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. 

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