Book: The Eureka Stockade

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(ADDRESS)

"To the Victorian Board of Small Beer,

"Toorak (somewhere in Australasia, i.e., Australia Felix--inquire from
the natives, reported to be of blackskin, at the southern end of the globe.)

"Belgravia, First year of the royal projecting the Great Exhibition, Hyde Park.

"LADY STARVESEMPSTRESS, great-grand-niece of His Grace the
Duke Of CURRY-POWDER, begs to introduce to FORTYSHILLING TAKEHIMAWAY, Esquire,
of Toorak, see address, her brother-in-law, POLLIPUSS, WATERLOOBOLTER,
tenth son of the venerable Prebendary of North and South Palaver, Canon of
St. Sebastopol in the east, and Rector of Allblessedfools, West End--URGENT."


In justice, however, to Master Waterloobolter, candidate for gold-lace,
it must not be omitted that he is a Piccadilly young sprat, and so at Julien's
giant 'bal-masque', was ever gracious to the lady of his love.

"Miss Smartdeuce, may I beg the honour of your hand for the next waltz? surely
after a round or two you will relish your champagne."

"Yes," with a smothered "dear," was the sigh-drawn reply.

Who has the power to roar the command, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no
further," to the flood of tears from forlorn Smartdeuce, when her soft
Waterloobolter bolted for the gold-fields of Australia Felix.

To be serious. How could any candid mind otherwise explain the honest
boldness of eight out of nine members of the first Local Court, Ballaarat,
who, one and all, I do not say dared, but I say called upon their fellow miners
to come forward to a public meeting on the old spot, Bakery-hill. September,
Saturday, 30th, 1855. Said members had already settled at that time
201 disputes, and given their judgement, involving some half a million sterling
altogether, for all what they knew, and yet not one miner rose one finger
against them, when they imperatively desired to know whether they had done
their duty and still possessed the confidence of their fellow diggers!
They (said members) are practical men, of our own adopted class,
elected by ourselves from among ourselves, to sit as arbitrators of our
disputes, and our representatives at the Local Court. That's the key, for any
future Brougham, for the history of the Local Courts on the gold-fields.

It has fallen to my lot, however, to put the Eureka Stockade on record;
and, from the following 'Joe' chapter must begin any proper history
of that disgracefully memorable event.




Chapter IX.



Abyssus, Abyssum Invocat.


"Joe, Joe!" No one in the world can properly understand and describe this
shouting of "Joe," unless he were on this El Dorado of Ballaarat at the time.

It was a horrible day, plagued by the hot winds. A blast of the hurricane
winding through gravel pits whirled towards the Eureka this shouting of "Joe."
It was the howl of a wolf for the shepherds, who bolted at once towards
the bush: it was the yell of bull-dogs for the fossikers who floundered
among the deep holes, and thus dodged the hounds: it was a scarecrow
for the miners, who now scrambled down to the deep, and left a licensed mate
or two at the windlass. By this time, a regiment of troopers, in full gallop,
had besieged the whole Eureka, and the traps under their protection ventured
among the holes. An attempt to give an idea of such disgusting and
contemptible campaigns for the search of licences is really odious to an honest
man. Some of the traps were civil enough; aye, they felt the shame
of their duty; but there were among them devils at heart, who enjoyed the fun,
because their cupidity could not bear the sight of the zig-zag uninterrupted
muster of piles of rich-looking washing stuff, and the envy which blinded
their eyes prevented them from taking into account the overwhelming number
of shicers close by, round about, all along. Hence they looked upon
the ragged muddy blue shirt as an object of their contempt.

Are diggers dogs or savages, that they are to be hunted on the diggings,
commanded, in Pellissier's African style, to come out of their holes,
and summoned from their tents by these hounds of the executive? Is the garb
of a digger a mark of inferiority? 'In sudore vultus lue vesceris panem'*
is then an infamy now-a-days!

[* In the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat bread.]

Give us facts, and spare us your bosh, says my good reader.--Very well.

I, CARBONII RAFFAELLO, da Roma, and late of No. 4, Castle-court, Cornhill,
City of London, had my rattling 'Jenny Lind' (the cradle) at a water-hole
down the Eureka Gully. Must stop my work to show my licence. 'All right.'

I had then to go a quarter of a mile up the hill to my hole, and fetch
the washing stuff. There again--"Got your licence?" "All serene, governor."
On crossing the holes, up to the knees in mullock, and loaded like a dromedary,
"Got your licence?" was again the cheer-up from a third trooper or trap.
Now, what answer would you have given, sir?

I assert, as a matter of fact, that I was often compelled to produce my licence
twice at each and the same licence hunt. Any one who knows me personally,
will readily believe that the accursed game worried me to death.




Chapter X.



Jam Non Estis Hospites Et Advenoe


It is to the purpose to say a few words more on the licence-hunting,
and have done with it. Light your pipe, good reader, you have to blow hard.

Our red-tape, generally obtuse and arrogant, this once got rid of the usual
conceit in all things, and had to acknowledge that the digger who remained
quietly at his work, always possessed his licence. Hence the troopers
were despatched like bloodhounds, in all directions, to beat the bush;
and the traps who had a more confined scent, creeped and crawled among
the holes, and sneaked into the sly-grog tents round about, in search of
the swarming unlicensed game. In a word, it was a regular hunt. Any one
who in Old England went fox-hunting, can understand pretty well,
the detestable sport we had then on the goldfields of Victoria.
Did any trooper succeed in catching any of the 'vagabonds' in the bush,
he would by the threat of his sword, confine him round a big gum-tree;
and when all the successful troopers had done the same feat, they took
their prisoners down the gully, where was the grand depot, because the traps
were generally more successful. The commissioner would then pick up one pound,
two pounds, or five pounds, in the way of bail, from any digger that could
afford it, or had friends to do so, and then order the whole pack
of the penniless and friendless to the lock-up in the camp. I am a living
eye-witness, and challenge contradiction.

This job of explaining a licence-hunt is really so disgusting to me,
that I prefer to close it with the following document from my subsequently
goal-bird mate, then reporter of the 'Ballaarat Times':--


Police Court, Tuesday, October 24th.

HUNTING THE DIGGER.--Five of these fellows were fined in the mitigated trifle
of 5 pounds, for being without licences. The nicest thing imaginable is to see
one of these clumsy fellows with great beards, shaggy hair, and oh! such nasty
rough hands, stand before a fine gentleman on the bench with hands
of shiny whiteness, and the colour of whose cambric rivals the Alpine snow.
There the clumsy fellow stands, faltering out an awkward apology, "my licence
is only just expired, sir--I've only been one day from town, sir--I have
no money, sir, for I had to borrow half a bag of flour the other day,
for my wife and children." Ahem, says his worship, the law makes
no distinctions--fined 5 pounds. Now our reporter enjoys this exceedingly,
for he is sometimes scarce of news; and from a strange aberration of intellect,
with which, poor fellow, he is afflicted, has sometimes, no news at all for us;
but he is sure of not being dead beat at any time, for digger-hunting
is a standing case at the police office, and our reporter is growing
so precocious with long practice, that he can tell the number of diggers fined
every morning, without going to that sanctuary at all.--'Ballaarat Times',
Saturday, October 28, 1854.




Chapter XI.



Salvum Fac Populum Tuum Domine.


The more the pity--I have not done yet with the accursed gold licence.
I must prevail on myself to keep cooler and in good temper.

Two questions will certainly be put to me:-

1st. Did the camp officials give out the licence to the digger at the place
of his work, whenever required, without compelling him to leave off work,
and renew his licence at the camp?

2nd. It was only one day in each month that there was a search for licences,
was it not? Why therefore did not the diggers make it a half-holiday
on the old ground, that "all work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy."

The first question is a foolish one, from any fellow-colonist who knows
our silver and gold lace; and is a wicked one, from any digger who was
on Ballaarat at the time.

'Fellah' gave the proper answer through the 'Ballaarat Times',
October 14th;--here it is:--


To the Editor of the 'Ballaarat Times', October 14, 1854.

Sir,

Permit me to call your attention to the miserable accommodation
provided for the miner, who may have occasion to go to the Camp
to take out a licence. Surely, with the thousands of pounds
that have been expended in government buildings, a little better
accommodation might be afforded to the well disposed digger,
who is willing to pay the odious tax demanded of him by government,
and not be compelled to stand in the rain or sun, or treated as if
the 'distinguished government official' feared that the digger
was a thing that would contaminate him by a closer proximity;
so the 'fellah' is kept by a wooden rail from approaching within
a couple of yards of the tent. In consequence, many persons
mistaking the licence-office for the commissioner's water-closet,
a placard has been placed over the door.

I am, Sir, yours &c.,

FELLAH DIGGER,

Who had to walk a few miles to pay away the money he had worked
hard for, and was kept a few hours standing by a rail--not sitting
on a rail, Mary.


Now I mean to tackle in right earnest with the second question, provided I can
keep in sufficiently good temper.

On the morning of Thursday, the 22nd June, in the year of Grace,
One thousand eight hundred and fifty-four,
His Excellency SIR CHARLES HOTHAM,
Knight Commander of the Most Noble Military Order of the Bath, landed on
the shores of this fair province, as its Lieutenant-Governor, the chosen
and commissioned representative of Her Most Gracious Majesty, the QUEEN!
Never (writes the Melbourne historian of that day) never in the history
of public ovations, was welcome more hearty, never did stranger meet with
warmer welcome, on the threshold of a new home:

VICTORIA WELCOMES VICTORIA'S CHOICE, was the Melbourne proclamation.

The following is transcribed from my diary:-


"Saturday, August 26th, 1854: His Excellency dashed in among us 'vagabonds'
on a sudden, at about five o'clock p.m., and inspected a shaft immediately
behind the Ballaarat Dining Rooms, Gravel-pits. A mob soon collected
round the hole; we were respectful, and there was no 'joeing.'
On His Excellency's return to the camp, the miners busily employed themselves
in laying down slabs to facilitate his progress. I was among the zealous ones
who improvised this shabby foot-path. What a lack! we were all of us
as cheerful as fighting-cocks.--A crab-hole being in the way, our Big-Larry
actually pounced on Lady Hotham, and lifting her up in his arms, eloped
with her ladyship safely across, amid hearty peals of laughter, however
colonial they may have been.--Now Big Larry kept the crowd from annoying
the couple, by properly laying about him with a switch all along the road.

"His Excellency was hailed with three-times-three, and was proclaimed on the
Camp, now invaded by some five hundred blue shirts, the 'Diggers' Charley.'

"His Excellency addressed us miners as follows:-

"Diggers I feel delighted with your reception--I shall not neglect your
interests and welfare--again I thank you.

"It was a short but smart speech we had heard elsewhere, he was not fond
of 'twaddle,' which I suppose meant 'bosh.' After giving three hearty cheers,
old Briton's style to 'Charley,' the crowd dispersed to drink a nobbler
to his health and success. I do so this very moment. Eureka, under my
snug tent on the hill, August 26, 1854. C.R."


Within six short months, five thousand citizens of Melbourne, receive the name
of this applauded ruler with a loud and prolonged outburst of indignation!

Some twenty Ballaarat miners lie in the grave, weltering in their gore!
double that number are bleeding from bayonet wounds; thirteen more
have the rope round their necks, and two more of their leading men are priced
four hundred pounds for their body or carcase.

'Tout cela, n'est pas precisement comme chez nous, pas vrai?'

Please, give me a dozen puffs at my black-stump, and then I will proceed
to the next chapter.




Chapter XII.



Sufficit Diei Sua Vexatio.


Either this chapter must be very short, or I had better give it up
without starting it at all.

Up to the middle of September, 1854, the search for licences happened
once a month; at most twice: perhaps once a week on the Gravel Pits,
owing to the near neighbourhood of the Camp. Now, licence-hunting became
the order of the day. Twice a week on every line; and the more the diggers
felt annoyed at it, the more our Camp officials persisted in goading us,
to render our yoke palatable by habit. I assert, as an eye-witness
and a sufferer, that both in October and November, when the weather allowed it,
the Camp rode out for the hunt every alternate day. True, one day they would
hunt their game on Gravel-pits, another day, they pounced on the foxes
of the Eureka; and a third day, on the Red-hill: but, though working
on different leads, are we not all fellow diggers? Did not several of us
meet again in the evening, under the same tent, belonging to the same party?
It is useless to ask further questions.

Towards the latter end of October and the beginning of November we had such
a set of scoundrels camped among us, in the shape of troopers and traps,
that I had better shut up this chapter at once, or else whirl the whole
manuscript bang down a shicer.

"Hold hard, though, take your time, old man: don't let your Roman blood
hurry you off like the hurricane, and thus damage the merits of your case.
Answer this question first," says my good reader.

"If it be a fair one, I will."

"Was, then, the obnoxious mode of collecting the tax the sole cause
of discontent: or was the tax itself (two pounds for three months)
objected to at the same time?"

"I think the practical miner, who had been hard at work night and day,
for the last four or six months, and, after all, had just bottomed a shicer,
objected to the tax itself, because he could not possibly afford to pay it.
And was it not atrocious to confine this man in the lousy lock-up at the Camp,
because he had no luck?"

Allow me, now, in return, to put a very important question, of the old
Roman stamp, 'Cui bono?' that is, Where did our licence money go to?
That's a nut which will be positively cracked by-and-bye.




Chapter XIII.



Ubi Caro, Ibi Vultures.


One morning, I woke all on a sudden.--What's up? A troop of horse galloping
exactly towards my tent, and I could hear the tramping of a band of traps.
I got out of the stretcher, and hastened out of my tent. All the neighbours,
in night-caps and unmentionables, were groping round the tents, to inquire
what was the matter. It was not yet day-light. There was a sly-grog seller
at the top of the hill; close to his store he had a small tent, crammed with
brandy cases and other grog, newly come up from town. There must have been
a spy, who had scented such valuable game.

The Commissioner asked the storekeeper, who by this time was at the door
of his store: "Whose tent is that?" indicating the small one in question.

"I don't know," was the answer.

"Who lives in it? who owns it? is anybody in?" asked the Commissioner.

"An old man owns it, but he is gone to town on business, and left it
to the care of his mate who is on the nightshift," replied the storekeeper.

"I won't peck up that chaff of yours, sir. Halloo! who is in? Open the tent;"
shouted the Commissioner.

No answer.

"I say, cut down this tent, and we'll see who is in;" was the order
of the Commissioner to two ruffianly looking troopers.

No sooner said than done; and the little tent was ripped up by their swords.
A government cart was, of course, ready in the gully below, and in less than
five minutes the whole stock of grog, some two hundred pounds sterling worth,
or five hundred pounds worth in nobblers, was carted up to the Camp,
before the teeth of some hundreds of diggers, who had now collected
round about. We cried "Shame! shame!" sulkily enough, but we did not
interfere; first, because the store had already annoyed us often enough
during the long winter nights; second, because the plunderers were such
Vandemonian-looking traps and troopers, that we were not encouraged
to say much, because it would have been of no use.

As soon, however, as the sun was up, and all hands were going to work,
the occurrence not only increased the discontent that had been brewing
fast enough already, but it rose to excitement; and such a state of
exasperated feelings, however vented in the shouting of 'Joe,' did certainly
not prepare the Eureka boys to submit with patience to a licence-hunt
in the course of the day.

First and foremost: it is impossible to prevent the sale of spirits
on the diggings; and not any laws, fines, or punishment the government
may impose on the dealers or consumers can have an effect towards putting
a stop to sly-grog selling. A miner working, as during the past winter,
in wet and cold, must and will have his nobbler occasionally; and very
necessary, too, I think. No matter what the cost, he will have it;
and it cannot be dispensed with, if he wish to preserve his health: he won't
go to the Charley Napier Hotel, when he can get his nobbler near-handy,
and thereby give a lift to Pat or Scotty.

Secondly: I hereby assert that the breed of spies in this colony prospered
by this sly-grog selling. "We want money," says some of the 'paternals'
at Toorak.

"Oh! well, then," replies another at Ballaarat, "come down on a few
storekeepers and unlicensed miners and raise the wind. We can manage a
thousand or two that way. Let the blood-hounds oh the scent, and it is done."

And so a scoundrel, in the disguise of an honest man, takes with him
another worse devil than himself, and goes round like a roaring lion,
seeking what he may devour.

If I had half the fifty pounds fine inflicted on sly-grog sellers,
and five pounds fine on unlicensed diggers, raised on Ballaarat at this time,
I think my fellow-colonists would bow their heads before me. Great works!

Thirdly: An act of silver and gold lace humanity was going the rounds
of our holes, above and below.

A person is found in an insensible state, caused by loss of blood,
having fallen, by accident, on a broken bottle and cut an artery in his head.
He is conveyed to the Camp hospital.

After some few hours, because he raves from loss of blood, and at a time
when he requires the closest attention, he is unceremoniously carried
into the common lock-up, and there left, it is said, for ten hours,
lying on the floor, without any attention being paid to his condition
by the hospital authorities, and then it was only by repeated representations
of his sinking state, to other officials, that he was conveyed to the hospital,
where he expired in two hours afterwards!

"Below!"

"Haloo!"

"Jim; the miners of Ballaarat demand an investigation."

"And they must have it, Joe."

Such was the scene in those days, performed at every shaft, in Gravel-pits,
as well as on the Eureka.




Chapter XIV.



Flagitur Vulcano Si Fulmina Parata.


Here is a short resume of events which led to the popular demonstration
on Tuesday, October 17th, 1854.

Two men, old friends, named Scobie and Martin, after many years separation,
happened to meet each other in Ballaarat. Joy at the meeting, led them
to indulge in a wee drop for 'Auld lang Syne.' In this state of happy feeling,
they call at the Eureka Hotel, on their way home, intending to have
a finishing glass. They knock at the door, and are refused admittance,
very properly, on account of their drunkenness. They leave, and proceed
on their way, not, perhaps without the usual colonial salutations.
At about fifty yards from the hotel, they hear a noise behind them,
and retrace their steps. They are met by persons, unknown, who inflict blows
on them, which render one insensible and the other lifeless.

A coroner's inquest was held on the body, the verdict of which was,
"that deceased had died from injuries inflicted by persons unknown;"
but public feeling seemed to point to Mr. Bentley, the proprietor of the
Eureka Hotel; who, together with his wife and another party,
were charged with the murder, tried at the police court, and acquitted.

The friends of deceased, considering that both the inquest and the trial
were unfairly conducted, agreed to meet on Tuesday, October 17th, on the spot
where the man was murdered, and devise measures to discover the guilty parties,
and to bring them to justice.

Accordingly, at an early hour, the hill on which is situated the Eureka Hotel
was thronged by thousands; so great was the excitement.

THOMAS KENNEDY, was naturally enough the lion of the day. A thick head, bold,
but bald, the consequence perhaps not of his dissipation; but of his worry
in by gone days. His merit consists in the possession of the chartist slang;
hence his cleverness in spinning, a yarn never to the purpose, but blathered
with long phrases and bubbling with cant. He took up the cause of the diggers,
not so much for the evaporation of his gaseous heroism, as eternally to hammer
on the unfortunate death of his country-man Scobie, for the sake of
'auld lang syne.'

When pressed by the example of others to burn his license, at the subsequent
monster meeting, he had none to burn, because he had a wife and four children
dependent on him for support, and therefore I do not know what to say further.

These and other resolutions were carried unanimously:-

"That this meeting, not being satisfied with the manner in which the
proceedings connected with the death of the late James Scobie, have been
conducted, either by the magistrates or by the coroner, pledges itself to use
every lawful means to have the case brought before other, and more competent
authorities.

"That this meeting deems it necessary to collect subscriptions for the purpose
of offering a reward for the conviction of the murderers, and defraying
all other expenses connected with the prosecution of the case."




Chapter XV.



Nam Tua Res Agitur, Paries Cum Proximus Ardet.


The one pervading opinion among the multitude of miners and others who had been
attracted thither, appeared to be that Bentley was the murderer; and loud
were the cries, the hooting, and groans against him. It would appear
that the Camp authorities contemplated some little disturbance,
and consequently all the available force of police and mounted troopers
were on guard at the hotel and made a very injudicious display of their
strength. Not only did they follow, but ride through, the crowd of people
at the meeting; and it is to this display of their strength that must be
attributed the fire, and other outbursts of indignation. Miners who have stood
the working of a Canadian or Gravel-pit shicer, scorn danger in any form.

The crowd, excessively irritated on seeing the large display of the hated
police force began to shout and and yell. Presently, a stone came from
the mass, and passing near the head of one of the officials, broke a pane
of glass in one of the windows of the hotel. The sound of the falling glass
appeared to act like magic on the multitude; and bottles, stones, sticks,
and other missiles, were speedily put in requisition to demolish the windows,
until not a single pane was left entire, while every one that was broken
drew a cheer from the crowd. The police, all this time, were riding round
and round the hotel, but did not take any vigorous measures to deter the people
from the sport they appeared to enjoy so much. The crowd advance nearer--near
enough to use sticks to beat in the casements. They make an entrance,
and, in a moment, furniture, wearing apparel, bedding, drapery, are tossed out
of the windows; curtains, sheets, etc., are thrown in the air, frightening
the horses of the troopers, who have enough to do to keep their saddles;
the weather-boards are ripped off the side of the house, and sent spinning
in the air. A real Californian takes particular care of, and delights in
smashing the crockery.

Mr. Rede, the resident Commissioner, arrives, and endeavours to pacify
the people by speechifying, but it will not do. He mounts the sill of where
was once a window, and gesticulates to the crowd to hear him. An egg is thrown
from behind a tent opposite, and narrowly misses his face, but breaks
on the wall of the house close to him. The Commissioner becomes excited,
and orders the troopers to take the man in charge; but no trooper appears
to relish the business.

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