‘We’re not hurt,’ Henry said. ‘We’re looking for Jack. Have you seen him?’
‘Ah,’ Mr Hunter said. ‘Happy Jack. No, I lost sight of that brave fellow soon after the dragoons arrived. The last I saw, he was charging towards the attacking forces, shooting at them like a demon from the fires of hell.’ He patted Henry on the shoulder. ‘In all likelihood he has been taken prisoner. Many from our side surrendered to the military. The dragoons took several dozen men at sword-point and marched them off in chains to the watch-house.’
‘Jack wouldn’t have surrendered,’ Henry said.
‘No, he’d never do that,’ agreed Frank. ‘I know Jack.’
As he spoke, a woman screamed. ‘The soldiers are coming back,’ she cried. ‘Run!’
There was a scuffle as people tried to hide or escape. This time, though, no shots were fired. Instead there was a rumble of wooden wheels.
‘They’re bringing carts,’ Henry said. ‘Why are they bringing carts?’
‘That’ll be for taking away the dead,’ Frank said. He crossed himself. ‘By all the saints, who’d have thought it would end like this?’
Three horse-drawn carts were driven into the middle of the stockade, and soldiers walked around, collecting bodies from where they lay. They threw them onto the carts as if they were logs of wood.
‘Ah, boys, don’t look, don’t look,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘It’s not a sight for youngsters. Indeed, it’s not a sight I’d wish on anybody.’
Frank turned away, but Henry couldn’t stop looking. Among the bloodied dead were people he’d known. Many of them had been at the campfire last night, talking cheerfully as they imagined their great victory. There was the old miner in the beaver hat. And a woman – a woman! – still in her nightdress. Now they were dead, and for what? They’d gained nothing. Nothing at all.
And then the last body was thrown on top of the heap. A pepperbox revolver was still clenched in its right hand.
It was Happy Jack.
‘He died doing something brave,’ Frank said, staring into his pannikin of tea.
‘Yes,’ Henry said.
‘Most people die because they’re sick or old. Or drunk.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘He wouldn’t want us to be unhappy.’
‘No.’
Frank wiped his eyes. ‘For the Lord’s sake, Henry, get a grip on yourself and cheer up, will you?’
Henry tried to cheer up. He looked around him. He remembered when Jack had been sitting next to him at this very same table, and Lola had wound herself around Sergeant Nockles’s leg . . . ‘Have three cheers for Happy Jack!’ the diggers had shouted.
The tent was empty apart from himself and Frank, and Frank’s family. Bridget and Michael were wide-eyed and silent. Baby Joseph sat on Bridget’s lap, sucking his thumb.
Mrs Shanahan poured more tea into Henry’s pannikin, and into Frank’s.
‘I’ve some lovely fresh griddle scones,’ she coaxed Henry. ‘Will you just try one, now?’
But Henry couldn’t eat anything. ‘I have to go home,’ he said. His father would be furious with him, he knew that, but he was so exhausted he didn’t care. No punishment could possibly compare with what he had just seen.
‘Henry.’
Father was standing at the entrance to the tent.
Henry’s heart thumped. He stood up.
Was Father crying? No, he couldn’t be – Father never cried. He hadn’t even cried when Mam died. But his face was terrible. Henry couldn’t look at it. Instead he said the first thing that came into his head. ‘I got your watch back. That thief Nockles still had it.’ He pulled the watch from his pocket and held it out.
‘Son, I don’t care a tuppenny damn about the watch. I just thank God you’re alive. I thought I’d lost you.’ He grasped Frank’s hand, and then nodded to Mrs Shanahan. ‘Honoured to meet you, ma’am. I hear the diggers had a bad time of it, but at least our boys are safe. Tom Hunter told me they’d be here.’
Mrs Shanahan blinked away tears. ‘If it weren’t for your boy, mine would be dead. I’ll never forget that.’
‘Henry’s not short on courage. I might not always agree with him, but I’m proud of him.’ Father swept a hand across his eyes. ‘And his mother would be proud of him too, God rest her dear soul.’ He gripped Henry by the shoulder. ‘Come, my boy. Let’s go home.’
Father took the piece of rock, looked at it, and handed it back. ‘It’s fool’s gold, Henry. I’ve come across it myself, plenty of times. It looks like gold, it shines like gold, but it’s not gold.’
Henry felt disappointed. ‘So we wouldn’t have made our fortune?’
‘I’m afraid not. But look on the bright side.’
‘The bright side?’ Henry said. ‘What’s good about losing something you never had?’
‘Well, Sergeant Nockles and his mates won’t make their fortune either. They’ve got themselves a proper shicer, haven’t they?’
Henry grinned. ‘I suppose so.’
‘We haven’t lost anything,’ Father went on. ‘But Nockles still thinks he’s on a winner. He and his mates will keep on digging till they reach China.’
‘They should have listened to you when you told them there wasn’t any gold in our mine, Henry,’ Eliza said.
‘So they should, the greedy beggars.’ That thought made Henry feel quite cheerful. ‘Jack would’ve said it served them right.’
Father cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry you lost your friend Jack, Henry. It was a tragedy. Judging from what you’ve said about him, I can see that he was a very unusual person. And a very brave one.’
‘He was,’ Henry said. ‘We were covies – Jack, Frank and me.’
‘One of those kangaroos must be our kangaroo,’ Henry said. It was the first time he and Frank had felt ready to go back to Jack’s hut. Now they were standing outside the door, watching the kangaroo mob grazing in the sunny clearing near by. ‘Likely he’s that little one over there, scratching himself.’
‘He’s a lucky fellow,’ said Frank. ‘He’s got lots of brothers and sisters and all the grass he can eat.’
‘That’s a happy ending, at least.’
‘There are other happy endings, too,’ Frank said. ‘I heard Peter Lalor wasn’t killed. And Sergeant Nockles won’t be back on his horse for a lo-o-ong time. You could say he bottomed out.’
‘You could say that if you were mad and Irish.’
Frank half-smiled. ‘That’s just the sort of remark I’d expect from a Brummie lime-juicer. No sense of humour at all. Right, so. We’d better make sure Lola’s all right. Are you ready?’
Henry nodded. He was grateful to Frank for trying to cheer him up, even if it wasn’t exactly working.
They went into the hut and stood there in silence. The tiny room seemed cold and empty without Jack.
‘He didn’t have much,’ Henry said at last. ‘There’s just some clothes and books and a few cups and plates and things. And a tin of jam and half a bag of flour. And a caddy of tea. And that silver teapot he wanted your ma to have.’
‘What about his drawings?’ asked Frank.
‘We could share them, and give some to people who knew him. There’s a lot here.’ Henry picked up a sketch of Lola that lay on the table.
‘Jack loved Lola,’ Frank said.
‘I know.’ Henry wondered if Lola was missing Jack. Did snakes have feelings? He went to her basket. It was empty, but a folded piece of paper was pinned to it.
He unfolded it, looked at it, and gave it to Frank. ‘You read it. I think it’s a letter.’
Frank read it aloud.
‘My dear Frank and Henry. In the case of my death, please be so kind as to inform my father, Sir James Ingoldby. His address is Hartford Manor, Hartford, East Sussex, England. Tell him how I died, and what I believed in. Good luck, covies. Keep our flag flying. Jack.’
‘So his father was a sir,’ Henry said.
‘Yes,’ said Frank. ‘It doesn’t matter who his fa
ther was, though. He was just Jack.’
Henry nodded. He tried to speak again, but couldn’t.
‘There’s a bit more,’ Frank said. ‘If you can’t find Lola, look under her favourite tree. You know where it is, Frank. She likes to lie there in the sun on warm days.’
Henry still couldn’t speak. There was a strange prickling feeling in his eyes.
‘Let’s go and find her,’ Frank said, not looking at Henry. ‘I hope she hasn’t run away.’
‘Snakes can’t run,’ said Henry, trying to smile.
Frank punched him on the arm. ‘You know what I mean, eejit.’
They went out into the sunshine and over to the bushland behind the hut. Soon they were pushing their way through shrubs and dry grass and prickly undergrowth. Orange butterflies exploded from bushes and fluttered around their heads.
Past the first line of scrub was a small clearing. The ground was stony here, and the trees were further apart. ‘That’s the tree over there,’ Frank said, pointing.
They walked quietly up to the tree. Some flat rocks beneath it would have been the perfect spot for a snake to lie in the sun, but Lola wasn’t there.
‘Damnation!’ Henry said. ‘Where can she have got to? Maybe she’s in the tree. She likes being up high.’
They searched every inch of the tree. No Lola. Then they walked slowly all around the clearing. No Lola.
Henry sat down on a rock. ‘I wish Jack was here.’
Frank slumped down beside him. ‘Me too.’
Henry couldn’t say any more. He was afraid that if he did, that scratchy feeling in his eyes might turn into tears. Instead he stared at a rocky outcrop nearby. Then he stared a little harder.
‘Frank, I think I see her.’
‘You never. Where?’
‘Over there, beside those rocks. See that dark line, next to the biggest rock? Let’s go and look.’
They stood up and tiptoed towards it.
‘That’s her. She hasn’t hidden herself as well as she thinks she has,’ Henry said. ‘Lola!’ he called softly.
Lola lifted her head and looked straight at him with her black bead eyes.
Henry picked her up and wound her around his neck. ‘Come on, Lola,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t tease us like that.’
‘I thought you were too scared to touch her,’ Frank said, staring.
‘Me? Never.’
Frank grinned. ‘Not bad for a Brummie lime-juicer, so.’
‘You can see why she likes coming here,’ Henry said. ‘These rocks are full of lizards. Look, there goes one. And another. And look, there’s a . . .’ He stopped.
‘There’s a what?’
‘There’s something shining in that rock.’
Frank snorted. ‘It’ll be fool’s gold again. We’re not going to be caught twice.’
Henry knelt down and picked up a piece of rock with a gleaming thread of yellow in it. ‘I’ll show this to Father. He’ll know if it’s real or not.’
‘Well, I’m not going to get excited,’ Frank told him. ‘It looks the same as that stuff you found on the claim.’
‘I know,’ said Henry. ‘But what if it isn’t?’
‘It’s an amazing find,’ Father said. He was sitting in Jack’s hut with Henry and Frank and Eliza. ‘It’s real gold, all right. No one has prospected here or they would have found it. You say Jack was on this piece of land for two years. Do you think he knew about it?’
‘No,’ Frank said. ‘He’d have told us, sure.’
‘He wouldn’t have noticed it,’ said Henry. ‘He’d have been drawing the lizards, wouldn’t he? Jack wasn’t interested in finding gold.’
‘He did tell us where we could find Lola, though,’ Frank said. ‘I suppose that might have been a clue. But we’ll never know.’
‘What should we call our new mine?’ Eliza asked. ‘We have to give it a name.’
‘Lola’s Lead?’ suggested Frank.
‘You can’t call it after a snake,’ Eliza said.
‘Happy Jack’s Lead, then,’ said Frank. ‘It’ll keep his memory green.’
‘Jack would’ve liked that,’ Henry said. There was that scratchy feeling in his eyes again.
‘Well, Happy Jack’s Lead is ours to mine, and as soon as we have enough gold to pay for it, I’ll buy the licence to make it official,’ said Father. ‘No one-eyed ruffian will be jumping this claim, I promise.’
‘Just let him try,’ Henry said. ‘Lola doesn’t like claim-jumpers.’
‘Things are going to change on the diggings,’ Father continued. ‘I read in the Melbourne papers that the Government has promised to change the rules for buying a licence. What’s more, any miner who has a licence will have the right to vote. Can you imagine that? And there’ll be no more digger hunting. No more licence inspectors making life miserable for poor miners.’
‘Sure, wouldn’t Jack be over the moon?’ Frank said. ‘Especially about the vote. He wanted people to be equal, rich and poor.’
‘Yes,’ Henry said. ‘For Jack that would be worth a lot more than gold.’
‘Henry,’ Eliza said, ‘that snake is looking at me. Make it stop!’
Henry reached up to the rafters so that Lola could slide down and coil herself around his arm. ‘She won’t hurt you,’ he said. ‘I used to be scared of her, too, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. She’s the best pet you could have.’ He stretched out his arm to Eliza. ‘Go on, touch her. She won’t mind.’
Very slowly, Eliza stroked Lola with one finger. ‘She’s soft,’ she said. ‘It’s not how I thought she would be.’
‘Quite often things aren’t what you think they’ll be,’ said Father, moving slightly away from Lola and lighting his pipe. ‘Look what happened at Eureka. It was a disaster – twenty or more killed and who knows how many wounded. But much good will come of it.’
‘It was a magnificent defeat,’ Henry said, half to himself. It was something Jack had said once.
‘Do you think anybody will remember what happened?’ Frank asked. ‘Will they remember what we were fighting for?’
‘People died for it,’ Henry replied. ‘Jack died for it. They’ll remember.’
any years ago I went with my family to Ballarat’s Sovereign Hill. We panned for gold, visited the shops (the old sweet shop was a favourite), went down a mine, and rode in the horse-drawn coach. I was fascinated by the colourful history of the place, and the way it had been kept alive, and the stories it contained.
One of those stories was that of my own great-great-grandfather, who emigrated from Ireland in 1839 and started farming in South Australia. When the mad rush to the diggings began, even my sensible great-great-grandfather went a little crazy. Like so many others, he packed his bags and moved to the Victorian goldfields. His claim must have been a real shicer, though, because it wasn’t long before he came back to his farm.
Brown Bess: The nickname for the muzzle-loading musket used for over a century by the British Army
Covie: A ‘cove’ is a bloke or a chap. You’d call a friend ‘covie’ the way we’d say ‘mate’ today
Dragoon: A mounted soldier armed with a musket or rifle
Lead (or lode): A gold deposit, often in an old river bed. The mother lode is the site of the biggest deposit
Lime-juicer: Slang for ‘Englishman’. English sailors drank lime-juice to stop them from getting scurvy, a disease caused by lack of Vitamin C
Mullock heap: The pile of dirt left over from mining
Red Toad: Slang for ‘soldier’, because it sounds like ‘red-coat’ (British soldiers wore red tunics)
Shicer: A mine with little or no gold in it
Toff: A wealthy or upper-class person
Waterloo, Battle of: In 1815, English and Prussian troops defeated Napoleon’s French army near the Belgian town of Waterloo. The victorious British army was led by the Duke of Wellington
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THE BEGINNING
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Do You Dare? Eureka Boys Page 9