Polly was more fortunate. Within three days of the fight Ned
turned up, sound as a bell. He was sporting a new hat, a flashy silk
neckerchief and a silver watch and chain. At sight of these kickshaws a
dismal suspicion entered Mahony's mind, and refused to be dislodged. But
he did not breathe his doubts--for Polly's sake. Polly was rapturously
content to see her brother again. She threw her arms round his neck, and
listened, with her big, black, innocent eyes--except for their
fleckless candour, the counterpart of Ned's own--to the tale of his
miraculous escape, and of the rich gutter he had had the good luck to
strike.
Meanwhile public feeling, exasperated beyond measure by the tragedy of
that summer dawn, slowly subsided. Hesitation, timidity, and a very
human waiting on success had held many diggers back from joining in the
final coup; but the sympathy of the community was with the rebels, and
at the funerals of the fallen, hundreds of mourners, in such black coats
as they could muster, marched side by side to the wild little unfenced
bush cemetery. When, too, the relief-party arrived from Melbourne and
martial law was proclaimed, the residents handed over their firearms as
ordered; but an attempt to swear in special constables failed, not a
soul stepping forward in support of the government.
There was literally nothing doing during the month the military occupied
Ballarat. Mahony seized the opportunity to give his back premises a coat
of paint; he also began to catalogue his collection of Lepidoptera.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161