

  In answer another shouted, ‘Give quarter. Give quarter. Any man who murders a prisoner will be shot on the spot.’

  Pearl lay pinned, unable to move for what seemed a long time, listening to the screams of the dying. For the order to give quarter was largely ignored. Diggers were being chased down and bayoneted with brutal glee by a force of men brought to frenzy by the week of waiting to be attacked in their camp by a foe outnumbering them by thousands. The fact that their fears had been groundless meant nothing. Acting more like a crazed mob than units of trained men, they released their pent-up emotions in an orgy of killing, including innocent by-standers.

  When she was later told that the bugle sounded the ‘cease fire’ only fifteen minutes after the attack had been launched, Pearl could scarcely believe it. During those minutes, and in the following hour, twenty-four rebels were killed, with another twenty wounded, while those not immediately taken prisoner spread out and ran for cover in the camps or down the road to Melbourne, chased by the troopers.

  A woman searching for her husband discovered Pearl and called men to remove the body which pinned her down, itself staked to the ground by barrel staves shattered into sword-like pieces. Pearl, erect and swaying, gazed down at Li Po’s face, contorted in his last a
gony. Her heart burned with pain. She would never be able to tell him how sorry she was to be indirectly responsible for his death. He had only wanted to protect her. He had cared for her, after all, but now she would never truly know him. Kneeling to close his eyes with gentle fingers, she addressed a brief prayer to whomever might be listening, commending a brave soul.

  She found men willing to carry Li Po’s body back to the Chinaman’s Gully camp, where she delivered it into the care of his compatriots. Then, at last she was free to begin her search for J.G. To her great relief, he had not been counted amongst the dead. Nor, she noted, had the leaders of the rebellion, who had mysteriously disappeared, either escaped or hidden by their friends.

  The troopers returned to their camp, taking the wounded under arrest, while the police raged through the diggings, laying waste to tents and grog-shops, and chasing frightened men into their holes. Pearl found her tent with everything in it burned to the ground. All she had left was her medical bag of immediate supplies. She stood beside the smouldering patch of earth, her eyes smarting from the heat and ash, her senses bombarded by the misery of the dispossessed who had lost friends and family in what the soldiers cheerfully referred to as a ‘skirmish’. There was only one thought in her mind. What had happened to J.G.?

  For the rest of the day she wandered between Eureka and Golden Point, stopping to help the subdued but angry diggers where she could, always questioning whether J.G. had been seen. There were plenty of burns and injuries from clashes with the police, plenty of arguments as to whether the rebellion had been justified. Not until late in the evening did she receive a whispered message calling her back to Chinaman’s Gully. Although tired out, Pearl left immediately, arriving at her brother’s hut to find J.G. unconscious but tended by the tong himself.

  ‘Why did you give him sanctuary?’ she asked, kneeling to examine the deep laceration in J.G’s skull. She had gone ice cold at the sight, before reminding herself that she was foremost a healer, and had no time to indulge her nerves.