Frank was outside the Shanahans’ tent, chopping kindling wood for the stove. When he saw Henry, he opened his eyes very wide. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘I had a fight with Father last night,’ Henry said. ‘I’ve run away.’ He felt tears come into his eyes, but luckily Frank didn’t seem to notice. He took Henry by the arm and led him into the refreshment tent, and sat him down at the long table. ‘Ma,’ he called, ‘Henry’s here, and he’s run away from home, and he’s hungry.’

A little later Mrs Shanahan came up to the table with a plate piled high with griddle scones, a pot of tea and two tin mugs. ‘There you go, darlin’ boy,’ she said. ‘Get that lot inside you, and you’ll be able to take on the world.’

‘I’ve already got something to help me do that,’ Henry said to Frank, showing him the pistol. ‘It’s Father’s. I’ll need it if I’m going to be on my own.’

Frank whistled. ‘It’s a Derringer, isn’t it?’

‘Twin-shot.’

Frank laughed. ‘Let’s hope you get to use it.’

‘Yes,’ said Henry. He wasn’t as sure as Frank that this was what he wanted. ‘Father says he keeps it loaded, but it’s on the half-cock notch so it won’t go off accidentally. Here, you want to hold it?’

Frank held the pistol, admiring it from every angle. ‘Small, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘But when it goes off – whooh!’ He waited while Henry ate, helping him out with the griddle scones. When they’d both had two cups of tea, he said, ‘Sun’s well up now. You can give me a hand peeling a bucket of potatoes, and then we’ll see what’s happening at your claim.’

With the two of them working together the potatoes didn’t take long, and soon they were out on the track. As they walked along in the warm sunshine, past rows of tents and the good smells of people cooking breakfast on campfires, Henry felt his spirits start to rise. Perhaps he and Frank could get the claim back, and he’d be able to tell Father about his discovery of gold. Then everything would be all right again.

But soon that hope faded.

Even from a distance Henry could see the one-eyed man sitting on the log beside Father’s mine. He was smoking a pipe and swigging from a bottle. Beside him, tied to the log with a length of rope, was a large black dog.

‘Look at the beggar, pretending he owns the place,’ Henry said. ‘His mate’ll be working down the mine. He’s probably found our gold by now.’

‘He’s got his face stuck in a bottle of grog,’ said Frank. ‘Don’t he know that’s against the law? Just because he’s mates with the traps, he thinks he can get away with anything.’

‘Well, he’s got away with our claim, hasn’t he?’ said Henry. He felt so angry and bitter that he wanted to punch the one-eyed man. ‘We’re no match for that pair and a brute dog. And even if we were, they’d just whistle up their trap mates and we’d end up in the watch-house.’

Whatever Frank said in answer was lost in the cries of, ‘Joe! Joe! Joe!’ And then there was a whirlwind of hoofbeats as mounted troopers swept on to the crowded Gravel Pits, flanked by soldiers from the Government Camp.

Without any warning, the troopers raised their rifles and fired – at tents, at huts, at people.

Henry watched, open-mouthed, as the diggings exploded in chaos.

Dogs barked. Women and children screamed and ran for cover, disappearing into tents or behind mullock-heaps. Some of the miners vanished down mine-shafts.

When the troopers and soldiers paused to regroup, Henry raced over to where Alex McGregor was standing, a shovel in his hand and a look of disbelief on his face.

‘What’s happening, Mr McGregor?’ he panted.

‘Best to stay out of this, laddie,’ said Alex McGregor. ‘The wallopers are arresting miners who burned their licences yesterday, by orders of that scoundrel Commissioner Rede. They’ve taken six of them to the Government Camp already. This time the beggars are doing it by force, but they’ll have their hands full. We won’t go down without a fight.’

And he was right. Some miners raced forward and dragged troopers from their horses. Others pelted them with stones and broken bottles. Women and children came out from their hiding places and threw whatever they could find – rubbish, handfuls of mud.

‘There’s Nockles,’ shouted Frank. ‘Come on!’ He dashed forward, with Henry close behind him. Sergeant Nockles, mounted on a flea-bitten grey horse, was beating off an angry crowd with a horse-whip.

Henry got as close as he dared, ducking to avoid Nockles’s whip. ‘Give us back our mine,’ he shouted. ‘You – you – damned thief!’

‘Over my dead body,’ Nockles yelled back. ‘It belongs to me now.’ He slashed at Henry with the whip.

Henry felt a sharp pain as it caught him on the cheek. Beside himself with fury, he grabbed at the bridle, pulling violently at the horse’s head. The grey reared in fright, and Nockles landed on the ground with a thump. His horse galloped off, plunging and shaking its head. A young policeman ran to the Sergeant’s aid, helped him up and dusted him down.

‘I’m all right,’ Nockles snarled. ‘I’m not hurt, damn you!’ He gave Henry a look of pure hatred and limped off, beating dust from his jacket and his peaked cap.

An army bugle sounded and more soldiers appeared, marching in battle order. As the front rank dropped to their knees and presented arms, the crowd grew quiet.

Commissioner Rede rode forward. After looking nervously from side to side, he unrolled a sheet of paper and began to read from it in a loud voice.

Henry heard only bits of what he said. ‘Our sovereign lady the Queen . . . chargeth and commandeth all persons . . . immediately to disperse themselves . . . peaceably to depart . . . lawful business.’

‘Whatever that means,’ Frank said. ‘It’s gobbledygook, that’s what it is. Why can’t he speak English?’

‘It’s the Riot Act,’ said Alex McGregor, who was standing next to them. ‘We’ll have to go quietly. We’ve no choice, d’you see? But there are plans to be made, laddies, and they’ll be made on Bakery Hill.’

The mood on Bakery Hill was furious. The stick has really stirred up the ant nest now, Henry thought. The ants are running everywhere, and they’re as mad as blazes.

‘The Government has attacked us,’ shouted a miner. ‘It’s time to act. We must return fire, and with more than sticks and stones.’

The crowd roared. Those who were armed raised their weapons – revolvers and rifles, knives and pikes. Others held picks and shovels.

Henry spotted a familiar fur cloak and a hat with feathers in it. At the same moment he heard Frank say, ‘Look, there’s Jack! I knew he’d be here – he wouldn’t miss this, would he? Come on, Henry!’

As they made their way to his side, Jack held up a hand. ‘You’re just in time. Peter Lalor is about to speak.’

A man stepped forward, a tall man with fine dark whiskers. When he climbed up on a stump, the mood of the crowd changed. There was a tense silence.

‘Liberty!’ shouted the man, holding his rifle high in the air. And a deep blue flag with a white starry cross was unfurled on its flagstaff and swelled out in the light breeze.

‘It’s him!’ Henry said to Frank. ‘It’s the flash cove whose horse I held, remember? He gave me two half crowns.’

‘Peter Lalor is to be our commander-in-chief,’ said Jack. ‘This, my covies, is where our fight begins in earnest.’

‘We must form an army,’ said Peter Lalor in a loud, ringing voice. ‘I ask you to fall into divisions, and choose your captains.’

‘Hurrah for the people!’ came a shout, and the crowd echoed it back. ‘Hurrah for the people!’

Henry watched, hardly breathing, as the digger captains were chosen. Then Peter Lalor fell to his knees before the flag, and the captains, standing in a circle around the flagstaff, knelt with him.

Henry gripped Frank by the arm, and they pushed forward to hear better. ‘We swear by the Southern Cross to stand truly by each other, and fight to defend our rights and liberties,’ said Peter Lalor.

‘Amen,’ said the diggers, and each one stretched out his right hand towards the flag.

‘Amen,’ murmured the crowd.

There was silence. It was like being in church, Henry thought, remembering it from long ago.

After some shuffling and confusion the diggers formed a column, and at Peter Lalor’s command they began to march. At the head of the column the new blue-and-white flag was held high.

Henry turned to Jack, who was standing behind him. ‘Where are they going, Jack?’

‘To Eureka, to build a stockade,’ replied Jack. ‘What has happened today will change things forever. Come, my covies, fall in. We march with the rebels.’

This must be what it’s like to be part of an army, Henry thought as he marched. He felt excited and brave and scared, all at once. He looked at Frank and Jack, and knew they both felt exactly the same way. The sound of the drummer boy’s drum beat a ghostly tattoo in his head, and he felt sure that he was about to be a part of something glorious.