Introduction - my historical fiction

Sarah Jane Lee was a remarkably tough woman who lived on the Maitland Bar Goldfields near Mudgee, NSW in the 1860s.  She was my great great grandmother.

This is my short historical fiction about her life.  My story here is about 85% true!
I have written this story in SIX Chapters - listed at right.

So what is true? And what is fiction?

True :
Sarah's husband and little girl WERE murdered by Chinese gold miners in June, 1868.
The story was printed by the newspapers of the time, not just locally but across the country.
At the time, it was thought that the root cause of the murders was an argument about the change - Ralph Lee was a butcher who sold meat to both European and Chinese miners at the Goldfields.
Sarah's son, George, was also injured. Sarah really was away from her home at the time.
Sarah really did marry again very soon after her husband was murdered - to Robert Blake.
All the names of people and places in my story are factual - except for the character of Mrs Smith. She is wholly my creation.

Fiction:
Although the names of most of the characters in this story are real, their personalities are invented by me.
Sarah was away from home on the evening of the murder - I invented a reason why.
Robert Blake, her second husband, DID disappear not long after she married him. No one knows what happened to him. Where did he go?  I created a fictional outcome for him.

This is a real photo

                                                                 of Sarah Jane Lee

Read MORE about Sarah Jane Lee at my other blog site Sarah Jane Lee.

And my Facebook page...search Facebook for Sarah Jane Lee/Huff 

My Contact:
My name is Lynda Brown. You can contact me via email if you wish to comment on my story.
samsaralynda@gmail.com


Read Chapter 1 - If you can't see it below then click here or use the links at the right.

Chapter 1 – Sarah - the Butcher’s Wife

9 June, 1868

Sarah walked quickly over the loose dry road, the worn leather soles of her lace up ankle boots occasionally slipping on small stones. Her face was unarranged, solemn and thoughtful.  Her cheeks were ruddy from the cold wind, her wispy brown hair escaping in whipped tendrils from her wool cap. Her blue eyes were mostly downcast, watching the dangerous gravel.  She squinted at the grey winter glare whenever she looked up.  

She continually listened to the bush around her, especially the river gurgling along just below the road. She wondered again how it could be called a river. She sadly recalled the huge, tidal Avon River back in her home town in Bristol, England. That was part of her previous life. Sarah believed she was now in God forsaken country indeed. It was raw, untamed countryside that seemed continually dry both in summer and in frosty winter.  There was nothing here, no paved roads, no buildings of any permanence, no society.  Why did her husband, Ralph, bring her here? He had told her it would be better than down in Beechworth, Victoria. But it was no better. She had trusted him and he was wrong. This was a raw wilderness. It was as if God had not finished his work here.

She held her six month old baby, Grace, on one hip, answering the little girl’s baby chatter with automatic soothing responses. The winding, hilly road took her further and further away from her home at Ironbark Goldfields on the Meroo River. Finally saw the township of Avisford, peeping out from the surrounding steel grey eucalypts.

She experienced a sudden feeling of nervousness in her stomach and marched faster. But panic would not take hold of her. She told herself she could be back in Sydney soon and then back in England next year. The mechanical movement of walking kept her from tears and despair. Her legs were slight but strong under her long, heavy skirt. She swung her free arm and leaned into the slope of the hilly road, breathing harder as she rushed. She gritted her teeth and thought of Robert and his kindness. He would save her from all of this. There had to be a way.

She rounded a corner in the narrow road and almost bumped into a Chinaman who was quickly but quietly moving along with his two heavy buckets balanced on his shoulder pole. He politely bobbed his head and moved sideways to allow her passage. Sarah stopped, surprised, grabbing at her cap. She turned to watch him continue down towards the diggings. As always, she felt in awe of the ability of the Celestials to move so stealthily with that little half run, half walk movement that they could keep up for hours.

She breathed out. She was just going to afternoon tea. A simple visit, that’s all it was. She would sit at Mrs Smith’s table and she would sip her tea and discuss the price of gold and the scarcity of supplies in the shops - just like any other day. And Robert would be there.

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Ralph turned from his kitchen fireplace, his face ruddy from heat and effort, and placed some toast onto an enamel plate on the table. “Now, here you are, Toty,” he announced to his eldest daughter who was seated at the roughly made timber slab table next to her father. Ralph’s eldest daughter was named Sarah Jane after her mother but to her father she was just Toty. Sarah Jane, a brown haired girl approaching 12 years old, snatched the toast hungrily.

The family had eaten some mutton chops already and were now working their way through a loaf of damper that their mother had baked earlier in the afternoon. Ralph was happy to eat it in chunks dipped into the fat of the chops but he knew the children liked it sliced and toasted. Occasionally Sarah would even buy butter. “Your mother is givin’ you airs and graces, that’s the truth of it, me lovelies,” he muttered to himself as he speared another piece of damper with his homemade toasting fork and bent down to hold it near the coals.

Amelia, the five year old, and George, her older brother, sat on kangaroo skins further away from the fireplace, playing jacks with sheep knuckle bones. “I can do it!” insisted Amelia, her blond curls falling around her face as she attempted to catch the five jacks on the back of her hand for the hundredth time. “You’re too young!” scoffed George. Her big brother grabbed the jacks in a handful and proceeded to take his turn. “Father! I not too young! Tell ‘im!” squealed Amelia, running to her father, her face quickly reddened and tear stained with frustration and tiredness. “SShh, Sshh, Milly!” Ralph calmed her, powerfully hoisting her onto his lap with his free arm, the toast still undamaged on the fork close to the fire.

Ralph was a butcher on the Ironbark Flat goldfields near Maitland Bar, NSW. He was a huge man, broad shouldered and tall with a plain face, pale blue eyes and big hands like paddles. His fingernails were blackened and blood stains persisted in the lines of his hands. He sat in stocking feet at the fire on a three legged stool he had made himself from local timber. He had made a soft seat for it with old rags and a piece of leather, secured with hemp rope. He was pleased with it and took quiet satisfaction that his wife, Sarah, used it every day as she tended the fire and the camp oven.

The house he had built on the Goldfields was warm and comfortable. It had been one of the first residences built and boasted an attached shopfront. The walls were rough cut timber, its holes plugged with mud and intermittently lined with hessian bags. The floor was mostly packed earth. In front of the fire and also in the bedrooms Ralph had excelled himself creating ant bed floors, made from the local termite mounds. He had spent a lot of time collecting the ant nest material and even climbed a tree for one large nest. Once crushed, rolled out and sprinkled with water it had formed an excellent and impermeable floor. The floors of the living area were also littered with various animal skins. The fireplace was made from flat stones pasted together in layers with mud. Over the open fire hung a long iron handle with a blacked pot hooked onto it. At the front there was a stone hob. There was an oiled timber mantel piece on which stood a clock, a china vase decorated with English roses, assorted leather purses and two brass candle holders.

The Goldfields at this location were not quite the moonscape of the Ballarat goldfields.  But few small trees had escaped the ruthless quest for firewood of recent months. So the residences were clustered together, both tents and shanties, in open dusty slopes that became quagmires in the wet weather. Many residences had flags of various kinds flying from their own roughly made flag poles. The slopes led down to the river that was not really a river but more of a creek. Permanent trees still remained along the muddy, much worked Meroo. Some had fallen as a result of their roots being literally undermined. These were quickly claimed by the relevant mining claim owner and cut up for firewood.

Ralph sighed as he gave some fresh toast to Milly and then put the blackened kettle back on the hob for his tea. His mouth resumed its normal downturned shape as he faced the fire again. It was a sad mouth, resigned and stoic. He knew his wife was unhappy. He hoped she might come home with a more cheerful disposition tomorrow after an evening with her friends, the Smiths. Ralph was unlike many men at the Goldfields in that he regularly gave his wife some time off. But he couldn’t understand the purpose of sitting and making polite small talk over tea. What use was a table cloth and a silver teapot out here? And conversation was not something Ralph was good at.  Sarah had told him that with her stony silences after his failed attempts at socializing in the past.

Amelia, chewing her damper, had returned to her brother on the floor and was now making furtive grabs at the jacks as they landed close enough to her. “Father! Milly’s annoying me! She’s taking my jacks!” cried George.

Ralph raised himself up to his full height and frowned at his arguing children, bellowing a threat to them both that they would soon get the strap. Not that he could ever hit Milly of course. George was a different matter. It was time he had some discipline as he was growing up fast. Ralph was proud of his gangly son but he certainly didn’t intend to show it.

Ralph towed his two younger children by their collars over to a sideboard by the door. Despite their protests he calmly inserted their hands into the cold grey water, washing and rubbing them with an old rag. “Let’s see your face, Milly?” Milly turned her face deliberately away but Ralph rubbed at it determinedly anyway until he estimated that all smears of mutton fat were removed from her pretty face.

“Now, off you go and get your nightclothes on!” he bellowed. He sent them up a dimly lit passageway towards the separate sitting room and two tiny bedrooms at the other side of the house. He was relieved the squabbling wasn’t worse as his other precocious daughter, Frances, aged four, was not home but staying with a neighbour tonight.

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Sarah looked up over her teacup at Robert.  She knew her eyes were bright with excitement so she only allowed herself to meet his wonderful warm eyes for a split second. In response, Robert’s dark lashes also swept down to his cup in a flash.

“Yes, Ralph took delivery of a beast late this afternoon so I was obliged to wait until he had done the butchering before I could leave.” said Sarah.  “I am so sorry to be late”, she added, grimacing a tight smile to Mrs Smith by her side and simultaneously hoisting the baby to a more comfortable position on her lap. She hoped Grace would hold off her wailing for a bit longer.

“Oh it must be such an ordeal at times, Sarah. I DO admire Ralph so!  I know he works so hard. And all those Chinese men down there on the diggings!? You say they are his best customers?” replied the older Mrs Smith with a shrill tone. Her flaccid face conveyed both enquiry and distaste at this last comment.

“Yes, they do like beef if they can afford it,” replied Sarah. She instantly thought of the wonderful aromas of beef sizzling with spice. No one cooked beef the way the Celestials did. She had never tasted it but it certainly smelt tempting.  They cooked in huge pans out in all weathers, crouched down low next to their little fires. But she thought the better of explaining all this to Mrs Smith.

“And how are your children, my dear? Is Sarah learning to read a little now?” Mrs Smith barely waited for an answer and then continued on with a story of how her friend’s daughters in Hill End would soon be attending a school in Bathurst and that they would be boarding in a lovely home near the school.

Mrs Smith then raised her corpulent body carefully from her frail timber chair and announced she would refill the pot.  Robert took the opportunity to mouth “Staying?!” across the table to Sarah. Sarah gave a barely perceptible nod and averted her nervous attention to the squirming Grace, trying to calm her jumping stomach. Yes, she would stay with Robert tonight. She sent her attention back to the johnny cakes in front of her.

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“A Lee!  Want him beefo!!” Ralph heard the call outside his house as he was cleaning up the table.

“Aah, again!” Ralph muttered. He had had enough customers this afternoon and he was tired. The littlies had gone into their bedroom. Sarah sat and munched on her buttered toast, unconcerned. 

Ralph walked with some stiffness through a doorway and then through the small shopfront. He lifted a timber lock from the shop’s front door and looked out. A Chinaman stood in the moonlight, his face tilted towards Ralph and his arm in the air to announce he had money.

“Beefo!” the man requested again.

Ralph walked out to speak to the man and then felt a huge weight crash into his back. He fell onto the cold hard ground and pain washed over him seconds later. He raised his head and saw yet another Chinaman stumbling to his feet. He heard them talking in their distinctive singsong language. And then there was a red hot pain in his side and he realized he was being attacked. A knife!? The pain increased as he moved and tried to stand.

Again Ralph was stabbed in the back. He couldn’t get up. His cotton stockings were slipping and he couldn’t find any grip.

“Toty! Toty! They’re killing me!” called Ralph.

Ralph struggled on the ground but somehow found strength to fight back. The Chinaman held the knife but Ralph’s strong arm kept it held high. They rolled further from the shop’s door.

Toty appeared at the door. Her hands went to her face and she screamed. Her brother George pushed past her and ran to his father. He pulled the Chinaman’s long plait and he saw the man grimace with pain.

“Get off!” yelled George. But the Chinaman lashed out at the boy. George yelled in pain and stumbled back towards the doorway. He fell and appeared to faint. Toty dragged him inside the doorway. Toty was astounded. George was injured! His shirt was covered in blood! She sobbed and held her brother awkwardly.

Amelia, in her nightclothes and unrestrained by her big sister, then ran out towards her father and tried to grab her father’s clothes, crying hysterically. The attacker turned his attention from Ralph and lashed at the little girl. Ralph screamed “No!” but the little girl was injured too and ran back inside, sobbing and clutching her side.

Toty then dashed out of the doorway, directly to the right, not daring to glance back at her father or his attacker. She ran into the darkness, intending to find help from her neighbour.

The stabs continued and Ralph cried out several more times. Then the attacker was gone. Ralph was left in excruciating pain and was barely conscious. From inside his house Ralph heard Amelia scream again. And then he felt nothing and his large, strong body lay still.

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Sarah washed in Robert’s room and then glanced nervously at her baby who was sleeping in a bundle of clothing on the floor next to her. The baby girl had been fed and changed and now slept soundly, oblivious to the changed environment. Sarah smiled at Robert who had now climbed into his small hotel room bed, holding his arms out for her. Sarah thought he looked wonderful in the lamp light, so gentleman-like and so different from Ralph. His hands were clean, his skin white and his body was lean. They smiled at each other. Robert was a businessman, a gold trader. He dressed well and he spoke well. He had told her he was making a lot of money and that he had a house in Sydney. He was in the goldfields to do business as he regularly did. That included visiting his widowed step sister, Mrs Smith.

Sarah felt confident no one had seen her enter Robert’s room in the hotel. As far as Mrs Smith knew, Sarah was sleeping in her sitting room as she had done a few times before when darkness and the cold prevented her friend from returning home until the next day. At midnight Sarah had grabbed the baby and her coat and slipped out Mrs Smith’s front door and ran silently the short distance to Robert’s hotel. She would return again within the hour. No one would be the wiser.

Sarah felt very special in Robert’s arms. She was just over thirty and although she had already presented five healthy children into the world, she was still slim and attractive. She wondered again if Robert was the answer to her prayers.  She wanted to leave Meroo, escape her life on the goldfields forever. But she knew her husband, Ralph, was not going anywhere. She dreamed of a real brick house with a real timber floor and proper carpet and furnishings. She wanted her children educated and well dressed. She wanted them to walk on pavement, not in dust or mud. She didn’t much care if the house was Sydney or back home in Bristol, she just wanted civilization again. She couldn’t tolerate the bush any longer. Sarah knew that the heat, the extreme weather and the hard labour of life on the Goldfields were quickly sapping her energy.

Sarah yearned for what her parents had back in Bristol, warm rooms in a comfortable terraced house in a city street. They all walked on cobbles, not on gravel or mud. It was a short distance to her father’s workplace at the warehouses on Broad Street. Her mother had only to walk five minutes to buy fresh bread and meat at the Friday market. Sarah and her brother George were often taken shopping and, of course, to the local Church on Sundays.  Sarah also clearly remembered the huge columns of St Mary Redcliffe Church where she was taken just once on a special occasion with her family.  She had a new dress that day! It was to celebrate the launch of the ship the Great Britain in 1843. Her father had worked on that ship. Sarah had been a little girl at the time and she recalled a feeling of pride that rippled happily through the little family of four that day. It was the largest ship afloat! What a wonderful and important father Sarah had! Sarah had many happy memories of her childhood in Bristol. But then a cholera epidemic hit everyone very hard when she was only eleven years old. Her mother died in her bed. Her father died the next day. Sarah and George were taken in by neighbours but soon they found themselves in the Muller Home, the local orphanage. And it was there that her life became regimented and loveless. Their education was exclusively devoted to Bible studies. She was constantly told how unworthy she was in God’s eyes. She was never touched with affection. She was constantly cold and sad. She hardly ever saw her little brother who was in a different section of the orphanage.

Sarah had told her husband, Ralph, how she had lost her parents. She knew he was trying hard to please her and to somehow make up for that.  For example, she didn’t have to make her own soap as most women did but could afford to purchase it. She owned three new kerosene lamps too. She had some respectable clothes. And Ralph said her would build a new house in Avisford soon. But she didn’t believe that… Sarah knew that the best sales of meat were made in the Goldfields themselves, not in the town. Ralph sold tobacco and some other items too but their income was mainly from meat. Ralph was a skilled and experienced butcher. But there was only so much he could do as one man. And therefore there was only so much money he could make.

 Sarah’s life was hard and repetitious. Every day had specific tasks. Washing day on Mondays was eased a little with her eldest daughter’s help. Ralph had recently obtained a new washboard in a smaller, more manageable size for his daughter to use. Sarah’s son, George, helped with the chickens and with collecting water and weeding the vegetable garden. But every day for Sarah meant sweeping, scrubbing pots and cooking, all while trying to soothe the baby and attempting to educate the other children in basic manners and domestic jobs. Everything was so dirty and water was scarce and heavy. Her back ached and she longed to just sit and sew. She could read a little too but only saw a newspaper occasionally. She aimed to improve her reading but never found the time – or a good teacher. And as for the children, how could she ever find enough time to teach them their lessons?

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On the morning of 10^th June, 1868 at Ironbark Flat, Meroo, a crowd had gathered in front of Ralph Lee’s Butcher shop. The deceased owner of the premises lay dead and partly covered with a blanket on the ground. A Doctor was examining his wounds. Inside, Sarah Jane Lee or Toty sat at the kitchen table crying.  Mrs Wheen, her neighbour, tried to comfort the young girl with an arm around her.

“Shush, shush, my dear…”said Mrs Wheen.

Amelia, five years old, lay in her bed, unconscious, her wounds already dressed by the serious faced Doctor.  George, aged nine, lay in his bed in the same room, also bandaged and moaning softly.  

Mr Wheen had left an hour ago by horse and cart to collect Mrs Lee from Avisford. Sarah’s daughter had explained to him that her mother had been visiting Mrs Smith and often stayed the night there.

Mrs Wheen, a middle aged woman, whispered to her own young son to go out and collect firewood. She wiped her eyes and tried to control the shaking in her body. She was shocked and upset and was suffering from absolutely no sleep at all. She had spent the whole night tending the Lee children and making cups of tea for her husband and other concerned neighbours.  What are they all to do now? The Chinamen were out of control. It was far too dangerous to live here anymore. They were a violent race and had no decorum whatsoever! They were all at risk of murder! AND there was no police here at all! Mrs Wheen remembered the incident of only a few years ago when poor Mrs Monies, Proprietor of the George and Dragon Hotel at Avisford, was murdered by her Celestial employee. That was another violent act where the poor woman was hacked to death by an axe! Surely a Christian country would not tolerate such barbarity? Mrs Sheen felt angry and indignant.  She was also frightened and confused.

Mrs Wheen took the lid off the Lee’s water siphon pot next to the fire to see if it needed filling and immediately noticed how clear the water was. She asked Sarah where her mother obtained the water. Sarah, trying to compose herself, stuttered that they had found a spring next to a creek nearby and that her mother always insisted the kitchen water be drawn from this source. Mrs Wheen pulled Sarah up by the elbow, took the pot and asked the girl to show her. Clear water like that was precious indeed. People had lately been talking about poor quality water at the goldfields contributing to sickness and the deaths of small children. The problem was the sheer volume of people of course. Everyone had a privy or hole in the ground and these toilets often leaked waste back into the dams and creeks. The water from the river seemed to getting muddier and smellier. Mrs Wheen was tired of waiting for the mud to settle and then boiling the rest. Sarah would be forced to share the secret of the spring!

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Sarah and her baby were still sleeping under heavy blankets when Mrs Smith shook Sarah’s shoulder at 7am. It was barely light but Mr Wheen had already arrived with his shocking news. Mrs Smith, still in her billowing nightgown, had been told and now she stood before Sarah. Sarah immediately noticed that Mrs Smith’s eyes were naked with some kind of pain and she thought she had been discovered. She quickly covered herself, held her baby close and waited in dread for Mrs Smith to speak. She remembered last night with her darling Robert and froze in fear of retribution.

“Sarah, I have some very bad news. You must prepare yourself.”

“My...my children?” Sarah gasped. Her heart lurched in fear. She had left them with Ralph last night. And now something had happened? She stood up.

“No, it is Ralph. He has been killed.” Mrs Smith then covered her mouth in horror and looked as if the news would pollute her house. Sarah turned away and rushed to the door to see Mr Wheen, her neighbour, standing next to his horse and cart with a somber look on his face. Sarah held her heart and managed to extract some details from him. In a matter of minutes she was on her way home.

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“No, Amelia, No!” Sarah begged her little girl not to die.  The full weight of a mother’s love and pain hit Sarah with a force. She hung her head over the girl’s bed, sobbing and shaking with the fear of losing her lovely blonde daughter. Amelia did not respond. The dull winter morning’s light showed Amelia’s pale face to have no expression whatsoever. The little girl’s tiny side was bandaged but blood has seeped through to the bedclothes, the lumpy mattress and even onto the bare ant bed floor.

The Doctor leaned over Sarah and took the little girl’s pulse then withdrew with a small bow and a softly spoken apology. Sarah didn’t look up but just crumpled to the floor, one arm hovering over her child and her head lost in bloody bedclothes. Unpleasant noises like a barking animal came from her shuddering body. Her legs seemed to be useless. She felt overwhelmingly heavy.

After a long time, Sarah finally roused herself and shakily crawled over to her son’s bed at the other side of the small bedroom. She asked George how he felt.

“I am alright, Ma. It only hurts a bit…” responded George in a weak voice. A film of sweat covered his small brow.  The Doctor appeared again and leaned towards George, taking his pulse too.  Sarah withdrew to the hallway.

Why was there so much blood? Her children’s blood?? There were black pools of it all down the hallway. She then entered her own bedroom and stopped, shocked. Things were scattered everywhere and there were bloody hand marks on her lamp and on the bedclothes. She picked up her looking glass and dropped it again as it was bloody and sticky too.

“What has happened here?” she croaked to Mrs Wheen, her neighbour, who now stood sadly in the doorway, holding Grace on her hip and Frances by the hand.

“It appears there was a dispute over money, my dear. Your husband was killed by a Chinaman and that same man also came into the house and robbed you.”

Sarah could not comprehend the loss of her child and her husband in this way. Why would a Chinaman do this?  It must have been Ralph’s fault. She had told him many times he was too soft on the Chinamen, too familiar with them and that they couldn’t be trusted. They were heathens! What could he expect? And now this!?

 She covered her mouth as she gazed at her bloody bedroom. She felt numb but after a few minutes it occurred to her that this was God’s justice. She clasped her hand to her mouth and realized that she had brought this on herself. She had strayed from his path and left God’s Grace. She was now bereft. The horror of it brought back the fear of God’s wrath that she had felt in the Scripture lessons in the Orphanage back in Bristol. The fires of hell were surely no worse than this. She was being punished by a vengeful God! Sarah closed her eyes and wondered how she could go on.

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Sarah was trying to sip her tea, tea that Mrs Wheen had made for her, as she sat, head bowed, by the fireplace and waited for the Constable to ask another question. No, she did not know any Chinamen who might be enemies of her late husband. No, she did not have any knowledge of her late husband’s debts. He did all his own reckoning and kept a ledger in a chest under their bed. All she knew was that her household expenses were met. Her own stash of cash was gone, along with some candlesticks and some jewellery.

The Constable left the table and went into the bedroom to retrieve the said chest. Sarah was starting to feel calmer although she did not trust her legs to stand as yet. Mrs Wheen returned to the kitchen with the younger children and whispered to Sarah that she had just seen the police handcuff and take away several Chinamen. They were to be taken to the Windeyer lock up immediately. Sarah did not know what she felt. Disbelief? Satisfaction? She thanked Mrs Wheen for all her help and gingerly stood up. She summoned her eldest daughter and started giving directions for the cleanup. She now wanted to work with her hands, alongside her daughter, just to try to get back to normal. She had a lot to think about while she worked.

Read Chapter 2 - If you can't see it below then click HERE or use the links at the right.

Chapter 2 – First Inquest - into the death of Ralph Lee

Mid June, 1868

“In this little lot I think I have the winner. But if I haven’t, our action might scare some of the innocent into a little useful information,” said Senior Constable Fitzpatrick as he gave a controlled smile to the assembled crowd at Ironbark Goldfields. The Constable was excited but nervous to be speaking to the assembled public about such a dramatic case. He wanted to both impress his superiors with his efficiency and also present a professional and capable demeanor to the public. His voice held authority but the truth of it was that he had hardly slept with worry last night. And today had been exhausting as he and his interpreter and assistants ridden for miles along the river interviewing and arresting Chinese suspects.

Fitzpatrick ordered the ten Chinese men to be led away, handcuffed in pairs, to be questioned at the local lock up via the Police interpreter. He believed he had done a prompt and comprehensive job of collecting suspects and he was now taking no chances of them escaping before he hopefully brought one of them to the gallows. Fitzpatrick knew there was an expectation of a quick resolution and execution.

It seemed everyone at the goldfields had long suspected the Chinese were Godless murderers.  The European miners in the assembled crowd jeered and held up their fists. They loved the excitement of the afternoon and had happily taken a break from their work to watch the prisoners being paraded. If this event had taken place later in the evening – after some grog - they probably would have tried to lynch a few suspects themselves, thought Fitzpatrick.

Many local miners remembered the troubles of a decade or more ago when Europeans joined together in “roll ups” to evict the Chinese miners from various Australian goldfields. The violence included not just chasing the Chinese into the bush but also burning their tents, smashing their mining equipment and even scalping the ones that were unfortunate enough to be caught.   This violence, although now quelled by Government restrictions on numbers of Chinese immigrants, had left some bad feelings behind.  The racism remained, just pushed under the surface, bubbling away and ready to rise again in an instance such as this. This was before Fitzpatrick’s time. But he had educated himself about it and he knew the events of the past were still talked about locally.

Fitzpatrick eyed the European locals cautiously. He was well aware of their anger.

The entire local Chinese population was, however, also outraged by the arrest of their friends and partners. They stood in small groups silently glaring at the Police as their compatriots were led away, mostly barefoot, eyes downcast. The Chinese miners were dressed in a strange array of both Eastern and Western dress. Many stuck to the traditional cotton three quarter length pants and long over shirt. Others had found it practical to adopt heavier, dark coloured long pants and leather boots. Most wore wide bamboo coolie hats but some wore Australian style felt hats. It was difficult to pick out a leader among them but the Senior Constable knew who it was and intended to question him again later.

There were hundreds of Chinese gold miners at the Meroo Goldfields. They lived in tents or huts that were bunched together in “camps” along the river. Fitzpatrick had searched for men with obvious wounds or blood stains.  He wanted to be fair in his selection so he chose two from each camp. He had also targeted men with particularly long hair. Young George had been interviewed from his bed and he told him that the perpetrator had a long pigtail that fell almost to the ground.

Senior Constable Fitzpatrick regarded the intense eyes of the local Chinese miners with concern. These men were not often angry. In fact he had found the Chinese miners to be the best behaved of all. It wasn’t them who got drunk and got into fights. He knew the Europeans regarded the Chinese as dirty and lacking in morals. But Fitzpatrick knew they were unnaturally calm people and certainly not aggressive.

But of course that might have something to do with the opium, he mused. Fitzpatrick knew of opium tents or “dens” in every Chinese camp where the locals could go for a smoke and a rest at night. It was quite a business among the celestials. He heard the smoke gave a pleasant feeling and took away pain. Much like rum or sly grog he supposed. But it was not a drug that caused trouble. It was more like the laudanum that his wife often took for her frequent headaches. It subdued her and kept her in her bed.

Fitzpatrick, relieved his day was almost over, now walked away, turning his back on the noisy European miners and the tense but silent Chinese miners. As dusk fell, he followed his dirty, stoic and tired looking prisoners to the local lock up.  But he left two armed guards behind for the evening.  He had instructed them to be on the lookout for trouble tonight. He wanted to know which tents were selling the sly grog too. 

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Fitzpatrick and his colleagues questioned the suspects and then, after a few days, released nine of them.

But prior to that Fitzpatrick had commissioned the twelve year old Sarah Lee to identify the murderer’s voice. Sarah had to sit quietly in her house once evening and listen while the policeman ordered each suspect to call out “A Lee, want him beefo!”  She identified a man’s voice without any hesitation. His name was Ah Mow.

Ah Mow’s boots were then matched to foot prints outside Ralph Lee’s butcher shop and house. Ah Mow also had a black eye. It seemed likely that a man a big as Ralph Lee would indeed fight back?

A search of Ah Mow’s hut revealed some obvious evidence – seventeen candles that appeared to be stolen from a matching box at the Lee’s house, a blood stained knife and a piece of plaid fabric that matched a torn piece belonging to Mrs Sarah Lee.

Fitzpatrick was completely satisfied. So he wasted no time in organizing the local Inquest.

A tiny court was quickly convened for the Inquest of Ralph Lee. Only seven days had elapsed since the murder but almost fifty people tried to either cram themselves inside the bark building or listen from the porch outside. Why was Ralph, a butcher, killed?  Who killed him?

Sarah Jane Lee, aged 11, maturely began procedings by being the first to explain what had happened on the night of 9^th June.

“A Chinaman called out ‘A Lee, want him beefo-o!’ and my father went to attend him.”

“In a few minutes,” continued Sarah, “I heard my father cry out ‘Toty, they are killing me!’. Father always called me Toty. I ran out and found my father on the ground, struggling with somebody in the dark.”

But Sarah then started to cry and her mother led her away from the chair at the front of the proceedings and back to a bench seat next to her siblings. Sarah patted her daughter’s arm and then hurried to her son’s side. George lay on a hessian bag stretcher, also at the front and next to Senior Constable Fitzpatrick.

George also responded to Fitzpatrick’s questioning with clarity.

“My father was lying on the ground,” he said. “Nobody was close to him. But then a Chinaman ran at my father and knocked him down when he tried to get up. He got on his back and rolled about with him. I got hold of the Chinaman’s pigtail and pulled it down. It was a long pigtail and touched the ground. When I pulled his pigtail the Chinaman got up and knocked me down. I ran away and got into the house. Then I got sick and don’t remember any more.”

Sarah looked up at the policeman from her kneeling position next to her son. Her expression begged that her tired and seriously ill son now be excused. Fitzpatrick understood immediately. How could he ignore the anguish of a mother’s love and protective instincts? Sarah’s face was white and drawn with restrained emotion. He nodded to his staff and the boy was quickly removed to the side of the room. Sarah followed.

Fitzpatrick then started to outline the evidence that he himself had collected. He firstly asked the assembled crowd to regard Ah Mow’s face.

“A black eye,” he explained, “Starts to go greenish after a period of perhaps seven days. This man has a black eye that appears to be a week old, does it not?”

A few in the crowd nodded. Ah Mow, not understanding, kept his eyes to the floor. Fitzpatrick smiled grimly, perhaps smugly, at his audience and praised the deceased butcher for his strength in fighting back.

“Mr Lee was a strong man and he would have fought bravely.”

He then described, in a loud, now confident voice, the goods belonging to Sarah that had been found in Ah Mow’s hut. He held up the plaid fabric and the candles.

“Included in this haul,” Fitzpatrick triumphed, “Was the knife obviously used for the deed!” Fitzpatrick then held up the knife, still blood stained, for effect. The crowd murmured and gasped.

Fitzpatrick called Dr Ramsay to come forward. The Mudgee Doctor, dressed impeccably for winter travel in a black serge suit, white linen and silk tie, agreed that the wounds on the body of Ralph Lee could certainly have been made with the knife found in Ah Mow’s hut.

Fitzpatrick was silent. He paused and paced the floor a little. Dr Ramsay waited, expecting more questions to somehow validate his long journey from Mudgee today. None came. There was no doubt now. Ah Mow, a Godless heathen, was apparently guilty.

Fitzpatrick now turned calmly to the prisoner.

“Ah Mow, you are committed to stand trial for the murder of Ralph Lee at Bathurst Assizes on 12^th October of this year.”

Now the crowd let out some subdued cheers. Some men punched the air. From the porch outside some yelled insults erupted.

“Chinamen go home!”

“Murdering heathens!”

Fitzpatrick’s policemen now attempted to diffuse the crowd. They asked people to leave and reprimanded the more passionate for their behavior. The crowd broke up. Men in dirty diggings attire drifted onto the road and commenced the walk back to Maitland Bar.

Fitzpatrick’s colleague, Constable Chiplin, escorted Sarah and her family to a waiting horse and dray. Sarah took control of her family, ensuring George was comfortably stowed in the dray. Her body was still shaking, she knew not whether it was from fear or the cold weather. The wind bit into the little family as it also made its way along the road towards home.

Fitzpatrick watched the people leave and then turned back to his Chinese interpreter. And now for the paperwork, he groaned. He summonsed Chiplin with a wave and directed him to the ledger and ink pot sitting on the big desk.

Much to Fitzpatrick’s disgust, the local Chinese had banded together to support their comrade and provide legal assistance. They were not without funds. Ah Mow was evidently popular among them. Bail was now to be organised and the prisoner was to be more or less free until the trial.  Fitzpatrick could only ensure the conditions were as strict as possible.

If it wasn’t for the money and influence of the Chinese Joss House Masters, Fitzpatrick thought, bail would not have been granted in this case. It was Murder, after all?

Fitzpatrick contented himself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t help Ah Mow in the end. The case was solid. He grunted with pride and slammed some paperwork onto his desk.

The Goldfields buzzed with excitement and the story was reported in all the national newspapers. The crime was reported as “a frightful massacre” or an “atrocious murder”.  Mudgee area police was in the national spotlight. 

Read Chapter 3 - If you can't see it below then click HERE or use the links at the right.

Chapter 3 – Sarah - a Widow

Late June, 1868

Sarah was kneading damper at the kitchen table. She had steeled herself to recover. What choice did she have?  She had a sick son and two little girls to take care of.  She thanked her eldest daughter Sarah every day for her invaluable help.  She did not even allow herself to think about poor little Amelia, her darling innocent child, now resting in her grave. Sometimes she thought she heard the little girl’s voice calling out for her mother. At these times, Sarah would shut her eyes for a moment and seal her lips in a grimace to ensure she didn’t wail in sheer horror. To think that this could happen? It was unthinkable! She always doubted she could bring all her children to adulthood because of the prevalence of disease. But this? And Ralph! Her dear Ralph! Her whole body shook like a leaf when she thought of her loyal and hardworking husband. She thought about her selfish sins against him and she groaned with self-loathing. She would do anything to bring him back. But nothing could. He was dead. And now she was a widow.

She felt faint again and took a break from her work to hold onto the edge of the table for a moment.

“Ma? Are you alright?’” said young Sarah as she stopped sweeping the floor in alarm.

Sarah could not answer. Her stomach lurched with fear. She felt confused. Her legs felt weak. She groaned and closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds. She banished the memories of her little Amelia with determination.

“I must collect my wits,” she thought. “God help me…”

Sarah had lost weight in the last two weeks. She now slept little and lightly. She was continuing with the cooking and cleaning as usual but it was as if she was operating like a machine. Her arms carried firewood and hung washing and rocked her baby. But her mind was somewhere else, not focused on the endless domestic tasks but in a foggy land of what if’s and half-truths. Even though Mrs Wheen had explained the whole course of events several times, Sarah could not seem to fully accept it. Surely the truth was impossible? Would it have happened if she was at home? She did not speak of her anguish. She had been trained to bear emotional pain in the Orphanage. So she remained silent and reminded herself that the ways of God are beyond human understanding. All she could do was the best for herself and her family in this precarious world she found herself in.

George was recovering well and was now permitted to get out of bed. He had taken to sitting in the sun on their rudimentary front porch. The Doctor had pronounced his recovery a miracle as the knife wound had been deep. Sarah was so proud of her son for defending his father but her heart ached for his future now. He had been close to his father and, at age nine, had already begun to learn some basic butchering skills.

Sarah had taken to remaining inside most of the time but she heard people stop and ask George how he was faring. She even smiled with pride as she heard George answer them politely that he was not in pain anymore and that he would feel a lot better when the Chinaman was hanged. George was obviously enjoying his role as a famous survivor. But he was still a boy, thought Sarah wistfully. How would time deal with him now?

As she tended her fire she heard a strangely familiar male voice coming from the front porch. Was George inviting a guest in?

“Oh,” gasped Sarah as she opened the front door and saw her lover, Robert, standing there.

“I hope I haven’t disturbed you, Mrs Lee,” said Robert softly as he bowed slightly to her and met her eyes politely.

“I was visiting the Goldfields today and I wanted to offer my condolences.”

Sarah was immediately tongue tied and tried to think if it would be appropriate to ask him in.

He looked stunningly well-groomed in a silk waist coat with a silver fob watch, under an unblemished suit jacket. He certainly did not fit in with the miners here who wore dull coloured cottons, heavy with dirt.

Sarah was in awe of him but she found it hard to meet his eyes. It was as if eye contact could cause her pain. She looked at his polished boots. Her stomach lurched with nerves. She was conscious of her son and his curiosity. No, she could not ask him in.

“Thank you, Mr Blake. It is very kind of you.”

Robert continued to politely speak about offering any help if needed but Sarah did not really hear it. She was just overwhelmed by his presence. He had never come here before. Her legs started to shake and she looked again at his boots. Robert then pressed a note into her hand as he turned to depart. To cover up this subterfuge Robert hastily bestowed George with the gift of a coin with an exaggerated flourish.

“Remember – never put a coin in your mouth, young man! Do you know why?”

“Yes sir! Because a Chinaman has had it in his ear!” replied an excited, widely smiling George.

Sarah watched his back walk through the dusty street, back towards the river and probably the gold buyer’s house. She knew he visited goldfields on occasions to meet with the buyers and presumably buy the gold from them. He owned a set of scales and some strong boxes for cash and gold.

“Ma, who was that gentleman?” queried her clearly impressed son.

Sarah ignored his question and hurried him inside. She made efforts to get dinner ready. She stuffed the note in her pocket, a tempting sweet to digest later.

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Sarah had finally got all the children to sleep after a dinner of beef stew, made with a few bits of skirt steak given to her by the other butcher’s wife in Maitland Bar diggings. It was cold and quiet. Her senses were alert as she waited by the side door to the butcher’s shop. The note had said to wait there as it would be in the shade of the full moon. She opened the door a crack at exactly 10pm and sure enough, saw Robert approach from under some nearby scrappy trees.

“Oh my love!” said Robert as he took Sarah in his arms and hugged her small frame fiercely.

Sarah closed the door and they remained clutching each other in the gloom. She started to cry and Robert shushed her. Sarah felt so much better to finally have him comfort her. She had longed for this moment for weeks but there had been no opportunity. Oh to have strong arms around her at last!

“Robert, what shall I do?” she moaned as she gasped for air between restrained sobs.

“Don’t worry my dear Sarah. You have been through a lot. But I will take care of you now.”

“Will you?  I...I wasn’t sure?” she stuttered.

“Of course I will! When is an acceptable time to marry do you think?” Robert’s eyes shone as she saw his face turn towards her and into the candlelight. Sarah’s sobs abated as she gasped, stunned by Robert’s immediate commitment. He felt strong and fit and clean. But Sarah also smelled liquor on his breath. He must have been hiding out at the sly grog shop until now.

“Don’t you see? This leaves us free to be together at last!” Robert stroked her hair that fell to her shoulders in waves. He could hardly take his arms away from her but Sarah pulled away at last. Robert looked disappointed but waited patiently for her to speak.

Sarah tried to relax as she leaned against the butchery’s rough wooden work table and wiped her tears away. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for what she was about to say. Robert’s dancing eyes watched her, a small smile on his lips.

After she had told him about the baby, she waited for his reaction. Would he be angry? Would he change his mind about supporting her?

“Don’t worry, my poppet,” Robert crooned. He comforted her in his arms and did not seem angry at all.

“I will take care of you, my love. All will be well. We shall be a happy family!”

Robert looked closely into her face as if to beg her consent. She saw love and she saw enthusiasm. Oh, what a man to take on a widow so quickly! How lucky Sarah felt at that moment. She felt bouyant with relief and joy.

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The next day dawned with a pale, cold light. A frost had settled on sparse patches of grass amongst the dust on the slope going down to the river. Sarah flicked the hessian curtain and glanced out her tiny bedroom window as she mechanically got out of bed to feed her crying baby. Grace was unsettled lately and waking a lot at night. She did not like her cradle and preferred to be in bed with her mother. But Sarah already had the four year Frances in bed with her every night. Frances outright refused to sleep in her own bed in the children’s room and would scream in protest if forced.

After her feed Grace smiled her thanks, showing two new teeth. Sarah could not resist smiling back and murmuring praise to her beautiful baby as she placed her back in the cradle with a wooden toy that Ralph had whittled for her. Grace immediately stuck it in her mouth and commenced goo-ing to herself.

Sarah went to her fireplace and started her automatic work while thinking about the excitement of last night. Everything would be alright now as Robert had reacted well to her news of his impending fatherhood. Sarah decided that she was happy about it too. If it was a girl she would call her Amelia to try to replace the lovely girl she had lost.

Sarah smiled to herself as she stoked the fire, placed the kettle to boil and threw some oats into a pot for porridge. She had washed bowls and spoons last night and already had the table set for breakfast. She had learnt over the years not to expect any time to herself. And she also found that it was best to think ahead.

Today was Sunday. She had the children’s best clothes ready for Church. She set the iron onto the warming stove so that she could touch up collars and cuffs. She wanted to look respectable and in control today. In fact, she wanted to look recovered. Her neighbour had offered them a lift to Avisford and the Church service there was at 10am. She had to pack a picnic basket with bread and cheese and water as well as she could not afford to go to a tea house after Church. She would find somewhere to sit in the sun and tell any passersby she was entertaining the children with a picnic. But Mrs Smith might invite them back to her house of course.

The robbery had taken cash and jewellery but most of it had been returned to her after it was found in Ah Mow’s hut. Nevertheless, her savings were dwindling. If she didn’t have Robert’s support then she would have to sell the butchery and the attached residence and return to a town, perhaps Sydney. The goldfields was no place for a woman on her own. But it would not be a happy solo departure. Sarah knew well that the only work available for her would be laundry work. She supposed she could go into service for a lady and her eldest daughter could look after the littlies….but that would be no life for her poor daughter. She had hoped for more for young Sarah. So she had tried to teach her to read and to present herself well.

But now there was another child coming. What a shock that had been. And while she was still mourning her husband! It was as if God was double punishing her. Or triple punishing her?

Sarah’s hands shook again as she stirred the porridge. Last night she had lain awake for hours trying to turn her mind from despair into a state of happiness for the new baby.  The sinfulness in which this baby had been conceived had been weighing heavily in her mind. Poor Ralph. To be cuckolded and murdered in one night! Sarah’s guilt was overwhelming. She couldn’t eat, sleep or think clearly. The last week had really been a week of horror for her as she tried to work out what to do. Would the baby be passed off as Ralph’s? But Robert was so dark haired? Was it proper to marry Robert? But then, how would she cope without a new husband? Perhaps she should buy a draft of castor oil? Surely she could not afford another baby… Perhaps it would be better if there were no new baby at all? Or maybe the baby would be dislodged by the constant and solid fear she held in her stomach?

No, she must remain calm. She would be happy with Robert. The new child would have a willing father. She would be protected by a new husband, a man of some means. Every cloud has a silver lining. Robert would be hers.

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The Church at Avisford was a simple affair – a patch of flat grass under a huge eucalypt tree. The visiting Church of England minister came from Bathurst every fortnight to speak to his flock at Avisford.

Sarah would much prefer to attend the large and newly built brick church, St Johns Church of England, in Mudgee. But that was a long journey for her children and, besides, she would not know anyone there anyway.  Mr Wheen had offered to take her to the Avisford service and she had readily accepted.

So this was her local church, a tree. The goldfields had nothing of permanence. Leaves drifted down onto the assembling congregation. The cold wind was gusty today and was causing people to hold their hats.

Sarah licked her chapped lips and carefully climbed down from Mr Wheen’s cart, holding Grace in her arms and Frances by the hand. George and Sarah, her older children, took their places behind her as she walked towards the tree church. Immediately several local women she knew came rushing up to her, expressing their condolences, their faces raw with genuine sympathy. Sarah held herself erect, knowing she looked respectable in her best dark serge dress with sparkling clean linen collar and cuffs and a lace trimmed bonnet. She had even worn her best whalebone corset under her dress and an extra petticoat for effect. Her children looked respectable too. Sarah was pretty in her best and George, although he had to wear patched trousers, stood tall and smiled his thanks to well-wishers galore. He still walked gingerly and Sarah knew he would be exhausted and be forced to return to his bed once they were home.

The sermon commenced once everyone was standing roughly in rows. Sarah took her usual position in the right hand side, middle section, and looked at her feet, suddenly aware of her obvious widowhood.  A month ago she had been at the funeral, at the front, dressed in black, as her husband and child’s coffins stood shockingly close to her. The same pastor had come all the way to the Ironbark section of the Meroo goldfields that day. Ralph and their little daughter were buried together in a grave close to their house.

In his sermon today, the Pastor referred to the recent murder and quoted from Romans, Chapter 12 in the Bible as he claimed that the murdering heathens would be tracked down and the vengeance of the Lord would rain down upon them.

“Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’”

Sarah tried to keep her face composed and tilted down as she knew many others were watching her surreptitiously. She was glad she had skipped breakfast as the familiar fear in her stomach was roaring and heaving. She thought of herself as a sinner and she felt that God’s vengeance would find her as surely as it would find the murdering Chinaman.

The solemn and powerful voice of the Pastor reached the whole congregation easily. Sarah felt shaky and unsteady and tried not to listen. She focused on the ever present background noise of the wind rustling the leaves on the high branches of the huge tree overhead. It was a somehow a frightening but calming sound at the same time.

As usual, there was to be no Communion offered. Sarah was not sure if this was because it was too difficult in a bush setting or simply because the Bathurst Church could not afford good wine for goldfields folk. But she was glad of it in any case. She did not welcome any increase of attention on her. What if she fainted while approaching the front for Communion?

The Pastor then led the congregation in a hymn. In the absence of an organ, the Pastor’s strong voice was crucial to all. Thankfully he was well practiced and faultlessly musical.

“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide
When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me”

Sarah tried to sing the familiar hymn and was mostly successful. Her voice was accurately on key at all times but it wavered and was not very loud. At times she felt emotion welling up in her chest and she had to stop and clench her whole body. Once she regained composure she resumed her singing with the rest of the flock.

At last the service was completed and people started to drift away quietly into groups for the obligatory post Church chats.  Mrs Smith’s round, fleshy face was first to thrust itself close to hers.

“Will you come back to my house, Sarah? I have morning tea ready and it would be a pleasure to have you visit?” asked Mrs Smith.

Sarah breathed her relief and quickly gave instructions to her eldest children to take the babies for a picnic at the reserve. She handed over her basket and baby Grace to her capable daughter and walked arm in arm with Mrs Smith towards her cottage. She was obliged to stop a few times to accept more condolences and good wishes from kind parishioners of course. Mrs Smith proudly held her arm and looked as though she was taking responsibility for Sarah overall.

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By the end of the month Sarah had “recovered her wits” as she called it. She had resumed her normal routine of taking the children for an afternoon walk in an area of bushland near her home. She called it HER bushland as no one else seemed interested in it whatsoever. The area was away from the Meroo River, sloping up towards dry hills and rocky outcrops. It was heavily forested with the native eucalypts and wattle. She had made a path and followed the same track each day. But she could not do the walk in summer due to the risk of brown snakes. She was terrified of them. In fact everyone at the Goldfields was constantly on edge each summer due the frightening killers. They were large snakes, long and quick moving and fond of hiding in unexpected places. Fortunately they tended to disappear in winter.

The children loved their walks. Sarah and her eldest daughter shared carrying the baby, Grace.  Frances always ran ahead and George walked cautiously with his mother as he had not quite recovered from his stab wounds as yet.

The walk was Sarah’s attempt to supervise the children’s outdoor play. She did not want them mixing overly much with the local children who tended to run around with bare feet, completely unchecked by their parents. Also, Mrs Wheen’s baby was sick and Sarah would prefer they kept away for fear of contagion.

“Mumma, I want to do wee wee,” complained Frances.

“Alright then Frannie, just here is a good place then. Come on…”

Sarah always encouraged the girls to “go” on their walk. It was certainly preferable to using the long drop, their outdoor privy. Everyone had outdoor toilets a short distance from their homes but Sarah was very dubious about the red backed spiders, not to mention the dangerous risk of contagion.

She helped her four year old and then encouraged all the children help collect tree bark for the fire. At least the bush was untouched here, she thought.  Despite the occasional kangaroo droppings, this area pleased her because it seemed clean and fresh. If they could have a house up here, rather than down on that overpopulated stinking flat, living in the Australian bush might be more tolerable, she thought.

The wattle was blooming at the top of the hill where they usually stopped and sat on rocks to rest. Sarah, aged eleven, was thrilled about this and started collecting bunches of the bright yellow balls.

“Mum, look at it all! It smells so beautiful!”

Sarah laughed in delight too. The fragrance was heady and fresh, like nothing in England. She sat on lichen covered granite rocks next to George who was now quite exhausted and holding his side.

Sarah had not had cause to see many flowers in England. Her life with her parents had been right on Bristol’s muddy harbour and the only flowers she had ever seen were for sale in the street. Once at the Orphanage, flowers were only in books.

The light was dimming and Sarah was anxious to be back before dark. She never let the children outside after dark. Especially not George…he had almost fallen into a half-submerged mine shaft last summer. She would not have known about this fall if it wasn’t for dutiful Sarah who had been with her younger brother at the time. Children had fallen to their deaths before. It was easily done as only the current working shafts had windlasses attached to them. Abandoned mines were often covered with a branches in a most haphazard way.

So George carefully carried the flour sack of collected bark and they soon headed for home. They were a little family, walking slowing through the bush, alternately highlighted by the bright retreating sun and then hidden by the deep bush shadows of the hillside.

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“You ‘ad a visitor, Sarah!” yelled out Mrs Wheen from her front porch. Sarah had not quite returned from her walk when this news was shouted out to her across the expanse of dust they called a street.

“A gentleman no less!” continued Mrs Wheen as she hurried to face Sarah.

“You’d a seen ‘im, I expect, if you weren’t off walkin’ in the bush!”

“Oh, aye, you’re a bonny lass!” Mrs Wheen ruffled little Frances’s curly blonde hair and then gave her a crushing hug.

Sarah stood, unsure what to say.

Mrs Wheen rattled on about the gentleman’s lovely suit and beautiful manners as they all went into Sarah’s house.  George deposited the bark next to the fireplace. Young Sarah took the baby, now wailing, into the bedroom for a clean nappy. Frances skipped over to her wooden toys spread out on a kangaroo skin.

“Will you have a cuppa?” Sarah politely offered.

Mrs Wheen nodded, sat herself down and promptly began to cry.

“Oh, a gentleman in this ‘ere location! What a surprise it was for me!”

“He wanted to see you, Sarah. Could it be ‘cause o’ the court case comin’ up?”

Sarah was used to comforting Mrs Wheen on a daily basis lately on account of her sick baby. Mrs Wheen could dissolve into tears at any moment. The little boy slept fitfully in his crib most of the day now. Fortunately there were two older girls to assist with baby care. But Sarah thought the baby might die soon. His little chest could not stand the coughing fits and apparently he was wet with perspiration most nights. And that was why she was reluctant to chat to Mrs Wheen or go into her house. She was nervous of diphtheria. She knew it was contagious somehow. It had carried off several young children in Avisford last winter. There seemed to be waves of this kind of sickness. And many of the cures sold in the stores simply failed to do any good.

Soon she would have to tell Mrs Wheen and others about Robert, her condition and her plans for remarriage. But not yet…she would wait as long as possible. Sarah held her stomach and wondered if the new child would hold onto life through all this turmoil.

At the present moment she knew she must try to get Mrs Wheen out of her house as quickly as she politely could.

Read Chapter 4 - If you can't see it below then click HERE or use the links at the right.

Chapter 4 – Second Inquest – into the death of Ah Mow

Late June, 1868

Constable Chiplin scowled at the dawn frost as he emerged from the bark dwelling he called a home and into the still, cold air. It was the third week of June.

Constable Chiplin was Fitzpatrick’s partner. They were both stationed at Hargraves Police station. Whereas Fitzpatrick had his family with him, Chiplin was younger and unmarried. They were both Senior Constables and took turns with their shifts as required. They were kept busy with the usual crime on the goldfields such as claim jumping, tent slitting, drunkenness, assaults and petty theft. Chiplin was an ambitious police officer and he was counting the days until he could secure a better posting. At this posting he was obliged to lodge in a sort of outhouse next to Fitzpatrick’s house and join that family for his meals. He was not entirely happy with this arrangement as the Fitzpatrick children seemed always underfoot. Also, he had no independence at all. Of course his outhouse “home” was frigid in winter.

Ah Mow had been arrested for the recent murder of the local butcher but bail had been granted. So he had returned to live on the Ironbark Goldfields nearby. There were strict bail conditions in place.

Chiplin had repeatedly mentioned to Fitzpatrick that the bailed Ah Mow should be watched. But his colleague seemed happy to trust the Chinese elders to ensure the murderer did not get away.

But Chiplin was suspicious.  So on this morning he promptly took a horse and an interpreter and made straight for Ah Mow’s hut. He wondered if the local Chinese would approach him or stop him from contacting Ah Mow. They had proven to be fiercely protective of their own. Chiplin had heard that Ah Mow was usually taken into the Joss house of an evening for his own protection. So he thought it would be best to arrive to check on Ah Mow first thing in the morning.

As he walked his horse along the road, he blew warm air on his fingers and lamented his lack of gloves. Chiplin distracted himself from the miserable cold and thought about the Chinese and how industrious they were. They found more gold than the Europeans. They worked together cooperatively too. The Joss house was a strange custom, he mused. He had only been inside it once. It was built of rough timber and bark like everything else in the area.  Inside, the senior Chinese men would talk together or just sit in front of their statue Gods, burning a strange smelling incense on hastily assembled altars. Others would gamble quietly at a dice game called Mahjong. And others would smoke the strange pipes, subduing their nerves or dulling their aches and pains with opium.

As soon as Chiplin arrived at Ah Mow’s house – or bark lean to – he felt it was too quiet. It was still early but men of both races were already at their shafts, winding ropes, hauling earth or rattling the cradles. Could Ah Mow be still asleep? He pushed through the flimsy door and then past a hessian bag screen and was greeted by a sight that took his breath away.

“Good God!” Chiplin nearly tripped over as he recoiled in shock. There was Ah Mow, hanging from the rafters, obviously dead. Despite the cold season, the flies were already gathering on the man’s face.

Chiplin stopped still for a minute as he tried to comprehend the surprising sight. Then he reverted to being a policeman and started to look for clues. Suicide? The man must have been remorseful after all? He searched the man’s pocket and discovered a note on a scrap of paper.

“Hey, John!” Chiplin called in his interpreter. John Smith, a Chinese man, entered the hut and took the proffered note.

“It says he sorry and feel very bad about the murder.” John Smith’s cautious black eyes looked to Chiplin and they both stood in the hut, watching each other for a moment, subdued by the seriousness of this event.

 Chiplin sent for Fitzpatrick who soon arrived in a temper, throwing himself off his panting horse.

“What the devil has happened here, Chiplin?!”

With only a perfunctory glance at the corpse, Fitzpatrick then stomped off to the nearby Joss house to interrogate those in charge. His assistant trotted to keep up, leading the horses behind him.

Chiplin made the arrangements for the transfer of the corpse – but not before another thoughtful examination of the hanged man.  Then he made some careful notes and collected some evidence.

He then cast his narrowed eyes along the busy river bank.  Men, European and Chinese, endlessly toiled, searching for the elusive metal.

Perhaps it was best to quietly ask some questions of the men working nearby? These men would have been more likely to have seen something than the elder men in the Joss House some distance away.

He summonsed John Smith and they approached the first group of men in a friendly manner.

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Chiplin sat stiffly, papers in hand, ready to deliver his evidence at Hargraves on 30^th June, 1868. Again, a crowd of people had jammed into the tiny official building, eyes wide with interest. A second inquest was about to commence – this time into the death of Ah Mow.

The visiting Magistrate again presided at the roughly made desk.  Clerks were seated at one side, pens poised, ready to scribe.

Called at speak, Chiplin cleared his throat and half turned his body toward the crowd.

“So THIS was the rope to which the body of Ah Mow was hanging!”

The crowd gasped as Chiplin held up a small, thin rope.

“As anybody can see, the rope is excessively light and far too short to cause a death by hanging,” Chiplin continued.

“I noticed immediately that the head was almost decapitated from the body and this caused the body to hang in a very odd manner. But the force from this particular rope could not possibly have caused such injury. Add to this the fact that the length of this rope limited the fall to three feet, seven inches – insufficient to have caused such an injury to the neck!”

“Another ridiculous prop was found at the scene – a block, which would have reduced the possible fall to thirteen inches! Ludicrous!”

Chiplin was enjoying himself. He couldn’t help smiling at the crowd. The clerks scribbled all the facts madly. The Magistrate looked serious and angry - but even he couldn’t help but exclaim an oath in shock.

Chiplin had plainly convinced the court that Ah Mow was, in fact, murdered first and then hanged afterwards. It looked like suicide. But it was, in fact, another murder!

Although Chiplin believed Ah Mow was murdered, he was not really searching for a perpetrator. He and the whole local police force remained focused on the death of Ralph Lee, the innocent butcher. Everyone was talking about it. The newspapers were full of the incredible story. And now the murderer could not be tried at all – because he had been murdered!?

At first it was thought that Ah Mow kill Ralph Lee and then killed himself because of remorse?  But Chiplin had just proven to all that this was not the case.

So who murdered Ah Mow?  No one seemed to care. Chiplin had abandoned his search for Ah Mow’s killer – and he had moved off in another direction. The main priority was to find Ralph Lee’s murderer.

“Now….” continued a delighted Chiplin, “During the days following my discovery of Ah Mow’s body, I searched the camps of the celestial miners one by one. I asked to see Miner’s rights.  I examined every camp on Maitland Bar!”

“And two days ago I came across this man - Ah Sung!”

As he announced the prisoner’s name, Chiplin swept his arm dramatically toward Ah Sung who was seated in a front corner.

“Ah Sung did not have a Miner’s right for this year. I promptly arrested him due to this issue alone. But during questioning I noticed he had a severe cut on his right hand. He told me it was due to a cane from a rice bag. But there was also a cut on his face and another wound on his leg. I was suspicious.”

Ah Sung sat glumly, emotionless, understanding nothing.

“Although this man was found in a hut several miles down the Meroo, I discovered that he used to live quite close to the Lee residence until recently. Sure enough, on examination of the area around his old hut, we found blood stained clothing buried in a shallow hole. The clothing had belonged to Ah Sung.”

Chiplin then held up a stinking and blood stained serge shirt.

The Magistrate then intervened.

“Alright, Chiplin, resume your seat please! I would like to call Mrs Sarah Lee!”

Sarah stood and answered questions directed to her efficiently and calmly.

“Yes, the prisoner is known to me. He lived close to us for almost two years. He was in the habit of dealing at our store. I have seen the prisoner wearing that serge shirt. I do not recall any other Chinaman wearing a similar shirt.”

Sarah stole a furtive glance towards Ah Sung. He glared back. She almost recoiled. Sarah shivered with the realization that this was the man who used to cook his meals in a big flat pan on a low fire near her house. It was his meals that had often smelled so strongly spiced but yet enticing to her.

George was then called to speak.

“I only saw one Chinaman fighting with my father. I saw no others about. I heard no others. He had a tail which, when undone, fell to the ground. He was a short man. I have seen the prisoner before, he used to live near our house. He often played with me. I cannot say prisoner is the man who killed my father, it was too dark at the time. He is about the same size…”

During the next few hours other witnesses were called. The Doctor was called.  Mr Sheen was called.

Finally the prisoner was called to make his statement through an interpreter.

“I have nothing to say except that on Tuesday evening, 9^th of June, I went to Mr Lee’s store to buy beef and tobacco. I bought there one shilling worth of beef and sixpenny worth of tobacco. I gave Lee for this half a crown. Lee only gave me sixpence back in change. I say ‘What for you only give me sixpence change?’ Lee said ‘You only give me a shilling bit.’ I called Lee a bloody rogue. I fight with Lee and his children come out and fight too. Lee sang out to his boy to bring a knife and he stab me. I took the knife and I stab Lee a good many times. I ran away. I never stabbed the girl that is dead. Perhaps father kill her.”

The crowd erupted into howls of protest once the interpreter said the last sentence. The Magistrate banged his gavel on the desk for order. Sarah covered her mouth in shock and her eyes widened in horror. This was a continuing nightmare! She had to get out of here. She felt hot. She tugged at her high collar with her dry and cracked fingers. She restrained sobs with difficulty.

Fortunately the charges were immediately read out. Ah Sung was committed to stand trial for the murder of Ralph Lee, to be held in Bathurst on 12^th October.

So, although Ah Mow had been the first Chinamen arrested for the murder of Ralph Lee, it was Ah Sung, a second suspect, who would actually be put on trial for the murder. One suspect was dead.  No matter - another suspect had been found.

Read Chapter 5 - If you can't see it below then click HERE or use the links at the right.

Chapter 5 – Ralph Lee’s Murder Trial - Ah Sung is tried

12 October, 1868

And now she had to suffer the sight of the damn Chinaman AGAIN, Sarah thought as she took her seat on a wooden bench in the Bathurst courtroom. She was of course anxious to see justice done however. It was just that she could not abide the look of any of them anymore, especially that man, Ah Sung.

 Sarah gazed at the large timber built courthouse and felt rather unimpressed. She had not been to Bathurst before but this building of roughly hewn posts was not what she had expected. Was there no stone buildings in the Australian bush at all? At least the seating was of elegantly carved and polished timber. She had heard that there was soon to be a new courthouse here. But that might be just a story? Like the railway that was always supposedly coming from Sydney…at least they had the Telegraph now, she supposed.

She held in her stomach and adjusted her skirt to cover her swelling belly. She had still not told anyone about her condition or that Robert was to be her new husband. She jiggled her large baby, Grace, on her lap as usual. The other children had remained with Mrs Wheen for a day or two while she attended the Chinaman’s Trial.  Mrs Smith sat beside her, trying not to beam with self-importance at being in the front row, supporting the poor widow. And next to Mrs Smith was dear Robert, dressed elegantly as usual and assuming a somber disposition, appropriate for his role as chaperone. Sarah tried not to look at him, lest her expression give her away. How she loved Robert! How wonderful he was! She had seen him very little in the last few months. But in their few whispered, late night exchanges, he was sincere and loving. She was so pleased with his sense of decorum. He was waiting until Sarah gave the all clear for their betrothal – at a time she deemed right. She was very lucky indeed to have such a man to love and care for her. She looked forward to her new marriage and had started making some plans as to which items to take to Sydney.

Chief Justice Stephens entered the room and everyone stood up. He gloomily lumbered his bulky, robed form to his desk. Everyone was quite intimidated by him, especially the inexperienced defence counsel. This Judge had been known to previously send at least six men to their deaths from this very courtroom!

Everyone sat with a creaking of timber and a rustling of fabrics. Ah Sung was asked how he pleaded through an interpreter. He said it was self defence after he went to the store to buy beef.

“Suppose me no kill him, he kill me?” Ah Sung added in pidgin, addressing the Chief Justice.

The remark was ignored and a pleas of Not Guilty was entered into the record.

 Ah Sung was NOT killed, though, was he? Sarah bristled at the injustice. It was her dear Ralph who was dead – and in a most frightful manner too. The impertinence of that Chinaman! Fancy speaking up like that. He would soon change his tune, she thought.

Mr Manning, assigned counsel for defence, began by querying the fact that many Chinese were in fact taken in for questioning for the murder of Ralph Lee. And then he explained that Ah Sung had not robbed Mrs Lee -but Ah Mow had.

“How can you prove that last portion of your statement?” interrupted the Chief Justice.

“I shall call on Mrs Lee,” said Mr Manning.

“When was your candle case opened?” began Mr Manning, glaring at Mrs Lee intently.

“At about 4pm on Tuesday,” replied Sarah. “It was just before I left to visit friends at Avisford.”

“How many candles were missing when you next saw that case?”

“Seventeen,” replied Sarah.

“You know how many candles were found in Ah Mow’s hut?”

“Yes, seventeen.”

“You identified a piece of plaid material, I think?” continued Mr Manning.

“I still have the piece from which it was cut.” Sarah had no idea why a Chinaman would want a piece of her dress fabric. But the missing section was indeed found in Ah Mow’s hut.

“I think you identified no single piece of property of any kind in the possession of Ah Sung?”

“He had nothing of mine.”

Constable Fitzpatrick was called and he confirmed that it was Ah Mow’s hut which contained the goods belonging to Mrs Lee, not Ah Sung’s.

But Ah Mow was dead?  Ah Mow could not be on trial if he was dead? So why was the court talking about the robbery now? Sarah felt confused. She did not know how a court worked. She looked around at the jury. Blank faces met her gaze. They seemed worried to hear all of this too. Could Ah Sung be innocent? Mr Manning had raised a cloud of doubt.

Dr Ramsay was then called up and he explained that the knife which killed Ralph Lee was definitely the long knife found in Ah Mow’s hut.

Sarah’s daughter confirmed that the voice calling for Beefo was Ah Mow’s voice.

“Ah Sung’s voice was not a bit like it,” she added.

So what was everyone to believe? It looked as if Ah Mow was the murderer. But he was now dead – murdered by persons unknown. And yet here was Ah Sung – and he had admitted to stabbing Ralph Lee.

Chiplin was then relieved to be called up at last. He began to offer his fuller explanation. He outlined the case against Ah Sung – the blood stained clothes and the admission by the prisoner of stabbing Ralph Lee – apparently in self defence.

So did both of the Chinamen collude to commit the crime?

Sarah simply did not know. It seems that the legal minds also had no idea. Some members of the jury by now had their hands across their mouths, faces pale.

Mr Manning, defence counsel, had asked them to consider the small build of Ah Sung and the large frame of Ralph Lee. The prisoner should be set free, he said.

But Chiplin again reminded them of the prisoner’s confession. Self defence or not, Ah Sung had admitted stabbing Ralph Lee. There was the truth of it.

The jury retired for the evening to consider their verdict.

Sarah and her party left for their boarding house, tired and dissatisfied.

At 1am the jury returned to the court and one juror asked the Chief Justice if they should, in fact, also consider the death of little Amelia Lee? The jury was undecided and overwhelmed with information. It seemed unlikely they would reach a unanimous verdict. The chief Justice attempted to guide the jury in their deliberations. The jury again retired.

At 2am the jury gave a verdict of Guilty.

After a considerable and rather confused preamble about the strange habits of the Chinese, the Chief Justice at last gave his summing up:

    “I have carefully and painfully considered every circumstance of the case, and I am as certain that the prisoner is guilty, as that I am now sitting on this bench. He has been righteously convicted of a most barbarous murder, and must suffer for the violation of the laws of the country-laws that are founded upon the laws of God, upon religion and morality. The sentence of the Court is, that you, Ah Sung, be taken hence to the place from whence you came, and, upon a day to be fixed by the Governor and the Executive Council, from thence to the place of execution, there to be hanged by the neck until your body be dead, and I pray earnestly that God Almighty may have mercy upon you.”

Ah Sung remained stoic and gave a response to the court:

“No matter when die, young or old, can only die once.”


Read Chapter 6 - If you can't see it below then click HERE or use the links at the right.