Of ALL THOSE WHO LAY DOWN to sleep on Eureka there was at least one for whom rest was particularly elusive. Prudent, hesitant and anxious in the manner of the scholar he may have been, but stupid he was not. Father Patrick Smyth felt a huge sense of responsibility for his flock. Irish it was in largest measure, but in consequence of its claim to be universal it embraced all peoples. The diggers on that goldfield came from myriad places, and among them many acknowledged the priest as a fleshly link with their Redeemer. He had agonized for weeks over the eventual outcome of their actions. Would they allow themselves to be brought into conflict with the forces of a nation before which his own people had often been driven in confusion? No one needed to teach him that the English under arms were a power beyond Irish reckoning, and here, on Ballarat, he had witnessed the sorry plight into which his congregation had fallen. The very heights of futility were reached with the retreat to Eureka and the beating about for weapons; to the priest, there could be only one outcome. The superior might of English arms would be triumphant, blood would flow, bodies would be mangled, widows and children would mourn. In the end his own race, proven malcontents under a foreign rule, would be blamed.
Under the stars Father Pat went forth, but this time he went alone. Like another Nicodemus he came to someone he believed and hoped could guarantee peace. Perhaps he thought that, if it were possible to make a private pact with Rede, the Commissioner would feel himself less constrained by concepts of duty and honour and more inclined to wisdom. If anything, he found Rede even more recalcitrant than he had been a few hours previously. The priest proposed once again that the Commissioner call off the licence hunts, not permanently, but only until higher authority had a chance to intervene. He did not realize that Hotham had taken up an entrenched position and was already preparing to send further troop reinforcements to Ballarat to deal with the diggers. He did not have a military mind of the officer cast, so it was beyond him to perceive that young blades like Thomas and Pasley were keen to show their own mettle and prove that they could deal with the rabble congregated on Eureka. To them it would have been inglorious to cower in the Camp, not to ensure the enforcement of the law, and to be found powerless on the arrival of Major-General Nickle who would surely be surprised, if not displeased, at their lack of action.
Rede gave a flat ‘no’ to Smyth, and the priest tried his last card. If the Commissioner would tell him when he proposed to go licence hunting again, he would return to Eureka and have all the diggers back at work in the morning. Again Rede refused to compromise. He was dealing with an ‘armed mob’ to whom he would not give information, assurances or promises. If they wanted to know what he proposed to do, they simply had to observe his actions. In as many words he told the priest that the diggers would be given ample opportunity to fathom his intentions simply by keeping an eye on the Camp. If he and his men were to come forth on a hunt, it would be known readily enough. If they did so on some bloodier sport, that too would be known. It seems that the priest did not report these words to the leaders on Eureka, and that they knew nothing of this further visit to Rede. Had they known of it they may have been more vigilant. From that moment it was essential to keep close watch over all movement in, and from, the Camp.1
Father Smyth returned to his home with a heavy heart and decided to make a final attempt to bring peace, this time with the pen. Rede had not listened, but perhaps Hotham would. He told ‘His Excellency’ that he spoke for many and, if his advice were acted upon, it would go far to allaying the present state of unrest. He impressed upon the Governor that the emergency was grave and that its solution required every possible ‘consideration and indulgence’ he could extend. The priest allied himself completely with the people of Ballarat and the men of Eureka by writing of ‘us’, as if to make it clear that, irrespective of their station or calling in life, all were now involved in what was happening around them. Pleadingly he wrote, ‘Should Your Excellency so far favour us as to suspend the operation of the Licence laws here for some definite period—say till the coming Commission close their enquiries, I at least would feel certain of our being more than partially restored to law and order’. He concluded by assuring Hotham that he was prompted to address him so boldly by the sole motive of concern for those who had been entrusted to his care.
Whether it was because Smyth promised only a partial restoration of law and order, or because he himself would not interfere with the law then in force, Hotham was not minded to hear the priest. In any case there was another way of dealing with this particular emergency which could not be left to simmer while a commission sat. In his customary and peremptory manner he pencilled ‘Put away’ on Smyth’s letter. Perhaps it then crossed his mind that prudence demanded some kind of an answer, so he had a letter sent to thank the priest for his efforts and to remind him that the government must enforce the law or ‘disorder and licentiousness’ had to reign. The law, consequently, had to be obeyed, at least until the report of the commission was received. What comfort this reply brought to the priest is unknown.2
On Eureka it had been wet and cold, but the night passed without incident. Everyone was under orders to be about by five in the morning. Many of the diggers had gone home to their own tents and huts to sleep as it had not been intended that the Stockade become a place of nightly residence, nor was it possible to turn it into one. There remained only those who lived there, those who lived nearby like Carboni, or those who, because of distance, found it more convenient to stay on the spot. It had never been the practice of the Camp to issue forth on armed licence hunts except in the day-time and as the purpose of the Stockade was to resist in that event, no large force was required at night. Gradually the diggers began to trickle in from all the fields. Some came bearing arms, they all came of their own free will and commenced drilling as on the previous day. Some, like Monty Miller or Michael McInerney, were mere boys of sixteen, drawn perhaps by the excitement and the lure of manly company on a hero’s task.3 Others were of more serious intent.
Timothy Hayes’s wife, Anastasia, bore still the beauty of her Irish youth, despite carrying a babe in arms and having five others for whom to care, and she fretted at the danger to Tim who had cast his lot with his mates. Thomas Dignum was native-born, as was Will Quinlan, the former from Sydney and the latter from Goulburn, a town to which he would never return. James Esmond had won fame as the discoverer of gold at Clunes, and was now called Captain of the Second Rangers as he prepared to resist the tyranny he had witnessed from the earliest days. William Emmerman came from Hanover, and he too had saluted a flag before which he was to die. Samuel Green of England is known only from his name on the roll of the dead, while a derelict nobleman, called simply ‘Happy Jack’, would live on for a while, incapacitated by a grievous wound to the abdomen. Robert Julien hailed from Nova Scotia, John Robertson from Scotland, John Hefele from Wurttemberg, while Edward Thonen, the lemonade man, had been a citizen of Elbertfeld, Prussia.4 Their names were to stand by those of the Irish who had died, but of such things few of them thought as they marched haphazardly to and fro in the mud of the Stockade on Friday, 1 December. The Southern Cross flew splendidly above them, the sun promised a bright and cloudless day and the voices of the ‘captains’ rang with cheerful but resolute commands.
Some movement of diggers not connected with the Stockade had been observed from the Camp to be taking place on Bakery Hill at about 4 a.m., as a result of which a force was sent out to disperse them. Upon arrival the police found no one about and retired. They were sent out again at 11 a.m. to clear the streets and hotels at the back of the Camp, as considerable numbers of diggers had congregated there. Orders to disperse were ignored, so the Riot Act was again read and the mounted police ‘cleared the ground’ and arrested two diggers, one of whom was armed.5 When the Council on Eureka heard that the red coats were out in arms they expected an attack on the Stockade, which caused much consternation. Further fortifications were thrown up, positions were taken and great excitement prevailed, but by 1 p.m. it was evident that nothing further was to occur, so things settled down while a German blacksmith hammered away forging pikes. He swore that they ‘would fix red toads and blue pissants especially’, although Carboni was of the opinion that his workmanship was so deficient that his pikes would scarcely suffice to despatch a possum, much less their intended prey which was, presumably, the cavalry—both men and horses.6
The making of weapons as primitive as pikes indicated clearly the meagre arms available in the Stockade. Certainly some were armed with rudimentary fire-power, but they were in the minority, and the scouring of the fields for further weapons failed to turn up much of any consequence, despite the allegations that force had been used. Gone from the Victorian fields was the lawlessness of the early days when guns of many varieties prevailed, and it was now no longer customary for diggers to possess weapons, much less to use them. The main public indication of approval by the 10,000 diggers on Ballarat who had not answered the call to arms was the fact that none returned to their work on that Friday, although no order or hint had come from the Council on Eureka that work should stop. Lalor was much more concerned with the ill-preparedness of the diggers in the matter of arms and ammunition than he was with matters outside his command and, although he expressed to all the need to procure some quickly, he at no time countenanced any force being used. Carboni rightly made the point that the diggers’ lack of arms was potent proof that no revolution had been intended, for had that been the case greater care would have been taken to provide them beforehand. As it was, no such preparations had been made ‘because we diggers had taken up arms solely in self-defence’ which was a far cry from any act of purposeful aggression.7
At all events the lack of arms, and the amateur nature of the drilling in the Stockade, must have given some considerable comfort to the high command in the Camp. Within the Stockade they had two or three detectives, unknown to the diggers, who clearly passed themselves off as part of the movement. From them, Rede admitted, he was able to get ‘good information’, although generally he was disappointed at the general level of intelligence which came through to him.8 The most conspicuous of the diggers’ commanders was Frederick Vern who, with his tremendous sword, long flowing hair, sharp and piercing eyes and stentorian voice, was everywhere apparent. Robert Cum-mings, one of Rede’s detectives, reported on him, so two warrants were got up for his apprehension on the ground that he was engaged in training bodies of men with the intention of attacking the government authorities. In fact Vern was spending a good deal of his time both promising and expecting the arrival of his German brigade with their rifles at the ready. They did not materialize and, despite the warrants, Vern was not arrested.9
Old Ballarat as it was in the summer of 1853–54, oil printing by Eugene von Guérard, c. 1884
Eureka Riot, 17 September 1854, watercolour by Charles A.Doudiet
Great Meeting of Gold Diggers, lithograph by Thomas Ham. The diggers met on the Mt Alexander goldfields, near Bendigo, on 15 December 1851
The Government Camp, Ballarat 1854. Troops arriving form Melbourne, lithograph after Samuel Douglas Smith
A public meeting on Bakery Hill on 11 November 1854 established the Ballarat Reform League.
Plan of Attack of the ‘Eureka Stockade’, 3 December 1854, lithograph after Samuel Douglas Smith
Eureka Stockade, watercolour by Samuel Douglas Smith, 1882
Site of the ‘Eureka Stockade’—Shortly After the Fight, Ballarat, 3 December 1854, lithograph by S. T. Gill
The Eureka flag, 260 × 324 cm approx, made from wool and cotton, 1854
Site of Bentley’s Hotel, lithograph by S.T. Gill 1855
The Eureka Stockade, by Beryl Ireland, c. 1890–1900
The Eureka treason trial map, 1855
The Eureka Stockade Monument, lithograph by F. Niven
Swearing Alligiance to the Southern Cross, 1 December 1854, watercolour by Charles A. Doudiet
Eureka Slaughter, 3 December 1854, watercolour by Charles A. Doudiet
What did arrive on that Friday afternoon was a 300–400 strong contingent from Creswick. Kennedy and George Black had been sent there to drum up support, not dissimilar to that expected from the diggers at Bendigo and Castlemaine—namely of the moral kind. The stockaders had taken up a stand with the burning of their licences and their retreat to the Eureka, which they were prepared to defend. They needed to know that they had the support of their brothers on the other fields. What they did not need was a contingent of unarmed, unpro-visioned and exhausted diggers. But Kennedy’s fondness for oratory got the better of him. He assured an eager crowd that Ballarat was ready to revolt, that weapons were at hand, together with food and accommodation, and that all they needed to win enduring fame was to join their brethren in Ballarat. All of this rhetoric was bolstered by a letter read out by Black which was written by Samuel Irwin, correspondent for the Geelong Advertiser, and allegedly signed by Lalor. It too called upon the men of Creswick to join the diggers in the Stockade. The response was immediate and, to the tune of the ‘Marseillaise’, they set forth over the hills on their nine-mile tramp, with Kennedy at their head, waving his sword and proclaiming victory as a storm raged and lightning flashed.10 Avoiding the township, which had become a place of very considerable solitude since the reading of the Riot Act and the closure of the pubs at noon, they came to the Stockade, where their appearance caused much consternation. Thonen turned from his usual trade of plying lemonade to that of providing meat obtained freely from the local butchery, and bread bought from the bakeries. The Creswick men prepared a large barbecue and some few stayed, either in the Stockade or with friends. The majority, doubtless sobered by the march and their perception of the inadequacy of arms, food and lodgings, returned to Creswick and were heard of no more.11
The third and least apparent element in this imbroglio was authority in the various forms in which it was found in Melbourne. Exactly what Rede was telling Hotham can only be a matter for conjecture, based on his communications with the Chief Commissioner. That he was in direct correspondence with Hotham is certain, and that it was in cypher is also clear. On Friday afternoon he wrote to Wright saying that he still held to a firm line which called for forceful suppression of the diggers’ outbreak. He concluded, ‘I enclose a cypher letter to His Excellency who has the key and request it may be forwarded to him immediately’.12 That letter, together with any others in similar style Rede may have written to the Governor, no longer exists for the scrutiny of posterity. As a consequence it is only possible to follow the advice he gave to the diggers and to elucidate Rede’s intentions by his actions. Friday passed and, after noon, apart from attending to his correspondence, he did nothing but fruitlessly await another monster meeting which his informants had told him, erroneously, had been called for that evening on Bakery Hill. The days of monster meetings, like those of licence hunts, were over. More than a century elapsed before the Southern Cross flag flew again on Bakery Hill.
Unlike Rede, the Legislative Council was prepared to go public on the issue. John Pascoe Fawkner, long a bitter foe of the squatters, now turned his venom on that ‘mob of worthless idlers, whom no man can class as true Diggers’ who had hooted and assaulted the soldiers at Ballarat on the Tuesday night. He praised the patience and forbearance of the military, which stamped them as ‘truly British’, and asked the Governor to thank them on behalf of the House. He was perhaps unaware of Evans’s words to his police that ‘if a man raises his hand to strike, or throws a stone, shoot him on the spot’, or of the officer who said, as he came onto Ballarat, ‘I hold no communication with rebels’. Fawkner’s words fell on receptive ears, as the men in that Council were all propertied or salaried, or both. They were in no mood to tolerate unrest on the goldfields. The colony was in a parlous financial state and, as some thought, perhaps there were even grounds to fear an imminent attack from the sea by the Russians.13 Comforted by the clear expressions of support he was receiving from authoritative quarters in Melbourne, Hotham decided to send further reinforcements to Ballarat.
Major-General Sir Robert Nickle, commander in chief of the forces in the colonies, had moved his headquarters from Sydney to Melbourne in early August. He was a man of moderation and common sense, but orders from above had to be obeyed, so he set forth on the Friday with very considerable reinforcements. He took the marines from H.M.S. Electra, the 12th and 40th Regiments yielded up another 600 men, and 4 pieces of field artillery were also provided. Melbourne was thus denuded of almost all its available forces, with the result that several hundred special constables had to be especially sworn in to ensure that the law prevailed in the city.14 With this new move it was clear that, in Hotham’s mind, Ballarat had become a problem requiring an immediate solution. It is unclear whether he feared that the diggers would overthrow by force the structure of authority and thereby start a conflagration which would spread to the other goldfields and eventually turn to his own person and those who surrounded him in Melbourne. In any case his decision to order all available military forces to Ballarat signalled his determination to give Rede and the Camp all possible help, in defence or offence, and stamp out the unrest for good. Nothing now could stop Hotham. Even when a harmless but pleading letter came across his desk from Patrick Hayes, with the request that he be allowed to use his good standing with the diggers and go to Ballarat to urge moderation on their part, the Governor merely pencilled on it his usual ‘Put away’.15 The time for temporizing had passed.
Both the protagonists on Ballarat were engaged in replenishing their stores, and in the diggers’ case, also their arms. The military, it seems, were ‘making a great show of arms, making things unpleasant and helping themselves to the stores’. Reports were made that the diggers were doing likewise, although their fare in the Stockade was only bread, beef and cold water, and Lalor personally saw to the ejection from its boundaries of a brandy seller. Apart from the forcible commandeering of a horse and some old firearms from the government tent, what was taken under Lalor’s orders either was paid for or receipts were given. Esmond was one who left a signed receipt testifying that the Council owed £3 10s to the firm of Bradshaw and Salmon for 12 lbs of powder, while two other receipts were signed for a pistol flask and a box of revolver caps. Nonetheless, it was unquestionably true, and admitted by Carboni, that the prevailing state of disorder was taken as an opportunity for unruly gangs, mostly of Vandemonians, to raid and plunder in the name of the stockaders. Despite the fact that Lalor sent out men to try to prevent such occurrences, policing all the fields proved impossible, resulting in the opprobrium unjustifiably levelled at the stockaders, then and in later accounts, by some commentators.16
At the Star Hotel on the Main Road another so-called committee had its headquarters where some meetings were held. This group was further removed from the original nucleus which had coalesced around Humffray and the next which looked to Lalor as its head. Humffray stood for moral force, Lalor for force but only in defence and he and those close to him never proposed any change in allegiance to the Crown, in setting up a Republic or in a violent overthrow of government. Some diggers and digger supporters moved between the two stands, coming to rest finally with the group which met at the Star and stood for radical change. Alfred Black drew up a ‘Declaration of Independence’ which was allegedly read to the diggers who ‘loudly cheered’ it, but when or where this happened is not known. Certainly Lalor had no part in it but Vern had, and Lalor felt so insecure in his leadership that he offered to resign on Friday in order to sustain unity. He was persuaded to stick at his task on the grounds that the armed movement of resistance would fall apart if he left it. Consequently he turned to Vern for assistance in military matters, in which Lalor himself felt incompetent. Vern had often boasted of his experience in the martial arts, and claimed that lately he had been an aide-de-camp to a general. He had initially drawn up a plan of military command, led by a chief whom he assumed would be himself. Vern’s jealousy of Lalor’s position and popularity now appeared so great that he refused to serve as second-in-command. He did turn his attention to some matters, however, and had the stockade enlarged to the extent that it went across the Melbourne Road which, to Carboni, seemed absurd as there was such little likelihood of a successful defence even of the space they already occupied.17
The morning of Saturday, 2 December, saw a repeat of Friday, with men returning to the Stockade having passed the night in their own quarters or with friends. By eight o’clock drilling commenced again, to be interrupted before noon when Father Smyth appeared. He noticed with some misgivings that the old Irish futilities were so apparent: awkward drilling, pike-making and the frailty of the fortifications. Lalor gave Smyth permission to speak to the Catholics and his expression revealed his grave concern, together with an apparent conviction that the cause was hopeless. He knew, as they did, that a well-armed force of 700–800 men stood ready in the Camp, and that more were on their way. Perhaps his listeners felt that they had gone too far along the road of resistance to give up now; perhaps they had convinced themselves that no violence would be done to them. In any event they heard him warn them against violation of the Christian ethic by uselessly shedding blood, and they said nothing. To his plea that they all come to Mass the next morning to fulfil their solemn obligation of the Sabbath, no response was made. The priest departed saddened.18
A feeling of well-being came over the Stockade as the morning wore on. It had never happened that a licence hunt occurred on a Saturday afternoon, so by midday all concurred that they would remain untroubled until Monday at the earliest. It was clearly the impression among the diggers and their leaders that any form of aggression would take the shape of a renewal of licence hunts, rather than a direct attack. Such aggression could take place out on the fields themselves, or on the Stockade in an attempt to arrest those who had burned their licences. As nothing of any moment had happened for two days, it was easy to turn to talk of the reorganization of the Reform League which was scheduled for the next day. It was even possible to speculate on whether Hotham had been impressed with the show of resistance and was now prepared to do some reforming by ridding himself of the local authorities. Surely some of them had read the Argus of the previous Tuesday which, in a well-meaning way, had warned that they were treading a very dangerous path, albeit under extreme provocation. The writer proclaimed Hotham as ‘a man of war’ who, having once smelt gunpowder, would act ‘to vindicate the supremacy of the law’. Yet the very same leader contained the germ of the matter because it recognized that, so frequently, it was only rebellion which moved England to listen to grievances, and it cited Canada as proof. It seemed to the Argus that loyalty only provoked further repression, although the newspaper also implored the diggers to refrain from violence, without offering any alternative manner to obtain redress. As the diggers went off to ‘get a bite’ at noon the Stockade was almost deserted, and Carboni stood at his tent frying steak and watching Manning peel an onion. Both seemed unaware that the hours of loyalty were fast running down.19
That afternoon saw much activity, so that finally there were about 1500 men in and about the Stockade. Some went out onto the fields requisitioning supplies, others attempted to prevent any thieving in the name of the Council, and a few were even engaged in working their nearby claims. Doctor Kenworthy appeared with a letter of introduction from Humffray whose concern led him to ensure that some form of medical help was available to his fellow diggers whom he considered to be in grave and immediate danger. The diggers were much more impressed and heartened by the arrival, at about 4 o’clock, of James McGill, accompanied by about 200 men who had formed a body which they called the Independent Californian Rangers. The Americans as a group had thitherto appeared to stay aloof from the movement, perhaps in gratitude for the pardon given by Hotham to Carey, perhaps alarmed at the maltreatment of the wagon owner, Young, on Tuesday night. Lalor had managed to persuade a few of them to join him in the Stockade, and one had assumed command of a corps with the title of Captain of the First Rifles. But there were few Americans until McGill arrived with his men, armed with revolvers and many bearing Mexican knives on their belts. Their arrival certainly caused rejoicing in the Stockade and further consternation in the Camp where, due to Rede’s spy system, it was soon known of.20
McGill was well known on Ballarat, as he had worked there for over a year with an American firm. Although not a product of West Point, he had some military knowledge and this was a relief to Lalor who, after Vern’s refusal, had to look for other help. McGill was promptly appointed second-in-command with direct responsibility for tactical arrangements, while Lalor assumed the position of a moral leader. It is not known what password had been used prior to Saturday, but by that evening a new one, to which Carboni was not privy, had been circulated around the Stockade. Vinegar Hill was adopted, and it conjured up potent memories for those who knew anything of Irish or Australian history.
In March 1804 the first rebellion on Australian soil had occurred in the Parramatta area of New South Wales at a place which became known as Vinegar Hill. Most of those involved were Irish, and they took as a slogan the cry of United Ireland: ‘Death or Liberty’. The insurgents were soon defeated, with nine deaths and ten subsequent executions. Six years earlier, in 1798, an uprising had taken place in Ireland which had ended at Vinegar Hill when the main stronghold of the United Irish rebels was taken. Some quirk of fancy or twist of blind fatalism moved the leaders at Eureka to adopt a password which evoked memories of provocation, rebellion and defeat. In the minds of some it made Eureka itself Irish, and at least one who had joined them left in contempt. Henry Nicholls had been a partner with George Black as editor of the Diggers’ Gazette and he came to the Stockade on Friday. Later he wrote an account of his involvement which included the accusation that by Saturday night many of the diggers in the Stockade were drunk. No reliable, contemporary evidence justifies this allegation.21
McGill busied himself with ensuring that a proper sentry system was set up, both at the Stockade and at nearby outposts, to warn of a surprise attack. It was generally agreed that to be caught unawares within the Stockade would invite disaster, so freedom of movement depended upon forewarning.22 The other, more important, consideration that pressed on everyone’s minds was the probable arrival of reinforcements from Melbourne. It is unclear exactly how it was envisaged that poorly armed diggers would manage to intercept a properly equipped body of military, yet it seems that McGill decided that this had to be attempted. He even went as far as having drawn up in writing by Alfred Black a ‘general order for the night’, which he then read to the diggers. It included the proposal to ‘march to intercept reinforcements’ which McGill and two-thirds of his Californians later set out to effect. Such strategy clearly proves that no attack was expected on the Stockade during the night. It also indicated a decided lack of wisdom, for the very removal of such a considerable body of well-armed men, once heard of in the Camp through the spies, would invite a decision to attack. The fact that Lalor, exhausted from lack of sleep, retired at midnight leaving no one in charge, given McGill’s departure, is further proof of the prevalence of a relaxed attitude to the situation. Small wonder, in view of this outlook by the high command, that the diggers in large part went home, leaving only those with tents and those actually on duty to defend the Southern Cross. By midnight, or soon after, about 120 diggers remained. Of them perhaps 100 had rifles or pistols, yet ammunition amounted to only one or two rounds each. The remainder had only pikes with which to do battle.23
Relaxation may have been the general feeling at the Stockade, but in the Camp beyond the valley a very different feeling prevailed. A series of sleepless nights had built up a state of highly tuned frustration, without their attacking or being attacked. According to one resident, ‘A crisis was approaching and [was] desired in fact, for the situation had become intolerable’.24 The day itself had passed without incident. However, fortifications were extended, and townspeople with dwellings near the Camp had been warned that their property would be burnt to deprive the diggers of vantage points were an attack made, and Pasley had prepared fireballs to throw on the houses at the appropriate moment. Pasley was delighted to see the townspeople’s apparent acceptance of these measures because it ensured that the ‘pecuniary interests’ of the citizens were now on the side of law and order. An exception was made for a bank, constructed in stone, which the military proposed to use themselves. The only decision made by Rede was to have a notice put up ordering all lights in tents near the Camp to be doused by 8 p.m., and no firearms to be discharged. Offenders were to be shot by the sentries, which, as no martial law had been proclaimed, clearly indicated that to the Camp a state of war itself was already in existence.25
During the day Rede again sat down to write to Melbourne. He had a clear case to make for an attack on the Stockade. At the time of writing (probably in the early afternoon, as he made no mention of the Americans) he was still undecided as to when this would take place. His information was that six companies had been formed at the Eureka. One was French, another Swedish and German, while the others were mainly made up of the Irish and Vandemonians. He did not give an estimate of the overall number, but knew that most of the stockaders were both undrilled and poorly armed. Five hundred of them, however, were ‘determined men and the greatest scoundrels in the Colony’. What comparative basis he used for that judgement he did not state, but it possibly came from the same source who told him that the Stockade enclosed sixteen acres of ground, and that attempts had been made to draw the military out of the Camp onto the diggings and, at that point, mount an attack from the rear. The Stockade at no time enclosed more than one acre of ground, and there was never any intention of mounting an attack on the Camp, except in the minds of Rede’s agents provocateurs and spies.
At this stage Rede became confused about events and again mentioned the visits of the delegates and the return visit of Father Smyth. He took this, and the priest’s assurance that he would get the men back to work, as proof that there was much unease and fear in the Stockade after the withdrawal of Humffray and his moral force people. As far as the Commissioner was concerned, any return to work would be regrettable. While the insurgents continued to ‘disgust the majority with mob law’, to cause trade to stagnate and to bring ruin to diggers whose claims lay idle after months of hard work, they would discredit themselves totally. His most important reason for refusing any concession was the absolute necessity of keeping the diggers in the Stockade where it would be possible ‘to crush them and the democratic agitation at one blow’ which could only be done ‘if we find them with arms in their hands and acting in direct opposition to the laws’.
Such was the mind of Mr Commissioner Rede on that Saturday afternoon. For him, the Stockade, and the behaviour of those within it, was now a cause to act in a decisive manner. All this nonsense had gone on long enough and the agitation for democratic rights had to be put down once and for all. It was merely a matter of selecting the right moment, but in case any of the diggers’ leaders and other lesser souls were captured, rather than crushed, Rede had to be sure that they would find in the Governor a man determined to enforce the law to its utmost against them. He entreated His Excellency to be so determined, and he gave the highest reason of state security itself as the grounds for vigour. ‘I am convinced that the future welfare of the Colony and the peace and prosperity of all the Gold Fields depends on the crushing of this movement in such a manner that it may act as a warning’.
In this way all the events of three years’ hardship suffered by the diggers were condensed into a great unknown called high treason. They had pleaded, petitioned, almost grovelled in order to obtain redress and Rede himself regarded both the licence fee and the manner of its collection as an affront. Rede knew that the diggers’ leaders were men of probity and loyalty and that the same applied to most of those in the Stockade. Lalor, Thonen, Manning, Hayes, Esmond and Carboni were all known to him, as were many others. In his letter he could mention only one name as proof of the perfidy of them all. It was that of ‘a Colonel of their mob ... a great enthusiast and a most dangerous man’.26 His name was Vern. But Vern and all the rest had to be crushed. The Commissioner was determined that the name of that place, Eureka, would ring around the goldfields and all would know the fate of those who called into question the authority and might of Her Majesty. Rede did not then suspect the extent to which he would ultimately succeed.