But the majority of the police officers were generally overbearing and insolent, and their want of tact when dealing with the rough natures on the diggings greatly increased the embarrassment of affairs. A license-hunt was the name among the diggers for the collecting of the tax—the police being the hounds, while many a digger in his wily attempt to escape payment proved himself a veritable fox in cunning.
DIGGER-HUNTING ANECDOTES.
The following vigorous descriptions of this tax-collecting graphically portray the feelings of both diggers and officials. The first is extracted from Kelly's entertaining Life in Victoria:—
"W——n shouted down, 'Come up, boys—come along, quick; the game is started!' and as I was being hoisted up I heard the swelling uproar and the loud chorus of 'Joes' from every side. As I gained the surface everybody was in commotion—diggers with their licenses lowering down their mates without them; others, with folded arms, cursing the system and damning the Government; some stealing away like hares when hounds are in the neighbourhood; and several 'tally-ho'd,' bursting from points where they could escape arrest, while 'Joe! Joe! Joe! Joe! Joe! Joe!' resounded on all sides; the half-clad Amazons running up the hill-sides, like so many bearers of the 'fiery cross,' to spread to the neighbouring gullies the commencement of the police foray. The police, acting on a preconcerted plan of attack, kept closing in upon their prey; the mounted portion, under the commander-in-chief, occupying commanding positions on the elevated ranges to intercept escape or retreat. A strong body of the foot force, fully armed, swept down the gully in extended line, attended by a corps of light infantry traps in loose attire, like greyhounds in the slip, ready to rush from the leash as the quarry started. But the orders of the officers could not be heard from the loud and continuous roars of 'Joe! Joe! Joe!'—'Curse the Government!—the beaks, the traps, commissioners, and all'—'the robbers,'—'the bushrangers,' and every other vile epithet that could be remembered, almost into their ears. At length the excitement got perfectly wild as a smart fellow, closely pursued by the men-hounds, took a line of the gulley cut up with yawning holes, from which the cross planks had been purposely removed; every extraordinary spring just carrying him beyond the grasp of capture, his tracks being filled the instant he left them, and the outstretched arm of the trap within an inch of seizure in the following leap. I myself was strangely inoculated with the nervous quiver of excitement, and I think I gave an involuntary cheer as the game and mettle of the digger began to tell. But there arose a terrific menacing outcry of 'Shame! shame!—treachery!—meanness!' which a glance in the direction of the general gaze showed me was caused by a charge of the mounted men on the high ground to head back the poor fugitive. I really thought a conflict would have ensued, for there was a mad rush to the point where the collision was likely to take place, and fierce vows of vengeance registered by many a stalwart fellow who bounded past me to join in the fray. A moment after the mounted men wheeled at a sharp angle, and a fresh shout arose as another smart young fellow flew before them with almost supernatural fleetness, like a fresh hare started as the hunted one was on the point of being run down. I marvelled to see him keep the unbroken ground with the gulley at his side impracticable for cavalry; but no, he made straight on for a bunch of tents with a speed I never saw equalled by a pedestrian. It was even betting, too, that he would have reached the screen first, when lo! he stopped short so suddenly as only just to escape being ridden down by the Commissioner—the Cardigan of the charge—who seized him by the shirt collar in passing. The rush of diggers now became diverted to the scene of caption. I hurried forward there too, although fearing I should witness the shedding of blood and the sacrifice of human life; but as I approached I was agreeably disappointed at hearing loud roars of laughter, and jeering outbursts of 'Joe! Joe!' amidst which the crowd opened out a passage for the crest-fallen heroes, who rode away under such a salute of opprobrious epithets as I never heard before, for the young fellow who led them off the idle chase stopped short the moment he saw the real fugitive was safe, coolly inquiring of his captor 'what crime he was guilty of to be hunted like a felon.' 'Your license, you scoundrel!' was the curt reply. Upon which he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the document, to the ineffable disgust of their high mightinesses, who in grasping at the shadow had lost the substance.
"It was a capital ruse, adopted in an emergency, and played with greater skill than if there had been a regular rehearsal. I flatter myself that I am a loyal man on the average, and a respectable upholder of law and order; but I was unable to repress an emotion of gratification at the result of the chase, or an impulse of hero worship, as I sought the sole actor in the successful diversion to offer my congratulations. The myrmidons of the law now moved up the middle of the gully in close order, attended by anything but an admiring cortége, who made it a point never to let the cry of 'Joe! Joe!' subside for a moment. Occasionally a license was demanded, and its production was the signal for fresh outbursts of the tumult; but the 'license meet' was brought to a close by two other successful feints that were played off by a pair of diggers, who simulated a guilty timidity and dropped themselves in a slide down their ropes into the bottoms of their wet holes, followed by a brace of traps with dashing gallantry, who chased them into the muddy drives, where the lurkers purposely crawled to lead their pursuers into the muck. Of course they were hauled up in triumph, but the hallelujahs were quickly superseded by choking screams of 'Joe! Joe!' when the prisoners produced their digging warrants. The Commissioner did not venture on another 'throw off,' but moved away sullenly with his forces to the tune of 'Joe! Joe! Joe!' and expressions of regret 'that he would have to drink the Royal Family's health after dinner at his own expense,' and such-like observations."
Another aspect of the digger-hunting process is given by Mr. R. M. Sergeant, correspondent of the Geelong Advertiser:—
"'Traps! traps! Joe! Joe!' were the well-known signals which announced that the police were out on a license raid. The hasty abandonment of tubs and cradles by fossickers and outsiders, and the great rush of shepherds to the deep holes on the flat as the police hove in view, readily told that there were not a few among them who believed in the doctrine that 'base is the slave who pays.' Hunting the digger was evidently regarded by Commissioner Sleuth and his hounds as a source of delightful recreation, and one of such paramount importance to the State that the sport was reduced to an exact science. Thus, giving a couple of dirty constables in diggers' disguise jumping a claim, the gentle shepherd approaches, with dilapidated shovel on shoulder, and proceeds to dispossess intruders in a summary manner. A great barney ensues. The constable and his mate talk big, a crowd gathers round, and 'A ring! a ring!' is the cry. The combatants have just commenced to shape when the signal referred to at the head of this paragraph rings through the flat. On come the traps in skirmishing order, driving in the stragglers as they advance, and supported by mounted troopers in the rear, who occupy commanding positions in the ranges. A great haul is made, and some sixty prisoners are marched off in triumph to the camp, handcuffed together like a lot of felons, there to be dealt with according to the caprice or cupidity of their pursuers."
Raffello, in his history of the Ballarat riot, says:—"At the shouting of 'Joe! Joe!' the diggers without licenses make for the deep shaft, and leave a licensed mate or two at the windlass. The diggers were besieged by a regiment of troopers, and traps under their protection would venture into the holes. The sight of the rich-looking washing stuff in possession of some lucky diggers aroused the cupidity of the police, and often made them blind to the condition of the unfortunate ones. Some of the traps were civil enough, and felt the shame of the duty, but others enjoyed the fun. The authorities generally treated the diggers very harshly. Troopers would scour the neighbouring bush, and all the unfortunate diggers they captured were tied to the stumps of trees, and left there until the hunt was over, when the captives were collected and taken to the depôt which the traps established in order to bring together the whole of their victims. From there the batch of prisoners were marched off to the camp, and fined £5, or imprisoned. So much for the unlicensed digger. The digger who wished to obtain a license was obliged to travel a few miles, and then was often kept waiting at the Commissioner's tent for two or three hours."