A HAZARD OF HEARTS (47 page)

She had to forget any notions of love and
permanence between them and enjoy the friendship. This point settled, she
firmly turned her mind to a case of asthma aggravated by the patient’s
conviction that it could be cured by smoking stinkweed.

J.G. slipped into her tent later after the lamps
were lit, while she bent over her case-book entering the details of the day.
She raised her head as a shadow passed over her packing-case desk to see him
transfigured. It was more than normal excitement there, she thought – more like
a solemn fervour, almost exaltation.

‘What happened? I can see it must have been
something momentous.’ She waited in some trepidation for his answer.

J.G. paced the tent restlessly. ‘How can I explain?
This meeting… It was the experience of a lifetime, a conversion. I listened to
plain men address their fellows with an honesty and consideration for the
rights of others that I’ve never heard or seen. It was democracy and brotherly
love and rage against tyranny, all rolled into one. And by all that’s Holy, it
was magnificent.’

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.

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.’